Twelve

"Well... some of it," he admitted with a nervous expression brought on by Sylvie's smile. "It's hard to explain it. The Lady Luck doesn't... really give me much at all to work with, usually. She steers me and prevents me from walking away from whatever she wants me to do. Sometimes she just likes to watch me squirm out of some godsforsaken crypt or hostile encampment." Sebastian sounded a little bitter for a moment. "I'm her... I don't know. I'm her jester," and pawn.

"As for the Lady Land..." he looked around, drinking in the scenery and the sound of the river as well as the sounds from the dragon and the orb. "She doesn't have to ask."

And I talk too much. A single grey eyebrow rose a little. "I'm not sure why I'm telling all of this to you."

"Well, if you don't usually tell these things to anyone who asks, I don't have the slightest idea." A slight pause. "That is, unless you don't usually get asked so many questions."

He smiled. "A bit of both I think." He, too, paused for a moment. "Maybe because I trust you." Sebastian shrugged, but secretly felt a little uneasy. Admitting something like that in conjunction with what he had just told her was potentially dangerous.

He just looked up at the sky as if thinking of the weather again.

"Thank you," Sylvie answered, solemnly, smiling.

Sebastian, however, seemed a bit nervous. Her idea for an answer to that seemed a bit silly, but, well, if they'd come this far...

Her smile turned self-depreciating, and she cleared her throat. "In case it's any help, the most I ever told anyone about you was telling Nico I thought you might dislike chickens, after she had worked out that talisman was for you." She shrugged. Yes, it did sound silly.

A crack of sunshine: that was a topic that he couldn't help but grin at. "I see. Thank you, it helps." Sebastian shot a glance toward his satchel. "I still have it there."

The thought that it must have been useless for a while by now did cross her mind. Well, at least it was smaller and lighter than the orb she was lugging around. She wasn't blushing, was she? Nooo, probably not.

Sylvie looked at the strange orb, and noticed Ayu-Asra had curled his tails around it.

"I considered leaving that behind for this little expedition, but after your talking about it as something alive and feeling, it felt wrong stuffing it into a box and leaving it there for a month. Apart from that they seem to get along fine."

Sebastian stared at the orb and dragon for a while -- my goodness, that's adorable -- and nodded. "At least the orb distracts him for a while, hmm?" he asked, then immediately continued while his smile grew. "I'm not sure it would have minded nothing happening for a month, but it's good of you."

"Hm... Assuming it lay in that tower for a while before you found it, probably not. But, yes, it gives him something to do."

One of Ayu-Asra's head stared back at Sebastian suspiciously.

Sebastian just grinned back and whistled a part of the melody at Ayu-Asra. All the while he was fighting with himself to squeeze out the thing he had been trying to talk about for a while now, but he was having trouble finding the right words.

"On the matter of trust, still..." he looked at her owlishly. "I've been trying to come up with a way to say something without sounding stupid, but I can't. So I'll just say it. The Hat people talk about in stories is just an act. Do me a great big favour and remember that." Pause. "You can laugh now," he suggested with a smile, which itself suggested he knew how strange the whole matter really seemed. "All right?"

The dragon gave a short, curious whistle and fell silent. When Sebastian turned his attention back to Sylvie, he curled up and returned to humming, albeit very quietly now.

"It doesn't sound much like a joke." She considered for a moment, and did not find the idea that strange. "I'll keep it in mind. In case I ever hear any of those stories."

"Thank you, Sylvie. It's not," Sebastian said with an encouraged smile and continued with an awkward twitch of his eyebrows. "But be prepared to see the act with your own eyes, too."

He was lost for a moment and looked away at the river, still smiling.

"Right." Maybe it should have been obvious.

After a sigh she added, "That might get interesting." She was clearly aware that "interesting" was not always a good thing.

"Might. I hope it won't," he smiled a little weakly, looking at her. "I want to be just another faceless wanderer this time."

"Good luck with that." By all means a earnest wish, but, well - his looks were not exactly what one could call common.

His only response was to smile a secret, secret smile.

---

Things are hardly the way they used to be. Neither, old chap, are you.

A pair of green eyes reflected the starlight. They narrowed mirthfully even though the thoughts behind them were disjointed, ricocheting and fleeting. Worried. From left to right, up and down did the eyes go, until they fixed on the two other living forms by the bank.

