Chapter 36 - People of the Wind

Marcello tossed and turned in his bed until the sunlight poured through the window of the cabin and scattered across his face. He couldn’t get comfortable, plagued by nightmarish visages of leathery beings and black scaled fiends. Finally, with a sigh, a tired blue eye blinked against the light, the other hidden beneath a fresh black eyepatch. Fingers reached to deftly massage at a temple before combing up through a messy mass of raven hair swept and bunched to the side from unsatisfying sleep.

He pushed up onto an arm and gazed about the room lazily. Last night, he hadn’t heard Aven and Lucian come in. Not that it mattered much with Lucian so pissed at him. Marcello dared to look at the lingering black mark etched at the back of his hand.

What’s done was done.

Marcello swung his legs over the side of the bed and his toes curled the very second they scraped across the cold wood flooring. In seconds he found himself dressed in a fresh change of robes and boots well up past his calves, the final button of his cuff link hooked together and he pushed through the doors out into the main cabin.

Still no Aven and Lucian.

The man’s lip curled at the corner in annoyance. He was the one sacrificing his life. Offering to die for that damn fool and somehow he was still being punished? Marcello stormed across to the other door leading to the main bedroom of the cabin and tore it open. “Lucian, enough of this. I am not your servant, get up and get ready, stop making this-” Empty. The room was empty and the bed was still made, entirely untouched.

A surge of panic shot into Marcello’s chest. Where were they? This was enemy territory, it wouldn’t surprise him if they had gone out and gotten into trouble with some of the Crinit. Especially at night. He spun on a heel and burst out of the cabin into the sunny light of day. A keen gaze swept the immediate area.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore and cries of seagulls filled the silence of the daytime. Nearby the cabin, the two horses grazed upon a patch of grass. If they were there, Lucian and Aven couldn’t have gone far. Not unless they were taken, but surely he would have heard. Lightning summoned to his fingertips as he crept around, searching for his friends.

Then all at once his feet skidded against the sand.

Marcello’s eyes spanned over the two figures that wound around another in the sand. Aven was half buried, the waves tickling at bare feet with Lucian draped atop him.

Both were naked.

Immediately, Marcello withered. “You have got to be kidding me!” he scowled. Loud. Loud enough to stir the sleeping forms. “Are you two stupid!? Sleeping naked out in the open on enemy soils! Never in my life!”

An irritated groan rolled past Lucian’s lips as his head lifted and a cold blue gaze leveled Marcello. “Must you be so loud? Nothing bad happened, now did it?”

“I am purposely being loud, that is not the point. What were you two thinking? I was worried and you knew I’d eventually see.”

By then, Aven had stirred. He blinked the sleep from his eyes in a wave of confusion before the yelling sank in. Lucian and Marcello were at it again. And not only that, he was naked in the middle of it after sleeping with… Aven’s cheeks blazed red. Shit.

Marcello’s nose wrinkled as he kicked over their clothes. A pair of trousers fell over Aven’s head. A cotton tunic slung around Lucian’s neck. “You know what, I don’t care. Please just get dressed before someone sees us.”

Aven made a grab for the trousers, tugging them from his face to drape around Lucian and cover his lower half from sight.

“Thank you, Aven,” the Prince hummed. Lucian shook off his exhaustion as he bowed over to press a kiss to Aven’s cheek before sitting up in the sand. His icy blue eyes skated back towards Marcello. “How about a bit of privacy then? My business is not yours. Not after what you pulled.”

“What I-” Marcello ground his teeth together and whipped around with his back to the pair. Fumes practically shot from his ears and his arms folded over his chest. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Aven looked between them with an oncoming headache, watching as the Netyarch fled back inside the cabin and slammed the door. He sighed. “Well.. that went well.”

“As if he gets to judge me,” Lucian muttered to himself, throttling his shirt as he pulled it down over his head.

“…Lucian.”

“I mean honestly, it’s not like I’m some whore. I indulge one time with someone I care about after going to literal-”

“Lucian.”

The prince yanked the shirt down over him and it hung much too big around his delicate frame. The sleeves fell over his hands, the ties around the neckline were halfway down his chest. “What Aven?!”

Aven tried to hide his flustered smile and a hand reached out to brush sandy hair back behind Lucian’s ear. “That’s my shirt.”

