Work Text:
Falst stalks through the canopy, hopping from branch to branch. He keeps quiet, never lingering in one spot long, constantly on the move. His gaze sweeps across the forest floor, searching carefully for anything that might be amiss. There's no traps– he and Dainix had checked in the first patrol, but that does little to settle Falst's nerves.
The ever looming threat of the paladins attacking them again weighs heavy on his mind. Falst is used to being hunted and chased. But he's not used to protecting anyone other than himself. He's still bad at working with the others– no matter how many times Dainix tries to talk him out of it, Falst hasn't quite shaken the habit of taking all the hits.
And really, can you blame him? He knows he's the weak link of the group. The best he has is that he's ferin, and thats about it. He doesn't have any magic– no primordial gods possessing him, no starfire woven into his literal bones, no exploding into fire or lightning– he's just Falst.
But these people need him, he owes them, and most importantly, they're his friends. So, regardless of his shortcomings, he refuses to let anything happen to them without forcing the threat to go through him first.
Which means, of course, he's been more than willing to do the patrols. Nobody was entirely happy with his decision to do this one on his own, but everyone else could use the rest. They're all stressed and tired, pushed far past their limits by the constant attacks from the paladins. It's been almost impossible to find somewhere safe to hunker down for the night– Falst can't remember the last time any of them got a proper night's sleep. Even Kendal has started getting eye bags.
And sure, Falst isn't faring much better, but he's used to this. He's used to the constant, drumming anxiety and the buzzing paranoia. He's used to pushing past the exhaustion and hunger just long enough to find somewhere hidden enough to collapse in for a few hours before moving on again. The writhing, twisting thing in his chest is new, though. It twists through his ribcage like brambles, creeping up his throat and threatening to flood his lungs. A constant weight he carries around that worsens with each passing day until it threatens to suffocate him entirely.
That is probably because of the fact Falst has to look out for the others– which he, again, is very much not used to. But he barely pays it any mind. Just like everything else, he'll learn to deal with it. He just needs to keep everyone alive and safe, that's all that matters.
So he patrols, jumping at every little sound and chasing away even the smallest of threats. And just when he thinks his paranoia might be getting to him a little too much– a scent hits his nose.
A very familiar scent.
Falst tucks himself close to the trunk of the tree he's perched on, obscuring himself in its canopy as footsteps reach his ears. Three pairs, all with matching scents.
Shrike leads the group, idly fiddling with her crossbow as she walks, as if she's just taking a casual stroll through the forest. The bull ferin Falst never caught the name of trails after her, his expression narrowed into something focused. And, shockingly, that archivist Falst vaguely recalls from Zuurith brings up the rear. She looks uncertain, her gaze darting around like she expects someone to jump out at her at any moment, but beneath that is a deep, burning anger.
Falst narrows his eyes. What are these three doing all the way out here? Have they been tracking them since Zuurith? Zuurith couldn't have sent them, could he? No, Erin did mention the archive belonged to the paladins. And since that archivist is here… Something like dread settles in Falst's gut.
She must've found out about the dragon. But– why is she traveling with Shrike? Why not the other paladins that have been hunting Erin so relentlessly? Is Zuurith involved? Or is this some petty revenge plot because Shrike lost Falst and Alinua?
Falst shakes his head. Regardless of who it is they're after, they're still after at least one of them. He needs them gone, now.
It would be stupid to attack them head on, especially alone– but maybe he can chase them out. He darts across the branches, careful to keep quiet and out of sight. They're not heading towards the camp just yet, but they're still uncomfortably close to it. If Falst redirects them…
A stone zips through the air, just barely missing Shrike. She stops, her gaze snapping up.
"Shrike?" The archivist pauses, glancing over at Shrike.
The ferin stops as well, his gaze sweeping silently over the forest. It lands solidly on Falst, and it takes all of Falst's self control to not flinch away from it. It's probably just coincidence. There's no way he can see Falst from there.
"I believe we've found our target." Shrike says, loading her crossbow. The archivist stiffens at that, dropping into a defensive stance.
Falst reels his arm back, and chucks another rock.
This one hits, slamming right into the archivist's back and knocking her out of her clumsy stance with a shout of pain.
"There you are." Shrike whirls around, firing a bolt off into the trees. Falst darts away, the arrow burying itself into the wood mere inches away from where he'd been seconds prior.
This time, Falst is less quiet. He lands with more force than necessary, making the limbs sway and shake beneath his weight, knocking leaves and twigs lose.
"After him!" Shrike shouts, following after just like Falst wanted. Good.
A few more bolts are fired, but none hit their mark as Falst leads the trio further and further from the camp. Once he's sure they're turned around enough, Falst stops, hiding himself behind a tree to catch his breath.
