Bezel might have been glad to leave Savalt's wrecked apartment--except that he wasn't all that happy and he couldn't quite pick apart the reason why. Well, reasons. There were many thing happening now that could have dampened his non-existent mood to an even colder lump in his ribs. Mostly that he couldn't be happy or sad or bothered, but that wasn't a very entertaining answer and he was suffering from a very boring day.

So he tried to think of things that might have upset him if they could. Such as the saturnine way Mayvalt conducted herself. Bezel assumed she would have taken her chance to flee the apartment, but after shutting the door she'd lingered. She bowed her head and didn't flinch as the tips of her velvet antlers scratched into the cheap paint. She whispered softly to herself. Not so softly that Bezel could not hear--but enough so that he knew he was not meant to. And so he did not. He turned his golden eyes away, ignoring her as she pressed her flat palms against the imperfect wood and prayed. No, it wasn't that. Mayvalt's worries had never bothered Bezel before, and they didn't now.

So, it might have been the sickening iron scent in the air. Even though they'd sealed Savalt's apartment, the heavy stench of the carnage inside leaked into the packed hallway of the apartment complex. It clung to the dreary paint and pilling carpets. It seemed so obvious in the air, it couldn't have gone unnoticed. Especially to the sensitive-nosed Fauns. It was another question to toss at Wenroth, but not a reason bothersome enough to cause Bezel any discomfort.

So, might it have been something as simple as growing weary? Bezel was known for his habit of running away. He often retired to his office whenever the Fauns caused him too much trouble. Maybe that aching hollow thud in his chest was merely an instinct. One warning him to go back to the Meatpacking District before his wards stirred up anymore problems. Yes, maybe that was it. He was quickly tiring of Bed-Stuy, the low-street, and all of its occupants. He could walk away now, buying time with Mayvalt by telling her that he was going to investigate at Eden. If he even cared to redirect her at all.

He could wash his hands of all of it--and what could they do but mutter to themselves that Bezel had done nothing but uphold his reputation as a snake in the grass. They couldn't find fault in the ocean for sinking ships, or in the winds for tearing away the fragile wings of a beautiful butterfly. It was only his nature, one that he would always return to.

Bezel shook his head. Fine, he might as well offer Mayvalt a ride back home with him. "May-"

"Thank you, Ba'al." She whispered. Her fingers twitched against the door, as if her prayer had filled her skin with electricity. "For helping me, and Savalt."

Bezel froze. He ran his fingers through his oil-dark hair and winced to participate in the fanfare of fake emotions clouding the inside of his skull. Well, now this was going to be awkward. Maybe he should just leave on his own. Mayvalt could find her own way--and that would give him enough time to falsify some results from his goose chase.

Mayvalt crossed the hall to stand beside him. She'd wrapped her arms tight around her chest. Her doe-wide eyes were trained on the stained gray carpets. "I know it's not easy." She whimpered. Bezel tilted his head, mimicking confusion as blatantly as a dog so that she'd feel prompted into further explaining herself. What was easy or difficult to someone born to never feel the scratch of challenge? He was a creature beyond strife or suffering.

"I know that you think you can't care." Mayvalt said.

Bezel scoffed only to sting her, "you know that I can not care, Mayvalt. You were there when the Fauns stripped it from me. In fact, if I am to perfectly recall the past, you were the one who led them right to me."

Mayvalt stiffened. Her antlers sliced the air as her head snapped up to face him. Her cheeks had drained of their usual chestnut color. "Are you saying that I betrayed you, Ba'al? I was a child! And you left me--so that you could have a life with that bone-snatcher!" Her words flung from her before she could think better of them. They settled in the hall, as all-consuming as the stench of death. Her wide brown eyes blinked in shock. Her hands come up next, pressing tightly over her lips in remorse.

Bezel stared at her with his glittering golden cat eyes. "I remember," he said coldly, "and I remember that you and I were reunited when you brought the rangale to tear him and I apart, so perhaps reminiscing on the past isn't in anyone's best interest."

Mayvalt shook as the chills raced down her spine. From behind trembling fingers she whispered, "I didn't think that they'd-"

"Have him killed?" Bezel finished.

