The victory celebration lasted well into the night. And it was only with mild surprise that Threadbare found Anne Bunny joining in the festivities, as the camps full of soldiers that had been trying to kill each other not a day ago feasted, drank, and danced to the best music the bards could put out.

“Ye! Bear!” Anne bellowed, hopping down from the sideways table she'd been rolling along on, to the cheers and encouragement of the crowd around her. “Where's me fuckin' ship?”

“That way,” Threadbare pointed. “Er... you don't by any chance have any long and complicated stories to share with me about the fate of the world?”

“Not a one,” said Anne. “Got a bargain wi' the Phantom ta become immortal, but that's me business. The world can go take care o' itself. Now if ye'll excuse me...” Anne snagged an ale in one hand, threw a giggling Belltollian soldier over her shoulder, and ambled off to go look for Cotton Tale. And maybe cotton tail, judging by the looks her companion was shooting her.

“Anne keep it simple. Zuula approve,” said the Shaman, stepping up to keep pace with him. “How much longer you going to be out here?”

“Not very much longer,” Threadbare said. “The Phantom wanted me to go to every major camp and meet the officers, and say a little bit. I think I'm through most of them.”

There were an awful lot of fires in the night, and the groups were very fluid, troops wandering back and forth to trade, and check in on their friends, and occasionally sneak off into the night for more discrete forms of celebration. A good amount were also mingling with the Cylvanian camps. Belltollians were always on the lookout for males, given that they had so few back home.

“Beh,” Zuula said. “Why?”

“It's easier to show you than to explain it,” Threadbare said, angling toward a part of the valley that he hadn't been to yet, and taking off his hat as he went. “Hi, hello there!” he called out, waving his top hat as he approached. “My name is Threadbare. I understand you're the unit that fought very well a little while ago?”

That was a fib. He actually had no idea which unit this was, or how they'd fought. But this was a method he'd refined over the last eight units, and it tended to work pretty well, so he stuck to it.

And sure enough, they followed the pattern.

First came the gasps and squeals as they caught sight of him in the firelight, this couple of hundred beastkin.

Your Adorable skill is at its maximum level!

Level up your Toy Golem job to increase your skill maximums!

Next came the first responders, the ones who had lost their inhibitions, coming over to pick him up, and remark on how adorable he was, hugging him and pinching him and squeezing him and passing him from soldier to soldier.And he hugged back whenever he got a particularly good squeeze, but for the most part he just let himself be passed. Occasionally he'd feel tears against him, as he stirred a melancholy memory or two, but for the most part there were giggles and laughter, and smiles.

And occasionally one would be wounded, and with a flash of warm light, his hug would heal that one, just a bit.

Your Innocent Embrace skill is now level 48!

This one went on for a bit longer than the others had. Time, perhaps? They'd had the most chance to get thoroughly soused, so maybe that was it. Behind him he heard Zuula snarl a warning as a few tried to grab her as well, and weighed the possible diplomatic consequences of tapping out versus letting Zuula get her maul on...

A strident voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hey. Hey hey you cunts! Let go of the visiting dignitary! Stop that at once!”

No, there was the officer. This was the next part of the pattern.

The lieutenant who had gotten stuck with the sad duty of staying sober came up and broke up the knot of touchy-feely drunken bunnies, and got him settled and back on the ground. “Sir! This is an honor.”

The Belltollian salute was a thump across the sternum. Threadbare returned it with ease, and the crowd of well-wishers giggled to see it.

Your Adorable skill is at its maximum level!

Level up your Toy Golem job to increase your skill maximums!

“We're, uh, honored to have you here, sir. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“May I sit by your fire and hear your stories? Hear about who you are, and where you came from? I only have a little while before I have to go heal the wounded, but I would love to know more about you, since we're going to be working together tomorrow.”

The lieutenant's ears stood straight up. “What... wait? We are? You're coming with us?”

And that got the attention of the ones that hadn't rushed to meet him. The more serious and sober ones that had been watching him with wary eyes, and the ones back from the fire whose gazes had held a hint of malice and loss. They had been wounded, or they had seen friends die, and they weren't ready to let go of a grudge, not yet. A day ago they had been fighting his people, and not everyone was blasé about it.

But these words drew them closer, and he stuck to the script. “Why yes. We were both fooled and manipulated by those enemies your generals told you about. So we're going with you to help teach them a lesson about that. I hope you don't mind our company?”

Murmurs back in the ranks, looks from him toward the distant campfires up on the hill. And a lot of the soldiers who had been looking at him with grim and suspicious eyes were remembering just how hard the Cylvanians had fought. And nodding to themselves at the thought of being next to them, instead of right in front of them.

