Archive of Our Own

“Do you think I could eat this? I'm starving.”

Lorsan was pointing to some roots in the ground, looking back at Bryon with eager eyes. Bryon slowly stopped in his tracks, following Lorsan’s steps with small head movements, perceiving the restlessness in them.

“Don’t,” Bryon advised, a glimpse of scolding in his tone. Elona seemed to agree with him, resting in the falconry glove. “Also, should I remind you why we are here? You are getting sidetracked.”

“I know, I know!” Lorsan said, giving soft pats to the sentinel's shoulder. “Wait for me a little longer while I…”

Lorsan trailed off; his eyes had finally found a tall bush of fresh, ripe glowfly fruit hanging from it. He sprinted in the direction of the plant, letting out a loud “It’ll be quick, I promise!”

Careful not to thorn himself, Lorsan took a handful of them, carefully rubbing them into his gloves to clean them.

“Something I can eat at last!” he crooned in dramatic delight, looking at his hands with glinting eyes. 

With his free hand, he scattered in the pouch on his belt, taking a napkin and wrapping his loot securely before storing it. He left some fruit in his hand, bringing it to his mouth.

“I should look for a place to rinse them,” he mused as he chewed, his open hand reaching out to Bryon, showcasing the berries. “Does Elona want some? I won’t ask you , Bryon; I know what you’ll say.”

As if sensing Lorsan’s closeness, Elona flapped her wings in slight discomfort. Taking notice, Bryon’s hand went around Lorsan’s fist and gently pulled away, his touch lingering for a moment.

“Not like that, she’ll peck at you,” Bryon said quietly, taking the fruit from Lorsan’s hand. “Is it safe?” 

“I don’t sense any corruption so…” Lorsan shrugged. “Besides, I already ate and nothing happened.”

“I’ll trust your judgement,” Bryon mused with a sigh, placing the fruit in his gloved hand.

The falcon, poise and graceful, didn’t hesitate to take the gift with great eagerness. Bryon was focused on her companion; his hand remained open for her until she finished eating. Lorsan smiled at them, silently thankful for the intervention —he was well aware of the consequences of pestering Elona without noticing far too well by now.

Once Elona finished, she flew up the sky and surveyed the area, circling around the air, signaling an approximate location with a distinct trill that echoed in the forest, loud enough for both windwhisperers to follow.

Lorsan overheard a conversation: Master Arden was asking Bryon to do some botany research.

Vegetation had been behaving strangely lately, showing evident signs of decay in some regions of the Dark Forest. Supplies for medicine and conjuring had been scarce and quickly depleting, most already used to tend the increasing number of injured wilders attacked by aggressive creatures, once peaceful —a change in behaviour the Sages could not yet understand. 

The forest was becoming more dreadful by each passing day; the dangers of it —once lost in its depths— were slowly migrating to more populated areas, as if animals and creatures themselves were scared of the nature that once had protected them; desperate to find shelter elsewhere. It became difficult for common folk to go about their daily lives, and almost impossible to gather provisions without putting their health at risk. Moreover, recognizing the subtle signs of corruption required precise knowledge they lacked. Everyone had to be especially watchful to not eat something foul and fall ill.

Windwhisperers weren’t the most suitable for tasks like these; they were mainly messengers after all, not designed to be taking an active role in scouting or anything of the sort. However, Guardians and Patrollers seemed so exhausted with keeping up with everything —taking long shifts and barely any rest— that Bryon reasoned, offering his help in any way possible was the most logical course of action. 

He stated not being the most powerful or suitable, but agreed he had enough knowledge of magic and nature to properly sense and track the corruption, and where it was headed. With that, there was hope they might gain a better grasp on the spread of the illness, so the Sages could converse about it and make more informed decisions. 

At that moment, Lorsan decided to chime in, asking to tag along. He argued the task would be completed faster that way, and Arden agreed, saying Lorsan’s powerful magic and acute perception could help prevent mishaps during the survey.  

He remembered how Grandpa told him to rely on his sixth sense —that it’d be essential to the mission’s success. Lorsan couldn’t entirely understand what he had meant, but he agreed with the sentiment all the same. He also remembered Grandpa laughing at his earnest response. 

He was probably just amused to see him take it so seriously. 

But really, he shouldn’t be! Lorsan was a grown, reliable wilder now.

While both windwhisperers followed Elona’s lead, Lorsan took out the vast list Master Arden so carefully had extended to them for the mission. For obvious reasons, he was the one in charge of it –Bryon wouldn’t even dare to take his blindfold off, not when any slight shift in his hearing abilities could be critical for their success, and survival.

Lorsan flipped through the pages without much thought, reading aloud to inform Bryon about the plant’s appearance and details. Bryon only gave a small nod of understanding right at the end, guided by Elona to move to a denser part of the forest.

When a page slipped from his fingers, summoning the wind to catch it, he was quickly reminded how precious and fragile those documents were; he should cherish them better, before they got lost in his own hands.

Not that he would lose them, of course! Not at all, that’s not like him in the slightest…

With a final glance at all the names and diagrams, he folded the pages and stored them back into his pocket, finally focusing on his surroundings. As they walked through the tall grass next to the river, Lorsan hummed to pass the time.

After a while, the soft humming shifted into a mellow singing under his breath, balancing himself in stones and trunks while walking beside his friend, without a care in the world. 

Bryon’s lips parted for a moment as he listened. His head lowered slightly, seemingly deep in thought.

“That song…” he mused, his ears shifting as they adjusted to the melody.

Lorsan noticed Bryon’s reaction and quickly downplayed his action, gesturing with one hand in the air.

“Don’t mind me,” he insisted. “It’s just an old song that likes to sneak back now and then.”

Bryon took a step closer in quiet insistence.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said, his tone slightly hesitant. “Where did you hear it from?”

Lorsan lifted an eyebrow in interest, curious about the answer himself.

“Where…?” Lorsan repeated, frowning slightly as he tried to find the answer.

The song came naturally to him —it was an easy one to his mind and tongue— but he didn’t know why. He couldn’t recall since when, either… Were there lyrics? Not that he remembered. It was just a catchy, gentle tune he probably learned without realizing. 

“I don’t know,” he concluded, his hand resting on his chin. “Perhaps it’s a popular song from some festival? Why? Did you like it?”

For the young mage, it was obvious something had crossed Bryon’s mind, but he didn’t think much about his silence, used to his non-answers by now. Instead, he kept surveying the area with eager eyes in search of a healthy specimen to bring back home. Eventually, he found a small meadow worth examining, with plants similar to the description he had read a while ago.  