“…Oh.” The beginning of a pinky blush crawled Lucian’s cheeks. He leaned over Aven to toss a hand through the sand and drag up his actual shirt instead. “Help me fix it.”

Aven delicately reached around Lucian’s waist to grasp the hem of the flowy tunic, lifting it back over the small, subtle curves of his body before slipping it back over. Lucian raised his arms to let the sleeves fold inward as it was removed and the second the shirt was off, Aven wrenched him down on top of his chest. “Is it too late to say good morning?”

Lucian’s lips broke in a smile and they found Aven’s in a slow kiss. “There is no such thing as good mornings, Aven. You know I am not a morning person.” He paused as he drew back up. “But… it is better than most.”

They changed into their clothes which consisted of lightweight tunics and trousers, fit for travel and the oppressive heat of Dambrath. Aven had just finished shoving his crimson shirt over his head, when he snapped his head to the right.

He heard something. Lucian was in the midst of talking when Aven’s hand shot up in silence and his head cocked. Then his eyes widened.

“Horses."

"What?” Lucian pushed to his feet. “I hear horses coming up over the hill."

Marcello tore through the door. "It may very well be the Crinti,” the transmuter grimaced. “Lucian, dismantle the cabin and-"

They didn’t have time to dismantle the cabin. The riders were on them in seconds.

They rode upon dambraii - amazingly fast and breathtakingly beautiful, the sleek piebald horses tossed their hair, snorting and hooves digging into the dirt and dry grass as they began to surround the three who closed together, back to back. Their riders…

Lucian’s stomach curled. Crinti. Their skin was all manners of silver, grey and black with stark white hair. But their eyes… their eyes were unlike what he heard of the drow. Rather than a blood red, their eyes were red, green, blue, brown… human eyes.

A side effect then, from their half elf heritage.

A party of six riders circled them. Four males, with their hair cut short to signify their lower status and the two females wore their silvery locks all the way down to their hips in exquisite braids. Lucian could feel the tension in Marcello, could hear the crackle of electricity - and his hand reached back to grab his friend’s with a squeeze. This could be handled diplomatically. He prayed Marcello understood him, and felt relief as Marcello grit his teeth and closed his fists, snuffing the electricity.

The six horses circled them entirely, weapons drawn and readied. Powerful. Trained. The horses were immensely sleek and strong and reacted to the smallest touches of their lithe riders. The Criti. The same people who murdered Theseus and attacked Marcello.

One of the females drew her horse forward and she glowered at the three. “You are not Arkaiuns,” she growled, her voice thick with a Dambrathan accent. Her eyes flicked towards the wall and they narrowed. “State your business. All human residents of Dambrath must remain within their designated zones.”

Zones?

Lucian hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about. He took a breath and stepped forward. “My name is…” His brain wracked for a Dambrathan sounding name. His memory plucked one up from an old book. ”…Waervyn. These are my companions, Aethelmed and Rhivaun. We are travelers hailing from…“ he mind wracked, grasping desperately for a town when Marcello stepped forward.

"From Prastuil,” he said. “We were traveling south to Timarl."

The woman’s eyes fanned over the three. She looked skeptical. “You do not look like traders,” she noted, glancing to the conjured hut. “Where is your Pass of Authorization to leave?”

“To look like traders invites danger on the road,” Lucian reasons. “Bandits often look for merchants to assault.”

The woman never let her sight leave them. “…you would do well to not look us in the eye, Shebali,” she growled. “To lift your gaze any further… we would not dare to be looked upon by such filth.”

Aven was used to submitting when it meant his survival. He let his gaze draw away from the elves and Lucian, with great difficulty, followed suit.

But not Marcello.

His single blue eye focused right on the woman, fists curled at his sides. Her face screwed up with anger and she urged her horse closer to him. The stallion’s hoof pounded into the earth. “Are you deaf, Shebali?” She hissed.

“No.”

“Then perhaps you are simpleminded. Know your place, Shebali scum.”

Marcello did not back down. His eye narrowed. Electricity flickered at his fingertips, and the woman moved for the hilt of a whip at her side - when Aven surged forward.

“Forgive him,” he said. “My friend, he was kicked in the head as a child by a horse. At times…” he lowers his voice into a whisper. “He thinks himself Crinti as well.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. Before she could respond, Aven was whirling around on Marcello. “Isn’t that right Aethelmed?”

