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Martin blinked and realized his breath was heaving. He closed and opened his left palm once again. Clean, no blood. The creases of his palm traced the same patterns as they had that night, one of the only direct reminders of the events from two years ago. He realized that Namo, still on his left, had placed a comforting hand on his forearm. Between his vacant stare and his panicked hyperventilation, it must have been obvious to her, let alone the village representatives, that retelling the events that had happened two years prior taxed Martin.

After he had completed his account of the events of Davin’s murder, and the English-speaking elder had finished translating, stillness permeated the air as Martin stared at the ground between the seven of them, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. A long moment passed before one of the others responded. Translated, she asked: “It is clear you have dealt with much pain in losing your friend, and I am sorry. But we are still unsure of the truth of your claims. How do you know this is the same woman as the one who visited us last night? She didn’t introduce herself with the name you gave.”

Martin wiped sweat that had beaded on his forehead despite the temperate evening. “She was using an alias, obviously—a-a made up name. What was the name she used when she was here?”

The councilors murmured amongst themselves for a moment. “Juuniss Maanimo’ii, or something of the sort” the English-speaker eventually responded, clearly doing the best he could to say the human name.

Martin mulled the name over in his head. It sounded vaguely familiar. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

The older man repeated the name. “Juuniss Maanimo’ii”.

Juuniss. Juuniss. The man repeated the word to himself several times. _Juu—_the connection, he realized, in an epiphany. A page slightly yellowed, a scrawled name, upside down. All caps. Several days ago, right between LIN ZHAO and PHILIPPE FILS-AIME: JUDITH MONTGOMERY. Martin suppressed a mirthless smile. If nothing else, they were definitely on the right track.

“And you’d describe her as a tall, muscular woman, with long, straight black hair, tan skin, and a silver dagger belted at her hip?” He gestured to the group to help with communicating to those who didn’t speak English, and received some nods in return. “Look, she fits the description, and as far as I know that dagger she carries is one-of-a-kind. She lied to you about her name, but that’s all I can give you.”

“Very well,” the elder faun said simply. “So how do you know it was her that harmed your friend, then?”

“Look, I…” Martin stammered. “I-I can’t prove that part. I wasn’t there when Davin was murdered. But there’s nobody else who had any reason to. But I think Davin found something Afzal did want him to see. But really, it’s why I have been looking for her in the first place. I want to see what she has to say for herself.” It was a half-truth deemphasizing his desire for vengeance, but he preferred a defensible half-truth to a vulnerable full-truth. “I just ask that you trust me on that part. You didn’t see her attack the head of your village either, and yet you know it’s her. It’s the same way for me.”

“…Um, if I may, Soka’snuuma,” Namo interjected, mostly in English except for what was presumably a deferential term for the council members. “Maa’ko isn’t the only one who has been hurt by this woman. Uno’opan was a friend of mine. We grew up together in Jeju. I had hoped to see her here today, and now I won’t... I won't never get to again.” It was Martin’s turn to place a comforting hand on the faun’s shoulder as she threatened to lose her composure. “I wanted to travel to Uat’sn anyway… but now I know that I need to, so I can keep this from happenin' again. I even ran into the monuunkep Maa'ko talked about shortly before I met him. She gave me the creeps. So I believe what Maa’ko says even though I didn’t see it myself. I hope you can trust him—trust us—too.” Martin found the strength to look at her and saw her eyes, wet with tears, gleaming in the firelight. Martin’s own eyes felt damp, he realized. Had he been crying, too?

After a moment for the elder to translate, the five councilors deliberated amongst themselves. Namo, still teary-eyed, whispered tidbits of what she could make out to Martin to in the hope of explaining the gist of the discussion. It sounded as though one of the two other men in the group was the only holdout, who felt that his status as a human with a history with at least one of the people in the group of bandits was suspicious enough and not meriting trust. Martin mentally twiddled his thumbs and stared at the fire while the group deliberated for the better part of five minutes. Then, after deliberation had concluded, the most elder of the group relayed the verdict: “We have some uncertainty among us about our decision, but nevertheless choose to trust you in good faith. We give you the authority to serve as our messengers on behalf of the village.”

