Equestrian Ranger

Sharpened steel glides across leather-wrapped stone. Each swipe flings glowing sparks with wire-thin hissing, illuminating the claustrophobic expanse, darkness trailing its wide trajectory and enveloping stale, dry air. Even, solid breathes occupied the undisturbed stillness between every silent moment before another hissing glide. Soon, all noise disappeared. Silver eyes pierce even the room’s densest shadows, unreadable but judging; raising sharpened metal bound at its handle by chewed wood, a sturdy dagger enticed a satisfied snort.

“My lord, we’ve brought as you’ve requested!”

Those same silver eyes, sharper than their owner's freshly whetted blade, lazily peered onward. “Good. Leave them.” Baritone tones deeper than any ocean trench shatter the room’s serene stillness like glass during an earthquake, spoken without any sign of uncertainty or latent weakness.

Blazing heat and blinding light flood the previously inky abyss, three silhouettes clumsily entering through a square hole and falling to their knees.

“Oof! You sonnava-!”

“Oh, Celestia! Oh, Celestia! Oh, Celestia!”

“Mommy, I’m scared!”

Three voices dripped with primal fear, shaky and alarmed. Releasing the room’s folding entrance, one female and one juvenile scream rings out. “For the love of the gods, will you two shut up?! Screaming isn’t help-!”

Thunderous chuckling contained behind twisted closed lips killed the three newcomers screaming, “A leader raising their voice only proves their weakness. They must command armies with but a single whisper.” Warm light slowly revealed a near-empty hut, cloth walls adorned by weapon racks, and an iron chest. The three figures, all lions except for an elderly mare, ragged and heavily bruised, gasped, their eyes solely set on a singular body still partway concealed within shadow. “For you, General Leonhart, you can’t even control your collared whore and bastard offspring.” He snickers maliciously.

General Leonhart, a rotund, bold-chested lion, growled lowly while cavernous trenches formed between his brows, scowling at the shadowed being. “I’ll rip you apart, and wear your striped hide as a fur coat!” He roared, pouncing forth with practiced speed.

However, his rage-fueled attack was easily dismissed when the shadowed being’s bulky hoof effortlessly struck against his fang-filled maw.

Landing hard onto his back, crimson trickles down his shattered nostrils, a groan escaping Leonhart's busted lips. “I liked that about you and your feline kind, General Leonhart- your ferocity. Sadly, your stubbornness outweighs any drive you’ve possessed.”

“You bastard,” Spittling past the bloody pools filling his broken-fanged mouth, Leonhart directed his fiercest glare, but he knew better. He stood by, watching ashy pillars ascend, their touch staining the pure heaven’s gray and black. Smoldering flames drown out anguished cries as flesh melted from bone. Oh, he made the prideful lion watch till the last delicate second. “You may take my homes, my possessions, and even my family, but you’ll never take my pride. As a proud member of the Leonhart dynasty, I shall make you regret taking your first breaths!” The shadowed being rolled his silver glower superciliously. “I swear on it!”

Heavenly soft hair, maroon-colored comfort trapped surrounding an unworthy creature's rotund face. Judging its appearance, not even pegasi clouds held a candle. It made the shadow being want to bury his face deeper and deeper, submit to its dark-red depths, and never reemerge. The finest silks, softest of fabrics, could not compare.

A cruel, scar-tainted grin grew to split the suffocating shadows, gleaming unspoken intentions. “I’ll hold you on that, General.”

Grabbing his blade, the shadowed being intentionally crept at a snail's pace toward the bloody-gummed lion. At first, Leonharts face contorted with confusion, turning horrified once the shadow being’s hoof roughly snatched his luscious, somewhat frizzled, mane, a gleaming silver dagger hovering less than an inch away. Of course, retaliation was met, yet herald no release. Bandaged claws hid declawed paws, molded a rusted brown color, ropes binding his wrists. So, for all of Leonhart’s fighting, it’d been foal’s play for his captive to swat away his flailing resistance. Each tug and slash enticed an almost pained yelp, maroon mane floating downward onto dirt flooring as the elderly mare and lion cub watched from a corner. Tortuous minutes passed for Leonhart, ending with a final swipe and him falling flat, breathing heavily, his once stunning hair reduced to patchy, uneven patches accompanied by shallow knicks and cuts.

The shadowed being chuckled, observing the prideful general whimper and delicately touching his desolated head. “Now I’ve taken your pride.” He stated, dropping the final hair clump in his grasp. “I thank you for this gift. I’ll turn this into Zebrica’s greatest pillow.”

