~Bilana, in the forests closest to Wunerigohable, a small village~

We walked for hours, having our breakfast and lunch without stopping to rest, but there were limits, and I was knocking on the door.

“Can we…stop for…a bit?”

Psetha stopped walking and turned to look at me leaning against a tree and about to vomit from exercise.

He frowned and walked back to me. “Are you okay?”

I laughed humorlessly through the huffing and puffing,” No, I’m not. I’m a mere human, unlike you.”

His frown deepened. “You’re a witch.”

I gulped and waved a trembling hand in the air. “Whatever,” and lowered myself to the forest floor, “clearly witches don’t have much more of a physical ability to speak of.”

He hummed and sat by my side.

“Are you sure you want to be close to me right now? I might throw up on you.”

He chuckled and apologized when I frowned, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He stretched his hands over his legs and started tapping them, “Since we’re going to be here for a while, how about we plan what to do? Aside from not staying in one place and staying away from civilization.”

I gulped. “I think that sounds like a fine plan on its own.”

“Yes, but, there is something big missing from it.”

“What is that?”

The tapping stopped. “Me.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

I worried my lips as I looked at his hands—they had grabbed fistfuls of his pants.

I didn’t know what to say.

What did you say to someone who could just break and go mad at any second?

Suddenly he raised his head and our eyes met. “If I-”

He looked down at his hands. “If I go mad,” he whispered. “I want you to kill me.”

“What?”

He stayed silent so I grabbed the fist closest to me. “Psetha-”

But that wasn’t his name, was it?

“What’s your name?” I blurted, and his eyes flew to mine. “What?”

I gulped. “What’s your name?”

He frowned, and the worry and fear in his eyes iced over. “My name is Psetha.”

I had hit a sore spot. But, still, I kept going.

“I mean, your name before you became Psetha.”

He pulled his hand from under mine and stood up. “There is no ‘before’. If you’re done resting, we should keep moving.”

I frowned, angry for some reason that he wouldn’t share his name with me, and said, “No, I’m not done.” I turned away from him and laid on the floor. “In fact, I think I will sleep now.”

I heard a sigh, then the noise of someone laying down.

“Okay then,” he replied, his voice still a little cold, but also tired—he must have been more tired than he let on.

I frowned harder and breathed harshly through my nose. “Good night, Psetha.”

The reply came later than I would have liked. “Good night, Bilana guaşe.”