"Did he stop? Where did he go?" The archivist scans the canopy, clutching a spear in her hands.
"Oh, he's still here." Shrike answers with a smile. She raises her voice, calling up into the trees. "You must think you're so smart, don't you?"
Falst doesn't reply.
"You slipped away from me last time, but I won't let that happen again. Your friends aren't here to swoop in and rescue this time, are they?" She asks, almost tauntingly. Falst bites back a growl. He knows better than to let a few words get under his skin. "Don't think they're safe either, just because you lured us away."
Falst freezes.
"I know exactly where your friends are. Your clever little trick was a waste of effort, I'm afraid."
There's a click of a bolt being loaded and that's all the warning Falst gets before it cuts through the canopy, just narrowly missing him. He bites his tongue hard enough to bleed, claws digging into the bark to keep himself steady. He's not going to give himself up that easily.
Except– the bolt shudders. And Falst belatedly remembers something very important as the bolt rips itself from the tree and embeds itself into his shoulder.
Shrike has elemental magic.
Pain explodes across Falst's shoulder and a cry rips itself from his throat, his grip slipping and the world spinning around him as he falls. He just barely catches himself on his feet, gritting his teeth as he glares at Shrike.
She smiles back.
Falst lunges.
The archivist intercepts him, slamming the blunt end of the spear into his injured shoulder. Sparks dance across Falst's vision, but he doesn't let himself falter, grabbing the spear before the archivist pulls it away, and he snaps it with one hand. The archivist scrambles, stepping back– but she's not quick enough. Falst kicks her back, forcing her to the ground and leaping over her– straight towards Shrike.
But a hand catches his ankle, and he's yanked right back down by the archivist. Falst snarls, grabbing her wrist before she can jab the spearhead through his uninjured shoulder. This time, he's not quite so gentle and takes a leaf out of Kendal's book, crushing her wrist in his hand with a horrible crunch.
The archivist screams, falling back, and Falst shoots back onto his feet, focus narrowing in on Shrike. But, once again, he's intercepted. This time, by the ferin. He slams into Falst with the force of a dragon, a large hand wrapping around his throat and lifting him into the air.
Falst chokes, struggling in the firm grip. He digs his claws into the ferin's arm, but he barely flinches, staring at Falst with an unreadable expression. Shrike strolls up behind him, tilting her head up to peer at Falst.
"Well, that ended quicker than I expected." She sighs. "But I suppose you didn't put up much of a fight back in Zuurith, either."
Falst growls, baring his teeth.
"I won't– I won't let you hurt any of them."
"Oh, really? And tell me, how exactly are you planning to do that?" Shrike asks.
Anger boils in Falst's gut.
"Like this."
Something fizzes and snaps in his palm, before light bursts across the back of his eyelids with a loud BANG!
The ferin drops Falst, and he's running the second his feet touch the ground. His shoulder screams in protest, but the pain is barely anything compared to the injuries he's endured over the years. The archivist shouts something but Falst doesn't look back, diving into the brush– and then something in his shoulder yanks, and the pain triples as the bolt still buried in his flesh rips itself clean through him.
He chokes back a scream, stumbling forward, his legs threatening to give out from under him. He can't be caught. He can't. Panic grips his chest as Falst fumbles for another flash bang, but something hits his leg, and he slams into the ground.
No, no, no!
Chains constrict his leg, sliding up to his chest and arms like snakes, coiling around him even as he struggles. A wild desperation bursts to the surface and– something shatters the chains like glass, but Falst barely gives it a second thought, springing back to his feet.
Someone says something, but its lost to the buzzing in Falst's ears. He needs to get away, escape, hide. Falst runs through the forest, dodging arrows and chains alike. There's a distant thought of finding someone for help, but its drowned out by the panic tearing through his mind.
He's not even entirely sure who he's running from, anymore– all the hunters blend together by now, but this one is definitely one of the worst. He hates mages. Falst skids around a tree and leaps into its lower branches, scrambling up into the canopy. His shoulder burns, blood rushing down his arm, but he keeps moving, keeps running. He can't stop. Not until its safe.
The sound of footsteps grow distant. Soon, they fall silent completely by the time Falst finds a hidey hole to tuck himself away in. His chest heaves, his shoulder aches, and his mind whirls with a lingering panic that chokes out any calm thought. A whine bubbles in his chest but he chokes it back, teeth digging into his tongue. He has to stay quiet. Hidden. Safe.
A minute passes.
And then another.