He didn't think it was necessary to hear her say it. He might have even preferred it so much that she didn't, he could dare to say he didn't want her to have to say it. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, ash left behind from the harsh words he'd spoken, and he knew how acidic the rot of it would have been to someone who could still taste. So it was better to swallow it himself. And yet, he could not stomach the vile retort spilling up from his chest. He spit it out at her, uncaring of the lashes it'd burrow into her skin.

"Well, I guess no one could have predicted what the Heimrians would do to someone they deemed different. Right, Mayvalt?"

She turned sheet-white. Her fingers sunk into her peach-toned frizz, where they gripped the base of her antlers and did not move. "I didn't-" she choked on her hollow words and fell into silence.

Bezel shoved his hands into his pockets and reclined his shoulders, trying to dissolve the look of his invisible tension. He shouldn't pick fights in public places--and anything within a mile radius of a Faun's flickering ear was public. If he had interest in continuing with her, he should at least take her to Eden, where no one was daring enough to eavesdrop. It was time to go home. None of this mattered--he was sick of pretending that it did.

He looked at her, hunched shoulders, and slumped back. Her pale fingers were clutching at the living bone from her skull, trembling over the velvet. He sighed in defeat, "stop that now." He ordered. Her arms fell slowly to her sides. She kicked at the pilling carpet with the toe of her wide leather boot to dispense the anxiety eating at the wires in her brain. "Go knock on his door, and make it loud like you mean it."

Her shoulders stiffened. She looked at Bezel with eyes full of disbelief. "You're still going to help me? You'll help me find Savalt--when I'm the reason you're always looking for h-him?"

Bezel shrugged. "What I know now, I knew this morning when you dragged me here. It will never change." He said, but it wasn't true. Something had changed, his mind had changed. No, quicker than that. It had snapped. A tide had gone back into the sea, when everyone had been expected it's landfall. He would finish this. Whatever it was. He'd help Mayvalt find the answers, even if they stung. So, that she'd know what it was to lose. So, she could have her heart carved out, too.

"Mayvalt, the door." He gestured and she surged forward on her leather platform boots. She wiped the last of her emotion from her face, donning a mask eerily similar to the one Bezel always wore. It was nothing. Apathy soaked skin. She balled up her fist and slammed it into the door across the hall. The wood shook in its frame. The bang echoed down the hall, only deafened by the spike of heartbeats that followed. It was the music of fear.

"Now, now, Mayvalt. We agreed you'd play good cop." Bezel sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose in mock irritation.

She shrugged, looking slightly sheepish beneath the teeth of her ruthlessness. Well, to Bezel. He was sure to anyone else passing by, she looked intent to kill--but she could never hide herself from him. It was in the corner of her eyes, a small glimmer of mischief in the oak-brown.

"I can play both cops, boss. You should make yourself a little scarce." She gestured with open palms, dragging from his slicked back midnight hair to his polished leather dress shoes. "You're just a bit much. Sorta cramping the vibe, y'know? Sap, I don't mean it personally. Hm, how can I say it--it's just that everyone hates you?"

"Of course," Bezel muttered blankly, "not personal at all."

Mayvalt shrugged. Bezel sighed, it was the last thing he did before fading into hollow smoke. Mayvalt popped him a thumbs up. Bezel almost rolled his eyes--but what would be the point if she couldn't see it. He wasn't actually annoyed, nor was he bothered by her antics, hurt by her past actions, insulted at her words, tired of helping her--he was nothing. Everything he did was just another illusion, strings in a web made by a spider who preferred to deter flies instead of catching them.

The door swung inwards, coming to a sudden snapping halt as the chain lock reached its full length. "Whaddya want?" The Faun inside barked. He had a voice as pleasant as rock salt.

"Wenroth," Mayvalt greeted coolly.

Bezel cocked his head at her. She was usually bubbles and sunrise-warmed clouds to everyone she came across. Even those she disliked. Or maybe she was only that way to Bezel, and he'd never cared to note it before. He shook his oil-dark head to earmark his useless thoughts. She was only playing bad cop, he shouldn't try so hard to understand every little emotional twinge she displayed. It was unnecessary.

"You haven't been coming by Eden lately."

"I paid my debt," He snarled. His eye fit in the crack of the door, scowling into the hall. His vengeful gaze raked over Mayvalt, hot enough to scorch her flesh beneath her leathers.

