Archive of Our Own

The autumn air was fresh and clear. Keith made his way back towards the cabin in the darkening twilight, bow in one hand and three rabbits gripped in the other, Kosmo trotting ahead of him. The wolf was barely visible in the dark shadows beneath the trees, but Keith still noticed when he caught the familiar scents of home. Kosmo picked up the pace, and with a soft chuckle, Keith followed suit. 

Shiro was waiting for them in the yard, brushing out Black’s coat until it shone. Black tossed her head as Kosmo came up to them (she still wasn’t entirely on board with the whole ‘wolf as a pet’ thing) and Shiro smiled. 

“How was the hunting?”

Keith held up his rabbits victoriously. They had just harvested the garden the day before as fall came towards its end, and soon they would be eating mostly what they’d saved and preserved over the last year. Fresh meat would soon be scarce. 

“Great,” Shiro said“If you get those skinned tonight we might be able to trade them tomorrow.”

Keith smiled, but inside his stomach did a little tumble. In the morning Shiro was going to set off on another trip to civilization, this time to a town thirty miles away, and for the first time Keith was supposed to go along. The town was far enough away from his old village that Shiro was reasonably sure he wouldn’t be recognized, but it had only been a few months since the incident in the woods. He could still feel the phantom touch of rope around his throat if he let himself think about it too hard. 

He also felt his palms beginning to warm as his magic reacted to his nerves. Keith took a slow, purposeful breath, and only turned to go into the cabin when the heat had faded.

As it turned out, Keith was pretty good at magic. He was good at directing energy: fire, lightning, force, shielding. More complicated spells like the wards he and Shiro put up didn’t come as easily, but he got them eventually if he tried hard enough. The one thing he was bad at was self-control. 

His magic felt like a little piece of the sun, blazing hot and bright and never wanting to slow down. Shiro had spent many lessons trying to beat it into his head that his body had limits, but too often Keith found himself back at the border of exhaustion, that unnerving feeling of his soul shrinking inside his body, all because he couldn’t stop pushing to master this or that spell. His magic was just as eager as he was– too eager, sometimes. 

The inside of the cabin was crowded with stored supplies, with dried herbs strung between the ceiling rafters and various baskets and pots crowding the corners of the room. Keith set his bow and the rabbits on the main table while Kosmo went to his water bowl at the foot of Keith’s bed to drink his fill. 

It was even darker inside than it had been in the woods with the sun almost set. Shrugging off his cloak as he went, Keith set his finger on the tip of the candle sitting on the table, and with some concentration, sent a tiny bit of magic down to the wick. The flame caught. Keith’s magic flared under his skin for a moment, but he wrestled it down long enough to toss some kindling into the fireplace before lighting that fire as well. With that release, the magic settled again. 

Shiro said it was normal for his magic to feel like this. After all, it had been suppressed all his life. Of course it wanted to be let out, and on the one hand Keith had to admit he loved the feeling of the fire, the heat and power and the knowledge that he would never be helpless again. 

On the other hand, it scared him when it surged like that. As useful and euphoric as it felt to wield, he was more than aware of how easily it could burn out of control, like the disastrous time Shiro had tried to teach him healing magic and Keith had burned him instead. 

The memory still made him cringe. He hadn’t used his magic for a week after that, until it was so pent up it started spitting sparks from his fingertips without his permission and he had to use it again unless he wanted to accidentally burn the house down. 

He stooped to remove his boots. Outside he heard heavy impacts from Black’s hooves and Shiro’s quiet voice as he led her to the stable. Kosmo padded over to Keith and licked his face, as he always did whenever Keith was within licking range. 

“I love you too, buddy,” Keith said, giving Kosmo a scratch followed by a soft nudge. “But I need you to take a few steps back.”

Surprisingly, Kosmo did– his head lifted, staring at the door, and his ears pricked to attention. 

A second later heat rippled over Keith’s skin. Once, twice. Someone– two someones– had crossed through the ward. 

“Damnit,” Keith hissed. He straightened up, boots still on, and grabbed his bow from the table before kicking aside the rugs and furs that covered the floor, revealing a crude trap door. The root cellar had been there to begin with; all they’d had to do was make it a little bigger and add another entrance and it was the perfect hiding spot for when people came calling. 

Shiro came in just as Keith was dropping into the cellar, jaw screwed tightly shut. Kneeling beside the trap door, he said, “Looks like only a couple of people. It shouldn’t be long.”

Keith offered up a smile. Shiro hated the fact that Keith had to hide whenever people came to see him, but they both knew why it was necessary. 

Kosmo whined, upset that he couldn’t follow Keith down, but let Shiro soothe him with a few strokes over his ears before he closed the trap door, plunging Keith into darkness. 

He set his back to the earthen wall and listened. There was scraping as Shiro moved the furs back into place, and a few moments later someone knocked on their wooden door. He was always a little nervous when people came, but usually Shiro was right and they didn’t stay long; they just got whatever it was they wanted and left again. The longest he’d ever had to hide was an hour when some poor kid got two fish hooks stuck in his thumb. 

The hinges squeaked. “Hello,” he heard Shiro say in his friendly healer voice. “Can I help you?”

“Pardon the intrusion.” The answering voice was low and gruff. A tiny tingle of fear ran down Keith’s spine. Something about the voice– he shoved the thought away. Even if it was someone from his old village, they didn’t know he was here. He was fine. He didn’t acknowledge how his knuckles ached from how tightly he was squeezing his bow. 

“It’s no trouble. What can I do for you?” To an untrained ear Shiro would’ve sounded exactly the same, but Keith recognized the thread of tension winding through his words. He must have recognized the speaker too. 

“Some months ago my son and some other boys encountered a witch in the woods near here. Would you happen to know anything of this?”

Shit. It was Darrel, the alderman, who had whipped Keith within an inch of his life and left him in the snow to die, before anyone knew Keith actually was a witch, and they were looking for him, again. Keith planted a hand over his mouth, desperately hoping his breath wasn’t as loud as it sounded to him. 

“I can’t say I have,” said Shiro. He was always a much better liar than Keith. “If you encountered the witch here, wouldn’t they have fled by now?”

“Hey!” exclaimed another voice, and Keith’s stomach dropped the same way it had the last time he had heard it. Griffin was here too, of course he was, and Keith went from muffling his breath to holding it. “That’s the wolf that bit Peter!”

“Who, Kosmo? You must be mistaken. He’s my pet, and I can assure you he’s never bitten anyone.” Shiro sounded perfectly innocent. 

Believe him, Keith prayed into the darkness, eyes squeezed shut tight. Believe him and go away. 

But Griffin scoffed. “It has to be the same one. How many pitch black wolves are there in this forest?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro replied without hesitation. “Have you counted them?”

Darrel interrupted before Griffin could get worked up. “The boys also said they heard the voice of the Devil. Have you heard such a thing in the area?”

“No, sir.”

There was a moment of tense silence. Then Darrel spoke again. “You have an awful lot of herbs and ingredients about.”

“Of course I do,” said Shiro with ease. “I’m a healer. You remember when I came to your village for the black blood, don’t you?”

“I recall.” Another pause. “Be wary. Healers and the like can be vulnerable to the Devil’s influence. You especially, if he does indeed lurk in these woods.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I have no interest in the Devil, I assure you.”

“Hmph. Very well.”

“Wait, Father–!” 

The door closed, and Griffin’s voice was muffled. Still Keith didn’t budge until he heard Shiro’s step over his head and the squeak of the trap door opening. 

“Keith?” When he opened his eyes Shiro was staring down at him, expression full of concern. “Are you alright?”

Keith swallowed hard and dropped his hand from his mouth. He forced himself to nod, even though he was still shaking, and managed a soft, “Yeah.” His magic rippled again. Once, twice. Two people crossing the ward as they left. Finally, he breathed out. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Shiro offered his hand and Keith took it, letting Shiro pull him out of the cellar. The sun had fully set, and the cabin walls danced with firelight; to Keith, the darkness outside seemed deeper than it had only a few minutes before. 

He swallowed again and willed his voice not to shake when he asked, “Do you think they’ll come back?”

Kosmo pushed his head under Keith’s hand. He scratched the wolf as requested, though his other hand stayed tight around his bow. 

“I don’t think so,” Shiro said, laying his hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezing against the tension he found. “Darrel knows I helped them during the outbreak, and I’m the only healer in a hundred miles. He won’t be in a hurry to accuse me.”

“But if they think I’m here–”

“They don’t know that.” 

Keith just shivered. There were a lot of things the village folks didn’t know. That had never stopped them before. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

With difficulty, he lifted his eyes to Shiro’s. There was no fear there, only determination. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe here. I promise.” 

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” 

Shiro’s eyes softened. Without another word he pulled Keith in and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Keith melted into it as he always did. 

Sometimes he still flinched when Shiro touched him, but Shiro had never, ever done anything to deserve that reaction, even when Keith was being difficult. After coming from a place where people kicked the shit out of him just for existing, he would never take that kindness for granted. 

“Come on,” Shiro murmured in his ear. “I think Kosmo will start gnawing on us if we don’t feed him soon.” 

Keith managed a laugh. “Maybe you. He loves me too much.”

Kosmo nipped at his fingers, and Shiro smirked. “For now.” 

With a last exchanged smile, the two of them separated to their duties. 

In his dreams, Keith was burning alive. 

He jolted awake, breath coming hard and fast; he couldn’t smell the smoke anymore, and the blinding light of the flames had been replaced with the dark stillness of the cabin, but he could still feel the heat, rolling over him like waves crashing against the shore. 

The moment Shiro stirred in his sleep was the same moment that Keith realized what the feeling was. Not flames, but people passing through the wards. 

A lot of people. 

Kosmo, who had lifted his head when Keith woke, pinned his ears back and growled at the door. 

Keith practically fell out of bed. Hissing curses, he staggered across the room to Shiro’s bed and shook his shoulder. 

“Shiro! Wake up!”

A spare glance through the window above the bed made Keith’s stomach drop. He could see them coming out of the woods– there was a whole mob of vaguely familiar people, mostly men, two or three of them carrying torches to light their way. 

Shiro groaned and blinked his eyes open, but there was no time for Keith to say anything. He gave up on waking Shiro and scrambled to get the furs moved aside and the trap door open before throwing himself down into the cellar, closing the trap door behind him. Hopefully Shiro would have the presence of mind to cover it up again. 

Someone banged loudly on the door. “Shirogane!” It wasn’t Darrel’s voice. It was Griffin. “Open up!” 

Footsteps reverberated through the wood above Keith’s head as Shiro climbed out of bed. There was the telltale shuffle of the furs covering the trap door before the squeak of hinges. 

Right then, Keith remembered that his bow was still upstairs, and a man with one arm couldn’t use it. 

Shit shit shit. 

“What?” Shiro sounded decidedly less polite than he had a few hours before. “It’s rather rude to disturb someone in the middle of the night, don’t you think?”

“We know you’re concealing the witch here,” Griffin proclaimed. Keith could imagine what his face looked like right now, the same expression Keith had stared at countless times when Griffin beat him down, and thought with a strange detachment, Of course he came in the night. He wasn’t the strongest and he knew it– before, he had always waited until Keith had been hungry for a few days before coming after him. “Bring him out!”

