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Chapter 32

We walk until the sun has long since vanished. It's so dark by then, that I keep running into Stone, who's in front of me, and we decide we're going to fall into an abyss if we keep it up.
So we bed down, without much talk. I checked behind me before the sun set; None of the other groups or families are visible, nor can I hear them when I double over my sleeping bag, and fold myself up inside the bottom half, the extra layers and confined body heat providing more warmth, more protection from the biting cold that strikes like a blade in the night.
I can only hope they're okay, but when I think of the Beasts me and Stone have encountered... And we had weapons... My sleep is troubled and confused, dreamless, but darkly imaginative. I wake feeling as though I have not slept at all, my limbs and mind exhausted.
When my eyes open, sleep leaden and heavy, the sun is rising, the last pale outlines pink and gold seeping from the sky. I crawl to the edge of the path, still in my bag, but shivering nonetheless. Below me, I can now see the beginning of the path, and the clearing that snakes out of the forest hundreds of feet below, as well as the next curve of the trail above that. Then I roll to my back, and gaze upwards, squinting in a vain effort to sight the peak, but seeing nothing but clouds. Though we're only on the third spiral around the mountain, the air is already growing slightly thinner, and every once and a while, a gust of wind blows that's so strong it almost knocks us over the edge.
Stone isn't up yet. I can't help but gaze at him for a while, though I know it's creepy. In sleep his features are much more... Young. I'm not saying he normally looks old, but somehow, when he's fully conscious, his face always seems drawn, and grim, even when he's laughing, as if he's seen so much more than any fifteen year old ever should have, and he knows what's going to happen. In sleep, he appears so innocent and young, untroubled, uncaring... Free.
I look away quickly as he stirs, and turn to gaze down the trail. I hear the faintest tap of footsteps coming up the path, but nobody is visible around the bend of the mountain. I'm not worried, though. Servants of the Order would be way too chicken to even begin the hike. No, if warriors from the City arrived, it would be much more spectacular than a few foot soldiers. Perhaps a flying craft, and machine guns. That wouldn't be overkill, even for them, considering the height we're at.
Stone stirs again, just as the group I had heard appears around the corner. It's only a couple, a father and son, both with semi-translucent blue tinged skin and shaved, gleaming heads. They see me, and acknowledge my presence with a nod, which I return. There is no friendly handshake, no long-time-no-see greeting. The trust between us is the most basic, and simple form, and it's such a frail bond, it can't even be called trust. It's the simple understanding that we have a common enemy, and it's not each other.
As they pass us by, the boy, who is actually almost my age, maybe a year younger, begins to stare at Stone. His eyes widen, and he tugs on the sleeve of his father's shirt. The slender man turns, his expression annoyed, and then he too takes on an awed-and almost fearful look as he sees the wolf-boy's face.
I narrow my eyes, and look from Stone, to the couple, and back again, trying to see what is so unusual about the young man. I think it quite rude that they stare like that, when they themselves are far from normal.
I say nothing, but the couple begins to blabber nervously to each other in a lilting, rolling tongue I've never heard. They hurriedly continue on their way, glancing back over their shoulders every now and then, and I watch them suspiciously until they fade from view around the curve of the mountain.
This troubles me. Considering waking Stone... But deciding against it, I sit and think furiously. Something about Stone was scaring the pair... But what? It couldn't have been his obvious wolf genetics... After all, they barely glanced at me, and I have huge brown cat ears sticking out of my hair. So why were they so fearful of the boy with the swords?
After almost fifteen minutes of this, I give myself a throbbing headache, and rub my temples with my pointer and middle finger together on each hand, in little circles on the corners of my skull.
This does little to help, but I do hear more approaching footsteps, coming up the steeply sloping path. My head snaps around, and I watch intently, waiting. As the footsteps grow closer, I wonder if the next people will react the same way the last pair did.
A family of four emerges around the curve of solid rock, a young mother, who's hair is white as snow, though her face remains unlined, her husband, whom, instead of hair, had large glimmering green scales trailing down the back of his shaved head, and a very young pair of identical twins, both with wild white hair and brilliant green scales running down the insides of their arms and legs.
The children wave excitedly at me, and I smile slightly at the innocence of youth, though my gaze remains trained on their parents. The man acknowledges me with a nod, like the last pair, which I return.
As they're walking past us, however, when the woman stops, and, to my concern, stares with wide, fearful eyes at Stone. She whispers something to her husband, who also turns and stares. The twins are oblivious, however, and forge on ahead, tumbling and rolling on the slope, all the while laughing gleefully as if it is all a great game.