Falst stays as tense as a snake, coiled and ready to strike, his heart thundering away in his chest. But his adrenaline is waning, and exhaustion is quick to take its place. His shoulder hurts, fresh waves of agony ripping through him with every twitch. Falst fights back a scream as he presses a hand to the wound, a feeble attempt to stem the bleeding. Thankfully, its already starting to lessen– hopefully it'll stop within the hour.
A shaky exhale escapes his throat, and some awareness creeps back in as the panic recedes. Falst peeks out of the abandoned burrow he shoved himself in, ears perked an straining for any signs of Shrike and her crew. Thanks to the giant gaping wound in his shoulder, all he can smell is the sharp scent of blood, so his tracking through smell is entirely useless. Though, that probably also means that other ferin can smell him which means Falst needs to get moving.
Especially if Shrike wasn't bluffing about knowing where the camp is.
Cautiously, Falst pulls himself out of the burrow, keeping low to the ground and ready to run at the slightest movement. When no bolts or chains fly towards him, Falst fumbles for one of his pouches, carefully plucking out a wind lacrima. He holds it close, whispering a message to it and watching as it flutters to life in a burst of magic, tendrils of wind curling around his fingers before the message bird flies off.
This is probably an incredibly stupid idea. If Shrike and the others see this, they could follow it right back to camp. But they need to be warned somehow, and Falst can't run back to camp, not when that bull ferin is definitely tracking him. Besides, someone needs to keep them distracted.
It doesn't take long for Falst to run into Shrike again. She greets him with a chain lunging for his wrist and he rolls out of the way, eyes narrowed.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Shrike calls, something amused in her voice as she easily side steps a wild swipe of Falst's claws.
"Neither do you." Falst shoots back. Chains whip towards him and he snatches them from the air, digging his heels into the dirt and giving the chains a harsh yank.
Shrike stumbles forward, off balance. Falst closes in, tackling her and slamming her into the ground. She grunts, wincing as Falst digs his claws into her wrists, keeping them pinned. Her chains fall limp, her magic cut off.
Movement flashes in the corner of Falst's eye and he twists, moving a hand to Shrike's throat.
"You try anything and I kill her right here and now." He hisses, and the archivist freezes.
The spearhead pointed towards him falters and the archivist glances towards Shrike. But, whatever she sees apparently emboldens her, because the archivist presses closer, tightening her grip on the spear. Blood pricks beneath Falst's claws, and Shrike winces.
"I know who you're working with." The archivist says, voice low with a barely restrained fury. "I'm not going to let you or him trick me. Not again."
Falst growls, his tail whipping back and forth, fur bristling.
"Back off." He flexes his claws, and then–
Multiple things happen at once. The archivist lunges, just as Shrike slams a boot into Falst's chest, kicking him away and directly into the bull ferin's grasp. Arms wrap around Falst, pulling him away, and the archivist moves between him and Shrike, her spear at his throat. Tension draws taut like the string of a bow, a suffocating silence settling over the group.
Well, Falst thinks, at least they're distracted.
"Was that a better fight for you?" He says, glaring at Shrike over the archivist's shoulder. The ferin's grip on him tightens warningly.
Shrike rubs her throat, pulling her hand back and looking at the crimson smeared across her fingers with an unreadable expression.
"You're stubborn, I'll give you that." She says after a moment, expression settling back her usual display of feigned casualness. "But I've hunted worse. Maybe your friends will give me more of a challenge. Especially that elf. I saw what she did to that mountain."
"Stay away from her!" Falst shouts, lurching in the ferin's grasp before he's yanked back. The archivist presses her spear closer, glaring. Falst glares right back.
"We should restrain him. Before he tries to escape again." The archivist says, her voice slightly strained. Falst glances at her wrist, and the ugly, purple bruises twisting over her skin. He hopes it hurts.
"What? Scared I'll break your other wrist?" He sneers, baring his teeth.
"You—"
"Enough." The ferin speaks finally, his voice low with a quiet warning. A growl rumbles in the back of Falst's throat.
"I would listen to Trusk." Shrike calls, barely looking up from the bag she's rummaging around in. "He's not one to make empty threats."
"He doesn't scare me."
"Shrike." The archivist calls, ignoring Falst. "We really should—"
"Remind me who's in charge here? I'm getting it." Shrike replies, a little snappily, withdrawing whatever she was searching for. Past the thick scent of iron still clogging his nose, Falst catches the scent of something else familiar.
Oh no.
Falst lurches again, slamming his head back into Trusk's chin hard enough for something to crack, but the arms around him barely loosen. He kicks and writhes, but the efforts useless, Shrike stalking closer with something smug in her expression.
"Let me go!" Falst shouts, swinging a foot towards the archivist, but she's nowhere near close enough for him to land a hit.
"Nope. Capturing you is only the first part of my plan." Shrike grins, pulling her mask over her nose. The archivist echoes her movement.