Marcello’s jaw slid forward. Aven could see the color drain from his face in rage as he glowered up at the woman and his hands shook. With all the effort in the world, a single word left his lips. “Yes.”

The crinti woman eyed them a moment longer before she turned her horse. “You have until night fall to reach your zone. If you are found without a Pass of Authorization once more, you will face the gallows.”

Aven bowed his head. “Yes, my lady. Of course.”

She moved to leave… when she spared Marcello one final look. “…Shebali. Tell me… how was it you lost your eye?”

The humans tensed. Marcello considered her for a moment. “…the horse kick. Knocked it right out of my head.”

“How very traumatic,” she sneered. “Show me.”

“Show you..?”

“Yes. Show me the damage.”

She knew. Marcello and Lucian caught one another’s eye - and both men and the Crinti reacted at once. Icy daggers conjured along Lucian’s fingertips, electricity gathered in Marcello’s hand and the Crinti reached for her whip -

When a spear sailed forth from beyond one of the hills, striking one of the Crinti males in the chest. His eyes went wide in shock and his horse bucked his body off and it hit the sand with a thud, still.

“The rebels!” The woman shrieked.

The thundering roar of hooves echoed across the hills. From overtop one of their crests, a wave of mounted riders surged towards the beach, screaming like the wind as they charged, faster and faster.

Not crinti… humans. Their tawny cloaks camouflaged them in the swaying, tall grasses as they surged forward. Aven reached forward and his fingers curled into his friend’s clothes, pulling them back just in time to avoid being trampled by a herd of riders screaming in a foreign tongue as they crashed against the Crinti.

Equipped in light armor, half of them shot from afar, crossbows mounted against their shoulders and stones from slings cracking against the skull of another Crinti male. The others wielded daggers, short swords, rapiers as they swarmed the dark elves.

The Crinti were being cut down in quick succession, their screams cut short with a splash of red across their throats.

It took everything they had to avoid the fierce pounding of hooves. Horses were everywhere. Lucian danced backwards with a gasp as a spear landed where his foot had been only seconds before and a horse charged past them, the rider’s foot slamming against his shoulder and sent him spiraling towards the ground in a daze.

“Lucian!” Aven shouted and surged forward in a dive. His arms came around Lucian and he forced them into a roll to the side as a trio of stallions raced past them, hooves trampling the dry grass into the sand.

There was no mercy. This… this was an act of anger. Aven could see it in their eyes, the burning hatred as they cut the half-drow down without a second thought.

The last female tore her horse around and rode for the hills in a desperate attempt at her life. An elder human lifted a longbow carved from what looked like the horns of a gazelle. He pulled the string back to his ear - and fired. The arrow wove expertly between the fingers of her ribs and she fell forward onto her face, still.

They were distracted… this was their chance. "Come on,” Lucian whispered, grabbing onto Aven’s arm frantically. “Let’s go, before they-"

He felt the tip of a spear touch his spine, and his back went rigid.

The men had circled them. They were a people of dusky complexion, of shorter stature with wavy brown hair and dark, almost black eyes. What they lacked in height, they made up for in musculature. But they looked.. rough. Tired. Dirty. Like they’d been on the road for weeks.

The man who shot the Crinti approached. He spoke to them in his foreign dialect, and when he found they couldn’t understand, repeated his question in common. "Who are you?” The man asked. “Does your allegiance lie with Crinti or Arkaiun?”

“Arkaiun..?” Lucian asked.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “…I see,” he muttered. “Foreigners. We are the Arkaiuns, or in the Common tongue-”

“People of the Wind,” Marcello answered.

The man drew his horse forward to circle them. His dark eyes were locked closely onto Marcello as he studied him.

“You are not Dambrathan… nor are you of the Swagdar. You’re far too clean for the Outlaw Wastes. Nor are you halflings of Luiren…” he immediately scowled and spat at Marcello’s feet. “You’re from Halruaa. How in blazes did you manage to get over that wall, let alone through the swamp. And I suggest you answer truthfully.”

A spear readied at Marcello.

He must have been severely sick of having weapons shoved in his face because he scoffed and shoved it away.