Sebastian hadn't been able to sleep again after waking up in the middle of the night. As an opportunist, he slept when he could and thus wasn't too bothered by this even if he felt a little groggy. It was the day's events, which were the reason for his sudden onset of insomnia, that were causing him some worry.

Trust, you said. Why? A young red willow comes along, shows mercy never asked or wished for and you lose your gift for words. How peculiar, so unlike you.

Are you out of your mind?

The internal monologue had been going on for a while now, and he finally ended it by reasoning that what was done was done. So someone knew. Somebody he couldn't claim to truly understand his dilemmas, his problems... but it wasn't as if he'd told Sylvie everything.

The half-elf sat himself on a rock by the water and checked the seams of his shirt. He was done wondering why he had trusted this woman. There simply was no reason to, anymore: he simply had and did. The other question interested him infinitely more and was by far much trickier than the first one. He glanced at Sylvie again and frowned.

What made a person both who seemed so practical, equipped with a working type of common sense and a fair bit of... was compassion the right word? Sebastian couldn't say. She came across as truthful at every turn - and few lies got past him anymore, after the many backstabbers and manipulators he had taken hits from.

Sylvie mystified him. And she wasn't even a puzzle. And nobody had ever invaded his dreams as an elusive shadow that seemed to just stand still and watch him almost knowingly. Worse, the dream had been full of half-memories of home, voices, vague faces he recognised but could no longer put a name to. Father Deetr's face was made of clay, his features long since gone from Sebastian's memory. He was only a name and a voice, saying: Stop dreaming, daft child.

And he had, now, but not then, years and years ago. He had carved his dreams, the ones he had been seeing since early childhood. Now they were his life, and he was a distant dream. Or was he? Dreams held meanings. They were Lady Luck's - Fortuna's - way of baiting and teasing the common mortal. Now he wondered what this night's share meant.

Sebastian waited in the half-darkness and watched the sky, knowing it was lighter now that it had been just a moment ago. Dawn was coming and he was ready to greet it with a bowed head and a smile.

Came dawn. It grew older for a time Sebastian didn't measure until there was movement nearby. He turned to watch with owlish, curious eyes.

The dragon stirred, uncoiled, and shook his heads. A few moments of sniffing and looking around, and hearing some morning birds, he took position near to Sylvie's head and preened. He raised his heads and took a deep breath. Sylvie turned around and said surprisingly clearly, "If you screech in my ear, you..." It startled the dragon enough to flutter a short way away and perch on a rock.

Sylvie sat up and stretched, before wishing Sebastian a good morning.

The dragon began a loud morning concert comprising birdsong and stranger noises, and Sylvie combed out her hair as best as she could using only her fingers.

Well, still alive and whole, so trusting him was no catastrophal mistake. Yet. Her lips curled into a smile. The first meeting had held pity and anger, amusement and guilt rolled into one confusing bundle, the second had left her wondering what in the world was going on in his head, and now, well. It wasn't over yet.

She trusted him because curiosity and sympathy had overruled wariness, mostly.

"Good morning." His first action was to get up and stretch like a cat woken up from a nap. The second: he walked over to the fire - which he had quietly rekindled after his sudden awakening - and fed the fire from a pile of driftwood that hadn't been there in the evening. Then he rolled the sleeves of his coat up: he had rolled them down during the night. The wrist of each sleeve was lined with a patch of leather that looked rather worn. "Slept well?" he asked and started going through his satchel - once again.

"Yes." She stopped herself before "Slept at all?" could escape, and went with "Yourself?" instead.

She tied her hair together in the nape of her neck.

"When I did, yes. I've been thinking about the weather. I still think we're fine on that front." His eyes strayed to the sky. Wisps of low altitude clouds had begun to dot the horizon some time after dawn. "Well. I'll get started on the water," Sebastian said as he snapped out of it. He picked a small paper package from the satchel, placed it on the satchel and went to fetch water to boil.

"Good." It wasn't entirely clear what she was referring to, but it generally was a decent answer, provided things were not bad.

"I'll be off for a bit." She got up, snatched her boots and main change of clothes, and went downriver, walking on for a short while after getting out of sight. Her morning toilet included a catwash, and her outfit consisted of trousers in a muted dark blue and a natural-coloured shirt of light cloth.

Random thoughts went through her head; she left the planning for later and snatched a more immediately useful one. A short walk, small climbing tour and a little trickery later she had a few pears - small, but not as sour as they should be. On the way back she hummed an old summer song, singing the odd line she remembered nearly under her breath.