Disclaimer: Fire Emblem and Kid Icarus do not belong to us. They belong to Nintendo.
Chapter 9: Pensieroso
When Ylisstol is a blob on the horizon, and he can barely see the flickering lights as the sun finally dips below the horizon, Dark Pit finally stops. He spots a tree, larger than the rest, and tests his luck on a branch. When it trembles slightly but does not break, he finally releases the Power of Flight. The branches rustle, leaves falling as he jostles them. When he finally finds a pleasant enough position, leaning nearly in the crook of the branch, he finally relaxes.
It has been a while since he's done this. Well, not really – he'd spent the last night asleep in a tree too. But the weeks before it had been soft beds, and already he misses them enough that he briefly considers the ground.
It's a brief consideration. The last thing he needs is some insomniac taking a hike finding him passed out on the ground.
He pulls out two things – the blanket he'd stolen from Robin. And the map he'd stolen from Robin. The memory of her running after him, with anger he hadn't known she was capable of, makes him laugh. It takes a moment for him to calm down and look at the map again.
He's managed to memorize the location of Ylisstol, more or less. The northern tip of the large lake in the south-east, large enough that it could almost be called a sea really. At least, he figures. He's flown part of its length, and it'd taken him a good chunk of an afternoon. So he knows roughly where he is. The question is, where is this Regna Ferox?
Robin had called it the country to the north. Well, there was certainly a lot of north.
"It's like half the map!" he scowls.
Closer examination reveals a strange blocky line that separates the northern half of the map from the southern. He'd assume that it's the border between this Ferox place and Ylisse, but if that's the case shouldn't there be another line separating Ylisse and Plegia? Wherever Plegia is on this map? There's a chunk of land that takes up about half of the southern half, to the west of Ylisstol, connected only by a strip of land between the ocean and another huge body of water right in the center of the continent. But no line separating anything.
Which once more begs the question, what the heck is the line?
He gives up on trying to figure it out. He'll travel north until the land below stops being Ylisse, and assume he's in Ferox. And then he'll find this Eastern Khan or whatever. Plan set, he tucks away the map and drapes the blanket over himself. It's nice and heavy, like all of Robin's blankets, which is good because there is a sharp chill to the air. Perhaps the year is turning towards winter?
The canopy of the tree is thick with leaves, but there is a gap right above him, large enough that he can see the stars twinkle above. He watches them until he finally falls asleep.
He begins early, before the sun has even risen. The sky above is dark blue, a shade brighter than the night sky, but the world below it still remains dark. As tempted as he is to oversleep, he can't manage it. His back is sore, and there's a slight crick in his neck. Has he really lost his edge that quickly?
He stretches for a moment, twisting this way and that. He probably looks like a lunatic, doing yoga in the woods. Whatever, it isn't like there is anyone around. When he finally feels limber enough, he bounces on his feet before taking off into the sky. Several birds, who'd started their early morning chorus, cry in alarm.
Yesterday's chill remained in the air. It's only exacerbated as he climbs higher into the sky. Not above the clouds, though he's sorely tempted too. Often he's pierced seas of thick clouds, emerging high above them and into a sunny and clear world, with nothing but gray and white beneath him, silent but for the wind.
But he needs to keep an eye on the ground, to make sure he doesn't veer wildly off course. In any case the sky isn't particularly overcast, though there are a couple of plump clouds in the otherwise clear skies.
He doesn't fly for long. He flies until he finds a body of water that doesn't look like it's just pond muck. What he finds is a small river, winding through the forest. Perfect.
Or, nearly perfect. The water runs, which is a plus, but it's cold . It's already cold, and he frankly doesn't even want to think about stepping out of the river once he's braved into it. But it's not deep enough for him to dive into and get it over with, so he lands and strips down to his underclothes. Grabbing the bar of soap he'd stolen, he wades into the water. He curses with every agonizing slow step.
He could've skipped the bath. It wasn't feasible to have a bath everyday unless you lived somewhere, really. Preferably with working plumbing. But if he was supposed to be playing messenger, then he probably had to look nice or something.
