Many people like to think that my travels with The Hunter began when he saved my life out in some dark and dangerous wood, a heroic passerby who saved a delicate maiden who knew no life outside a temple. Others like to think that I only followed him away from my safe convent walls because I fell deeply and irrevocably in love with him.

There are many stories about us that follow that vein. Star-crossed love that could never be. Of pointless and blatantly unnecessary heroism. Countless stories that are better suited for a child's bedtime, a tale to lull them to a comfortable sleep.

In the end, they're just stories and rumors. Most people tend to forget that most stories are just that...rumors that started with no basis in truth, or off of a snippet of misheard conversation.

I began my journey with Camor years prior to our unintentional fame and infamy together, prior to the first mutterings of villagers out on the edges of the Avoltni Empire's lands. All of it was before the stories about a Hunter of monsters and the Priestess under his care who helped these people just go back to living their lives.

It goes back, even further, to the temple I was born and raised in. We learned hard, lived humbly, offered a shelter and healing to those who passed through, and cared for people who sought us out. There weren't terribly many of us, with religion fading out of active worship and magic falling with it. It was far to the north, so very far from the center of the Empire, and quiet. Nothing but the small communities and farms for miles in all directions, all cast in the protective arms of the Wyrm's Maw Mountains.

For most of my life, I thought that was just fine. To live like that, in blissful, unaware, and utterly content peace. Not knowing the horrors that challenged the lives of people just outside our temple's doorstep.

And then, I met Camor. Something about me changed, and along the way, piece by piece...so did the entire Empire.

Let me tell you the true story, or a truer one at least, of my time with The Hunter Camor, so that way you can put those silly rumors to rest. The truth is far more interesting and horrible than what you've been told.

Oonala was more than content to serve Mother Moon in any way she was asked to. Her whole life had been within these sacred walls, in this temple to the goddess far to the north, untouched by the problems that could plague the cities closer to the capital. Winter came early, and left late, chasing the early summer heat with the scant reminders of snow still lingering in the long shadows of the mountains. There was still more than enough to do and learn at a temple this secluded, and the clergy always taught any who came to them and asked. It was an ideal life, filled with knowledge and learning, if painted with a veneer of naivety. She had plenty to eat, a warm place to sleep, and a guaranteed roof over her head. The hardest labor she did was helping others with their chores.

It made it all the more jarring when she woke up, and the day felt instantly, startlingly wrong.

Sitting up in her bed, Oonala glanced out her shuttered window, seeing nothing that could even have a chance of matching that feeling in the open courtyard below, where others were already going about their day. As she bathed and dressed, the feeling settling into simple uneasiness at the bottom of her gut, nestled and growing during her morning meal and chores. Her attempts at meditation to help only made the feeling surge, where it lingered in the base of her lungs by dinner time. Her last chores of the day were made worse by the feeling of being choked by this notion of something wrong.

Something had to be off, but she couldn't place it.

Moonrise, normally the time of day that put her at the most ease simply came and went, leaving just the approaching midnight hours and eventual bedtime for the young woman. The feeling of wrongness still refused to leave her, unshaken from it's slow-growing expansion through her even as she settled into bed. But, what could she do? Without an idea of what this feeling was, or what was causing it, was there anything she could do to fix it? Oonala frowned, telling herself to speak to someone in the morning if it still lingered on. She tossed and turned, unable to let sleep claim her until exhaustion rolled over her and pulled her under.

The brief respite didn't last long, as a scream shattered the peace and several nearby shouts shook her violently from her sleep. Oonala sat up quickly, her heart racing from the sudden noise. She could hear running through the halls, overlapping shouts of other clergy members blurring into just wordless sound. Much of it bounced around outside her window, even as the bubbling feeling of wrong felt like it was filling her mouth now, and would spill out should she part her lips for any reason. If something was happening in or near the courtyard, others would be there well before she could, to assess and assist in whatever was going on. They'd be more skilled and experienced than she was, anyway.

Oonala took her time, tying the simple sandals most of them wore around the temple to her feet, before pulling a robe over her simple nightgown for propriety's sake rather than any actual need. She braided her hair casually as she found her way through the halls, able to find where to go with ease, as older clergy members rushed past her in both directions, their chatter clearer now than in her room.

"Make sure the children stay tucked up in their wing, they don't need to come down here and see--" That was two older men, one splitting off from the other down where the halls intersected, sprinting down the corridor briefly.

"Damn it, we sent the best healers to deal with that outbreak in--" One of the girls barely older than herself was running towards the hospital ward. There had been a nasty outbreak of an illness two days ride from here. It wasn't bad, just stubborn and could spread again easily if not watched.

"Goddess, there was so much blood, how was he still--"

The clergy who were tasked to stay awake all night, holding vigil in case of any emergency, were not expecting something so very bad to happen. It was normally quiet all night long, with true trouble very rarely happening. It wasn't an attack, otherwise the guards of the temple would have been the first ones there, ready to use the battle-suited magics they had trained in to stop intruders by any means. There was nothing for them to fight, Oonala discovered as she followed her gut feeling blindly into the large, open foyer. They milled about, staying out of the way as various devoted members of the temple tried to handle whatever this situation was. Everyone, she noticed, was carefully avoiding a long, wide streak of something dark and glistening that started suddenly half-way across the floor. It began in the entryway as dark splotches, until the streak began, leading inward. It was almost like-

Her thoughts crashed to a halt as one of the guards, an older priestess at a much higher rank that Oonala's own initiate status, stepped in front of her. Iyanna was a tall, broad woman, perfectly built for intimidating anyone who thought robbing a temple was a sure-fire way to get goods. That meant she was also someone with a keen eye and remembered far too much of everyone. Oonala liked her, even during times like now, when Iyanna peered down with a gaze a little too sharp for comfort.

