She gets jostled by a few soldiers passing by - and then as she's debating moving, a familiar voice comes up behind her. "You're gonna become a statue if you keep standing in one place, Svetka," her friend says, stepping up until their shoulders brush.

"That only happens to bad girls, in the stories. Like you, Val."

"I think I'm more likely to be the villain than the naughty maiden who needs a lesson."

"Depends who's telling the story."

"Maybe a little."

"But I bet they'd all agree you're the maiden in your stories."

"I am the paragon of pure and virtuous."

"You might be in those morality tales, then. The one girl who doesn't get turned into a statue. An example for the rest of us on the value of resisting temptation and being pretty."

"I think pretty is supposed to a side effect, not the goal."

"Don't know about that. All those morality tales start with how pretty the maiden is as a very central feature."

"So that people like you will pay attention."

Hum. "A point in my villainy column."

"Guess so."

She laughs. "C'mon, let's get moving to camp."

"Okay." Svetka will allow herself to be turned away from the vista.

And onwards, down the road to the encampment. 

- But they don't get far before Val wraps her arms around Svetka and yanks her off the road, nearly stumbling into the ditch.

Eep!

Svetka's ears ring and then pop, a weird bubble of something beyond silence, a strange un-noise enveloping them - 

Soldiers spill off the road in a scramble, the noise from their shouts of alarm, the scuffle of their boots, jangling metal or dropped bags faltering and twisting away. Val and Svetka were the first ones off, and it's probable Val's sudden movement alerted others to look around. 

Because coming down the road is a black carriage pulled by black horses. They should be making a racket. They shouldn't be moving that fast; the horses' gait is a walk, not a trot or canter or anything that could justify how quickly they move, as if the very road wants to hurry them along, get them off it.

They aren't, and they pass in perfect silence, a wave of pressure squeezing down on Svetka's entire body as she glimpses a sliver of a pale face for a moment between fluttering black curtains. 

And then they're past, rapidly heading towards Kribirsk, and the wave of un-sound collapses in a chaotic mess, distorted sounds coming back in and tumbling over each other before they sort into anything even vaguely coherent. 

"-What was that?"

"The Darkling," she says, voice tight and strange. "Leader of the Second Army."

"Why's she here?" she wonders.

"Well. We're crossing the Fold with a lot of her men, aren't we? A critical mission, what with the shortages."

(The newer sand-skiffs should be quieter. Faster. Enable more trade than what they're getting. But it's not making as big a difference as it should, not yet, not with war rumbling on their other borders and lean year after lean year hunkering down over them.)

(But they haven't sent this many soldiers, this many grisha, in recent memory, and whatever attempts came before are solidly in the realm of political amnesia.)

"I guess that makes sense..."

And speaking of more of her men, another carriage comes rattling along the road, louder than the first and chased in blue rather than black.

A woman observes through the window with a moderately interested expression. She catches Valeriya's eyes in passing.

 - Wow.

Val's maybe staring at that carriage now. 

Svetka missed it. "What?"

Hum. "Figuring out what my next hunt will be."

Blink blink.

Then she sees the blue carriage disappearing down the road.

"...A Grisha?"

"Haven't ever caught one - yet."

...Pffffft.

"I'm branching out in my prey."

"Good luck."

"Thanks." She bumps shoulders. "And if you see any pretty girls you want me to reel in for you..."

"I'll let you know."

Hum. "Or maybe ones I should set on your trail..."

"Vaaaal," she whines.

"Just looking out for my best friend."

"I get by fine on my own."

"And we excel together."

"True, true."

"And love life improvement projects definitely benefit from group effort."

"That opinion's basically unique to you."

"I doubt that, given some of the nights I've had..."

"Don't need to hear about it."

"You don't want an invitation?"

Blush!!

"Nope."

"Trying to keep your pure maidenhood?"

"Well. Otherwise. Who knows what sort of story I'll end up in?"

"Hmm, true, true. But it makes you very tempting prey for certain types, you know."

"You'll protect me though, right?"

"If I don't approve of your suitor."

"So comforting to know my best friend has my best interests at heart."

"Nothing more and nothing less."

"Thanks."

The road's been clear for a bit, now, they should probably get moving again.

Yeah. 

They can make good time, now. 

The encampment is quickly spreading in a rigid grid from the edges of Kribirsk, where they'll be launching from. Each of them is assigned a tent and bunk by regiment, of course (which has proven to only keep Val where she's supposed to be sleeping for maybe an hour; the night watch never seems to catch her, even when curfews are being strictly enforced. She always just says any tracker worth their salt always knows when they're being tracked, and therefore where sentries are looking). They'll be eating from a common mess hall, though, and Val and Svetka's assigned dinner times are effectively overlaps.