“Under whose authority?” Shiro shot back in a venomous tone, punctuated by a growl from Kosmo. Keith again put a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“My father, the alderman.”

“Huh. I don’t see him here.” 

Griffin started to say something else, only to be interrupted by Shiro again. 

“And my home isn’t within the limits of your village. Neither of you have any right to demand anything of me. So I’ll ask nicely, once: get away from my house.” 

Another voice piped up. “No one has the right to conceal a witch! We have a moral duty to see him dead!”

“Aye, we do the Lord’s work!” cried another. 

“Well, you can do the Lord’s work elsewhere.” Shiro’s voice was all iron and sparks– Keith didn’t want to imagine what his glare looked like right now. “There are no witches here.”

A grumble rose from the crowd, and Keith’s heart sped up. They weren’t buying it. They would demand to search the house next, and if Shiro didn’t let them they would force their way in, and Shiro wouldn’t be able to do anything without giving himself away. He had to get out.

Luckily, when they had expanded the root cellar they left the original entrance intact for precisely this purpose. It opened just outside the cabin’s sidewall. From there it was only a few yards to the safety of the dark woods. 

Keith waited until Griffin started speaking again before padding over to the outside entrance, stepping as softly as he could. 

“Prove it. If he’s not here then you have nothing to worry about.”

Shiro scoffed. “You don’t really have your father’s approval, do you? He didn’t give you the answer you wanted, so you gathered up as many people as you could to join your temper tantrum.”

Damn, Shiro wasn’t pulling any punches. Keith used the shocked murmur that ran through the crowd to disguise the opening of the outside cellar door. The stars bloomed into view, and though he could see the flickering torchlight at the front of the house, this side was still bathed in shadow. 

He should’ve run to the treeline right then. But Shiro and Griffin were still arguing, and the angry mumbling of the crowd every time Shiro spoke made Keith’s stomach knot up. If they didn’t find him, would they make Shiro their scapegoat? He couldn’t– wouldn’t– let that happen. 

He didn’t run for the woods. Instead he went towards the firelight, darting behind Black’s stable, letting the increasingly irate voices cover the sound of his bare feet over the grass. 

“Why don’t you just let us in if you have nothing to hide?” Griffin was saying. 

“Because I don’t take kindly to a bunch of strangers demanding to be let into my house,” Shiro answered. “After waking me in the middle of the night, I might add.”

Keith forced himself to release a slow breath. If he crept around the side of the stable quietly enough, he might be able to slip into Black’s stall, just in case they had to run. He could hear her stamping her hooves and nickering, upset by all of the commotion– the sound would hide him well enough. 

“Maybe,” shouted a different voice, “he won’t let us in because he’s a witch himself!”

Shiro immediately protested, but his voice was drowned out by the approving voices of the crowd. 

Fuck fuck fuck. Despite how his mind was spinning, Keith was able to pull off his plan and slide under the gate into Black’s stall. The horse skittered to the side with an alarmed snort, until Keith put his hand on her side and murmured something indistinct, letting her recognize him. Black settled enough that he didn’t think she would kick him, though he could still see the whites of her eyes. 

From here he had a better view of the crowd and was able to pick out some familiar faces: Jonas’ father, Peter’s mother, other men that had come to visit his cellar prison before he was condemned. 

Sudden resentment made his magic burn under his skin. Fear for Shiro kept the fire banked. 

“You have no proof of any of this,” Shiro continued. “Is this what you call justice?” Kosmo stood at his side, legs braced and hackles just beginning to rise, but even he couldn’t fight off an entire armed crowd. 

Keith softly patted Black’s side again and whispered, “Don’t startle, girl.” 

“It’s not justice,” shouted Jonas’ father, “it’s pest control!”

Cheers spread through the crowd, the shadows in the firelight twisting as they waved the torches high. Quietly, carefully, Keith eased himself forward and undid the gate latch, letting the gate swing open. The mob was too riled up to notice the motion. He eyed the saddle, but before he could move for it another wave of frenzied cheers went through the mob.

“This is your last chance!” Griffin shouted. “You either get out of the way and let us search the house, or we’ll make you!”

There wasn’t time for the saddle. Keith had never ridden Black bareback, but a length of rope and sheer determination would just have to do. 

“Please don’t throw me,” he whispered to her as he secured the rope for reins. Black looked at him sideways and shuffled her hooves, but like the patient beast she was, allowed Keith to pull himself up and onto her back with only a slight snort and shake of her head.

Shiro still hadn’t moved. He had his fingers buried in the thick ruff around Kosmo’s neck– probably trying to keep his own magic at bay– as sharp gray eyes swept over the crowd. 

“You do not do the Lord’s work,” he said. Keith had heard that even, hard tone before when he had to calm Black down or was working a particularly difficult spell. Now it seemed even harder, even harsher, and Keith was amazed that the crowd didn’t immediately back down upon hearing it. “You’re nothing but a gang of scared fools, lashing out at whoever you can find to make yourselves feel safe. But you’ll never achieve that so long as you keep seeing witches and monsters in every shadow and dark storm cloud.” 

From his new vantage point on Black he could see more details of the crowd. He spotted the men who carried flails and scythes. Peter’s mother held the sword that had belonged to her husband. And one man, whose face didn’t matter enough to hold Keith’s notice, was raising his arm in a steady, familiar motion. 

“Blasphemy!” someone shouted. Keith’s eyes locked onto the man as he drew the bowstring back, aiming just right to fly over his compatriots’ heads– and toward Shiro’s chest. There was more shouting and waving of torches, but all Keith could see was the man’s fingers loosening. His breath was caught in his throat, holding his voice hostage. 

Time slowed down. Between heartbeats he saw the man release, saw the arrow part from the string. He threw up a hand, as though he could snatch the arrow from the air from a dozen yards away, and a surge of magic burst from his fingertips. It was uncoordinated and instinctive, but it hit the arrow hard enough to knock it off course. Instead of going through Shiro’s heart the arrow thudded into his shoulder. 

Shiro staggered with a shout that was more shock than pain, clutching at his right shoulder. Kosmo bounded forward, teeth bared in case anyone tried to come close while he was down. 

And the entire crowd turned to look at Keith. 

He didn’t give himself time to be afraid. He dug his heels into Black’s sides and she leapt forward, out of the stall and towards the crowd. A cry went up from the gathered people as they threw themselves out of the horse’s path, crashing into each other and dropping weapons as they went. 

Keith reined Black in between Shiro and the crowd. “Come on!” He leaned down, extending his hand to Shiro, who just blinked up at him in a daze, red blood welling up between his fingers.

“There he is!” someone shouted from Keith’s other side. “It’s the witch!”

Keith snapped around with a snarl. His magic roared back to life– they hurt Shiro how could they hurt Shiro– and he lifted his opposite hand just in time for flames to come pouring from it. Screams echoed through the trees as he swept an arc of fire in front of the mob. He didn’t know if anyone had been caught in it and he didn’t care. Some people deserved to burn. 

Black let out a panicked whinny and reared back, but Keith held on tight until all four hooves were back on the ground and he could twist back towards Shiro, thrusting his hand out to him again. 

“Come on, Shiro!”

This time Shiro took his hand. Warm blood smeared between their palms, and Shiro pulled himself up and onto Black’s back. Keith could feel Shiro’s breath coming fast, his chest hammering against Keith’s spine, and the arrow shaft sat in his periphery like a snake ready to strike. 

“Seize them!”

“Kosmo, heel!” Keith slammed his heels against Black’s sides again, hoping against hope that Kosmo would follow as they charged off towards the treeline. A pained sound slid through Shiro’s teeth and against the back of Keith’s neck. 

“Hold on,” he said, and then they were in the forest. An arrow whistled past his ear, knocking strands of his hair aside, and another thudded into a tree trunk as they raced past it. 

Black wasn’t the smallest or most agile of horses, nor was Keith incredibly skilled at riding her. But he bent low over her neck, tightened his grip on the rope until his knuckles ached, and steered her further into the trees, away from the cabin and the river and the stone bridge that led back towards his old village. He let his mind go blank and reacted on pure instinct, and Black took care of the rest. She danced around trunks and leapt over old stumps, never once tripping over an exposed root or shrub. Under the thundering of her hooves he heard the soft pat pat pat of Kosmo’s paws and the angry cries of the mob steadily retreating behind them. They were trying to give chase, he was sure, but couldn’t keep up. 

Keith kept urging her onward, even when the shouts faded entirely. His magic still burned red hot under his skin and his heart pounded in his ears; it wasn’t until he felt Shiro’s arm loosen around his middle and his forehead fall against his back that he finally slowed down. 

All four of them were breathing hard and fast when Keith finally allowed Black to stop. The night was pitch black away from the mob’s torches– it was a miracle Black hadn’t fallen in the dark– but Shiro’s face was pale in the thin slices of moonlight that fell between the branches. 

“Keith,” he wheezed, “we need to stop. Black won’t–” He cut himself off with a grimace, and Keith’s throat closed. 

It sounded choked, but he managed the words, “I know. Here, hold on to her mane.” When he was satisfied that Shiro had a firm grip, Keith slid off of her. The forest floor was rough under his bare feet and the night air was cold, making goosebumps rise on Keith’s arms, but he stubbornly ignored it. They had to find shelter and take care of Shiro’s wound. He could worry about himself after that. 

But where were they going to go? 

A cold nose pressed against the hand that wasn’t holding Black’s rope. Kosmo was panting, his tongue hanging loosely out of his jaw, but it didn’t seem to bother him any as he trotted a few steps away, then stopped and looked back expectantly. 

“What? You want me to follow you?”

Kosmo let out the tiniest boof and ran forward again before stopping and looking back. 

Well, it wasn’t like he had any better ideas. He glanced back at Shiro. “What do you think?”

Shiro merely listed forward, nearly collapsing over Black’s neck before Keith reached up to steady him. The arrow still protruded from his shoulder, and his tunic was soaked with blood. 

“S’rry.” His words were beginning to slur. “I’m– a little groggy–” 

Panic clawed at the back of Keith’s throat, tightening in his lungs, but he swallowed it back down. Shiro had saved him so many times– Keith wouldn’t fail him now. 

With a purposeful breath, he turned around and led Black after Kosmo. 

The wolf led them unerringly through the woods. Every few minutes they had to stop so that Keith could keep Shiro from tumbling off of the horse’s back, and each time his skin felt colder, clammier, more of his tunic stained red. Each time Keith clung to calm by his fingernails and coaxed a few words from Shiro to make sure he hadn’t lost consciousness before they returned to their slow plodding. 

Eventually they came to a sheer rock face, the start of the mountain range that bisected the forest. Kosmo trotted alongside the rock for a while; the moon was brighter here where the trees were thinner and made Kosmo’s black fur shine, but also made it that much more obvious how pale Shiro was and how his hand trembled where it was buried into Black’s mane. 

Maybe Keith was making a mistake. Kosmo was smart, almost unnaturally so, but he was still just a wolf. How could he know where they should go in a situation like this? What if he was just leading them to nowhere? What if–

Kosmo stopped. From a few steps behind it seemed like a mere indentation in the stone that he was staring at, but as they got closer Keith realized that it was actually a shallow cave. 