For a moment, Oonala was certain she was going to be ordered back to her room, but Iyanna paused. "You. You learned healing magic, yes?"

"A...a little bit, yes." Oonala tried her best not to stumble over her words even as Iyanna grasped her arm in a firm grip, as Oonala found herself being pulled down the hall, closer to the inner sanctum that opened up into the courtyard she could see through her window. It didn't help that she noticed the wide, glistening path leading that same way.

"Good." The woman loosened her grip, pointing out the door to the courtyard. "They'll need you. Just...you'll know when you see it. Hope you aren't squeamish, because he needs all the help he can get, the poor bastard." Before Oonala could respond, Iyanna was moving quickly back the way they had come, clearly keeping an eye out to find more healers. She wanted to argue, to explain that she wasn't the best healer, what with how little practice she had, but the grogginess from her poor attempts at sleeping mixed into the sense of wrongness. Oonala glanced back the way she came for a moment longer, then let the urgency resting in her drive her into the courtyard.

Her feet stumbled as soon as she caught sight of what was going on, bringing her to a horrified stop. Two women were kneeling in the middle of the packed dirt path, over what looked like the remains of a body. Shallow gurgling, popping breaths that she could hear from here were the only thing telling Oonala that the person was still alive. The wide dark streak lead right to them, right to the figure on the ground, and now she could taste the heavy weight of burning meat in the air, leaving her mouth feeling waxy. It made her skin crawl, even as she tried her best to breathe in shallower breaths.

The women looked up at her in near unison as Oonala drew in a shuddering breath, unaware how loud she had been. She stared back at them in surprise. The two highest members of the clergy, the highest ranks found in each temple, the High Priestess and the only Ordained priestess they had were attending this poor man, who fought to breathe in smaller and smaller breaths. He would die soon, at this rate, and painfully slowly at that, drowning on dry land. One, or both of them, were tiring quickly and running on what little magic they had left to call upon at the moment, based on just the flickering light fading between both women's hands. She knew that, earlier in the day, the Ordained had been keeping watch over a farmer's son who had broken his arm and collarbone when he fell from the roof he had been rethatching in preparation for the coming winter months. She was probably deeply exhausted from trying to speed up his healing.

Oonala swallowed, fully aware that she was still being stared at, as she forced down the wave of nausea that flooded through her at the sight and sounds. It was hard at first, as her sandal made a noise as she stepped in something wet and sticky. She nearly retched, telling herself to not think about it. She took a deep breath through her mouth, trying to avoid the smell and only tasting it instead. The feeling of wrongness and her own sheer stubbornness drove her forward, making her dark eyes glitter with a fierce light as she crouched beside the tired women.

"Please. Let me help?"

The pair of women exchanged a glance before the Ordained priestess shakily rose to her feet, stumbling aside. Oonala was vaguely aware of other clergy members helping the Ordained away, leaving her to look down at the High Priestess. The older woman's greying hair was escaping the tight braid she kept, turning the strands into a wispy halo around her head. Oonala slowly sank to her knees, forcing herself to ignore the feeling of something not quite warm soaking into her clothing as she linked hands with the other woman.

The older woman's hands were cool, aged and bony against her own, a source of something to focus on rather than the mass of blood and burned flesh that was a man below and between them. The pale glow of magic grew steadier and brighter between their palms, until ethereal blue light obscured most of her vision. That helped. The words she had etched into the back of her mind with rote memorization bubbled to her lips as she cast her gaze down, willing her magic to knit flesh and veins back together, just as she was taught.

Vaguely, in the part of her mind that wasn't focused on continuing the magic, Oonala took in everything. She had to analyse it properly to know what was wrong, so she knew how to fix it. This close, she could see how bad the damage was. The smell of burned flesh was stronger, overpowering the sticky metallic taste of blood with a waxy one. Bones, scorched and bloody, showed through muscle and skin. In places, flesh hung like streamers, and organs inside were almost on full display. It was a nasty jumble of everything she had warned she could possibly see over a lifetime and everything she had helped heal, but worse by far, and ferociously stubborn against the already slow healing process. It was like something was fighting them trying to save him. At last, she closed her eyes to the terrible sight to put all of her focus into her magic.

It felt like no time had passed at all when someone's gentle hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her to her feet. Dawn had arrived, she noticed, just as she noticed someone was doing the same thing for the High Priestess. Another pair of hands guided her away from the far better healed man, and towards warm water and a cloth to clean her hands and feet with. The same clergy member helped her loosen cramped and stiff muscles that protested the hours of not moving. As soon as she was done being cleaned up but for the ruined nightgown and robe, another set of hands handed her a hot mug, full of lemon, honey, and tea. It was only then that Oonala realized how raw her throat felt. As she drank it, a final set of hands guided her to her room, helping the exhausted priestess change and crawl into bed. She barely made it under the comforter, trying her best to voice sleepily that she wanted to thank the people who had helped her, even though she wasn't sure who they were.

