The Fires of Summer (first draft)

"What the hell was that?"

They don't have to wait very long for the others, and when they arrive, Kallisto is immediately grabbing Axel's shoulders and looking the man straight in the eye. Axel stares at him with that smile on his face again. "Some loser said something about Haley. Who would I be to ignore something like that?"

"A man still at the ball," Kallisto answers with a deep frown. "We've spoken about this. Keaberos, we've spoken about it, right?"

Keaberos just stares at them. "I'm not getting involved. As far as I'm concerned, we need to get out of here, before those guards start spreading the news."

"Yeah. Let's go," Smock agrees, not keen on seeing people fight.

"What about our stuff?" Axel asks. "And the keys to the hotel?"

"Fuck," Kallisto groans. "Let's go grab that, and then let's go."

They make their way through the quiet streets towards the hotel, and together they head upstairs to grab their things. Smock gets changed quickly, putting her dress away in the bag it'd come in, knowing it'll only get dirty and get in the way, and both of those things are the opposite of ideal. She feels strange in her regular clothes again, especially with how light they feel compared to the dress, which weighs heavy in her hand.

Everyone regroups outside. Axel takes a quick head count, then they proceed out and into the blood forest that serves as a great, deadly wall to Gore.

The blood forest is terrifying at night. Everything seems more alive but also more dead, with the darkness and the silence unsettling, the odd sound of footsteps and something following them filling Smock with unease, and slight fear. She doesn't particularly like the idea of getting devoured by some beast out here, but as she remembers the wound on her shoulder, which still hurts, she figures that everything within a mile of them already has her scent, and is thinking about how nice a meal would be right now.

And sure enough, as they're walking, they find themselves with company.

A creature emerges from behind a tree, illuminated only by the light from Julien's lantern. It rises to its full height, feet above the tallest of them, and opens a mouth that seems to be empty. Its face has no eyes, and its entire body is skeletal in how thin it is, bones and joints all easily visible. It has more limbs than any regular creature, and in fact is quite insectoid in its appearance, with clear intentions to cause them harm.

That is, until an arrow pierces through its head.

Blood splatters on the ground and onto the leaves beside them, colouring them black, though she can't tell if it's from the lack of light or if that's just its natural colour. The creature crumbles to the ground, its limbs still twitching as though it's still trying to get to them, even in death. Smock holds her breath as she looks in the direction of the arrow.

A large man stands beyond the bushes, a bow in hand. His expression and facial features are too hard to make out in the darkness, but he is well-built with muscle, especially in his arms. He makes a gesture that Rabia seems to recognise, and she halts the group before they can start moving again.

"Other orcs," she says quietly, though there's a hint of excitement in her voice. "He is gesturing for others to lower their weapons."

The man approaches them, and now Smock can properly see him. He's got large tusks sticking out of his lower lip, and dark red skin, though you can only see the colour if you strain thanks to the moonlight. His skin is striped with lighter patterns, and his eyes glimmer blue. "What are you doing travelling through the blood forest at night?"

Axel steps forwards, making himself known as the leader of the bunch. "We got into some trouble at the ball. We're no friends of the Sanguises."

"Ah, the ball," the man nods, "we've had to save a few people coming through because of that. You are idiots."

Axel smiles, clearly liking this guy. "I know, but if we stayed, the guards would have us, and I'd rather risk the forest."

"You'd best come with me," the orc tells them, "or you're going to get eaten alive in here."

With no other option presented to them, Axel leads them off the path. They follow the orc to where there's a row of more orcs in the trees, about five of them with bows. They surround the group protectively, on alert for any other creatures that feel like jumping out of nowhere at them, but none come, perhaps sensing that it's a fight they won't win.

They enter into a camp protected with a palisade made of stakes and a number of chevaux de frise that sit outside. Some of the walls are scratched as though they've come under attack, but are still standing tall. Inside, there is a lit fire pit in the middle of a collection of tents and teepees, but the wall extends further, surely to other parts of land, like where their tree sits, and where they prepare their food, and where they eat it, and where they train, and all the other places they need the safety for. Immediately they tend to Smock's wound, cleaning and dressing it and then wrapping it, and she feels relieved at the pressure once the pain settles. The orc that had saved them tells some others to prepare four tents, and then sits beside the fire, gesturing for them to join him.

