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The only thing worse than being afraid of dying is being afraid of living.

Damian kept repeating the words to herself, trying to remember Garrick saying them. They didn't seem to hold much power when it was only her own voice speaking them. She still felt tremendous guilt at what had happened to Aether and its citizens because of her, but she clung tightly to the hope that she could change things.

It had never taken the sun so long to travel across the sky than it did that day. She regretted her decision to leave so soon, though a small part of her remained glad that she had agreed to it so readily. She wasn't certain she could have left at all otherwise, and she knew it was important that she find out why the krolmins wanted her. Still, it hurt to think that she was leaving this lovely town and she felt half gone already. Relhan and the citizens of Trent were another town, another world away, and she had nothing to do while Garrick was off preparing for the travel to come. What did she need to prepare? Her worldly possessions all fit in the satchel she could wear over her shoulder and she was leaving nothing and no one behind. So she wandered through the crowded streets, surrounded by people and never feeling more alone. In Aether, though she had no true friends her own age to speak of, she had always had her father, but now she had no one. To Weston she was just a customer, Caleb wouldn't understand, and Domino...

She tried to hold back her tears as she visited the prison one last time, but it was too difficult to repress and she rubbed at her eyes often. Domino said nothing as he waited for her to speak first, concern only barely showing in his watery blue eyes. To her, it was more emotional and meaningful than Caleb's extravagant displays.

"I... I'm leaving," she stated, not meeting his eyes. As usual, the prisoners in their stone and iron cells nearby stood as close to her as their imprisonment would allow. She thought she heard a disappointed groan from nearby, even as quietly as she had spoken.

"Leaving?" Domino asked simply.

"The knight and I," she explained. "We're going to Dresdin. We're leaving tomorrow morning." Saying the words made them feel truer to Damian, and her heart ached with the thought that she would be leaving Domino behind. He didn't respond, but she could see the question he didn't speak behind his eyes. She wanted to tell him everything, but what would the other prisoners and guards think if she mentioned an unknown attack in the town, and her responsible for it? The murmur of the prisoners rang throughout.

"Is there any news?" she wondered, a pleading expression on her face. The mercenary only shook his head. Damian sighed. Each time she came to speak with him, she asked if he had heard anything regarding a trial or questioning for him, but he had been told nothing in all the days he had been imprisoned. Their conversation fell quiet in the gloom of the cave-like prison. She didn't know what to say.

"Are you alright?" Domino asked. He had never spoken her name when she visited him here. It occurred to her then that he never had.

"I don't want to go," she answered, arms wrapped around her midsection for warmth. The prison seemed to grow cooler by the minute. "I don't want to leave you." Her voice wavered. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to hold him and remembered their time traveling to Trent after the attack on Aether. She longed for those days in the sunny forest when the greatest of her concerns was finding a job in town. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a hurt look pass across his eyes, but it was too faint to be certain.

"What's wrong?" he continued. Damian shivered, feeling yellow eyes all around her. Glancing around, she met the leering grins of the prisoners in the cells surrounding Domino and the stern gaze of the black-haired guard, who always stayed close when she visited him. She looked away.

"I can't tell you," she replied. Not here, she wanted to specify, but she didn't want to arouse suspicion. She didn't want any attention but Domino's at that moment. When she returned her gaze to his, she could tell that he understood what she hadn't spoken. The words she wanted to say to him caught in her throat. She felt so empty and he looked so strong and comforting, standing just beyond the black bars in only his shirt and trousers. She wished she knew him better. A lump formed in her throat.

"I'll miss you," she added, trying to force back the sobs she could feel growing in the pit of her stomach. Domino must have seen her efforts, for he stepped forward and reached his hands through the bars. She took them gratefully, relishing the feel of his gentle, warm touch against her shaking hands. Her desire to hold him grew ever stronger.

"Take care of yourself," he stated, the deep sadness she had seen more than a few times building behind his eyes. The look tore her heart in half. Her breath sped as she tried to hold back crying. There was nothing else to say, but she didn't want to end it here. She couldn't force herself to say 'goodbye.' A long moment passed while she held his hands and gazed at him, wondering hopelessly if she would ever get to see him again. Finally, the tears could be contained no longer.

"I... I have to go," she choked out. Without waiting for a response, she turned and ran, hoping she could at least escape the prison before sobbing loudly. Domino said nothing as she left him for the last time.

Foolish girl, she thought as she ducked into an alley beside the prison and cried, her face buried in her hands. Did he really care about her at all? He had been planning to leave before they arrived in town, anyway. Would he even remember her next year? Next season? Next week? She had only been deluding herself thinking that he cared about her. But she had needed him. The mercenary had been a source of strength and comfort she had desperately needed after the attack, and obviously, still did. His gentle touches and soothing words had meant the world to her. He had given her so much and protected her and had been a rock in her chaotic life.

