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Namo’s left-field question caught Martin on the back foot, and the rogue felt the foundation of the courage he had built up crumble beneath him like wet mud amidst a rushing stream. “No… no it’s not about English. It’s about you and me, err, more like, it’s, um, it’s about us.” Damn it, this is fucking hard!

Namo scooted backward beneath her blankets, propping herself up on her palms. The blankets slid off her shoulders and Martin looked away from her bare chest reflexively. “Oh, like, ya mean about how we kissed the other day? And how I’ve been sleeping next to you a lot? That’s weird for humans right? Or at least between humans that aren’t together? Like, as a pair? Whaddya call that again? That’s ‘relationship’, right? Is that what you’re try’na say? Thatcha wanna get relationshipped? Because I’ve never even—”

“Namo! Slow down!” Martin interjected, lodging an edgewise word in to keep himself from being buried beneath the tidal wave of rhetorical questions the faun was piling on him. “Sorry, just… let me explain.” He took a deep breath, and mustered the strength of will to look at the woman across from him despite the conflict between her toplessness and his deeply ingrained sense of propriety. “Yes, you’re right in some respects. It’s true that a lot of the things that we’ve done recently are not things that most people who are ‘just friends’ do. But what matters most is that—is that I don’t feel like you’re ‘just a friend’ anymore. At least to me, my care toward you extends deeper than that. Like, when I look at you—especially when I stare into your eyes—” he paused to take a quick breath. “Fuck. When I stare into your eyes, my heart races, Namo. When I hear you sing, I feel comfortable—I look forward to it every night. And when I think about us parting ways, like, I dunno, when all of this is over, I feel this sense of melancholy—like, deep, deep sadness, more than I felt toward anyone, even my old friend Davin.” Namo waited for the man to finish, her expression mostly unchanged save for the slight parting of her lips and a slight tilt of her head. An expression of curiosity? Wonder? Shock? Martin tried not to read too much into her expression. “And yes, kissing you felt so natural, like it was the only thing that was keeping me from floating into space. I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it more or less constantly since it happened.” It took a conscious effort for the man, sitting upright in his sleeping bag, to not slump his shoulders in visible relief at getting the weight off his chest.

Namo held a hefty silence, in apparent comprehension for Martin’s confession. He half expected her to say something silly, as was often her prerogative, but it seemed she understood the gravity of the situation keenly. “Oh, fer shoot, Maa’ko,” the woman said, curling her unguligrade legs to her chest and leaning her head upon her knees. “I’m real glad ya said something. I thought it was maybe just me. I don’t know how Amonuunkep handle relationship stuff, but, I think you’re awfully special. I feel less sad about the bad stuff that’s happened when you’re around. When you talk about rocks and the land and stuff, it makes me feel all excited inside. I like just chattin’ with ya about plants and just anything, really. More than anyone ever, even the other Akepmuu I was with in the past.” Martin watched as it was her turn to look away in embarrassment. “And, um, I’ll admit that the past few nights, I’ve only really slept in the tent because I wanna be close to you. I, um, really liked it when you held me, back on the mountain when it was snowing.”

Martin couldn’t tell whether the warmth he felt was from him or Namo blushing. The botanist paused for a moment, and Martin opened his mouth to speak, before she continued. “And um, part of why I like being with you so much is because, um, you inspire me to make more music.” This revelation seemed to be even more difficult for her than the previous one. “Part of why I wanna keep traveling together is to be able to make more songs about us.” She all but buried her head between her tucked-in knees in embarrassment.

“I’m touched, Namo…really, I am. That’s, well, it’s really cheesy, but it’s sweet of you to say.”

“Cheesy? What does cheese have to do with anything?” Namo lifted her head to regard Martin .

“No, I mean it’s like something that’s predictable or common in a way that’s almost funny, but, like, not in a ‘ha-ha’ funny way, like, in a silly way,” Martin replied, verbally stumbling over himself on how to define the word.

