The wooden boxes in the cart rattle as they move along the road, which they have decided to take after all. Jubilee seemed untrusting of this plan, but the convenience of such easy travel seems to outweigh any potential risks in their mind. Fresh keeps herself busy by playing games with the fairies, most of which end up annoying Jubilee.

“I spy with my little eye…” says Fresh. “- something green.”

One of the fairies pops up from behind Jubilee’s head. “Is it a tree?”

“No,” says Fresh, shaking her head.

Another fairy, sitting on top of Shamrock’s head, takes his turn. “Is it grass?”

“No,” replies Fresh.

“Is it my robe?” asks Basil from the front.

Fresh gasps, not sure how she had figured out the great mystery.

This goes on for the better part of the day, Jubilee remains surprisingly patient however, as does Shamrock, who is pestered by the fairies as often as he was by the people of the western city. Though, in a less crude manner. The fairies mostly just want to know how he got so big and if his armor isn’t heavy.

When the night comes and darkness begins to fall, they park off by the side of the road and make a small camp. Fresh takes the opportunity to mount the fairy-houses inside of the cart, so that the fairies are up a little off of the ground, as they seem to prefer to be.

“Okay, you,” says Jubilee, pointing to the fairies looking out of the first of three fairy houses. “You’re on first watch together with Shamrock.” They point to the next house. “Then you guys and then you guys with you and then me,” explains Jubilee, pointing to the third house and then to Basil and themselves. “Every shift is one group of fairies and one of us.”

“That’s a lot of people, Jubilee,” wonders Fresh, noticing that she has been left out of this calculation once again. “Isn’t one person being awake enough?”

“It’s not,” says Jubilee. “Unless you want to get eaten in your sleep by a slime.”

“I don’t want that,” mutters Fresh, scratching her cheek. “But I don’t think slimes would want to eat me.”

“They would,” says Shamrock.

Basil nods. “Slimes aren’t discriminatory. They’re little gluttons.”

“What’s a slime?” asks Tarja.

Jubilee sighs, going into the details of what everyone’s tasks for the night are, taking some time to instruct the fairies on what to look out for out here in the wild. Shamrock then shows them how to make a fire.

“Why don’t you just use magic?” asks one of the fairies, holding its hands out as he sits there, before a pile of wood. A stream of fire shoots from its fingers, igniting the entire pile of wood in an instant. Shamrock stares at the flames for a moment, pulling back his gauntlets that were still very close. Basil, sitting next to him yelps in surprise as the flames shoot out, flinching back an inch.

“Watch what you’re doing!” scolds Tarja, flicking the fire-fairy in the head. His hair bounces. He yelps, rubbing the sore spot.

“Sorry…” he apologizes. Fresh laughs, wondering if the fairies really aren’t taking after them a little too closely. “You have magic, right?” asks the fairy, rubbing the sore spot on his head.

Shamrock stares at them for a moment, the light of the fire reflecting off of his dark-cobalt armor, giving the rough metal an odd hue that Fresh can’t quite describe as she lays across from the fire in her bedroll, trying to sleep. Like sunlight against black fabric, there is a shine atop it, but it does little to alter the dark tone that it washes over.

“I do not,” answers Shamrock.

“Huuh?” asks the fairy. “You don’t have any spel- OW!” he yelps as Tarja flicks him again.

“Stop being rude to our hosts, you dummy!” she barks at him, clearly channeling Jubilee’s energy into her character. Fresh supposes that its natural, since she’s the leader of their group, that she spent the most time learning from the perceived leader of theirs.

“I do not,” says Shamrock.

“Tarja doesn’t have any yet eithe- OW!”

“Will you shut up?!” snaps Tarja at the fairy, who finally seems to relent.

Basil looks at Tarja. “You’ll grow into it.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I heard it can take a couple of months for some of us,” she nods.

“But what about you?” asks the fire-fairy, picking up the topic again and quickly flying away before Tarja can get him a third time. He lands on the top of the cart, still rubbing his sore forehead.

“I am done growing,” replies Shamrock, staring into the fire.

The energetic fairy zips past him, flying down from the cart a second after landing, as it is apparently unable to sit still. “Is it because you’re evil?” it asks. “You look like you’re evil!”

“Pentti! Enough!” shouts one of the other fairies, flying up with Tarja after the fire-fairy and snatching him out of the air. The three of them tumble downward and land in Shamrock’s cupped hands that quickly find themselves held not far beneath them.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” complains Pentti, the fire-fairy.

Tarja hisses at him, grabbing the cuff of his collar. “Behave! Or we’re kicking you out and you can travel by yourself!”

“You wouldn’t!” he gasps. Tarja narrows her eyes. She would and Pentti sees it, lowering his gaze. “Sorry…” he relents again.

“I’m sorry,” apologizes Tarja to Shamrock and Basil, pushing the fairy’s head down along with hers. “Pentti has had the luxury of living a spoiled life. He hasn’t learned any manners yet,” she hisses.

Shamrock nods, holding his hands up and the three of them fly away, separating again. “Some grow slow, some grow fast,” he says, seemingly understandingly, his breastplate lurching. He lowers his arms again.

“I didn’t know you didn’t have any abilities?” asks Basil quietly, leaning in from the side. Shamrock shrugs.

“I don’t need them.”

“But…” Basil starts, clearly following a train of thought somewhere. But she seems to decide that she doesn’t need to do so and simply waves her hand, dropping the topic by herself. The priestess leans sideways, laying the side of her face against the man’s armor. “If you ever need anything, let me know, okay?” she says, yawning and closing her eyes.

This yawn infects Fresh, as does the closing of the eyes and she quickly finds herself vanishing into sleep, happy that her friends are friends with each other just as much as they are with her.

She does wish they would let her be a part of the night-watch though.

The night passes and then the next day comes together with a peacefully rising sun. “We only have three shifts,” says Jubilee. “You’re number four, so enjoy it and stop complaining.”

Fresh crosses her arms, sitting in her seat in the rattling carriage. “You just don’t want me to be a lookout because you think I’ll do something wrong,” she suggests, offended.

Jubilee lifts a finger, pointing at her. “Yes. That is correct.”

“Hey!” she protests, looking away. “You don’t have to admit it…”

“Friends don’t lie,” says Jubilee, but by the time Fresh looks back towards them, surprised at them making such an open statement, their gaze is averted and they look out ahead of the cart.