"We’re travelers. We wished to see the Bay of Dancing Dolphins for ourselves."

"They could be spies,” Growled one of the Arkaiuns in the Dambrathan language, recognized only by Marcello. “The Crinti love their spies…I say we kill them. We can’t have them following our trail.."

Marcello shook his head. "We are no spies. Wild elves guided us down from the Forest of Amtar. We are nomads.” The fib rolled smoothly off his tongue.

The elder of the Arkaiuns looked skeptically at the beautiful cabin. “Nomads,” he murmured. “You live more luxuriously than even the most well off of our people under the Crinti rule.” He grit his teeth. ”….you’re Halruaan. All you people ever do is sneer at us beneath you..I ain’t dumb enough to be lied to.“

Marcello flinched as a crossbow lifted and he raised his hands. ”…I have never looked down on anyone,“ he said slowly. "Would you kill us for our curiosity..?"

"Depends on whose side you’re on.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked over the three men. “What Master do you serve in Halruaa?” Marcello’s body hummed with apprehension as he squeezed his fingers into a fist. “…I serve no Master,” he said slowly. “The Silvercrests… their family rules Halruaa, but they do not demand the service of others. Common people, such as myself and my companions, are able to live safely without any expectation other than to abide by the law.”

“You see, father?” A younger Arkaiun pushed forward to the front of the crowd, looking to the elder with bright eyes. “I told you it was different on the other side!"

The man grimaced and rubbed his stubbled jaw. ”…yes. But first we must reach the border. But even if we do… they would never allow us entry.“

Marcello’s face paled. "Reach the border?” He glanced backwards to Lucian and Aven for a moment. “You’re looking to enter into Halruaa?"

"They say you can learn magic there,” a man said, cantering his massive horse forward. “That all people are allowed to learn… just as the Crinti do. That we’ll be able to come and go as we wish…serve ourselves."

Lucian snorted. "So you’re refugees pouring in,” He sneered. “You should take your people north instead.”

“You are a foreigner,” the elder snapped. “You cannot possibly understand what it is like. To be Arkaiun… to be Shebali. A lame horse is of more value to the Crinti than our sons, our daughters… we refuse to let them take our children and turn them into slaves any longer.”

“Halruaa owes you nothing,” Lucian shot back. “Not sanctuary, not land, nothing. The matters of foreign affairs cannot be addressed until the threat of war is settled.”

Marcello waved a hand to hush his friend. He bit his lip. “No,” he said. “If you were to show up at the borders, the patrols would think you an army, and cut you down without hesitation. But…if you were to arrive at the border, and prove your dedication to living a peaceful life within Halruaa’s borders.. I am sure you’d find the sanction you seek.” Marcello reached into his cloak, pulling a quill, parchment and wax seal. He etched a swift letter, pressed the wax seal onto the envelope and produced it to the man. “When you arrive at Halruaa’s gate, show them this letter. They will bid you entry.”

The man’s face was withered with conflict and suspicion. Wrinkled fingers took the letter from Marcello, stared at the envelope and lifted his dark gaze to the man. "But why?” He asked. “Our nations are at war."

"The ruling power of both nations have decreed war, yes,” Marcello said. “But the common people should not be punished for the arrogance and cruelty of those in power. If you mean what you say, and renounce allegiance to Dambrathi, Halruaa will be a sanctuary and home for those who wish to stay.”

“Not forever,” the son piped up. Even under the scathing glare of his father, he continued. “Dambrath… it is our home. The Bay… the rolling fields, these powerful, beautiful creatures… we love it. More than anything. We renounce allegiance to the Crinti. We cannot forsake it. But… the Crinti..” he shook his head. “They cannot be escaped. We thought Halruaa would suffice until..until one day, we gather in strength to purge the Crinti from our lands, once and for all. But we fear once the Netyarch finds us..”

A flicker of curiosity glittered in Marcello’s eyes. “Why?”

“The Netyarch is cruel. He murdered his own brother, and has a council of mages enslaved to him. So we will stay far from the Capital, out of his sight…“

A choking anger swelled in Marcello’s throat. His nails dug into his palms. "You’ve been told lies. The king’s brother was murdered by assassins of the Crinti."

The old man stared at the letter in silence. Finally, he lifted his eyes and they bore into Marcello. ”…you are no commoner,“ he murmured. "Who are you?”