He endeavors not to think about nice hot baths. At all. He stares at his tunic, considering if it needs to be cleaned. The idea of waiting for it to dry on a chilly morning makes the decision for him. This khan or whatever would just have to deal with it. As he dries off with a towel that he might've stolen, he watches the river dance. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, sending streaks of light across the sky.
He takes off again, cleaned and far more awake than he had been before. This time he doesn't intend to stop until he finds Regna Ferox.
He finds out what the squiggly line on the map is.
The sun finally rose, washing the world in some much needed warmth. The skies are still clear of clouds, a bright expanse of blue. He stretches his wings as he glides lazily, basking in the warmth of the sunlight, when he spots The Wall.
It deserves the capitals. He'd seen the fortifications most human citadels used. Solid works of stone and earth, meant to repel any attacking armies. From the skies, most of them were quaint. Those walls of stone did nothing against the assaults of the Underworld Army, let alone the godly Forces of Nature. Ylisstol's fortifications had been even less than some of the cities he'd seen. The city had been remarkably open .
The Wall was no mere earthen wall. Not just any fort. It made the ramparts of castles seem like wooden palisades. It stretched across the land as far as he could see in either direction, without end. And it wasn't a thin thing either. It was thick enough that you could lose houses within it. It was as if a god had taken a bunch of appropriately sized bricks and decided to just lie them together.
He came to a stop, marveling at the sight. Even he'd have to expend some effort into putting a dent into it. The Underworld Army probably would have had to pull out a big Boss to break through it.
That is, if they'd been confined to the land. Once again, humanity's earthbound fortune foiled them. Still, it's a cool wall.
He consults the map again. Now that he knows what the squiggly line is, he knows roughly where he is. Which means…
Well, it doesn't mean anything. What kind of map has all the mountains and forests and lakes and a wall , but no cities or towns?
Admittedly, the Wall deserves to be on a map, but he could've done with some cities.
He looks back down at the wall again. He can make out the shapes of human soldiers gathering, the tips of their spears shining in the sun. One or two point at him, and he narrows his eyes.
He could ask them where the khan of Ferox were. But he doesn't particularly like the way they were pointing at him.
So he flies past the wall, as fast as he can. He's tempted to fire a warning shot at the Wall, to remind them to mind their business, before deciding against it. He was, what, technically on a diplomatic mission?
So what if the dumb map didn't have any cities on it? He knew where he was, and it wouldn't be that hard to find some great big castle, right?
He lands around noon. Though the sun is high in the still clear skies, it has only grown colder. As he carefully lands on boulder, he briefly muses if he should've taken more stuff from Robin.
His breath forms mist. Wisps of steam rises from his wings. As he relaxes, he observes his surroundings.
He's taken the breather because of the bolder. A large stone sat in the center of a circular forest clearing, the first spot free of snow he's seen since the morning. Ferox, as it turns out, is a land of dark forests and snow. Lots of snow.
The trees are different from the ones in Ylisse. They are different from the ones he saw most of the time. They grow from the ground like needles, straight up. Fitting considering that instead of leaves they grew thick bundles of green needles, sticky to the touch and sharp in smell. Like their leaves, the trees too grew close together.
When he leans down to look at the bolder he was sitting on, he sees what he expects. The rock is decorated. A thick rope is tied around it, old and weathered. The stone itself looks jet black, except on closer inspection. Threads of pale white, gold, and green crisscross the stone. When he brushes his hand across the boulder, he feels the ghosts of countless others who had repeated that action.
He considers whether he should find someplace else. The stone is clearly something divine. The last thing he wants to do is take a nap and be interrupted by some god shouting at him.
The ground around him for miles is covered in a thick blanket of snow. He doesn't mind it, but snow and sandals weren't a winning combination. Finally with a shrug he leans back. Lying atop the boulder, watching the bright clear skies, his hands behind his head.
If someone wants to complain, they can do it to his face.
After a moment, he pulls out a tin of cookies. He had taken them from Maribelle when she wasn't looking the other day. A good thing too. He hadn't exactly had time to steal food, and Robin didn't keep any snacks in her own room. He can go a fair amount of time without food, if he has to, which he doesn't. The khans are going to have to pay him in food for his services, when he finally gets to them.
