Things Lost and Found (a Waglington and Mianite fanfiction)

Chapter 46

The song for this chapter is "Missing" by For King and Country. (I changed this song from "Love's to Blame", because honestly, "Missing" fits a lot better.) :)

Okay, how is this book at 15.9 k reads? O.o I thought the Mianite fandom was dead. >.> I see y'all out there. *hugs*

Well, who's ready to find out what happened with Steve? Had y'all forgotten him? >:)

*Waglington's POV*

My anger had carried me miles from Dagrun before exhaustion caught up to me. I had stopped just before dawn to sleep, setting up my tent and sleeping bag in a copse of old live oaks. I didn't bother with a fire; my magic would keep my body temperature up. Memento, however, needed to keep warm and wormed his way into the sleeping bag after me, stretching beside me rather than curling up on my chest. My anger abandoned me in the night to face my shame and guilt by myself when I woke up. I ate a cold breakfast in silence and broke camp in a detached, robotic way. Memento had vanished when I woke up but returned with a fat rabbit dangling from his mouth as I rolled my sleeping bag. We politely ignored each other as he ate his freshly caught meal. I had packed food for him too, but he preferred it raw and still warm.

Waiting for Memento to finish, I leaned back against one of the trees and turned on my communicator to call and apologize for being an *ss, but I had no signal this far out. I sighed and pursed my lips, staring at my communicator as if it might magically start working. Finally I shook my head and turned it off to conserve its battery, storing it in my pack. I was about to try contacting her mentally, but Memento interrupted his after meal grooming to remind me, No long range mind magic, remember? I'd rather not tempt fate.

Right... I couldn't call the others, physically or mentally. I was really out here on my own, wasn't I? Oh well, nothing I'm not used to. And I do have you to keep me company this time, I thought to my cat. I'll have to make it up to her when we get back to Dagrun with Steve, I suppose.

A few minutes later, I had everything packed away and properly secured. Memento and I left our camp, he on foot and I in the air. We set out for one of Steve's frequented haunts: the Black Market. I had not been there personally, but I knew where it was from Tom and Jordan. I only halfheartedly paid attention to where I was flying on the way, replaying my argument with Martha over and over in my mind.

I had messed up big this time. Martha didn't deserve me yelling at her; she didn't even know why I was mad at her in the first place. Why'd I have to go and lose my temper? I'm her champion. I'm supposed to defend her, not hurt her. She should be able to count on me.

And I shouldn't be able to rely on her? My inner cynic taunted.

I firmly shook my head, determined to not work myself back up to the anger that had consumed me yesterday. I tried to distract myself by inspecting the land I flew over as the sun reached its zenith and began descending again. The mixed oak trees were becoming scrawny and less frequent—almost entirely absent now—and the grass desperately clung to the pale, cracked earth in scattered tufts and clumps.

I had flown farther than I thought, or the Black Market was closer to our corner of Ruxomar than I had supposed. It was only another hour of flying before a line of pitch black marred the pale blue sky ahead of us. I frowned as we drew close enough for me to guess what it was. Something was burning. The smell reached us as the mild breeze shifted temporarily: burning diesel, charred wood, and something else that made my stomach turn and my nose wrinkle in distaste.

I hoped that this wasn't the place, but when I discerned the burned out shell of an RV similar to Jordan's, I knew beyond doubt that we had found the Black Market—well, what was left of it. What happened here? The roof and one of the walls of the once infamous bar were collapsed inward and blackened, the windows were all broken, some blown outward by the fire that had wracked the two storied establishment. Strangely a few of the windows appeared to have been broken inward as well. The overhang for the raised wooden porch and the porch itself had also collapsed and were little more than coals and ash.