"Yes, six months ago. Congratulations by the way." Mayvalt nodded. She leaned forward, placing her palms against Wenroth's front door. She pressed into it, causing the chain to creak beneath her strength. "Are we not to your liking anymore? Why'd you stop coming by?" She pouted playfully, blinking her wide eyes in mock concern.

Bezel would have, if he could have, felt proud. She was a cat, perfectly poised over a squealing mouse. He blinked. That sounded familiar. He glanced over his shoulder, at Savalt's apartment door. He was missing something.

"Phrionnsa," Wenroth spat. Bezel tilted his head at the old curse. It was Heimrian, from the old island. The Faun had taken it from the stories they'd been told from the travelers. He didn't know how it applied here, maybe Mayvalt understood his joke better. She laughed, it spilled from the smile splitting her face.

"Sap, you're funny." She smirked. "Now, while I'm still in this good mood--you should start behaving."

Wenroth huffed, filling the small doorway with the acid from his breath. "I have nothing to say to his maggot."

"Then, would you prefer to speak to our Prince yourself?" Mayvalt asked.

She tapped her chin with the tip of her pointer finger, as if puzzling some sort of difficult question. Bezel could have rolled his eyes if she'd looked at him. She played with her food too much. He might have stepped from the shadows now, just to spoil her surprise, but he stayed quietly and contently concealed.

Wenroth's door creaked as it inched forward, tightening the gap he'd given into his apartment. Mayvalt rolled forward on her heels, shoving her shoulder against the wood before he could completely shut her out. The door whimpered as Mayvalt forced it back. Wenroth hissed, freeing his agitation with his tongue. "The Third Prince--the two-time traitor--has no right to us any longer!"

Bezel flicked his tongue across his fang-like teeth. Two-time? What had he done now?

"Is that what's happened? They're all fleeing on their contracts?" Mayvalt snapped, "because of the Demon-Born war? Sap, why now? The Prince paid for his sin centuries ago."

"Sap, sap, sap!" Wenroth barked. "You have no right to our words, Phrionnsa! You're no Faun--if only your poor parents could see what became of you, then they'd know what a waste it was to bestow you with the great Volt name!"

Mayvalt froze. Her cheeks paled, turning silver as moonlight. "V-valt," she winced.

Wenroth laughed from his perch beyond the door. "Ah, so the little maggot even knows grammatical gender--cling to our tradition as hard as you can, it will never make you one of us."

Mayvalt growled, flashing the pearl white teeth behind her tulip red lips. "I agree. I'll never be a coward like the rest of you. The boss protected you! He brought you here! And you'd abandon him? You're pathetic."

"He abandoned us!" Wenroth scowled. "He always has, and he always will."

Bezel heard the footsteps before the Faun spoke. They had a voice as timid as cattails in the breeze, and Bezel had to lean forward on his toes to hear them. "W-Wenroth? Who's at the door?"

Wenroth sucked in a deep breath of surprise. "It's no one! Go back to bed, Luvolt." He turned his lips back into the crack in the door. "Leave, Phrionnsa."

Mayvalt shoved her boot into the doorway, uncaring as Wenroth slammed the wood slab into her false foot. He growled in frustered. Mayvalt smirked. "I'm not done yet."

Bezel could see the cogs turning in her mind. Wenroth was nothing but a rotten tree stump, as she'd put it, and her attentions would be better turned to a new target. Mayvalt cocked her head. Her eyebrows creased over her wide headlight bright eyes.

"Lu. . ." she murmured. Her mouth popped open in familiarity. Suddenly, Bezel was nearly grateful that Mayvalt spent so much time chattering on the floor of Eden. "Luvelt?" She called.

Wenroth scoffed, the door creaked as he pushed on it again. Mayvalt pushed back, bracing her forearms against the wood. She glanced over her shoulder, somehow finding Bezel even when he was nothing but fog. He sighed his understanding and slid in beside her, forcing the door back. The chain groaned, links tore. Wenroth gasped. Bezel stopped pushing, mostly because Mayvalt had fixed him with a glare.

"Hey, Luvelt, right?" She called again.

The apartment was silent. Bezel wondered if they'd slipped out the window.

"Luvelt?" Mayvalt asked.

"Y-yes," came the weak half-bleat.

"Enough! Go back to bed, Luvolt! Right now!" Wenroth snarled.

"Don't listen to him, Luvelt!" Mayvalt snapped back. "He's an old goat."

