High above in the cloudless, inky sky, the moon shone brilliantly, watching over the slumbering members of the caravan – a benevolent goddess praying for their safety.

With a start, Serena caught herself just before drifting out of her saddle. Next to her, looking no worse for wear, Pavel grinned.

“Not used to guard duty, huh?”

“No…” Serena yawned, before rubbing her eyes. “I get why I’m up here…but I never stay up this late.”

“Well, I’ll let you off. No need to force yourself to stay awake. You’ve been plenty of help all day today.”

“You sure you’ll be fine?”

Pavel puffed out his chest, and despite her weariness, Serena couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah, used to do this all the time, back in the day. I’ll be fine!”

“If you say so. Well, I’ll be off then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Serena.”

With a tug, Serena urged her horse around – one that was used to pull the wagon – and began the slow walk back.

The Trade Way had curved away from the western most part of the Swordcoast, bending and twisting to the east, putting them dangerously close to the Misty Woods. Of the riders that rode past the caravan, many spoke at length regarding the numerous orc raiders that seemed to be filtering into the woods, posing problems to traders and travelers alike. Something had been pushing them out of their normal raiding grounds, forcing them to settle for pickings further down the Trade Way. This meant that the orcs staged much of their raids from the Misty Woods itself, and with the dark trees only paces away from the caravan, Pavel had made abundantly clear that no orc would set foot near the caravan, so long as he was captain of their guard.

A twenty-four-hour watch had been implemented until the caravan was safely away from the woods – some days away – involving every person able to lift a sword, fire an arrow, or sling a spell to rotate shifts around the caravan. This meant that there wasn’t a single opening anywhere around the perimeter, something that made every teamster and wagon owner happy…while grating the nerves of every able-bodied fighter. Serena included.

For the past two days, Serena had rotated from the back of the caravan, all the way to the front, back again, then to the front once more. All while working with less than her normal amount of sleep. Today had been especially brutal, with most of her work spent under the sun, and not a moment to lie down in her wagon.

Had Serena dragged a finger across her arm, she’d have been sure a thick lay of grime would come away, like dust off the windowsills back home.

A cold breeze picked up, flipping her hair about, and causing her to shudder. The day had been unnaturally windy – the only respite from the sun - and well into the night, it seemed nowhere close to stopping. Serena’s hair had slipped out of its normal low pony tail some time ago, now laying in a mess of tangles across her shoulders. She hadn’t the patience to fix it.

With a silent grumble, Serena cupped her hands; a small, bright flame flared to life between her palms, sending a bit of warmth through her chest.

A wave of lethargy washed over her; she grimaced, and dropped the flame, surrendering to the cold night air.

She tugged at the reins, urging the horse faster; the beast would not respond, seemingly as tired as its rider. With a small smile, Serena patted her horse on the neck, unable to blame him.

Each wagon lay in its usual position, parked off the side of the dirt road. Not a single light emanated from the canvas coverings, indicating to Serena just how late it was.

Loneliness tugged at her chest. Serena knew that she wasn’t alone; everyone she loved to see was asleep in their wagons. Yet riding alone at the dead of night stirred something inside of her. Memories of her time alone, on distant roads, well behind the Trade Way.

Serena shook her head, dizziness washing over her; she didn’t want to remember those nights.

As her horse approached the halfway point of the wagon line – a point she knew, as the Zultan’s carriage was parked there – a familiar figure crept out from behind the carriage, and into the road.

Her horse halted, nostrils flared, ears back, as both it and its rider recognized who stood in front of them.

Serena sighed. “I don’t appreciate you scaring my horse.”

“Well,” Lord Zultan replied, dark eyes narrowed; his usual red dress attire had been discarded for another ratty pair of tunic and work pants, giving him the appearance of a farmhand than that of a Drow noble. “I don’t appreciate Pavel sending you off alone at night. Does he believe there isn’t a chance that the orcs could jump a lone girl?”

“I can take care of myself damnit.”

“And I am aware. Yet I worry for you, alone in the dark.”

“Oh my – I can see in the dark Zultan,” Serena signed angrily. “it’s not a problem!”

“You act like I am unable to be concerned for my – ” Zultan coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “business partner, Serena. Should something happen to you, I am…well, fucked.” He gestured towards the reins. “May I escort you back? I have no qualms with leading the horse if you’re –”

“No.” Serena signed. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“I insist.”

“And I said no. I don’t know what consent looks like to you, but no means no, damnit.”

“Then I shall walk behind you. You won’t know I’m here.”

“For gods – fine!” Serena tugged at the reins, urging the nervous horse around the Drow. “But I’m not slowing down.”

“I expect nothing less.” Lord Zultan said, falling in behind her.

Frustration welled up in her chest, but Serena hadn’t the energy to pursue it. She’d have spat fire at the Drow, and yet, tonight, the only thing on her mind was the pile of silks that awaited her in the wagon.