Smock sits beside Axel, trying to avert her eyes from the flames. The logs beneath them are covered by rugs to soften where they sit. The orc watches them, then speaks when they're all settled. "My name is Burak, who are all of you?"

They introduce themselves one by one to Burak, listening as the others set up new tents.

"It's nice to meet you all. How have you found the ball?" he asks, poking the fire with a stick to jostle it more into action.

"It was good until Axel decided to get into a fight," Kallisto seems unamused. Smock has no doubt he was about to get into something more than flirtatious before they had to leave.

"Yes, though I am a little happy it is over," Rabia says, her red eyes staring into the flame.

"Why? Is something wrong?" Keaberos asks, leaning forwards with concern.

Rabia frowns a little. "Most people were nice, but some said some things, because I am an orc, and because I speak differently. It was only a couple things, and I stood up for myself and for orcs, but it was still cruel."

Burak seems equally as worried. "Were there no other orcs there? They should have been there to support you."

"Only one," she answers. Smock remembers the man, an especially adorned orc dressed in a formal suit. "But he was racist, too. He turned his back to our people for the rich life, and said bad things about other orcs."

Burak grimaces. "We know of him. His name is Nikolaos, he's buddy-buddy with the King. It's no problem if he does not wish to be a part of our culture or our tribes, even to take another name, but turning against us and being so cruel to our people is a step that he should never have taken."

"They see him as their exception," Rabia sounds hurt, her eyes facing downwards and a frown on her lips. "Yet they make no effort to see we are all kind people."

"The King has eyes for him, too," Smock says, the pieces in her mind coming together. It suddenly makes a lot of sense that she'd seen Corvus staring at the man. Everyone seems a little taken aback, though likely more by the relation than the King liking men.

"Perhaps he is one of those with an orc fetish," Rabia speaks the words like she's unwell. Smock doesn't blame her.

Grey examines her nails. "So he can make laws against ómoioi but he can break them?"

There's a bitter laughter from everyone, before Ophelia purses her lips. "He had a wife, what was that all about?"

"My mother was ómoia," Axel tells them, "and the marriage was for power rather than love."

Smock recalls quickly the meanings of the words - ómoios and ómoia are words used to describe being attracted to the same gender, with the latter being the feminine. On Pirate Island, they don't use terms so much as the rest of Aldelis, considering to most people they don't really care enough to use anything, therefore influencing the culture about it.

"Sounds miserable," Grey sighs.

"I'm more astounded they managed seven kids," Axel laughs, warming his hands.

"You really did them in," Kallisto chuckles. He's on the other side of Axel, so he gets a hard elbow to the ribs.

Burak's expression darkens a little. "You're a Sanguis?"

Axel looks up, remembering that's not a normal thing. "Oh, yeah. But don't worry, they wanted me dead when I was born, so we're not on good terms, and I'm kind of disowned."

Burak relaxes. "Ah, good. I apologise for my suspicion. The name raises alarm."

"It's fine," the changeling smiles, "it has every right to."

An orc comes from behind them, bow slung over their shoulder, and tells Burak, "The tents are finished."

They all hear, but don't yet get up. Burak yawns, eyeing the fire and then the entrance to the fence, now shut with a gate made of the same stakes. "I hope you don't mind sharing. There is enough space for two to each tent."

The group look to each other and nod, figuring out their arrangements. Smock already knows Axel and Kallisto's plan. Everyone gets up at last as Burak does and wishes him goodnight and thanks for the shelter, then the other orc leads them to their tents.

Smock waits at first for everyone to arrange themselves, but Axel comes out of his tent with Kallisto with confusion written all over his face. "Aren't you going to come in?"

"You and Kallisto are sharing," she frowns, not wanting to break the two apart, especially not after what Kallisto said on the ship.

"There's still space for another person on the bedroll beside us. And our combined warmth will probably help you warm up too, since it's so cold in this forest," Axel hugs his jacket tight to his body to emphasise his point.