“No no no…”

What a waste of flesh. “Now for you, fair maiden.” Turning to the cowering mare, he extended his hoof, holding out his weapon’s handle. “This is the one responsible for your suffering- a tyrant intent and blinded by greed and worthless pride. I’ve seen many not unlike you, poor shackled souls forced into serving creatures of false rule. However, like those many unfortunate souls, I grant you freedom from your shackles.” The mare’s unfocused eyes gained some semblance of hope and shine, intently scanning the dagger's chewed handle.

Standing on tremulous hooves, stepping closer, she took his offer blade. “Strip everything from his sort- their power, their money, their status, and even their pride -and they become nothing.” Faint lines of chain collars and whips litter the elderly mare’s throat, back, and legs, scars barely mended by time despite their callus appearance.

“Wait,” Leonheart muttered breathlessly.

“...I watched as your men murdered my husband and grandchildren.” Tears streaked from her cheeks to her chin, lips trembling, facing Leonhart. “I watched you order assaults on my children's towns.” The lion cub tried calling out, but nothing reached his ‘mother’. “I watched your face, listened to your grunting on all those horrible, disgusting nights you’ve made me endure.”

“Wait!”

Looming over him, the elderly mare’s eyes shrunk. “I watched you have the fucking gall to label me as your son’s mother!”

“Wait! Wait! Wait!”

Nevertheless, Leonhart's pleas were dutifully ignored. All the while, the shadowed being briskly exited his tent, intently honing onto Leonhart's anguished, pained cries, the freed pony’s labored, angry snarls, and a child's terrified screams.

Outside, numerous ramshack tents covered deserted Zebrica planes in droves, nearly obscuring any hint that this land once housed peaceful grazing lands, now trampled and torn. Truthfully, it pained him, seeing his homeland treated so poorly. Past the expansive field of temporary shelters and moving bodies, amongst a pale-blue horizon, fading smoke wisps and ashes oversee smoldering ruins, burnt black and shriveled ruins. There’s no doubt they’ll remain for months or years onward, a repulsive mole tainting a natural beauty. Lions were prideful- becoming Zebra’s prime competitor over land and resources. Slaves, weapons, and whatnot were not disregarded by their filthy sort. Leonhart included- the worst of them. The general could’ve lived this day and those afterward. Sadly, drunken on proud ignorance and confidence, capturing the shadowed being’s brothers and sisters commissioned his coffin, and he drove each and every last nail until not even Celestia herself could escape such an impenetrable tomb called fate.

He made sure his final siege and any prior were slow and painful, driving a red-hot knife into their wounds.

Leonhart’s final whimpers sounded like a pitiful swansong behind him.

“My lord! I’ve come bearing urgent news!”

Irritated from being interrupted during his mediation, he wore a sly smile directed at an oncoming griffin dressed in wooden armor and ragged clothing. “Please, Grisha, there’s no need for titles when we’re at peace. Now speak.”

Grisha flinched, looking sheepish, then hesitantly nodded before landing. “Oh, forgive me…Zambia. We have confirmation on Shimmering Star’s location. He and our rogue brothers and sister are dead or captured by local law enforcement in Appleoosa.” Hand Zambia a rolled scroll tied with string, “Honestly, sir, if I’m allowed to speak my mind: I never trusted him. Should we send a strike unit to dispose of him? I suspect his questionable dedication and faith to our cause may harm us if Equestria’s sun and moon demons were to gain knowledge of our exploits.” He reasoned.

“And sending a strike unit would make our existence any less known?” Zambia retorted, “I’d wager Celestia and her equally conniving sister already are well aware, but they’re cautious, hesitant. Ponies dislike war and bloody conflict more than my hatred for their existence. They won’t throw the first punch. Sending a cover-up team is too much of an unnecessary risk.”

Shamefully, the griffon lowered his head and diverted his eyes. “I…did not realize that, sir. Apologizes. I just…”

Zambia raised a silencing hoof. “No. Save your excuses- only cowards rely on fabricated and useless reasons to justify their foolishness. I am not displeased, but you would do well to temper your urgency. Celestia and her kind play tactical games, and we’ll abide by her rules until we can insert our own.” He smiled caringly, lowering his hoof.

“Excellently put, Zambia.”