The biscuits at least are good.
The thought that they would be better with tea buzzes around his head, and he brushes it away. He lies on the bolder, eating crumbly sweet biscuits, and watches the scant clouds pass by.
Several times, He had flown straight up into the sky. Just to see how far he could go. Slightly less than several times, he'd managed to reach the point where the world became black.
So high up that the sea of clouds that made up the sky as seen from the earth was a featureless blanket below. When he'd first climbed up that high, leaving behind the clouds as he ascended the heavens, he thought that he might've left them behind for good. The skies that high up were a desolate place. Empty, for the most part, the sky so blue it stung. It grew warmer the higher you went too, which was just bizarre. And he'd ascended further, until the skies began to become black as the air grew thinner and the temperature plummeted once more. Until he had seen thin glowing clouds high above him, clouds that settled against the heavens as if he were underwater looking up.
Once or twice he'd tried to go further beyond that. It hadn't worked out. He would probably need a god protecting him from the elements or something. At least until he figured things out.
The memory comes to him because he's pretty sure he's reached the edge of the world again.
Before him stretches a sea of ice. He's reached a coast, which is his first inkling that things weren't quite right. And when he looks out towards the horizon, he sees great icebergs floating in the dark sea, and beyond on the distant horizon is white. Such white that he knew if he flew further, he'll see the sea frozen over and who knew what else.
He hovers over the craggy coast for a moment. A glance at the map tells him what he already knows. Unless the khans of Ferox live on glaciers, he's gone too far up. Grumbling as he stuffs away the map, he turns around. He gives one last glance at the icy sea. The urge to fly out, over the edge of the map, suddenly seizes him. Probably nobody has ever gone that far out.
After a moment of staring out at the edge of the known, and wondering what is beyond, he turns around and begins following the coastline. Eventually he'll find something that was recognizable on the map, and then he'll get his bearings.
Flakes of snow began to fall from the sky, twirling in the strong sea breeze. And so he flies East, a dark comet against the icy twilight horizon, over the craggy northern shores of Regna Ferox.
What starts as snowfall becomes a storm. What was a storm roars to life as a blizzard, before long. The world turns blinding white and bitter cold, filled with nothing but howling winds.
He's flown through worse. Much worse. But after a near crash, the dark waters of the sea suddenly filling his vision after a particularly strong gale, he has to concede that shelter might be a priority.
The problem is finding it.
He doesn't know which way is inland. Can't see it, and the wind trying to dash him into the earth is of no help either. He can try to outrun the storm, but considering the circumstances – there's only a single direction, isn't there?
Hoping that he's not about to go the wrong way, he flies. Up, and up, and up, faster and faster. The storm surrounds him, a thousand invisible claws trying to drag him back and dash his body against the rocks or the waves. The world, impossibly, grows whiter.
And then, black. Were it not for the stars above, he might've thought he'd suddenly become blind.
He flies until the storm, with its sharp ice and buffeting winds, is a comfortable distance below him. He can't leave behind the cold, though. With the swirling storm below him and the cosmos stretching high above, He curls up as best he can. Frost coats his clothes, though thankfully not his wings. He breathes into his hands, trying to warm up stiff fingers. They burn, frozen as they are. His breath looks like the clouds below.
He can't see the edges of the storm. Can't see the sea or land. Rubbing life back into his hands, he looks up. Searching the cosmos, he finds what he's searching for eventually.
It's not the brightest star in the sky, by any means, but it's bright enough. What denotes it as special was that it sat unmoving in the sky, night after night. The pole star, he thinks humans call it. It's one of the few he knows the name of.
Though…it doesn't quite look like it usually does.
It's a strange thought. Stars didn't change, and especially not this one. But looking at it, he can't ignore the faint suspicion.
He cups his mouth and gave one last exhale. His hands aren't shaking anymore, at least, though they still sting.
"Must be more tired than I thought," he grumbles. Shaking his head vigorously, he flies south. Eventually he'd reach land proper.
It's a human village.
He doesn't know its name. It's not on that map - not that there's anything on the map - and it's small. Really, it's just a collection of buildings nestled in the woods. If it weren't for the smoke, he'd have flown on past without ever even knowing it was there.