“Looks like we hit the jackpot!” Lorsan cheered, taking some confident steps near the grassy patch. “Let’s see…”

Lorsan smiled as he inspected the plant up close: it was antlergrass, and its leaves looked healthy enough. While readying himself to pull them out the ground, a particular sound was caught in his ears. 

A soft whistling continued the verse of his song right where he had left it —loud enough to echo in the forest, yet hiding still itself with the sounds nature would bring. The sound blended so gracefully, most people wouldn’t have noticed it.

But for Lorsan there wasn’t a glimpse of a doubt: It was Bryon, right at his side.

Lorsan’s smile faded slightly as he looked up to search for his fellow, who wasn’t facing him: the sentinel was absent-mindedly tuned in to the melody, as if recalling the notes as well.

It’s been years since he’d last heard that sound up-close. So distinctive, it struck a chord deep within him.

Ah… so that’s where he had heard the tune before, Lorsan thought. 

As the phrase of the whistling got more confident, a vivid image of his time playing lute resurfaced. By the time the young mage returned to the chore at hand, looking back to the antlergrass and weeding the grass around it, a sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, that's the song,” he murmured, letting out a soft chuckle; an attempt to soften the quiver in his voice.

Bryon stopped as soon as Lorsan’s words reached him, leaving a sudden, faint sound of metal clattering into itself echoing in the air. When Lorsan lifted his gaze back at him again, Bryon had turned slightly away, his demeanor stoic as ever. Though for clever eyes, his posture had stiffened.

“I apologize if it distracted you,” he said, clearing his throat softly.

Lorsan blurted a faint, surprised sound, shaking his head slightly.

“Not at all! You can keep going,” he encouraged, holding onto the hope of hearing it once more.

The whistle, however, stopped altogether.

Silence fell between them, but Lorsan wouldn’t let it linger, humming softly to a different tune. 

He dug on the ground, gently weeding the turf and pulling some of the antlergrass out, careful to preserve the roots. He examined them throughout: some of them were in poor condition already, and a clear sigh of frustration escaped him in response. Still, he decided to keep everything. Corrupted roots could still serve for studies about the nature of the illness. In any case, it was better to keep them away from the soil. 

Once the plants were safely stored, the windwhisperers reviewed the list again, searching for the next specimen. Elona swiftly returned to Bryon’s fist, ready to continue.

While they moved to a well-known path, away from the depths of the forest, Lorsan’s gaze drifted back to his friend every now and then. His eyes couldn’t help but glint with curiosity, delight and guilt in equal measure at the remembrance of the soft melody from moments ago.

Bryon certainly hadn’t meant to, Lorsan was almost sure of it, but it was the first time the sentinel had willingly shared his talent with him. 

Not by accident or by overhearing, but as a timid offering.

He had caught many glimpses of it over the years without anyone noticing —much more than he’d care to admit. Never on purpose of course! It felt wrong to do so, especially after what had happened… but with the blessing —or curse— of hearing everything so clearly, tuning out entirely wasn’t always easy. Bryon could understand that, right?

What Lorsan still couldn’t quite understand was, how could he ever forget about the origin of that precious song? He and Bryon spent months on it! Did his friend remember how often they used to play it? 

He wanted to ask, but should he? It felt wrong, somehow.

Lorsan recalled the day he called for Bryon, back at the grove in Lunnos.

After everything collapsed by his own hand, leaving things unresolved, he had barely taken an instrument to play anymore. He still kept his piccolo —the Academy’s piccolo— within reach, waiting quietly in the corner of his nightstand, sometimes tucked in his pocket. Yet, his small attempts at starting again always seemed to fall short. He never felt inspired enough to keep the habit going as before.

He also recalled the bellflower maiden’s words, once he returned the lute to her hands:

“It seems to me, you'll be the one who will miss it the most.”

Lorsan couldn’t recall anything else about her, or the place she had stored the instrument despite his copious, discreet attempts to locate it in secret whenever he visited that crowded room at Jade Academy.

Oh, how much wisdom her words had carried! At that time, he was perhaps too young and too stubborn to truly understand the weight of his choice. He remembered how impatient he’d been back then. And how, sooner rather than later, he’d come to deeply regret it.

The ache of losing something precious still lingered in the back of his heart.

He found himself aching for the lute once again as he hadn’t felt in years, thinking about it as if not a day had passed. The tickling sensation in his fingers was so strong he had to rub them together, recalling the pull of the strings against his fingertips.

If Lorsan took the lute once again, could he keep up? Would Bryon wait for him again, like he used to? He wondered if the harmonies would sound differently this time. Could they still match? 

Still play, make mistakes, and laugh about it like they used to, even if for a fleeting moment?

Lorsan shook his head with a frown. Probably a bit too hard, since Bryon tilted his head at him. 

“Oh… Am I thinking too loud?” Lorsan asked in a rueful tone. 

“Perhaps,” Bryon replied as he faced forward.

Lorsan gazed at his profile for a moment, before venturing into testing the waters.

“Want me to… speak my mind aloud, maybe?” he offered, feigning nonchalance. 

“Not particularly,” Bryon mused, a little lilt escaping through his response.

Lorsan sighed, feeling strangely defeated —besides, this was the worst time to be dwelling in such things! 

He’d be leaving the Forest soon. And he didn’t have a clue as to when he’d return, if ever.

Master Arden had entrusted him with this important mission, and Lorsan wouldn’t dare leave it unattended. Everyone at the Dark Forest needed support from the outside; even Lorsan, who rarely put much attention to serious matters, could see that. Everyone across the three factions was pushing themselves to the limit. They were the only ones who could confront the crisis and protect others at the same time.

Lorsan had grown stronger: his magic more in control, his presence becoming finally useful, whether as a support during a fight, or simply as a welcome distraction where things grew tense. But there was an obvious limit to his prowess; he was still a young wilder, despite all he'd learned. 

When Master Arden spoke to him about it, he was sincere: Even he, the strongest mage Lorsan knew, was struggling to find a lasting solution to the corruption. Arden believed they needed someone stronger. Someone more capable.

If not even the Sages could find a solution… How could Lorsan be of help?

After a small pause, Lorsan decided to be honest, as well:

He knew he wasn't strong enough to endure battles, and he lacked the ability to deeply understand nature, or the source of the corruption —his gift was only wind, which wouldn’t suffice. Moreover, they didn’t know if such a wise, powerful mage really existed.

But Lorsan concluded that, if someone in the Forest could convince such a person to cross the river to offer their help… it might be him.

He offered himself without much thought at first, a careless musing more than anything. But then he confirmed it with a confident smile and a small nod, shrugging his worries aside, even as a sting of overwhelming fear slowly coiled at the back of his mind.