Of course, they both have duties to attend to before nightfall.

Yep. Svetka's got to go make and file some sketches, and Val has to... stalk a Grisha?

"And help my regiment make camp, and I've got a scouting rotation before dinnertime." She laughs and stretches. "The army keeps me busy."

"Try not to get too worn out."

"Need some energy for my hunt later."

"You'll have to put your best foot forward with one of them."

"I always do."

"Uh huh."

"Convinced you to like me, didn't I?"

"It did. So you'll probably be okay."

Giggle. "Wouldn't be surprised if you had higher standards than a grisha."

"Just 'cause they're magic doesn't mean they're a good person."

"Well, maybe I'm not looking for a good person..."

"Your standards are not mine."

"I've noticed."

"You were always quick like that."

"The most observant person in the army."

"Maybe you should join me in the mapmakers, then."

"I like moving around too much."

Deep sigh. "Alas."

Giggle. "Being a tracker works out, though."

"It suits you."

"Yeah."

"And being a map maker suits you - and speaking of, we do kinda have jobs..."

"I should go before I'm late, then. See you for dinner?"

"See you." She ruffles Svetka's hair, then heads off.

And Svetlana reports for duty.

She gets some teasing about running late, of course, especially from Alexei. 

She's still the quickest hand with a draft, so.

The senior cartographer is very hard to impress - but she can definitely manage passing muster. 

(As long as she's good enough to not kicked out for her sick days.)

(She can manage that, at least.)

 And dinner time rolls around soon enough. 

Maybe with all the Grisha around they'll be lucky and get some salt for the pea soup.

- Seems more like Svetka specifically will get unlucky with an asshole server. He starts with some very unpleasant words about what he thinks a Suli girl is doing in the army. 

Ah.

"Not actually Suli, you know," she says when he pauses for breath.

He sneers. "What does it matter? You look close enough."

"I'm in the army, same as you. Can I have my portion now?"

"Shouldn't you be begging?"

She looks him in the eye.

Then dips her bowl in the pot of slop to pick up her portion for herself.

He goes to knock the bowl out of her hands. 

Whoops it seems to have somehow slipped up to spill in his face.

Yeah he's angry now. 

He doesn't keep yelling at her though - he seems to have decided to get her kicked out of the mess tent for being disruptive instead - 

Her and Val, who notices the commotion and throws her own bowl at his head. 'Accidentally.'

In trouble together again.

"You going hungry too doesn't really help, you know."

"Maybe. But it is more emotionally satisfying."

Shoulder bump. "I guess there's that."

"It's a very important element."

"And I can scrounge us both up some food, anyways. I'm not the best tracker in the First Army for nothing."

"I would appreciate that very much."

"Figure out where you want our private feast to be, then, and I'll meet you there."

"How about up on that tower?"

Nod. "Feel free to move if it doesn't work out. I'll always find you, anyways."

"Yeah, you're good at that."

Grin, and quick hug. "I'll be back before you know it."

And she's off, to see what paths speak to her for food. She's in the mood for something nice...

The Second Army doesn't eat with the First. Might be they brought better fare with them.

And there's a higher chance one individual grisha left their food unguarded; the common stores of the First Army are under tight watch. 

She slips into a section of their encampment that feels likely, deftly avoiding people's awareness as she goes, scanning the tents for any sign of untended food. 

Seems like there's one over here that has a meal laid out on a sideboard, no sign of the tent's occupant...

Score.

She walks forward softly, like she's trying not to spook a deer or rabbit, mentally judging how much she can easily take. A tray would be good for quantity, but more difficult to sneak through the encampment...

She also samples some of the food first, of course. Got to make sure it's up to standards. 

"What do you think you're doing?" says a voice from behind her.

She turns around and pops a berry in her mouth. "Stealing," she says, with an impish smirk.

"At least you're an honest thief. But I'll thank you to leave the rest of my supper to me."

"Not one for sharing?"

"Not when I haven't eaten since dawn."

She hums, then nudges the un-chewed berry to clear view between her lips - then back into her cheek. "Want this back, then?"

She steps forward. "And if I say yes?"

"You'll have to come and get it, then."

"Fair enough." She closes the distance to Val, laces her arms behind Val's neck, and bends her head in for a kiss.

Once Elvira has her lips open, a current of air drawn from Val's lungs aids the berry's progress to the tongue of its rightful owner. She pulls back, chews, and swallows.

"You cheat," she murmurs, stepping closer. 

"I choose not to limit myself. I am a Squaller, darling."

"No excuse for teasing me."

"Oh, I think your expression makes an excellent excuse."

"You enjoy taking girls' breath away?"