“It is not silly!” Namo said, indignant, “Just because it’s predictable doesn’t make it any less true!”

Martin reached out and put a hand on her knee. “Listen! Don’t worry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way—like I said, I’m touched. It’s endearing.”

Namo moved her hands to cover Martin’s. Startled, he tried to remove himself from her sudden grasp but she offered resistance to letting him go. “Ya better not be lyin’ to make me feel better.”

Martin’s eyes were drawn toward her lips, barely visible in the filtered moonlight that shone through the canvas fabric that surrounded them. He felt drawn in by her, and flashed a soft, sincere smile. “Not lying. Promise.”

A few seconds of silence passed between the pair as Namo scrutinized the man before Martin spoke through a mixture of concocted courage and helpless hypnotism. “I’ll let you have that cheesy moment if you’ll let me have one too.”

“A-alright then, go on.” It was clear Namo didn’t know what to expect—she tentatively bit her lip.

That was okay; the man didn’t say anything in response. Instead, his smile turning wry, Martin gently but firmly leaned into the woman, pushing her backward from her curled position onto her blanket and holding one of her arms by the wrist. The faun laughed, then asked: “What are you doing—“ before Martin interrupted her by pressing his lips to hers, the contact arcing between them like static electricity made flesh. Namo made a soft noise in surprise, then returned the kiss eagerly. She smelled of sweat and earth and something indescribably her: musky but pleasant, a sensation cloying to his nerves that urged him onward. He closed his eyes, not that he could see her face well in the darkness of the tent to begin with.

Unlike the first time the pair kissed, where there was a sense of urgency to their shared affection, Martin and Namo engaged in a more playful lip-lock reflecting the release, or at least acknowledgment, of their pent-up feelings toward one another. Martin nibbled her lip, a faint taste of paprika and cloves numbing his tongue for a microsecond; the startling contact caused Namo to push Martin away as she erupted in a brief fit of laughter, if only for a couple seconds, before pulling him in again. Her warm breath threatened to condense in the cold air on Martin’s beard, not that he minded. She wrapped her free arm around the man’s back, pressing him against her bare chest in an embrace as soft and firm as woven silk. Her dusky lips wet the human’s paler lips once, twice, thrice, before he lost count, just trying to keep up amidst the swell of his affection toward the woman.

Through his yielding grip on her arm, the man felt their heart rates vying for supremacy; the excitement of the moment spurred his adrenaline as the press and release of their lips—sometimes firm, sometimes like gossamer—fanned the flames of the man’s euphoria. He released his grip on the faun’s arm and she clasped it around his back reflexively, holding the man tighter. Martin’s undershirt pressed against the bare skin of her stomach and breast. Namo panted against Martin’s mouth: her breath wasn’t exactly heavenly, but Martin didn’t care, as long as he got to share his affection with her in this intimate way. Recognizing the faun needed to breathe, he pulled his face away from hers, a thin string of sticky faun saliva connecting the interrupted interface of their conjoined lips, a symbol of their shared sense of synchronicity, however brief before it severed.

Namo didn’t let her human go. That was fine. He rolled them both over onto their sides so his sweet capreoline companion would be the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.

The next several days of travel found Martin more at ease than he had felt since starting the journey—unsurprising, considering that he and Namo had grown closer than ever before. The lightheartedness he felt was enough to dispel the worst of his tremors and headache. Though the man craved the taste of alcohol on his lips, he admitted that Namo’s affection was even sweeter an intoxicant. The childlike glee he felt was the worst of the side effects, to his mind anyway. Namo remained somewhat more pensive than usual; Martin could only speculate as to what anxieties teased at her mind. The rogue attempted to lift her spirits by sharing anecdotes of his own upbringing and thoughts on the geology of the tundra landscape, which seemed to alleviate the distant expression that creased the corners of her eyes in the quiet moments they shared.