“Good boy,” Keith murmured with a quick scratch behind Kosmo’s ears. From the entrance the cave looked clear, no bones or other evidence of animals, so they probably wouldn’t be attacked by a returning bear– probably. Kosmo wagged his tail happily and licked Keith’s hand before trotting inside. 

Keith secured Black to the closest tree. She was surely thirsty after their hard run, as the rest of them would be in due time, but that was something for tomorrow-Keith to worry about. Present-Keith cared about only one thing: Shiro, who was once again nearly lying flat against Black’s neck. 

“Shiro.” He reached up to pull Shiro’s hand from Black’s mane, and after a long moment Shiro stirred and lifted his head. He was swaying and his skin felt like ice, but once again Keith clamped down on the fear and kept his voice as steady as he could, just as Shiro had always done for him. “Kosmo found a place. Come down, I’ll help you.” 

Shiro mumbled something unintelligible, but allowed Keith to help him down from Black’s back, though they did almost crumble when Shiro unexpectedly leaned most of his weight against Keith’s side. 

“S’rry. Feel a little woozy.”

“It’s alright.” Keith looped his arm around Shiro’s middle, mentally cringing at the texture of fresh and dried blood mingled in the cloth of his tunic. “Just a few steps this way.” 

Together they staggered into the shadows of the cave. Keith could see Kosmo’s eyes glinting in the dark as he sniffed around the perimeter, and a small sliver of his anxiety calmed. If any of their attackers managed to track them down, Kosmo would know long before they found the cave. 

Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered Shiro into a sitting position against the wall at the back of the cave. Shiro’s hand was fisted tight in Keith’s tunic. Keith reached up and gave it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“I need to make a fire.” Not just for light so that he could see Shiro’s wound– he’d only just noticed, but Keith had been shivering for a while, and his bare feet had gone numb. He couldn’t help Shiro if the cold got him. “I’ll be right back.” 

At first Shiro didn’t seem like he’d heard Keith’s words. Then he reluctantly let his fingers slacken, and Keith gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster, despite the fact that Shiro probably couldn’t see it. “Good. Just a few minutes, I promise.” As soon as he stepped back Kosmo trotted over to take his place, draping himself across Shiro’s lap, and Shiro let out a vaguely amused sound as Kosmo began licking his face like a wolf on a mission. 

Keith gathered firewood and kindling from the trees outside quicker than he’d ever done it before. Within the promised minutes he returned to the cave with an armful of dead wood and assembled them into their proper formation with practiced efficiency. His magic was all too eager to leap down his fingertips and ignite the fuel with a sharp snap! 

The light from the fire was dim and flickering. For a moment it called him back to the cabin– the torches, the angry people– until he shut it down. He could deal with those emotions later. He turned back to Shiro and the earth fell out from under him. 

There was– gods, there was so much blood. So red against Shiro’s sickly pale skin, so dark where it had sunk into his clothes, and they hadn’t even taken the arrow out yet, so obvious with the heaving of his labored breaths. Keith was no stranger to blood, but this was Shiro, and suddenly he was aware of how fucked they really were. They had no bandages, no way to keep the wound clean, no food, no water, no blankets– hell, neither of them were wearing shoes and Black didn’t even have her saddle. Not to mention the witch-hunting mob that was surely scouring the forest for them. 

Shiro shifted. His eyes fluttered open, hazy but still lucid enough to recognize whatever horrible expression was on Keith’s face. With a strained grunt he raised a hand, going for the arrow shaft, and Keith snapped out of his stupor to rush forward and grab his wrist. 

“Shiro, no!”

“Have to take it out,” Shiro said through gritted teeth. “So I can h-heal it…”

“You can’t just yank it out! It’ll tear more if you pull it back like that.” As he’d learned from many a kill with his bow. “Just let me look, ok?” As gently as he could he gripped Shiro’s uninjured shoulder and eased him off of the wall to get a look at his back. There was no exit wound, which made Keith grimace. 

“‘S it bad?” Shiro asked. 

“The arrowhead is still in your shoulder,” reported Keith. “We’ll have to push it through and break the head off.”

Shiro swore under his breath. “Better– better get on with it then.”

He hesitated. “It’ll be painful,” he said, “and you’ve already lost a lot of blood–”

“I need to heal it,” Shiro insisted. “I’ve done it before.” 

“What if you pass out? We don’t have anything to stop the bleeding once it’s out–”

“Exactly! I have to do it before– before that–” He sagged, grasping at Keith’s wrist. 

“Shit.” He led Shiro back against the wall; his face was practically gray, and Keith’s heart climbed into his throat. 

There were risks to taking the arrow out. There were risks to leaving it in. But the greatest risks were in indecision. 

“Alright,” he croaked. “We’ll take it out.” Keith pulled him forward again, just by a couple of inches. He grasped the arrow shaft, wet and sticky with blood, and cringed at Shiro’s wince. “I’m going to try to do it in one go, alright?” 

Shiro nodded. His jaw and his fist were clenched so tightly it had to hurt. With a low whine Kosmo padded over to Shiro’s side and licked his cheek, then lay down to settle his head in Shiro’s lap. 

“On three.” Keith waited for another nod. “One.” 

He shoved the arrow forward. His stomach roiled at the resistance of Shiro’s muscle, the burst of blood that welled up around the shaft, and the terrible cry that left Shiro’s throat. But the head was sticking out of his back now and they had to move fast. He snapped the shaft in two where it met Shiro’s chest and tossed it aside, then gripped the arrowhead and yanked the rest of it through the hole in Shiro’s shoulder. He didn’t cry out again, just shuddered, and Keith dropped to his knees beside him. 

“It’s gone,” he said, tilting Shiro’s chin up. “It’s gone, you can heal.” 

But Shiro was just blinking at him with hazy, unfocused eyes. The blood was flowing freely without the arrow in the way and his face was too pale. 

“Shiro, come on, stay with me.” He tapped Shiro’s cheek as his eyelids began to flutter, but it did nothing, and Kosmo whined. “Shiro! Stay awake! You have to heal yourself, you know I can’t do it, come on, open your eyes–”

It was useless. Shiro’s eyes closed and he slumped forward, nearly making Keith topple over as he suddenly had to take all of his weight. 

“Shit! Shit shit shit!” He pressed his palm against the wound and pressed down, but even as he did so he knew it wouldn’t work. The other side of the wound was open too, and he had nothing to stem the flow of blood from either side. The blood was everywhere, dark in the dirt beneath their knees, smeared across the cave wall, soaking their hands and their clothes, sticking all over their skin. 

Keith couldn’t breathe. Shiro was dying. Shiro was dying and he couldn’t do anything to stop it and it was all his fault– 

Kosmo barked suddenly, piercingly loud in the confined space. It shocked Keith out of his spiral long enough for frustration to flare. Kosmo wasn’t helping; he knew things were bad, the last thing he needed was more noise mixed in.

Only, Kosmo was helping. He pawed at Shiro’s chest, giving Keith a meaningful look that he hated he could read. 

“I can’t heal him! I’m no good at it, I hurt him last time, I can’t do it.”

Kosmo barked again. It was softer this time, followed by a whine, and Keith got the message crystal clear. The healing might backfire and Shiro could die, but he would certainly die if Keith did nothing. 

“Fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut tight and cast his mind back over the last few months. What had Shiro told him about healing before the disaster that made Keith drop the idea like a stone? 

Magic comes from emotion. Just like your fire comes from fear and anger, healing comes from calm. Find a place in your mind where you feel safe. 

That word had unsettled him. When was the last time he felt actually, completely safe? Had he ever? Then the guilt sank in (his father had loved him, Shiro had worked so hard to make him feel welcome, why did he still feel like this) and everything had twisted up into a spiky mess that only hurt instead of healed. Now Shiro’s life depended on him figuring it out. 

He forced a deep breath. Forget the nebulous concept of safety– where did he feel calm? The cabin immediately came to mind. Keith shoved down any thoughts of what had just happened there and focused on what it had been like before the mob showed up. 

Cozy. Warm. Dried herbs hanging from the rafters. A sturdy bed all of his own. Kosmo’s weight across his legs. The fireplace he’d woken up to after fearing he wouldn’t wake up at all, with the chimney that never leaked. The place where he’d learned that living was a gift and not a curse. 

His magic woke in a warm glow. Not a burn, not painful, so with a trepidatious swallow, Keith channeled it down his arm and into his palm, pouring power into Shiro like honey from a jar. 

He saw the wound in his mind’s eye. He could see the path the arrow had taken, the torn muscles and split skin. Golden light ran into it, through it, and in the gentle heat of his magic the wound began to mend. Keith didn’t know how much he needed to give to heal Shiro completely, so he just kept going, kept letting the magic out. He wanted there to be nothing left, no lingering scars or pain. Shiro had more than enough of that already. 

Too soon Keith’s fingertips began to tingle. He stubbornly ignored the sensation. The wound was still open, he couldn’t stop yet. 

Then the hollow feeling crept into his chest. He let it grow, let it carve a cavern into his ribs and swallow up the blood from his veins, and kept pouring magic into Shiro. The wound was almost closed, but there were still tears in the muscles, little remaining points of damage that he had to fix. 

Something jostled his shoulder– Kosmo, trying to get his attention. He might’ve whined, but Keith couldn’t tell if the sound came from the wolf or the ringing in his ears. Kosmo headbutted him again, more insistently. Keith pushed him away with one hand. 

He could do this. He could fix it. It was his fault– he had to fix it. A headache pounded behind his eyes, but there was only a little left, just one more thing to knit together. 

The golden glow healed the final torn muscle just as Kosmo planted both paws on Keith’s shoulders and tackled him onto his back. 

It wasn’t until he was staring up at something that should’ve been stationary, the cave ceiling, that he realized how much his vision was spinning. Cold sweat covered his skin, and his chest ached with the yawning void that filled it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath in a desperate attempt to keep from vomiting. 

Kosmo’s cold nose pressed against his neck. Keith buried a trembling hand into the wolf’s fur and let the breath out slowly. He’d felt like this before when he pushed his magic too far, just never this intensely, but Keith didn’t regret it. The only problem now was that he would have to fight through the burnout to stay awake and make sure Griffin and the rest didn’t track them down. 

Slowly, and with Kosmo’s help, Keith levered himself upright. The floor still felt like it was pitching under him and the fire was an orange blur, but he was alert enough to hear a witch-hunting mob storming through the woods. But first he dragged himself back to Shiro, and though his hands were trembling and uncoordinated, he managed to maneuver him into a more comfortable position. The wound was no longer bleeding, and he couldn’t feel any difference when he ran his fingers over Shiro’s shoulder. 

For now, that was all that mattered. The rest could be figured out when Shiro woke up. 

The first thing Shiro saw when he woke were flames. For a moment he tasted panic (had Keith set himself ablaze again, or had the mob beaten him to it?) before he remembered. It was hazy from blood loss, but he remembered the cave, the fire Keith had built for them, and arguing about what to do about the arrow wound. Then pain and nothing– pain that was very conspicuously absent. 

The fire was burning low, filling the cave with a sheen of smoke that made Shiro’s eyes sting. Kosmo lay near the entrance, head resting on his paws as he stared out into the pitch black of the night, and if he listened carefully Shiro could hear Black outside, scraping her hooves against the ground and huffing. 

