Figo was whisked back to the here and now by a guttural grunt.

The last blow she received glanced off of Lydia’s vambrace and found skin. Lydia was already unarmed and one-armed, and now she had an injury to contend with. The bandit was coming at Lydia with even more intensity now, pushing her advantage.

Figo didn’t have time to berate himself. Indecision could be a killer. He knew that if he didn’t act quickly then he would lose another friend. He had already lost so much. He couldn’t stand by any longer. He’d never be able to forgive himself if someone else died as he just sat back and watched.

With steely determination, Figo grabbed one of the stolen arrows from its quiver and notched it against the string of his bow. He drew the arrow back until the flights tickled his chin, and sighted down the shaft. Lydia’s foe was obscured by the head of the arrow that was destined for her.

Figo loosed.

Like a hound on a scent, the arrow charged on the wings of death. It was an instrument of death and destruction. It was bred and shaped for one sinister purpose – to be a tool destined to kill.

The arrow whipped between Lydia and the bandit and disappeared into the distance.

“Bugger,” Figo lowered the bow with a sigh.

The bandit started as the arrow whizzed passed her nose harmlessly, and watched as it continued its journey towards Ponbus, all by its lonesome self.

“Seriously?” the bandit said.

Figo detected pity in her sarcasm laced voice. He hung his head in shame and whispered an apology to the woman he had tried and failed to kill.

It looked like the bandit might pat Figo on the head if she were close enough.

This time it was Lydia’s turn to take advantage of a lapse in concentration. Lydia struck the bandit swiftly, firmly, and entirely unceremoniously, squarely in the face. The other woman’s head cracked back and she dropped like the ground had been pulled beneath her.

The bandit that had been harassing Bling sensed a change in fortunes and, after some quick mental maths, made the well-informed decision to flee. Regrettably, he could outrun Lydia, but he wasn’t quite fast enough to outrun the sword she threw. The blade caught him neatly in the spine, and ended his wayfaring ways once and for all.

Lydia strode towards Bling and did her best to calm the irate woman as she inspected the life-threatening wound the redhead had received. However, a quick inspection revealed that Bling had not, in fact, been run through. In truth, she’d barely been nicked. The blade had pierced several layers of cloaks and fabrics and become entangled, missing skin almost entirely. The twisted fabric was constricting the redhead and preventing her from moving freely. Bling had been screaming in frustration, Lydia realised.

With the sword removed, Natasha immediately bolted to her brother’s side, closing most of the distance in a hurried crawl. She faltered when she reached him, unsure what to do next.

“Figo, get over here!” Lydia called, as she dropped beside Gabriel, semi-gently ushering Bling to the side, “Now, Figo! Gabriel needs your help.”

It was only after the second time he heard his name that Figo realised his feet had failed to move. With an effort, he spurred himself forward.

Lydia glanced up when the archer knelt beside her, “You know any first aid?”

“Just the basics,” Figo mumbled.

“More than enough. Keep anywhere with an injury elevated and do what you can to stop the bleeding. Bling, go find water and rags,” Lydia said as she stood.

“Where are you going?” Figo asked.

“To earn my keep,” the warrior retrieved her weapons as she spoke, drawing her bastard sword from ape-man like he were a poorly designed scabbard.

“But Gabriel needs our help!”

“Then help him,” Lydia waved her one arm, drawing attention to her disability for the first time, “I’m not all that great with bandages these days. He’s a lot better off in your hands.”

Figo looked down at Gabriel’s pale face, and saw Fiona’s, “What if I fail?”

“Don’t,” Lydia shouted over her shoulder, already stalking away, “I honestly don’t trust the rest of you to pay me.”

---

“The others aren’t very nice to me,” Kyk confessed, “the big one, the one that looks like a gorilla? He calls me a ‘moron’, even though it’s actually pronounced ‘magrain’.”

The mor-magrain handed Vish the flask they had been sharing.

“He didn’t even bother to learn?” Vish commiserated, “That’s pretty low,” he took a slug from the flask and passed it back, “I feel you, though. My guys always treat me like an outsider as well. They talk about me like I’m a monster or something. Do you ever get that?”