"Are you sure?" she asks, following him for a step before pausing again, hesitant.

"Yes," he sounds almost desperate, and Smock finds herself unable to deny him for that. She ducks into their tent, where there's plenty space for the two of them, and she lays down on the bedroll laid out for her, pulling a wool blanket over her body.

Kallisto grumbles beside her, Axel clinging to one side of his body, and he turns his head to look at her, his drowsy eyes somehow drowsier. "Come snuggle. 'S too cold to be alone."

Smock hesitates for a moment. She hasn't snuggled with anyone in a very long time, but the air is especially cold, like Axel said, even despite the summer heat. She shuffles herself and her bedroll closer until she's able to snuggle under Kallisto's arm, and he holds her in close. The man is like a warm fire, and she immediately tires a little from just feeling his warmth. Axel looks up to see what's going on, then smiles and lowers his head again, this time closing his eye.

Kallisto seems extra comfortable. Both Axel and Smock sleep well tonight.

In the morning, they awaken to the sound of voices outside. Axel is out for the count, lanky limbs sprawled over Kallisto, the blanket still wrapped over them. Smock is the first to arise, drawing Kallisto out of his rest, and then Axel, who startles a little at the movement, and then calms again when he sees there's no threat. Smock pulls herself from under the blanket and grabs her things, stretching her body and looking outside.

Something large is being roasted over the fire. Smock isn't sure what the creature is, but it looks like a mutated pig, with too many legs and too many eyes and two tails to top it all off. Its skin is turning from white to a crispy orange colour, and there are smells emanating from all around, not just the fire. They must be cooking breakfast.

"Good morning," Axel groans after a few moments, rubbing his eye and feeling the flowers over his other.

"Morning," Smock returns, ducking back in to the tent. "Slept well?"

"For once," Axel sounds drowsy, clearly fighting back a yawn, though he doesn't win. "How about you, Kallisto?"

"Yeah, it was cozy," Kallisto smiles, releasing Axel from his firm and protective grasp.

The changeling sits up, stretching before getting to his feet, wasting no time in getting up now that he's awake, though there's still a vaguely drowsy expression on his face. It's a pretty look on him, and when he yawns he exposes those sharp teeth. Smock remembers his lips all of a sudden: their softness, the way they moved against hers.

They leave the tent, joining the orcs as they make their dinner. Burak doesn't seem to be around at the moment. A few people sit around the fire, but there's still enough space for the three of them, so they join them and wait for breakfast to be finished. Smock has to keep her eyes down, though the crackling of the fire as it cooks the not-pig still puts her on edge, as though the entire place is about to go up in flames.

When the pig is done, some of the orcs take it away, and return with very large bowls of stew for the group. Usually stew is made in late autumn or winter or early spring, but in the blood forest it's so cold that it feels appropriate. Smock takes the large spoon in the bowl and tests the temperature of the stew, burning her tongue, and so she allows it to cool as she warms beside the fire.

When the stew cools, Smock happily digs in. There's something like pork in there, which must have been from the creature over the fire, and it has a thick texture, warming her stomach well. Burak returns some time later, his bow in his hands, to announce that the perimeter is clear but that last night's party-goers are heading along their way back home. That's when Smock remembers that she's working against the clock. She has to get back to her dads.

"Axel, we can't stay much longer," she tells him.

"We'll leave after breakfast," Axel reassures her, taking a piece of not-pork in his teeth and drinking up some broth with it. "I promise."

Smock relaxes, staring at her half-eaten stew. "Okay."

She finishes before the others, and finds herself growing impatient for them, wanting nothing more than to be back upon the ship and heading for Pirate Island. Still, she doesn't want to disgrace their hosts with a hasty exit, especially not after Burak saved them from whatever that creature was the night prior. Annoyance still plagues Smock over Axel's actions that had gotten them in this situation in the first place. Had he just let her handle it, all would've been fine - she doesn't need his protection, especially when it's physical.

Burak sits with them after a while to eat. He seems to be in a good mood this morning, a smile on his face and a shine in his blue eyes. He compliments all the people that worked on the meal, congratulating them on their hunt.