Martin, expecting that to be the end of the statement, began to thank the group for their trust, but was interrupted as the elder continued: “You must understand, however, that you are taking part in a sacred Kepmuun custom, and as such, if you are found to shirk this duty, you will never again be welcome among us as friends.”

The human considered for a moment. He would have expected something like “being hunted for all of his days” or “life imprisonment for treason” or something along those lines. This was the punishment fitting the crime in this case? Perhaps it was another cultural thing. “I assure you, uh, sir, that the reason why we are offering is simply to help your village and to honor those we have lost.” He considered adding that the two of them would, in all likelihood, share the message regardless whether they were invited to do so as the official envoys of Benuun, but decided not to press his luck.

“Thank you, human. The gesture is appreciated. We cannot offer you the money for this task that your kind prefers, but we have other ways of paying you fairly. Are you prepared to leave tomorrow?”

Martin looked to Namo, who nodded. “I believe so, sir.”

“Very good. Meet us here tomorrow morning. We will present you with more information at that time, after the memorial ceremony.”

On the walk back to the the lean-to that Uyutuk and So’onuu occupied, Namo all but verbally pranced in circles around Martin. “Martin, you were amazing! I’m so impressed by how you handled that negotiatin’ and whatnot! I know it was hard for you to do that, but ya did a really great job.” It was the first time he had seen her with a smile since the news broke earlier in the day of her friend’s untimely passing.

Martin scanned the surroundings. Unbeknownst to him at the time, several villagers had stayed to watch the meeting between the two travelers and the village elders, which caused him a bit more embarrassment in retrospect. “It sucked, Namo,” he sighed. “But, you know, honesty is the best policy… or, whatever.” Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm the human. He felt as if some preternatural force had latched on and siphoned the emotional energy from him.

The pair arrived back at the lean-to to find Uyutuk and his family gathered around a small fire of their own. Uyutuk waved and gestured them to gather ‘round. While they sat, Sonoko hid behind his mother and gawked at the strange human. Uyutuk asked, in Kepmuun, how they fared in the semi-private meeting. Judging by Namo’s exuberant response, it seemed that she was sparing no detail in describing their performance. Martin tried to follow along with their conversation as before, with limited success.

Eventually, the fauns’ conversation must have shifted to Namo’s botany habit. She produced samples from her pack, giving them to her friends, who sampled the various plants and seemed to appreciate the gifts. Martin, for his part, did all he could not to fall asleep at the fire. So’onuu must have noticed this because, as he dozed, she walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder, startling him awake.

He looked up at her and she gestured to his left, where a few blankets were spread across the woven mat of the floor of the lean-to. She said something he didn’t understand. A place to sleep? Martin pointed at the mat and then at himself, to which So’onuu nodded happily. Martin bowed his head in thanks to So’onuu and excused himself from the fire. As he did so, Namo noticed him rising. She interrupted herself to ask “Wait, where ya goin’?” As if she didn’t want him to leave. Martin simply pointed at the blankets spread out for him only a meter or so away and said “bed”.

“Oh, alrighty!” The woman said, relieved. “I’ll be headin’ to sleep here shortly, myself.”

Martin took the time to change down to his smallclothes, assuming that the villagers didn’t mind that fact, and sprawled out in the blankets, using his rucksack as a makeshift pillow. It wasn’t the most comfortable of neck rests, but it would have to do. With the conversation between Namo and Uyutuk by the fire providing pleasant background noise to drown out his internal monologue, Martin fell asleep within moments.

A gentle prodding on his shoulder stirred Martin from his slumber. Somewhat, anyway. Martin mentally brushed the disturbance aside. A moment later, the prodding returned.