As she fell back asleep, Oonala repeated the silent prayer that had slipped into her mind minutes ago, knowing that the sense of something being wrong had finally vanished, replaced with the feeling of something new, something far more important, resting in her chest where it had been. She prayed the man would make it through the night.

The day was lost to sleep, the magic she had cast and maintained all night having worn her to sheer exhaustion. Dusk's final moments blended into the early nightfall as Oonala finally awoke, feeling deeply rested but still drained and weak. Hunger dug at her, her body's protests to having spent so much energy, making her rush through bathing and dressing to be able to eat. Her dreams were blank in her memory, but she knew something in them had been...important. That same importance lived in her chest now, pulsing with its own weight in beat with her heart.

She cinched her standard white dress with the embroidered black bodice she had made herself. Normally, Oonala reserved that for holy days and formal occasions, which were rare to begin with, but somehow it felt like the appropriate thing to wear today. She looked about for her sandals, only to remember they had been utterly ruined the night before, and someone had likely set them among other things that had been bloodsoaked to burn while she slept. Oonala sighed, knowing it left her the warmer boots and socks that had been left in their stead in her room. She preferred the sandals, with how few months in the year she got to wear them, but had no real choice until they could dig out replacement ones from the storeroom.

She yawned as she pulled the boots on, and again as she set out into the halls, smoothing her hand over the silver moon phases she had stitched into the dark fabric. If she went right to the kitchens for a meal, she'd be able to eat as much as she needed to before finding out what needed to be done for chores. Her feet led her down the hall in the opposite direction, stopping her not far from the infirmary door instead, leaving her frowning as her fingers worked at attempting to braid her hair.

"Heard you were up most of last night, helping."

Oonala blinked, looking up at Iyanna, the guard from the night before.

"Yes, I was. I...I hadn't realized it was so long. I...I hope everything's okay?"

Iyanna sighed. "Girly, because of your efforts with the High Priestess, he made it through the night, and we could get a hold of a few more healers who were fully rested and wide awake to work on him until we could move him safely. He's fine now."

"I'm glad."

Iyanna looked Oonala over with a critical eye. The younger woman squirmed under the gaze, feeling exposed in a way she couldn't explain. Finally, the guard spoke again. "The High Priestess wanted someone to get you hours ago, but we convinced her you needed to sleep." There was another pause as Iyanna ran a hand over her short-cropped hair. "She said that, instead, as soon as any of us saw you, to bring you here. Personally, I'd rather you got to eat first, you look like you're starving." Oonala nodded. "I'll snag someone to grab you food from the kitchens. I'll have it sent to your room."

"I...I appreciate that."

Her response was a quiet nod, and a gentle nudge towards the door. "Come on, in you go."

Worry started to burn through Oonala's gut as she let herself be guided into the infirmary. What was going on? Why would she be requested, out of everyone in the temple? Surely the High Priestess had much more important things to worry about than one priestess who happened to--

The older woman who had asked for Oonala to be brought there was sitting beside the only occupied bed in the infirmary. Her gaze was focused out the window, focused on something so intently that she wasn't reacting to any of the movement in the room. At this angle, Oonala could tell that the High Priestess' eyes looked oddly blank. The only thing that could be seen through the glass was the full moon hanging in the sky, brilliantly silver even at this early evening hour. The bed's occupant was the man from the night before, looking far better than she had last seen him. He was far from a peaceful observer, with the way he huffed. He looked...angry, his expression all but screaming his displeasure at the entire situation. His nose was strong, but with a hook to it that Oonala knew was from an old healed break...maybe more than one. It drew her attention to his eyes, the color of iced-over seawater. She had heard the color described to her before by a fisherman a couple years ago, who had shown her a piece of worn, colored glass he had picked out of the sand near the dangerous southern sea. The color stood out, almost shockingly so, from the tanned olive of his skin. She hadn't seen anyone with both of those markers, as well as the tawny brown of his hair, streaked with a few strands of grey near his temples. Maybe he was from one of the secluded coastal villages?

He stared right back at her before carefully crossing his arms over his bandaged chest, glaring at her with the same impudence of a teenager told to do something they really didn't want to. "Who the hell is this...kid?"

The High Priestess turned her attention from the window to fully face Oonala, and never before had the young priestess wished so much that she could just disappear from someone's gaze. Something more than human gazed out from the High Priestess' face, and spoke in a voice that rang out, echoing through the room though it was barely more than a whisper. This was like someone was speaking through the older woman...maybe they were. The voice felt like sheer power.

"Priestess Oonala."

She swallowed. "Y-yes, m-ma'am?" Her voice was shaking. How was the man in the bed unafraid? How was he not shaking like she was, able to feel the weight and power in the whispering voice pressing down on her? It seemed to boom through the otherwise silent room, and she could feel magic building in words that resonated with that feeling of something important in her chest.

The words that came forth next weren't a simple sentence, however. They were a spell, echoing and reverberating through the room to the point where individual words were impossible to pick out, if the language was something she could even understand at all. It felt older.