A large bonfire sits somewhere near the village center. Around it is a crowd. The whole village, it seems. They're celebrating something, though what he has no clue. The murmur of the village is genial, with shouts of revelry. Humans are dressed in furs and bright dresses. He sees a young man being given a crown of flowers by a young woman, an amused group gathered around them.
What most grabs his attention is the food. The smell of it, of roasting meats and baked desserts, nails him to his perch. He sits on the branch of a tree on the village outskirts, unable to tear his gaze away from the buffet.
He's run out of whatever snacks he'd brought with him. Foraging for food doesn't sound appealing, especially with the bounty before him. He could just swoop in and steal a loaf of bread, and none of these humans could stop him, could they?
His trance is broken by an inquisitive "caw?".
He jerks his head to the side, wings folding back against his back. A crow stares at him, tilting its head.
Self-consciously wiping his mouth, he scowls at the bird.
"What do you want?"
The crow doesn't answer. At least, not in a way that he can understand. It caws, hopping closer towards him. It jerks back as he swats a hand towards it.
"Buzz off," he says, "Find your own branch. It's not like there aren't any others."
He gestures to the entire forest around them, before returning his gaze to the human village.
He could use that cape that Emmeryn had given him. If he hid his wings he could probably walk into the village without a problem, and…pinch some food and fly away to escape. It's not like he has money. And humans didn't take Hearts. He'd learnt that the hard way. At that point he might as well just swoop in from the sky and steal stuff like that.
And if he did that, he'd have to figure out what to nab. The meat roasting on the fire, tempting as it was, probably wasn't worth it. Maybe the pies?
His daydreams about dinner were cruelly interrupted by the crow, who'd sidled up to him as close as it could before yanking on a feather.
"Aagh-!"
The crow gave a hoarse laugh, that only grew more raucous as he lunged for it and nearly fell out of the tree. It takes flight, still laughing.
"Oh, you're going to regret that," he growls, and flies after the bird.
Above, the sky fills with heavy grey clouds, and a frigid wind gusts through the forest.
The second storm in just as many days.
He trudges through the forest, thick flakes of snow falling around him. The same trees that were until now protecting him from the worst of the storm mean that he can't just fly above the storm again, even if he wanted to. He swears that someone's probably messing with him. He'll find them and make them regret everything, if so. For now, he has to get out of the snow.
The crow's mocking laughter, muffled by the quickly growing storm, disappears just as his next step takes him down.
He stumbles, tumbles, falling and rolling down into the earth. When he comes to a stop, he can't tell up from down, or anything else for that matter. He's fallen into some kind of hole.
A warm one. A comfortable one. Downright cozy, even if he can't see a damn thing.
The snowstorm is a distant sound. Upon briefly considering climbing back outside, and into that, he wraps his wings around him and gets comfortable. He considers taking out Robin's blanket, before deciding that it's warm enough already.
His stomach grumbles, and he grumbles along with it. Food, and finding the khans of Regna Ferox, will be a problem for tomorrow. After the snowstorm.
He wakes up, warm and comfortable.
It takes him a moment to realize that he's woken up because whatever he's been lying against is moving.
His mind, still sluggish from sleep and warmth, kicks into overdrive when he falls backwards and looks into two glowing eyes. With a startled yell he clambers to his feet and climbs out of the den as fast as he can on all fours. Just as he crawls out, light on snow blinding him, from behind him comes the 'whoosh' of something very big moving very fast. Blinking away tears, he stumbles to his feet and turns around.
It isn't a bear. This isn't a comfort, since whatever it is looks like it could take out a bear no problem.
Its body was lithe, a strange word to describe something that is easily twice his height and was more solidly built than the Wall. Most of its fur is dark brown like bark, but its face and legs were cream. And it wore armor. Scuffed to the underworld and back, and only on its legs and belly, but undeniably plum coloured armor. Which is weird, since the creature didn't have thumbs for the straps so much as it had claws .
It is the ears that clue him into what he's looking at. Long, more than half its length, and sticking straight up.
"Are you some kinda," he begins, "Monster bunny?"