“Well... this is good news!” The lieutenant said, eyes wide. “I'll tell the Captain! Uh, when she wakes up, I mean. So who will we be stationed with? Is it the dwarves? Those little guys have some sweet guns, I tell you what!”

“Oh, I'm not sure,” Threadbare said, plopping down on a log. “I'm pretty sure all of our generals and yours are sorting that out right now. When they manage to pull themselves away from the wine and food, I mean.”

“And the fucking!” yelled a supremely buzzed soldier from the other side of the fire, and the camp dissolved in laughter.

“KP for a month, Hennet!” belted the lieutenant, and the camp laughed louder, then shut up fast as the officer glared back. “Shut up. Uh, not you, sir... bear?”

“Just Threadbare. And I really would like to hear more about your unit. The important questions, that sort of thing. Like where are you from, in Belltollia? Did you know each other before you mustered out? And does Hennet get KP duty a lot?”

“She's a sloppy bitch for KP!” hollered a soused corporal. More laughter, and easier this time, as the crowd pressed in again, and the Lieutenant nodded and faded back, letting whoever felt like talking, talk. And Threadbare listened, about how this group had mainly come from the northern woods, where grapes grew well and the best wine was made. How a lot of them had been good hunters and trappers, so the unit had been tagged for scout duty, even though not all of them were, strictly speaking, Scouts. And how they'd been in the vanguard, blazing the trail and finding the way upriver to clear a path for the barges.

He knew he'd done well when one of the smaller ones at the back of the fire, a hard-eyed black-furred trooper with a bandage around her head sat down next to him, and looked him up and down before speaking. “That big thing. The one with a gods damned cannon in its arm. That thing's coming with us?”

“She is. Her name is Reason, and she's one of my daughters.”

“She did for my sister. Tell her if she kills the fuck out of the assholes who set us up to fight, then I'll call us even.”

“I will,” Threadbare put his paw up, and the black rabbitkin shook it solemnly. Then her lip quivered, and she shook her head, rising and heading off into the shadows.

That lowered the mood a bit, but he saw the Lieutenant moving off into the dark after her, and felt good about it. Some people needed to cry alone, but others needed a good hug and a shoulder to cry into. And this officer seemed decent, as far as the others he'd seen had gone, so he trusted her to know what the trooper needed.

The last bits of tension definitely eased out of the camp, as the rest of the unit relaxed. They'd been watching her carefully, he knew. Worried about her. She was the troubled one, and every unit he'd been to had a few of those. Someone who had lost much, in the space of just a day or two. And checking the stars, he knew he had time if he wanted to wait, and make sure she was truly well.

But the officer probably had it in hand, and Threadbare had much to do before the night was done. So he wrapped things up, shook a few more hands and gave a few more hugs, before heading out into the night. Behind him, he heard tiny plush feet against the mud as Zuula followed.

“Clever,” she said, as he started heading back toward the waterfall, and the Cylvanian camp. “You is making sure we won't be shot in back by dem.”

“Not really,” Threadbare said. “We didn't want to fight them in the first place, and we definitely didn't want to kill any of them. Me doing this helps get that point across. That's what Garon said it would do, anyway. And General Merser and Celia agreed. Though I'm not sure why they aren't out here doing it as well.”

“You really not know dat?”

“No. That's what I just said... sorry. My moxie is a bit down. I leveled in Toy Golem three camps ago and that recharged it for a bit, but I have had to use quite a bit socializing.”

“You not know it. Hmmm... Hm. You out here doing dis, because you the legend.”

“Legend?”

“De bear who save a kingdom. De one who destroyed a wicked king to save his little girl, and everyone else. De toy who didn't quit. Dat legend.”

Threadbare slowed his steps, and considered it. He looked up at the very big sky, and the countless stars. And then down to the graves, which the Earth Elementalists were working to dig and fill, even into the wee hours of the night. Thousands dead, and they'd come with far less power than he'd had, to try to do something even bigger, to be a part of something much bigger than him.

“I don't feel like a legend,” he told Zuula. “I feel like I am trying very hard to knock swords out of the air as they fall down on us. And that we got a nice break for a year or two, but since then they haven't been stopping. And it's very, very hard to keep everyone alive.”

“But you are. And you not alone,” Zuula said, coming up and giving his shoulders a squeeze. He leaned into it, looked down. But she didn't hang onto him long, gave him a slight push to straighten him up, then slapped him on the back. “You story been told all over Belltollia. De ones who come here, dey feared death, yes. But more den dat, dey feared going up against you. Because you not a bad guy, and in de stories, de good guy always win. What de best dey do? Take you prisoner, because if dey kill you, dat makes dem villains. Or die to you, and dat is not a good death, being one dat a hero slays. It make you a villain. Orcs know all about dis. Is why we villains so often.”