Can someone so kind really be so bad? Memories of the journey to Trent returned to her. The things he had taught her, the comfort he had given her, the empathy and concern he had expressed toward her. He had to care, she told herself. He wouldn't have done those things if he didn't. He had admitted to attacking his former partners in the Red Hawks, but he had never given her any reason to mistrust him. Only everyone else in town had. How was she to know what to do?

Follow your heart. Her heart belonged in a jail cell on the other side of the wall she leaned against. Once more, she wished only that she could stay in town with him. She wanted to run to Garrick and plead to him to wait until Domino had a trial, but as soon as the desire hit, she knew it was useless. On the few occasions she had mentioned him, the knight grew very serious and warned her against seeing him. She had given up on convincing Garrick and knew she had to give up on Domino now. Sobs wracked her heart again.

"You poor girl," came a voice beside her. Damian looked up from where she crouched to find a woman standing beside her. Auburn hair peppered with grey tumbled down over faintly lined cheeks and a plain linen shift. In one hand was a handkerchief held out to her and in the other was a basket with a young boy clutching it. Damian felt a pang of sadness at having never known her mother, or any at all.

"Thank you," she uttered as she took the handkerchief and blew her nose.

"Think nothing of it," the woman replied. "What's the matter?" Damian glanced briefly at the blonde boy at her side before looking away.

"It's a long story," she stated. The woman patted her shoulder. She twitched uncontrollably at the touch.

"Well, be strong, dear," the woman remarked. "Things will turn out all right." Damian stood, donning a weak smile.

"Yes, they will," she answered, not believing a word of it.

The next morning, the sun rose on a busy world of celebration, but it only brought darkness to Damian. She bathed without thinking, broke her fast without tasting, and packed without feeling. Cloak wrapped around her shoulders, dagger and coin pouch fastened at her waist, and satchel hanging over one shoulder, she stood for a long time in the doorway of what she realized had become a second home to her. The room was bare and simple and it wasn't hers, even when she had been occupying it, but it had become familiar in her short time living there. It was hope. Now what did she have?

Fingering the tiger iron owl on her cloak, she stepped outside and closed the door. Weston stood at the top of the stairs, a gentle but remorseful smile on his face.

"Thank you," Damian stated with a meager smile she didn't feel. "Thank you for all your help." She handed him the key, a once familiar weight in a pocket now left empty. The innkeep only patted her on the shoulder and gave her a brief hug. She hoped he didn't notice the discomfort she felt in it; she truly was grateful to him for making her feel at home in the Yawning Bear.

Her gaze was so fixated on her own feet leading her away from the inn that she had almost reached the door before a whistle interrupted her. Turning, she found Garrick sitting at a table by an open window, armoured feet propped up and a leather mug in hand. Absently, she approached the table and took a seat across from him.

"The man makes a good hard cider," he remarked as she sat down. "Have you tried some?" Damian didn't answer. It was too much effort just to speak. Her body seemed to be made of lead, though despite how restless she had been when she got in bed early the last night, she had slept soundly, as if her body defied her inner turmoil. Garrick returned his mug to the table, pausing. After a moment, he waved Weston over.

"Mead, with ginger and cinnamon," he ordered quietly. Damian looked up in surprise as Weston nodded and quickly returned to the kitchen. She realized the knight had heard her order the drink enough times, so it was no shock that he knew she liked it. Garrick smiled gently at her and her heart fluttered briefly. He was hard to resist when he smiled. The gesture was strangely comforting, assuring her that he wasn't as much a stranger to her as she still believed.

Weston returned with her spiced mead and she uttered her thanks. The warm drink soothed her as it rolled down her throat and she began to feel calmer. Returning her gaze to the table, she noticed a pair of shining gauntlets sitting beside Garrick, matching the rest of his dragonlike armour. It was the only piece she hadn't seen before.

Curiously, she asked, "You don't wear a helmet?" Garrick sipped his cider and shook his head.

"None of the Agaesi do," he answered. "It's to keep our minds clear." Damian pondered that as she drank. She liked the significance, though she liked more that she could see him. It was much easier to be with a face she could recognize, rather than a suit of armour that could hide anything behind it. The knight chuckled.

"Of course, some take that a step further and keep their heads plucked bald," he remarked. He grinned at her. "I don't take to that. I can think plenty well enough with all my hair." To Damian's surprise, she smiled. She tried to picture him plucked bald and grinned wider at the thought. He did have nice hair. This morning it was a soft brown, red only faintly visible in certain lights.