The monster bunny stares down at him. Steam rises from its body, its breath in the cold air nearly looking like a dragon's. Finally, it falls back to all fours. Its ears relax back against its back. Before he can blink, the creature is right in his face. This close up, he can see its whiskers. The longest of which go all the way to its shoulder. Red eyes stare into red eyes.
The creature speaks.
"Who are you?"
' A talking monster bunny! '
"Who's asking?" he asks, marveling at the creature.
The monster bunny sniffs him. He doesn't think that's particularly fair, since he took a bath just two days ago. And he's definitely not edible – a lesson he's had to teach a few animals and monsters before. But the monster bunny doesn't seem hungry. Not nearly as hungry as he is.
As if to punctuate the point, his stomach chooses that point to growl. Loudly.
The monster bunny tilts its head as he blushes.
"Ignore th-" he began.
"Wait here."
The monster bunny's voice is a deep growl, a low contralto. With that command, the monster bunny goes back into the burrow. It's burrow, he realizes. In a flash she's gone, back into the earth.
"…"
He looks up at the sky. The crow that had been bothering him yesterday stares back down at him. It's joined by several friends.
"This is your fault," he tells them.
One of them caws.
"I'm serious," he scowls, "What, were you hoping that by badgering me into that hole I'd get ripped into pieces or something? Too bad for you. Guess you're going to starv-"
Something falls on him. He blinks and looks down. The acorn that had bounced off his forehead sat in the snow, innocently.
"Alright, that's it!" he screams, scooping up the acorn along with a handful of snow. The crows caw raucously.
"We'll see who's laughing in a moment…" he mutters, patting the snow down into a snowball, with the acorn neatly in the center. Just as he pulls his arm back, ready to throw a fastball, some more things fall on his head. These turn out to be an assortment of vegetables, significantly larger than an acorn. The snowball falls to the ground as he tries to shield himself from the sudden onslaught. When it stops, he peeks up. The monster rabbit stares down at him. An empty sack is in her mouth.
He glances down at the assortment of vegetables. He picks up a cold yam. After a moment of consideration, he bites into it.
"That was a bad idea," he grumbles while chewing, making a face.
"You are not a taguel to eat it like that," the monster bunny admonishes.
"Then why'd you give it to me?" he retorts.
The monster bunny, rather than answering, begins to dig. Snow flies into the air, followed shortly by dirt. Soon there's sizable hole. Before he can ask, the monster bunny runs off. Not very far, mind. He watches as the monster bunny runs up a tree, breaking off several of the branches. Deliberately, he realizes, once there's a pile of branches in her mouth. The monster bunny lands on all fours, more snow flying into the air, and then walks over. Stripping some of the branches of their leaves and dropping them into the earth, the monster bunny hunches over them. He doesn't see what she does, but when she backs away from the hole, smoke rises into the air.
The monster bunny sits down by the growing fire. Carefully watching her, he does the same on the opposite end. The heat is welcome, and he begins to warm his hands by the fire.
"So what?" he asks, "Do we just chuck these into the fire and pull them out before they get burned?" he asks, bouncing the yam in his hands.
"No one taught you how to cook," the monster bunny says. It is a blunt observation.
"Hey!" he growls, "I know enough!"
"When the fire grows hot enough, such that it has nearly burned itself out. We will bury the food in those hot ashes until they are baked," she explains.
"...Huh," he says, "That's...simple. Always thought cooking needed, yknow, stuff."
"Perhaps humans require such tools," the monster bunny growls, "But we do not."
It's a fair response. He has personally never cooked a single thing in his life.
The two of them sit there, silently, for a moment. The fire crackles and grows between them.
"You never answered my question," he finally says.
The monster bunny stares at him as the smoke rises between them, growing thicker.
"And which one is that?" she asks.
"Who are you ," he asks, "I've never seen anyone like you before."
The monster bunny stands still for a moment. The only sound is the crackle of wood eaten by fire. The growing smoke and firelight is almost incongruous with the soft sunlight spilling across the snowy forest, the sky filling with hues of pink and blue.