"Are you the leader?" Kallisto asks Burak after a while, wiping his lip.

"No," he laughs, "though I'm honoured you'd think so. I'm the high savaşçılar and nöbetçiler, the leader of the fighters and guards. Our king is not here as of right now, so the ebeveynler - parents - are in charge of organising us since they have the most experience, and I am taking care of my section. Though we have ranks, I must note that all orcs are equal."

"What is your King doing?" Rabia speaks up, asking someone for a second serving of the stew, which they gladly go to get for her.

"Scouting out the rest of the blood forest to see if the other orcs still remain," Burak answers, suddenly becoming grim. "An informant came to warn us that the Sanguises were sending some of their enhanced guards to try shrink our population. We managed to survive their attempted culling, but Okan feared for the others, and set off to discover their fates."

"I hope he finds them in good health," Rabia's tone is hopeful, but there's a dark edge to it, a certain hopelessness.

"I do too," the man sighs, though his good mood shines through. "I'm sure they'll be fine. They've survived worse, and those Sanguises never know how to get through the blood forest unharmed."

"They never learn," Ophelia comments, though Smock picks up something a little off about her words, perhaps the way she speaks them. The others don't seem to notice.

"They don't," Burak agrees, watching as Rabia finishes her second helping. "Anyway, I'd best not keep you for too long. It seems you've got places to be, considering you were travelling through a blood forest at night. I'll send some of my nöbetçiler to make sure you pass through safely."

"You're too kind," Keaberos smiles, "I wish we had more to thank you with."

"Your company has been enough payment," the man waves his hand to dismiss the matter. "And your safe travel will end your debt."

"Thank you, on behalf of us all," Axel says to him, standing up and looking around them all. "We'd better gather our things and go. We need to warn the pirates."

The group return to their tents to grab their things, and then they are sent off after a lengthy farewell to Burak involving many very good hugs, escorted to the path by four people who shrink back into the cover of trees and bushes, though they're present as they walk onwards. Smock is relieved to be able to see what's going on again. While the blood forest is dark in the daytime, the pitch black of it at night is so much worse. That tiredness begins to wash over Smock again as they walk, sinking into her bones, but she keeps herself going, and they breach the treeline soon, bringing them back out onto Gore's rocky terrain.

From there everything is a lot easier, except when they pass between two hills and Smock sees the silhouette of some creature watching them, intentions unclear. She tries to ignore it but its gaze burns into the back of her head as they walk.

They return to the ship without any further issue, and Smock puts all of her things away underneath Kallisto's hammock, figuring they'll be safe there. He has the same idea, putting his belongings beside hers, not complaining about the use of space. Smock, desperate to get on the move, takes up the wheel, drawing them out from the port and getting them back on their way, out on the ocean.

With her mind clouded by the events of the past two days, she finds that the ocean doesn't bother her so much, though there's an undeniable sweat in her body and a subtle anxiety tugging at her stomach. The ball keeps returning to her, when Axel punched the man, but also that moment in the corridor. Her mind wanders from his lips to his arms, firm around her waist, to his warm body up against hers, to his tail curled around her legs like every part of him wanted to hold her tight. She feels wrong, in a way, to have done such a thing, especially without asking first. She remembers his breathlessness after the fact and the haze in his eye, his parted lips closing swiftly, their bodies parting.

Smock doesn't dream that night. For a while before sleeping she's restless, turning in her hammock, unable to bring her mind to ease.

The next night, Smock feels different, quick to inform Axel and the others of the masculinity of his gender. They adjust fine, and everything proceeds as normal, all apart from the pressing distraction in his mind. No matter what happens he can't seem to shake it, all until he overhears a conversation from the crew one night as he comes down the stairs. Smock doesn't even have to wait to figure out the meaning of their conversation.

"I think Haley is undead," Julien says matter-of-factly.

Smock finds the idea laughable, until Grey speaks. "When I touched his hand back at Keaberos' place I couldn't sense it, which could mean he's a very powerful undead too. I don't think we should be worried about him, but it's been bugging me."