The words seemed to hit a crescendo as a sharp wind whipped through the room, though the window was shut tightly. Oonala bit back a shriek of surprise as the man in the bed yelled. She raised an arm to block her face, uncertain if it would do anything more than be an empty gesture. A flicker of that wind wrapped around her neck, leaving a cool touch that almost felt like healing magic, but with a touch of fire behind it. She lowered her arm, bringing her fingers to her throat in time to feel threads gather and weave themselves together under her fingers. The man on the bed growled. Oonala stared in amazement, watching the same phenomenon happening to him, with brilliant silver moonlight glowing at his throat.

The wind vanished suddenly, and she was aware that the inhuman presence in the room had dissipated. From her seat beside the bed, the High Priestess slowly blinked, her eyes finally coming back into focus as she let a tight smile form on her lips.

"Well then." The words felt so small in the shadow of what had just happened. "When the Mother speaks...Very well." Slowly, the older woman stood. As she rose to her feet, she gestured to the man on the bed, who was tugging on the blue and silver cord around his throat. "This is Camor. You'll be leaving with him when he's healed. The medical staff believe that he should be able to travel by week's end."

Oonala's small, questioning noise, wanting to ask what was meant by her leaving with the strange man, died out under his shout.

"SHE'S WHAT?!"

The end of the week proved to be an utterly nerve-wracking experience as each day grew closer to its approach. Her stomach was filled with knots of nerves, and passing clergy had intended to be helpful as they offered advice at every turn. Oonala packed and repacked, as each told her different things: it was hot, it was cold, people were kind, people were cruel. She should pack too much food. No, she should pack more clothes.

In the end, Oonala stopped leaving her door open, choosing to simply pack a little bit of everything...not that she had much to choose from. The life of a priestess was simple, at least for her, and without much need for extravagance. She was assured by too many people that the white dresses that she prefered would be more than enough to imply her status without people being rude or questioning. She desperately hoped that was true.

She hated this.

She was nervous and scared, and her attempts at trying to get to know her traveling companion failed spectacularly. The High Priestess, aware of each time she left the infirmary with her head low and body language shouting how low she felt, took the time to come speak with her personally about it.

"I'm sorry I don't know more, my dear," she had said, standing before Oonala's own seated position. "I know you were given a blessing and a tremendous task, but...I fear that it will be something that outlives me by far, and sadly my fate means I'm not allowed to know." The woman gathered the young priestess' hands into her own, drawing Oonala's attention up to kind eyes. "You are destined for great things. That much I know. I'm just sorry that your companion is...well..."

"I don't like him." Oonala felt her heart begin to race as she said the words, ready for rebuked. "He refuses to talk to me most of the time, and when he does, he's...he's rude, and mean. I don't know anything about him! How am I supposed to trust him to not...to not leave me in the first town we come across, if he won't open up?"

The High Priestess sighed, patting her hands, without any scolding on her lips. "I understand all too well, my dear. Some men are just like this. Give him time. I know this will all be for the better."

"I don't want to go." The words were a whisper, but might as well have been a shout, for how Oonala curled her shoulders inward, ashamed for wanting to deny this so badly. 

Another comforting pat on her hands drew her out of her own worry. "I know, dear, and I don't think any of us are happy to see you leave. You're a good person, and far more help than you need to be, but you have no choice in this matter, just as Camor doesn't have a choice." The older woman sighed. "All our Mother deemed fit to tell me about these matters is that as long as you both live, that choker binds you together. It's important but...I don't know how."

"I don't want greatness or importance. I just...I just want to live here. Forever."

"That's not the way of it, my dear." The High Priestess withdrew her touch, offering a sad smile now instead of the gentle, soothing one. "We will miss you dearly. If you are ever in need, seek out a sister temple. They'll aid you in any way you need."

Oonala nodded. "I know. Thank you."

"Now, get ready for bed. You need to sleep, and tomorrow you leave for the road."

It would have been far easier to follow the High Priestess' suggestion hours later, as she tossed and turned, if her gut would stop squirming like she had swallowed a live fish. Every time Oonala thought of traveling while she lay there in bed, sleep refused to come to her, and dawn wasn't far off. She should be sleeping. She needed sleep.

She couldn't.

It wasn't until exhaustion from her sleeplessness overtook her, plunging her into deep, dark dreams.

The velvet darkness that surrounded her should have been horrifying. It should have made her skin crawl, made her feel small and insignificant, waiting for unseen terrors. Instead, it felt welcoming and warm, like a loving embrace.

Oh, My child. I am sorry to put this weight on you, but your hopeful nature is all that can redeem a man who thinks himself too far gone, and that is what is needed to save a world. It is you that must stop this madness, before it breaks even Me, and plunges us all to our doom.

I am so sorry for this burden, but know I am with you.

The embrace tightened, just like a hug from someone who loved her so much and was loathe to let go. The anxieties that had plagued heer were gone now, leaving her at peace.

Despite the pounding on her door the moment dawn broke, Oonala woke feeling rested. Even as she pulled herself from bed, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she didn't feel the usual weight on her eyes from a lack of sleep, nor the uncertainty that had gnawed in her mind this past week. She opened the door, starting as she realized how far up she had to look to meet the man from the infirmary's eye. He was taller than she realized, and it was hard to tell if he was actually looming, or if it was the dim light of dawn playing tricks on her eyes.

