Weary Soldier, Wander Home

WrenBaile

The seeder led them through the dark jungle only for a few minutes, until they were in front of a doorway carved into a rock formation. Vines, as they had everything in the dome, were in the process of choking it into near-invisibility, and Sift knew that had they walked past this by themselves looking for a way out, they never would have seen it. Instead, their impromptu guide used her slender hands to sweep the vines aside, revealing a black hole in what should have been solid. 

“Follow,” she said for a third time, but Sift could not blindly trust this. Could not let Ricochet, slumped over his back but still, somehow, supporting much of her own weight, fall victim to another trick because he did not do his due diligence. 

Not that there was much he could do. Their choices were to trust this stranger, or strike out on their own into a jungle filled with things with teeth and claws, with the only ways back home hidden from their untrained eyes.

But he had to ask.

“Is it safe?” he prompted. “It’s not a trick? It will take us outsi- take us Above?”

The Seeder’s long neck curled as she turned to look at him.

“Nowhere safe,” she intoned, and Sift felt a frisson of terror slither down his neck before she continued. “But here, safest.”

More cryptic pedantry. But it was an answer.

“Not a trick?” he pressed.

She continued to stare. 

“Follow.”

And there was nothing else to do but obey.

---

They stumbled their way out of the tunnel into cool, crisp night air. It didn’t feel real, but the raw, unfiltered, real air let his lungs expand fully for what seemed like the first time in years, relaxing infinitesimally after the tension of Atlantis. But it didn’t make the disorientation go away- he couldn’t tell the difference between the overcast night sky and the falseness of the dome, and after hours- had it been hours? He had lost track early on- in a mouldering, blacker than night stone tomb, he wasn’t sure he cared which he was seeing.

But there was no jungle, and as he looked around, all there was to be seen was the scrublands of the island. Nothing more, nothing less.

Their Seeder guide had not walked as far from the plant-strangled tunnel mouth as they had, and lingered there as Ricochet fought to stay upright. Sift finally let her gently slide to the ground for a rest. They hadn’t been able to stop in the tunnel, not that he would have wanted to, and the hard pace had taken its toll.

Unable to forget their guide’s eerie gaze on his skin, he turned to her with a grudging realization.

“Thank you,” he said, reluctantly, but not ungrateful. “We wouldn’t have made it out without your help.”

The Seeder’s pale gaze did not waver.

She wasn’t going to respond, he realised. Whatever tongue she spoke to her fellows, she did not deign to speak the common one more than necessary. Platitudes and pleasantries clearly did not rank high enough.

But she wasn’t going to attack them, he was fairly certain. She would have had ample opportunity in the tunnel, with the stonebrows boxed in and blind, and though the seeders were frail little creatures, those claws could have been painful if used right. Regardless, he decided their business with her was done. He had more important things to worry about.

Like Ricochet, crumpled in a miserable, shivering puddle on the bare earth beside him.

“Right,” he said to no one in particular. It was going to be a long night.

Ricochet’s head lifted slightly as he spoke. She’d thrown up again in the tunnel, in a small but violent series of heaves. Her pupils, he noted, were still odd sizes. He didn’t like that, or the way her tongue was not sitting normally in her mouth. He could tell, because as she turned her head, he could see it sticking out the side of her lips slightly.

She would never let herself look so undignified if she had been in her right mind, he thought unhappily. They needed to get out of here- and more importantly, home. Somewhere safe where they could assess her situation, and maybe even do something about it.

She wouldn’t be leaving for her travels as soon as she’d hoped to, he thought absently, crouching beside her again. This injury was deeper than her skin, and would take time. 

How much time, it was impossible to say. But not forever, he decided. It couldn’t be forever.

It couldn’t.

“Time to walk again,” he said softly. She looked up at him foggily.

“Wherrre?” 

Her clarity had not returned at all despite the hours since he’d last prompted words from her. That didn’t feel like a good sign.

“Home still,” he said. “I know we’ve been walking a long time, but we aren't there quite yet. I’m sorry.”

She squinted at him.

“That means you have to help me to help you stand,” he explained patiently. “Just like before. Except we won’t have to walk quite as long this time.”

Now that they were free from the dome, breaks could be longer, and more frequent. The dangers of the island seemed to pale in comparison- he knew the dangers here. He could plan for them, prevent them, escape them. He could do none of that below. Ricochet had tried, and he’d been rattled to discover there were, in fact, variables she couldn’t account for.