He realises quickly that maybe there was more to Grey's first touch than figuring out his appearance. He curses himself for not figuring it out, for not remembering he's cold to the touch. Axel sounds like he's frowning when he speaks. "I guess it makes sense. There's no away he could've survived the disaster if not."

Smock's breath hitches in his throat. The disaster. There's that fire in his head and behind his eyes, burning up his body, slowly, painfully.

"For seven years especially. High elves aren't a single bit aquatic," Keaberos adds.

"I am a bit suspicious though," Grey speaks again, "when I touched him... You all know of my ability to tap into memories?"

There's a unanimous murmur of affirmation.

"Well I couldn't see anything before a certain point in his life. And it was strange, because it corroborates his story - remember how reluctant he was to tell us about what happened before he met the Pirate Lords?" she explains, and Smock begins to feel unwell.

"Yeah, that can't just be explained by the 'undead' thing," Kallisto hums in thought.

Smock can't stand listening to them unpack him any further. He walks all the way down the stairs, making himself known, though he doesn't give any indication that he's overheard a thing. "Hey. Can someone help me lower the anchor?"

"Right," Ophelia pipes up quickly, standing. "Kallisto, come help me."

"Yup," Kallisto agrees, and the three head outside to put down the anchor together. Then, they each retire to their beds for the night.

On the second night, Smock works hard to try get them set on a good course, but what little wind there is seems to be against them. They make little progress, and he finds himself frustrated, wishing that there would be a burst of air that would just push them right to Pirate Island. To make things worse, Smock's wound, which he's been using Axel's bandages to dress, just seems to be irritated, pulsing occasionally with pain.

Axel comes to stand beside him. Today, he's just in a vest and trousers, missing his studded jackets but not his boots, his lower arms wrapped in bandages. It makes Smock idly mess with his own bandages when his hands are free, but to anyone else it must look like some sort of nervous habit rather than him disguising markings.

For a while they don't speak, but Axel can never stay quiet for too long. "You were great at the ball. I'm glad we went together, and I really am sorry for everything I did."

Smock is surprised by his words, and for a moment stares at him like he's lost his mind. Axel's never been a man that thinks back on his actions for long enough to sincerely apologise for them, especially not lately. He thinks about it for a while, but he can't find it in him to be deeply upset about everything anymore. Yeah, he's still mad that Axel hit that man, but it's all over and done with now, and he can't hold a grudge for it. "I'm glad we went together too. It was fun, and I forgive you. You shouldn't have done it but I'm not mad at you. It is what it is now, and I got my own back in the end anyway."

"Yeah. That punch fucking hurt," Axel laughs, touching the side of his nose. There's still a sizeable bruise there, the damage more than clear. It must have been especially painful with his nose ring in.

"I don't regret it, but I'm sorry it hurt so bad," Smock smiles, his eyes gentle as he looks at Axel. He looks so calm out here, though his sunglasses make him look a little funny without his usual punk getup.

"It's fine. I really deserved it," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. The semblance of his braids are still in his hair, though everything is already getting messy.

"You should really take care of your hair," Smock tells him, reaching out to touch the man's hair. It's got that tangled feel about it again.

"I hate brushing it," Axel confesses, "it feels wrong, and I can't..."

He pauses for a moment, looking away and leaning harder on the rail. Smock raises a brow, curious but also worried. "What's up? It's okay if you don't know how - I can show you."

"It's not like that. It just reminds me of my mother. She's the only one that ever brushed my hair like that," he clears his throat with an awkwardness, as if it's something embarrassing.

Smock doesn't find it embarrassing at all. "Oh, Ax... That's alright. Did it help for me to do it?"

"Yeah," Axel's ears droop, humiliated.

"I can brush your hair, that's alright," he offers, smiling at the look Axel gives him, something sweet and innocent, though not childlike. Smock wonders how long it's been since he's had this sort of care. Kallisto offers him plenty of physical closeness, and is without a doubt a great best friend, but Smock thinks that perhaps Axel needs someone willing to help him in other ways, to hold him close and brush and braid his hair, and draw the blood out of each strand, to draw hands over his naked body to wash away the filth of other people's life splattered over his skin.

