Stars of Pale Fire

II. Friends.

  Silver wakes with the sun, a foggy dream of running feet and burning flesh melting off of him like morning dew, and gets up, careful to not disturb Halberd or Elyon as he dresses. He pulls on one of the tunics Gwynestri adjusted for him, noting absently that it's a bit tight around the shoulders, and rakes his hair with his fingers so it's out of his face. He emerges from the tent and finds his boots, sitting down upon the wet grass and pulling them on. Gwynestri is already awake, of course, sitting by the fire and cooking bacon.

  "Sleep well?" She asks as Silver crosses to her, lured more by the smell of bacon than the promise of conversation. "Your dark circles look like bruises."

  Silver rubs a hand beneath one of his eyes. "I slept fine," he says. "Where are we going today?"

  "Into town, if I can twist Elyon's arm." Gwynestri sniffs, picking up bacon with a spatula and depositing it onto a plate. "Don't burn your tongue."

  "Thank you," Silver says, taking the plate and sitting on one of the logs.

  "You're welcome," Gwynestri replies. "Anyway, we need more provisions if we're going to make it to Aldenfeld in one piece." She glances at Silver. "You could stand to get a few hair ties."

  Silver blows his hair from his face. It's about to his shoulders now, but he doesn't see why he needs to put it up. He chews on a piece of bacon idly. She's oversalted it slightly. Gwynestri tends to do that whenever she cooks. Silver can't complain; he's afraid she'll make him cook for everyone instead.

  Glaive emerges from the girl's tent and pops her back loudly. She inhales as if she's going to scream but doesn't, and walks to Gwynestri, examining the bacon. Gwynestri pats her head without seeming to think about it. Reaper wanders over and stares at Gwynestri unwaveringly. Silver tosses him a bit of bacon, which he eats promptly. Silver wonders idly where Reaper was all night. Usually he sleeps by the tent door.

  "Weird dog," Glaive mumbles. She sits down beside Silver. Silver silently scoots away an inch or two. "Silver, you look like a bird's nest. Please brush your hair."

  "I don't have a comb," Silver says, which is true. His last comb got stolen. Most of his possessions have been stolen at one point or another. One of the joys of being homeless. Such is the world, he supposes.

  "I'll braid it," Glaive says with glittering eyes, and she pulls Silver over with surprising strength, combing his hair out with her fingers. "Got a tie, Gwynestri?"

  Gwynestri hands one to Glaive. She didn't have it a moment ago, Silver notes.

  "Excuse her," Gwynestri says, dropping more bacon on a plate. "Glaive has a myriad of siblings." She glances back towards the tents impatiently. Her expression looks as though she's trying to drag the others out here through sheer force of will. Maybe she could. Gwynestri can do many things.

  "I have twelve siblings: three brothers and nine sisters," Glaive says. "My younger brothers would never let me do this to their hair, though."

  Silver isn't exactly thrilled about it, either, but he knows better than to fight with Glaive. She has about fifty knives on her person at any given moment. Silver likes being alive, sometimes.

  Halberd wakes next, plopping down beside Silver and glaring at everything sleepily. His hair is rumpled like he slept on it, his curls squashed into his head. He looks like a hedgehog, Silver thinks, and then he stares at the ground. What's a hedgehog? A hedgehog is a mammal with spines that are not poisonous like its similar relative the porcupine, and commonly lives in the edges of forests.

  Silver stares at the ground some more. How on earth does he know that? He's pretty sure he's never even seen a hedgehog before, but an image of one popped into his brain instantly.