No, no, no!
He's trapped, he's trapped. Panic rushes up Falst's throat. Something boils under his skin.
"Quick, before he—!" The archivist shouts, and sleep powder floods Falst's throat as Shrike crushes the pellet in her palm.
He coughs, his body violently rejecting the powder. It clogs his nose and stings his eyes, the world going hazy and purple around him as he starts to slip. Falst struggles, thrashing weakly, but the powder works fast. There's nothing he can do. The world falls away, and everything goes dark.
Dainix paces the border of the camp, his spear clutched tightly in his hand as he scans the trees, over and over again. Heat whispers under his skin, and he forces himself to breathe. In, and out. Hold, repeat. Stay steady and clear-headed, don't let it overwhelm. The fire is his. He will not lose control.
The words play on repeat like a prayer in Dainix's mind as he turns on his heel and doubles back, anxiety still thrumming in his chest. He's not the only worried one— a quiet tension runs through the camp, each of them growing more and more restless with each passing minute. Falst should have been back by now. The forest is quiet, too quiet, something is wrong, something happened to him—
Bop.
Dainix freezes as something collides with the side of his head. He holds a palm out for the message bird, dread settling in his gut as it opens its beak.
"This missive is intended for Dainix."
"Guys!" Dainix shouts, rushing towards the others. Everyone scrambles to attention as Falst's voice rings out from the bird, his voice strained in a way Dainix recognizes well. He's injured.
"Shrike and that ferin are here. The archivist Erin talked to in Zuurith, too, for some reason? They're— they're looking for you guys. Shrike said she knew where the camp was. If this bird is alone, that means they caught me, and you need to get out of there."
Erin swears as the bird dissipates, Falst's voice fading with it.
"Erin, could you—" Kendal asks, just as Erin's arm illuminates as he activates his wind magic.
"Already on it."
"Did he say Shrike? Why would she be—?" Alinua begins, looking towards Tess.
"Does it matter why she's here? She has Falst. We need to get him back." Dainix interrupts, the ends of his hair sparking dangerously.
"I'm sure he'll be okay. He's tough." Tess assures, flashing Dainix a grin. "Besides, we've beaten Shrike before. We can do it again."
"Let's still be cautious though, yes? If Falst is right, and that archivist is here, that means—"
"The paladins could know where we are." Kendal finishes grimly. Erin winces.
"Yes. That." Erin says, summoning a message bird. "So let's not linger!"
Dainix nods, gripping his spear. Once he's whispered his message, Erin releases the bird, and they all set off after it.
The world comes into focus slowly.
The first thing Falst becomes aware of is the headache raging through his skull, like he'd just been trampled ten times over. The second thing is that he can't move.
Chains wrap around his limbs, binding his arms and legs. An experimental tug rattles them noisily, and also brings Falst to the realization that the chains wrapped around him are also wrapped around a tree, leaving him well and truly stuck.
Fantastic.
Falst fights past the headache and forces his eyes open, squinting against the harsh sunlight that greets him. He's… still in the same clearing they captured him in. Why is he—?
Oh.
Oh no.
They're using him as bait.
The clearing is empty. It's just him, but Falst can smell the others. He knows they're here, waiting. It's an ambush.
Of course. Of course. If he had just— gods, he's so stupid! He played right into their plan, and now the others are going to— Dainix will— Falst strains against the chains, uncaring how the metal cuts into his skin. It's happening again. He's the weak link, the liability, he can't even do the one thing he's good at right. And now, he's dragged everyone into danger, ruining the one chance they had at finding somewhere marginally quiet to settle for just one damn night.
Frustration burns in the back of his throat. What is wrong with him? Shouldn't he know better by now? Why can't he just—!
Bap.
Falst flinches away from the blur of magic flying circles, before he fully processes what it is and blinks dumbly up at the bird, chirping in Erin's voice.
Shit.
"Falst!" Dainix bursts into the clearing soon after, his gaze landing on Falst immediately. His eyes go wide at the chains, and he rushes forward, further into the clearing–
"No, stop!" Falst shouts, lurching forward. The chains pull taut, keeping him anchored. Keeping him trapped. Helpless. "Its a—!"
Dainix drops just as a bolt whizzes over his head. His expression twists into a scowl, fire hissing out from between his teeth as his gaze whips towards movement from the bushes.
"So that's where you went." Shrike says, reloading her crossbow as she steps into view. She clicks her tongue, disappointed. "And you were so close to the end of your sentence too, weren't you, Champion?"
"Let him go." Dainix brandishes his spear, fury burning in his gaze.
"Hmm…" Shrike tilts her head. "No."
