Deadwood

Bowdre keeps watch.

She had volunteered after seeing the pink soft-touch immediately curl up and fall asleep the moment they had put together the camp. The Yaonite was changing the teal soft-touch's bandages, the girl still out, as the Ifran stood at the edge of camp, almost covered up by the darkness as he stared into the desert.

The girl had been lucky Bowdre's axe pistol is always kept sharp and that she had cut off a limb before, that fancy sword at the Ifran's waist is not made to cut a limb in one hit and the Yaonite only had small assassin weapons.

A low hum brings Bowdre out of the memory of all that blood and the girl's screams, she turns towards the Yaonite, that has started to hum something as he carefully keeps the girl alive, eyes gentle but concentrated on his task. Whatever he's humming clearly has lyrics, as sometimes Bowdre can discern a word or two come out among the humming.

"Don't want to share, Shadow?" Asks Bowdre in a whisper, not wishing to wake up the annoying pink woman. The Yaonite flinches and turns his head to Bowdre, eyes wide like he had been caught stealing from Old Fort, Bowdre laughs "The song, Shadow, don't want the rest of us to enjoy it?"

The Yaonite shakes his head slightly, a bitter smile on his face and eyes too soft for Bowdre's tastes. She had expected the assassin to be an aloft cold statue, but this man didn't act the way Bowdre had hoped, too soft, his steps guided by halted hope and a suspicious amount of guilt.

"Not a song, a lullaby" he corrects like it changes something. It doesn't. A song is a song, and a good campfire always needs someone to sing—Bowdre is usually that someone when her gang travels away from her territory.

"Don't care, Shadow. Come on then, sing it proper" says Bowdre with a smirk and a wave. Their conversation has attracted the attention of the Ifran, that has moved his body, turning it enough towards them so he can listen to whatever they're saying. Nosy fireboy.

With a sigh, the Yaonite looks at the teal soft-touch for a second before starting to hum again. For a second Bowdre thinks he's messing with her, but then, he starts to sing, voice soft and somewhat unsure:

Oh, the Darkness comes,

It comes and follows

Those brave who fight it,

Oh, the Darkness bellows,

It screams for blood and kin

From it's grave below,

Oh, the Darkness awaits,

For the shadows within

For the children of the sun

And the seers in their beauty,

Oh, The Dawn will fall

When the Harbinger does their duty

Oh, the Darkness will come,

It will crawl from below

And it will eat the world…

The Yaonite's voice fades at the last verse and Bowdre waits a few seconds, hoping for some more, but when she realizes there's no more song, she snorts loudly. The Yaonite blinks and the Ifran misses a step as he turns fully, stumbling slightly.

"Well, that was creepy for a lullaby" chuckles Bowdre "Is that what Yaonite children get sung to sleep better? A lullaby about the end of the world?"

"It is eerie" mumbles the Ifran and Bowdre shoots him a smirk, the Ifran just huffs and returns his eyes to the darkness that surrounds them.

The Yaonite says nothing for a while as he slowly pets the short hair of the teal soft-touch, he looks lost in a memory.

"My mother used to sing it to me" he says finally, making both Bowdre and the Ifran look at him "Right before I fell asleep, for the years I was allowed a childhood"

"I though all assassins were orphans and bastards" says Bowdre, that was the rumor, at least, about how the assassins kept their numbers, children that nobody wanted were always a good source of workforce, be it for assassins or for outlaws.

"Shadowborn and Shadowbound, as it's said" says the Yaonite in a low voice "My father is an assassin, and as such, I was born a bastard"

Bowdre nods and, even though he hadn't really answered the implied question, she decides not to ask it. Maybe something had happened to his mother that had resulted in a few years of peace before being forced into assassin labor. Maybe all assassin children had some time to be actual children. Who knows.

"You didn't have any family left?" The question comes from the edge of the group, but not from the Ifran, the pink soft-touch has awoken but not moved from her curled up position. It's a soft question, in a neutral tone, the most neutral Bowdre has ever heard the haughty pink lady speak. The Yaonite turns, face blank, and the silence that follows answer the question.

Bowdre has not interacted much with Yaonites, but she remembers the basics. Family is everything, Blood is Bond, as they like to repeat constantly. She had been witness to this loyalty once, when a group of merchants had crossed close to the territory Bowdre had claimed to herself and her gang, she had though nothing about them, had tied them and stolen everything they had, left them with a sip of water and the clothes on their backs and sent them on their way. She had followed until they crossed the border, close enough to watch but not close enough to be seen, her gang often made the bet of how many would reach the border alive.

