Chapter Text
Keeping tabs on the stranger is most likely a waste of resources.
Black Raisin isn’t naive enough to think that a cookie is no threat just because they are travelling alone ; but the lone pilgrim that just entered her perimeter isn’t even headed toward her village. Unless he turns almost ninety degree west, he’ll pass directly parallel to it, and will disappear into the wasteland.
To leave a crow behind would be useless, inefficient. The outlander is walking at the very edge of the territory she watches over, and even if he were to change path, she’d have all the time in the world to notice and react. Her patrols are denser toward the village, where an intruder would be most dangerous unnoticed. There had been cases before where a single crow was the difference between life and death. The stranger will have to be left unwatched, free to walk his way to the very heart of the bare lands if he so wishes.
Black Raisin turns away from the small figure slowly walking across the horizon, her thoughts back to the worry she was momentarily relieved from. Paper Bag Cookie’s wounds have gotten infected, and she needs, needs to scavenge something antiseptic from the dunes. She’s not an awful gatherer, but she’s far from their strongest ; that would be the unfortunate Paper Bag. If the handful of scrambled notes they left for her don’t suffice for her to find what she’s after, then… she doesn’t want to think about it.
She snaps her fingers, calling the crows to her. Most answer – but one, who simply caws, and turns its watchful eyes back towards the ever diminishing silhouette of the outlander.
Black Raisin sighs.
“Fine. You keep an eye on him, then, if you’re so worried.”
The crows bows its head, intelligence sparkling in its beady black eyes, and takes of after the traveller in a flurry of wings. Black Raisin doesn’t lose time watching it fly away : she turns back to her task, focused and desperate.
*
When, about a day and a half later, the wayward crow returns, she is not ashamed to say that she has completely forgotten about the stranger. Paper Bag is taking a turn for the worst, despite the herbs she ended up collecting. It seems more and more unlikely that they will recover, and the atmosphere in the village is somber. She has no time to run after foolish outlanders, travelling alone and without equipment towards nothing at all. Her friend will likely die. She must be here, when the worst comes to pass.
The crows insist. It caws and bat at her head, with a stubborn urgency she hasn’t seen since she was a child still learning to talk to birds. It tugs at her hair. She goes : she trust the crows like her own soul.
The stranger hasn’t made nearly as much way as she was expecting him to, even without supplies. She finds him just an handful of minutes away from where she first saw him. She gets closer slowly despite the crow’s enthusiasm, circling the outlander in the shadows until she can get a good look at the situation.
He is sat against a ruin, knees drawn against his chest and head buried in his hands. A staff is lain on the floor across from him, its flower-head wilted and immobile. It looks like it might have an eye, but even when the crow caws loudly and flies toward the stranger, it doesn’t as much as twitch.
The traveller, on the other hand, raises his head toward the crow. He looks like he’s been crying, and Black Raisin realize with a start that there’s dried jam across his brow, although she doesn’t see a wound. Despite it all, he still smiles in the crow’s direction, with, as far as she can tell, genuine joy on his face.
“My friend, you’ve returned ! I didn’t think we would meet again.”
The crows hops directly on the outlander’s shoulder, and nuzzle against his hair, causing him to giggle. Black Raisin raises a brow at the display.
“Befriended my crows already, have you ?”
The stranger startle, causing the crow to fly up with outrage. He scramble to find his staff, his head pivoting in Black Raisin’s direction, and passing right over her. Her second eyebrow joins the first. She can be very hard to see when she wants to, but she hasn’t been hiding : though, now that she looks for it, it really does seem like this foreign cookie has had his eyes closed the entire time. Blind ? Unwise of him to travel through here if true : even discounting the waffle bots, the wastelands are home to their fair share of jellyworms and hounds.
“Hello ?” He calls, his voice cracking awkwardly.
“ Hi there. What brings you to these parts, outlander ?”
