Pain. A state of being. A mental response to overwhelming physical stress. A bottomless, steep-sided pit from which salvation is never assured and capitulation is inevitable. The herald of the beginning of the end of all things. Bread. It holds many names, myriad justifications, and an infinite number of lessons to teach. To conclude, pain is not fun, and as Alter struggled his way off Tarikell's back he could also conclude that he was no masochist.

  The thrill and exhilaration of speed and the whistling wind had lasted about an hour. The excitement of riding a horse through open country almost made it to two. The naive self-congratulation of ‘Hey I’m adapting to life in the saddle really well!’ ended the moment they stopped for lunch. Now as they dismounted with the sun sitting heavily on the western horizon the idea that legs were supposed to be flexible seemed an almost alien concept. The day itself had been largely uneventful. They had been well advised to quell any hopes of immediately catching up to their targets on the road, but that hadn’t stopped the little sparks of possibility from rooting in their minds as the journey began. Alas, to no one's surprise, the advice proved correct as the only travellers they encountered were farmers carts or groups of walking peasants that vacated the road the moment they made eye contact. A number of small settlements had been passed, ranging from small agricultural communes to more established villages with basic wooden walls. A couple of times they stopped to make queries to the stationed guards in their simple leathers and basic equipment. However, the answer was always the same. No trade caravans or supply convoys had passed them today. Move along.

  Were they on foot, Alter would’ve pushed onward for another hour yet. But Farfield had advised an earlier break from the road in order to give the horses enough rest to maintain the pace. Trusting the knowledge of the youth, a call to find shelter for the coming night was given. A sizable clearing at the side of the road gave them ample space to rest amongst the thick tangle of trees they had been riding through. From the markings on the ground and the remnants of past fires, this was a well-established stopping point. One by one the men levered themselves from their mounts with varying levels of discomfort. The horses were led to one corner of the clearing where a much healthier looking Farfield had placed several bags of feed. Once the sound of clattering hooves left their ears, the tempting babble of a nearby stream caused the young man to produce a bucket and go charging off in search of the fresh, cool water.

  “He’s a good kid.” Walross remarked as they watched him disappear into the treeline. “Eager and efficient, well trained and well disciplined. We could do a lot worse.”

  “Quite right.” Alter agreed as he massaged his thighs. “Could you imagine if we’d been sent out without anyone to help us care for the horses? It’d be a horror show.”

  “We should try not to take too much advantage of his sincerity though. One of us should offer to help him when he gets back. Or three of us.” Boozehound commented from where he lay on the floor nearby.

  “But not you?” Riptide replied cheekily, gently poking one of the man’s legs with his foot.

  “Eight horses is a bit much for one person, I think. Alright, any volunteers?” Alter asked.

  “The younglings, they’ve got energy to burn.” Walross gestured broadly towards Pavejack and Vangroover.

  “We’re all helping him.” Riptide corrected him firmly. “We need all the experience we can get, and it’ll help us to further strengthen our bonds with our new friends.”

  A murmur of reluctant agreement rose in response and when a few minutes later Farfield emerged with his bucket filled to the brim all eight men ambled their way over to request instructions. With a mixture of surprise and flatteredness at their willingness to help, Farfield immediately rattled off a list of instructions for caring for a horse after a long ride. Without waiting to see if they understood he raced off again to bring more water, leaving more than one unfinished question lingering on the lips of those left behind. Uncertainty aside, the men set to work with zeal as cloths were produced from pre-packed saddlebags and each man set to rubbing their horse down. Time passed, Farfield continued his water delivery service, handing out tips and advice during his fleeting visits. By the time the sun had fully sunk out of view and the light of the newly lit fire became the dominant source, Alter was the only man still hard at work. Tarikell had a substantially larger surface area than the rest of her kind, but in all fairness Alter was enjoying the simplicity of such a repetitive task. Eventually however, there was no more to do and he was relinquished of his ostling duties. He himself had built up quite a sweat, as such the heat of the fire was unappealing to him. A comfortable log a short distance away made a much more pleasant seat, where he could bask in the cool of the evening and enjoy what food he had in peace. A peace which didn’t last as long as he would have liked.