Only one had made it. It had been Dry Season, the heat particularly terrible, and each member of the group of merchants had given their water—one by one, death by death—to the smallest one, a teenager. The group had been a family, and they had sacrificed themselves to save their young.

Mood already ruined, Bowdre watches the Yaonite as he sits next to the teal soft-touch and refuses to even close his eyes. None of them will sleep, she realizes, they probably fear the nightmares.

"Since we're sharing entertainment" starts Bowdre, feeling brave in a way she has never felt, her stomach grumbling with something else that's not hunger "I can tell a story"

No one says anything and taking it as an indication of acceptance, Bowdre decides to tell these people who'll share her bedside for sometime, the story of her hometown.

"There are not many towns in Nash, not many survive the wild ruling of the gangs that roam the desert, but the biggest one, right after Old Fort, was Redwood.

It was the second most populated town, it even had it's own scavenger guild, it had work for those that wanted to lawfully live in Nash. Saloons, barbers brothels, inns, small farms…Redwood flourished like nothing could in Nash. The best saloon in Redwood was the Noon Saloon, it sold the best liquor and had the best music, all sang by the barmaid, a woman called Della, desired not for her looks but just for her voice, people described it as the feeling of water running down your gullet, the smell of spiced meats, the joy of seeing a sprout grow…"

Bowdre stops, raising her eyes to stare at the Yaonite, then at the soft-touch and finally—just from the corner of her eye—the Ifran. They're listening and Bowdre feels something like nervousness crawl up her throat. But she swallows, and keeps going.

"The barmaid Della sang each day, night and noon, always on time. Some people in Redwood could tell the time just by listening for music in the Noon saloon. The only day Della didn't sing was the last day of Redwood.

A gang had had an eye on the town for days, not only on the shops and saloons, and the gold that that meant, but also on the Lawmen that walked the streets, soon to be part of it with a new Sheriff. The gang waited until the night reached the town before attacking. They didn't announce themselves as they did, they just set fire to every building they came across and just…waited for the song of screams…"

"Deadwood" Interrupts a voice, the pink soft-touch, and Bowdre stops her mind-wandering to stare at the curled up woman.

"Aye, Deadwood is the name the ruins have been given" nods Bowdre, the pink soft-touch doesn't react, at least not vocally, she does curl up tighter "No one survived, every person that lived there killed by the smoke, fire or the outlaws"

Bowdre quiets down after that and the only sound that accompanies their party is the crackling of the fire and the return of the low humming of the Yaonite.

The pink soft-touch's breath evens and the Ifran finally gives in and sits next to the curled body of the soft-touch, as far away as he can sit from the teal soft-touch and the Yaonite. The Ifran glares at the fire, the orange glow making his own fiery-colored eyes glow in ways that probably made the legends Bowdre knows about his kind—Children of the sun, born from fire.

"You've been to Deadwood, then?" Asks the Ifran suddenly, making the Yaonite stutter his humming and Bowdre is tempted to cuss at the fireboy every curse she had learned from her father. But she knows better.

"What makes you think that?" She asks, tone cold enough to make her shiver. The Ifran doesn't react to her threatening tone and just keeps staring at the fire like it holds every answer he seeks.

"The way you spoke about it…It wasn't just a story to you" He says and Bowdre glares at him.

"Just a story, nothing more" With that said, Bowdre returns her eyes to the fire and tries to ignore the stares she has gained.

"A pity" says the Yaonite in a soft voice that makes Bowdre frown even harder "It sounded like a nice place"

Bowdre doesn't react. She wishes she could sleep now, but with the memories of the girl's scream she knows she bound to fall into old nightmares about fire and barrels of water, of laughter and screams. And it's been a long time since Bowdre dreamt of her childhood home, of a time when she actually had hopes in life and not just dread and greed filling every hardened pore of her body.

They begin to move before the sun rises, the Yaonite taking the lead as they finally cross the border into Yaon. The teal soft-touch on the lizard and the other soft-touch keeping her on the animal, the Yaonite first and the Ifran not far behind but refusing to walk besides him. Bowdre tails the group, keeping an eye out for anymore beasts and takes the time and silence of the almost dawn to think of the deal she had struck with the soft-touch.

Nothing good can't come of this decision, realizes Bowdre, but she had felt with worse odds and at least she won't be alone to deal with them this time.

She can only hope the treasure is worth whatever Yaon throws at them.