I glance back to Stone, and suddenly I realize something. He's sleeping on his back, his head turned towards me, but his left shoulder, and the left base of his neck, are both facing away from me, towards the people walking up the path... Right where a brand would be. And, though he sleeps with his scarf on his neck, it could have slid, and...
The woman stops and looks at me worriedly, and begins to speak. "D-" But the sound barely leaves her mouth, when Stone whirls out of his sleeping bag, a blade in each hand, his face fixed in ferocious snarl.
I feel a slight pang of the same fear I felt before, when I had thought Stone was going to kill me... Not because he's looking at me this time, but he just radiates this... power, sorta, and it can almost stop your heart when he's glaring at you with those frozen eyes.
"Stone," I say firmly, loud, but not shouting, my voice strong and clear in the crisp morning air. He blinks confusedly a few times, then, slowly, his body relaxes, tensed muscle loosening, and he exhales deeply, falling back onto his sleeping roll. He frowns down at his swords, as if not sure why he's holding them, and slides them into their sheaths beside his bed.
"Wha...?" He looks puzzled, glancing from me to the family, and back again, silently asking for an explanation. Then he glances down at his left shoulder, back to me, and then his eyes widen, his face slackening. He looks back to his shoulder, where the ragged blue scarf has slid off, and hurriedly clamps his left hand over the left base of his neck, using his left to pick the loose scarf back up and drape it back over the spot.
I say nothing, but silently cuss. If he had waited one more second to fix his scarf, and turned just a little to the left, or if the sun would move slightly in the sky, I could have seen if he had a brand... Which I'm more sure than ever he does indeed. What else would he be hiding? A mole?
Narrowing my eyes at him, I watch with my peripherals as the freaked out couple usher their kids down the path, glancing back at us with wide and scared eyes, before, finally, disappearing around the bend, and becoming nothing more than hushed voices and shuffling footsteps to us.
"What was that about?" Stone says, his expression somewhat bemused at the strange behavior of the family.
"You tell me," I sigh hopelessly, pulling myself reluctantly out of my warm bag- Well, warmer than the cold mountain air, anyways.
"What do you mean?" Stone, who had rolled out of his bag when the woman began to speak, begins to fold up the thin sheets, tucking them into his pack.
"They weren't staring at me," I shrug, not meeting his eyes, a little fed up with his mysteriousness. If he's not gonna come out straight and tell me what he's hiding, I'm giving up trying to delve in. If he doesn't trust me enough to even tell me that, then why should I care?
"What- You mean they were staring at me?" He says, obviously confused, taking my rolled up blankets from my hands a little rougher than asked.
"Gee, I don't know genius, they could have been staring at the great view," I wave my arms sarcastically at the endless drop off right next to me, almost losing my balance and tumbling off the edge. Wow, that would have been great...
"Why-Wha-Are you mad at me?" He says incredulously, and, to my great annoyance, a ghost of a grin flickers across his pale face.
"Yes!" I dig into his pack, searching for something to eat. Yesterday we finished off the leftover apple halves, and started to nibble at a loaf of bread.
"Why?" He laughs, and now he's definitely looking amused.
"Because," I grunt, ripping my arm out of the bag with an almost-whole slice of bread, and a knife, deliberately pushing as I pull away, but Stone's balance is flawless, and he barely moves back with the force of my push. "You won't tell me what you're hiding!"
"Hiding? Like, buried treasure?" I punch him in the chest, quite hard, actually, but he doesn't even flinch, and only raises an eyebrow at me.
"Secrets! You're keeping secrets, Stone!"
"Like you're not-"
"I'm not! Tell me one thing, one thing, Stone, that you'd like to know about me!" I cry, and suddenly I realize I'm holding the knife like a weapon, and I cautiously lower it.
"I-You-" Stone stutters, his mouth opening and closing, but without sound. Finally, he shakes his head, running a hand through his thick black hair, and by now I know that means he's nervous.
"Are you really angry with me?" And then he leans in to me, his arms are wrapping around my shoulders. I begin to close my eyes, my lips brushing his-
"No!" I jerk back away, and I jab the knife into his left bicep, crimson liquid welling from the shallow slice, and staining the shoulder of his white shirt.
"Ow!" He yelps, but he doesn't look particularly hurt. He deserves it anyways, doing that every time I'm not agreeing.
"No," I say again, "That won't work on me! You're lying to me, or keeping something from me! You don't trust me!" I cry, still baring the knife.
"And is this supposed to gain my trust?" He says in disbelief, pressing his right hand to the knife wound.
"No! It's supposed to warn you!"
"Warn me of what?"
"Me."