He’s about ready to call it a day.

The marrow of his bones aches with fatigue and the prominent five o’clock shadow on his face is raspy on his palms as he scrubs them over his cheeks and chin. He’s already pining hard for the dulling hum of liquor in his veins and the small comfort he could afford to steal from his roommate’s quirky smiles. But it’s still late afternoon at best and he’s only made it halfway through the population of camp. That leaves only a quarter of a million bedraggled, mangey and half-starved outlaws left to tend before he can head for home. Or so it feels at least.

Truth be told, he could go any time of his choice. He’s free to cross the boundaries in and out of this forest, as well as the castle walls. It’s not his face the usurper kingsmen seek. He holds no fealty to either party and couldn’t give a damn about the political upheavals and schemes being bandied between the boy kings. It doesn’t make a bit of difference to him. Death pays no heed to the man made constructs of good and evil and comes for both without bias. It is the great equalizer and so Kane, being the best at his job, picks no side along with it.

He exhausts his magic on these fairies the same as he’s done for the opposers. Some merely have bangs and scraps which can easily be erased. Some are too far gone, swimming in pools of grey only Kane can see and he sits with them for long hours, does what he can to steal away their pain and ease the burden of waiting to end. And then, when their bodies are tired and can take no more, his grin is the familiar one to greet them on the other side of the veil. It’s less daunting, facing an afterlife, when there’s a recognizable guide to crack a joke at your expense.
But it taxes him, the distrust and anguish he can’t always quell weighing him down and bleeding some of the resolve that filled him at the start of the day. His eyes are a tad more shadowed, the green luster a bit dimmer despite the garish afternoon sun. The grin is slower to etch it’s lines across his face and his gait has lost just a little of it’s characteristic swagger.

He needs a vacation. Somewhere beyond the overwhelmingly grey scent of dying, where fairies know nothing of his work and even less of the mask he wears to accomplishment. Somewhere where the only exchanges he has aren’t hurried pleas for a final release or accusations of being a scoundrel or demon. Where he feels no obligation to serve any force or being beyond his own self-serving hedonistic desires. He’s not sure such a place exists. But maybe he’ll take Tovah and his fox and they’ll pick a direction and go and follow the sky out until their feet find sand they don’t remember. It’s a pretty fancy at least.

For the present, he’s just desperate for a stolen moment of shade, and spying a clearing in the undergrowth, tromps over past the gaggle of army recruits, passing a wave to one or two he’s recently healed. It’s somewhat irritating seeing them playing with sharp objects again so soon, but he can only heal bodies, not stupid.

He comes upon a downed tree, wide enough around to provide the perfect lean for a weary back and with a huff, he takes full advantage. The flask at his hip is disappointingly low on libations, but he spins the top off and draws from it what he can with a long sigh. He wonders if his boss would deem it against regulations to just take a couple of stiffs over to the RBR in one trip. It’d cut at least the last hour out of his day.

It’s about then he catches a shuffle of movement from his peripheral and sputters through the swig he’s just inhaled in surprise.

”Oh shit, dude,” he coughs, pounding a fist to his chest as the whiskey burn on his windpipe blurs his vision. ”I didn’t see you there, my bad.”

Kane hacks a few more times, ridding his lungs of the rest of any unwanted liquid, and sidles over to where the younger man sits, folded over on himself. The kid looks for all the world like someone just ran over his dog and though he’s not triggering any alarm bells in Kane’s subconscious, he’s wondering why the boy is so decidedly alone out here. Tristan’s entire rebellion relies on it’s strength of numbers and never presenting an opportunity for capture. And while there’s rumors of the trees acting as border guard, it’s risking lingers too far from the safety of the army’s eye.

He slides down the tree to squat next to the red-haired fairy. ”Would have offered you some if I’d known you were there. It’s a bit warm, but…” He tips the flash back and forth, making the last remaining drink liquor splash enticingly inside and waves it over within the boy’s reach. ”When in Rome, am I right? Kane grins and settles back on his heels. It’s a comfortable enough place for a brief respite and something’s chewing at his gut, telling him not to abandon this kid so quickly.

”So why the long face, brother? You ain’t one of the ones dying. Not yet, anyway.”