"Wenroth, what's going on?" Luvelt murmured from inside of the apartment. "Is it Mayvalt? Let her in--we work together. She's really not as bad as the rangale say."

Bezel felt her stiffen beside him. She winced, turning her eyes down against the stained hallway carpet. "I guess everyone hates me, too, boss." She murmured. She blew out a small puff from her nose to laugh, but she didn't seem to find her joke too funny.

"Hush, Luvolt!" Wenroth barked. "Don't speak ill of the rangale in the presence of a lowly outsider."

"I-is it. . .about S-Sa-" Luvelt whimpered.

The door fell back into the full length of chain. Mayvalt stumbled forward into it, wincing as the links groaned. Wenroth's heavy foot falls echoed deeper into the apartment.

"Hey! Wenroth!" Mayvalt yelled, she pounded her fists against the door. "Come back here right now! We weren't done talking!" She glanced over her shoulder, into the empty hall. "B-boss, please, help me!"

Bezel flung his heel forward, snapping the chain beneath the force of his kick. The door flew inward, and so did Mayvalt. She gasped, bringing her hands up over her eyes to block out the debris from the blow-up. The old wood slammed against the wall, shattering in a puff of sawdust. Bezel snatched her by the shoulder, keeping her from spilling into the shards of broken door littering the entryway of the small apartment.

"Six Princes!" Wenroth cursed, flinging up his arms to cover his face from the commotion. "What do you think you're doing?" Luvelt collapsed, dropping to their knees in the middle of the hall.

Mayvalt sunk against the empty door frame, panting for each breath. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes glazed--except for the small pits in the middle. Which were clear, and full of fear. They rolled over the apartment--looking for him. "Ba'al," she whispered.

Wenroth choked, sputtering as he was hauled to his feet. He pulled with clammy fingers at the invisible hands wrapped around his throat. Bezel pushed him back, slamming him against the wall as insignificantly as he had the door. Wenroth coughed, he clawed at the fabric of his shirt where Bezel had grabbed it. The neckline was twisting, a rope over the neck of a bucking stallion.

"Boss!" Mayvalt yelled. She pushed off the doorframe, rushing to Wenroth's side. Her hands found him flawlessly, they always did. Even when he was less than smoke. Her shaking fingers sunk into the slick fabric of his suit, pressing into his arm with bone-shattering strength. "Don't kill him!"

Was that his legacy? A killer, a coward, a runner, a traitor. Bezel loosened his hold on the magic living in his skin. He shook it off as easily as rain, watching it slip down the length of him to shatter against the carpet. He looked at her, pale and trembling, and did not offer her any glimmer of humanity in his golden cat eyes. He wasn't in the mood to play pretend.

"M-my m-m-my Pr-Pr-"

"Save it, Wenroth." Bezel snarled. Mayvalt's fingers might have been warm against his unfeeling flesh, but there was much more than just fabric keeping them apart. He released the sputtering fish, just to stop feeling the water around his line. He shook free from her touch and crossed his arms over his still chest.

Mayvalt went to him where he fell. She pulled at the stretched neck of his dirty old shirt, ignoring his weak hands as they slapped at her wrists. "That's gonna bruise." She muttered sourly. She glared at Bezel, and he didn't know why. Why she'd asked for his help, why it wasn't good enough, why anyone cared what happened to the sniveling Faun on the floor.

Bezel lowered himself to the whimpering man on the floor, perching his arms across the tops of his knees. "I remember you." The Faun flinched. He grasped at his red throat, his eyes fell to the ground and did not waver again. "You have horns the color of spoiled egg shells."

Mayvalt's gaze flickered to the top of the Faun's graying hair--as if she could peak beneath the blanket of Bezel's charms. It was impossible, of course. Not even Bezel could see something once he'd decided it was to be gone. His fingers slowly went to them, wrapping around something that no one could see.

"You speak as if you're rangale." Bezel said cooly. "Well, are you?"

Wenroth pulled his lips back, revealing rotten fangs. "I am."

Bezel struck quicker than a viper, his fingers sunk past the fragile walls of reality to seize the horns beneath his protection. He wrapped his grip over the keratin and pushed, snapping Wenroth's head back against the hall with a heavy thump. Wenroth paled, and so did Mayvalt. Bezel could hear whimpering from down the hall, where Luvelt was still crumpled on the floor. "Rangale don't believe in covering their marks. So, what does that make you now? Rangale, or just another coward?"