“It doesn't seem fair,” Threadbare said. “I started off very small, and most of what I've done that's good I've done because my friends helped me, or because I was lucky in a place where others weren't as lucky. Cecelia's done more than me, many little and important things that they should tell stories about. Why am I the legend?”

“Oh, it is not fair,” Zuula said. “Orcs know about unfair, too. But nobody controls de story, nobody can say what final form it take. Sure, many can try, like dat Copperfield turd. But who can say which part of de truth will surface again, in a year or ten or a hundred? De story has decided you is de legend. Celia... she be remembered as de good Ruler, de kind princess who left her t'rone behind. But you is de walking legend. And tonight, de Belltollians who dreaded fighting you, got to meet you in de plush. And dey will tell dere children about dat for de rest of dere lives. De time dey got to meet a legend.”

Threadbare thought on it, picking up the pace again as he left the Belltollian pickets behind, and started climbing the hill. His darkvision let him pick his way around the craters and shattered spots that had been fought over so hard, so short a time ago.

“I'm this country's Phantom,” he realized.

“Closest ting to it, yes. Or maybe de Phantom is his country's YOU.”

“I wonder if Pat is his country's... hm. I shouldn't talk about that here. Well, we needed to stop by the command tent anyway. Do you have the time?”

“Zuula got... some time. Be a few days before she move on.”

“What?”

“No'ting.”

“No, I'm sorry, that definitely didn't sound like nothing. What was that?”

“No'ting she speak of now. You don't worry about no'ting. Got it?”

He stopped and studied her, button eyes meeting her glass orbs.

WILL+1

And she looked away first. “Tch. Shouldn't have said dat. Should NOT have said dat.”

“Zuula. Please tell me.”

Zuula sighed, and plopped down on the edge of the hill, patting the ground next to her. “Fine. Sit. And ain't no'ting you can do, so don't get worked up none.”

“I don't know if I can promise that.”

“Den don't promise. But don't do it anyway.”

Threadbare sat, his paws on his knees, silent and staring at her.

“Shamans dream of the world, you know dis. You been t'roo it. Dream Vision skill.”

“I had it for a little while. It helped me and Celia sleep, before she decided she didn't need that anymore,” Threadbare said. “So I put the job away and took Scout again.”

“Shamans who dream often enough, and listen to dere dreams... dey learn to read de flows of de world. De feelings. De way of nature, how it speaks to us wit'out words. Wit'out even emotions, sometimes. And last night, de world dreams of when de little spark called Zuula will leave it.”

“Maybe transferring to a Soulstone again?” Threadbare offered, hopefully. That would set her back many levels, but she would still be around. But in his heart, he knew that wasn't the case, and she instantly shook her head, dashing that hope.

“No. Zuula already decided she ain't goin' back in de soulstone, if she die again. Dis time she move on and maybe find Mordecai again. If dat a t'ing.”

“Most religions say it is,” he offered.

“Bah, gods. What do dey know? Less den priests, and dey know no'ting.”

“You're certain you want to do this?” Threadbare asked.

“Zuula had much time to t'ink on it. Saw her sister. Saw how old she got. Saw she wasn't gonna cheat, like Zuula did. Zuula... is certain of dis. When deat' finds her again, she die. For good.”

“So we have a few days,” Threadbare said, squeezing his paws into his legs. “How many?”

“Nature dreams, but it is not precise. Nature does not care about time, so much as cycles. Before de leaves turn, is all she know.”

It was late in the summertime now.

“I see,” Threadbare said. “I don't like this.”

“No one should. Zuula be fuckin' awesome. Better mourn her big, and figure out how to eat her corpse all proper and respectful like.”

They locked gazes, and this time Threadbare was the first to look away. He lay back and stared up at the stars, their multitude and myriad impossibly distant and coldly bright. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked them.

But Zuula took it as a question for her, and maybe it was, as she lay down as well, staring up as she replied.

“You live, Dreadbear. You live on, and you tell you children about de legend of Zuula. You promise her dat?”

And though he was sad, though he knew he'd look back on this night with regret, and think over all the words he could have said instead, Threadbare nodded. “That is a promise that I think I can keep.”

“Good,” Zuula said, and there was nothing more to say, as they lay back for a while, fires burning warmly down below on the battlefield, and stars burning coldly in the ebon skies.