"One of my favorite pastimes."

"A rather mean one, taking breath and giving nothing in return..."

"Come back and find me after I've eaten and perhaps I'll be feeling more generous."

"I couldn't talk you into a trade now, then?"

"I think letting you leave without reporting you is more than enough."

Hum. "Depends on if you'd be the one punishing me, if you did decide to report me."

"That would be up to your commanding officer, soldier."

"Alas, my commanding officer is very much a stick in the mud."

"Pity."

Wink. "I'll see you later, then - once you're in a more negotiating mood." She turns, stepping back from Elvira's space, and leaves with a jaunty little wave behind her. 

What an interesting girl. She turns to her dinner- and realizes she short of a bowl of fruit.

"Something for nothing indeed," she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

And she brings her prize back to Svetka.

She's waiting on the tower.

"Wow. Where'd you find these?"

"A good tracker gets her prey. An excellent tracker gets two prey with one trap."

Giggle. "You stole it from the Grisha lady?"

"She took my breath away. It's only a fair trade."

Hee.

"You're terrible." Won't stop Svetka from taking some fruit, though.

"I'm amazing and funny, you mean." She's more than happy to share (though the sourest berries are hers).

"That too," she says agreeably. (Svetka likes the sweet ones, anyway.)

She hasn't had all these before, so it takes a teensy bit of experimentation to achieve the best fruit distribution - but they manage. (Val sneakily tries to give Svetka more than half of the fruits.)

"Knew we were friends for a reason."

(She's is scrupulous about maintaining an even split.)

"You'd be lost without me."

(Val does her best to subvert that. She's pretty good at it.)

She nods seriously. "My friendship with you is the true driver of my excellent pathfinding skills. You taught me how to be found."

Hum. "If you don't know where you are, you can't get to where you're going?"

"Got it in one."

Smug Svetka.

Muffled giggle. 

She laughs.

She shoulder bumps Svetka. "Finish your food, silly."

"Okay, okay."

She leans against her friend a bit, glancing out over the encampment.

This is nice.

Yeah.

"I heard we're crossing tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Heard they think this new skiff's gonna have a better chance."

Lean. "Hope so."

"We'll be together," she says, voice soft.

"Always."

Hug.

Hug.

"Now the real question is, do we get some rest, or throw the best party of our lives?"

"I know which one you'd pick."

"I'd rather stick with you than party."

"Even if the party included your Grisha crush?"

"Even then."

"Thanks, Val."

"No problem, Svetka."

Lean.

Lean!

And to rest up, then?

Mhm. Be fresh and alert for their trip into darkness.

It might help.

Val, of course, sneaks out of her own bed after curfew; she's spending the night with Svetka, no matter what the rules have to say.

That always helps her sleep better.

One of many reasons to do it.

Val's wide awake and apparently not at all nervous the next morning.

That helps soothe some of Svetka's nerves.

Val will stick by her, then, at least until it's time to take their posts.

As a mapmaker, Svetka's not expected to hold a rifle, unlike Val. She'll be waiting in the center of the skiff during the crossing, while Val guards the railing.

Val's post, conveniently, is near the Grisha in charge of their skiff- the Squaller from last night.

Val sends her a teasing smile, though otherwise keeps up a professional mien.

"You never came back last night," she murmurs as the sail is hoisted.

"I had someone to watch over," she replies, voice equally soft, and her gaze briefly cuts over to where the mapmakers damned to this particular skiff are huddled.

Hmmm.

"Perhaps a celebration on the other side, then."

"Sounds perfect."

Wink. "Don't be late."

Then the sails are up and she has to explain what's going to happen to the crew. In short: noise and light attract the volcra. Don't make any of either. There will be one blue lantern in the middle of the ship, this one is designed to not attract volcra, don't block it. If the volcra do show up, keep your head down and don't block the Inferni's lines of fire. First Army are to support with their rifles.

She takes her position, rifle held such that she can quickly load it (they can't risk accidental discharge; a loaded rifle is begging for them to be damned by a twitchy finger). And she takes deep, even breaths. Calms herself, and readies herself to listen as they launch.

The Squallers fill the sails with wind, and the skiffs slide towards the inky black curtain that marks the edge of the Unsea.

It feels- cold. She wasn't expecting it to be cold.

Val had been trying not to expect anything. That interferes with tracking, sometimes - especially times like these.

She keeps very, very quiet, body nearly a statue, expression blank, and she listens.

And partway through, she ghosts over to the Squaller, and reaches for her arm, and very gently, very quietly taps out the code for -

'ENEMIES APPROACH'

She glances at Val, the blue light flickering across her raised brow, an implicit question.

