Milo fought with everything he had, moving swiftly to kill without caring how it looked. There was no beauty in a fight such as this, no time for grace. The Judges were trained well, and they were many, at least a dozen: swarming around him like persistent flies. It was a stupid thing at a stupid time! It was a pointless attack, and all while the midday sun was shining at its brightest, which meant that he was at his weakest.

He heard the clangs of swords and daggers to his left, telling him that Vigilante was there too. He forced himself to stay focused: she could take care of herself, she wasn't "unskilled" after all.

Strike by strike, he regained control over the situation, and his movements became less hurried, more precise. He had slain four men and the number of swords around him was declining. He punctured the lung of one, feeling the dagger sink in between the man's ribs. He lost his grip on the hilt as the man slumped on top of his horse and had to strangle a curse on its way out.

"Retreat!" he heard their commander shout, and Milo let out a frustrated breath. He was angry enough to want to maim a few more of those bastards.

The Judges retreated in a chaotic formation, leaving their dead behind in their hurry. He watched their backs as they galloped away, wanting to confirm that they were actually going. The horses without riders followed, all except the one in front of him. He hadn't been aware that he held its rein, but the grey stallion stayed put, surprisingly calm despite the other's departure.

He swore again, the Judges would surely come back, and if that happened they should be better prepared. He wasn't used to traveling like this: out in the open in broad daylight, and it made him uncomfortable. It was embarrassing to feel weak, to feel that he should protect the others. He didn't want to care, he couldn't afford to care.

He glanced over at Vigilante and felt a flash of cold go through his body as he saw the long slice that had cut right across her chest, a wound she didn't seem to notice. She had her eyes focused on the retreating men while blood continued to pour out in a steady stream. He forgot everything else at the sight, he forgot about his anger and his brief succumb into self-pity.

"You're hurt."

She turned towards him, drawn by his words, but her eyes remained distant. As they regained their focus she looked down at her chest and started to wobble. He let go of the horse and rushed to take her before she fell. He reached her just as she slumped towards the ground, losing her hold of consciousness. He became even colder inside, cold but determined. He had to get away from the road in case the men decided to return.

He looked back and thanked his luck that the horse was still standing where he'd left him. Milo held out his hand, and to his amazement the horse came. The dead man still slumped in the saddle slid off, but the horse didn't seem to care. Reaching his outstretched hand, the horse started to nuzzle him. The invitation was clear enough so he placed Vigilante across the stallion's back. There was no time to waste. He needed to reach his medical kit, which was with the others. He had to find them before it was too late. He felt a burst of anger again. They were getting increasingly vulnerable with two out of four unconscious, also, they were being chased, and he had no idea of why.

He didn't want to increase their speed, but he had to as she was bleeding too much. His heart thumped in his chest, partly from fear, but also something else. He couldn't focus with her body held against his, her soft hair caressing his face. No, he wouldn't think of that now. He needed her to survive, he needed to stop the constant flow of blood that warmed his arm, but cooled his heart.

"Vigilante, hold on," he heard himself say, not aware that he had voiced anything. He sped up the horse, caution giving way to desperation. Soon, the horse was carrying them as fast as it could, without being urged forward.

The wind rushed in his ears, and muffled sounds of hooves on the dirt track seemed to become distant as they crashed forward. He listened for her pulse as his senses focused solely on her and the faint beat that gave him a tiny sliver of reassurance. However, as their race continued he got increasingly worried as he saw no signs of their companions. He searched their surroundings, but they were going too fast. He couldn't see anything as the forest went by in a blur on both sides.

"Milo!" Qumo shouted from his left. Finally, he thought. He reined the horse and turned it around just as Qumo strode out of the greenery by the side of the road.

"She's hurt," he cried out as he approached the N'aian.

Qumo didn't answer, but before he took hold of Vigilante and dismounted her from the horse, they shared a concerned look. This was serious. The N'aian carried her into the forest and Milo jumped off to rush after them, forgetting to bring the grey stallion.

He found his saddlebags and rummaged around until his hand grasped what he was looking for. He brought out the kit, and somehow the tattered leather pouch brought back some confidence, they would fix her: she wouldn't die, she couldn't...

