The second day of walking went much the same as the first, though William and Tilly shared more conversation. She had questioned his actions, when he suddenly rushed off the road to fetch fallen wood that had called out to him, and he had then spent much of the day sharing his knowledge of Blessings and the teachings of Brother Albert.

  She had listened intently the entire time, paying attention to his words in a way that she never had before; it was information that she treasured hearing. She seemed particularly interested in Brother Albert in general, and seemed to have an immediate admiration of the man. William didn't blame her: the priest was harsh, but fair, and William found himself missing their training sessions dearly.

  The Red Boar wasn't as charming of an inn as The Casket, and the innkeeper was much less present - they hadn't seen hide nor hair of them since paying. Its facilities were still a step up from sleeping out in the elements, so William couldn't complain too much. Tilly, on the other hand, couldn't stop - it was a wonder they didn't get kicked out, the way she derided the place. He thought they probably would have been, if business were better.

  Unlike William, Tilly had no quandary over how to train her Blessing - power was almost too obvious. They had trained their Blessings together in William's room; her eyes had grown distant as she repeatedly lifted her heavy pack, filled almost to bursting. William had never observed another Blessed so closely, let alone while they reached their flow state in training, and it made him wonder if the same vacant look took over him.

  William had tried his hand at another pendant, for what he begrudgingly thought of as his millionth attempt, and to his surprise found that he actually broke past whatever mental barrier had prevented him from achieving his flow state previously. The end result was shoddy, but William was nevertheless ecstatic to have achieved further training of his Blessing once again.

  Unfortunately, William's good spirits were short lived as soon as he was on his own. Without distraction, and without company, he was haunted by thoughts of what terrible fate may have befallen Sister Isabella and Tibert, and worrying that he may arrive at Casford too late to reunite with Anne and Reynard. They persisted throughout the night, and he slept precious little.

  The novelty of physical comfort had quickly worn off, it seemed, and no longer served as sufficient distraction from his woes. He was once again defenceless against them; no matter how much he tossed and he turned, those harrowing thoughts still weighed heavily on his mind. William managed to drift off to sleep only once, and awoke in a cold sweat while the sky was still dark - unsure of what exactly he'd dreamt, but terrified nonetheless.

  He waited out the rest of the night in silent anguish, festering in his bed; his eyes were heavy, but his mind was too active. Even another attempt at his carving ended in failure, which only soured his mood further.

  In all the hours he spent there, thinking of how to rid himself of these problems, he was unable to find any solution other than simply getting to Casford, and he grew angry at how slowly the journey was progressing. Anger grew to resentment as the sun rose and Tilly had not yet woken: he could have been well on his way, by now. She was slowing him down - he was sure of it. He was being held back by Tilly's reluctance to sleep outside of an inn.

  When indeed she did eventually rise, William was far too tired and mentally drained to feign politeness. His answers to her were blunt, and every move she made was perceived as something she did to intentionally frustrate him. After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting for her to prepare to leave, they started on their penultimate walk. He did his best to think of happier things as they went, to focus on the beauty of the sights they saw, but Tilly's repeated attempts at conversation pulled him back to reality; he made a point of ignoring her, eventually.

  By the afternoon, Tilly had had enough: she sped in front of him, and blocked his path. "Alright," she sighed, "what's got you so mardy? You've been acting like this all day."

  William rolled his eyes, and walked around her. "We don't have time for this." His patience was wearing thin, and his annoyance was bubbling up into anger. He sped up to get some distance from her.

  "Yes we do, William," she countered loudly, shouting after him. "We've got nothing but time; we can only go so far in a day."

  All of the tension that coiled within him let loose, and he snapped, unable to stop himself. "No, Tilly, you can only go so far," he spat, "I asked that you not slow me down, when we first left, and you agreed to it. I could have walked through the mornings, I could even have walked through some of the night, but instead I'm," he gestured broadly, and stuttered as he desperately tried to reel himself back to some level of composure, "I'm waiting around for my clothes to dry, and wasting time on these... these needless comforts!"

  It felt good to voice his anger, in the moment; the pressure in his mind abated, and he almost felt lighter on his feet. The feeling didn't last: in only a second, he was sadder than ever, and had the addition of the fallout from his outburst to deal with. His subconscious mind couldn't be stopped, now that the dam was broken, and moved him along before he could linger on the thought.