Master Arden agreed to let him choose his own way to proceed —how to inform others and when to depart— as long as he did it promptly.

A month had passed since that exchange, and Lorsan still hadn’t told anyone.

Figuring out where to begin searching was easy: he just needed to cross the river, right to the next town, and see where the breeze would take him. The date of departure didn’t matter either; he just needed to hurry up. He had already decided to leave with only the essentials too, no extra luggage to worry about. But the other issue… 

He’d spent weeks thinking about how to tell Bryon —and everyone else, for that matter.

So, he kept it secret, at least for now. After all, he knew better than anyone how words carried by the wind could reach unexpected places.

It’s not like Bryon would try to dissuade him… He’d probably agree with the decision without complaint. He wouldn’t give him a long-winded speech or anything of the sort, he’d simply have his back despite not being totally on board with the idea. They were used to that.

And yet, Lorsan couldn’t help but wonder, what else could happen?

What else? Lorsan echoed in his mind, surprised by the thought. He wasn’t sure what his mind was trying to tell him. 

He supposed, he was unable to shake the feeling he’d get scolded at. Not only by Bryon, but by his family as well. Maybe it was more about being… missed. The possibility of making them concerned, of them doubting his ability to complete Grandpa’s task was gut-wrenching. 

He found himself wishing for a bit of encouragement; a few kind words that could ease his heart. Come to think of it, what would count as ‘kind words’ in Bryon’s vocabulary? His one-liners always came with little jabs, so it was hard to tell. 

If Lorsan could choose, what would he like to hear from him?

“Take care.”

That was too aloof, wasn’t it? Not entirely off Bryon’s style, though.

“You can do it.”

Perhaps a bit too encouraging; it lacked Bryon’s usual dryness.

“I’ll miss you.”

Ah, it’d definitely hurt… That alone would have the power to make him stay.

Truth be told, no words at all would also be fine; Bryon knew how to say a lot without them. 

If he was honest, he couldn’t think of a gesture on his part; Lorsan was usually the one trespassing the limits, wasn’t he? And that didn’t need to change. Yet, he unexpectedly found himself aching for… for what, exactly? 

Perhaps for Bryon to reach.

To reach, for what purpose? 

The only thing Lorsan knew for sure was that he wished to hear Bryon again, with a force he thought he had long forgotten. Hear him loosen up; whistling, for Lorsan’s ears alone.

That’d probably be the last chance in a long time to do so —if it ever happened again. 

The loud warble Elona gave to Lorsan interrupted his thoughts altogether, letting out a startled sound in response. Bryon took notice of both of their reactions, caressing his companion’s feathers once she stopped flapping. 

“Is something the matter?” Bryon inquired at Lorsan, facing him. “You’re exceptionally silent.”

He cursed at himself for being too obvious.

“It's nothing,” Lorsan mumbled, brushing off the comment as he leaned down again for a new plant.

Bryon took a step closer, a hand comfortably resting behind his own back as he leaned in slightly, murmuring:

“I believe that’s not the correct one.”

Lorsan’s ears trembled at the closeness, and turned his head to meet Bryon, who didn’t step back. 

“Don’t speak so near to me, Bryon…!” he murmured in exasperation, careful to control his volume.

“I’m simply stating, its smell is telling me we’re mistaken,” Bryon replied, pointing at the herbs as roots on Lorsan’s hand.

“You think so?” Lorsan mused as took another look at the handful of herbs.

He was tempted to bring them to his nose and understand what Bryon meant —but the sentinel’s hand stopped him at the right moment, without needing his sight to know what Lorsan was planning.

“Refrain from doing that,” Bryon murmured, his tone a touch apprehensive yet amused all the same. “We can’t risk you getting sick, can we?”

Lorsan felt the pressure of his hand through his clothed ones, which stirred something in him. Perhaps it was a product of his own worries swirling in his mind, but he couldn’t help but hold on to it a little longer, before reluctantly releasing it.

“Right! Sorry about that, you know how I am sometimes,” he said with a small laugh, dusting off his hands as he stood up. “I’ll keep the plants anyway. I mean —they’re already off the ground and…”

Lorsan trailed off with a defeated chuckle, scratching his head for a moment, feeling tongue tied despite his attempts to sound nonchalant.

Bryon listened to the subtle cues, and a soft sigh escaped him. His musing was only a whisper, but loud enough for Lorsan to listen:

“...If something’s still troubling your mind, I might as well hear it now.”

Lorsan’s ears perked up in a heedful gesture. There was a lot he wanted to say. 

Should he speak to him about Arden’s mission? That would definitely be the logical approach. 

Yet, another completely unrelated question shone brighter, above the others. 

“You know, earlier…” Lorsan mused without thinking.

The sudden hope of untangling that unspoken truth between them had finally arrived. With a deep breath, he decided he'd risk it and go with the flow, wherever it might lead.

“I was curious…” he said, swaying his staff slightly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“Nowhere,” Bryon murmured.

Lorsan, however, was not convinced of the answer.

“Are you sure? Don’t you think that’s a little impossible?” he asked, squinting his eyes in disbelief.

“...I can’t recall,” Bryon replied in a whisper. 

With a soft, questioning hum, Lorsan turned around and resumed walking. He knew far too well how to recognize Bryon’s default answers to deflect the topic, but he wouldn’t let the opportunity to get away so easily.

“You know, that song’s important to me,” Lorsan stated, his voice as casual as possible, but a soft smile betraying his tone at the end, “It was one of the first ones I tried to learn back when I…”

He trailed off, getting lost in thought for a moment, but quickly snapping out of it once he noticed Bryon’s perked up ears, paying close attention to him; a visible shift in his usual composure. 

Lorsan took the hint with a renewed sense of enthusiasm.

“First of all… Did you know I can play some instruments?” he inquired as he walked beside him, his shoulders almost touching. 

The young mage bounced on the balls of his feet a few times in response to Bryon’s silence —from excitement or anxiousness, he couldn’t quite tell.

“Well, I used to, at least,” he continued with a shrug. “It’s been a while, really.”

Lorsan’s eyes lingered on Bryon's features for a moment, deciding against it once he felt his face heat up.

“I suppose I gave up along the way,” he added without much thought, his gaze slowly drifting down.

“Why did you?” Bryon asked.

Lorsan blinked in surprise. A small, doubtful sound escaped him —almost in disbelief that Bryon gave him room to speak. He was always so careful not to offer Lorsan any more excuses to chatter, and now this open-ended question?

Why had he stopped in the first place? Lorsan thought. Given the chance to finally answer, he found himself unable to. Despite all the time that had gone by, he still felt his throat closing.