Woah, Smock stops himself, his face feeling warm. Too much.

"I'd like that," Axel agrees. For a moment Smock is afraid he spoke all of that aloud, but he reassures himself that if he did, there'd be much more of a response to it.

"Consider it a plan," he replies, the warmth in his cheeks coming to his chest. There's something nice about the vulnerability Axel offers to him.

They return to silence afterwards, and Axel seems to be in a good mood, a quiet and gentle one. He speaks again after some time, his voice quiet. "You know, the Archangel of Death visited me once, as a child. I wonder if maybe they sensed my grief for my mother and my past life, or maybe it was just because I stole from their temple."

Smock goes stiff. He remembers that night.

"I was desperate for money to pay for food, and I knew the temple had a bunch of valuable stuff. I must have only been seven or eight, and I knew it was bad, but I was so hungry," Axel's smile is melancholy. "I was filling my bag when they appeared to me in a flair of raven feathers. It felt almost like they were appearing out of the darkness itself to come towards me. And I started crying, I remember. I thought they were going to kill me. I cried and begged for forgiveness. I don't think they really knew what to make of it all."

That much is true. He recalls vividly being so perplexed by the wailing child, all the emotions coming from him, the way he was begging and pleading to be let free.

He continues with that same sadness, "And I remember, they told me they wouldn't hurt me, but that I needed to return everything, and in exchange they gave me a single feather from their wing. They did it with the intent for me to sell it, I think, but I've held onto it ever since."

"That's really sweet, Ax," Smock smiles. He didn't know what happened to the feather afterwards, but it warms his heart a little to know it became something of sentimental value. But at the same time, he can't help but wonder how Axel managed to eat that day. Perhaps he resorted to the only thing he knew: thievery.

"The point is," Axel reaches over to take Smock's hands from the wheel and hold them in his own. "I struggle to let go of things, Haley. Everything is more important to me than anyone could imagine. I don't think anyone truly understands what that means."

Smock has to admit that no, he doesn't. But it seems to mean a lot to Axel, so he squeezes his hands, and looks him in the eye. "I hear you, Axel."

The words seem to mean more to Axel than the words can express. He looks at Smock with something complex in his eyes, and then reaches in for a hug, which he gladly returns. Axel holds on to him tight, and Smock can feel his hands grasping at the back of his shirt, like he doesn't ever want to let go.

Later, when Smock tries to sleep, his mind refuses to free him once again. He tosses and turns, and slowly but surely the image of Axel working on the ship slips into his mind when he turns and sees the man resting in his hammock, shirtless. The night is warm, and as such a few people are sleeping in underwear. Like this, Smock can see his elegant shoulder blades, and his back where the white marking stretches thin and then flares out into a star. He follows the whiteness down to where Axel's tail is, his skin turning from its pale colour to a total white, splattered along the top plates with cosmic colours, his dark spikes settled flat. The tail curls between his legs, as though he's snuggling up to it at his front. He can't help but think about how he'd seen his body that day, working hard at scrubbing and mopping.

Axel's body isn't made for working like that. He's built like something dangerous, a man better suited to fighting than scrubbing. Smock can see it in everything he does. There's a certain way he settles his back, a way that his shoulders move, that his arms sweep, that his tail lashes. It's as though there's something impatient inside of him, waiting oh-so-patiently to strike. He coils like a snake on the ground, like he will strike at any given moment. He turns his face like he's watching everything so precisely, taking note of every small detail in everything.

Smock knows that body better than he should. He knows there's a warm that spreads through him when his face flushes red, and when he sits down to rest, limbs over-exerted. There's a heat coursing through his veins, a pulse beating through him that keeps him alive, that drives him like a wildfire in everything he does.

There's a heat in Smock, too, that keeps him from settling. He curls in on himself, trying to ignore it, knowing that he won't do anything with all of these people around him, and especially not while staring at Axel's sleeping body. He takes deep breaths and tries to think of something less Axel, and almost as if on cue the flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder jolts him half-awake.