She seemed to get the message, and leaned forward, wobbling, as she stood. As soon as he could fit, he wedged his own shoulder under her chest, and helped her weight back up to full height.

Now they could move.

He looked behind him again, one last time, and the seeder was gone. Melted away as if she’d never been.

But the vines covering the tunnel entrance, seeping out of the dome like an infection in the blood, were moving slightly. She’d gone home.

Good riddance, he thought. May the glass break and take them all with it. A sacrifice to the sea- maybe it would be kinder to Highcliff, if it had eaten well.

Highcliff.

They were so close. It would be easy now, he hoped. They wouldn’t be able to handle anything else.

The night air was invigorating, for whatever dregs of wherewithal he had left in his body. There was nothing to do now but keep walking, and as they took their first steps, Ricochet an ever-present weight, he thought that all they had to do was make it to the sea, and then they could follow its steady course to Highcliff, and then they could breathe, and then, and then.

 

Kas

 

Deerlegs and Embargo were starting to get slow. They had been fueled by adrenaline and fear until this point, but now that they were out of Atlantis, now that they knew they were not being pursued, now that they were starting to feel their injuries dragging them down, the drain of their fatigue and hunger and thirst… It was getting harder to continue for as long as they had been. Which was cruel, considering how close they were to Highcliff now. They were so close to being able to rest, getting a real meal, quenching their thirst.

Or she thought they were getting close. She didn’t really recognise any of the surrounding landscape, except that it was scrubland. All that she knew was that they were heading towards the coast. If they could find the coast, then they could travel alongside it and… eventually find their way home.

Deerlegs glanced at Embargo, who still dutifully clung to the armour bundle that they had stolen from the Atlaneans, then at Hollyhock who all but clung to her ankle as she limped across the scrublands. Both looked as tired as she felt, even though Embargo was trying to maintain a stoic expression. The dark male glanced towards her, the glow of his eyes brilliant compared to the dullness of the moon. At least, by now, the sun had gone. He had yet to fully shake off the fever that had clouded his mind in the dome and walking under the sun had almost been unbearable, especially with the darkness of his scales, especially with the extra weight he was carrying. The night was a relief. It hid them from prying eyes, except for the stars that lay scattered over his hide and the few long, glowing quills along his back.

Even in the dark, even though she seemed to be trying to either ignore it or hide it, Embargo had noticed that Deerlegs’s limp was worsening. Blood was dripping from her feathers again. Infrequently, but dripping all the same. He could smell it. He gave Deerlegs the slightest dip of his head in encouragement. He was fine. He could keep going as long as she could, but they could rest now. For Hollyhock’s sake, if not theirs. The young pachy was stumbling almost as much as they were.

“We’re almost there,” Deerlegs kept encouraging her. Embargo wasn’t sure that Hollyhock was really hearing what she was saying, just taking comfort in the sound of a gentle voice. His jaw clenched. Hers was likely not the last family that the Atlanteans destroyed.

“Embargo.” Deerlegs’s voice was quiet. It was a warning just as much as it was something to get his attention.

Embargo glanced up, halting when he noticed that neither she nor Hollyhock were moving anymore. He raised his head, looking around for what had drawn her attention. It was not a visual, but a scent. Blood. He had been so focused on the strengthening scent of Deerlegs’s wounds that he hadn’t noticed the presence of even more.

The stench of blood - fresh blood - in the air put the three on edge. Hollyhock all but hid herself underneath Deerlegs, while the two older pachys stood on high alert. They couldn’t see anything threatening or unsettling in the dark, but there were plenty of stone, scrubland brushes, and clumps of dried grass around to obscure what dangers might lurk on the plateau. Deerlegs was braced, waiting to hear a familiar, blood-curdling shriek to break the silence.

But nothing came.

She still flinched violently when a muffled clank came from behind her. Embargo set the armour bundle down as quietly as he could, tilting his head in wordless apology for disturbing her. “I’ll go check it out.” If it wasn’t a carnivore that caused the apparent carnage, they could have stumbled across another Atlantean bloodbath. He glanced towards Hollyhock. “You stay with her.”