Keith sat nearby, curled up in a ball with his head leaning back against the cave wall. He also had his head turned towards the mouth of the cave, so Shiro couldn’t see if his eyes were open or closed, but his breathing was slow enough that he might’ve been asleep. 

That question was answered as soon as Shiro tried to move. He pushed himself upright with his one arm and sucked in a deep breath of the smoky air when his vision swam. That small sound was enough for Keith’s head to turn; his eyes were half lidded, and his head lolled against the wall. 

“Shiro,” he said quietly. “You’re awake.”

Shiro hummed a vague agreement and cleared his throat. He still felt shaky and a little sick from the blood loss, but his shoulder was strangely pain free when he gave it an experimental roll. Then he glanced back at Keith and did a double take. 

Keith looked even worse than Shiro felt. His skin was gray, dark bags hanging beneath his eyes, and it became obvious that his breathing was stuttering, not merely slow from sleep. 

“Keith, what…” Shiro combed back through his memory, looking for a place where Keith could’ve been injured, but came up with nothing. All of the blood on his clothes was dry. The only thing he could think of was the wave of fire Keith had thrown at the mob, but that wasn’t enough magic to drain him this badly, Shiro was certain. Unless…

Shiro slid his hand under the shoulder of his tunic, shuddering at the scrape of fabric stiff with blood. He instinctively braced for pain as his fingers prodded at the place where the arrow had been, but to his shock, his touch found nothing. No wound, partially healed or otherwise. The absence of pain sank into his gut like a stone. 

“Oh, Keith,” he breathed out. “What did you do?”

Keith didn’t look concerned. Merely tired as he said, “What I had to. I don’t think I burned you this time.”

Oh, hell. Shiro hadn’t directly healed a wound like this since he’d lost his arm– doing it that way sucked your energy like nothing else, and it was usually safer and more efficient to heal the way he did, by enchanting bandages and boosting the effects of poultices and salves. But Keith had done it directly. He couldn’t imagine how much it must’ve taken to heal it to this point, where there wasn’t even any lingering soreness. No wonder he looked like the walking dead. 

Shiro shuffled over to join Keith where he was sitting. The moment he was close Keith let his head fall onto Shiro’s shoulder, his whole body limp. 

This was not good. Magic depletion could kill a person if they didn’t have the right care– it had nearly killed him when he healed his arm, and he’d only done enough to make it stop bleeding everywhere. 

“Does it hurt?” mumbled Keith. 

“No,” answered Shiro. “You– you did a good job.” He wanted to scold Keith for his recklessness, take him by the shoulders and shake him until he realized how much danger he’d put himself in, tell him that Shiro wasn’t worth his life, but now wasn’t the time. 

He knew he made the right decision when Keith sagged into his side. “Didn’t want you to hurt.” Shiro wrapped his arm around Keith’s shoulders and held him there. 

“You saved me.” 

Keith’s arms snaked around Shiro’s middle. He felt it all in that grip– how scared Keith had been, how desperate, and his eyes burned with more than just smoke. 

“Can I sleep?” The question was painfully soft, like he expected Shiro to deny him. “I didn’t have energy to put wards up and I know I should be on watch but–”

“Sleep,” Shiro said, interrupting before the words could lead Keith into a spiral, and moved his hand to card through Keith’s tangled hair. “I’ll keep watch. You deserve to rest.” 

Keith’s hold squeezed tighter. Only a couple of minutes later it relaxed again as his breath evened out, and Shiro dug his teeth into his bottom lip. 

Shiro knew of several villages and towns in the surrounding area, but without knowing which direction Keith had taken them in, he couldn’t plan which one to go to. In most of those towns he knew people who could put them up for a night or two; it wouldn’t be enough to get them back on their feet entirely, but he might be able to persuade them long enough for Keith to recover from the depletion. Hopefully word of the botched witch hunt hadn’t spread yet. If it had, and anyone saw the brand on Keith’s wrist… 

Kosmo picked his head up, ears forward. Shiro heard nothing but a sudden gust of wind through the branches and a soft nicker from Black, but Kosmo was still staring out into the woods, not growling or afraid, simply watching. 

Perhaps he spotted a squirrel, Shiro mused, and was about to go back to his mental planning when a shadow moved in the dark, barely visible, walking the thin line between moonlight and firelight. And it wasn’t Black moving around– this shadow stood on two legs. 

Every muscle in Shiro’s body locked up. Keith didn’t stir– a testament to his exhaustion– but Kosmo got to his feet and prowled in a circle that would bring him back to Keith and Shiro without making him stop watching the figure. He wasn’t growling yet, but he was wary, and so was Shiro. 

He held still for a long moment. The shadow was still as well. If it was one of the hunters they surely would’ve called out by now, alerting their comrades that their prey had been found, and so far Kosmo wasn’t bristling at a familiar or hostile scent. 

So he put his shoulders back and, in the most commanding voice he could muster, called, “Who’s there?”

The shadow moved forward. Shiro stiffened, holding Keith more securely against him as the figure stepped into the cave, into the dim firelight, as though they had been waiting for an invitation. The light revealed nothing save a black cloak, its hood pulled low over their face. 

“Who are you?” Shiro demanded again. His magic coiled in his center, ready to strike, but the person made no move for a weapon. Instead they slowly, carefully, reached up and pushed their hood back. 

It revealed a woman’s face. Thin, pale, high cheekbones and a hard set to her mouth. Voluminous black hair had been strangled into a painfully thin braid, and through a trick of the firelight, her dark eyes seemed to glint gold.

“My name is Krolia,” said the strange woman. “I represent the Blade of Marmora.”

“I’ve never heard of that group.” Kosmo still wasn’t being aggressive, just standing between them and their visitor, but Shiro didn’t like how her eyes lingered on Keith for a moment too long before going back to him. 

“To put it simply, we are a coven of witches trying to protect our kind from persecution at the hands of the ignorant.”

Shiro scoffed. Maybe it was residual adrenaline from being shot with an arrow, or the lurking knowledge that the home he’d worked so hard to establish was no more, or the heavy guilt of Keith burning himself out for him, but he wasn’t feeling particularly trusting at the moment. 

“That would’ve been useful about six hours ago.”

The woman didn’t flinch. “Mobs move quickly. By the time we knew something was happening the two of you had already fled. Luckily I’m better at tracking than that group of idiots.” There was something so familiar about her face and the way she spoke, but now wasn’t the time to puzzle over it. 

“How did you know they came for us?” Shiro didn’t have much experience with covens, but he did know that they were usually insular and secretive, like most solitary witches. It was the only way to stay safe in a world that wanted them dead. So how and why would a coven use its resources to monitor for mobs attacking people that weren’t their own? 

“Wargs.” Her words were clipped, but she otherwise showed no signs of impatience or exasperation, so perhaps that was just her way, like Keith when he was tired or angry, dropping all unnecessary words in favor of getting to the point as quickly as possible. “Specifically a crow. We’ve been monitoring this area for almost a year now.”

Wargs: witches who could see through the eyes of animals, usually their own familiar. A crow would be a good choice for surveillance, but that still left the question of why they would bother. 

“Why–” Shiro cut himself off when he connected the dots. Krolia’s eyes flickered to Keith again. 

“We heard there had been a trial. But we couldn’t find the victim or any remains. I suppose we have you to thank for that.”

He swallowed thickly. Before sunset Shiro probably would’ve believed her, maybe even been excited to learn that such an organization existed. Now he didn’t know who to trust. Professional witch hunters also existed, and he wouldn’t put it past them or the residents of Keith’s old village to hire someone to act a part and lure them into a trap. He couldn’t get it wrong. Both of their lives depended on it. 

Suddenly Kosmo turned his back to Krolia and padded over to Keith and Shiro. He sniffed intently at Keith’s hair for several seconds, and the conversation died as Shiro focused all of his attention on the wolf. By now he’d learned that when Kosmo takes note of something, it’s worth paying attention to. 

“Is he your familiar?” Krolia asked, jerking her chin to indicate Kosmo. 

Shiro shook his head. He was only half paying attention to his own words when he said, “No. I think he’s Keith’s.”

It would make sense– Kosmo was always glued to Keith’s side, always seemed to know when he was in trouble or upset or pushing himself too hard, and even though Shiro had never had a familiar of his own, he suspected that’s how one would act. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Krolia’s mouth twist to one side. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her prior impassive expression, but Shiro’s mind snagged on the familiarity of it. Before he could put the pieces together Kosmo whined and pawed at Keith’s shoulder; he forgot all about Krolia as he realized that Keith hadn’t stirred even once during the entire conversation, despite how light of a sleeper he usually was. 

“Keith?” With his arm still wrapped around him, Shiro stroked his fingers against Keith’s cheek. His skin was alarmingly clammy, and he didn’t react at all to the touch that normally would’ve made him jump. “Oh, hell.”

Keith wasn’t just asleep anymore. He was truly unconscious. 

Krolia cursed under her breath as though she’d just come to the same conclusion. “This is bad,” she said, like Shiro wasn’t already aware. “He gave you too much.”

Shiro’s head snapped up. “You were here when he was healing me?”

The woman nodded, and anger boiled suddenly in his chest. 

“And you did nothing? You didn’t help or try to stop him?”

She just raised her eyebrows like Shiro was a petulant child. “Do you think he would’ve let me anywhere near you? He would have thrown lightning at me the moment he knew I was there.”

Well. That, Shiro admitted begrudgingly, was true. But: “He prefers fire.”

“Noted,” she huffed. Kosmo whined again, dragging Shiro back to the matter at hand. Keith needed more than just fitful rest in a cave. He needed warmth and comfort and care, all things Shiro couldn’t give him anymore. In the back of his mind he wondered what the mob had done to the cabin. Had they let it be, or burned it to kindling, or ransacked it for themselves? 

“I can take you to my home,” Krolia said, jolting Shiro out of his thoughts. “We can take better care of him there.”

Shiro still wasn’t completely on board. “Where is it?”

“A canyon in the mountains, near the mouth of the river.”

“That’s not a short distance,” Shiro said with raised eyebrows.

For the first time a hint of a smile turned Krolia’s lips. 

“With magic it is.”

Oh. Of course. He’d never gotten the hang of teleportation, had never wanted to risk experimenting when he didn’t have someone to come after him if something went wrong, but Krolia had an entire coven to help her. He supposed the teleporting would be proof enough that she was a witch and not a hunter. 

And really, what choice did he have? 

“Alright. But we need to bring Black.”

“Of course we’ll bring the wolf,” Krolia said, waving her hand, but Shiro shook his head.

“Not the wolf. My horse.”

She blinked, studying Kosmo with the tiniest bit of a head tilt, like the one Keith did when he didn’t understand something Shiro was trying to explain. “What is the wolf’s name, then?”

“Kosmo.”

“Hm.” Krolia considered Kosmo for a few seconds longer, then cast a glance out of the cave entrance to where Black was standing. “Very well. I can manage it. Can you carry him?” She nodded toward Keith.

Could he? He’d done it before, but that was without the blood loss and exhaustion weighing him down. 

It took a bit of maneuvering, but to Shiro’s relief he did manage to get Keith over his shoulder, as he’d already done twice before. Krolia nodded approvingly and stepped out of the cave. Shiro and Kosmo followed, leaving the fire burning on the stone floor behind them.