At least there's a specific sign for volcra, though it's a bit longer than the standardized quick one Val just used. 

VOLCRA. Then headings - a pause, then how far, how fast they're coming and how many there are (she's not sure on these, not yet, but - pretty unpleasantly fast and pretty alarmingly many; luckily this code does approximates, too). 

She nods in acknowledgement. Quick flicks of air alert the other Grisha, and she gives a high sign to watch the skies.

Val stays beside her - closes her eyes so she can listen better ‐ and keeps a stream of updates as her sense of the volcra refines - as they approach. 

(It's still, technically, possible they'll fly over without attacking. They're still high up.)

(Val doesn't exactly like those chances.)

Objectively speaking, they're not good.

Huddled in the middle, Svetlana's getting nervous as well. She can... feel something, weird as that sounds. It's- hungry.

It's getting pretty close to where Elvira's going to have to decide if she wants to sacrifice the small possibility the volcra haven't noticed them for the benefit of attacking first. 

(Val doesn't like this waiting.)

"Now!" she snaps, and the Inferni light up the darkness.

She snaps her cartridge into her rifle as she steps away from the Squaler (riflemen are among the first attacked; she doesn't want to draw the volcra towards their leader), and starts firing into the dark. Every bullet hits - none of them are fired at visible volcra yet, she can hear the heavy beat of their wings and there's some that aren't caught by the flashes of light - and Val's one of the fastest on reloading.

She's keeping an ear on the rest of the fight, too, turning her rifle on any volcra that get too close to taking out one of their Inferni or riflemen, especially if the person she's covering hasn't spotted them. 

There's a lot of volcra, though, and even an expert rifleman can only fire so fast. It's a matter of time - and not that much - before the volcra overwhelm them. 

An Inferni is the first to be carried away, a screaming fireball fading into the blackness beneath beating wings. Then the riflemen start getting picked off.

The window to rescue someone is only so long before they're high enough that the fall will seriously injure or kill them. Volcra are fast.

Then a pack descends on the cluster of mapmakers.

One gets Alexei, next to Svetlana. She shrieks and starts stabbing it with her boot knife.

Val turns, lines up her shot - but not in time to stop Alexei from being dragged off the skiff, though - he survived that, he's on the sands - 

And in her moment of distraction -

A volcra's claws tear into her shoulder.

"Val!"

She scrambles across the deck to her, grabs a dropped rifle, tries to shoot, it's jammed- "Val!" She grabs for her hand-

She grunts - strikes at the volcra with the butt of her rifle while she goes for her knife - stabs at the damn thing - 

It doesn't work. The skin's too thick, everywhere she can reach. The best she can manage is flailing long enough to slow it down, force it to shift its grip a little. 

She doesn't reach for Svetka's hand. She looks down as she being lifted into the dark, mouths I'm sorry - 

And throws her knife into the throat of a volcra that's swooping down at her friend. 

She grabs Val's leg. "I'm not letting you go."

That slows the volcra down a little; but if adding another person's weight could change things, they'd all be wearing packs full of stone.

The volcra shrieks, beats its wings harder, and others swoop in to support it. 

Val gets another knife out. She kills the next volcra that comes for Svetka.

She doesn't kill the one after. It grabs Svetka around the waist and starts dragging her away.

"No!"

It's not fair. They can't- they can't be separated. Not like this. She won't let it happen, she won't let go- (Even as the volcra's claws tighten painfully around her midsection and blood starts to seep.)

"VAL!" Her grip slips, she reaches- she reaches out-

And something answers.

An almighty glow radiates out from where Svetlana has a tenuous grasp on Valeriya's ankle. The volcra holding the pair of them are the first to shriek in pain, drop their prey, and flee, but they are not the last.

The light expands in a bubble, banishing the darkness of the Fold and sending the swarm reeling into its depths.

Then she hits the deck with a thud, and the light blinks out.

Svetka follows it into darkness.

Val falls to the deck, her vision entirely shot.

But she can hear - she scrambles to Svetka, finds her by touch - presses a cloth to her wounds, and Val's shoulder hurts like fuck even through the adrenaline, and she still has spots in her eyes - 

And the volcra are fleeing, even with the light gone, and there's other people alive on the skiff.

Still people alive on the sands.

(Her breath is coming in short, pained gasps. It won't stop, won't even out.)

-What in the name of all the Saints was that?

Deal with it later, she's got to wrangle this mess. Elvira picks herself up and starts snapping orders to get the survivors picked up and everyone moving to get the skiff in order again, striding across the deck.

"Tracker!" she barks. "What happened?"

" - I don't know." She can't see, still. The plunge back into darkness isn't helping - her eyes have pretty far to adjust.