She hated herself for it. Her mother had always warned about people like Zultan, refusing to listen to anything she said. To anything anyone said. Those types of men existed everywhere within their inn when Serena was younger, and never once did she see her mother put up with them. But tonight, try as she might, Serena couldn’t muster the energy to argue with the stubborn Drow. And unlike her mother, she couldn’t just kick him out a door.

Serena glanced back; Lord Zultan walked with a straight back, hands clasped behind him, staring straight ahead. Occasionally, his red eyes flicked about, no doubt watching the tree line and wagons alike.

She supposed it was fine, this time. So long as the Drow kept his mouth shut.

“Have you ever been to the Underdark, Serena?” The Drow unfortunately asked.

With a grimace, and one hand, she signed “No.”

“I see. Well, I would be lying if I were to recommend it. Even in Menzoberranzan. Must say, I quite despise the place.”

“Hm.”

“Though I must say, I don’t particularly like the surface either. Much too bright.”

“So where would you go then?” Serena asked, humoring the Drow.

Lord Zultan was silent for a moment.

“I don’t know.” Honesty in his voice. “Perhaps the one place I’d be most comfortable isn’t of this world.”

“Like death then.”

“Perhaps. One day.”

As Zultan finished, the pair approached the wagon.

Serena hopped off her horse and moved to secure it back in place.

“See?” She signed. “I was fine.”

“Of course, of course.” Zultan said, still standing distance away. “Can’t be too sure.”

“Uh huh.” was all Serena could sign, as she affixed the harness as Werond showed her.

“I see that you wish to be rid of me. I’ll grant that wish.” Zultan bowed. “Have a pleasant night Serena.”

“Yup.” She signed. Zultan nodded; he turned on his heel and began the trek back up the road.

As Serena finished cinching the harness back in place – stroking the horse’s neck – she watched Zultan retreat into the distance, before turning sharping to his carriage.

She couldn’t figure him out.

With a shrug, she gave the horse one last pat, before walking around the wagon, and climbing into the back.

As she did – silk pile calling to her – she realized that Werond’s pile was empty. Instead, her teamster was leaning against the far end of the wagon, knees pulled to her chest, one hand tucked under her chin.

An opened bottle of wine was clutched in the other.

“Werond?” Serena signed, knocking against the wood.

Werond looked up, squinting.

“That you boss?” Werond asked, voice still clear. “can’t see you.”

Serena waved a hand, casting a dull, blue light into the canvas covering. Werond blinked as her eyes adjusted; her face was flushed, but she didn’t appear as gone as last time.

“Are you drinking by yourself?” Serena signed, crawling over to her pile of silks, and ripping off her boots.

“I mean…yeah. Not getting drunk though.” Werond waved a hand. “I was waiting for you, but I didn’t know when you were getting back. Thought I might do something to pass the time.”

“And something is to drink?”

Werond shrugged; she looked over Serena and pursed her lips.

“You look like shit darling. Hard work tonight?”

Serena shifted on her silks, eyes flicking to the floor.

“No, just terrible weather. Haven’t had a chance to relax.”

“Gonna clean up? Smell kinda bad.”

“No, I’m exhausted.”

“You should.” Werond gestured with the bottle at her. “Don’t go to bed with tangled hair, it’ll be a bitch to fix in the morning.”

Serena sighed.

“Werond, I don’t care right now, I just wanna –”

“Okay but I do,” Werond said, shoving the bottle in a corner. “cuz you’re gonna wake up tomorrow and bitch up a storm and I don’t wanna hear it. Let me untangle it.”

Werond crawled over to her, still steady on all fours. Serena stuck a foot out, holding Werond at bay.

“Hey, I’m fine, I’ll deal with it!” She signed, pushing back as Werond tried moving around her foot.

“No, you won’t be, and I ain’t listening to you!”

Werond grabbed her ankle in a vice grip, and yanked Serena towards her.

Serena yelped and fell onto her back, feeling heat rise in her face as she did.

“Hey! Let go!” she yelled, heart suddenly hammering.

Werond grinned and grabbed her thighs.

With a flick, she spun Serena around – easily accomplished on the silks – and pulled her into a seated position, fabric bunched up underneath her.

“Yell at me tomorrow,” Werond said, scooting closer. “but you’ll thank me for this.”

Before she could move, Werond grabbed Serena’s shoulders, pushing down slightly, making a point: even intoxicated, she was still stronger than her.

Serena slumped forward, accepting defeat.

“Why does no one listen to me?”

“Because some of us know what’s best for you.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.”

Werond giggled.

“Sorry darling. Gets better when you’re older. Now, let’s see what I can do about this mess.”

“Just…please be careful.” Serena signed, straightening up.

“I will darling.”

“No Werond, seriously.” She twisted her head, fixing an eye on her smiling teamster. “I don’t let people mess with my hair.”

“How come?”

“It’s – I…” Serena turned back around. “Sensitive, I guess. My head. Okay?”

“Your head is sensitive? How?”

“I don’t know Werond!” Serena exclaimed, sweat forming on her back. “Just, please be mindful.”

“Oh…of course, of course darling.”