  The rage was gone; replaced with a quiet sadness. "If only I'd been faster before, I might have caught up to them... and Sister Isabella, she's- I don't-", he was having trouble verbalising his thoughts about her, as though speaking the words made them true. "I don't even know if she's alive." He wiped at wet eyes, before he embarrassed himself further, but it did little to stem their flow. His voice was hoarse now; the words forced over a growing lump in his throat. "I could have protected her at the camp, if- if I'd only seen them sooner... If I'd paid more attention, then..." His voice trailed off, and he collapsed forward onto his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens.

  Tilly had been quiet during his tirade, listening at first with annoyance, and then with empathy. William had told her nothing of the events that took place at Seraford, only vaguely alluded to the effect they'd had on him; she had respected his privacy, but she regretted not asking him as she looked at the emotional wreck in front of her.

  "It's alright," she said softly. She approached cautiously, and embraced him as he cried. "You let it out, if you need."

  William needed no permission; he continued to deliver a disjointed and impassioned account of the events at Seraford, and the mistakes he had made there. Tilly did not think him culpable, but telling him would have done no good; he was practically inconsolable. A few times he stopped, and he clung tightly to her as his eyes dried. Inevitably, he would begin shaking, and succumb to despair once again.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The two Blessed sat in the centre of the road - for how long, neither of them knew - as far from any other person as they'd likely ever be; their only company a lone dove of sandy plumage that watched them curiously from above. William laid his heart bare, unrequited love for Isabella and all, and Tilly did her best to comfort her new friend; a role that she was particularly unfamiliar with.

  William had eventually cried himself empty of tears, for the second time in recent memory. It was not something he was proud of. He had thought himself relatively stoic before Seraford, and it felt like an additional personal failing to weep so openly. He was glad that his father had not seen him in such a state.

  Tilly had been much more respectful of his need for some distance, for the rest of their journey. She had even accepted his apology much more gracefully than he had expected, much to his relief. He regretted how he had acted, but what was done was done. Better to make it up to her, than have my mind fester on what I might have done differently, he had thought.

  It was with silence that they finished the day's trip, even as their inn for the night provided them a fresh problem: it hadn't been open. Try as they might, no door would budge, and there was no indication of any human presence at all - closed from a lack of business, they presumed. Tilly was particularly frustrated at being forced to sleep in an empty stable, subject to the elements. William actually found her neuroticism about the situation quite endearing, contrary to usual, and he didn't quite know how he felt about that.

  He found that he slept better that night, out in the stable - much to his own surprise. He couldn't articulate why, but his sadness was subdued; venting to Tilly had done untold good for his mental state, and there was something about being out in nature that calmed him: there was some innate quality of it that made him feel closer to the Seraph.

  Staying in the stable had forced them up at dawn, and they set out with vigour. Knowing it was the last leg of the journey energised them both, and they managed to catch their first glimpse of Casford before the sun had even begun its descent for the evening.

  They saw only a fine line of incongruous grey to start, painted along the length of the horizon, but it grew steadily over the course of an hour until it all but dominated William's vision; a constant, oppressive, and antagonistic presence that stood in defiance of the natural beauty that surrounded them on the road.

  It was Casford's outer wall, looming over them and any other who would dare approach.

  The wall was taller than anything William had ever laid his eyes upon, and it stretched so far on either side that he could not see its end; it was an interminable mass of large, earthy grey stones, bigger than William himself, charred and battered from battles past, yet showing no signs of disrepair or damage. It was interrupted periodically by thick, round flanking towers that somehow managed to rise above the wall itself. It gave him vertigo just looking up at their battlements.

  He was in awe at the sheer scale of it all, and more than a little intimidated; a feeling that only intensified as they approached. The road they travelled converged with others of smaller sizes, some ways from the enormous portcullis that served as the town's entry point. This arterial road was busy with a veritable sea of people coming and going - more than a few of them racing past in horse-drawn carts and wagons.

