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Abaddina’s tea–plus the booze Ashton spiked theirs with–knocks Ashton out as quickly as they could have hoped, especially considering how fucking sore they are. They’d been so used to roughing it before they met the Hells, but these past few nights of camping have sucked, now that they’ve let themself get used to a soft tavern bed every night. Their bedroll spread on the hard floor of the elder’s cottage isn’t inviting, but they’re too exhausted to give a shit.
They’re really looking forward to a few hours of nothingness.
So of course, the universe says fuck you. Again.
Ashton is falling.
They don’t know where they are, they just know the wind is whipping past them violently, and gravity is reaching up for them like angry, grasping hands.
It’s dark, they can’t see anything around them, nothing to grab onto, nothing to break their fall.
And then in a flash there’s too much around them; bodies and debris and plants torn from their roots, and they think instead of falling they’re all spiraling up, like gravity has changed the rules and they’re being sucked into a swirling mass in the sky, and everyone is screaming.
And then someone is laughing.
It’s dark again, and an angel peers down from the sky as Ashton falls and falls and falls, and they know it could catch them, but it just watches.
It watches, and laughs, and lets them shatter apart.
They sit up with a jolt and a gasping breath.” Fuck. ” They breathe, at the way the sudden movement sends their body into protest. They’re sore as fuck from the fight. They rub at their eyes. It’s still dark in the room, so Ashton can barely make out the shapes of the others asleep around them by the light shining out of their temple. He counts the shapes, putting names to them as he goes. Deni$e’s short, sturdy form. Prism’s dainty pose, her book held close to her chest and her bird perched near her head. Bor’Dor’s wiry body, curled up as tightly as he can manage. Laudna’s gaunt hand reaching out to Pâté in her sleep. But no Orym.
A spike of cold panic pierces their chest. Orym’s gone. Orym left. Orym got sick of always cleaning up their messes, of trying to hold them to the right path, Orym saw what fucked up assholes they all are, how fucking broken Ashton is, and decided he was done with them.
Their dream ricochets in their mind. They fell from the sky, again, so why shouldn’t they be left behind?
Ashton’s roaming eyes fall on Orym’s pack, tucked in the corner. His sword and shield are gone, but his other belongings are still here.
Could he have been taken in the night?
Ashton clambers to their feet, as quietly as possible, wincing again as his body protests. He wants to go back to sleep, but knows he won’t be able to until he knows where Orym is. So he shoves the pain aside like always and stumbles out the door.
Night in the village is peaceful. Ashton inhales the cool air, allowing the chill to wake them up a bit more. There’s something about this place. Prism had said magic was stronger. Ashton doesn’t know shit about that, but there’s something in their blood that just feels…right. Despite all the bullshit they’ve been wading through lately.
Trees form a protective ring all around the cabin. Ashton scans them for a small, lithe form.
Nothing. Fuck.
“Orym?” Ashton calls, thinking about every campfire story they ever heard growing up about haunted places and how best to get yourself killed in them. Calling out into the darkness is a stupid move, they know. But so is Orym wandering off on his own. “Orym? Where the fuck are you?”
He scans the trees again. Small as he is, and decked out in green, Orym would be hard to spot among the foliage. Maybe he should wake the others. He does one more pass with his eyes.
There. He wouldn’t have spotted Orym if he hadn’t moved just as Ashton scanned over the branch he’s perched on.
Orym is staring right at them. There’s no way he hasn’t spotted them, or heard them calling his name. Anger flares in Ashton’s gut as he makes eye contact with the halfling.
They both stay frozen like that for a long moment, silent. Ashton wants to scream at Orym, but they don’t know what would be the fucking point. He’s alive. He hasn’t vanished on them. That’s the best they can ask for. Orym doesn’t owe him anything. If he needs his space, shouldn’t Ashton give it to him? It’s not his fault they’re so terrified of losing people that pain pounds through their skull, still, a remnant of that first spike of anxiety from waking up with Orym nowhere to be found.
They turn their back on the tree and go back inside.
***
Orym presses himself against the tree when he hears the cabin door open. At first he thinks it’s Bor’Dor again, come to try to convince him to go to bed. Maybe he should have moved trees after he’d been found.
He glances down, hoping the man will have forgotten where exactly Orym is hiding. But before he even lays eyes on them, Orym recognizes the sound of Ashton’s gait. They’re limping slightly, favoring the hip that smacked painfully against the stone floor of the temple. Orym winces at the memory. He knows how much Ashton hates heights, has sat with them through the panic that has set in before, when those memories have been stirred up.
Guilt flashes through him. He should have checked on Ashton. Maybe if he weren’t so wrapped up in his own shit, he would have thought of it. It’s almost enough to have him shimmying down the tree to meet him. But something stops him. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Probably wouldn’t be much comfort if he tried.
“Orym?” Ashton calls. It stirs the guilt again. They sound worried. Afraid. Do they think Orym would leave them?
“Orym, where the fuck are you?” Anger flares over the guilt. Why should Orym have to come down and comfort them? Why does Orym have to be the good one? Why can’t he sit in this tree alone and not be hunted down by everyone.
There’s a part of him that knows it isn’t fair to be angry at Ashton. He knows he should be grateful he has people who care enough about him to come looking in the middle of the night.
But right now he just wants to be alone.
He tries to shift, to put more of the tree trunk between himself and Ashton, to keep from being spotted, but it has the opposite effect. Orym feels Ashton’s gaze lock onto him. Fuck. He freezes, staring, braced to hear his name again.
But Ashton is silent. Orym knows he’s been seen, he can tell by the way Ashton’s expression changed, although he can’t decide if he looks more or less upset now than he did when he first came outside.
Finally, Ashton turns their back and walks away. Orym watches the cabin door shut behind them, and still he doesn’t move.
He should go inside. He should get some sleep. He should apologize to Ashton for sneaking off and for not answering when they called for him. He should get his shit together and help the others instead of wallowing.
He stays in the tree all night, staring at the moons.