“I got… angry, I guess,” he replied, hiding the stinging in his voice with a short laugh.

“Angry at?” Bryon asked again, quieter this time.

Lorsan noticed a distinctive tension in Bryon’s voice, but once he glanced at him again, his stance remained as stoic as ever. 

Then it clicked: What Bryon might have meant. 

Perhaps he was worried? Concerned that Lorsan might be mad at him? He should know Lorsan would never be mad at him for something so childish! Let alone hold a grudge for that long —that was way too tiresome.

Truth be told, he couldn’t read his mind, of course. However, he let his shoulder bump Bryon’s in a reassuring gesture.

“Not really angry , that's a bit of a strong word,” he corrected himself with a grin. “More like ‘ impatient ’, I’d say.” 

He let out a small hiss. “Whenever I think back on it, I feel dumb, you know?” he added, his words more earnest than he’d meant to.

Do you ever feel dumb about anything, Bryon? He thought of asking, but he refrained from doing so. 

Instead, he strode ahead and let Heedwind strike the ground with a thud, using it as a support as he turned around to face Bryon. The sentinel slowed down until he stopped, a few feet away from Lorsan. Elona watched them in silence, her gaze flickering between the two.

“Say, Bryon,” Lorsan prompted with a confident glint in his eyes as he lightly balanced on his staff. “Where did you learn to whistle like that? Seems like you’re pretty skilled at it.”

The expectant silence didn’t annoy Lorsan at all —in anything, the image of Bryon fighting inside his head for a proper answer made him smirk.

“A long time ago,” Bryon replied under his breath, lowering his head slightly.

“So stiff,” Lorsan mused, huffing a warm laugh.

The young mage took a small step closer, feeling Bryon stiffen slightly. He took a moment to gaze at Elona, who didn’t speak or flinch despite the shift in distance, remaining poised and prideful. Her plumage was seemingly glowing as the filtered light reflected in her. The feeling of her feathers on Lorsan’s hand… would it be similar to Bryon’s cloak? There was no way to be certain —and she would definitely snap at him if he dared pet her, especially without permission.

In a way, she and Bryon were alike. Did he learn from her? Or was that what made them so close?

“Your whistling kind of reminded me of a bird singing,” Lorsan said, addressing his friend while his gaze was still on Elona. “Like you were speaking back to them.”

“Indeed,” Bryon muttered, the back of his free hand caressing Elona, who chirped in return. “I learned by imitation.”

“How so?” Lorsan asked, his eyes fixed in the tender interaction between them. “Did you simply… reply to her until she taught you?”

Bryon shook his head, his lips curling into a faint smile.

“Not strictly Elona,” he explained.

Lorsan’s stance straightened slowly, one eyebrow lifted in interest.

“My ability to explain the method is scarce,” Bryon said with a contemplative tone. “But a substantial component of it revolves around paying close attention to nature.”

The mage’s long ears perked up in sudden excitement, a small gasp leaving his lips.

“I get what you mean!” He exclaimed as he nodded with confidence, one hand on his waist. “I did that too.”

He could have sworn, Bryon’s smile widened ever-so-slightly.

“When, exactly?” The sentinel asked softly, his voice almost getting lost in the rustle of leaves.

“When… I learned to play, obviously,” Lorsan replied with a snicker, his eyes squinting in a playful gesture. “I thought you were the sharp one.”

Lorsan felt his mouth dry. His heart fluttered, uneasy in his chest, anticipation tingling at the tip of his ears. When he saw Bryon facing him, silently waiting for him to continue —even signaling it with a small gesture of his hand— he could only make a nervous sound.

He felt exposed, yet seen. Understood. 

At the same time, trapped at the consequences of his own words. 

“Nature’s a… constant inspiration, don’t you think?” he blurted. “Besides… there’s not a thing in the forest that doesn’t make sound; it’s hard not to pay attention to it! The course of the river, the pulse of waterdrops falling, the hollow trunks howling when a storm threatens to come…” 

He trailed off, his voice lowering to a thoughtful murmur.

“I could go on, but you get it, right?”

Bryon nodded and resumed their path. Lorsan took Heedwind in his hand and followed suit.

“You stole the words out of my mouth” Byron granted, his voice a soft rumble. “I’m thankful for it, despite the ornate.”

“I’m always saving you the talking, see?” Lorsan quipped, his smug smirk widening. 

The road slowly turned strenuous, and after a brief argument about how to safely cross to their destination, both wilders were able to sort it out. At the new sight, loomier than before, Lorsan found himself looking up to the tall trees. The faint light filtering through the treetops brought a gentle warmth in the shadowy path, merging with the innate blueish hues the Forest brought —a sight Lorsan had grown to admire. How would the forests from the outside compare to his own home? He could only guess. 

In a place so secluded and dense, he could hear the echoes from a mile away. When Bryon froze in place at the distant sound of wood cracking, slowly changing directions, the young mage followed suit, wondering what he had sensed.

“Did you hear something?” Lorsan asked quietly, his ears searching for any distinctive sound with small movements.

“Possibly,” Bryon said under his breath, his tone cautious. “Right now I’m focused on avoiding us some trouble, rather than fulfilling the task.”

Lorsan nodded, his lips forming a thin line, watchful of his own motion. After a while, Bryon eased in his composed demeanor, and Lorsan let himself breathe out a sigh.

“That felt like a close call… even though it was probably very far, wasn’t it?” he grumbled with a pout. “How do you recognize which sounds to pay attention to?”

Bryon only replied with a shrug.

“You know best, I guess,” Lorsan mused, mimicking Bryon’s gesture with a playful smile.

He didn’t give himself time to rest, his mind already on the next question. 

“Anyway, how far can you hear from this distance?” he ventured to ask, his ears perked tall in his head, showing themselves on full display.

Bryon stood silent, but his features softened, seemingly deep in thought.

“Can you hear the chattering, back at the dusk camps?” Lorsan interrupted, a smug yet open smile gracing his lips.

“Yes,” Bryon replied, his tone measured.

One of Lorsan’s ears wiggled, a soft hum playing in his lips as his hand got closer to it, guiding the wind right through it, his eyes closed in concentration.

“What about… the small family of squirrels hiding in the bark of a tree?” Lorsan asked, a bit of a challenge in his tone.

Bryon stifled a laugh; only a brief, dry huff through his nose.

“Those are closer than the camps, aren’t they?” He inquired, amusement slipping through.

“They are —I just wanted to trick you,” Lorsan said with a grin.

Bryon shook his head with a small sigh, no trace of displeasure in his expression.

“And the breathing of stone? Can you hear it?” Lorsan prompted.