"Why aren't you ready?" His words were a demand.

"Because I was hoping, despite everything, that we would be leaving at a reasonable hour, when people are usually awake."

He scoffed, barely biting back a sneer as he did so. "Sorry to tell you, kid, but people outside your comfy little temples are usually awake at dawn."

Oonala knew he was right. She knew that some people who weren't careful would be out in the fields before daybreak proper, and end up hurting themselves. Still, she sighed as she shuffled through the room. Her travel bag and bedding had been dug out of the storeroom, both of which were meant for the outdoors. Inside the pack proper would only be two changes of clothes, far more socks than any person should ever need, and food for the road, with the expectation that they would be stopping places to bathe, eat, and wash their belongings. Other clergy members had assured her that it was normal.

Camor huffed, stamping his feet not unlike a petulant child as she double-checked her bag. Oonala sighed.

"I need to get dressed. You can wait for that."

He sighed again, shifting to step back out of the room as she reached for the simple clothing that she laid out before she had gone to sleep. The longer Oonala was awake, the more restless and terrified she became. Why couldn't she hold onto that peaceful comfort from just minutes ago? What if he hated her? It already seemed like he did. What if he was going to leave her in a town she didn't know?

What if this was going to be the biggest, and last, mistake of her life?

Oonala dressed quickly, trying to hide her shaking hands as she hiked her travel pack onto her shoulder. It would be fine. "Okay. I'm ready." She didn't feel ready." He grunted a response from the hallway. She sighed softly. Great.

It wasn't long until they were already far enough down the road that she couldn't see the temple in the distance any more, and the need to talk to suffocate the anxiety in her chest was too great to ignore. "So, um. Where are we going?"

"Away."

"How...uh. For how long?"

He didn't answer. He likely didn't know either. This wasn't going so well then.

Hours passed by in relative silence, with only the occasional crunch of stones under their feet. It felt maddening for all this quiet, even with birdsong and rustling leaves in the air, but after their short conversation earlier, Oonala didn't feel up to trying again, and Camor didn't seem to want to talk. As it was, she was struggling with all of this walking, unused to doing so much at once. Her feet and knees felt like they were burning well before midday. She hoped they would stop, but he kept walking, his longer stride easily keeping him far ahead of her. The priestess hated it, feeling her legs growing heavy and threatening to give out on her at any time.

Finally, they came to rest at nightfall, where a nearby copse of trees could provide shelter from any weather and fuel for their fire. Oonala found herself collapsing to the ground, still too far away to make it to the shelter of trees. Through her tears, falling unbidden, she could see Camor drop his pack in the small clearing next to the overhang, already gathering fallen twigs and branches for firewood. He had an armful he was bringing back to his pack when he looked up, realizing he was still alone.

For a moment, he just stared. Oonala felt the sob break through at last, shaking her violently. Then, after another long moment, he sighed, stomping over. Instinctively, she flinched, ready for him to be as short and harsh as he had been at the temple, his words biting and cruel. Instead, he crouched down, speaking softly.

"I hoped you'd stay back at the temple because of this. You temple lot never know when to speak up about being in pain because it's "inconvenient"." He sighed. "When you're in pain, speak up. Walking until your feet bleed or you can't move is going to make you susceptible to a lot more terrible things. Be glad I keep away from some of the busier roads." He stood, crossing his arms over his chest. Even through her tears, Oonala could make out the scowl on his face. "Tomorrow, when you start to hurt, say so. We'll stop and rest. I hate slowing down, but if you're exhausted and a fight happens, which it does in my line of work, you're a liability. Don't be a liability."

Oonala nodded. Camor sighed, reaching down and taking her pack. "I'm not carrying you, kid. You're making it over to the camp on your own two feet. Crawl if you have to. I have a salve in my pack for the pain. You can put that on while I get a fire going. She nodded again, wobbling to her feet as she stumbled and winced her way there. 

This became their new normal, daily rhythm. They'd awaken at dawn, walk until she couldn't walk any longer, rest, and keep going until almost nightfall. A month passed like this, and Oonala found herself able to keep up with Camor much more easily, walking the whole day with fewer breaks. It made her proud that she was starting to build up the endurance. More often, he'd pause to give them both a break, claiming he was doing it for her, despite Oonala not needing one at the moment. Camor tried to not let her catch the way he winced and rubbed at a joint. It made her more curious. Why would he have a pain salve in his pack? Had he not healed well enough at the temple? Or was it old wounds that gave him trouble?

Now that he wasn't actively dying, and she wasn't struggling to keep up with him, Oonala had time to just take in his appearance, and it made her more curious. He was older than her by roughly a decade. The greying at his temples and the dark circles that haunted his pale, sea-glass green eyes more days than they didn't made him seem older, but...he wasn't that old, was he? Faint scars marked various parts of his body. His hands and arms were the more common victim of some past dangers, lacing unknown patterns in thin, pale lines. She knew the ones over his chest were bad, but there were some that she knew weren't part of the injuries they had magically healed at the temple. These were too high, glimpsed around his collarbone. Whatever had happened, the night at the temple wasn't the first time he nearly died.