"Get some water!" Qumo ordered, and he rose before he realized that he couldn't stand the thought of leaving her side. He closed his eyes for a second, forced the irrational thoughts away and threw his kit into the hands of the older N'aian. They didn't have time to lose, no time to be childish. He ran to fetch his water-skin although his heart screamed for him to stay.

-----

Vito looked at Vigilante's maimed body, not knowing how to react. It was a strange feeling seeing her hurt, defenseless. He didn't like her, but for some reason that admission didn't sit quite right with him anymore. He found it harder and harder to dislike her as the days progressed, and now as he watched the blood gush from her wounds he couldn't wish her dead, he didn't even want her harmed...not anymore.

He was still exhausted from before, but at least he wasn't hurt physically, not like her.

"How is she?" he asked. Qumo didn't look up, too focused on the task before him.

"She's lost a lot of blood, but the cut isn't too deep, if we can sew it together and keep the infection out she should be able to get through this: she's a strong woman after all."

Vito nodded in response, not thinking about the fact that Qumo didn't see him. The bushes behind them rattled, and his heart rate increased, preparing his body to get away if danger approached. He wondered if he would be able to run just as Milo sprang out of the undergrowth. The Nyx rushed past him, carrying two filled water-skins and wearing an expression Vito had never seen on him before. Milo looked afraid, and he didn't carry that calm demeanor he usually wore. The Nyx bent down over the unconscious woman with an almost wild look in his eyes. Yes, the Nyx was afraid, afraid to lose her. Vito understood it then, Milo wasn't devoid of feelings after all...

He thought of Annie then, of his feelings for her. He should have urged her to come along. He missed her.

-----

Milo watched as the old N'aian began to sew Vigilante's skin back together. The laceration reached from her collarbone right down to her lower chest. It was a clean cut, and not very deep, but blood continued to pour out.

"Would you like to take over? Your hands are nimbler than mine, I'm afraid that age has begun to take its toll on me," Qumo said, looking straight at him, and Milo felt a shiver run through his body. He didn't want to do it, he didn't want to screw this up. He shook his head, but Qumo looked insistently upon him. Finally, he gave in, taking the needle and the thin thread from the N'aian's hands.

His hands shook and he cursed. He was useless in this state. Why had Qumo insisted? He took a deep breath and tried to relax, forcing down his tense shoulders. He started anew, and this time his hands were steadier. He breathed, in – out – in – out, zoning everything out except the wound in front of him. Stitch by stitch her skin came together and the bleeding slowed.

-----

Qumo watched in silence as Milo healed the girl. He knew now that the girl would be fine, he also knew that Milo had no clue about what he was actually doing. The Nyx was focused on the stitches, so focused that he didn't see the color returning to the girl's cheeks, or that the skin beneath his fingers actually sealed without the help of the needle and thread. He wouldn't say anything, because he knew the Nyx wasn't ready to hear it yet.

He had hoped that this would happen eventually, but he hadn't been prepared to see it already. The Nyx hadn't shown any signs of remembering who he was or what he could do. He watched as Milo made the last stitch, watched him sit back and slump down. He reached for the Nyx before he fell, seemingly exhausted by his first encounter with the forces. The timing was terrible. Even if it had been amazing to see the healing it had not been needed, and now only he remained unhurt. If something happened they wouldn't be able to fight back, they wouldn't even be able to run, they were defenseless. The thought was far from pleasant.

He forced the unease away as he lowered the Nyx to the ground. Milo wasn't responsive, but he'd seen it happen enough times not to be worried. In the old days the children always lost consciousness upon their first contact with the forces. He checked Vigilante's pulse, smiling at the steady beat, and finally turned towards Vito.

"We need to get some food into all of you. I'll make soup. I won't ask you to sleep, but please rest Vito, I'm more worried about you than the other two."

He saw the boy sway a little where he sat. He didn't look good at all, and Qumo had no idea of what to do to make him better. Time was running out. Vito wouldn't survive much longer if things continued as they had. He turned away from the young man, intent on not letting Vito see the depth of his worry.