The thoroughfare grew more congested over the next two days, with pedestrians, stagecoaches, and more of those horseless carriages than they had seen in the preceding days since leaving Espiritu. Martin recognized the traffic as sure signs of proximity to their next destination: a human city by the name of Fort Sarmiento. The man reasoned that the city had a previous existence as a former military outpost established during Echo’s colonial era hundreds of years ago; he could see little reason why it would have remained as a true military fort after all this time, considering that he had not heard of any active or foreseen conflict in the region. However, as the pair approached the outskirts of the town, he was forced to reassess his perspective. The first aspect of the city skyline that came into view was of a massive brickwork wall that stretched until either side was obscured beyond the contour of flanking hills. As they approached, few buildings outside of the confines of the wall came into view, save for carriage and horse rentals, a trade bureau, and police checkpoints. Traffic increased to the point of congestion as every traveling party—some including groups of mixed faun and human travelers—was routinely inspected. For what, the man had no idea. But to hell with waiting in line; they had naught to inspect but what they carried on their backs.

“Hey Namo, let’s sneak around and skip the line.”

Namo hesitated. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No, but it’s better than waiting in line for who knows how long.” From their viewpoint at the crest of a hill, the line easily stretched on for 20 carriages, not counting all the pedestrians and horseback travelers. “Come on, I have a plan.”

Namo followed closely behind as Martin began walking down the road, before veering off to the right side of the road, opposite the first checkpoint station. A narrow barricade, chest high and adorned with coils menacing barbed wire, encircled the perimeter of the city enclosed within the checkpoint. Martin tested the barbed wire’s pliability: thankfully, it could be bent enough to minimize their chances of landing on the spiny coils. “This should be simple enough to climb over. I’ll go first, then you.”

“Aren’tcha worried we’re gonna get caught?” The faun looked over her shoulder as if someone could pop out to apprehend them any moment.

Martin shook his head. “Nah, once we get in, nobody will care. We’re not transporting anything; we won’t even be a blip on the radar. Come on, hand me your bag. Nothing fragile in there right?”

Trusting the human, Namo shook her head and unshouldered her pack before handing it to Martin, who tossed it over the side. “Alright, I’ll go first, you watch me, then follow. Got it?”

Namo nodded, worry tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Be quick, alright?”

“Quick as lightning,” Martin assured her, before hopping up and lifting a leg over the barricade. He nearly poked himself on the portion of the coil of barbed wire that was riveted against the concrete barrier, but almost effortlessly landed on the other side, none the worse for wear. “Alright, your turn.”

The faun, thanks to her long, unguligrade legs, had no trouble leaping most of the way over the barrier with almost preternatural ease. Rather than mount the barricade like Martin had, she seemingly ricocheted off of the structure, landing on her feet in a fluid motion. Martin stared at the faun’s dexterous feat agape. “Holy shit,” was all the human could muster in response to her effortless feat of acrobatics.

“Wh-what happened?” Namo said demurely, as she crouched down to grab her pack.

“Nothing, other than you clearing the fence like it was nothing. Wish I could jump—“

“—‘Scuse, me! Stop right there, trespassers!” The pair heard from the distance, behind the rogue. Martin’s heart sank. He glanced over his shoulder to find a portly constable briskly approaching them, clad in a slate gray uniform with a silver badge visible even from the fifteen or so meters away and counting. Images of his wanted status flashed through the man’s mind—arrest, prison, execution would surely follow. The pair had a fifteen-meter head start. The choice was obvious. There was no choice to begin with.

“Ohhh, fuck. Namo, follow me! We gotta run!” Without waiting for her reply, the man bolted toward the main road into the city behind the checkpoint. From behind him, he heard Namo’s suppressed protest followed by the clop of her hooves against the tarmac as she sprinted after him. The constable’s shouts were quickly drowned out by the din of the crowd of people amidst the traffic between the security checkpoint and the city wall proper. It seemed as though there were multiple entry points into the wall past the checkpoint, so Martin took his chances at the one that looked the least staffed. He looked behind him to see Namo, almost frantic, but not even slightly winded, as they weaved among the members of the crowd.

