Celidon sniffed tentatively at Tahl's hand. He smelled strongly of magic, and a little of the strong-smelling liquid he wished Tristan drank less of. Sometimes he was forced to share the headache of the morning-after. He sighed and pulled his head back again, pressing himself against Bryar again. He wasn't sure he trusted the stranger. There seemed to be fewer trustworthy people around these days.

He whined under his breath, looking between Bryar and Tahl with a hurt expression. He was a cu-sith. He had an excellent sense of smell! And both the stranger and Bryar smelled very strongly of taverns. A cat could have found them, and everyone knew cats were useless. Celidon sighed pointedly, slipping past Bryar and back into the undergrowth.

He'd show the stranger just how far he was from camp!

Pausing, he looked back over his shoulder to check that they were following. They weren't. Celidon sighed again and backtracked. He stuck his head through the brambles to stare at them and then woofed quietly to get their attention. Hopefully Bryar, at least, would take the hint. The stranger was her responsibility.

They wound their way between the trees keeping the brook on their left. The trees seemed to recognise him and began to move, closing up behind Bryar and Tahl to hide their tracks and make them more difficult to follow. When he and Tristan had first arrived in the woods, Celidon had found the moving trees very troubling, but now he hardly batted an eye. He glanced back over his shoulder to see what the stranger made of them, his eyes smiling. He wagged his tail, and then set off again. He jumped a fallen tree and navigated his way around a large patch of thorns.

It was not a short walk.

They heard the sounds of the camp before they saw it. Tristan's followers were used to keeping quiet, but when you got that many faeries together in one place silence was impossible. They chatted and laughed softly, and camp monitors stood near the camp fires, using their magic to distribute the smoke more evenly so as not to betray their positions. It had become something of a well-oiled machine. Everyone had a job to do, and everyone did it.

Or...almost everyone.

Tristan's tent stood on the very edge of the camp's northern edge. Where the other residents had taken to painting their canvases, Tristan's had left his plain. Celidon led the way through the crowds. As they neared the tent a girl slipped out of Tristan's tent, a bundle of clothes in her arms and tiptoed away into the shadows. Celidon sighed. At least his boy would be alone.

"Woof," he told Bryar and Tahl, telling them to stay where they were and wait. He gave the stranger and good stare, and then disappeared through the tent flap.

He found Tristan on the other side. He was still on his bed, the blankets pulled up to his waist, one arm bent back behind his head. A half-empty bottle lay nearby. Celidon nosed at it disapprovingly and then sat down.

"I've found someone for you," he told his boy with his thoughts, wagging his tail. Tristan turned his head to look at him and perked an eyebrow.

"Bryar is here."
Tristan jumped to his feet, and snatched up his trousers from the floor. He pulled them on quickly and crossed the floor to the tent entrance. He didn't bother with a shirt. It was a warm evening. He saw her, and the young man with her. For the time-being he ignored the stranger, and focused on Bryar.

"I guess it's true what they say about pennies," he said, straightening up. Tristan grinned at her, a little of his old brightness lighting up the green of his eyes. He looked her up and down and laughed.

"You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards," he teased. "What have you been up to?"

He looked at Tahl, appraising him with a quick glance.

"Who's your friend?" Tristan asked Bryar, tipping his head in Tahl's direction. He held out his hand for the other man to take.

"I'm Tristan, it's good to meet you. You been tearing your hair out trying to keep this one out of trouble?"

Tristan