"I am Panne," she says at last. The wind blows suddenly, sending the smoke right into his face. He coughs and flaps his wings. As he wipes away tears, he swears he sees the smudged shape of the monster bunny change.
When his sight clears a woman, inhuman, sits across the fire from him. Her red eyes bore into his.
"And I am the last of the Taguel."
She's not like anyone he's ever seen before. Not human, not an Underworld monster, or one of Viridi's freaks of nature. She's not any other kind of monster either. He wonders briefly if she's like a werewolf or something, before deciding that were-rabbits aren't a thing that exist. Probably. It'd be like if vampire bunnies existed or something. Besides, it wasn't even a full moon.
She could be a minor god or a spirit, but he doesn't get that impression from her. The way she said that she was the last of the Taguel, whatever those were…
Panne stares at him. He stares back.
He's the one that breaks the silence first.
"What?" he asks, wings hunching.
Panne continues to stare at him. Her gaze is sharp and searching. In response, he scowls.
The fire burns out.
Panne finally stops staring at him, now staring down at the dwindling embers. She makes a sound and picks up one of the upturned vegetables.
"Bury them in the ashes," she orders, before doing just that. He bristles, before grumbling and following her lead.
"Does the name Laguz mean anything to you, child?" her voice is nearly the same as it had been before. All that has changed is that it is a tad softer, and without the growl it had before he can hear the slight burr of an unfamiliar accent.
"Huh?" he looks up from where he was attempting to bury the yam into the hot ashes. The thing is, they are still hot, and he's not just going to stick his hand in.
Panne shares no such feeling, burying the vegetables into the ashes. Giving a look at the smoldering ashes, he finally just starts tossing the vegetables into the hole.
"Laguz? Can't say I've ever heard of it," he answers.
"Is that so?"
Her voice is nearly the same. Her expression barely changed. But he still glances at her, and frowns. For some reason, she seems…tired.
"Why do you ask?"
Panne takes a moment to answer, placing leafy branches over the cooking hole.
"It is what we are," she says at last, "The Laguz are a people of two shapes. The Taguel are but a small tribe, who left the home of the Laguz and came to these lands countless centuries ago."
Panne stares at the fire, but her gaze seems fixed on something further away.
"It is said that just as the Taguel could shift freely between a form like a hare and a form like a man, so could the other tribes. There were Laguz who took the forms of great lions, of those who took the form of noble wolves."
Panne's eyes snap towards him.
"Even," she says, "Of those who had wings, who took the forms of the nimble hawk, the graceful heron, and the clever crow."
One of the craws caws. He glares at it.
"Would you just buzz off?!" he snaps. When he looks back, Panne is still watching him.
"...So, you thought I was one of these Laguz?" he asks, "Hate to break it to you, but I'm not. Can't shapeshift or anything…Though it'd be cool if I could," he muttered.
"Yet you are not human," Panne said.
"Heck no," he agrees, "I'm an angel. My name is…" he hesitated, "...Well, anyway. I'm not a Laguz."
Panne watches him carefully, but remains silent.
In the silence, he wonders.
To be the last of something…He wants to say that he's never given a thought about it. That Panne's words mean nothing to him.
Aside from Pit, he's never seen another angel.
They existed. He knew this. He knows this. Otherwise, if he and Pit were something unique, there would be no word "angel".
They existed. Or perhaps, they had existed.
He couldn't remember. Did that mean that his dumber twin hadn't ever met any either? Or maybe he just hadn't been saddled with those particular memories. Had angels served Palutena? Or had she just found one in a wet cardboard box in the rain somewhere?
Had Pit ever wondered? Had he ever wondered if there were other angels? Had he asked Palutena? The Goddess of Light was many things, but if there were other angels out there, she would've told him. So did that mean that Pit had never asked? Or…
He stares at Panne. The last of the Taguel, by her own words.
How was she so sure? Had she searched? If so, for how long?
How long did one have to search before realizing they were the last?
Did she remember the other taguel?
"I see," Panne said at last, closing her eyes. He watches her, his wings curling around him. When Panne opens her eyes a moment later, they are inscrutable once more.
"I have not seen your kind before," she says.