The darkness was thick outside the ring of light from the cave. Black snorted as Krolia approached, but didn’t rear or try to kick as the woman laid her pale hand against her side. With the other she beckoned to Shiro, who got just close enough for her to press that hand against his shoulder, and without needing to be told Kosmo crowded close and pressed up against her legs. 

The wind kicked up around their feet. Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself– teleportation had always made him dizzy– and was glad for it when he felt his stomach drop.

With that sense cut off all he felt was the rush of wind and a burst of magic, deep and quiet like shadow that wove a cocoon around the five of them. The smell of dust met his nose, and when the wind stopped and he opened his eyes again they were no longer in the forest. 

Instead of pine cones and tree roots Shiro’s bare feet now rested on dusty, solid rock, only a dozen feet away from the lip of the canyon where it plunged into shadow. The open desert extended for miles in every direction, the sky overhead choked with stars, silhouettes of distant cliffs on the horizon encircling it all. If he hadn’t been so exhausted and anxious and confused, Shiro might have taken a moment to admire it. 

Krolia lowered her arms slowly. She looked a little unsteady, but squared her shoulders and turned resolutely to Shiro. “Follow me.”

Shiro obeyed and turned away from the edge of the canyon. A short distance away was a small adobe hut, no bigger than their cabin (or that it had been, depending), with a stable not far from it. Krolia took the rope hanging around Black’s neck and led her towards the house. Shiro and Kosmo followed close behind. 

It was colder than Shiro would’ve expected from the desert. The wind cut right through him, down to the bone, and goosebumps prickled down the outside of his arm where it wasn’t pressed against Keith. For Keith’s sake, he hoped it was warmer inside the building. 

The adobe house wasn’t that much different from Shiro’s cabin. There were two small windows in the front row, a door made of brushwood between them. Krolia pushed the door open, a small thrum of magic bursting from her palm– she must have some sort of locking or securing spell on it. That would’ve been useful for the cabin, had he known the spell. 

Keith had been the student and Shiro the teacher, but the more time they spent around Krolia, the more he felt like he didn’t know anything at all. 

“Set him down on the cot,” Krolia said, gesturing to the shadowed interior of the house. “I can tend to him for a few minutes. I’m sure your horse would prefer being bedded down by you rather than a stranger.” 

Suspicion prickled in Shiro’s mind– just because she was a witch didn’t mean she didn’t have an ulterior motive– but she was right about Black, and if she’d wanted to vanish with Keith she would’ve done it when they teleported. Still, he let Kosmo trot in first.

The wolf didn’t make any angry noises or come bounding back out, so Shiro stepped in after him. 

The house was all one room, with various baskets and foodstuffs lining the walls. Against the left wall was the promised cot, the mattress only a few inches off the floor and held there by a woven basket frame. The primary difference between Krolia’s house and the cabin was that the fire pit was in the center of the room with a circular hole cut in the roof to let the smoke out. 

Leaving Kosmo to sniff around the perimeter, Shiro moved over to the cot to set Keith down, holding in his winces of discomfort as the weight on his muscles eased. Even once Keith was lying on the surprisingly soft mattress, Shiro didn’t leave immediately. For a moment he lingered, brushing the hair out of Keith’s face, tucking the numerous blankets in around his body, and Krolia said nothing about it. She just waited until Shiro stood and came back to the door before offering him Black’s lead. 

“I’ll start a fire,” she said. “My horse is in the stable, but don’t mind her. There should be room for Black.” 

Shiro merely nodded and took the rope. The exhaustion was sinking in again. He shook it off as best he could and led Black towards the adobe stable. 

There was another horse in one of the stalls, a gorgeous mare with a speckled gray coat, but she merely huffed at their presence and went back to chewing the hay in her manger. To Shiro’s relief there was enough hay and water in the stable to keep Black satisfied until morning. 

“Come on, girl,” he murmured as he led Black into the second stall. “You did so well for us. I wish I had a treat to give you.”

Black snorted and tossed her head in agreement. Despite the circumstances, Shiro found himself smiling at her familiar attitude, still intact despite having to gallop through darkened woods and being teleported who knows how many miles. 

Shiro took his time brushing her and wiping the stale sweat from her coat. He was anxious to get back to Keith, but Black deserved some pampering too, and it settled something in him to go through the familiar motions, to know that not everything had turned on its head– only most things. 

“There you go,” he said softly when he was finished, giving her nose a parting scritch. “Try not to get into a fight with your new friend, alright?”

Black huffed at him. If she was a person she’d be rolling her eyes, and a tiny smile curved Shiro’s lip. 

“Goodnight, Black.”

He paused again in the open doorway of the house. Kosmo had taken up a post next to the door, lying down again but keeping an eye on Krolia, who was sitting at Keith’s bedside. Maybe it was just the flickering shadows from the fire, but she had a strange expression on her face as she lifted a trembling hand to Keith’s cheek. Seeing them next to each other made it obvious.

“You’re his mother, aren’t you?”

Krolia didn’t flinch at the sudden voice. She just sighed and withdrew her hand. “Yes.”

Maybe he didn’t have the right to ask, but… “Why did you leave?”

Krolia looked up at him. The strange open expression from before was gone, replaced by the impassive face that Shiro was quickly learning was her default. 

“I found out I’m a witch.” Her voice was flat, but her eyes unfocused, lost in memory. “Keith got sick. The healer we called told us there was nothing to be done, but I was so desperate, I…” She blinked, shook her head, and her mouth flattened back into its hard line. “I was bedridden for a week afterwards, but I saved him. Afterwards the villagers started to talk– there had been another hunt nearby that resulted in two deaths. The accused, and her seven year old daughter.”

Shiro cringed. He’d only been eight years old at the time, but news of that hunt had terrified his mother, too. 

“I thought it would be better to leave then, before anyone started catching on, and Keith would be safe.”  Krolia’s face darkened like a thunder cloud. “Evidently I was wrong.”

She looked back down at where Keith’s right arm lay against the blankets. With gentle fingers she turned his arm over and exposed the scarred brand on his wrist; she didn’t cry, but there was a muffled quality to her breath, like she was holding it. 

Shiro let her have her moment. It wasn’t a long one; she quickly straightened up again and sat back. 

“He’s starting to get feverish.” 

Shiro’s healer instinct immediately clicked back into place, leaving all of the messy family dynamics to be dealt with later. “Do you have clean water?”

Krolia bobbed her head and got to her feet. Shiro took her place beside the cot, and once he was there Kosmo came slinking over, flopping down beside Shiro’s knee with a tired sigh.

Me too, buddy.

“Here.” Krolia returned from a barrel in the corner of the room with a basin full of water that she set on the floor beside them. “I have some cloth as well.” 

He managed a strained smile and a thank you, then turned his full attention back to Keith. He was still pale, his rumpled hair beginning to stick to his skin with sweat, and his chest heaved under the blankets- stronger than before, but too heavy for Shiro’s liking. Pressing his hand up under Keith’s bangs, Shiro couldn’t contain the wince that hissed through his teeth. Keith was hot and getting hotter as his body struggled to replenish itself. 

Krolia returned with several neat strips of cloth. They looked more like bandages than anything else, a fact Shiro chose not to dwell on. 

“Thank you.” Her impassive mask revealed no emotion, but Shiro continued anyway. “He’s not dangerously warm. As long as we keep an eye on him he should be able to recover on his own.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, a tiny bit of tension left her shoulders. “Well, good. I should send a message to the Blade. I’ll be outside if you require anything more.” Before Shiro could respond, she turned on her heel and marched out of the house like one of the King’s soldiers. 

He shook his head to himself as he dipped one of the cloths into the basin. Keith sought solitude in times of distress too, and the tension in Krolia’s gait was familiar, but she held it differently. Her tension was discipline, refined and carefully honed, while Keith’s was more like desperate restraint. 

There was no such tension in him now. He lay limply on the cot in the same position that Shiro had put him down in. Keith was never this still, even in sleep; there were always small jerks or noises that crept out from whatever he dreamt of. But, to Shiro’s relief, he stirred when the cool cloth was pressed to his forehead. He turned into it, letting Shiro settle it more securely. 

“There you go,” Shiro whispered. “You’ll feel better soon, Keith. I promise.”

Kosmo raised his head and licked Keith’s elbow. It wasn’t until then that Shiro noticed how dry the wolf’s nose was, or how his own throat burned with thirst. Thankfully there was another basin by the water barrel that he could fill for Kosmo, and Shiro managed a few mouthfuls before returning to Keith’s side. 

This was the third time he’d had to keep such a vigil. All at the hands of the same vicious people. All to punish a boy who had never hurt them. 

Shiro made himself exhale. Brooding about it wouldn’t help anyone. 

Footsteps crunched in the dirt outside, followed by Krolia’s voice. “You’re exhausted.” Shiro tensed, already knowing what her next words would be. “You should get some rest. I can watch over him for a bit.”

She was right. The only rest Shiro had gotten that night was when he was unconscious from blood loss; his bones felt like they were made of lead, and if any of his patients had been in his place, Shiro would’ve ordered them to bed hours ago. Out here in the canyon they were as safe as they were likely to get. Yet he hesitated. 

The decision was made for him when a sleepy Kosmo raised his head and sat it purposefully on Shiro’s knee, looking up at him with plaintive puppy eyes. If the wolf felt safe enough to sleep, and concerned enough about Shiro to bother him about it, then he should probably listen. 

So he nodded and let Krolia stack blankets against the opposite wall until it was passably comfortable. He expected to have trouble falling asleep, but the moment he lay down the exhaustion began to drag him under.

The last thing he saw was Krolia settling down next to Keith and picking up the wet rag again. 

Dawn broke, and Keith’s fever burned steadily as the sun rose over the desert. Krolia discarded her black cloak and kept the water coming to keep him cool; it wasn’t stiflingly hot with the season nearing winter, but it was still warm enough to cause trouble if she wasn’t careful. Keith tossed and turned, occasionally mumbling words that Krolia could never quite catch, and all the while she drank in the son she never thought she’d see again. 

He still looked so much like his father. So much like her. And she had so many questions. 

What had happened to his father? How long had he been alone before finding Shiro? When did he learn that he had magic? What would he think of her once he knew the truth? 

Kolivan had advised her not to tell him– too many complications– but it was too late for that. Shiro had already figured it out, and even if he hadn’t, Krolia still would’ve told anyway. After all of this, he deserved to know. 

Her son’s wolf familiar dozed on the floor by Krolia’s knee. A couple of hours after sunrise he lifted his head and rested it on the cot, nearly nose to nose with Keith, who not a moment later tossed his head hard enough to dislodge the rag, one arm jerking up and over his chest. Krolia replaced the rag and felt his brow furrowing under her fingers. A horrible sound wrenched out of his throat, inspiring an answering whine from the wolf.

A nightmare. Krolia reached out with her other hand; she’d barely brushed his shoulder when a sudden burst of magic had her jerking away in shock. It was weak, harmless, but the fact that he was reacting in his sleep and expending energy he couldn’t afford to lose was enough to make her jaw clench. 

Before she could decide whether or not to keep trying to wake him, the wolf whined again and inched forward to do it himself, covering Keith’s nose and cheeks with licks. Keith scrunched up his nose and let out a confused groan as his eyes opened the tiniest bit. 

