A few yards into the field, Rosco lets his pack fall from his shoulder, thudding to the ground in a small clearing. Someone had slept here before; the grass had been pressed down or pulled up in a circular shape with a charred spot in the middle.

“A fire,” the boy mutters, kneeling to inspect the ashes, “it’s going to get cold tonight. I need a fire.” The dead grass surrounding them would make perfect kindling, but the fire would burn out quickly with nothing more substantial to fuel it. “Wood,” he says more confidently, rising to his feet. “Maybe I’ll find some closer to the tree line?”  squinting off into the distance.

“I will fetch it,” Hayden announces before literally disappearing.

Rosco shakes his head, muttering something about gods and vanishing while he busies himself with making camp. Unrolling his bed roll, cleaning the charred area for a fire and gathering a few handfuls of dead grass to get it going.

When Hayden pops back into existence, the sun has completely fallen, and the chill of night was quickly setting in. Rosco sat shivering on his bed roll, blanket wrapped around his shoulders for extra warmth hugging his own knees.

Hayden drops the bundle of sticks from his arms, brushing off the dirt.

“Oh, thank the gods!” Rosco exclaims while reaching for the pile.

Hayden scooches the pile out of reach with his foot, forehead drawn up in disapproval.

“God,” the boy corrects quickly, gathering up the wood before it can be taken further away from him, “You specifically,” he rambles as he began assembling his fire, “I thank you, the god, Hayden, personally for these sticks so I can stop bloody shivering.” Striking his flint.

Hayden smiles quite smugly, moving to sit beside the crouching boy who is blowing on his budding flames.

Rosco had nibbled at his rations, a few bites of dried bread and cheese, while he waited for the god to return, so now he just sat huddled near his fire enjoying the warmth. It was still early enough in the evening that the nighttime insects had yet to waken and fill the night with sound, so the pair sat in silence save for the slight crackles and pops of the fire, Hayden lazily tossing in another stick when needed.

The darkened sky is clear, countless stars shining above them, the moon bathing the world in silver and Rosco is once again struck by how beautiful Hayden is by moonlight.

He forces his eyes away, scolding himself for having such thoughts. He knows better. He does. It’s just hard to keep his own mind in check sometimes. When he was younger, before he’d known just how wrong it was, he’d hinted how he felt to Yewin. Yewin had given him a beating to remember and vehemently told him never to speak of it again. Rosco knew his foster brother had done it to protect him, he’d have gotten a lot worse than a beating if their friends or neighbors had heard him say such a thing, but it had been hard to fight the feeling of betrayal. After he got over himself Rosco realized he was actually quite grateful Yewin still treated him like a brother after learning about his malfunction.

His errant eyes wandered back to the god, taking in the lines of his face, curve of his jaw, width of his shoulders, Shape of his-

“Where are we going?” the boy asks to break his own line of thought.

“The city of Falties.” The god answers, turning his eyes to the boy. The flames dance against his pale irises making Rosco feel hot in a way that had nothing to do with the fire. “Just as my temple was once in the city you now call Ocil,” Hayden continues, “My sisters temple was in Falties. I do not expect to find her there, but her former home seems like a good place to start looking.”

“Y-Your sister, what is she called?”

“Gia,” The gods demeanor softens at the mention of her name, “Is what you would call her, though like me, she goes by an alias. We are close to what you would call twins,” his lips tweaking into a smile that didn’t match the pain in his eyes, “Two halves of the same whole. We formed this place together with our mother. The system of rules we created are largely meant to govern themselves. It takes very little effort on our part to maintain them, but they do require us to maintain them,” concern creeping into his words, “I do not understand how things have gotten so distorted in the time that I was gone. Gia should have easily been able to handle the upkeep on her own for such a short time.”

“You’re worried about her.” the boy realizes, nibbling at his nails and feeling a hefty twinge of guilt for the way he’d spoken before.

“Not exactly,” the god muses, “I am not so much worried as confused. Gia can more than care for herself. She is my only equal. There is simply no need to fear for her.” Hayden turns his eyes back to the fire, but Rosco can’t force his away.

Rosco had always seen the gods as unfeeling, incapable of caring for the suffering of others and yet, despite his protests, Hayden truly appeared worried for his sister, torn over the distortion his world was facing. Rosco tries to force this knowledge onto the image he already has of gods, but the different pieces just don’t fit. For a second, Rosco sees hope, hope that his ideas are wrong, and this god really is a person who wants better and has the power to make it happen, that he is someone worth believing in. But he shakes the thought clear, hope is dangerous and Rosco wants nothing to do with it.

“I’m- I’m going to try and sleep now.” Rosco announces, glancing around the small clearing, “I only brought my own bed roll, do you have a place to sleep?”

“I thought we would share.”

Rosco actually feels his brain disconnect from his mouth, “A blanket?” he squeaks, “This one small squareish blanket, or- or the bed r-roll, like you sleep there, very near to me, while we are each under different, very separate blankets or like together, possibly bumping or something while, you know, sleeping.”

Amusement lights the god’s eyes, “I am a god, Rosco, I do not need to sleep and if I did I could easily find a place to do so.”

Rosco’s momentary relief crashes directly into concern finding that thought terribly sad. Rosco is far from lazy, but he firmly believes a good nap is one of life’s true pleasures, “But, can you?” not sure how he’s going to able to sleep with all the guilt of being able to do so.

“If I want to, yes,” Hayden answers. His eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Oh good,” Rosco breathes, snuggling into his blankets, “I was worried for a second there.”

The rain softened ground is actually slightly more comfortable than the hard wooden floor is back at Lolly’s and the smell of fresh grass and campfire more kind to his nose than Sam’s rancid feet, the quiet more soothing than the new kid’s crying. Nevertheless, Rosco finds himself missing all of it. The boy worried for a short time that he’d have trouble sleeping without the familiar close press of all the others, but after a long day and a nearly sleepless night before, Rosco falls quite quickly into sleep.