Deerlegs, as ever, felt like she could argue, but this was not an argument that she wanted to have, nor one that she thought she would win. She dipped her head, staying on high alert as she nudged Hollyhock and encouraged her to shelter under a shrub. Deerlegs could only watch silently as the pale green glow silhouetting Embargo’s form left her and cautiously approached the scent of blood.

He walked as quietly as he could, keeping a low profile in hopes that his surroundings would obscure him from any malicious onlookers and choosing each step with care. The closer he got, the more he began to feel that his suspicions were correct: there was an undercurrent of Atlantis beneath the thickening scent of blood.

He could just make out shapes in the distance, but he couldn’t quite tell what they were - pachy, oviraptor, or utahraptor. Every muscle in his body tensed, prepared for a fight.

 

WrenBaile

 

They’d been resting for a while now, Ricochet panting lightly against his side as he kept watch. Her eyes were half lidded, which was an improvement. The last time they’d stopped she’d kept them closed the whole time, and it had been a struggle to get her moving again. Or- more than the usual amount of struggle he’d grown accustomed to since they escaped.

Not that it meant much- she’d been wavering back and forth over the last few hours, between deterioration and false recovery. Even her wound had decided to regress- the clotted blood had broken recently, prompting their current rest period while he had found something to stop the new flow with. The scent of blood, something he’d been thankful to wash off in the waterfall, was back once more.

The rocks they were up against had long since lost whatever heat the sun had fed them during the day, but Sift still appreciated them for the wall of protection they provided, however limited it might be. It was one less flank to monitor, and as he scanned across the horizon again, an owl hooted. 

His leg twitched, the overactive muscles, sore from stress and the extra weight they’d been carrying, responding to unbidden commands. His eyes were aching too- they felt thick, and swollen. He needed sleep, but there was no one to watch over him. 

This is why herds were the way of things, he thought. This is why he could never leave Highcliff the way Ricochet did so often.

He did another pass over the horizon, his blinks growing heavier. Maybe a little nap- just a short one. He was too wound up to sleep long anyway-

There was something moving.

He sat up straighter. Ricochet’s head lolled.

There- just a flicker of an eerie glow.

For a minute he thought himself back in the dome, back in the place of strange and creeping horrors, but then the owl called again, and he remembered himself.

They were out- but there was something out there.

Something behind the next closest rock pile, something endeavoring not to be seen.

They were downwind. He couldn’t smell them, but surely they could smell him, and Ricochet.

The blood, he thought. That would carry-

It was too late. There was nowhere to hide, and Ricochet wouldn’t be able to move fast enough anyway. But he could fight, for whatever that was worth. 

He let Ricochet lean against the rocks, moving swiftly but trying to keep her from hitting it too roughly, and stood over her, head down, eyes up.

A pebble slipped, and he braced himself for whatever would emerge.

 

Kas

 

Movement ahead. Embargo paused, a foot raised mid-step as he came around the corner, and stared at the small silhouettes. One of them seemed unresponsive, which was good. It meant he would have an easier fight if that was what it was going to come to. The other… 

Embargo relaxed the slightest amount, and let his foot drop before fatigue made it drop for him. That was a pachycephalosaur’s fighting stance.

He didn’t recognise them, but that didn’t mean much. It was dark, they were obscured in shadows, and beyond the handful that he had been introduced to at Highcliff, he didn’t know a lot of pachys. Even the ones he had been introduced to, he did not fully remember their names yet.

“... Were you attacked?” he asked after a tense moment. Or perhaps the better question was - were their attackers still around? His thoughts went to Deerlegs and Hollyhock. Hollyhock was too small to be fighting anyone, and though Deerlegs would give it her all, she would not be the last one standing in a scrap. He needed to get back to them. They needed to find shelter, especially if there were dangers lurking nearby.

 

WrenBaile

 

The head of a stonebrow appeared from behind the rocks, and Sift recoiled.

The instant wash of relief nearly fogged his vision, but he soon recovered, just in time for it to say-

“... Were you attacked?”

“What?” said Sift, despite himself, adrenaline subsiding in a prickling panic. “What? No- not recently- who-”

He took another look.

The stonebrow’s skin was as black as the night sky around them, but it had small, shining flecks along its flank, which must have been making the glow he’d seen, and- wait.

He squinted. 