The sentinel gave himself a second to tune in, his ear flickering slightly. 

“I sense it; although diffuse,” was his final answer.

“It kind of gets lost in all the noise, doesn’t it?” Lorsan mused, scratching his head. 

It was impossible not to be reminded of earlier times where wind shared too much, or sound became too straining —even to himself, known to be a careless, blabbering mess. 

“I remember how overwhelming it was as a youngling, listening all at once,” Lorsan admitted with a rueful smile, quickly turning into a self-sufficient one. “I learned to temper it down, though; music helped at those times.” 

He gave Bryon a hesitant gaze, feeling a sudden urge to reach for his cloak, curling his fingers inwards to hold back the impulse.

“Have you? Learned how to turn off, that is,” he continued, and an airy laugh filled the space between them. “I still see you chasing for quiet places every chance you get.”

“I happen to prefer them,” Bryon commented, his voice ending in a soft lilt.

“I see,” the mage said, nodding in understanding.

He didn’t notice the relieved sigh in his voice; the simple, candid truth of Bryon not avoiding him on purpose soothing his thoughts. What he did notice, however, was the sheepish, flustered smile that spread across his face —a reaction so ridiculous, he was grateful no one but Elona could see him. On second thought, she could absolutely tell Bryon later.

“It can be a nuisance sometimes, windwhispering” he stammered, his voice cracking before reeling it into a confident flourish. “But I’ve learned to be grateful about my ability—I’ve found my fair share of beautiful sounds in this forest. You see, one time I came across…”

His fingers hovered on his lips out of reflex, cutting himself mid-sentence. Despite the twists and turns in their conversation, it finally flowed back to that one question. 

“I came across…” he repeated softer, the words insisting on their own.

Lorsan’s pace slowed. Ahead of him, Bryon’s turned slightly; his necklace clinking softly with the motion. The young mage was not ready to face him yet, but he kept a close distance regardless, walking right behind his friend, his gaze focused on his back. 

Lorsan wouldn't back down. He'd speak his mind, consequences be damned.

“...I came across this melody,” he said, his voice finding strength again as he finished the sentence.

With a deep breath, he pressed on, rearranging his cape in a soothing gesture.

“Very far from the place I used to practice —or so it felt, being so small. It was hard to follow; muffled by everything else, but… it was so intricate, I never got tired of listening.” 

Bryon didn’t react but with a single movement of his ear, which made Lorsan smile.

“When I was lucky enough to catch the song, it only lasted for a few seconds. I did my best to remember its notes, clinging to it like it was a secret, but I was only a novice; my lute and half of Lunadorf were silently begging me to stop as I tried to match the correct progression.”

Lorsan’s gaze faltered, his hand gathering some wind to play with the long ends of Bryon’s blindfold.

“I could’ve sworn, the melody answered to me sometimes,” he added softly with a breathy laugh. “Like a distant bird answering my call. Perhaps the straining sounds I made caught its attention without realizing.”

Bryon’s hand —not leaving his usual position behind his back— tensed slightly, rubbing his thumb on his knuckles. Lorsan watched intently for a while, needing a distraction to stop himself from taking it into his own. He found it on Heedwind, cupping its glowing orb into his hand and letting the magnetic pull follow its natural rotation.

“Earlier, when you whistled…” he mused, transfixed in the way sparkles floated from the orb at the gentle friction. “I got reminded of it, listening to you.”

His eyes glinted with a determined look, leaving the orb in place to take a wide step, carefully reaching for Bryon’s shoulder. The sentinel stopped at his tracks and turned to face him with a cautious movement. Still perched at Bryon’s gauntlet, Elona’s gaze met with Lorsan’s in a silent question —the only witness of his flushed expression, unable to keep the subtle wobble away as he spoke.

“And I couldn’t help but wonder again… Was it you, back then?”

Lorsan’s lips formed a line, frowning slightly as if readying himself for Bryon’s jab at him. Some feigned ignorance, a witty deflection; a clipped retort, poignant teasing… A scowl, a punch in the gut, a push to vanish into the forest —he’d take anything at that point!

But Bryon said nothing, frozen in place. 

The young mage pursed his lips and slowly let go of Bryon, waiting for his reply. They stood there for a while; the only movement came from the sentinel’s gauntlet, slowly shifting from its ever-stable position. Elona began to lose her balance, and before she slipped, she gave a strong beat of her wings, flying up to a distant branch. The gust swept past them, stirring their hair and clothes, leaving them both windswept.

Fortunately for Lorsan, Bryon woke up from the trance, mindlessly adjusting his cloak. Then, his hand went up to his chin as he faced sideways, deep in thought. When Lorsan noticed the tip of his friend’s ears flickering subtly, a sudden rush of shame crept through his neck, his heart almost leaping through from his chest.

“Maybe I’m reading too much into it, that must be it!” He blurted, words stumbling upon each other. “All this silly wishful thinking, luring you into a confession of something you have no idea about… It’s been so long, I probably imagined it all! I hope you don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not really trying to imply anything—”

He was probably speaking too loudly, because Bryon let out a sound of protest; the sight of his subtle wince made Lorsan’s stomach twist from guilt. His rambling stopped, but his tail wouldn’t stop quivering. 

It was clear Bryon felt stiff beneath his poised demeanor, and Lorsan didn’t know what would be appropriate to ease the moment. An old fear came up: Had he pushed Bryon too far again? He grew afraid of his reaction; to have provoked him to such an extent, it’d make him flee once again, just like old times.

He carefully stepped forward, conscious of every sound that could startle his friend.

“Bryon… May I come closer?” he murmured gently, apologetic eyes heedful of every nuance.

Bryon remained silent, but didn’t step back. He simply hid both arms behind his cyanplume cloak. 

The young mage let out a soft breath in relief, bridging the distance between them. His eyes flickered to Bryon’s lips and then lingered on his blindfold, as if searching the gaze behind it.

“Is this close alright?” he asked, his voice lowering barely above a whisper.

Bryon lowered his head in a nod; his arms still tense, but no longer rigid.

Lorsan became unsure on what to do next, his hold on Heedwind tightening slightly as he gathered his thoughts —its orb shining faintly alongside the glow of the Forest. He lifted his hand up, hovering on Bryon’s shoulder again. He held it midair for a second, hesitating on whether to retreat or advance. 

He whispered an almost inaudible “I hope it’s not too much” as he touched him with a light pressure, firm enough to steady Bryon who flinched subtly; the soft chime of his earrings giving it away. Lorsan’s thumb rubbed along the fabric of Bryon’s high collar, easing the tension.

“You don't need to answer,” he murmured, reassuring and confident.