  There was a particular glut of people gathered around the gatehouse - no doubt waiting for entry - and the two of them made their way over to join it. If not for his service, this would have surely been the most people he'd ever been around. If this is how many people are waiting to get in, I dread to think how many are already inside. More people continued to arrive behind them, and soon enough they were enveloped by other travellers; turning back would have been impossible - there was only one way to go, and it was forward.

  Despite the sheer number of visitors, Casford's guards made quick work of seeing them through. It wasn't until they were at the front that they saw why: the guards were waving people through with hardly any effort to vet them. William idly wondered what the point of all the theatrics was, if they weren't going to take it seriously.

  A shout came from inside the gatehouse, as the group in front of Tilly and William moved into Casford and past the guards stationed outside. "Next!"

  The two of them approached a window on the relatively small building cautiously, and saw a seated guard inside. It was a cramped room, with barely enough space to contain the desk and chair at which she sat. Assorted papers and leather bound books were piled high upon one side of the desk, and its surface was splattered with dried and crusted ink. The guardswoman was writing something as she spoke, though they could not see what, and didn't so much as glance up towards them. "From?"

  "Wealdham," William said, before Tilly could respond first. She rolled her eyes at William's mistake.

  The guard sighed, but still didn't deem them worth her full attention; she spoke to them again with forced enunciation, clearly frustrated. "Where are you coming from?"

  "Axeby," William corrected himself quickly, desperate not to further annoy a person who could deny them entry on a whim.

  The grumpy woman shook her head, and continued scratching at parchment: it was louder than before, and more aggressive. "Fine, Axeby. What's your business?"

  William froze, unable to answer: what was his business? Was looking for his friends a sufficient reason to gain entry? Would he have to come up with a reason that was more believable? The woman was already frustrated with him - this could be a grave mistake: he needed to think his answer through carefully.

  Tilly graciously took it upon herself to provide one for him. "We're here to spread the good news," she replied cheerfully, "the Terror of Axeby is no more, and the road is clear!"

  The guardswoman tutted. "Look, now you're just fucking about." She raised her voice, and spoke to them gravely. "What is your business?"

  Tilly narrowed her eyes. "I just told you our business, didn't I?" Her tone was too confrontational for William's liking.

  An irritated man nestled within the crowed shouted from behind them, "Hurry up! You're slowing us all down!" and murmurs of assent followed from those beside him.

  "Yes, because this is clearly our fault, and not hers," Tilly replied sarcastically, still staring into the gatehouse.

  "Not even in yet and they're already causing trouble!" another bystander shouted accusatorily, aiming to sway the guard in the gatehouse into denying their entry.

  In a panic, and fearing the worst, William turned to apologise and attempt de-escalation. "I'm very sorry, sir - my friend meant nothing by it - this is all a misunderstanding."

  Some of those gathered let out a gasp upon seeing William, and they began to chatter amongst themselves - some even pointed at him. The man who had initially shouted stammered a response, suddenly reluctant to show any anger at all, "O-of course, I understand, it's me that should apologise! I'm sorry!"

  When Tilly turned toward the crowd, the shouts became even louder and more numerous; people were clamouring for attention, and had begun pushing and shoving each other out of the way in order to get closer. The situation was becoming precarious, and the crowd began a surge toward them. William and Tilly took hesitant steps backwards in worry. Thankfully, the guards who had been lining the inside of the portcullis had taken notice immediately, already racing from their post towards the mass of people.

  The guardswoman finally deigned to look up and out of the window, only to see the backs of the two she'd been questioning, and her fellow guards quickly approaching. "Oh, for fuck sake." Her wooden chair scraped awkwardly against stone as she rose from her seat.

  The guards had passed William and Tilly, and formed a line of seven men that completely blocked the road; they were using their shields to keep the crowd at bay, and weren't shy about hitting those that dared try to push past them.

  "Calm down, or we'll send you all on your way!" screamed one of the guards, barely audible over the riotous crowd.

  "Get back, and form a line!" shouted another, far less confidently.

  The door of the gatehouse burst open, and the guardswoman exited in a rage. She stomped toward William and Tilly, ready to beat some sense into them for causing such disruption, and forced William to turn around with a strong, aggressive pull of his shoulder.

  She paused upon laying eyes on him, and all of the anger fell from her face. "We got ourselves a Blessed, lads!"