Oonala knew very little about him, mostly as Camor never really spoke about himself, but surely his work wouldn't lead him to this much danger, right? She knew he was a Hunter, a specialized mercenary that took out dangerous warlocks and the rare monster. There weren't many Hunters left in Avoltni, though, as the need to for monster slayers had passed decades before either of them were born. The way he talked about it, Camor may as well have been the last one.

She wasn't so sure it was a career someone survived.

Even still, the change in who needed to rest and her new worries about his old injuries made Oonala fret silently over whether or not he was okay. It was worse, as one night, they had finished setting up the camp, her wards still faintly crackling in the air as they settled into place, only to hear him yell in pain. She turned in time to see him double over, and froze. Oonala watched in horror as his skin stretched and pulled, sprouting hair. She could hear the sickening crunch of bones and sinew snapping, stretching and shaping into new forms. Her feet pulled her backwards in fear, only to send Oonala sprawling to the ground as she tripped and fell. The priestess started scrambling backwards over the ground, not wanting to take her eyes off him, afraid of what would happen if she turned her back.

He turned, his snout sniffing the air, and dark eyes flashed like an animals in the low firelight.

Why, tonight of all nights, did he turn into this surely monstrously sized wolf, bearing down on her slowly. Fear flooded her fully now, leaving her locked in place, unable to will herself to move.

Do not fear him. He is bound to you. My tokens around your throats are proof of this. A voice sounding in her mind brought her to immediate peace, even if she didn't know why. I will lend you the strength you need to face him like his...but know that he will return to this every night from now on. It will aid you in your hunt.

She knew this was true. Even still, she couldn't make her body move, her vision blurring terribly as she had to struggle to keep herself calm. He was starting to circle around her, sniffing and growling low in his throat. Her fear spiked, and Oonala was about to cry, scream, run, anything to get away, if she could only move--

Calm poured over her like cool water, soothing her searing skin, filling her like an empty jar: slowly at first, then faster and faster, until she was ready to spill over with it. Confidence struck her, forcing her to her feet. Nothing in her stance gave any doubt as to how in control she was now, watching the werewolf that was her companion circle her again, the growling gone now as he finally recognized her. He slowly nudged his head under her hand. Deep down, Oonala knew he was recognizing her as the one in charge, and like this, he'd listen to her without fail.

Daughter, do not tell him what he becomes each night. While it will be of aid to you, he fears this, and it is My fault. He will know, in time, but for now, soothe his fears, so that he may heal.

Oonala yawned, suddenly exhausted between the flash and fade of terror, and the series of wards she had cast just minutes ago. She pointed at the small fire, watching the wolf pad over to it, curling up easily. She laid against him, comforted by the warmth. Sleep overtook her instantly.

In the morning, Camor woke her with a shout, demanding to know what the hell she was doing by sleeping half on him. Groggily, she thought it wasn't fair to call it that, as she was just curled up against him, but didn't say the words out loud.

The night time shifting became their new normal. The simple monotony helped the days slide by faster, which made her feel far better about how they seemed to be endlessly walking with no purpose. No hunting, no fights, and they only passed through towns during the day. Usually, by nightfall, Camor would insist on making camp, feeling weariness that he didn't know where it came from.

Today was different.

In their travels, they had stumbled upon a very simple contract to stop a warlock who was threatening a small town to force them to pay him what little they had. Camor insisted on them stopping at a roadside tavern, out in the wilderness, for its closeness to the town, which still lay several hours away on foot. It should have been fine, the usual wayside stop for travelers...if not for camor having ordered them both small, simple meals when they had first arrived near noon. It was approaching dusk now, and Oonala's bowl had long since been wiped clean with the hard bread that had been offered alongside their stews, and the dishes taken away. Now, she stared awkwardly at the tabletop, hoping that whatever Camor was waiting for would happen before nightfall.

The waiter approached their corner table for the third time this candle-marked hour, his face twisted into the long-suffering gaze of someone who wasn't paid enough to make sure that money was still flowing, and definitely not paid enough for dealing with customers who weren't buying. She couldn't blame him. She learned in the now-months they had been traveling that some terrible owners liked to take out their aggression with customers who didn't spend enough money out on their employees instead. She didn't find that fair in the least, but a quiet conversation with Camor had stopped her from chewing out the first owner they had met like that. Her harsh words could have come out of a waiter's pay, lose them their only income, or worse, end up in injuries the waiter would have to pay to get healed. It seemed cruel to her that this kind of thing was just accepted and not punished, but being outside a city's borders, and thus laws, made cowardly people that struck others far more brave and likely to happen. No one was there to regulate them.

"Excuse me, sir?" The waiter's voice was tired as he tucked himself to one side, standing a little closer to Oonala than she liked. She couldn't blame him for that, as Camor had twisted himsel to stare at the door leading into the building, impatiently drumming his fingers in a matter that read to anyone who didn't know the hunter as 'I may kill anyone who gets too close', but Oonala knew was just him being impatient and angry that his timing was messed up.

"What."

The waiter flinched, swallowing slowly, and tried to keep up the obvious false-cheery demeanor he was likely forced to maintain. "The...ah. The kitchen noticed that you haven't...ordered anything in a few hours, and as we're not an inn, we don't have a place for you to sleep...and...uh."