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  “Time for another unlicensed therapy session with your favourite Belgian second-in-command” Riptide announced cheerfully as he planted himself on the log next to him.

  “Ooh, lucky me.” Alter joked as he shifted to make more room. “Same as last time?”

  Riptide nodded. “What do you want first? The list?”

  “Works for me. Starting with our local fresh convert.” Alter stole a glance over to the fire where the rest of the squad was happily distracted by asking Farfield twenty questions every three seconds.

  “Boozehound. Marcus worries me, man. He’s changing so quickly. Too quickly. The moment this religious stuff got in his head he threw all his critical thinking to the wind. To be fair, he’s keeping it to himself for now. But I don’t think that’ll last too much longer.” Riptide shifted uneasily as he spoke, not enjoying the light he was painting his friend in.

  “We need to make sure his new viewpoint doesn’t compromise what we’re doing. His duties as our medic should help with that. I’ll talk to him if I think he’s muddying the waters too much.”

  “Right. Moving on to Boats, he’s worrying me in a different way, actually.”

  “You mean the fact that he’s advocating for violence whenever the option presents itself?”

  “Yeah. We both know he has a nasty side but he always kept it on a tight leash. It’s like being here is an excuse to loosen his grip on that emotion.”

  “You think he might go too far?” Alter asked quickly.

  “I don’t know. Maybe? Another thing to watch out for, I guess.” Riptide kicked at the floor a couple of times, a hint of frustration in his voice.

  “Pavejack. Assessment?” Alter moved the conversation on.

  “All told, pretty good. He’s stabilising well, and he’s sleeping through the night instead of waking up half a dozen times. Nothing else to report, thank goodness. Moving on, Peter is Peter and honestly, he’s been surprisingly calm. He still hates being here, and he still won’t show that to you unasked. But he’s not trying to sabotage our efforts either.”

  “Then I have no complaints.”

  “Whim is happy, I’m not worried about him... Vangroover creeps me out a little, if I’m being honest.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s like he’s always judging me. Judging all of us. I keep catching him watching everyone out of the corner of my eye, little gestures and responses, silent words on barely moving lips. Like he’s keeping score in a game that I can’t figure out the rules for.”

  Alter made a thoughtful noise, his memory reaching back to the brief conversation they’d shared back in the migrant camp. “I think there’s something we don’t know about him, a hidden history of sorts.”

  “Yeah? Reckon he’s some sort of hidden Rambo character?” Riptide asked curiously.

  “Nothing like that, but he spoke as if he knew military life despite his age. Something to keep in the back of your mind if he starts opening up a little more.”

  “Right. As for me, I’m doing alright. I think I’ve calmed down a little since we last did this. The whole ‘responsibility’ thing is heavier than I thought it would be, though. Knowing that it’s only going to get heavier scares me a little. Scares me a lot.” Riptide’s eyes sank to the floor.

  “I agree. But you’re doing very well, everyone believes that. Keep your head up, mm?”

  A moment of silence was shared. “Thanks.” Riptide spoke softly. “And you?”

  “Still deciding. On one hand I kind of wish I had a smaller horse. On the other, having a bigger horse is badass.” Alter spoke resolutely.

  Riptide let out a short burst of laughter, shaking him loose from his self-imposed melancholy. Alter grinned in response.

  “Serious answer, I think I’m adapting well to this new life. You know me, home is where I slept last night and all that. We’ve got a solid foundation to build on, allies to lean on. We’ve got clues, paths, avenues of exploration available to us. We are learning, we are growing. We’ll make it, whatever ‘it’ may be.”

  “That’s an awful lot of we’s in the segment about you. But I’m happy to call that a decent frame of mind. That’s the lot, unless you want to add anyone new to our little roster?” Riptide asked searchingly.

  “Not unless you want us to count the horses. In which case Tarikell is the best one and I will stand no arguments.”

  “Not biased at all. Any which way, that’s enough lurking in the periphery. We should rejoin the others.” Riptide stood.

  “Fine.” Alter followed suit, he’d cooled down enough to stand being nearer to the flames.

  The pair found places to sit in the wider circle as the fire blazed merrily against the darkening world. Laughter and conversation chased the shadows far away. Another night in the Elsewhere. Another sleep towards the rapidly approaching future.