 However, his ears faltered, betraying his disappointment.

“Let’s… pretend I said nothing.”

With a weary sigh and an averted gaze, Lorsan mindlessly brushed the soft skin of Bryon’s neck in the motion, seeking reassurance. It was an anxious gesture, barely perceptible through layers of cloth, but Bryon did react in return: The feathers at the base of his ears tensed and ruffled while his lips parted, finally ready to speak. 

“Lorsan—” he managed to say in a breathless whisper.

Bryon couldn’t say more, getting cut off by Lorsan’s stream of consciousness.

“Some things are better left a mystery, I suppose,” he went on, almost as if speaking to himself. “We should forget about it and move on —I got carried away, you know? It happens quite often, as you’d notice…”  

He suddenly realized he wasn’t ready for a straight answer, after all; anything Bryon could say —for better or worse— had the potential to break him. Lorsan was too afraid to let the silence act for them either, so he rushed to fill the space:

“...I should learn when to stop pestering others with my never-ending curiosity, haven’t I? It always puts me in a bad spot! Everyone keeps telling me that I—”

“ Ease ,” Bryon requested, a hint of warmth slipped through his husky voice. “Your mind seems to be… rushing to conclusions.”

“But…” Lorsan hesitated.

He thought of pressing on, but reluctantly complied instead.

He stepped back as he scratched his head in slight frustration, his ears perking up with a bit more confidence. Bryon cleared his throat, fixing his collar with a diligent hand. 

“What a time to be bringing all these matters,” Bryon mused, a soft sigh slipping at the end. “This isn’t the moment to be speaking about this.”

Lorsan was pleasantly surprised to see Bryon was in a better mood, apparently. There was a glimpse of an amused edge in his words… But the answer left Lorsan puzzled, making him frown a little.

“What’s so bad about it?” he retorted.

“Our surroundings. Our mission,” Bryon said, his face tilting up as he gestured to the vast, menacing forest around them. “Did you forget?”

Of course, Bryon was in the right, but Lorsan’s gut told otherwise.

“Always a killjoy… if not now, then when?!” he complained with a pout, his voice sharper than he had intended.

“Are you short on time, perhaps?” Bryon teased, not impressed by the sudden shift.

The question caught Lorsan off guard; the reminder of his impending mission crashing back into focus at the worst time, denial taking over his thoughts.

“No! I…” 

His voice hitched, brittle and defensive —like a child covering a secret— before huffing an exasperated, “Just tell me!”

“Can’t you wait until we get back?” Bryon asked.

“The secret’s out in the open now, bothering me, eating me alive…” he said with a dramatic, woeful sigh, leaning forward as he held onto his staff with both hands. “You wouldn’t leave this poor soul hanging in suspense, right?”

Lorsan knew Bryon couldn’t see his pleading face, but the slight break on his stance told him he was well aware of it.

“...Please?” he whined softly, letting the wind lift him up from the ground.

Bryon stood silent, his hair and metal pieces gently swaying as Lorsan lifted himself higher up, leaving Heedwind aside to rest his hands on the sentinel’s shoulders. 

“ Please, ” he begged, dragging the word as he gently jostled Bryon, teasing a reaction out of him.

With a click of his tongue, Bryon wiggled away from Lorsan’s hold, who couldn’t help but grin at the mock annoyance that slipped through him. He watched him correct his posture and dust himself off.

“I’ll grant you a confirmation, if you so desperately need it,” Bryon said with a small huff. “Yes. Now, shall we continue?”

At the sight of Bryon resuming their path back to the safe road, Lorsan brought himself down to the grass, quickly taking his staff back on his hand and strolling to quickly walk beside him. His eyes glinted in awe, his whole body beaming in response to Bryon’s answer.

He managed to keep his mouth shut for a while —aside from the occasional chuckle that bubbled up his throat now and then. 

“...I think I didn't hear you,” he murmured, his voice full of mirth. “Can you repeat it?”

Bryon didn’t reply. Instead, he let his silence, and the resigned huff that followed, speak for itself. The young mage simply grinned, and for a time, the sound of their footsteps on the tall grass was the only thing filling the space around them. 

As they reached a glowing willow, Bryon’s voice broke the quietude with a whisper on his own.

“Let me ask you a question instead,” he said.

Lorsan blinked, thrown off by Bryon’s offer. He was ready to tease, but the sentinel’s question came first, stopping him on his tracks:

“Why did you stop playing, again?” 

The inquiry came as a gust of wind, shifting gears just to disarm him.

Lorsan’s witty retort got stuck in his throat, only a jumble of scrambled sounds tumbling as he opened his mouth to speak, dumbfounded by Bryon's sudden candor. He complained with a long whine, harshly ruffling his hair. Bryon always managed to make conversation turn around his favor, and this was not the exception.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Lorsan said with a pout, defiant beneath his feigned nonchalance.

Both windwhisperers stopped midway, covered by the cast shadows of the swaying willows. Lorsan took a deep breath that turned into a big sigh, readying himself to open up.

“I didn't feel like spying anymore,” he admitted under his breath, his tone between remorse and petulance.

Bryon’s reaction was unforeseen —a brief huff through his nose.

“You, spying?” he asked.

The sentinel’s hand lifted up to his own face, a finger hiding the smirk that threatened to show. Lorsan couldn’t help but feel in need to explain himself further:

“I didn't know it was you at first, but…” he tumbled, rearranging his thoughts mid-sentence. “When I began playing and found your whistling, it was all fine. Then I found out that —after I heard your voice, it felt like intruding! Overhearing something personal I wasn’t invited to, and being nosey about it.” 

Lorsan crossed his arms, an irked face as he recalled the frustration of that distant moment. Bryon's pensive gesture made him frown even further. 

“I doubt something like that could have possibly happened,” Bryon murmured with a soft lilt.

“Are you questioning my ability to do so? That’s rude,” Lorsan said as he narrowed his eyes, his foot slowly thumping at the floor. “I could definitely show you I’m capable!”

Bryon shook his head softly, and Lorsan couldn’t help but lift his brows in bewilderment, giving his friend a puzzling look, expecting him to speak up.

“Questioning or challenging you was not my intention,” Bryon clarified. 

Lorsan’s expression relaxed, showing genuine surprise –and intrigue, too. 

“You’re… speaking in riddles,” Lorsan mused. “What did you mean, then?”

Bryon’s smile grew larger, a sight so rare it made Lorsan’s heart leap ever-so-slightly. The sentinel took half a step forward that shortened the distance between them; the warm cadence of it impossible to conceal under the rustling of the leaves above them.

“If you think I didn’t notice… You’re underestimating how hard it is to overlook you. Or the things you do.”