In a swift motion, Werond gathered Serena’s matted, tangled hair behind her, running it through her fingers.

She clucked her tongue and spoke quietly.

“Well see, I was right,” she said, her voice falling into that familiar husky tone. “this just won’t do. It’d be horrible getting this out tomorrow darling.”

Serena shivered.

Werond picked out a section of hair and began going over it – roots to ends – quickly at first, getting a feel for each knot and tangle between her fingers. After numerous strokes, she repeated the process, this time deliberate, pressing her thumb into the section – breaking apart tangles – smoothing out her hair. At times she’d stop, pulling the section in half when uncovering bothersome knots, gently pulling down and apart, untangling them like an old master.

“Your hair is wonderful, honestly.” Werond said, untangling yet another knot. “How do you keep it like this? Well, not like this,” she tugged gently on a section. “generally, I mean.”

“Uhm…magic…I guess.” Serena said. Her signs came out slow, clunky, and she was unsure if it was from exhaustion or from Werond’s fingers.

“Well you must teach me your method sometime darling.”

Serena shivered again, not from the cold.

The frustration that pooled within her chest – from Zultan, from Werond - had melted away, leaving behind…something she couldn’t place her finger on.

When was the last time someone had combed her hair properly? Serena routinely did, but it was different when it was someone else. Not that she’d let others at her hair. Ned hadn’t been able to do it. Nor Bron. Not even Zas could comb it as delicately as she needed it. Delicately as Werond. As her mother.

Perhaps that’s what the feeling was. Werond brushed and untangled her hair with the same gentle strokes of Serena’s mother, the only one who could properly handle the task. As she moved from section to section, untangling each knot, flicking away shed hair, Serena felt that same warmth she did when her mother doted on her.

It was peaceful.

Soothing.

Something Serena wished would go on forever.

Werond pulled slightly, untangling a particularly stubborn knot hard enough for Serena flinch, sharp pain stabbing in her head.

As Serena raised her hands to assure that she was fine, Werond reached up – with both hands – and dug her nails into Serena’s scalp.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, voice cooler than a mountain breeze. “I’ll be more careful.”

“It’s…” Serena said tremulously, shuddering in relief from an itch she never knew she had. “it’s…fine…you’re really…good at that.”

“Think so?” Serena could almost hear Werond smirk. “I don’t get much practice these days.” She stopped and moved on to the next section. “I’m sure you’ve had better.”

“I meant…the scratching.”

“Oh, I know darling. Want me to keep going?”

Serena closed her eyes, unable to respond.

The warmth that she felt had blossomed, spreading its fingers throughout her body. With each stroke it burned brighter, hotter, until not even the wind could cool it.

It was the same feeling as before. When Werond had attacked her.

Perhaps that was the wrong word. Serena hadn’t wanted it to stop, but nor did she want it to continue. She’d never felt something like that before, someone that close to her. But the excitement – that heat – it was too much. She hadn’t known what to do, if Werond had pressed further.

Another section complete, Werond dug her nails in and scratched deeper.

Serena’s eyes fluttered; she buried her hands into her lap, stifling herself.

“I know this feels good,” Werond said, breath tickling her ear. “but you’re enjoying this a bit too much. Got most of your hair…want more?”

Serena shivered. Hard.

She did want more.

More of Werond’s attention.

Her hands over her hair.

Shoulders.

Her body.

To be held as before, pulled in tight –

Fingers tracing every inch –

Dark face so close.

Too close.

Hear her rough voice.

Breath in ear.

Stoking that flame –

Serena’s eyes snapped open, heart in her throat.

“H-hey Werond, I think…I want to call it.” Serena signed with shaky hands; the heat inside the wagon had suddenly become unbearable.

Werond angled her head around Serena’s shoulder.

Then dug her nails deeper.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.” She said, voice a murmur.

Serena shuddered; she tried to move her head away, only for Werond to follow.

“I…sleep, going to…” Serena signed desperately. “going – bed.”

“Oh, of course.”

Werond stopped scratching.

A hollowness pierced Serena’s chest, part of her yearning for more.

“Here…let me – there.” Werond said. She laid a gentle hand on Serena’s shoulder.

Her heart slammed against her chest, body tensing around it.

Gently, Werond pulled Serena down, guiding her head onto a makeshift pillow that she had made. A wave of lethargy washed over Serena as she did, sending a deep weariness throughout her body.

“Long days,” Werond said quietly, pulling one of the loose silks over Serena. “deserve a little pampering, hmm?”

Serena – already half asleep – moved her hands to reply, only for Werond to push them down under the silk.

“It’s okay, no need to talk.” She whispered, sending another shiver down Serena’s spine. “I think that was a bit too much. But…”

With the back of her fingers, Werond stroked Serena’s flushed cheek.

“See how much fun you have when you give in, even just a bit…Ser–en–a Lash.”

Serena’s eyes refused to open. Her limbs refused to move. Her heart refused to quiet down.

Thoughts in her head, fingers on her cheek, Serena tried – and failed – to make sense of it all, until finally giving into her exhaustion.