Marcello fell silent for a long moment in warring consideration. The gears worked and turned in his head, weighing the options lain out before him. On the one hand, these were people he scarcely knew. On the other… on the brink of a war, Halruaa needed allies against a nation several times its size. And Theseus would have taken them into his care in a heartbeat. He leveled the man with a look of his own. “The cruel Netyarch who so apparently murdered his brother. Except not. I mean it when I say you will be welcomed so long as you hold that seal. I will never turn away people caught between a war, and it is my every intent to purge these lands of their vile, Crinti leadership.”

It was as good a confession as any. The man’s tired gaze swept over your face before giving a slow nod. “…I pray to the Mother of Magic that it be true, Halruaan.” He gripped the reins of his horse. “We must keep moving if we are to reach the mountain’s borders by nightfall. I do not suggest moving further into the country. If you are discovered, you will be taken to a temple of Loviatar."

"You’d rather be dead,” another murmured. “We’ll heed your warning. I wish you luck on your journey."

The Arkaiun horde began to sweep past them, before Lucian spun around. "Arkaiuns,” he called out, drawing their attention. “Why are there no women among you?"

They could almost feel the wave of grief hit them as it washed over the Arkaiuns. The elder sighed. "There was a woman in our village,” he said, his voice soft. “A handmaiden in the Temple of Lolth. She watched… she learned. She was very perceptive, and learned magic from studying the Crinti priestesses…they discovered her."

"They took them,” another man spoke, his voice ragged with rage.

The elder nodded. “They took them to the Temple of Loviatar… we could hear their screams for days. After the Crinti left…we abandoned our village, and traveled west for Halruaa.” He looked to the mountains in the distance. So far, yet so close, they sparkled with snow in the glittering Dambrathan sun. “…even a taste of freedom is worth sacrificing everything… may we cross paths once more, Halruaan.” With a kick, his horse was sent forward, and the Arkaiuns disappeared over the sandy hills.

Marcello was silent with contemplation before he exhaled. “…the Arkaiuns… they are not what I expected."

"You should be more cautious,” Lucian warned. “Your people… Halruaa is an isolationist country. They will not take well to uneducated Dambrathan refugees surging over their borders. They look different… act differently. The Halruaans will know in a single moment from where they hail. Their lives will be in danger."

"It was not always so.” Marcello looked towards the mountain’s border, his brows bumped together. “Theseus once said that Halruaa had been a safe haven for all who wished to learn magic and study under Mystra’s guidance… he always wanted Halruaa to return to its origins. He would sit and tell me all the ways he intended to open trade routes, all across Faerun.” He glanced over. “My people are not as arrogant as you may think. They took in your Mindulgulph, did they not? Our two people, they played games and shared a table and drank as one. Do you know what that means for our war..?"

"What?"

"Hope. Dambrath is now divided.. they are abusing their fodder. The loss of the Arkaiun loyalty will be devastating.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I just fear what change will do to people. It is not so widely accepted.”

Marcello’s lip twitched up at the corner and the blade at his hip was summoned outward. “Says the prince criminally hunted by his own uncle due to being a catalyst of change. Now I want you both to kneel. Now is as good a time as any to do this right.”

Lucian scowled and folded his arms in blatant defiance. “What for? I don’t just get on my knees for anyone, Marcello.”

“Kneel. For once don’t make this so complicated, you indignant brat. I’m trying to bestow a gift.”

Reluctantly, Lucian slowly lowered down onto his knees before the man, an ice blue gaze latched curiously to Marcello’s features. Aven was less of a pain to convince. He followed Lucian’s lead, kneeling beside the prince with his head bowed in twisting confusion. “What are you doing?” Aven asked.

Marcello didn’t answer. The blade twisted in his grasp until it pointed at the ground, the pommel level with his chest and grasped in both fists. He eyed the men before him with a strong gaze. “Prince Lucian Arceneaux of Aeliorn, do you swear to serve Halruaa with its best interest in mind? Do you swear to protect its people to the best of your ability? And do you swear to uphold its leadership in wake of Netyarch Marcello Silvercrest if anything were to befall him?”