“Do I... I know you!” he exclaimed, forgetting stealth at the sight of a vaguely familiar face. He immediately regretted the volume, but it didn’t matter. “You’ve been to Highcliff!” 

 

Kas

 

Embargo shifted his feet and relaxed his posture a bit more. They had not recently been attacked, and they knew of Highcliff. He didn’t recognise the voice, even if they seemed to recognise him. He… was pretty identifiable.

“We’re coming back from Atlantis. Deerlegs is waiting further back.”

If they were a member of the herd, they would likely recognise her name.

Glowing eyes turned towards Ricochet’s body. “Are they still alive?”

There was a hardness to Embargo’s voice, layered with pain and understanding and anger. It would not be the first dead body that he had seen felled by an Atlantean’s claws, or by any claws for that matter, and it gave his words a blunt edge.

If… their paths aligned, he might be able to help Sift take the body back. He could come back for the armour. It was always more important that a body be laid to rest.

 

WrenBaile

 

Deerlegs was out here too? And had been to the dome?

He supposed he was in no position to judge, though he wouldn't have ever dreamed of leaving the herd if it hadn't been for Ricochet’s insistence that she investigate - and his own misguided sense of obligation to someone who was halfway to being a fellow cliffhopper.

Speaking of Ricochet. 

“We've just come from Atlantis as well,” he started. “We didn't know there were more of us down there. And - yes, she's alive.”

He crouched to check on her briefly, pressing his nose to her cheek to feel the slight hollowing and filling of her breath. She turned her head to his, slightly, but didn't open her eyes.

“She got stabbed,” he explained to the newcomer as he continued to do his now-routine check of her injury - he thought he might have heard his name in passing, but it was slipping through his grasp. Something like - Ember? No, that wasn't right. 

“But that's stable for now. The bigger problem is her head. The queen stomped on it, and she hasn't been right since. It's been slow going. She just needs rest. I hope.”

He turned back to the other stonebrow. The drake seemed mostly unharmed, just weary, and covered in small, long scabbed over wounds. Nothing life threatening. But the fact that he had come without his companion -

“How did you and Deerlegs fare?”

 

Kas

 

Embargo watched quietly as Sift checked Ricochet’s breathing. He said she was alive, but it didn’t seem like he was so confident in that assessment.

A head wound like that… Embargo shifted his feet. He had seen albertos and acros alike felled by similar injuries when knocked by a dacen’s tail, either by the force of the impact from the tail or because they stumbled and hit something else. He could help, maybe, after he had retrieved Deerlegs and Hollyhock.

“Better than her,” Embargo replied with a small dip of his head, “but Deerlegs needs to rest, too.”

He glanced over his shoulder, towards where he had come from. Hopefully, she was still standing.

“Can we shelter here with you?” he asked when he turned back towards Sift. Larger numbers could make them an even bigger more noticeable target to anything that might be lurking in the scrublands, but more bodies meant more sentries. They could even take shifts.

 

WrenBaile

 

“Of course,” said Sift, and settled down on his haunches once more. The newcomer, evidently, was not a threat, and whatever strength he’d gathered in case of a fight was now rapidly draining away. “I want to keep moving as soon as Ricochet's capable of it. But we've only been here a little while. A long break would… probably do both of us good. All of us.”

He snorted a humourless laugh, and let his stiff shoulders slump, pressed against the warm bulk of Ricochet, who did not stir.

“And I'd kill for a nap.”

 

Kas

 

Embargo snorted in agreement before he turned and found his way back to Deerlegs and Hollyhock, still cautious in his stride but with more urgency than before.

“It’s me,” he murmured as he grew closer to where he had left them.

Deerlegs relaxed, the sudden rush of relief washing over her making her feel weak. “Everything okay?” she whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t hear any - “

“Other pachys,” Embargo replied, his voice equally low as he grew closer. “From Highcliff, I think,” though he still couldn’t place a name to the voice he had heard.

Deerlegs looked surprised. Others from the herd? They were far from the cliffs, to be out here. She felt a pang of guilt. Hopefully they had not been looking for her, she and Embargo had left in a hurry.

Embargo continued quietly. “They’re resting, wounded by Atlanteans as well.” He glanced down at Hollyhock, who lay dozing at Deerlegs’s feet. “They said we could join them.”

