The growling of his stomach seemed almost as loud as the whistling wind through the branches above as Aicanassë carved the fur from the rabbit. It was modestly fat, well fed from plenty of vegetation and firm with muscle. His hands had a faint smear of red, brow furrowed in determination. He could already imagine the slick juices of fat running down his fingers and jaw when they finally consumed its roasted flesh. But that didn’t seem to be the case for much longer when Vesta came fleeing back, grabbing his arm with a frightened desperation and whispering her warning.<br/><br/><i>A fire.</i>A fire meant people. People, in this part of the woods, from their experience, was usually robbers, bandits, or outlaws.<i>Or worse, my Uncle’s men.</i><br/><br/>He didn’t answer Vesta. He grabbed the rabbit by its ears, wrapped it up in the cloak used as a sack, and handed it to Vesta, before taking her arm and moving into the woods, shifting parallel to the fire to try and catch a glimpse of some silhouette of individuals there. But there was nothing. Not even a sound, except for the crackling of wood. Strange that one would leave a fire unattended in the woods. Perhaps they were away. Perhaps…they were already forming a circle and net around the exiled Prince and Princess to capture them.<br/><br/>Aica brought Vesta to another broad tree trunk and crouched. He drew out both his knives, taking the longer one for himself and giving the shorter to Vesta. Still, he said nothing but the advice he had once given her the last time they were assaulted still fluttered in his memory.<i>Worst comes to worst…use it on yourself.</i>He couldn’t stand the thought of her being raped and abused again. Not again. Never again.<br/><br/>For a short time, Aica just watched. He observed, thinking someone might return. If they were dangerous, perhaps he could ambush them instead. If they were just harmless travelers…Aica would leave them alone. He would never beg for help from any other. But if they were soldiers, fighters, killers, he had no qualms about giving that to them in which they sought to give out. But when a quarter hour had passed with no activity save the dwindling dancing of the tongues of fire, Aica lurched to his feet. “Stay close.” He whispered to Vesta and moved towards the fire.<br/><br/>Before they reached it, in the shadow of a nearby tree, he drew Vesta close once more and pecked her lightly on the side of her forehead. It might be their last.<br/><br/>A hum of thoughtfulness emitted from the back of his mouth when they neared. The campsite…seemed old. The firepit was no rudimentary construct but dug into the ground like a pit, ensuring longevity of the red flower within. Twisted branches that once formed a greater whole lay in ruins around, small dens where one could sleep. But most interesting was the pile of berries, onions and mushrooms strewn together. Strange indeed that one would leave a meal and fire unattended, so openly in the woods. It had to be a trap. Aica immediately stood to his full height, a good head taller than Vesta, and his grey eyes scanned the growing shadows about them.<br/><br/>“Does it feel like we’re being watched?” He did not seem to notice the little sprite, for he did not even comprehend that such a creature existed, let alone filter into his mind of things to watch out for. The blade of the knife gleamed with reflection from the fire, as if eager for the blood that might soon coat its length.