She turns her head towards the Squaller anyways, of course, blinking rapidly. " - The volcra are still fleeing."

"...Let me know if they start returning."

She begins the task of getting the skiff turned around.

Val listens as she tries belatedly to bandage her own wound. It's bleeding kind of a lot. And - Svetka seems stable, right now.

Val will probably feel bad about not helping more later. But for now - she picks up her old gun, the knives she buried in volcra throats. A third knife someone dropped near enough she can get it without stopping touching Svetka. The first two go back in their sheaths; that one stays in her hand.

She stays hunched by Svetka, no matter what else happens. 

(She'll treat injuries if someone is dropped in front of her, and she'll drag Svetka into the center if they're setting up an area for the injured, and she'll help there. Otherwise - everything hurts, and she's having to crawl anyways. She shouldn't actually need her sight, she can do way more complicated things than walk around in the dark, but navigating anything close to her is making her nauseous right now. Like the world was thrown off kilter, gravity reoriented, and she's the only one who's noticed.)

She keeps track of the volcra that attacked them, and she pays attention to the faintest sounds on the edge of hearing. 

The volcra don't turn around before they get out of the Fold. There's that, at least. 

Then maybe this won't be a complete disaster.

She's still not looking forward to making her report.

The skiff returning like this is very unusual.

The crew are pulled to the side for further medical treatment - and kept together. They all have questions to answer.

Elvira is called separately to the Darkling's command tent, as the first to report.

"Sir." She's had some time to think, in between managing the return.

"-I think we've found a Sun Summoner."

"Who?"

"One of the mapmakers. Starkov."

She steps out to give an order that none of the skiff's crew are to be permitted to leave processing without her clearance, and none of the medical staff are to allow or encourage gossip.

And then she steps back in and asks for details. 

Elvira walks through the trip, from leaving to the volcra attack to the burst of light that drove them off.

"This tracker is a friend of Starkov's?"

"They're very close- though I am not sure what exactly the relationship is there."

Thoughtful hum. "Come with me," she orders then, standing.

She follows.

The charge medic reports that Private Svetlana Starkov is still unconscious when they arrive - but Corporal Valeriya Oretsev is conscious and stable, though still lightly disoriented. They're already in a private tent; most of the skiff crew have been removed from public sight in as small of groups as they can manage. 

The Darkling thanks him and sweeps into the tent. 

Val's standing already. She still has her knives. 

And she's in front of Svetka's prone form when they enter, a long knife on a little rickety table next to her hand.

"What do you want?" she demands.

"Does your commander tolerate this behavior, Corporal?"

"Us trackers are independent sorts." 

"So what do you want, General?"

"Private Starkov showed an impressive power in the Fold. I understand she saved the lives of everyone who returned to us."

"And that power is one that, if it is truly what it seems, will provide a significant advantage to whoever controls it. Our enemies aren't stupid; I can delay word getting out, but only so long."

"Private Starkov's life and freedom are in danger, Corporal. I would ask you not stand in my way."

She pauses for a long moment, something angry and trapped in her eyes and posture.

"She won't cooperate if you separate us," she says then, tone flat.

"You think that'll matter to our enemies?"

"I think you want her wrapped up in walls and under your thumb as soon as you can, and I think it'd be inconvenient for you if she woke during the trip and freaked out."

She tilts her head slightly. Then: "What do you think, Colonel Nazyalensky?"

She considers.

"I think that regardless of whether Corporal Oretsev is assessing the reaction of Private Starkov accurately, we would have to kill her to prevent her from attempting to break into the Little Palace if she is left behind."

"Insubordination is an executable offense regardless," she says, mildly. 

"I believe that would be a waste of a talented tracker and a creative mind, sir."

Hum.

She evaluates Val's guarded posture for several very, very long moments. Then: "Very well."

"Corporal Oretsev, you and Private Starkov are to remain here for now. You however will be transferred to a carriage shortly. I will retrieve you when that time comes. Do not leave with anyone other than me. Do not speak of what happened."

"Yes, sir."

She inclines her head, then leaves. 

She doesn't gesture one way or the other on whether Elvira should continue following her.

She waits.

"It's good to see you recovering."

" - It's good you survived," she says. 

"And - thanks."

"Mm." She steps closer. "I suppose that celebration will need to be postponed again."

She grins. "Depends on how long the carriage takes."

"And how close you intend to stay to your friend."

"...Close."

"I'm not letting anyone take her."

She nods.

"Be cautious with that sentiment around the Darkling. She has been waiting for a Sun Summoner a long time, and has little patience for defiance."

"What will she do if Svetka defies her?"

"I cannot say. I expect she is considering that question herself."