"Waiting for company."

The waiter blinked, looking at Oonala for confirmation. The priestess shrugged, hoping that it told him that she had even less idea than he did about what Camor meant. She did know they were trying to intercept the warlock, but...that was all she really had, and they might get thrown out if she said as much.

"Ah. Well. I'll...pass word along that you're waiting for others, and we'll...ah. Um. Be...waiting for your order, then." The waiter hurried off, leaving her alone with the quiet of the room, the muffled sounds coming from the kitchen, and Camor's soft grumbling as his fingers continued to drum out a noisy beat.

After another moment of this passed, Oonala fidgeted with her rings, twisting them about with worry. "Camor..." Her voice shook slightly, uncertain if she really should be trying to bring this up at all at the moment. "Maybe a little something more to eat wouldn't hurt. We...we don't need to be ready for a fight immediately, do we? And, we're so sparing with our rations--"

His attention turned from the door, offering her a deep scowl etched into his face, adding even more severe lines to his expression. Immediately, her gaze dropped down to her hands, focusing instead on the small caches of power she could feel sunk into each of the metal bands. They were emergency sources she could draw on, though Oonala had never found herself at a need to tap into them. Looking past them, she could see how her dress was already worn from the road, turning from the bottom to her knees a pale brown from the sheer amount of road dust she had encountered over the past week. Without looking up, she raised her hands to her braid, fidgeting with the end of it nervously as she traced the twisting length of it with mindless fingers. After a moment, she realized he was still staring at her.

"Kid--" Camor cut himself off, taking a breath as he began again, forcing calm into his voice as he tried desperately to remain respectful instead of lashing out. "Priestess Oonala. I hunt my way. I've told you this before, and if you don't like it, you can head back up to your comfy temple."

"Y-you know I can't," she muttered, feeling her shoulders curl inward as he snorted, the most she had heard him laugh to this point. She wasn't sure if he was amused at her weak protest or if he was just distasteful of it all. "The Lady--"

"She stuck us together, sure. But I've got more than enough to deal with before having to watch over you, while also keeping myself alive. My job's already difficult, and having you tag along is just making my life harder. If you go back, we'd both be happier. That's that."

By now, Oonala knew this speech as well as she knew her evening prayers. Ever since the odd nightly cycle began, he had started to say it nearly daily, and something about the words made her feel more like it was a test of her patience than Camor's actual feelings. For one, by now she knew that if he had felt that way that strongly, she would have been bundled up and personally delivered back to the temple's steps before she could know what was happening.

The priestess sighed, shook her head, and let the conversation drop off. It wasn't worth having another argument over, even if it had been just her asking if they could maybe have a little more to eat while waiting.

Her thoughts were broken by the soft chime of the bell hung above the door for the purpose of letting the staff know a rare traveler had stumbled in. A gaunt man walked in, followed by two bodyguards, burly even by normal standards. They both had to duck to pass through the door. Oonala usually felt small, but seeing the sheer size of them made her feel like prey caught in a trap in a room with a predator who hadn't noticed her yet.

As the thin man sank into a seat, Camor was standing, his chair scraping across the floor. It took her a moment to realize her traveling companion was already well across the room, leaving her behind. She scrambled to catch up to his long stride, wondering if maybe it would be better for her to stay back...

The hunter, without pausing his stride, grabbed a chair and swung it at one of the gigantic guards, catching the larger man across the temple. Oonala froze in place, surprised. The chair shattered as the guard grumbled, and the other moved in. He reeled his fist back, swinging a wild, hard punch at Camor. Her protector dodged it easily, only to come back to his full height again and strike the man with the pieces of the chair still in his hands.

The second man fell to the floor, leaving Oonala and the small, thin man watching the commotion as Camor and the guards struggled. The man watched all this as if he was merely watching a theatrical production, believing himself away from the dangers playing out. He was toying with something in his hand, a thoughtless action as he smiled faintly, more amused than upset that his potential dining experience had become a show. Candlelight glinted off whatever was in his hand. It was small and shiny, and the priestess couldn't tell if it was a piece of glass or he was playing with a small flicker of fire between his fingers. 

That was a worrying thought. If he was casually playing with fire, then that could mean he was a warlock, and Camor had a vendetta against warlocks who wielded fire. Something about a cult he was hunting down. He didn't tell her details past that, but he had warned her--

She blinked, realizing the body of Camor's crossbow had entered her field of vision, calmly pointing at the warlock's face. Camor, in a quiet, stern voice, explained that the warlock could allow himself to be arrested and dealt with accordingly at the next town, or be killed. She'd never known any warlock to actually be arrested and turned in, they all fought until they were forced to kill...The gaunt man hadn't said anything, still smiling. It was an almost vacant expression, like someone trying to place a familiar face.

A hand dropped over her mouth, keeping her from screaming as she was pulled tight against a large body. One of the bodyguards had stumbled upright while they had been distracted. The other was now staggering to his feet, backhanding Camor hard enough to knock him aside. The crossbow released, the bolt's heavy iron head sinking deep into the table as the weapon itself clattered through the room. Camor blinked, stunned and trying to get to his feet, the same guard grabbed the struggling hunter, and flung him out the door.