"At least I'm not a fly pretending to be above the filth." Wenroth snarled.

Bezel shrugged, "what else are wings for?"

This was pointless. Wenroth was never going to tell them anything. Bezel thought he could shake it from him, but he was only fueling Wenroth's determination. Mayvalt had likened him to silk strings the last time they'd spoken. She'd been right to judge him that way--but she had been wrong about the strength of silk.

Mayvalt was not usually wrong. She'd been right to bring them here. Something was strange about the pair. Bezel blinked, shaking his head with a silent scoff. It was obvious. If one was no help, it was better to move on.

He released Wenroth's prongs and stood to his full height. He rolled his shoulders, dropping his agitation as easily as he had his second magical skin. It was easy to halt his anger, when it had never been real. He strolled down the hall, encroaching on the sound of pitiful sobs.

"Ba'al," Mayvalt warned, "that's enough."

"How could it have been enough when we haven't found what we need?" Bezel asked. He came to a stop next to the curled body on the carpet, staring down at it as apathetically as one might gaze upon a rat in the street.

"Boss." Mayvalt's hand wrapped around his wrist, trying to dislodge him from his set course. It was hopeless, a hummingbird could never disway a cyclone. It didn't matter how hard she beat her wings.

Bezel's ears twitched to the sound behind him. Wenroth fell into the wall as he climbed to his feet, his heart pounded as loudly as cannonfire. Bezel smirked in mock amusement. "Your guest is leaving, Mayvalt. You should go get him."

"What?" She balked. Bezel didn't need to look behind himself to know he was right. The sound of booming footfall and Mayvalt's colorful curse told him that he was right. "Princes! I'll get him! Don't do anything, boss! I mean it!" She spun on her heels, dashing out of the wrecked apartment.

Bezel watched the Faun on the floor curl into a smaller ball with cold detachment. "Why she sees me as such an obedient little lap dog, I don't know." He said. Luvelt didn't reply. If not for the music of their rapid heart--Bezel might have believed them to be asleep.

"I've heard that mother deer leave their young in tall grass patches. The fawn curls up, real small, and stays frozen all day. Just waiting for their mother to come back for them." Bezel said.

Luvelt's arms twitched as they tightened around their chest. Well, it was something.

"I wonder--what would happen if their mother never returned? How long would the fawn lay there, until days had passed? Until it began to starve? When would it get up on its trembling legs and go out--would it ever?" He thought of a young child with wide brown eyes, marked by small nubs sprouting from messy dark hair. "What if the little deer did venture out, only to encounter the very thing that had snapped up its mother?"

Luvelt whimpered, and Bezel sighed. He didn't know why. Mayvalt wasn't here to prod at him to act more natural. It had been nearly reflexive, except that Bezel could still taste the tension in his atrophied muscles from the effort of his action. "I'll admit, back when I could hate things, I very much hated you." He shook his head theatrically, "not you you--all of you. Fauns. I can't say it's completely your fault. It's just your nature to be. . . how can I say it politely? Pathetic? No, sorry that's not what I mean. Ah, yes, you're cowards!"

Luvelt stiffened on the floor. They sniffled, a replacement to their sobs from earlier. "W-w. . ." Luvelt whispered against the carpet. "What. . . changed?"

"I lost." Bezel shrugged.

He should have been glad that his punishment had taken the ache from him. Except that he'd give anything to feel the weight of his loss, even if it would be the thing to tear him apart. It welled up, deep in the pit of his ribs, and then pittered out before he could even guess what it was meant to be. As pathetic as a candle in the midst of a thunderstorm--extinguished by forces he could never hope to overcome.

"What, they don't teach the shackling of the Fly Lord in school anymore?"

Luvelt shook their head, ruffling their mossy green hair into even more of a mess. Slowly, they unfurled their face from the pit they'd folded themselves up into. Bezel met their waterlogged eyes, recognizing the familiar bark-brown of them. "They did." Luvelt nodded. "And they mentioned her--sap, everyone knows her. Phrionnsa."

Bezel glanced over his shoulder. He smiled, a hollow mask that rolled off the surface of his skin. "The princess."

Luvelt nodded slowly, "they say she came before."

"She did." Bezel agreed.

"So, what changed?" The Faun asked again.