"But one way or another, every Grisha that comes to the Little Palace learns to use their abilities to fullest."

"Then I'll be with her every step of the way." Heavy sigh. 

"...Well. This is, if nothing else, better than being eaten."

"That depends on who's doing the eating."

Giggle. "The volcra are absolutely not up to my standards."

"Good to know."

Grin.

"Will you be traveling with us?"

"I expect so."

"Hopefully the Little Palace is better suited for celebrations, then."

"The beds are better than anything I've ever seen on campaign."

"They'll be better than anything I've seen period, then."

"Much to look forward to."

Soft smile. "A new experience."

"Quite."

"I'll leave you to watch over Private Starkov. Feel free to use that knife on anyone who's not me or the Darkling."

"You don't like a bit of knife play?"

She winks. "Only if I'm the one with the knife, darling."

Smirk. "I rather like it either way."

"Good to know."

"I'll keep my own knife pointed at people other than you, though. Promise."

Nod.

Then Elvira should get back to her duties before they're called to move on.

Probably, yeah.

And Val will keep to hers. 

Preparations are occurring quickly, and most of the delay actually involves sending out decoys and scout - even with gossip about what exactly happened tamped down on, something was visible for miles - their enemies will be looking for them. 

And the Darkling has orders for Elvira, too. "You will be traveling with them," she says, briskly. "Ensure Private Starkov reaches the Little Palace at all costs."

"And as for Corporal Oretsev... Subvert her, by whatever means."

"I'm working on that. Sir."

"Yes. I've liked the initiative you've shown."

Her other tasks for Elvira mostly revolve around coordinating moving their new grisha - a route and several alternatives to memorize, what information the Darkling already has on enemy cells in the area. 

Fjerdan witch hunters receive a sentence only a few steps less horrendously brutal than attempted regicides. They keep trying, though, and they'll certainly be looking for the Sun Summoner. She has less information on them; if she knew where they were, they'd wish they were dead. She has more information on informants and potential assassins from Shu Han or other interests; she usually leaves those in place.

Their route is more circuitous than one might guess from the sense of urgency she's been projecting. They'll be traveling with a wagon disguised as a medical evacuation train until Private Starkov wakes and is mobile; there's a point here where they can leave the wagon and requisition good horses, then from there along these back trails... The Darkling will meet them there - she's first setting out ahead of them with several of the skiff's crew. 

There are, of course, fallback orders. If Private Starkov doesn't wake quickly. If there's trouble on the road. If the Darkling doesn't meet them at the designated place and time...

As always, plenty of contingencies. Elvira is by now fairly practiced with juggling the many branches of the Darkling's orders.

She'll see the prize safe.

As expected. 

She is dismissed. 

Then she has a hospital caravan to arrange.

(Svetka still hasn't woken by the time they're leaving. Makes the medical evacuation slightly more believable, at least.)

Especially given how injured Val still is; she hasn't really had the blood washed off, and it's easy enough to make it look like she lost her arm. Beyond a Healer's usual help, even when the Second Army has the time and attention to spare.

She's worried about Svetka. But she takes a seat on the floor of the wagon with a grim look on her face all the same, her rifle tucked out of sight in easy reach.

She listens, too, tries to catch any ambushes before they happen - but she's rapidly developing a splitting headache, and it's hard to focus - 

She still gets a creeping sense of unease - certain birds are being unusually quiet or loud, and not in the way they'd be if they were only recently spooked by the approaching wagon - there's something about the lay of the land here that itches in the back of her teeth - 

So, naturally, she shifts forward, keeps low, and hisses, "Possible ambush ahead," in a low tone that just barely carries over the wagon's noise.

(They're very close to the outpost they were going to switch off at. Likely not close enough for immediate reinforcements, though.)

Her instincts were good last time. Elvira alerts the guards.

And then the gunshots start.

She didn't get as much warning this time - fuck, she can't slip - 

Val gets her riffle up, though, takes a deep breath - 

And picks off the first of the Fjerdan sharpshooters.

There's a lot - a good sized ambush party of Drüskelle - and both of the guards had been disguised grisha, but that doesn't mean they aren't dangerously outnumbered, here. 

The battle is at least rather loud, and one of the guards manages to get up a flare before he catches a bullet in the neck - but they'd need quite a lot of luck to get reinforcements in time. 

The small size of their party means that Elvira is not holding back on her attacks. A hurricane gust whips up a spray of dirt and moldering leaves, knocking Fjerdan aim awry- then a scythe of wind topples a pair of trees on their position.

She's making quite the dent, especially with Val covering her position -

But the Drüskelle know how to fight Squallers, even powerful ones unleashing the full force of their abilities. A sharpshooter covering Elvira, even an unnaturally accurate one, isn't enough to offset that.