The scaly orange-hued, saucer-faced magrain stared at Vish for a while, “I… I totally get that!” it was hard to see, but Kyk’s mouth was hanging open, “Wow, it’s like… it’s like we’re the same person.”

Vish’s shoulders danced a little, “Eeeh, I maybe wouldn’t go that far.”

By the time the misunderstanding about the ‘demon’ had been cleared up, Kyk had completely forgotten his murderous intent. He and Vish had laughed about the error, and, after a short chat, unanimously decided that they weren’t particularly keen on heading back in the direction of all the killing and dying. So, they cracked open Kyk’s bottle of magrain ‘floodwater’, and poured out their woes with each tot.

“Yeah, but no. You know what it’s like to be an outsider as well,” Kyk said excitedly, “You know what it’s like to be a moron!”

“Magrain?”

“Whatever.”

“You know what I think?” Vish leaned in, “I think it’s their loss. If they don’t want to open their minds to new ideas and new possibilities, then they’re the weird ones here, not us.”

Kyk nodded slowly, “By the River, you’re right.”

Vish took a swig from the flask, “It’s like custard on bacon; people are put off because it’s new, and it’s different. But in reality? They’re just scared. If they opened their minds, and their mouths, they’d realise that it belongs.”

“What?”

“What?”

“You know what I think?” Kyk whispered conspiratorially, “I think you and I should start our own group. A group where nobody is an outsider, and everyone is an insider. You get it?”

Vish looked down at the flask he had been hogging and briefly wondered how strong magrain ‘floodwater’ actually was, and whether it was even safe for human consumption. He shrugged, and took another gulp.

“Kyk, my friend, I think you might be a genius.”

It was clear from Kyk’s beady eyes that he was beaming in response, even if his disproportionately large face did seem to lack the muscles required for basic expression. He sat up as straight as his crooked frame allowed, his whole body infused with pride.

Then Kyk doubled over, his face buried in the dirt.

“Geez, I’m excited too, man, but keep it together.”

There was a hatchet sticking out of the back of Kyk’s head.

“Aaah, Lydia! What the hell?” Vish shouted at the metallic blob forming in the darkness.

“Is that how you express gratitude?” the warrior asked, as she dislodged the throwing axe from Kyk’s skull.

“He was alright!”

“He was trying to tear you to pieces.”

“Yeah, but that was before.”

“You’re weird.”

“You insiders wouldn’t understand,” Vish stooped over Kyk and shook his head, “What a waste. Do you have any idea how much fun I could have had with him?” Vish yelled after Lydia as he struggled to keep up.

When they got back to the others they found that Figo had removed the arrow and bound Gabriel’s head injury. Both wounds were obviously still bleeding.

“Oh shit, they got Gabriel?” Vish observed as he approached.

“I don’t know if he’s going to make it,” Figo said quietly.

Vish placed a hand on Gabriel’s forehead.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” the mind-mapper replied.

“Is he still,” Figo cleared his throat, “Is he still in there?”

Vish looked Figo in the eye, “We have to be patient.”

The archer sighed but nodded, “What happened to the magrain?” he asked Lydia as she knelt down.

“Dead.”

“Taken from us before his time,” Vish said.

“How? Magrains are notoriously difficult to kill.”

Lydia snorted, “Hatchet to the back of the head seemed to do the trick.”

Figo frowned, “Hmm, I suppose that would suffice.”

“Gabby?” Bling asked, bringing them all back on track.

“There’s nothing we can do now but wait, Natasha,” Figo said, placing a hand over hers, “Wait and hope.”

---

Gabriel was not relieved when his vision returned to him. He knew instantly that something was wrong. He hadn’t woken up with a flutter of eyelids, a stretch and a yawn, suddenly he could just see.

Grabriel looked around tentatively. He intuitively knew what he would see, but that didn’t make it any easier.

It was him.

He could see his body, surrounded by his friends, each mourning him in their own way.

He had heard people relate near death experiences before. Some people told of how their lives flashed before their eyes. Some people claimed the aether filled their mind and bathed them in ethereal light. Others? Others recalled transcending their bodies, looking down on their worldly form with complete detachment, seeing their last moments through the eyes of their spectral self. These people often spoke of the serenity they felt, the calmness in the face of doom. Some of them even recalled a sense of shame at having lived so egotistically in a universe where they were so very, very insignificant.

