Fel heaved himself up and over the edge of a boulder, his robe slapping against the stone as he climbed. Ahead of him, Horace continued to leap and fling himself across the mountainous terrain. He'd jump from the top of a boulder, climb to the ledge of a moss-covered ridge, and then slide down a pebbly slope, all in the same amount of time that it took Fel to navigate a shallow-watered ditch.

Fel had started strong of course, keeping pace with the [Scout] as they retraced his path, but as time went on he'd begun to flag. The half an hour of vigorous movement and climbing had depleted his reserves, forcing him to lag behind as Horace occasionally went ahead to scout for his still-moving team.

In short, Fel was struggling.

And so it was unsurprising to both men that upon reaching the top of this most recent boulder, Fel collapsed into a heap, too tired to go on.

Horace, who'd been sticking by at the time, merely looked down at him as he dropped.

"I think I'm gonna' need to stick to a slower pace." Staring up at the clouds, Fel exhaled heavily, breathing hard as he pushed himself up and onto his forearms. "I'm a bit too out of shape for all this."

The other man's expression slipped into a thin smile at his words.

"Ah, don't sweat it— I was fixing to call for a break anyways." Bending down, Horace slapped a hand against Fel's shoulder. He stretched, then followed suit, seating himself onto the stone. "Moved further than I'd expected from a mage— and I don't think my group could've traveled much further out, anyways. Slowing down for the rest of this should be more than fine."

"Thank the gods."

Tilting his head back in exaustion, Fel took the opportunity to check his mana. He'd undoubtedly lost some, given his expulsion of it on the cliffside, followed by its half-panicked reclamation. But with any luck...

Fel's winced as he queried his Skill.

No, there was no luck to be had.

27% of his mana-pool. That was all that remained.

It wasn't a particularly large issue, keeping in mind that he didn't plan to stay past the next morning. Still, it limited his options. His already limited pool had shrunk to a fourth of its original size, and it wasn't as if that would be increasing. If something did come up, or he had reason to start casting spells, he'd need to be careful not to get too close to emptying it. Carelessness of the fact could have him effectively killing himself before he was ready.

It was something to be mindful of. A small problem he'd rather avoid.

Having rested for a while, Fel groaned, pushing himself back onto his feet. He shook himself loose before turning to look at Horace with a question half-intended to distract from the upcoming exercise. "Hey, so, what's your group doing out here, anyway? With you mentioning the nearest towns being quite a few days away, I can't imagine that this kind of trip is normal."

Horace shrugged as they began walking uphill again, turning to keep Fel within the corner of his sight. "I wouldn't say normal, exactly, but it's fairly routine work. Spring's coming up, so we're griffin culling. There are a few dozen regular teams — mine included — who take up the contract each year."

Reaching a hand down, the [Scout] helped pull Fel up one of the steeper inclines. He pointed up to the sky as they stabilized, giving a vague wave before kicking open a path through one of the larger patches of weeds.

"Come to the start of the season, those griffins you see flying around? They'll start scattering their groups to look for new nesting grounds. The towns hire us on to wipe out the leading edges. Goal's to keep them re-nesting the same sites with new flocks; stop the things from needing to expand any further out." Horace shrugged again. "Nothing overly glamorous, but it's a safe and relatively stable job as these things go."

Fel nodded his head in understanding. Horace's group was specialized— it wasn't entirely uncommon, though the limitations that came with such self-imposed restrictions made the style less popular than the more general 'adventuring teams'.

"Griffin hunting, alright. Do you get hired on directly, or...?"

"To an extent. These seasonal hunts are a contract with the local governments, but we take a few requests from the adventurer's guild during the offseasons."

Fel nodded again and the two men fell into a short, semi-comfortable silence. When they crested the top of their most recent hill, however, they stopped.

"Ah— and there's the rest of us! Or—" Horace took a step forwards, then hesitated. "One of two, at least." Frowning, he held up a hand. "Sorry, hold up for a second."

Ahead of them and a bit lower down, a man leaned against a wall of shale. Two full packs sat by his feet, but there didn't seem to be anyone else nearby. Fel watched as Horace walked to the edge of the hill and whistled, a hand rising to wave in the air.

The sound echoed as it traveled down the slope, and it took a moment before the other man's head snapped to where the two of them stood. After a brief pause, he stepped out from the shadows of the overhang he'd been leaning under, waving back in acknowledgment.