Deerlegs gave a slight dip of her head, a new wave of energy hitting her. After everything, she so badly wanted to see her herdmates again, but knowing that they had been to Atlantis, that they were injured, spurred her on even more. Embers of rage, not yet died out, stirred and sparked in her belly, furious with the Atlanteans and their desire to conquer the islanders once more.

They returned to where Embargo had left Sift and Ricochet as quickly as they could, once they had roused Hollyhock from her restless slumber and he had once more collected the bundle of armour. Embargo called out quietly upon their return, his voice joined by Deerlegs’s.

The scent of blood was worrying, and Hollyhock made a small, uncertain sound.

“Sift?” Deerlegs whispered. She couldn’t quite make out the lump of pachy on the ground. “Is that… is that Rico?”

 

WrenBaile

 

The other male had left to go and retrieve Deerlegs, and Sift rapidly found himself fading. The prospect of being a part of a group, a herd again, even if it was small and makeshift, was intoxicating. Having someone to watch your back if you faltered - Ricochet had been looking out for him in Atlantis, sure, but that had only been one other back to his. And besides, he’d had the sense that it had more been out of a sense of obligation. She hadn’t wanted him along when she left - he had insisted. Two were better than one, in these frightening times.

He probably could have been nicer about it, he mused. A lot had changed in the last few days. He’d thought her rather silly. Impulsive, and a lot of bluster. She had both, but he’d also seen her intuition. She’d shimmied them both out of several scrapes, and maybe, had he listened to her more, or been quicker on the draw, he could have helped. Maybe, they wouldn't have ended up bound and trussed before the queen. 

Maybe, he thought, as her eyes blinked open, slowly, like after a bad night's sleep, none of this would have happened.

Therein laid the path of madness though, he decided a moment later, supporting her head as she struggled to lift it.

“Hmme?” she asked. He only knew what she meant because she’d been saying it every few hours, repeatedly.

“Not quite yet,” he murmured. “Hopefully tomorrow. If we can make enough ground. But we're going to have company soon, so we can have a longer rest.”

He wasn’t sure she could understand anything he told her, but it was best to warn her anyway. Just in case.

A shuffling of skin-on-stone and a soft call alerted him to the return of the eerily glowing drake, who had reappeared by the rocks he’d come from earlier. He was carrying an odd bundle, and this time he was accompanied by an actually familiar face, feathers fluffed up in either pain or cold or exhaustion, he couldn't tell.

“Deerlegs,” Sift breathed with some relief.

Beside him, Ricochet’s lolled head tilted slightly, her eyes unfocused. 

“Drrrligss?”

And curled around the ankle of the hen was another new arrival. A tiny hatchling, eyes bleary but wide, peered at them carefully.

Both carried with them the stench of blood.

Before he could worry about that, Deerlegs spoke, her voice hushed.

“Is that Rico?”

Chest tight with his yearning for home at the sight of someone who grew up hopping the same stones as he, Sift nodded.

“Yes,” he replied, voice equally quiet. “It's been… a bad few days. Though by the looks of it, you haven't had it much better.”

 

Kas

 

“It’s okay,” Deerlegs soothed Hollyhock quietly, trying to keep her words as clear as she could. Her body ached and her mind felt like it was full of seed fuzz. “These are friends.” It was a relief to be amongst more familiar faces again, though Ricochet looked - and smelled, by the blood in the air - like she was in a bad way. “They’ll help us stay safe while we get to my home.”

That seemed enough to settle the exhausted young pachy’s frayed nerves, at least for now, though she still stayed close to Deerlegs. The way that Ricochet was moving was extremely unsettling.

The hen clenched her jaw when she turned her attention towards her herdmates. Embargo put the bundle down as quietly as he could, not trying to draw attention to them if he could help it. Deerlegs needed attention too, but Ricochet sounded like her words were slurring, badly.

“... Atlanteans,” Deerlegs murmured, as though that were explanation enough in response to Sift’s question. She sat as gingerly as she could, though she started to fall before she could fully reach the ground. She uttered a curse when Embargo caught her, her wounds agitated by the abrupt movement. Once she was settled - and it was so good to be laying down on the real ground, beneath the real night sky, looking up at real stars - Embargo turned towards Sift and Ricochet.

“How long has she been like this?” he whispered, keeping his voice low as he studied her. He was careful to not touch her, careful to not disturb any unseen injury that might lie beneath her hide.