Two of them make it to melee range; one of those falls to Val's bullet - two take his place. They're clearly focusing on separating the three women - at least once they realize Svetka is there, hidden under a tarp Val had thrown over her - if they can't kill them on the spot.

Even if her kefta is bulletproof, she still feels the impacts. Elvira is knocked from her perch.

Svetka opens her eyes, blearily.

There's a large hand on her ankle, grip hard as iron - dragging her out of the wagon as two of her assailant's allies corner Val - 

Svetka is hitting the ground almost before she gets her eyes open.

Scream!

And thrash, try to kick the man, reach for a knife-

He's over her, and she can't get to a knife before he's pinning her arms with his leg, raising an axe above his head as he curses her for being a witch - 

And then a flicker of shadow falls across Svetka's vision, and a thin line of blood bursts from the man's chest as it passes - 

And then his body splits along that line as he half collapses back, his upper torso falling to the ground separately from the rest of him. (An awful lot more blood spreads as his heart fails.)

There's people screaming around them, in fear and pain. 

Wh- what?

She slowly props herself up to look.

She's on a dirt road in the scraggly sort of forest you get on the edges of the plains around the fold. There's men in armor and furs scattered about, dead.

There's the Darkling in a long black coat, expression intense as shadow boils around her hands before it lashes into one last Drüskelle as he tries to flee. He dies with a choked off scream.

There's someone in the wagon at her head, a foot sliding against wood - and Val's voice calling out, "Svetka!"

She's too busy staring at the Darkling to respond to or even really register Val's call at all.

Val gets to where she can see her friend then slumps with a soft, "Thank the Saints."

And the Darkling turns to look at them - and strides over. She looks at Svetka for a long, intense moment - then turns her gaze to Elvira. "Colonel, report."

"The drüskelle were waiting for us, sir. They knew our route, and they knew she was in the carriage."

"Concerning."

"I'll escort you the rest of the way to the Little Palace - and the horses will be faster than a carriage, besides, but I'll need to reconsider the exact route we take."

"Will there be more reinforcements from the outpost to deal with the bodies?"

"Yes. We're moving on ahead of them."

She nods, and goes to collect the horses.

Svetka has recovered enough to hug Val.

Tight squeeze!

"Saints, I was so worried," she says into Svetka's hair.

Hug hug hug.

"What happened? Where are we?" Why is the Darkling here and looking at her like that?

"When the volcra were - trying to pull us apart - a light burst from you, and drove them away. You've been unconscious since."

"People think you're a Sun Summoner. We're running to the Little Palace."

"Oh."

"I- don't remember that."

Hug. "How much do you remember?"

"I remember the skiff, and the attack, then you got grabbed. I tried to pull you back but I couldn't, then..." She shakes her head.

"Yeah. I think that's when the - light show happened."

"I'm not Grisha, though."

"Don't think the Drüskelle care." Squeeze. "I - I can't keep you safe, not on my own."

"This is all... a lot."

"It is. I know."

"But we're together. That'll never change."

"Good," she says with feeling.

Grin. "I barely had to threaten to stab a superior officer if they tried to separate us, too."

"Val!" she chokes off a giggle. "You can't do that!"

"Maybe being friends with the potential Sun Summoner has some perks. They didn't even take my knife away."

"Who'd you point it at?"

"Me," says a smooth, light voice. She possibly even sounds amused.

Smirk.

Eep!

She walks over. "Are either of you injured?"

"Um. No. I don't think so." Her voice is slightly higher than usual.

"Nothing that'll slow me down."

"Good."

"Can you ride?"

"...No."

"...Some." She tracks on foot more often. 

"You'll ride with me, Private Starkov." Then, to Val: "You'll be on your own, but if you falter, you will join Colonel Nazyalensky, Corporal."

"Got it."

Said Grisha has rounded up three of the horses and begun saddling them.

The Darkling came in on a fourth, and she calls it over to her with a click of her tongue as she goes to offer Svetka a hand up. 

Two horses, then.

She directs Val to tie the spare up to the carriage to await the clean-up detail.

Alright. 

She makes a small face at the heavy draft horse - and how big it is. 

Her own war horse is skinnier, even if it's nearly as tall. 

She has it kneel, though, and starts directing Private Starkov in how to get on its back and settle herself. Her tone's firm, imperious, but not particularly cruel at least. 

Oh, it bends down. That's convenient.

Amused smile. "His name is Tariel," she says, settling Svetka in and then sitting behind her. "He will carry us well." And then she clicks her tongue, and the horse rises. 

"He's, um, well-trained."

Why is her heart beating so fast, this is silly, it's just a horse, it's not like it's scary.