With wide, exaggerated movements, Horace gestured to Fel and then flashed a short series of signals with his hands and arms. He pulled them back down to his sides as he finished.

The other man cocked his head, but then brought his arms up to begin gesturing in kind. There was a pause mid-way through, and the man seemed to hesitate as he looked around. Still, he picked it back up, signing a few more times before dropping his shoulders in a wide-armed shrug.

Horace blinked following the exchange, seeming to deflate in Fel's peripheral.

Then he broke into a laugh, waving away Fel's questions and leading the way down the slope as his teammate watched from back beneath the overhang.

As they came into speaking-range, Fel took the man in. He was short, with half-squinted eyes, salt-peter hair, and a look of vague amusement etched across his face. Clad in rough, long-reaching pants, a thick shirt, and knee-high boots, Horace's teammate looked every inch the average village's elder-huntsman.

Oddly enough, he said no words as Fel and Horace approached. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he simply patted Horace's shoulder as the [Scout] passed him by. Still, Horace didn't seem to mind, knocking a hand against his teammate's arm in turn, and speaking to him from over his shoulder.

"What'd I say, Lorn— a light-show that big has gotta' be Skill or magic! What was it you wanted to be bet me— a drink? Two? You sure you don't want to raise that any higher before I tell you where I found this guy?"

Snickering softly, he continued to rib at his teammate as he dug through the pack that lay against the wall.

Lorn rolled his eyes, ignoring the jabbering and moving to greet Fel directly. Smiling wryly as he approached, he jerked his head in Horace's direction, giving Fel a light shrug of exasperation before sticking out a hand.

They shook, and Fel could feel the man's eyes looking him over.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. Lorn, was it? I apologize for my interruption of your team's work— I'll try not to inconvenience you all for long."

The man dismissed his statement with a quick jerk of the head. Releasing his hold on Fel's hand, Lorn took a step backward, transitioning into a series of hand signals that went by too quickly to catch. When he'd finished, he hooked his thumbs into the waistline of his pants, an eyebrow raised.

"Uh, I don't..." Fel's face twisted in incomprehension.

"He's not a local, Lorn! Hand-speak isn't gonna' work." Horace called back to the two of them as he finished rifling through the group's supplies. A few seconds later, he popped to his feet, a bundle of wax-paper tied with string resting in his palm.

"Here, Fel— don't think we'll stop again 'till it's time to set up camp, but that should tide you over. Some smoked meat for when we get back to walking."

"Oh, thank you." Taking the package, Fel carefully slipped it into a pocket in his robes, opposite of where he'd placed his glasses. Then he shifted his attention back to Lorn. "Uh, sorry. I'm aware of the concept, but it's not something I know how to... do."

The man clicked his tongue and shrugged again. Turning to Horace and repeating his previous motions, he jerked a thumb back over to Fel.

Horace snorted.

"Yeah, okay. He says don't sweat the traveling— he, at least, is glad for the additional company. More importantly, though, he'd like to ask from where you got your robe made, and if the person does cloaks."

Pausing, he peered at Lorn from the side of his eyes.

"He shredded his last one nearly a year ago, and he's too damn picky to get one from the local— ah!"

He jerked away as Lorn swatted at his arm in mock-outrage, and Fel let out a laugh.

Grinning at the two's interaction, Fel shook his head. "I got it from Leudran. It's..." He looked around at the mountain peaks again. "It wouldn't be nearby." He was relatively sure of that fact.

Leudran had some hills and cliff-sides, but the kingdom's geography reached nowhere near the clouds; his home country had no mountains. It was a peninsula, or close enough to one, surrounded by water on three sides and practically sea-level. Rather nice for the shipping industry, but lacking when it came to—

Fel blinked as his sense of focus caught up to his brain.

Ah, but he was digressing again.

He shook his head to clear it and looked around. Horace and Lorn had moved themselves over to the packs while he'd been distracted. Listening in to Horace's side of it, they seemed to be conversing about... Tellas?

Fel's head tilted to one side in confusion. What was a— oh. They were still waiting on their third team member. Tellas was a name.

He shrugged at the realization, then grimaced as the movement dumped a thin layer of rock-particles down the neck-line of his robes.

Looking down, he glowered. His apparel was disheveled, to say the least. Traveling with Horace had covered its front with chalky powder and flakes of stone— a fact that rubbed at him, now that he'd noticed it.

He began to brush himself down, clearing some of the built-up debris.