She pulls the trigger, and another bolt cuts through the air. Dainix dodges, darting to the side and rushing forward, but the bolt turns midair, coming up behind him—
"Dainix, behind you!" Falst shouts, only for the bolt to abruptly turn sharply towards the sky, disappearing into the distance.
Dainix doesn't falter, lunging for Shrike as Erin reveals himself, his tattoos glowing. The chains around Falst begin to loosen as Erin's magic ensnares them, and Falst is quick to take advantage, wriggling out of the restraints. Alinua rushes past Erin, straight for Falst, her Life mark already illuminated.
"Falst!" She exclaims, relief clear in her expression.
Falst barely gets a chance to react before she crashes into him, enveloping him in a magic-infused hug. Warmth washes over him and his wounds close up and scar over, leaving only a vague ache in his shoulder. Falst slumps into it, the powder's effect still clinging to his mind.
"Falst? Did I— Did I miss something? Are you still hurt?" Alinua tries to pull away, but Falst can't get himself to let go of her, clinging to the back of her shirt with his face buried into her shoulder.
"Alinua, I'm—"
A shadow falls over them, and Falst shoves Alinua back just as a hand closes around the back of his shirt collar. Trusk lifts him clear off the ground, pulling him away from Alinua, away from the others, moving to restrain him again—
"Drop him." Kendal says— no, commands, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing Trusk's wrist. His sword hangs loosely in his other hand, its blade gleaming in the sunlight.
The two stare at each other for a long moment before Trusk obeys, releasing Falst. Falst drops like a stone, collapsing into the grass. Kendal stands guard above him as Alinua rushes back over, helping Falst sit back up. Falst shifts, bristling defensively as he tries to put himself between Trusk and Alinua even as she protests— but Shrike calls for Trusk's help, and the ferin slips away without another word.
"Can you walk?" Kendal asks, turning to Falst. He offers a hand, which Falst takes. Kendal tugs him to his feet with ease, and Falst stands up, moving to take a step.
"Yeah, I'm—" He staggers, ignoring the flash of shame as Alinua's hands shoot out to grab his shoulders and balance him. Falst swallows, his tail coiling around his leg. "…Maybe give me a second."
"I can cut them off from us, so they can't chase once we run." Alinua offers, nodding towards the fight happening behind them.
Dainix and Shrike clash together again and again, while Tess keeps Trusk busy, and Erin deals with the archivist. Guilt twists in Falst's stomach.
"This is my fault." He mutters, wrapping his arms around himself. "If I had just—"
"No." Kendal cuts him off, his tone leaving little room for argument. Falst can't help but weakly chuckle at that. Right. They've had this conversation before.
"We can talk about it once we're somewhere safer. For now we just need to get out of here before any paladins show up." Alinua says, giving Falst's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"Right." Falst swallows the guilt. He needs to focus. "There's an overhang nearby, I think. Erin could probably carve a shelter out of it."
"That's where we'll go, then." Kendal nods towards Alinua, and she nods back.
Stepping away, Alinua raises a hand as her Life mark begins to glow. The ground rumbles as the forest shifts, before the dirt splits open and roots shoot up, ensnaring Shrike, Trusk, and the archivist in their grasp. Alinua tightens her hand into a fist, and all three are brought to their knees, restrained with barely a fight.
"We're leaving." She announces.
"See you again sometime!" Tess waves towards Trusk as she jogs over to Alinua, Dainix following suit.
"Tess, don't say goodbye to the people attacking us." Erin grumbles, taking up the rear as he moves to rejoin the group, hesitating only for a second to shoot a glance back the archivist, who glares back at him with a betrayed expression.
Shrike, meanwhile, is completely silent, her gaze dragging along the roots keeping her still and up towards Alinua. Cold dread coils at the base of Falst's spine at the look in her eyes. It's a stark contrast to the bored dismissal she had given Alinua before. This is something else entirely— Falst isn't even sure how to describe it, but it's unsettling.
Thankfully, he doesn't have to think about it long, because roots obscure his view of the clearing, weaving themselves together into a thick barricade.
"I'm not sure how long that'll keep them down. We should move." Alinua says, dropping her hand.
"I'll lead." Falst says, turning and taking off before anyone can stop him. But, luckily for him, no arguments are made, and everyone follows after him.
The walk is— strangely quiet. The moments after fights always are, even if they got off easy with this one. Though, this silence is… more tense than usual. Falst's spine crawls with the weight of a familiar gaze. He doesn't need to look back to know Dainix is staring at him.