 

WrenBaile

 

With the others all settled down alongside him, the knot in his lungs loosened even more. Ricochet, who had been shifting restlessly as they had approached, nostrils flaring as if trying to identify the familiar and unfamiliar scents of friends and injuries, also seemed to be content again. 

Good. 

Deerlegs simple explanation of ‘Atlanteans’ told him all he really needed to know about their misadventure. Who knew what they’d gone through down there, if the stiffness and evident pain in her steps were any indication.

In response to her question, Sift sighed. 

“A while,” he said. “I lost track of time down there, but it was at the end - maybe two days ago, at most? That white Gardener - the Queen. She stomped on Ricochet's head. I’ve not been - I wasn’t sure what to do. We couldn’t stay down there, but once we got out, I figured there was no use staying put. Anyone who could help would be in Highcliff. And I couldn’t leave her by herself.”

He rolled his shoulder, careful not to dislodge her. “I’m worried about her head though. There's nothing there but a small cut and a bit of a bump, but she’s - she vomited a few times. Her pupils aren't the same size, she’s having trouble with her words and she can’t walk straight and her tongue won’t stay in her mouth and her breathing is weird and - ” 

He cut himself off, panting. The fear that had receded was all back now, suffocating him. “And I know she wasn’t awake when I first got to her. There was blood in her ears and she didn’t wake up for a little while. And I know that’s bad, I know it is - ”

 

……

 

Ricochet could hear someone. They seemed upset.

She didn’t feel like anything much herself. It seemed like too much effort.

The warmth she was leaning against was moving. Short, fluttering, frantic movements. She’d smelled familiar scents a little while ago - or at least it felt like a while ago - and everything had gone all still and warm, but it was different now.

Someone was upset.

“What’s wrong,” she said, only it didn’t come out quite right. She tried again anyway, offering the pittance of comfort she could muster. “It’s okay, everything is okay.”

The panicking seemed to stutter.

Maybe she’d helped, she thought.

But everything hurt too much to keep thinking. Not that she could remember what she’d just been thinking.

What had she…

 

……

 

Ricochet was trying to talk. Maybe his talking had woken her.

He tried to calm his breaths as she struggled against him.

“Whhht,” she said. “Tsss. thhhngg yyy.”

She might actually be getting worse, he thought. She hadn't said a fully coherent word in - he wasn't sure how long. 

“There’s nothing we can do about it anyway,” he said, keeping his voice low to try and calm her. Deerlegs and the drake were looking on with consternation. “Not here at least. But what about you both? Deerlegs, he said you were injured?”

There was no help for Ricochet here. But maybe these three had something he could focus on. Something he could help with, or even just - think about. A distraction.

“And - what’s your name?” asked Sift, meeting the glowing gaze of the drake. He felt a little bad for not remembering it from whenever it had surely been mentioned to him before, but decided it was the least of his worries.

 

Kas

 

Embargo stepped back to give Sift room to steady and support Ricochet, quiet as the drake explained her condition. He could not do anything to help, really, other than perhaps give Sift some peace of mind.

Hollyhock curled up tighter into Deerlegs’s feathers when Ricochet attempted to speak. It sounded wrong. And it further confirmed Embargo’s suspicions.

“Slow down, Sift,” Deerlegs murmured as she laid down on her side. It felt so good to be still. She hadn’t realised how her head had been throbbing, how stiff she felt until she had finally stopped moving. She felt nauseous with how hungry she was, or maybe it was how much she hurt. She sighed deeply, her right leg pulled to her body so that the torn muscle didn’t stretch or squish too much.

Embargo watched her, briefly, until she tucked winged arm over Hollyhock and sheltered the small pachy from the cool night air.

“Embargo,” he replied quietly as he turned back towards the pair of pachys unknown to him.

Weariness washed over him. He was feeling the effects of their travel and his days of sickness and broken rest as well. Someone had to stay awake, though.

“The bone is broken inside,” he said, raising a hand to his own dome, “but she’ll live.” She would have died within minutes if the wound was too severe. “She just needs rest, and the wounds kept clean.”

Speaking of injuries, he turned his attention back to Deerlegs. The soft glow of his bioluminescence helped reveal the shine of fresh blood where it made her feathers clump together, leaking from beneath the rushed wound packing he had done. It wasn’t as bad as he thought; the blood would probably stop again on its own while she rested. Which was… fortunate. He did not want to have to tend to the deep gash while Hollyhock was able to see what had happened.