It rumbles low and hard, and rolls through the sky like a dangerous wave. Smock almost feels it in his blood, but he definitely feels it in his mind. There's only one thing that a sky like this can mean, and it's anger, or disappointment, or resentment, or a million other things that he never wants to see ever again. He pushes away thoughts of frostbite eyes that change his mood without having to try at all, and clutches a blanket over himself to fight off the cold, even though the night is warm. He feels sweat clinging to his skin but there's a chill running through him. His injured shoulder aches deeply, pulsing through his entire body, and he tries not to sob as it all takes a tight hold of him.

Eventually he manages to sleep like that, shivering under a blanket in the hot weather while the storm goes on overhead.

His dreams are just as unkind as his reality.

He's a raven again, as he always seems to be in his dreams as of late. He stands on the deck of a ship, this time without the eel he'd seen in his past few dreams, and he feels for once as though this one might be peaceful.

Of course, nothing is ever that easy.

A growl starts to rumble from behind him. Smock knows the noise. He'd know it a thousand times over, the sound of a growling wolf, of something waiting to strike. It isn't in an elegant way like Axel, like a poised snake, but rather in a way perfect and precise, like an arrow that seeks only the heart, that will strike flawlessly every single time.

Smock turns and finds himself staring at the face of a white wolf. In its eyes he expects to see hunger, maybe even rage, but it just looks disappointed.

His first instinct is to fly. He spreads his wings and tries to take off, but he feels teeth clamp around his legs, dragging him down. He tries to tear himself away but it's too late. The wolf shakes its head, shaking him with it, and he feels every single moment as his body is torn apart, as parts of him are strewn across the deck. The wild animal inside of it is evident in all of its vicious glory, doing the only thing it knows how to do: kill.

Smock awakens with a start, gasping for breath, in a cold sweat. He feels sick to his stomach and a headache pounds through his skull. His shoulder aches horribly and he feels his chest clenching. If he had a working heart, he has no doubt it'd be palpitating in his horror.

The storms seems to have passed, because he can't see any flashes nor hear the rumble of thunder. But there is one thing he needs to check.

Swiftly he gets to his feet and dresses himself. He runs through the room, not checking to see if anyone else is awake, and upstairs, where the deck is still slightly wet with rain, no doubt having dried quickly thanks to the summer heat. Full of anxiety and anticipation, he looks side to side, waiting for a wolf to pounce out at him, but it never comes. There are no pieces of raven splattered across the deck, no blood anywhere to be seen, and absolutely no sign of any wolf, not even a tuft of fur.

"Are you alright?" he hears a woman call to him.

Startled, Smock lifts his eyes to the upper deck, where Ophelia is standing, looking down at him. Axel is standing next to her, concern written all over his face. He's not sure what to say; he's not exactly alright, but he's better than he'd been in the dream, considering that version of him was very dead. "Yes. Isn't it a bit late to be sailing?"

"We didn't make much progress, so I thought I'd try at night," she tells him, though she sounds exhausted.

"Let's throw down the anchor for the night," Smock suggests, not keen on having her up much longer when she sounds so exhausted.

Ophelia is silent for a few moments, but eventually she sighs and moves, leaving Axel where he stands.

"I tried to tell her," Axel laughs as he follows her down to help her put down the anchor. She looks worn out when Smock lays his eyes upon her.

"Well I'm resting now, so stop it," she scolds Axel, though her tone is light-hearted. She leaves once they're done, heading downstairs to sleep.

Right away Axel turns to him. "What's up?"

"I had a nightmare and couldn't get back to sleep," Smock tells him, hearing the growl of the wolf replay in his mind over and over.

"Same here," Axel shrugs, taking up a spot at the side of the ship, facing the dark ocean. He runs his fingers idly against the rail, and Smock watches the way they rise and fall with each bump in the wood.

"That must really suck, considering you hardly sleep to begin with," Smock frowns, joining him, though he stands with his back against the rail, unable to stomach the thought of staring into the black water.

"It does, but oh well," Axel chuckles, taking it lightly as he seems to do with everything. "What was the nightmare about?"