And she's very securely held right now, with her back pressed to the Darkling's chest, the Darkling's hands on her waist to steady her. (The horse apparently doesn't need reins.)

"He is," she says, tone fond. "I raised him myself."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty," she says, patting his neck. "He's been on campaign with me for a decade now." She shifts a little, and the horse snorts, shaking his head, and then walks forward as the Darkling sends a quick glance at their companions. "All good to ride?" she calls. 

Elvira has helped Val scale the intimidating heights of Mt. Horse and swung herself up into her own saddle.

"Ready."

"Ready," she says, very resolutely not looking at the ground. 

"Onward, then." And her horse drops into a ground-eating pace. At the outpost, she has Elvira and Val switch to fresh horses and requisitions three further horses - one to carry supplies, two as backups for the other two riders (she has her own backup horse, another black stallion she introduces to Svetka as Avtandil - also trained by her, though he's about eight years younger than Tariel).

(She's largely quiet on the ride to the outpost, but from her brief comments there, it's clear she has very strong opinions about the correct treatment, breeding, and training of horses.)

As they're setting out from there, though, she turns her attention more fully to Svetka.

"This must be disorienting for you, Private," she says, voice low.

"Well. When I passed out I was about to die, and when I woke up again I was still about to die, so."

"Never ridden a horse before, though."

"A pity - and a fortune, that you have the opportunity now. Horses are the greatest beast mankind has ever commanded."

"Why is that?"

"Some would say their power, or their use in battle, or in their great service to mankind's advancement - and those are true, but there are stronger beasts, and others who have joined us in war or in work. But the horse learns easily and thoroughly that he is mankind's; a horse raised from birth by a good hand has more loyalty than any other creature I have ever met. A well trained war horse does not flinch from even the harshest service, and though he is far stronger than us, he knows that it is mankind he bows to. He maintains rigid control of himself, in every defiance of his instinct. He accepts new training with grace."

"The hand that tames the horse is bettered for it, too. To identify a horse's best use and train him relentlessly towards that is a matter of great skill, and cultivating that skill is a matter of cultivating your own perfection. Perfect training requires immense discipline from rider and beast alike - a horse is not so forgiving as a dog, and horse and rider must be able to operate as one unit."

"Huh."

"That's, um, an interesting perspective."

"I very much enjoy training beautiful, powerful creatures," she murmurs, hands tightening on Svetka's waist briefly as they start going down a hill, helping her set her weight correctly (leaning her back into the Darkling).

Saints it's a good thing the Darkling can't see her face because Svetka is pretty sure she's blushing!!

She murmurs a few suggestions, then, corrections on Svetka's riding technique as they enter a rougher section of trail - how she uses her thighs, where she rests her hands, how to hold her torso... Which muscles to use, indicated with gentle touches...

No one ever told her the Darkling was sexy aaaaaaa

Her breath hitches slightly for each touch, and she whispers thanks for the corrections.

"You're welcome, Private Starkov. Training new riders is a pleasure."

"-It's Svetlana. Um. My name. I'm Svetlana. My friends call me Svetka."

"Are we friends, then, Svetka?"

Blush!!!

"...We've been talking and you haven't tried to kill me yet?" Except indirectly through heart palpitations.

"Do new acquaintances often try to kill you, Svetka?"

"...I look Suli. So, sometimes."

Her hands tighten on Svetka's waist.

"I protect what's mine," she says. "And you are one of my grisha now - anyone else who thinks that is an appropriate response to one like you will not live to have such thoughts a second time."

Shiver. (Strangely, not a bad kind of shiver.)

"-Thanks."

"You're welcome, Svetka."

"And... you may call me Senka in private. As friends."

"Senka." She tries out the taste of the name.

Oh Saints the Darkling is Senka what is Svetka's life coming to.

"Very few know that name," she murmurs. "It seems to ruin my aura of mystique to have a mortal name."

"It's a good name, I think. But General Senka doesn't quite seem- commanding."

"It's short for Ksenija, which is somewhat better," she says, wryly. "But I'm widely known as the Captain General or the Darkling for a reason."

"More mysterious," she nods. "Spookier."

"A monster in the shadows."

"A terror to Ravka's enemies."

"And identifying those enemies isn't always simple, sadly."

"I'm okay with starting with the ones who are trying to axe murder me."

"I as well."

"It's a pity, almost, that we didn't have the slack to capture them. But I'm sure the outpost will put their heads on pikes and burn their bodies, at least, and the Fjerdans find that upsetting for some reason."

She's not gonna say they don't deserve that, because they kind of do, in her opinion.

"I'd prefer not having to wait until the axe is right there though, next time."