Lorsan’s ears trembled at the sudden fondness that Bryon's voice carried. Had he heard him right? Did Bryon let him listen willingly, all that time back at Lunnos?!

“You— You did it on purpose?” Lorsan blurted out without thinking.

“Take a guess,” Bryon crooned in a low volume, walking across Lorsan and resuming his path.

The young mage quickly followed, almost in a small chase as he caressed his ears —they felt strangely tender.

“A guess about anything? ” he ventured to ask, only to add with sulk, “Whatever I ask, I know you’ll change the subject.”

“I won't,” Bryon replied, acknowledging Elona’s presence, who stood at a comfortable distance all this time, silently perching from branch to branch.

“If you’re granting me permission…” 

Lorsan didn’t leave Bryon’s side, fingers brushing his lips in thought as questions crowded his mind.

“Was it really you? Let’s start with the obvious.” 

He decided to ask the most immediate question —there was not a way Bryon could deflect it.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Bryon replied.

The mage winced slightly, trying not to get discouraged at the cryptic response, and pressed on regardless: 

“Why… didn’t you show up back then? The day I called for you?”

“I did,” Bryon murmured in a flat tone.

He did? A pang of guilt struck his chest, his haste visibly showing as he quickly retorted.

“Why didn’t you show up sooner, then?” 

“Who knows.”

No one but you! Lorsan screamed internally, frowning with sulk.

Bryon’s dry replies were getting on his nerves, but he couldn't deny, watching him be this cooperative was so rare it was oddly satisfying. Lorsan wondered how much longer it’ll last; how much he could stretch this moment.

“Did… anybody else know?” Lorsan ventured, his words coming out in a bashful murmur.

Bryon’s demeanor turned pensive, reflecting on the question.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replied at last, but after a moment’s thought he added a lower, “I couldn’t say for certain.”

Bryon was probably right in his assumptions. They weren’t the only two people in the Dark Forest. People were so used to the suspended-in-time and ever-so-silent atmosphere it brought, it was only natural for people to find out and gossip about the noisy wilder that disrupted the peace.

Had other windwhisperers caught on in their exchanges? What about guardians or patrollers? What if Lyca was fully aware of it, despite his attempts to keep it private? 

Perhaps it was not as well-kept a secret as he had initially thought. 

Lorsan didn’t know how to feel —besides, Bryon’s vague answers weren’t helping him feel at ease. If ever, they arose more questions.

But he pushed his thoughts aside, thinking of a clever question to corner Bryon. Once he found it, his eyes glinted with mischief, an impish smirk playing on his lips.

“So tell me,” he started, facing Bryon sideways as his smile widened. “Do you still like to tease other people with your whistling?”

He noticed Bryon’s head tilt to the side, a small hum escaped his lips as he considered it.

“Doesn’t seem like something I’d do,” he said, correcting his posture, though the mirth in his voice gave him away.

A self-satisfied grin spread across Lorsan’s face —Bryon had taken the bait. But his smugness quickly faded as Bryon added in a small, rhetorical question:

“Are you sure you didn’t simply imagine it?” 

Lorsan’s whole body crushed in defeat: drooping ears and sagging shoulders, his pride utterly quelled.

“See, Bryon? Come on…” Lorsan huffed in frustration. 

Bryon had already walked ahead, so the mage raised his voice, trailing after him with heavy feet.

“You're just giving me half answers!” he whined, “Why can't you just tell me—”

Lorsan trailed off as he heard a familiar, soft trilling right behind his words, mimicking what he was saying with such precision, it was teasing without saying a thing. When he tried to speak once more, the sound echoed him again; a playful, mischievous mockery.

The mage couldn't temper his excitement, rushing to find Bryon's face, seeking to catch him off guard.

“So I hadn’t imagined it!” he quipped, feigning indignation.

And then he heard it: Bryon’s airy laugh, muffled by his glove. 

Lorsan couldn’t look away, his eyes intently admiring Bryon’s rare expression.

“You laughed back then, too…” he blurted quietly with a warm tone, filled with nostalgia —and something else he couldn’t quite place, but knew too well.

“At which time?” Bryon inquired, catching onto Lorsan's musings.

“No, I meant—”

Lorsan couldn’t believe his ears. Was Bryon really asking for such embarrassing details? He sought for something witty to respond, up to no avail.

“I’m just... relieved that you do remember,” he mumbled, clearing his throat a little. 

“Was that what you were so worried about?” Bryon asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

“...Yes,” Lorsan admitted at last. 

Lorsan pouted slightly in reproach; his flowery language always seemed to elude him at the most crucial moments. 

“You should’ve told me sooner,” he added quietly.

“Words felt unnecessary,” Bryon explained. “But now I believe I certainly should have; I believe you deserve an apology.” 

Lorsan couldn’t help but snicker at his comment, shaking his head in endearment.

“How thoughtful of you! No need for apologies at all,” he reassured with a wide grin, unable to keep his feet from hopping out of happiness. “Ah, I’m so relieved, I could just—”

As a sigh cut off his sentence, a sense of contentment settled in his chest. He felt light; so light in fact, that with renewed resolve, he reached for Bryon's hand. 

Bryon stopped in his tracks almost immediately, one of his ears twitching in surprise.

Lorsan himself didn’t know what he was doing, but the rustling of the willows —and Bryon’s tensed lips, unable to form a retort— gave him the reassurance he was seeking. He took a step closer, leaving Heedwind floating by his side and clasping Bryon’s hand into his own in a timid, yet eager grasp.

“...Was I any good at it?” he asked softly, as his gaze shifted from Bryon’s hand back to his face, before adding a soft, “Playing music, I mean.”

Bryon didn’t reciprocate the gesture —at least, not in the traditional sense. He didn’t move or pull away, allowing Lorsan to hold him a touch tighter. Even accepting the young mage's subtle fidgeting.

“You certainly took your time learning.” he bickered softly. “But yes.”

The way Bryon’s tone softened right at the end of his candid answer made Lorsan’s expression spark with a glimmer of earnest hope, unable to hold more questions from arising in soft whispers.

“We spent quite a lot of time stuck in that meadow, after all. I clearly remember how I snuck to that place just to find you.” 

Lorsan laughed softly at the thought, his eyes focusing on their surroundings; so familiar and yet so different to the place they used to hang out. It made him crave for his —the Academy’s— lute even stronger.

“What did you think? About me nagging you from a distance?” Lorsan asked with a rueful smile.

“I was surprised at first. Unpleasantly so, if you need honesty,” Bryon murmured, his tone getting lower. “But eventually, I took a liking to it.”