Every word rang in Lucian’s skull as he watched the man looming above him. At first in confusion. Then shock. His heart kicked in his chest. It had to have been a joke, yet watching Marcello, his features never wavered. A mask of emotions clouded any inkling of intent. His initial instinct was to say no. Never would he so willingly plan for someone’s death, especially not Marcello’s, but after everything with the demonic payment, he understood why.

“…I do. I swear it.”

Marcello nodded firmly, lifting the blade up to touch down on either of Lucian’s shoulders as he would have knighted someone. “Then I deem you an honorary ally of Halruaa, set to be my first predecessor should I fall. Rise, Lucian Arceneaux. My brother in arms.”

Lucian did as he was asked, his words lodged at the back of his throat with a strangled tightness. And slowly, Marcello’s attention turned next to Aven. The man was a mess of nerves. Knelt before Marcello with uncertainty clawing at his gut. The tan of his skin was paled.

The blade returned to the position at Marcello’s chest and he inhaled. “Aven Kheistan, formerly known as the Beast Tamer, and official defender to Lucian Arceneaux. Do you swear to serve Halruaa and it’s people as you serve your lover? Uphold leadership and aid in command of its armies in wake of Marcello Silvercrest and at the side of Prince Lucian?”

Aven swallowed the lump in his throat and it splashed into his stomach like a rock. He brought his gaze up to meet Marcello’s and gave a faint nod. “I… swear it.”

Marcello touches the blade down to both of Aven’s shoulders. “Then rise as an honorary ally of Halruaa and one of its knights there to guide and defend its people should I fall. I see you both not as inferior, but as my equals.”

As both made it onto their feet, Lucian reached out to grasp Marcello’s shoulder firmly. “Then as your equal, allow me to make you a promise. You may never be my lord, Marcello, but I swear by it to protect you and your home. You have…” He hesitated and swept his gaze back towards Aven. “Inspired me to make some of my own changes back in Aeliorn.”

“I don’t intend to die yet, Lucian. Nor do I expect you to go making any hard decisions. This is simply a precaution to protect us both and to… set aside what happened. I’d like for our alliance to be more of a brotherhood. When a threat knocks on your door, myself and the armies of Halruaa will rise to your aid and vice versa.” His lip twitched up. “And of course, I would not mind Aven teaching my mages a thing or two about holding their own. He simply needs a proper title so as not to become the tail end of their jokes. I felt it best to leave that to you.”

Aven flustered, a hand raising to rub the back of his neck. “It’s really not necessary… But I appreciate it.”

“Of course it’s necessary, Aven. You live in a world where titles matter no matter how your friends see you. Whatever it is you may have with Lucian, if you are ever to be listened to, you have to accept what is bestowed upon you. Do not fear becoming what you hate, it simply isn’t possible.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Lucian had his gaze locked on Aven, as if thinking things over within his own head before he rolled a shoulder. “Besides, you cannot hide your excitement from me, Aven. Part of you does want it.”

Aven’s features twisted in horror. “Do you both get off on embarrassing me!? I’m sorry for not being used to any of this. It’s a lot to swallow.”

Lucian moved for his horse, beginning to pack his belongings into her saddle bag. “Oh please, I have every right to tease you now. Get used to it.”

“My, you two are cozy. How lonely you make me feel for having minimal romantic attachment to people,” Marcello purred. “Being me is quite terrible for relationships, I always intimidate or outshine my partners.”

“I can imagine.” Lucian swung up onto Soliel and drew the horse over for Marcello to join him. “I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of you being in a relationship. What is it you like?”

Marcello swung up behind Lucian. “What is it I like? As in people to bed?” He smirked behind the prince. “I’m not too terribly picky, man or woman, but nothing beats ravishing a man beneath me.”

“Then like Aven. Somewhat at least. I hardly doubt he cares the difference. I couldn’t ever sleep with a woman but… in general I find it takes a special person to catch my interest.”

Aside from them, Aven approached on Jorak, trying to ignore the details of their gossip as they departed from the bay.

Marcello snorted. “Not like Aven. He loved you emotionally long before you two screwed. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and has a faint heart. Theseus and Kendyll often joked I’d die alone because my mind was simply too strong for most people to keep up with.” The second he spoke, his mood withered. “…That’s enough of that.”

Lucian and Aven shared a brief look of knowing. “Of course. We should be quiet regardless, there’s no telling if we’ll run into more scouts.”