Falst's guilt comes back full force, slithering up his throat until he's choking on it. He knows how stupid it was to patrol alone. He knows how stupid it was to try and lure Shrike away, he does. He knows it was his own fault that he got caught, his own fault they have to relocate. And he knows Dainix is definitely upset with him about it. How many times have they had this conversation, already? How many times will they have it until Falst actually stops and thinks for once? How many times will this happen until he actually learns how to be a good teammate?
Maybe he's just— not cut out for this at all. Maybe this is just his nature. He's too stubborn, too mean, too wild. The others can try to tame him— but they can only do so much. They'll grow tired of it, eventually. If they haven't already. Maybe this is the final straw. Because, really, how many times has Falst made a fight so much worse because he got himself too injured to help? The fight against Tynan, the battle at Rakhn— again and again, he's failed. And he's not getting better. Things would probably be so much easier for everyone if he never joined the group at all.
Dainix's gaze is like a sword against his back, cold metal biting his skin as Falst's thoughts spiral deeper and deeper. He can barely bring himself to choke out a quiet, 'here.' when he finally finds the overhang. Everyone's gratitudes ring hollow in his ears, and he retreats to a secluded corner, fighting the urge to disappear into the trees entirely. He tells himself the only thing holding him back is the relentless, gnawing headache still scraping away at the base of his skull and the lingering exhaustion of the sleep powder.
Reality… slips away from him for a bit. At some point, he curled in on himself, his legs hugged to his chest with his arms pillowed on his knees and his face hidden behind them. It's a pathetic display, but Falst can't work up the energy to force himself to uncurl. He's just— tired. Guilt and shame and self-hatred stew in his stomach, clawing and thrashing like wild beasts caught in cages, and his head still hurts.
Just as he begins to consider asking Alinua to grow a sleeping flower for him so he can do something besides stewing in his own cesspit of emotions, the air around him shifts. Someone settles next to him, radiating a familiar warmth. Falst tenses, and does not look up.
"Falst?" Dainix calls, quietly. "You haven't moved in… a while. I just wanted to check that everything was okay."
"M'fine." Falst mumbles out, unconvincingly.
"For some reason, I don't believe you." Dainix says wryly. "…You don't have to talk about it. But just… remember you have us, okay?"
And that's the problem, isn't it? He knows whats coming. He knows. He needs to be better, be smarter, and everything else he's heard a million times over. And maybe its selfish of him, but just this once, Falst doesn't want to hear it. It'll be a waste of time for them both— Dainix's effort is better spent elsewhere, on people who are actually capable of listening to him and changing for the better.
"…Sure." Falst curls tighter around himself, shifting so he's partially facing away from Dainix. Dainix, apparently, does not get the message to go away, because he draws in another breath to speak. Falst braces himself.
"I'll leave you alone after this, but I just—" Dainix pauses, searching for his words. "—I'm worried about you, Falst."
Falst stays silent.
"You've been so quiet since Shrike, and even before that… I know we're all stressed and tired, but it seems to really be effecting you. At least, that's what it looks like to me. I'm worried that there's something going on you're not telling us about."
Oh.
This isn't the lecture Falst was expecting, no, this is worse. Dainix thinks he's hiding something. Maybe he thinks Falst is sabotaging them on purpose. It wouldn't be that far fetched. Falst's fingers curl, his claws digging into his palms. His tail curls tightly around his ankle. He thinks he might be trembling.
"…Falst?" Fabric rustles, and the warmth ticks up by half a degree as Dainix shifts closer. "Falst, can you look at me?"
Falst flinches away from the hand hovering over his shoulder, a pathetic little growl tumbling from his throat. Regret sinks in immediately, his shoulders going tense. There's a long moment where Dainix doesn't say anything, and Falst distantly wonders if maybe he just left, and Falst somehow missed it— but there's still a warmth lingering on his skin, and his skin still prickles with the weight of Dainix's gaze.
The silence drags on, stretching into something tense and awkward as neither men speak. Falst holds himself tightly. Each minute Dainix doesn't speak or move, the urge to bolt into the forest and never look back grows. It wouldn't be hard. The worst of the sleep powder's effects have worn off by now, and Falst knows he's quicker than Dainix if— for some reason— he tries to stop him from running.
Its the tactical thing to do.
"…How's your shoulder?" Dainix asks, suddenly. Falst startles, actually looking over Dainix out of surprise. Dainix blinks back at him expectantly.
"…I thought you said you were going to leave me alone." Falst mumbles, his head sinking back into his arms, though he peeks out through his bangs, instead of hiding his face away entirely.
"Do you want me to?"
Falst doesn't reply.
"I'll take that as a no." Dainix says, leaning back a bit. He casts his gaze off to the side, towards their new camp. "So… how is your shoulder? Alinua told me you had a pretty nasty injury."