This isn’t as harsh a greeting as Black Raisin would usually reserve to mysterious strangers : the man’s unexpected kinship with her bird has earned him some grace. It must still come out fairly cold, however, because the stranger, fiddling with the handle of his staff, tries to stand up.
As far as failed attempts go, this one is fairly dignified. His legs simply refuse to support his weight, and he falls back on one knee, almost gracefully enough to think he was simply switching positions. He takes it well, too, simply shifting to sit cross legged and smiling awkwardly in Black Raisin’s direction. The grip he has on his staff has grown white knuckled. A seed of concern germs in Black Raisin’s heart.
“I’m terribly lost, I’m afraid.”
His voice wavers on the last word and for a single, terrifying moment, Black Raisin thinks he is about to cry. She takes a step in his direction, the concerned crow falling back on her shoulder : but before she can get close, the cookie’s gotten himself under control, all signs of distress hidden under a smile that, miracle of miracle, even seems genuine.
“Does this crow belong to you ? They’ve been keeping me company for a moment now. I’m truly sorry to have worried them.”
“Yeah. What happened? Where are you even headed? There’s nothing in that direction.”
“I…”
He looks away, an unreadable expression falling over his face.
“I’m not sure. I picked a direction at random, really. I suppose it was only a matter of time…”
He trails off, and Black Raisin lets the silence spread, taking in the desolate view of the afternoon sun through the devastated remains of what must have been a village once. It’s not very hard to guess what happened to the stranger now : he left with nothing but his staff and the clothes on his back, and walked until he collapsed from exhaustion or hunger. She’s met cookies like that before : though, admittedly, none that could smile quite that brightly, or care so quickly for a simple bird. Whatever: a small discrepancy. Those cookies are waste of resources; she doesn’t have enough time to spend it on people who wants to die.
The stranger turns that sunny smile of his back toward her, and she knows she has the wrong hypothesis.
“But it must be my lucky day after all,” he says, unconscious of the unease churning in Black Raisin’s guts. “I really thought I wouldn’t run into anybody.”
There’s relief in his voice; the people who walk out into the barrens on purpose are never relieved to be found. What is she missing, then? What did he come seeking out here? And, most importantly, what does she do about him? She knows better than to bring mysterious strangers to her village. She knows better than to trust what she finds in the dust. But she can hardly leave him to crumble. She takes her decision.
“Listen, stranger. There’s a village not too far from here, and you look like you could use some help. But no funny business, hear me ? We’ve got enough troubles as is. If you make me regret bringing you there, I’ll make you wish you’d have stayed here in the dirt. Alright?”
The smile grows further, and Black Raisin gets the unpleasant feeling the stranger sees right through her, to the part of her that would never turn her back on someone who needs help. She stiffens instinctively, the crow puffing up in turns – but he simply sighs in relief.
“Thank you so much! I promise I won’t be any trouble. Although…” He shifts uncomfortably. “I may need some help standing up.”
“Sure thing. I’m Black Raisin Cookie. Who’re you?”
A silence.
Black Raisin’s hand stop just shy or grabbing the stranger’s arm as she turns towards him, curious. But before she can truly get wondering, he startle out of whatever trance caught him, and answer:
“Ah ! My apologies. You can call me Healer Cookie.”
“Healer?”
Black Raisin’s mind flash to the dried jam with no wound, then to Paper Bag Cookie, small and wracked with fever, their hands clenching at the white sheets of their beddings. She grabs the outlander’s shoulder, unconscious of his confusion.
“Can you… Could you heal an infection ? An infected wound, can you heal that?”
“I… I think so, yes. I know some healing magic… Is someone injured?”
“Great ! Let’s go right now !”
Black Raisin hauls him to his feet, passes one of his arms around her shoulders to support his weight, and rushes back to her village as fast as she possibly can, barely remembering to also take the healer’s staff. Healer had say that today was his lucky day : but in that moment, Black Raisin couldn’t help but think all the luck was hers. The crow, stubborn, beautiful and righteous, flew ahead.