“Maa’ko…” came a whisper. “I’m sorry…”

Martin blinked his eyes awake and rolled over in the blankets. He could faintly make out Namo through the dim light of the moons above them.

“What’s wrong?” Martin grumbled. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“I was getting ready to sleep but you have all the blankets.”

The man counted the blankets he was nestled among. A woven blanket on top of him and one underneath him. “These are the only two.”

“I know, silly. Scootch over. There’s more than enough room for the both of us.”

Martin blinked dumbly. She wants to share the ‘bed’ with me? “Uh, but, like, personal space and whatnot?” Martin whispered, rhetorically. He couldn’t see Uyutuk or his family but could only imagine the gossip that would spread if the pair were caught co-sleeping.

“Whaddya mean? We aren’t strangers no more. I won’t bite, and I know you don’t, either. Besides, I’m tired. Today was a long day.” Apparently, she wasn’t in the mood to negotiate. After Martin had rearranged the blankets to determine that there were only two, Namo seized the opportunity to slide in next to him. “Don’t be squeamish or nothin’. I’ve done this all the time. Sharing is caring and all.”

Martin, still half asleep, had lost the will to debate the subject with her. She respected his boundaries at least and sure enough, the woven blankets were large enough for them both to share comfortably. A few minutes passed, however, and sleep was not forthcoming. He realized his heart rate was elevated, even though he was merely listening to Namo’s rhythmic respirations.

“Namo?” Martin whispered.

A moment, then a simple “Yeah, Maa’ko?”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you last night. You didn’t deserve that, and it was wrong for me to treat you that way.”

Namo didn’t respond immediately, such that Martin wondered if she had heard him. He almost repeated himself, when Namo said “I forgive you, Maa’ko. I know now that you’ve been through a lot. I want to help if I can.”

Martin wrinkled his brow in bemusement at her modesty. His thoughts turned to her paying for their rooms, paying for Martin’s gear, interceding on his behalf when they arrived in Benuun, translating for him... even helping to spur him on this journey in the first place. “Help if you can” is the understatement of the century, the man thought to himself. “You’ve helped more than you realize. Thank you, Namo.”

Stillness like an insulating blanket draped over the space between the two travelers. Minutes passed, but Martin’s heart rate still hadn’t slowed. A gentle breeze blew and he recognized the smell of pine and oak and damp earth, but another smell caught his attention, something deep and musky and unmistakably Namo—his favorite, he realized, of the other scents he caught on the wind. By now, his eyes had adjusted to the low light of the moons, so he turned his head to see whether Namo had fallen asleep and suppressed the startled urge to bolt upright in surprise. He found the faun woman gazing back at him, a veneer of moisture over her eyes. Her hair, now braided into a ponytail, revealed her left ear squished against the side of her head. Her other ear drooped forlornly, an expression the human was unaccustomed to on her, but one he nevertheless recognized.

Seeing the manifestation of grief upon her countenance reminded Martin of how he felt during the days and weeks after he lost his best friend. The powerlessness. The guilt. The self-destructive repeating of retrospective hypotheticals that could have saved his life if only I had done this or if only I hadn’t done that. Martin felt called to act in this moment - maybe he could keep her from feeling the same way he had. He hoped his desire to act wasn’t an overreach or a breach of trust; he only wanted to share a bit of Namo’s burden. Maybe he could be of use to her after all, he reasoned. He scooted closer to the woman. “Lift your head up a sec, Namo. Please.” Wordlessly, if a bit confused, she did as asked. He scooped her head against his shoulder, wrapping his arm around the space between her neck and her upper back. As she leaned her face into the cotton of his undershirt where his shoulder met his chest, Martin felt the shuddering of her body as she began to faintly sob, clutching his undershirt with her right hand as if it were her sole grip on the physical world.

Seconds passed as Martin felt his heartbeat still. Sleep once again overtook the man shortly thereafter, as his traveling companion wept into his shoulder.