“A liking… to me? What an admission,” Lorsan teased, enjoying Bryon’s rigid reaction to his playfulness.

“The sound, Lorsan,” Bryon corrected with unusual haste. “The sound.” 

“I know,” the other wilder replied, his gaze drifting down as his smile grew softer.

The sentinel lowered his head as well, letting out an almost imperceptible sound as their fingers slightly intertwined. When he spoke again, his voice was breathy.

“I liked it,” Bryon mused in reluctant, yet sincere admission. “Especially when…”

Bryon's words carried weight, but trailed off mid-sentence. His fingers responded, gently brushing Lorsan’s, curling around them in a weak squeeze. The mage couldn’t stop the fluster from spreading across his neck. 

Bryon was being dangerously honest —to the point Lorsan wanted to engrave this rare side of him into his memory. He wanted to keep asking; to push for more. And so he did:

“When?” he prompted gently, his voice turning into an enticing murmur.

Bryon turned his head to the side, as if avoiding eye contact despite his blindfold. 

“That’s…” he whispered, clearing his throat. “Too many questions.”

Lorsan raised an eyebrow in amusement, chasing for his friend’s gaze again. He found it: Rigid and hesitant, yet patient —somehow waiting to be found. 

“You know, Bryon?” the mage called out gently. 

Bryon didn’t look up, but his ears perked slightly in response. 

Lorsan leaned slightly forward, as if peeking under his blindfold in a curious gesture. His eyes, however, glinted with a rare softness. 

“I’ve always wondered,” he mused. “Why do you like to hide so much?”

The question was met with silence, and Lorsan let out a small laugh —asking for more from Bryon would be greedy at this point. He slowly released the sentinel’s hand and lifted one of his own to brush a strand of hair away from Bryon's face. His thumb slid behind Bryon’s mask, tracing the edge in an affectionate gesture. 

“You’re awfully shy under that mask, is that it?” he teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

Bryon's lips curved into a faint smile, and Lorsan had the pleasure of seeing a hint of fluster beneath his mask up close, right before Bryon’s hand firmly pushed his face away, eliciting a loud complaint from him.

“Your ability to get distracted is surprisingly contagious,” Bryon mused as he resumed walking, leaving Lorsan behind —though his tone betrayed something else beneath his steadiness.

“Wait!” Lorsan called, scooping Heedwind up before hurrying after him. “One last question!”

Guided by instinct and without much thought, Lorsan blurted, “Will you join me to play music sometime? Like old times! No sneaking this time.”

Bryon stifled a snort.

“Whatever My Lord requests of me, I shall comply,” he replied in a polite, mocking manner, placing a hand on his chest as he bowed slightly toward Lorsan with a daring smirk.

“I’m being serious!” Lorsan protested, his voice getting slightly raspy as he lowered his volume to a conspiratorial murmur. “We could hide somewhere if you want us to be discreet; I'll follow your lead."

Bryon kept facing forward with a serious expression, delaying the reply. Minutes passed without an answer, and Lorsan was losing hope, drifting his attention to the notes again in an attempt to distract himself, but failing miserably in doing so. Just as he was about to give up for good, he caught the subtle sound of metal chiming as Bryon turned his head in his direction. 

“I'll consider it,” the sentinel mused.

“Is that a yes?” Lorsan murmured back.

Bryon faced the path ahead once more. 

“...If the opportunity arises,” he granted.

Lorsan’s ears stood up, shaking at the sound of Bryon’s approval. He fidgeted in anticipation; he couldn't wait for the opportunity to present itself. How much time until that happened? Maybe he could come up with something—

His planning-ahead suddenly stopped as the weight of reality resurfaced. 

Lorsan’s pace became slower as the heavy load weighed on his chest: There wasn't much time left before he had to bid farewell.  

“Wait… I’d almost forgotten,” Lorsan thought out loud, the disappointment in his voice clear as he scratched his head in frustration.

He was certain Bryon had noticed his shift in mood, but before he could explain himself, the sentinel called out for Elona with a snap of his fingers. She approached with graceful movements and placed herself back into his arm.

“Elona…!” Lorsan said, grateful of her presence —and Bryon’s silent support. 

“Would you remind us where to head next?” Bryon asked Elona, intently listening to her insight.

Elona chirped something back, and Bryon lips parted in surprise, his shoulders stiffening. 

“What are you—? That’s uncalled for,” he murmured as his lips pursed into a sheepish wince. “Leave that for later, will you?”

Hearing only half of his conversations with Elona always left him wondering what they were talking about, but he refrained from asking —he could tell Bryon felt a bit worked up by the way he kept replying to Elona's chirping, murmuring under his breath while shaking his head. It never ceased to surprise him how expressive he was when it was about her.

Despite the amusing sight, his mind kept returning to an intrusive thought: Was telling Bryon about his departure a good idea, again?

Deep down, Lorsan feared his reaction. Most importantly, he feared he couldn’t bear the sight of a sad face coming from Bryon —he would be totally at fault for that. Which decision would be best? Which one would get everyone less angry?

Elona's trill made him snap out of it; the notes wrinkling in his hand.

“Alright, alright,” Lorsan blurted, quickly smoothing out the paper, giving it a quick read while resting his weight on Heedwind. “Let's just finish this so the old geezer –and Elona– won't complain.”  

After reading the descriptions aloud for the team, Bryon asked Elona to soar in the sky to help them again. She came back quickly and spoke to Bryon, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“She seemed to have found something,” Bryon explained, not wasting any time. “A clear spot near the Spring.”

As Elona guided them in the correct direction, Lorsan continued to follow Bryon, keeping his distance for a few steps.

“Hopefully it's around and not inside,” he mused, with a sheepish grin pulling at his lips. “I’d rather not get lost again.” 

“Do you still get lost there? That comes as a surprise,” Bryon commented.

Lorsan made a sound of protest, followed by a retort:

“Not a fair comparison,” he said. “Elona flies, you know? She guides you and comes to your rescue. Not fair then, and not fair now.”

Bryon simply shrugged. Agreeing or deflecting, he couldn’t tell. Perhaps, it was a bit of both.

“You wanted a clean water source earlier,” Bryon reminded him. “Quite efficient, if you ask me.”

“Me? What for?” Lorsan asked, frowning as he tried to remember.

“You were hungry, am I wrong?” Bryon replied. “I heard you wondering about where to clean the fruit you gathered.”

“Right!” Lorsan said with a small laugh, nodding profusely —he got so lost in thought, he had also forgotten about it.

As they made their way to Moongloss, Lorsan wondered if the incessant twitching of his ears and tail provoked any kind of sound. 

He hoped Bryon wouldn't notice.