Deerlegs was gazing at Sift and Ricochet, her vision blurring slightly as sleep tried to take her. It was a relief to hear Embargo say that Rico would live, even a small one. The things Sift described… 

“A Gardener got me at the trap they set up,” she whispered. “The banquet.”

She didn’t think she’d ever forget the sounds of death.

“Embargo was very ill after he got bitten by a… a plant with teeth. We ran into Seeders, and - “ She paused, turning her head slightly to glance at Hollyhock. The night-touched pachy seemed to have fallen asleep already, exhausted herself. It saved her from having to listen to them talk about what horrors had transpired.

“The banquet wasn’t the only place of slaughter,” Deerlegs said as quietly as she could, her voice mournful. “We’re taking her to Highcliff.”

 

WrenBaile

 

A broken skull sounded terrifying, but he was relieved to hear that Ricochet would likely survive. The tale of the other pair’s adventure in Atlantis though, was less comforting. It sounded like the dome might have taken many more lives than he’d realised, Sift thought. They’d fought Strength-Of-Wrist on their way out, but he’d been an incidental obstacle. The thought of a trap set by the Gardeners, where they were planning on a slaughter, was horrific.

“We were lucky to not end up there,” Sift murmured. “I’m glad you both made it out.” Both of them, and their new charge, now slumbering peaceably under Deerlegs’ wing.

The stars above them were glimmering, bright and cold and impartial, but they were real. A sign they’d all made it out. He wondered how long it would be before he stopped looking for indications.

Deerlegs injuries looked severe, but the fact that they weren’t pulsing blood despite the constant reopening from movement was a good sign. They could relax, at least until it was time to start moving again. But with a group around them now, their numbers bolstered, they might as well leave it until daylight.

“We should rest,” Sift sighed, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. “While it's still dark. I can take the first watch.”

 

Kas

“I’m glad you made it out, too,” Deerlegs murmured. Now they just had to make it back to Highcliff, and then they could really rest and recover.

She appeared to have no qualms with sleeping and letting Sift take the first watch. Her eyes were closed almost the moment she relaxed her head on the ground, finally letting the effects of exhaustion take her. Hollyhock curled closer into Deerlegs’s feathers, warm and comfortable despite the cooling night air.

Embargo looked satisfied that they were sleeping, but slightly more doubtful when he glanced towards Sift and Ricochet.

“Have you done this before?” he asked quietly. It seemed unlikely that Sift had taken this duty before recently, if he was already getting comfortable. It was hard to stay on watch when you were on the verge of falling asleep.

 

WrenBaile

 

At Embargo’s question, Sift winced.

“...no,” he admitted. “I haven’t- I haven’t needed to.”

It was awkward to be reminded of his lack of real world experience, for lack of a better phrase. He hadn’t thought himself naive before encountering Atlantis, but his time around Ricochet had brought him to a rude awakening. Highcliff was good, and safe, and comforting, but none of those things prepared you for life outside of the shelter.

“I assume I've already done something wrong?”

Kas

Embargo regarded Sift with an unreadable look, his glowing eyes neither judgmental nor empathetic. He was just tired. He shook himself to wake up a bit more. As tired as he was, he would rather stay up longer than leave them without a proper lookout. At least Deerlegs would have a chance to sleep. Hopefully the clear skies and scattered stars would not make him stand out quite so much.

“Sleep for now,” he murmured. “I will wake you when it’s time.”

He turned towards the larger rocks, studying them. He was pretty sure he could make it on top of one of them for a better vantage point.

He kept his voice quiet as he continued, “When you take watch, do not lay down. You will get tired faster. Get somewhere high, so you can see them coming from farther away.”

 

WrenBaile

Sift dipped his head at the advice. He’d started phenomenally, in that case, he thought with a bitter twist of his mouth.

“Alright,” he acquiesced, sighing as he finally laid his head down. “In that case, wake me when you like. We won’t be able to go anywhere tomorrow if we’re both this tired, any sleep either of us can get is valuable, I suppose.”

He could stay awake if he was standing, he mused. He’d been doing so for the last day and a half, or however long it had been. A nap would only make it easier… surely…