"She was braver than all the rest." Bezel admitted. "She knew what was right--even when it was hard. No, even when it was the hardest thing in the world." His throat was hollow. He'd have swallowed glass to make those words hurt how he knew they were suppose to. It'd been her sense of right and wrong that had seen Bezel's heart burned--and then cut from his chest.

Luvelt set their chin on their knees, sitting in a humble pose on the carpet. It'd been the only thing they could muster up to pull themself off of laying on the floor. It reminded Bezel of a child kneeling before their teacher. "I. . . want to do the right thing." They pulled their legs in tight beneath the embrace of slender arms.

"Its only us now, Luvelt." Bezel said.

Luvelt flinched, turning a crimson red in the peaks of their ears. Bezel wracked his mind, and couldn't think of anything to justify the alarm. He'd used the right name, he was sure of it. Or, maybe Luvelt was just scared to be alone with the Third Prince. He was an imposing figure--and he'd bashed in their door.

"P-Prince. . ." Luvelt whimpered. "Do you. . .remember all the marks you take?"

Bezel could have listed them. He could have filled a book with everything that he had hidden, but he knew that Luvelt was looking for something else. No one could ever just clearly say what they meant. They always left Bezel to pick through their tangled riddles. "They reminded me of nails."

Luvelt blinked. "What, sir?"

"Your horns." He said, "They stuck so straight. And they looked so sharp. They were black, with ridges peeking from your hair--but it wasn't green back then."

Luvelt smiled softly. "Thank you, sir."

He nodded his stiff acknowledgement. "Will you help us, Luvelt?"

They grew still again. It didn't take much more than his stunted intuition to see he'd ruined things. Bezel dragged his fingers through his hair to disperse the sense of frustration to his one-Faun audience. Mayvalt said it soothed people to know that he felt things--even the bad things--and even if it was all a lie.

"The rangale say you're a traitor," Luvelt murmured into their knees, "that you've never had our interest at heart."

"That's true." Bezel agreed. "I've only ever had one thing in my heart--and they took it from me."

"Then why, sir? Why do you help?" Luvelt asked. Their voice was smaller than raindrops, and just as soft against his skin.

Bezel could have recounted the catch of his deal. The rangale had taken everything from him--but they'd given him something else in return. They'd painted it as mercy. He'd taken it as payment. Yet it was only an assurance, one meant to keep him from biting the hand that'd slapped him, and then fed him.

They'd given him a raft in his turbulently still waters. A way to make his cold heart stir. If he could return to his dead lover's side--it would be as warm as living. Until the day that they were torn apart again, and they would be. It was the purpose of a Heimrian to die. How could he ever do anything but Satyrian bidding when they held his only hope in their palms?

He shrugged, "I guess I don't really have a reason--just an abundance of time which I'm trying to kill somehow."

"I see." Luvelt nodded slowly. They creased up the lines of their eyebrows, as if trying to decipher the rhymes behind Bezel's words. When it seemed they could not, their oak-brown eyes darted into the hall. When it fell silent between them, which it had now, Bezel could hear the symphony of racing heartbeats behind each door. "My loyalty lies with the Faun, sir. I'll do what's necessary to protect them."

"Even if it's hard?" Bezel asked.

Luvelt flinched, they tucked their face back into the crook of their elbow and inhaled sharply through their nose. "Yes, sir. Even when it's the most difficult thing to do."

Bezel stared at the trembling shape on the floor. He could grasp them by their nail-like horns and force the words he needed. Mayvalt was busy now, not that she'd ever have the power to stop him. He ran his fingers over his face, soothing away his blank expression.

"Okay." He surrendered. "I understand. I'll take Mayvalt, we'll go back to Eden."

Luvelt snapped stiff, their cheeks drained of color and their eyes flushed with tears. "Y-you're just. . . letting me go?"

Bezel tilted his head, "We only came to ask questions, if you have nothing to say then I have no use for you."

He glanced behind him, at the cracked door. Maybe if he was able, he would have felt embarrassed for breaking it down. Maybe he'd been right to come in when he did--he didn't know. He'd ask Mayvalt later.

"Do you have some other place to stay? I can keep Wenroth from coming back here--I could move you somewhere better."

"I think . . . I'd just like to sit here a little longer." Luvelt murmured.

He wondered how long Luvelt would wait in the grass.

14 | Everyone Hates Bezel

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