"S'fine. She healed it." Falst replies after half a beat of hesitation. He doesn't understand why Dainix is asking this— if Alinua told him about it, then she would've assured him she healed it, too. Besides, Dainix's witnessed first hand how quick Falst heals. So what's the point of asking about it?
"That's good."
Falst gives a wordless hum of acknowledgement.
"I'm glad you're okay." Dainix adds when Falst doesn't give a proper reply. Falst can't help but scoff at that. "What— did you just scoff? Do you think I shouldn't be glad?"
"You already admitted you don't trust me." Falst shrugs, reaching down to fidget with the tuft of his tail to ignore the way his heart twists with a sudden panic. "Don't need to waste your breath pretending to be nice."
"I- What? No, what?" Dainix's gaze snaps back to him, and he moves to fully face Falst, his expression one of disbelief. "Falst, what are you talking about?"
Falst keeps his gaze on his tail, rubbing the fur between his fingers.
"You're worried I'm hiding something." He states flatly, choking back any emotion that tries to leak through. It's fine, it's fine. This is what he was expecting, wasn't it? That this couldn't last forever? That they'd get tired of him eventually, one way or the other?
"What??????" Dainix glances away like he'll find answers elsewhere, before looking back at Falst. "That's not what I meant at all!"
Falst gives him a flat look.
"Falst, seriously. Why would I even— I'm worried you're struggling, and hiding that! Not that you're—" Dainix gestures wildly, exasperated. "—untrustworthy, or something! I just don't want you shouldering heavy emotional stuff alone! Do you really think I don't trust you?"
And gods, Dainix sounds heartbroken by the idea that Falst could ever think such a thing. Its enough to give Falst pause, and he risks a glance up. The worry in Dainix's gaze is overwhelming, something caring and far too soft in his expression.
Falst shrinks in on himself, any argument he could make dying in his throat.
"Is that why you're upset?" Dainix asks, shifting even closer. His shoulder just barely brushes Falst's, the touch sending jolts through his skin. Falst resists the urge to shove Dainix away.
"No. I'm not upset." Falst pins his tail to stop it from thrashing. Dainix glances down, raising an eyebrow.
"You seem like you're a little upset." He notes. "I do trust you, Falst. I mean it. You've done so much for me, for everyone. I trust you with my life."
Falst's breath catches in his throat, Dainix's words lodging in his chest like a knife between his ribs. He's not sure he's breathing, anymore.
"Well maybe you shouldn't." He mutters, before he can stop himself. Dainix frowns.
"Why not?"
"Because I—!" Falst swallows back the sudden spark of frustration, hiding his face away in his arms. "If I hadn't gone off alone to patrol, Shrike wouldn't have captured me, and we wouldn't have had to move camps again."
"I'll admit that was reckless of you, and you're definitely not doing that again, but… Shrike probably would've found us either way. If anything, you were able to warn us ahead of time and give us a chance to prepare so we weren't caught off guard." Dainix bumps his shoulder against Falst's, shooting him a small smile. "And everything turned out alright in the end, didn't it? Nobody nearly died this time around."
"That's such a low bar." Falst huffs with a quiet amusement, but its quick to fizzle. "We just got lucky today. This isn't the first time I've fucked things up. If I hadn't rushed into things back in Zuurith, maybe Kendal wouldn't have— and the ruins, or Rakhn—"
"If it weren't for you, Falst, I would've died on Rakhn." Dainix interrupts, voice firm. Falst goes quiet, trying not to think about how cold Dainix had been back then. "You've made mistakes in the past. But we all have. There's a million things we all could've done better, but it's already happened. We can't go back to fix it. We can only learn from our mistakes and move forward."
"But I haven't learned!" Falst exclaims, jumping to his feet, away from Dainix. "I'm still doing impulsive, stupid things, no matter how many times you tell me not to, because its all I can do! I don't have any special powers like the rest of you. I can't turn into a giant flaming monster, I can't take down an entire dragon by myself, I'm not a demigod or a vessel or an elemental mage I'm just— I'm the weak link. I take the hits, but that doesn't even help. It just makes things worse."
Falst wraps his arms around himself, his back turned to Dainix. The back of his neck burns with shame and embarrassment— he hadn't meant to say any of that. It sounds so stupid out loud. He remembers what he said all those months ago, when he properly talked to Dainix the first time. Falst remembers what he thought at that time— that the others would get themselves killed, if he didn't help them. He had felt so useless in that fight against Tynan. And now— he's seen what everyone's capable of, again and again. And he's fallen short of that each time.