Krolia held her breath, but Keith’s hazy eyes skipped right over her. They glanced over Kosmo too, roving listlessly around the room as he mumbled something under his breath, too quiet and slurred for her to understand what it was until the second, louder, repetition. 

“Shiro?”

Krolia glanced over her shoulder. Shiro was still asleep, and from his position on the other side of the fire pit, probably wasn’t visible to Keith. 

Keith called for him again a little louder, distress tinging his voice. Krolia instinctively reached out to soothe him, but the moment her hands entered his line of sight they were smacked away, accompanied by another surge of magic that visibly made his skin go paler, and she hissed a curse under her breath. How was she supposed to take care of her son if he wouldn’t even let her touch him? 

Once again the wolf knew better than she. He got up and left his place at Keith’s side, trotting around the firepit to the other side of the room, where he leaned down to nuzzle Shiro’s face. When he didn’t wake, rather than the gentle licking he’d employed on Keith, Kosmo braced his paws and let out a loud, sharp bark. 

Shiro sprang awake in a flail of blankets. “Kosmo,” he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “what the hell–”

“Shiro?” This time Keith’s voice held a note of hope, like he’d been fearing Shiro had disappeared, and his fever-glazed eyes went soft with relief as Shiro’s head snapped up to meet them. 

In a moment Shiro had joined Krolia at the cot, Kosmo close on his heels. 

“Keith, you’re awake.” Shiro took his hand and squeezed, paired with a watery smile. “How are you feeling?”

The brief relaxation that had taken over Keith evaporated just as quickly, leaving him tense, brow furrowed and knuckles white where he gripped Shiro’s hand. 

“Shiro,” he said again, heavy, like he was having trouble summoning the words. “‘M sorry.”

Krolia and Shiro sucked in a simultaneous breath. 

“What?” Shiro murmured. Krolia had a feeling she already knew what Keith was going to say, and she was right. 

“‘S my fault. ‘S all my fault.”

“Oh, Keith, no.” Shiro let go of Keith’s hand to bury his fingers in his hair instead, and though Keith pushed up into the touch, he did so with a low, apologetic sound and his eyes squeezed shut tight like he couldn’t bear to look.

“They were there for me. If I wasn’t there you would still have a home, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt–”

“Keith–”

“Should’ve left me in the snow.”

Shiro made a choked noise, and Krolia felt the same lump form in her throat. It had been years since she’d cried, but evidently her son saying he should’ve been left for dead was enough to summon the tears from wherever they’d been lying dormant. That didn’t mean she let any of them fall. 

Moving his hand to Keith’s shoulder, Shiro squeezed until Keith’s eyes opened again and said, oozing sincerity, “Listen to me. I will never regret saving you. Do you hear me? Never.”

Keith just blinked up at him. 

“You are not at fault simply for existing. Their actions are their own, and they are the only ones who should bear the responsibility, not you.” 

The only response Keith seemed able to manage was raising a hand to wrap around Shiro’s wrist. His eyelids were fluttering– whatever boost of energy he’d gotten from the nightmare was fading, and Shiro’s touch visibly gentled. 

“Go back to sleep,” he said softly, tugging his hand away so that he could run it through Keith’s hair instead, and Krolia’s knuckles ached. “You need the rest.”

Keith rolled onto his side, closer to Shiro, and closed his eyes without argument. 

Silence filled the little house. Shiro had a haunted look in his eyes, and Krolia struggled to find something to say through the swarm of questions in her mind. What eventually came out of her mouth was, “His magic was reacting in his sleep.”

Shiro turned his head, acknowledging, but he didn’t seem surprised, which Krolia couldn’t fathom. Magic lashing out in sleep or without conscious control was childish at best, especially if it was happening when he had so little energy to begin with. 

“Why is it so reactive?” She couldn’t quite keep the accusation out of her voice, and Shiro’s shoulders tensed as he leaned forward, almost protectively, over Keith. 

“Because he’s reactive,” he said through gritted teeth. “He’s scared, and he’s only had his magic for a couple of months. He hasn’t learned to control it yet.”

Krolia frowned. The first hunt in the region– the one that had resulted in Keith meeting Shiro, she assumed– had been almost a year ago. It was possible he didn’t know about it at the time, but if the trauma of the hunt hadn’t triggered its appearance, then what had? She didn’t expect that Shiro would tell her.

“He’s wasting energy he can’t afford to.”

“We just need to keep him calm.”

As though in agreement the wolf brushed past Krolia and hopped up onto the cot with ease, settling down over Keith’s feet in a movement that looked well-practiced. 

“You should stay close, then,” she said, and this time she kept her voice flat like she wanted. “He prefers you.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Shiro countered. It was fair, it was true, and it was probably intended to make Krolia feel better, but it still stung.

She shrugged, doing her best to cast off all of the unhelpful emotions with the movement. It didn’t matter– she had made her choice years ago, and now she had to live with the consequences. 

“You stay with him. I’ll find us something to eat.”

Everything was blurry. His head pounded. His throat burned. But by far the worst feeling was the aching chasm in his chest, the emptiness, the pins and needles pricking under every inch of his skin. 

There was a dim groan, possibly from him, as he rolled onto his side. There were soft things beneath him, blankets and pillows and the give of a mattress– but, wait, that wasn’t right, was it? Maybe he was dreaming. 

“Keith?” A hand slid through his bangs, cool against his burning skin. “Are you awake?”

The person above him was a blur, like everything else, but a familiar blur. 

“Shiro?”

He couldn’t see so much as feel Shiro’s answering smile. 

“Yes, it’s me. How are you feeling?” 

Keith groaned again. Shiro attempted a chuckle. 

“I’m not surprised. You really drained yourself.” Shiro’s hand didn’t stop petting through his hair, and there was a familiar warm weight over his feet. If it wasn’t for the hollow in his chest he could’ve convinced himself they were still at home, that the attack and the cave had been the dream rather than this. 

“‘M I dreaming?”

The direction of Shiro’s fingers changed, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. There was a dark lump at the end of the bed, recognizable by the bright blue spots of the wolf’s eyes– but why was there a bed? 

“No, you’re not dreaming, Keith.”

Somehow Keith mustered the strength to reach up and rub his eyes. As his vision cleared he saw the expected things– Shiro and Kosmo, both looking at him with amusingly similar expressions of concern– and the unexpected things. Like the fact that they were in a house rather than a cave, and not a house Keith recognized. 

“Where are we?”

Shiro opened his mouth just as something brown moved in Keith’s periphery. A door swinging open. Before he even saw the person on the other side a burst of energy tore through him, sending him scrambling out of the tangle of blankets and away.

“Woah, woah, Keith, hold on–”

His spine hit the wall with a hard thud. His chest heaved, his heart hammered in his ears, and for a long, terrifying moment he braced for gripping hands and harsh restraints, until–

Until Kosmo threw himself bodily over Keith’s legs and Shiro moved to block the silhouette standing by the door, which hadn’t moved an inch. 

“Keith, listen.” His voice was steady, unafraid, and he slowly raised his hand to wrap around the back of Keith’s neck in a grounding grip. Keith instinctively grabbed onto his wrist; he was shaking, violently, but Shiro was solid. “We’re safe. We are safe here. I promise.”

Keith swallowed back nausea. The cavern in his chest ached, and the pins and needles pricked harder at the underside of his skin. He felt like he was crumbling to pieces and the only things keeping him together were Kosmo’s weight and Shiro’s hand. 

“Can you take a deep breath for me?”

He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. Shiro offered him a tiny smile. 

“Good, now let it out.”

That took some doing, but after a few seconds of holding it in, Keith was able to let the breath go again. 

“Good,” Shiro repeated, “again.”

Keith forced his breath in and out, in and out, at the slow pace Shiro wanted rather than the race it wanted. The fear went out with it, leaving him trembling in its wake, covered in cold sweat. The stranger was still there, but Shiro had his back to them and didn’t even seem concerned about it.  

“This is Krolia,” he said, indicating the stranger with a nod over his shoulder. “She’s a witch like us. Her coven sent her to help us when they heard what was happening.” 

“Oh.” A wave of heat rolled over him. Not the heat of his magic, but something sickly that made him start to sway forward into Shiro’s hold. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t let himself be so vulnerable in a place he didn’t know, with a mysterious person who just happened to come across their dire situation, but his body wasn’t listening to him, it was–

“You’re burning up again.”

The heat was suffocating. He shoved Kosmo off of him, barely registering the whine it elicited; behind Shiro the shape of the stranger moved, and Keith’s eyes locked onto her, following her across the room. His vision was going hazy again, so he couldn’t quite make out her face when she approached the bed with something in her hand. 

“Thank you,” Shiro murmured to her. “Keith, do you think you can drink something?”

Keith managed a nod. But Shiro only had one hand, and when Krolia moved forward to offer the cup Keith instinctively recoiled, unable to stop his body from reacting. 

“Here.” Shiro shifted and pulled Keith forward to rest against his shoulder. The texture of his blood-soaked tunic was rough, but he wasn’t showing any discomfort at Keith’s weight, so he must’ve fixed most of the wound. 

Good, he thought distantly as Shiro took the cup from Krolia. At least I did something right. 

Shiro offered the cup to him, and though it stung his pride to have to be coddled like this, he drank. The cool water left a trail as it ran down his throat, soothing some of the heat wave from the inside. 

Once the cup was empty Shiro handed it back to Krolia. “Good job. Now let’s get you resting again.” He moved to lower Keith back down onto the bed, but at the last second Keith grabbed onto his shoulders with trembling arms. 

“Wait, Shiro, what are we going to do?”

Exhaustion sunk in around Shiro’s eyes. “I…”

“The Blade will help you.”

Both of them startled at Krolia’s sudden interjection.

“The what?” croaked Keith, unconsciously gripping Shiro’s shoulders even tighter. 

Her posture was strong and solid, showing no hesitation as she continued. “My coven, the Blade of Marmora. We can find you a safe place. Help get you established. It won’t be much at first, but better than nothing.”

“What will we have to do in return?” Keith asked. He was expecting her to require them to join the Blade, something he wasn’t keen on doing, but to his surprise she frowned and shook her head. 

“Nothing. We do this to help people, not exploit them.”

It was all too similar to when Shiro had saved him from the snow. And just like back then, it seemed too good to be true. But Shiro, with his ever trusting nature, just smiled at her. “That’s very kind of you.” 

Keith wasn’t buying it. But he was tired– so, so tired– so he let Shiro finish putting him down, let him pull the blanket back over him when the shivers returned, but still fought the pull on his eyelids. He couldn’t let his guard down. He couldn’t. 

Shiro, as ever, saw right through him. With a click of his tongue he called Kosmo and instructed him to lie down in front of Keith’s bed, where he could dangle a hand over the edge and bury his fingers in the wolf’s fur if he wanted to. 

“He won’t let anyone near you. Try to relax, alright? You’ll be down longer if you keep spitting magic at us.”

He didn’t even know he’d been doing it, but maybe having Kosmo and Shiro nearby would help. 

Finally giving up the fight, he let his eyes close. 

There was silence for a long time after Keith went back to sleep. Shiro seemed to be deep in thought, leaning up against the wall next to Keith’s bed and frowning at the floor. Krolia left him to it and found little tasks to busy herself with.