He continued to talk and quip while they drank and she slowly felt more at ease with him and the journey ahead. Once she had finished her mead, he stood. "Well, I think Percy should have the horses ready by now." He offered her a hand. Nervously, she took it and stood, following him out the front door of the inn. When she stepped outside, she gasped, stopping in her tracks.

Tied to the hitching post beside the sidewalk was an enormous horse. It was not broad-hoofed like a cart horse, but it was muscular as one with the saddle on eye level with her. The golden brown and white mare she had ridden to Trent looked half a pony tied beside it. It was a full destrier, its coat gleaming dark copper with white stockings and stripe. Its silken tail flowed all the way to the ground and tufts of fur sprouted from its white fetlocks. The bridle and saddle were made of fine leather, the latter engraved with intricate dragons around the edge and the seat marked with the griffin and swords of the western duchy of Hesperia. It was the most magnificent animal she had ever seen.

Garrick grinned widely as he approached the incredible horse and patted its neck. "This is my partner," he introduced, "Brenadier." She could only gaze at the immense stallion. "Breny, this is that friend I told you about." The horse snorted and stamped its hoof irritably. Damian backed away a step, though Garrick only laughed.

"He hates it when I call him that," he explained. "Brenadier, meet Damian." Bending a hoof, the horse leaned back and lowered its head in an imitation of a bow. She stared wide-eyed at the movement, then turned her eyes to the knight. He only smiled.

"Let's get your things in the saddlebags," he stated, moving over to the familiar mare. Looking at it brought a lead weight to the pit of her stomach.

"I..." she attempted. Garrick pulled the satchel off her shoulder and got her to relinquish her dagger and coin pouch to the mare's saddlebags, though she knew she couldn't ride the horse.

Once her equipment was safely stowed, the knight patted the mare's neck and asked, "So, does she have a name?" Damian shook her head, backing away.

"I..." she began.

"Well, let's give her one, then," he suggested, oblivious to her reaction, seemingly by choice.

"No," Damian uttered. "I can't..."

"It's not that hard," Garrick encouraged. "Just whatever comes to your mind when you think of her."

"No," she repeated, stronger. "I can't take her. She's not my horse. I stole her!" Tears formed in her eyes as she leaned against the wall of the inn. She loved the gentle creature, but it belonged to the merchant she had seen riding it in Aether. It wasn't right for her to take the mare.

"Damian," Garrick stated softly as he stepped toward her.

"I can't take her!" she cried. The knight grasped her shoulders gently.

"Damian," he spoke. "You didn't steal her from anybody. There's nothing wrong with what you did. After all, if she was abandoned when you found her, then something probably happened to that merchant, anyway." Damian shook her head, her freshly washed hair swaying from side to side.

"She's still not my horse!" she insisted. "What if he comes looking for her?"

"At this point, it's pretty safe to assume that he's not going to." Damian raised her eyes to his, desperately hoping that she could keep the horse, but knowing that it was wrong to do so. "Think about it this way. If she was your horse and you knew she had saved someone else's life during the attack, would it bother you to let them use her?" She gazed into the mare's big, dark eyes and sighed.

"No," she stated.

"I'm sure the merchant feels the same way," Garrick continued. He grinned at her. "And if he doesn't, then he deserves to buy a new horse." Damian tried to smile, but she didn't quite make it. Slowly, she moved toward the mare. "You do like her, don't you?"

"I adore her," she answered, petting the mare's nose. It nuzzled her hand, bringing a real smile to her face.

"Then give her a name," he urged. Damian gazed at the mare, once again thinking back to the journey into Trent. She was glad Garrick was convinced she should keep the horse. Like Domino, it was a familiar presence, one that had rescued her in her darkest hour and given her comfort and support when she needed it most. It was something that she could hold on to even as she had lost everything else, a friend from an old life who had stayed by her side unquestioningly. Her fingers traced the outline of the splash of white over the mare's shoulders and up its white mane. Suddenly tearing up, she grasped the horse's neck in a fierce embrace. The warmth of its body felt soothing against her and the gentle nudges it gave with its nose made her feel loved. Drawing back, she stroked the stripe down the mare's head.

"So, what are you going to call her?" Garrick asked. Damian scratched the horse behind the ears and ran her fingers through its mane. Whatever comes to your mind when you think of her. The horse nuzzled her again and the name came to her. It was the only thing she could call the gentle animal.

"Hope."

Garrick grinned and nodded in approval. "Let's go." Donning his gauntlets, he mounted his huge destrier. The inn's stableboy helped Damian mount the mare. Hope, she repeated to herself as her skirt fell modestly over her legs. I do have hope.