Shoulders cleared, arms dusted, Fel moved his way downward, an activity more meant to assuage his vaguely-peeved focus on the topic than to advance any true goal.

When his hands crossed over the robe's pockets, however, Fel heard a distinct crinkle, followed by the clacking of his glasses' armpiece against the lense. He froze mid-movement, his eyes dropping down.

With quick, practiced motions, Fel flicked his glasses out from the pocket and onto the top of his head, resting them above his hairline. He then rummaged through the pocket's remaining space, closing his fingers tightly around two small squares of papery resistance.

He brought the papers out and stared at them.

The original copies of two letters, which he hadn't realized he still might have. One that he'd had sent to his sister, the other which had gone to the Collegium.

Fel had pocketed them after the Messenger Guild's receptionist sent out the duplicates. An act of habit. It certainly wasn't abnormal, and by all expectations, he should still have the letters. It was just that...

That'd happened before he'd died again.

It was a new realization, even as Fel realized that, perhaps, it should've been obvious. His robes, boots, and glasses — everything he'd worn had continued to travel with him when he died. Still, it'd been an irrelevant fact because of course his clothing would come with him. He'd taken it for granted and gone no farther with the thoughts.

Fel could bring stuff with him when he died.

There was no indication as to what or how much — he'd have to see to that later — but it was something new. It was something else to plan around, and a benefit he'd keep in mind.

Fel slipped the pair of letters back into his pocket and smiled.

Then Horace pulled him forwards by his shoulder.

"—and so Fel here has asked to pull camp with us for the next day or two. Lorn's fine with it all, but it's still your call."

Horace crossed his arms as he finished his explanation, looking to Tellas — the team's third member — expectantly.

Tellas, Fel had discovered, was a woman. Middle-aged, of average stature, and clad in clothes near identical to Lorn's, she'd barely raised an eyebrow at Fel's half-dragged approach, introduction, and subsequent mental recovery.

She was also, it seemed, the deciding factor on whether or not Fel would be allowed to shadow the group for a day.

"I don't think It'd be too much of an issue." Tellas frowned, then turned to look at Fel. "You said your lifesaving Skill will activate if you get into trouble, right? And it's just a day to get your head on straight— some fine-tuning to your teleportation spell?"

Fel nodded quickly in agreement. "Just a day. I've got some questions, and maybe a few things to test, but I'm looking to leave right after. I have no wish to impede on your group any more than I must."

"Well then, I think that'll be just fine." Tellas stretched out a hand and shrugged, grinning lightly. "And in which case, it's a pleasure to meet you Fel."

He sagged in relief. "Likewise, Tellas." Returning the pleasantries with a soft, nervous laugh, Fel took hold of her hand and—

Snap!

A burst of mana. The flesh of Tellas's hand boiled, melting down the length of her arm.

Fel yelped as his arm froze in its socket. He stumbled away, their hands disengaging even as Tellas screamed and fell backward in surprise.

Then Fel was slammed into the ground.

More screaming. Some yelling, the voices male this time.

A buzzing as the world flailed in front of his eyes.

Horace, standing over him with a knife pointed at his skull, his expression flinty and the picture blurred.

Sounds and sight that swam slowly back into focus. Fel's arm was still cold, freezing even, locked into a raised position at his side.

He was confused— had no idea what was going on. His mana had dropped when he'd touched her hand, and it'd melted her arm? That was what concerned him most, even as Fel's brain screamed at him over an appendage that he couldn't move.

He waited, not taking his eyes off the knife that hovered above his head. Waiting for his senses to fully return.

And... there! Fel's hearing snapped back into play.

"—aught me by surprise! I'm fine, I promise I'm fine! Stop waving the damn knife in his face, Horace! Look— hand. Right here. He just screwed with the illusion— it didn't even hurt!"

Oh. Fel blinked from his position on the ground. That... sounded promising. Craning his head up, Fel—

Fel blanched.

The skin on her arm ended at the elbow. The edges were frayed, areas where the mana had flared flaking off as he watched. From there down, the surface of her arm appeared blackened. A sickly uniform stretch of black and mottled brown that pulsated as she waved the appendage.

And yet the skin was regrowing as she moved.

Regrowing as she walked towards him.

He let his head drop back against the pebbled stone as he waited. His arm was still locked in place— present, but non-functional.

The crunch of boots stopped next to his ears, and a form leaned over his head, blocking out the sun.

"So," Looking down at him, Tellas flexed her patchwork hand. "What the fuck was that?"