Seeing her son recoil from her in fear was the most painful thing she’d ever experienced, and she’d felt plenty of pain. She had tried to prepare herself for it, of course; he was sick, delirious, afraid– him being scared of her was practically guaranteed.

And yet. 

Eventually Shiro straightened up against the wall, catching Krolia’s attention from where she was sharpening one of her many blades.
“So,” he said. “Where is this safe place?” 

Krolia set aside her knife and whetstone. “There’s a cabin a few miles from here, where the forest meets the canyonlands, that used to belong to one of ours. You and Keith can live there if you like. It will take some fixing up, but it will be sufficient for winter.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “‘Used to’?”

“He didn’t die. He just moved to a different area.” 

“And the Blades will just give it to us for free?”

“Well, we were hoping to avail ourselves of your trade every now and again, though not for free. We’d still pay for your services.”

Shiro hummed consideringly. “And what about Keith?”

“What about him?” Krolia countered, her shoulders going stiff. 

Shiro didn’t seem perturbed at the sudden tension or the edge in her voice. He just continued, placidly, “Are you going to tell him about you?”

“Yes. Once he’s more lucid. Though I suspect it may have to come from you for him to believe it.” 

“Maybe,” agreed Shiro. He leaned back against the wall again and tilted his head back, still looking haggard– he’d only gotten a couple of hours of sleep before Keith woke up. Krolia was feeling much the same, but she’d run for longer on less. She would spend the next five days and nights sitting at Keith’s bedside if he asked it of her. 

“He’ll probably sleep for another few hours,” she said, “if you wanted to rest.”

Shiro cracked open one eye. “What about you? You haven’t slept.” 

Krolia waved the question away. “Someone should be awake to look after him.”

“Kosmo’s here.” The wolf pointedly raised his head at Shiro’s statement, casting Krolia an almost offended look, if wolves could look offended. “He’ll wake us if anything happens.”

The last thing Krolia wanted to do was leave her son’s life in the paws of an animal. Then again, the wolf was his familiar, and he had woken Shiro when Keith called for him. 

“I suppose a couple of hours won’t hurt.” 

The next time Keith woke it was to a pounding head, a sore throat, and the dull buzz of magic under his skin. His chest still ached with emptiness, but less all-consuming than before.

Kosmo still lay next to Keith’s bed where Shiro had left him. Shiro himself was across the room, asleep on a pile of blankets, and against the back wall slumbered Krolia with only one blanket of her own. 

He could see her face more clearly now. It was thin, lined with grim wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, accentuated by the frown she wore in her sleep. There was something strange about her, and not just the fact that she’d shown up out of nowhere to help them, but his head was too fuzzy to work it out. 

The light coming in from the small window said mid-afternoon. His bones were heavy with exhaustion, but the light reminded him that he didn’t know where they were, and if they had to run, he’d be going blind. 

Slowly, Keith levered himself upright. Kosmo perked up when he heard Keith move and gave his fingers a few greeting licks; Keith patted his head as he swung his legs over the side of the cot, and thankfully Kosmo didn’t get up to wake Shiro or Krolia. He just watched as Keith staggered to his feet. His head spun and he would’ve toppled over if Kosmo hadn’t stood up and let Keith brace himself against his back. 

“Good boy,” Keith whispered in a dry, creaky voice. Thirst was secondary– he had to figure out where they were first, without Shiro and Krolia trying to keep him still. 

Kosmo moved with him, as though he understood Keith’s objective, and at this point he wouldn’t put it past the wolf. He was just thankful to have help that wouldn’t come with concerned looks and suffocating platitudes. 

The door to the small house was made of wood, but a strange, dark kind that Keith didn’t recognize. The reason became apparent the moment he pushed the door open. 

They weren’t in the forest any longer. Instead, desert spread out in every direction, the sky stunningly wide and the sun glaringly bright without the trees to block them out. The ground was hard and hot when Keith stepped through the doorway, sharp rocks digging their points into his bare feet. A bad place for survival or fleeing from one’s life, but beautiful. 

“Wow,” he said on an exhale. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Keith jumped and spun around too fast– his vision swam and he had to grab onto the door frame to keep from falling. Krolia didn’t reach out to grab him; she let Kosmo do the work to keep him upright, and waited until he steadied before speaking again. 

“I imagine you have questions.”

Keith leveled a suspicious glare at her. That something that haunted her face when she slept was even louder awake, but Keith couldn’t figure out what it was that was bothering him. She was right, though. He had a whole lot of questions. 

The one he chose to start with was, “How did you find us?”

“My coven has been watching that area since we heard about the last attempted hunt. Our warg spotted the mob moving towards the cabin and alerted us.” She gave him a look up and down before adding, “You should sit down.”

“No,” answered Keith. “What’s a warg?”

“A witch who can see through the eyes of animals,” she said, shaking her head at him. Her mouth twisted to the side in her displeasure, and that something that had been poking at Keith resurfaced. What about her was so damn familiar? She started talking again before he could figure it out. “What you did in that cave was reckless. You would be dead right now if I hadn’t found you.”

Keith scowled. “And if I hadn’t, Shiro might be dead. It was my decision to make and I made it.” So you can fuck off. 

Krolia just shook her head again with an exasperated sigh. “Gods, you’re just as stubborn as he was.”

Before he could ask what that was supposed to mean he was distracted by Shiro stirring on his mound of blankets. He pulled himself upright with a groan, asking, “Krolia, how is–” Then he turned his head and cut himself off. “Keith! You’re up!” In seconds Shiro was on his feet and across the room, pressing his hand against Keith’s forehead to measure his temperature, worry sparkling in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. What about you?” He had a hazy memory of the cave and Shiro telling him he’d done well, but he had to be sure. Shiro’s expression lost its pointed focus and went soft. 

“I’m fine.” His eyes flicked to the open door over Keith’s shoulder. “Going for a walk?”

He could see the reproach in Shiro’s gaze and barely kept himself from bristling. Even with the effort his words came out sharper than he wanted. “Just wanted to see where we are.”

For now Shiro didn’t scold him (out loud) and instead turned to Krolia, leaving his hand resting on Keith’s shoulder with a soft squeeze. “Did you explain?”

Another headshake from Krolia. Keith’s stomach clenched. 

“Explain what?”

Krolia and Shiro exchanged a look he couldn’t decipher. There was something they weren’t telling him.

Suddenly the world felt too small. There were too many things crowding him in– Krolia and Shiro and Kosmo and the dizzying realization that whether there were hidden strings to the Blade’s offer or not they didn’t have a choice– and the small amount of magic he’d regained jumped and sparked at his fingertips. 

“Keith?”

He couldn’t breathe. The cavern inside of him ached. 

“I– I just– uh– need some air.” He turned, trying to make it outside, but immediately started to topple and had to catch himself on the doorframe. 

“Let’s go outside,” he heard Shiro say, soft and distant. “I’ll help you.” Then he was tucked under Shiro’s arm and they were moving the last few steps out into the dirt. Kosmo padded along at Keith’s other side, close as ever. 

Keith tilted his head back and drank in the never ending sky. The sight of the desert sprawling out in every direction helped the trapped sensation fall away until he felt like he could breathe again.

There was a fond smile in Shiro’s voice when he said, “Wait until you see it when the stars are out.”

They shuffled away from the house, towards the canyon’s edge. Once they were out of Krolia’s earshot Keith allowed himself one more breath before asking, “What isn’t she telling me?”

Once again Shiro hesitated. But his arm was still around him, holding Keith to his side, and Kosmo pressed up against his other leg. 

“She probably wants to tell you herself.”

A frustrated growl rolled out of Keith’s throat. “I don’t know her, Shiro. I trust you. So what is she hiding?”

Shiro let out a heavy breath. “Alright.” His voice was so quiet the wind that rushed over the canyon almost snatched it away. “The Blade of Marmora didn’t send her to help us on a whim. They sent her because she knew the area.”

“So she lived in our forest. And?”

“She lived in a village before she knew she was a witch. She found out when her son got sick and she saved him, but she was scared he would get hurt if the other townsfolk found out about her, so she left.”

“Tragic,” Keith said. “Why does it matter?”

Shiro sighed again, this time in exasperation, and tugged on Keith’s arm to bring them face to face. “Keith, what did your father tell you about your mother?”

Keith opened his mouth and stopped dead. What kind of question was that? “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Humor me.” The look on Shiro’s face was so solemn Keith had no choice but to take him seriously. 

“Not– not a lot.” Keith’s breath stuttered in his chest– the last time he’d talked about his mother was after Shiro had found him, when he was still healing. He avoided the topic like the plague and for good reason. “The other people whispered about her, but all my father ever said was that she left for a good reason and that–” His voice caught. “That she loved me.” For all the good that did me. 

“He never told you her name?”

“No, but…” 

Shiro graciously gave him a moment to think as he wracked his memory. What he found were the days leading up to the end, when his father had been delirious with fever and tossed and turned in sleep broken by nightmares. 

“He… talked about her in his sleep, when he was sick.” Keith swallowed hard as his stomach tried to climb into his throat. He hated these memories. He hated the taste of helplessness that filled his mouth, and his hands curled into fists, searching for something to ground him away from it. “I was never able to hear the whole thing, but it started with a C I think. Or a K.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows, pointedly but not unkindly. Unfortunately, Keith had no idea what that look was supposed to mean. After a few too many seconds of blank staring he chuckled and wrapped his arm around Keith’s shoulders again. 

“Think about it for a minute.”

So this Krolia woman lived in a village in their forest, found out she was a witch, and ran away. His mother left for reasons unknown to him and her name supposedly started with a K. Which meant…

His fingertips went cold. 

“It’s not her.”

Shiro blinked at him. “Keith–”

“It’s not.” His voice came out choked. He dug his nails into his palms and forced out more words. “It’s not. She’s gone. She left. She’s never– never coming back.” The words he’d repeated to himself over and over that first winter after his father died as the snow fell and the chimney leaked. That was the winter that killed his childish fantasy of his mother coming home, finding him, that he wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. It was never going to happen, and he’d accepted that. 

That she could turn up now, when he had done so much work to move on and had finally found somewhere he felt happy, just wasn’t fair. 

Kosmo whined and moved to sit in front of them. Who the puppy-dog eyes were meant for, Keith couldn’t tell, but Shiro sucked in a breath at the frustrated tears that were brimming in Keith’s eyes without his permission. This time he didn’t say anything. He just turned and pulled Keith into a proper hug, taking some of his weight as his legs wobbled. Keith buried his face into Shiro’s shoulder and held his breath to stop the tears. 

It was just too much. In the space of one night his entire life had been torn to pieces, and now there was this new addition that felt like it was driving the chasm in his chest wider. 

“I know it’s a lot,” Shiro murmured in his ear. A warm weight pressed against Keith’s leg– Kosmo, trying to help. “You don’t have to think about it yet. You can rest, recover, and we can get solid ground under us again. Then we can deal with it.” 

“We?” Keith echoed. He felt Shiro smile against his hair. 

“Yes. We.” 

“Even after…”

Shiro’s grip tightened. “It’s not your fault.” His voice was stern, leaving no room for argument. “I’m not going to abandon you because a bunch of ignorant fools need to hurt other people to feel safe.”