"That's not true!" Dainix argues. "Everything you do is so calculated, and half the fights we've had with the paladins we wouldn't have gotten away from if it wasn't for you. You're not weak just because you get hurt during those fights— we all do. And yeah, when we first met, you were stubborn and constantly made everyone's safety your responsibility, but you've been so much better about working together. I barely even have to look at you for you to understand what I'm asking you to do in battle!"
"But—"
"No, listen to me, Falst." Boots crunch over the ground as Dainix stands and circles around to stand in front of Falst, grabbing him by the shoulders. "You are so, so strong, and smart, and clever. More than you realize. You're just as important to this team as anyone else— and you're our friend."
Falst stares up Dainix, his eyes wide. He sounds so— genuine. As if this is just a fact of the universe, that Falst is all these things.
"We were all so worried when you didn't come back from patrol. The second I got your message bird— smart play, by the way— we didn't waste a second to go find you." Dainix continues, firm. "I never meant to make you feel like you were weak, or anything like that. I just— I just get frustrated sometimes, when you forget to think about yourself too and get hurt because of it. I don't like seeing you in pain, even if you heal fast."
"I…" Falst doesn't know how to reply to that.
He wants to deny it, to argue and fight, because surely, surely that can't be what Dainix really thinks. Falst isn't any of those things. He isn't good. But— but Dainix says it so confidently, Falst can't make himself argue. Instead, mortifyingly, his eyes begin to sting.
"I just— What if I'm not good enough? What if something happens, because I couldn't— because I was too—" Falst hunches forward, pressing his hands to his eyes. He trembles, his voice wavering dangerously. "None of you are used to this. None of you are used to- to running, constantly. I don't want- I don't want you to know what its like, but the paladins, and— and I can't stop them, they want to kill Erin, kill all of us, for something we can't even fucking control, and— and its just—"
"Oh, Falst." Dainix says, and suddenly, there's arms wrapping around Falst, pulling him close.
Falst doesn't fight against it, only pressing his face into Dainix's poncho, inhaling a shaky, choked breath. A part of him screams in protest, but its too late to stop himself now, and so he keeps talking, even as his neck burns at the vulnerability of it all.
"I don't— I don't want you guys to live like- like I do. You don't deserve it. It's awful."
"You don't deserve it either." Dainix murmurs. "Is that why you've been so distant lately? Because this is how things used to be for you?"
"Probably." Falst shrugs, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. "I don't know."
"Well, regardless, thank you for talking to me about it." Dainix pulls back enough to smile down at Falst. "Very tactical of you."
"Oh, shut up." Falst shoves Dainix away, and Dainix cackles. Falst fights back his own smile at the sound.
"Seriously, though, I'm glad you told me about it." Dainix says after a moment, his expression sobering a bit. "It makes sense that this would be familiar to you. Like the cave crawlers."
Falst stiffens. A part of him bristles at the comment— Dainix has no reason to bring that up, this is nothing like that, but, then— He recalls the all consuming panic when Shrike captured him. Despite being only a few hours ago, the memories are already vague and blurry. Maybe Dainix has a point.
"Yeah." He replies, deciding to ignore the emotions coloring his tone. He's done enough introspection for the night, he thinks. "It is."
Dainix steps closer, wrapping an arm around Falst's shoulders. When Falst meets his gaze, Dainix offers him a warm smile.
"Are you hungry? I think Alinua's on dinner duty tonight."
Falst's nose wrinkles up.
"Oh, yay." He says flatly. "Vegetables."
Dainix snorts, tugging Falst with him as he starts walking back towards the camp.
"Okay, so we're just forgetting how quickly you devoured the mushrooms from last week?"
"Mushrooms aren't vegetables. They're some weird third thing."
"I think they count as vegetables. Like cucumbers." Dainix argues.
"You're a vegetable." Falst shoots back, intelligently. Dainix barks out a laugh at that.
"What does that even mean?"
"Oh, you know."
"No?????"
Falst chuckles at the pure bafflement on Dainix's face, and the restless thing in his chest settles slightly. There's still a lingering discomfort swirling in his gut, but its weight is less suffocating now with Dainix's arm around him, and, most importantly— Falst doesn't want to run.
He stays tucked against Dainix's side and his tail sways with a restrained joy as the others brighten up when they spot him walking over. Alinua offers him a bowl of something warm and, despite his earlier complaints, Falst accepts it easily.
He sits by the fire, surrounded on all sides by his friends— Dainix leans against him as they both eat, and Falst quietly listens to him discuss plants native to his home with Alinua and Kendal. Tess comments something that makes Erin shriek in offense. Falst wastes no time in backing up Tess, much to Erin's despair.
They're all still tired and stressed, but this moment is a relief— one Falst is included in, welcomed in. He comes to the quiet realization that night that maybe, just maybe, he does belong here.