Oonala caught a glimpse of the setting sunlight. They had stayed too long.

This was about to become a whole lot messier.

The door slammed shut, and it left her alone with her now-captors. The waiter from before and any kitchen staff that were here were hiding. A flicker of thought passed through her mind, calling them cowards just as quickly as she also declared she couldn't blame them. The warlock stood slowly, flames wreathing his empty hand. She could see the glass pendant freely now, hanging about the warlock's neck. It was shaped like a flame and clearly lit from within by magic.

The bodyguard holding her released her, taking a step back. Maybe he was afraid of this warlock too.

"So," came the bored drawl of the thin man. His voice was deeper than she had expected. Maybe there was something more to him once, but something had eaten him up...or burned through him like fuel, leaving a man who had plenty of power but was weak in any other sense. So many warlocks were like this. "You're one of the Moon's little dolls. Long way from your marble walls, aren't you?" A sneer crossed his face, and though she knew normally she would be shaking in fear, something coursed through her, leaving her calm. Oonala mimicked the look of distaste he was giving her. "Without your guardian keeping you safe, you're nothing. You couldn't even begin to touch me."

She was growing tired of these same-sounding monologues. Every time...

Deep scratching noises sounded at the door, growing desperate and frantic. Heavy thuds soon replaced it, making the guards nervous. Oonala laughed, callous and unforgiving, as all three men around her glanced at the doorway.

"Silly warlock," she spat, her voice strong. "Camor's scary when the sun's up. But you really think--"

"Wait. Camor? That's..." The warlock's eyes grew wide, suddenly afraid. "You two, go-"

"It's rude to interrupt someone when they're talking." The priestess' voice rang cold and clear in the room, and the three men froze in place again. "Really. Men. Anyway, you should have given up. You wouldn't have had a nasty end." She stuck two fingers in her mouth, blowing a single, sharp whistled note.

The door shattered inward, raining splinters down around the small restaurant. A wolf too large to be real prowled through the door, a snarl peeling back his lips. The bodyguards shifted nervously, uncertain if they were willing to take on a beast of that size, or if they were being paid enough to do so. One of them reached for a chair, only for the wolf to rise to his hind legs and bat the man aside without a thought. The other bodyguard watched this unfold, took only a moment longer to decide his answer, and fled through the door, not wanting to deal with this monstrous beast.

The wolf slowly padded forwards towards Oonala. The warlock backed away, starting as he hit a wall. Slowly, he sank to the floor, panic now painting his voice. "Please--please! L-listen, I'm not going to raise a hand against you, I-- I'll pay for my crimes! I'll surrender! I...I can tell you how to find Morcari! He's looking for--for---Just don't sic that....thing on me!"

Oonala laughed, the bubbly sound oddly cold as the wolf stalked forward, intent on the prey right there. "I'll let the two of you settle this. After all, didn't you say? I can't do anything to you." She turned away, surprised to see the waiter staring at her in terror. He had peeked out of the kitchen, possibly checking to see if it was safe to leave. He made the mistake of staring past her, at the noises she knew were far more gruesome to look at.

She raised her voice to be heard over the screams of agony from the warlock as she bent down to pick up the crossbow from where it had landed.

"I'm rather hungry and don't have much money. Do you offer a discount for priestesses?"

---

They had left quickly.

Oonala had to guide her guardian into the woods a fair distance from the tavern they had terrorized, putting hours between them and the building. While Camor would have likely avoided the next town anyway, she wanted to put as much distance between them and the closest settlements as possible. Word was going to travel of a priestess and a monster, and that wasn't going to do them any favors. She had gotten their packs far fuller with road-stable foods, and she was happy to see that the small fight had helped Camor grow sleepier. It was well-past midnight when she found them a small clearing far from the roads. Oonala cast the wards around them that would keep people far from their small camp, just in case, as she wondered exactly how she was going to explain that they had killed the warlock they had been hunting.

It wasn't much longer after that that found both the priestess and werewolf fast asleep.

---

"Your Silver Lady be damned, girl!" Camor's shout startled Oonala awake. It really was habit by now, following the motions. She threw herself upright, her mind still muddled from the late night and this early dawn rising. She was so damned tired, and he'd want to get going soon. She hated the morning after hunts for this reason specifically. "Where the fuck are we?"

The priestess yawned, fighting down her displeasure. Why couldn't he sleep in, and they could operate on normal person hours? "Away."

"I can tell that."

Oonala sighed. "We killed the warlock. You wanted to keep moving." He glared at her, suspicion in his eyes as she fought another yawn. "You said to keep going until we couldn't be held responsible for the damages you did to the inn while fighting him."

Camor paused, then nodded. "Fine. Sounds logical. But that still doesn't help me know where we are. You better hope we have enough rations to get where we need to go." Oonala barely hid her groan as he dug in his pack for the oiled parchment that was his map. "There's another bounty I need to get to. Not part of that cult. It's going to be cold, and I don't need you shivering and whining about the snow."

"I grew up at the base of Wyvern's Maw!"

"Doesn't mean you can handle the snow."

Oonala glared, waiting for him to set the morning fire so she could at least make tea. It was too damn early for this.