"You're the first Laguz or whatever that I've ever met," he points out, "In any case, it doesn't surprise me. There…There aren't any other angels around. As far as I know," he says gruffly.
Why did he tell her that?
Panne exhales softly. He's not sure if he's imagining it, but her expression seems to become…softer.
"Little angel," he bristles slightly. Panne continues, unheeding, "What brings you here?"
He considers telling her to mind her own business. Instead, he props his cheek against his hand and says, "I'm lost."
"Lost?"
"Yeah," he groans, before perking up, "Hang on, maybe you can help me. Do you know where the Khan of Ferox is?"
Panne's brow furrows.
"What business do you have with the manspawn's khan?" she asks.
"I've got a delivery for him," he explains, "From Emmeryn of Ylisse."
He doesn't miss how Panne tenses at the name "Ylisse".
"And why?" Panne asks carefully, "Do you play the role of messenger for Ylisse?"
He shrugs.
"It's a one time thing, for a favour she did for me. She healed my wing."
Technically it had been Cordelia's fault, sorta, that it got broke in the first place.
"She did?" Panne asks, surprised.
"Yeah, personally. You'd think she'd have better things to do," he says.
Panne makes a contemplative sound.
"Anyway, I'm supposed to deliver this letter," he takes out the letter and waves it around, "to the Khan of Ferox. Problem is, this stupid map I've got is…well, stupid. It doesn't have any cities or towns or anything on it."
"I see."
"I flew all the way to the sea!" he complains, "I mean, you'd think there would at least be a little star where the capitals of countries are, right? Not this map! Oh no, they had to make room for the Wall," he sneers.
Panne stays silent.
"Anyway," he coughs, wishing that Pit didn't have the tendency to blush like he was being boiled, "If you could point me out to where the Khan is, I'd appreciate it."
"I do not concern myself with the trifles of manspawn," scorn practically drips from the last word, caustic and hissing. He's honestly impressed. The only person he knows who can beat that is Viridi. And mostly she just screamed.
"Okay? Not even a little clue?" he asks.
At this rate, he'll never find the Khan.
Panne huffs, before closing her eyes. Just as he wonders if she's ignoring him, she speaks.
"The manspawn in this area have been moving towards the west these past weeks, " she says, "Bands of them, all warriors. They appeared to be heading to the same place."
"Well, it's a clue at least…" he grumbles. It's better than the map, that's for sure.
Panne sniffs the air. After several small thoughtful sniffs, she turns her attention to the hole she had dug. Brushing aside the leafy cover, a plume of pleasant smelling steam rises into the air.
His stomach chooses that moment to make itself known, yowling in distress. Panne pulls out a baked yam with a chunk bitten out of it. She smiles, a small curl to her lips, as she tosses it to him. He catches it, and then promptly tosses it from one hand to the next in an effort not to burn himself. He can feel the blush burn all the way to the tips of his ears, and curses his dumber twin once more.
"Make sure you brush away all the ashes," Panne warns, plucking another baked vegetable.
He rolls his eyes, but lowers the yam and does as she says.
It's not the greatest thing he's eaten. But it's nowhere near the worst thing either. As he scarfs down the food, Panne speaks.
"If we start after we are done eating," she says, "We should find some of those manspawn before night falls. They will be able to tell us what you seek."
He nods, only to pause mid-bite once the words sink in it.
""We"?" he repeats.
"I intend to guide you to the khan," Panne says. It's nowhere near a question.
"...Not that I don't appreciate the offer," he begins slowly, "But I'm good. You wouldn't be able to keep up anyway."
He flaps his wings for emphasis.
"I will not deny that you are faster than me," Panne says, "But considering that you have somehow come from Ylisse and gone to the sea, without finding a single city? At this rate, you'll never find the khan," she says bluntly.
He bristles, and glares at her.
Panne stares back, unfazed.
Above them, a crow caws.
Panne wins, in the end.
Some fun thoughtful alone time with our favorite angel! I've been excited to write this chapter for a while, especially near the end when I realized that Panne would make an appearance. Dark Pit strikes me as a character who, despite his sarcasm and sass, spends most of his time alone.
Thanks for reading. Tune in next chapter!