Tristaan slept. Really, really slept. Sure, he crumpled into the bed angry and in pain, but he was tired. Really, really tired. The afternoon turned into evening and the passive finally stirred shortly after sunset, still achy, but at least a better rested after more than a few days of not really being able to sleep. He laid alone in the half-light for quite some time, groggily running through the morning, rubbing his restored right arm absently.

With a groan, he sat up and ran both hands over his face and through his hair, tying it back. More than he had expected had happened today, and part of it felt very much like his fault. He hadn't meant to hurt Sarinah, and nothing, not even seeing Wendy again, had worked out as he'd hoped.

He stood and stumbled out of the kint, not bothering with his boots, and leaned against the door frame, looking around the camp to see if the dancer was around. His gray eyes fell on her sitting by the fire, and it looked like she was alone.

The passive frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt, and wandered towards where she was sitting, trying put on an expression that looked neither angry nor still sleepy. His face seemed to settle somewhere in the middle underneath his travel-worn stubble, firelight catching his gray eyes as Tristaan sat down next to the lovely witch without speaking right away. He just sat there for a few moments,

"Epameo." He finally said hoarsely, almost a whisper, "I didn't mean t'hurt you."

He blinked and leaned back on his palms, looking at Sarinah, unsure of where to start with what he thought he should say.

Sarinah had spent the day out of the camp, out of the Festival in fact. She'd walked all the way down to the waters edge, sitting on the small beach for a while. The water had been soothing and on a whim, she'd taken a swim. It was nice and distracting, but her mind ran through the events of the morning over and over. It was confusing and painful. She'd cried a bit, where no one could see her. It was only as the afternoon had come on that she'd left the secluded bay, making her way back to the main festivities. The dancer didn't feel much like eating, so as the sun had begun to get closer to dissapearing, she'd returned to the Red Crow camp. Tristaan was in the kint, she'd looked. Still sleeping. Turning, she'd started the fire and sat down, hugging her knees, staring into the orange flames. She'd sat like that for the remainder of the evening. The sun had begun to set around her and she'd not even noticed.

The sound of the kint door opening made her stomach turn. She kept her eyes on the fire, not feeling much like she wanted to move. As Tristaan came to sit beside her, she replayed the morning in her head again. It still confused her.



Sarinah finally looked away from the fire, turning her head to look at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"What did I do wrong? When Petra cast on you out of nowhere I was so worried. I can't counter her magic, its much stronger than mine will ever be. I knew Vend..Wend..whatever...I knew that girl was important to her and if I threatened her safety, Petra might release you. Would you have done differently?" She'd had all day to think about what she'd wanted to say, and she said it all at once.

"It wasn't that you did anythin' wrong, Sarinah." Tristaan shook his head, feeling worse, "I didn't expect t'see Wendy. I didn't expect her t'react that way, but I should've known better. That was my fault ..." He looked past the dancer and at the flames uncomfortably, realizing that if Wendy was in hiding, or had really recently run away, exposing her the way he did had been a terrible idea. It wasn't like he didn't understand her fear, but he certainly hadn't expected her vehemence, "Everythin' just got outta hand, an' I couldn't fix it."

"Petra must be lookin' out for Wendy like Guaril looked out for me. She ent got anyone else out here an' she prolly doesn't know who to trust yet. But she didn't have t'hurt you." He added distantly, shifting his focus back to the dancer's face, "You wanted t'protect me. I get that. I ... I'm grateful."

Tristaan gnawed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, unsure of how much he wanted to say about where he'd just been, "I ent angry at you. I'm tired an' I was hurtin' an' things were a little rough in th'Harbor. It all just ... didn't hold together there'n'Petra's kint. I'm sorry."

Sarinah sat looking at him, hugging her knees as he spoke. It was all so messy, and complicated and he didn't need her being like this. He'd apologized, he'd explained. She'd explained. Granted, she still disliked Wendy and Petra, and she still thought the older witch had over reacted first, but it was past. He was here. That was all that mattered. The stress of the day and the pain melted away like water, and in a sudden movement, the dancer turned and flung her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Nothing was your fault in there, not that I could see. Don't worry about it." She slipped her legs over his, letting go of him so she could turn and face the fire, sitting in his lap. It was comforting. After a moments silence, she chuckled.

"Well...what do you want to do now balach? I'm ready for bed and you've only just woken up!"