Here Gabriel was having his own near-death experience, perhaps even at death experience, just as those people had before him.

He looked at the husk of his body and thought, ‘Wow, long hair really doesn’t work for me.’

As he watched, his comrades fawned over him, each tending to his broken body in some fashion. Figo was still trying to save him, Lydia was trying to make him comfortable, Bling rested his head upon her lap, and Vish stared stoically at the empty shell of what passed for his oldest and only friend.

‘Oh, guys, guys, you did your best. I’m not mad, I promise!’ he noticed the discarded arrow, still coated in his blood, ‘Okay, I’m a little mad, but I know you tried! Figo, my friend, don’t blame yourself, I know you did what you could. Natasha, sweet Natasha, don’t cry. I’ll watch over you, I promise. Vish, oh Vish… What, not a tear? What the hell, man? I’m dying here.’

Gabriel went through a whole host of emotions. He grieved. He swore. He pleaded with the gods. He wondered why nobody had mentioned the long hair thing. All of this he felt as he looked up at himself for the last time before his mortal body breathed its last, and his soul was absorbed into the aether.

‘Wat a second,’ Gabriel thought.

Something was wrong.

He was looking up, he realised. Shouldn’t he be hovering above his body? Wasn’t that the norm? It certainly felt like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders at times, but was that enough to make his astral form sink? Were souls like eggs, maybe? Was this a freshness thing?

Then Gabriel noticed something else - this was all kind of familiar. He hadn’t picked up on it before, being somewhat preoccupied with his death, but there was a quality to the experience that he definitely recognized. The clarity of his vision, the way he seemed to register sound from somewhere beneath him, the pressure on his hands and feet where they pressed, very tangibly into the ground. All of it reminded him of-

‘Rodney!’ Gabriel attempted to narrow his un-narrowable eyes, ‘I’m in the bloody cricket!’

Gabriel craned his neck as best he could (another skill that crickets are apparently wanting in) and confirmed his suspicions. His ‘arms’ were two wiry green stalks jutting from beneath his torso at odd angles.

‘This must have been the only way they could save me. My body must be too damaged, and only my soul could be retrieved. Vish must have made the decision to remove my mind before it died with the rest of me. Oh Vish, you genius! I, I, I…,’ Gabriel was completely overwhelmed, ‘I’m going to live the rest of my life as a cricket,’ he realised.

As Gabriel tried and failed to come to terms with his fate, he experienced a jarring sense of vertigo and displacement. His world span around him, and he tumbled and roiled where he stood. It felt as though he were circling a drain, ready to be sucked into oblivion.

When Gabriel next opened his eyes, he found himself looking up into Natasha’s tear-strewn face. His head felt like it was splitting, but he was in his body, and very much alive.

Bling blinked at her brother as he stirred in her arms, “Gabby!”

“Gabriel?” Figo confirmed, leaning over his friend and captain to check his pulse, despite the fact he was clearly awake, “By the gods, Gabriel, you’re alive!”

“I don’t get it,” Lydia said, “What happened? He was unresponsive a second ago.”

Gabriel lacked the energy for words and explanations, but he managed, with extreme effort, to tilt his head to the left, and glare hard at Vish.

Figo saw where Gabriel was looking and cottoned on. He looked once between Vish and the cricket he had just picked up, “Did you…” he almost couldn’t bring himself to make the accusation, “Did you move his soul into that cricket and let us all think he was dead.”

“Ha, yeeeeah.”

Figo stared openly at the mind-mapper.

“That’s an opportunity you just really don’t get very often,” Vish explained, “It was pretty great. I mena, you should have seen the look on your face.”

“You’re a sociopath,” Lydia decided, rising to fetch more water.

“Oh, come on now, it was just a bit of fun. Any of you would have done the same.”

The others set about moving Gabriel somewhere comfortable, careful not to disturb his wounds.

Vish watched them mill around him, “Come on, that was funny! You would have done the same,” he repeated, “They would have done the same, right, Rodney?”