"It was just this wolf. It tore me apart. It sounds dumb when I put it like that, but it was so... visceral," Smock fumbles for the word, trying desperately to block out the creature from his mind.

"Eugh. Sounds gross," the changeling shudders. "I was just dreaming about that night I told you about, with the temple, but a different way it could've gone."

"That's unfortunate," Smock pats the man's shoulder sympathetically. "I hope you're alright."

"I am, although I have been thinking about something else," Axel turns a little, his hip to the rail now instead of his front as he faces Smock from the side.

"And that is..?" Smock feels a little anxious, unable to read his sudden shift in expression.

"Our dance at the ball," he says, "I fucked it up, so I was just thinking... maybe you'd like to finish it?"

Smock panics a little. That heat against his body, on his lips, around his waist - it all comes back to him like a tsunami, taking a dangerous hold of him. He can't say no, and he doesn't want to. "Yeah. We can dance."

Axel doesn't wait to sweep him up, grabbing his hands. They dance slowly, their bodies close together, and when he begins to feel more comfortable, Smock takes the lead. It takes Axel by surprise, but the changeling quickly follows along.

"Still not convincing me you wear the hat, Ax," Smock smiles, opening his fingers to allow Axel to entwine his own with them. His palm is warm, that fire always pulsing through his veins up against his surface, so perfectly alive.

"Are you gonna keep finding ways to tease me about that?" Axel laughs as he's twirled around, careful to keep his tail close to his body.

"Always," Smock lowers Axel into a dip, holding his body tight, watching as the man puts his full trust in him, all but one foot lifted from the floor. They both giggle like kids.

Axel is pretty when he really laughs, his lips curled upwards into a toothy grin and his eye squeezed shut. When he really laughs his mouth opens, showing off all eight of his fangs. His ears move loosely and his body is relaxed, loosening from its usual snakelike coil. Smock can feel where Axel's back curves, the line of his spine sitting casually on his hand, so confident in its holder.

Smock reels him back in, their bodies close together, Axel's eyes bright with joy. The two proceed across the deck, sweeping their feet over the whole length of it until not an inch remains untouched, until Axel is spun around again. Except this time arms wrap around Smock's shoulders, pulling him in, pressing the two of them together as Axel stops himself against the rail, the pirate leaning over the top of him.

"You're fun," Axel laughs mischievously, his back bent over the rail as he stares up at Smock. He pulls himself up suddenly until their faces are close together.

"Oh," Smock says, his lashes fluttering. He feels the tickle of Axel's breath on his skin.

Suddenly Axel changes the trajectory of the encounter. He cackles evilly as he gets Smock in a headlock, ruffling his hair. "Hah! Take that!"

"Axel!" Smock wheezes with laughter, trying desperately to escape his grasp, writhing like an animal in a cage. "Let go you bastard!"

The changeling does and Smock returns the gesture, getting Axel's head under his arm and squeezing lightly. It's Axel's turn to squirm. "This isn't how it was meant to go!"

"Should've thought about that," Smock can hardly breathe, feeling the way Axel tries to escape and finding himself more and more amused by the whole thing with every moment, until finally he can't take it anymore. He lets go and doubles over, laughing until his stomach hurts.

Axel joins him until they both calm, then he swings his arms around Smock's shoulders again, hanging off him. "You're good at dancing."

"Thank you," Smock wraps his arms around his friend's back. "So are you."

"Aw," Axel giggles, then he releases Smock and takes a bow. "We'd better go get some rest before we wake up the crew laughing."

"Yeah, let's go," Smock smiles warmly, and follows Axel downstairs.

He catches Axel watching him for a short while before the man rolls over and curls up to sleep. Smock doesn't mind it, and soon after he does the same, mimicking his action, the movements becoming more habit than anything else now. It's comfortable, and in a silly way, it feels nice to be so close to his friend, to feel so connected to him again. It's not the same as it was before, but in many ways that's for the better. He treasures every moment with Axel, finds himself craving the closeness, and he can't quite explain why.

Smock sleeps quietly. No wolves or serpents plague his dreams, no red and gold eyes, and no death. This time he only dreams of spending time with Axel, of all that lies ahead of them.