“Maa’ko, look out!”

Martin turned around in front of him only to run directly into another gray-suited officer, a pale-skinned man of average size but adroit of reflexes and strong of physique—the rogue stood no match. He collided into the man, nearly knocking himself off balance, before he was quickly pinned to the ground, his chest and face landing in the bare dirt along the side of the road. The officer all but tore the heavy rucksack off of Martin’s back and forcibly pulled his hands behind his back. “Whadda we got here?” The man asked, clearly rhetorically. “Another trafficker? I’d ask to see your papers for the beast but I won’t even bother.”

The pinned tramp spat gravel out of his mouth. “Run, Namo! Get outta here!”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, Maa’ko,” the faun replied indignantly, before turning to the officer. “’Scuse me mister officer, couldja please let my friend go? We just got—“

“Shut it, cud-chewer,” the officer spat, before Namo found herself with her hands similarly pulled behind her back around her backpack. “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” Martin could see the first constable had caught up to the pair, huffing in exertion as both officers slipped handcuffs around the two unwitting travelers.

Martin looked up as best as he could. From his compromised prone position, he could crane his neck to barely see the faun’s mouth agape in disgust at the use of the slur. A crowd was forming around them. Maybe he could secure their freedom by making a scene. As he was lifted handily to his two feet by the slender constable, Martin grasped at straws, panicking to delay the inevitable. “You-you can’t just arrest me! I’m a renowned scholar and apprentice under the employ of the famed Madame Helene Arbour! She’ll will have your head if you don’t unhand—“

The man’s world spun as he was swatted across the face by the pale-skinned constable’s callused hand. “Not another word out of your god damn mouth, scum. I could give a rat’s ass if you were Chairman Dumont’s bastard son. You traffickers ain’t worth the time it takes to book you miserable shits.” Martin vaguely pieced together through the vertigo and ringing in his ears from the solid blow.

The pair of officers brusquely ushered the apprehended trespassers into the back of a horseless carriage after tossing their belongings into the trunk, presumably to document as evidence. Guilt overwhelmed the man. His haste and incompetence had gotten them into more trouble, and not even Namo’s silver tongue was enough to bail him out this time. It was all he could do to look in the general direction at the faun woman he adored, as the pale-skinned constable started the engine and began puttering the group into town. Managing eye contact with her turned out to be too difficult. “I’m sorry, Namo. I fucked this all up.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Maa’ko,” Namo replied, patient to a fault even if her expression belied the concern she faced. “We’ll figure our way outta this l’il misunderstandin’, I’m shore of it.” Martin understood that their current predicament tested the limits of her boundless optimism.

The man wasn’t sure he shared in said optimism. Instead, he looked out the small backseat window of the vehicle. As they passed through the main gate into the city proper, the structures all exhibited a unity of architectural design unlike anything Martin had seen in his travels. The nearly identical concrete structures stretched onward as if the entire city had been planned from the ground up and the plans had been followed without exception. Whether a residence, a depot, or a commercial building, each nearly featureless façade only exhibited dalliances in the form of small, single-paned glass windows accompanied by equally austere wooden doors. The greatest source of architectural novelty were statues that adorned several of the larger buildings, themselves all identical save for the size: a woman, enshrouded in majestic robes akin to a Greco-Roman demigoddess, her arms relaxed in front of her. Many of these statues held a torch between her grasping hands, but equally as many carried an olive green banner. Emblazoned on these banners in striking white, serifed letters was an acronym: SAM. The acronym stood offset around a similarly white torch blazing toward the top of the field of each banner. The man didn’t recognize the acronym, but he realized that the patriotic identity of this place was yet another feature of the city unlike any he had encountered in his travels previously. He supposed it was a foregone conclusion that the detention facility to which he and Namo were en route would be similarly bleak.