All Keith could manage was a stunned, “Oh.” He hadn’t been expecting something so… vehement. But it was exactly what he needed to hear. 

Shiro made a low, concerned sound. “You’re shaking.”

So he was, and his head was pounding. Keith peeled his eyes open again and looked down to find Kosmo staring up at him with that unwavering focus that said he was going to start fussing soon. 

“Do you want to go back inside?”

Keith shook his head. He was still cold, and the sunlight was warm, and he absolutely didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with Krolia. 

“Alright. Here, let’s go sit down on the edge of the canyon.” 

They did, dangling their legs over the edge of the rock, Kosmo lying down with his head propped on one of Keith’s thighs. Keith stared down at the bottom of the canyon, a dizzying distance down, where he could just barely make out the river that had carved the landscape, so far below that he couldn’t even smell the water, just dust and heat. So different from the snow beating against the walls of his memory. 

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Keith kicked his feet in the open air, felt the hot wind whistling past them, soaked the sun rays into his skin until it started to feel tight and raw from sunburn. His mouth went dry, his throat getting even more painful than it had been when he first woke. His voice sounded like gravel when he finally found the energy to speak again. 

“Do you believe her?”

“Yes,” said Shiro without hesitation. “She looks just like you. It’s a little uncanny.”

Keith gnawed on the inside of his cheek. Emotions he’d shoved down for years were stirring again– rage and grief and resentment and longing– and he was just barely able to swallow them to make room for words.

“Why would she think that leaving was the answer?” If the other townsfolk had caught on to what she was, he could understand running for her life. But the rumor that went around town about why she left, why she left him behind, said that she was fae, not a witch. It didn’t add up. 

Shiro let out a quiet breath; he sounded as tired as Keith felt, and had probably gotten less rest. But here he was, taking care of Keith like he always did, no matter how many times Keith dragged him into his messes. 

“Around the time she was figuring out that she was a witch, there was another hunt in a village near the northern edge of the woods. Some of the girls there were having fits and claimed they were being tormented by a witch.They pointed the finger at a widow from their town and–” He had to pause and clear his throat. “And her seven year old daughter.”

The sad part was that Keith wasn’t even surprised. He was more than familiar with how cruel people can be, even to children, especially to children. 

“They were both burned,” Shiro continued in a thick voice. “Krolia heard about that and thought you would be safer if she left.”

Anger coiled hot in Keith’s chest. A calmer, more logical part of his mind reminded him that he’d offered to do the same thing to keep Shiro safe, but that wasn’t really the same, was it? He loved Shiro, but it wasn’t the same as abandoning your own child. It wasn’t supposed to be, anyway. 

“She didn’t know you’d turn out to be a witch too.”

“I know.” The emotions had risen again, making his own voice sound strangled. “She didn’t know my father would die either. Whoops.”

With another sigh Shiro placed his arm back around Keith’s shoulders. Keith leaned into his side; he’d slept for hours, but he still felt exhausted, his magic still fizzing away as it tried to recover. 

“You should talk to her at least once,” Shiro said into his hair. “Before we move.”

Protests built on Keith’s tongue. It would be so much easier to just go and pretend they never met. It wouldn’t even be pretending, really, since he couldn’t remember anything about his mother. This woman could just stay a stranger who had helped them out, nothing more and nothing less. 

“You have every right to be angry,” Shiro continued. “She left you and you suffered because of that decision. I think she’d understand if you never wanted to talk to her again.”

“But…”

“But you shouldn’t throw away a chance to bring yourself some peace.”

Peace. The concept almost made him laugh. He hadn’t known peace since he was eight years old, if not earlier. There had been times at the cabin where he thought it could be possible for him, only for the same damn people to shatter it every time. They were still sitting amongst the shrapnel, but Shiro still talked about peace like it was achievable, that optimistic bastard. 

“Just once,” Shiro prodded. “Just let her say it to you herself. That’s all.” 

Keith was still so angry. But amongst all of those twisted, ugly emotions there was another voice. A small one, one that he’d tried so hard to smother when he first met Shiro for fear of it getting him killed. The soft one. It still didn’t surface often, and now it was nearly drowned out by the rest of the tempest, but it was still there, making itself heard. The part of him that had always wondered what it would be like to have a mother. 

He heaved a dramatic sigh to cover up how his eyes were burning. “Fine.” 

Shiro beamed and ruffled his hair. 

Krolia stayed in the house as long as she could manage. Eventually she broke and gave herself the excuse of checking on the horses. 

Keith and Shiro were sitting on the edge of the canyon, the wolf still lying at Keith’s side. Shiro said something, the wind carrying the words away from her, but the echo of the canyon let her hear when Keith laughed in response and something kicked painfully in her chest. She ducked her head and hurried to the stable. 

Inside, Shiro’s horse nearly blended in with the cool shadows. She eyed Krolia warily, but didn’t toss her head or jerk away when Krolia approached. Still, Krolia didn’t push her luck. She doled out some more food to the horse, then turned to focus on her own steed, who welcomed her touch with an affectionate nuzzle into her palm. 

Krolia didn’t get many visitors out here. She sent messages back and forth to Kolivan and went out on tasks when instructed, but in general her home was a solitary refuge, and having other people there was strange. It was that strangeness that had her on edge enough to hear footsteps outside the stable door. 

The door opened and shut with matching creaks. Krolia stayed facing her horse, trying to remember how to breathe.  

“So. Shiro said that you’re my mother.” His tone was clipped, guarded, short and to the point like a dagger in the back. 

She sucked in a breath, held it, and turned to face him. Her son was alone, no Shiro or wolf to be found, and though he leaned against one of the stable walls to help him stay upright, he seemed steady enough– and stubborn enough– to have this conversation. 

“I am.” Usually her words were composed, if not eloquent, but now her tongue felt like it was too big for her mouth. He was so different from the infant she held in her memories, but simultaneously exactly the same. “You were so young the last time I saw you. Not even a year old.”

Keith folded his arms over his chest. “Why did you leave?”

“Shiro didn’t tell you?”

“He did.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I want to hear it from you.”

To her surprise, Krolia could feel her hands shaking. She’d been in plenty of fights and dangerous situations since joining the Blade, and yet here she was, an anxious mess as her estranged son stared her down. 

Pull yourself together, she thought sternly, and clenched her hands into fists behind her back. 

“The healers and the doctors all said you were a lost cause,” she began. That night conjured itself in her mind, with the fire burning low and Keith’s raspy, shallow breathing in her ear. “But I was so desperate. Your father nearly died of shock when my magic manifested, then afterward he had to take care of me because I was so weak, like you’ve been feeling.”

Keith’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing. Krolia pushed herself to keep going– she couldn’t list how many times she’d imagined this exact conversation, but the words were a struggle to summon and pry out from between her teeth. 

“What you have to understand is that I didn’t know anything more about witches than the rest of the village. So when I found out I was one it was… confusing. At first I told myself I wouldn’t use it, just pretend it never happened, but when I heard that they burned that poor little girl…” 

She had to stop and shake herself. Just thinking about what could’ve happened to Keith, what had happened to Keith, still made her stomach turn. 

“I couldn’t let that happen to you.”

“But it did,” said Keith flatly, and Krolia flinched. Gods, this guilt would dog her heels for the rest of her life. 

“Yes,” she admitted in a soft voice. “With or without me, you still got hurt, and there are not words sufficient in all the languages of the earth to convey how much I regret it.”

Keith’s eyes flickered to the floor. One hand was curled closed, not quite a fist, his thumb moving rhythmically over his knuckles. 

“I guess you want to know what happened to him.”

It felt like a punch in the gut. All this time she’d been so focused on her son that the death of her husband hadn’t had time to take root. Now it barreled into her, leaving her stunned and wordless, but still she managed a nod. She did want to know. 

“He got sick.” Keith’s voice was emotionless, detached the way Krolia’s so often was, but his thumb moved faster and his eyes grew glossy. “Healers couldn’t save him. For what it’s worth,” his eyes darted up to Krolia’s, just for a moment, “they didn’t think you were a witch. They thought you were fae.”

The sudden change of topic caught her off balance. “What?” 

“The other people in the village. They said you were a fae, that you stole his heart and left him to die, and I was the changeling you left behind.”

Her chest ached. She wanted nothing more than to reach out, pull her son close and promise she would never let go again, but he was coiled so tightly she feared he’d snap if she moved. And he wasn’t done talking.

“I was on my own after that. They didn’t really want me there, but they didn’t chase me out. Not until the black blood gave them an excuse.” He stopped there and Krolia didn’t press him. She knew the story from there from their warg spy: they accuse him of causing the outbreak, he refuses to confess, they decide to leave him to die in the snow. 

That part, at least, made sense to Krolia. Darrel had never been big on meaningless effort. Why stain his own conscience when the elements could do his work for him? 

“How old were you?” she asked softly. “When he died?”

Keith’s eyes flickered again, bouncing all around the stable before landing on Shiro’s horse, Black, and staying there. 

“Eight,” he whispered.

There was a pit in her torso where her stomach was supposed to be. Her son suffered for a whole decade, knew solitude for longer than he’d known love, and Krolia had never hated herself more. 

“I’m sorry, Keith.”

He swallowed and rubbed his fist over his eyes. His mouth opened, but before either of them could say anything else they were distracted by a scratching at the stable door. Keith turned, pushed it open, and in came the wolf, surprisingly without Shiro in tow. He sat down pointedly at Keith’s side and made big eyes up at him until Keith scratched him behind the ears. Despite everything, Keith smiled at him. 

Krolia couldn’t help smiling too. A small, sad smile, but a smile. “Where did you find him?”

“In the forest.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “His mother was dead.” 

Ah, that explained it. 

“He’s a good familiar.”

That jerked Keith’s attention back to her. “Is that what he is?”

“Seems like one to me. He’s attentive, protective. You two are kindred spirits.”

Kosmo made a gruff whining sound as though in agreement. 

“So what does a familiar do, exactly?”

“This, mostly,” replied Krolia with a gesture towards the wolf. “Magic is naturally reactive to your emotions.They keep you calm, keep you from pushing too far.”

Keith hummed thoughtfully as he continued to pet the wolf. He didn’t say anything; after a moment Krolia turned back to her horse, giving both of them the space to think. 

Over the years she had gotten used to the pain of missing her family, ever present yet dulled by time and resolve. Seeing Keith again had opened the floodgates. She ached with longing more intense than it had been in years, longing to reach out, to soothe, to care for her son in the way she had never really gotten to do. But she wouldn’t– not until Keith was ready. It was the very least he deserved after all of this. 

“Look,” murmured Keith after a long stretch of silence. “I don’t really know you, and the last couple of days have been… a lot. I don’t know how I feel about you yet. I don’t know if I even believe you.”

Krolia bit the inside of her cheek and kept her expression calm. The whole situation did sound a bit serendipitous, she could admit. 

“But once all of this is over I wouldn’t mind talking to you again. If you want.”

The uncertainty in his tone drew her eyes back to him. Keith wasn’t looking at her; he was staring down at his wolf, his fingers making anxious circles in the fur on the back of the animal’s neck. Even so, Krolia felt herself smile, the gentlest smile she’d given in a decade. 

“I would love to.”