My eyes are heavy with the nights travel beneath them. A nights travel through the dark mountain passes beyond the Last Spire have sapped my body of what little strength I had left when we left Ettlemont. While my body therms with the descending adrenaline, my heart grows heavier still from the burden in Farrago’s eyes. The trek south has been several hours, and seemingly Farrago’s eyes have looked over his shoulder every fifteen minutes, hoping to see the fires recede and something other than distance to reduce the din of combat from the mountain top. Each passing step has sapped my energy, but soul has been tapped as his strides have carried him away from the home he has known for all the years of his life.

As we break through the mountain trail into the small village of Angler’s End, night is beginning to lose its eternal battle with dawn. The road widens, opening into the center of the village where a man stands by the center fountain, looking up the mountain with arms crossed about this chest. He is tall and gaunt, with salt and pepper hair slicked back into a pony tail down to his shoulder. Dark gaps fill his mouth as his necrotic glow breaks through the dim light of the moon.

"A long road sits behind you." His voice gravely and low. I feel it vibrating throughout my body, curdling my skin. "Longer ones stand ahead."

"Thanks." I am curt, at best. I thread my arm through Farrago's arm, feeling the heaviness of his step and sunken heart. Again I see him turn over his shoulder to see the red orange bonfire that looms atop the mountain.

"Soon there will be nothing left to look back at, boy. Focus ahead instead." I snarl at his gruffness and disregard. Farrago's leg buckle momentarily, but he catches himself. Turning to him, I can see him walking away through the village, waving us in behind him. I hesitate. "Gardy loo, kisas. Yon malchick knows peril." Through the darkness I see on his wrist the faint tattoo of a heart, now faded with time.

I nod to the man, a single finger pressed to the edge of my brow as I do so. A signal between friends of thanks. And I pull Farrago toward the docks aheads.

Kyah and farrago emerge from the mountain pass into the small village of Anglers End. Much of the village is dark with the heaviness of night long cast over it. The two travelers arrive unceremoniously into the wide opening of the village square.

Farrgo runs a stiff neck, but still peers up the mountain over his shoulder. The flickering red orange lights of Ettlemonts incineration casts shadows across his face, and more resolve to be drawn from his body.

Kyah limps upon exhausted feet. Her arm wrapped beneath Farrago’s, slightly pulling him forward from the mountain. Her face grim, and eyes frenetic in their examination of Farrago’s face. Dust plooms off of her as she comes to a stop, noting the swarthy man at the center of the square by the village well.

Tall and slender, his ratty ponytail seems to ooze night. "A long road sits behind you." A silky necrosis slithers between the remaining teeth in his mouth. "And a longer one rests ahead." Kyah angles herself before the dazed Farrago, threading her arm inside his and accepting the burden of his weight. Heavy steps make for a long pause as Kyah seeks to place herself between the cad ahead and her companion.

"Thanks." Kyah's voice is harsh; standoffish. Her attention turns to Farrago, noting his lingering glance to the dancing glow of the ravages above.

"Soon there will be nothing left to look back at, boy. Focus ahead instead." Kyah snarls, eyes dashing to the long strides of the man, his voice again filling the air. A wave of his spindly hands toward the town center, and Kyah's eyes snap to the edge of his wrist, drinking in the sight of a faded black heart. "Gardy loo, kisas. Yon malchick knows peril."

The last of his cant fall into Kyah's ears, and the tension in her body begins to ease. The weight of her guard rescinds, and she hastens Farrago's steps towards the dock the rogue moves them toward.