“Thank you. Tend to the mare and have her well fed and rested- we’ll decide her fate later. Do whatever with the cub.” The warlord ordered. Waving off Grisha, Zambia sat, letting the cooling breezing and small patch of grass under him to soothe his senses. Internally, he scowled deeply. Ponies. Weak, frail, and weak-hearted. There are those he deemed worthy of his kindness and hospitality for their service and loyalty, but they were rarer than gold.

Soon, there will be nothing to help Equestria, and Celestia will be alive long enough to brew alongside him in turmoil and suffering.

Zambia swore it.

“No, we’re not humoring this- this…suicide gig!”

James Adrian felt like bashing a hole in Finn’s head so all the stupid could escape and bring the withering coot’s reasoning back. It’d been one thing after another. Mysteriously transported into another world, almost succumbing to dehydration and starvation, saving a town, getting arrested by its populace, and now this.

Infuriatingly so, his senior superior shook his head and side, like what he had said was nothing more than a child’s feverous rambling! “James, we got to!” He repeated for the tenth time.

“Yes. We. Can.” James spat through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word by poking Finn’s chest. “The horse lady said earlier that their princess, “He scoffed the title, “might be able to send us home! Sure, it- it ain’t guaranteed, b-but it’s better than staying here any longer than we have to! I, ah, I have a family and life outside this Ranger business; I want to see my grandfather again!” What part about ‘free ticket ride home’ did this senile fuck not understand?

Apparently, none, dictated by Finn’s neurotic condition of shaking his head anytime James argued- it’s never-ending, this terrible game; one where he constantly folds. The younger Ranger had better luck breaking a solid brick wall using his fingers than being Finn’s voice of reason.

A weary, defeated gust rolls through James's lips. Without raising further objections, letting his weighted shoulders sag, the scene soon switched from a dainty guest bedroom to furnished furniture and open space– a cozy cottage’s living space. Two chairs centered by a small round table face an unlit fireplace, crackling oak scent still present, James groaning, sinking into one of the cushy seats. For once since his unwanted displacement, stress and tension fully wafted off his stiff shoulders.

When had he felt this relaxed?

Horses, ponies- whatever -were still outside and inside, all-encompassing this strange outback town nowhere near his grandfather’s ranch- his haven -is. Still, constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering when these colorful equines would drop their friendly facade and pounce, greatly drained his mental fortitude. He felt like a beast stranded, droughts trapping him on all sides, taunting him as he slowly submitted to death's unfeeling clutches. Hell, it almost happened days ago. Maybe he should be grateful for their hospitality, but Grandfather taught him how some particular folk may act one way, and turn the second you treat them. And James didn’t trust their kind one bit.

They liberated their town from terrorists and the ponies imprisoned them.

They stayed quiet and behaved, and the pony sheriff had the nerve to distrust them.

He agreed they would leave, but James’s partner had…betrayed him?

No, ‘He’s tryin’ to play the hero ranger again. Well, if he so wishes, I’ll tell his wife exactly why she will continue to sleep alone.’ James concluded, closing his eyes. All the old man talked about during their solitary stay was how he missed his family when Big Iron wasn’t there. Did he care for them? If yes, it’s one unhinged way of showing it. He won’t let him. James Adrian will drag Finn home kicking and screaming.

A light tap nudged his shoulder. “Howdy. I guess you and your friend were, uh, disagreeing? Hehe.” Parting heavy eyelids, the burly mining mare stood on James’s left, balancing two steaming tea cups and a saucer atop her fluffy crown.

James dismissively huffed, “Yeah.” He curtly acknowledged, wishing she wasn’t there- to be an illusion conjured by his tired mind.

Big Iron seemingly didn’t notice or reveal her reaction toward his bitter tone, setting both cups and saucer on the table before taking the other seat. “Ah, I’m sorry, suga’.” James shuttered, hearing the gross misuse of human nick-naming. “I, I hope you like my brew– Finn most definitely did. It’s, um, jasmine and honey; an old recipe Mama taught me when she was sick. ‘Good for headaches and belly aches, which is probably what you have, eh heh, judging by your sour face.” She teased, making James’s frown deeper.

“Why’re you talking to me?”

This time, visible surprise knocked Big Iron back a hair, her playful, carefree nature returning swiftly. “Well~, Two of my guests were havin’ a screaming fit everypony from here to Manehattan could hear and you left your room, slammin’ doors like you pay the bills.” Lifting her cup, she took a modest sip, drinking golden brown liquid and giving a satisfied sigh.

Eyeing his dedicated beverage, James awkwardly coughed into his closed fist. “...Sorry. For slammin’ your door. Mr. Cullen has a…special talent when it comes to pissing me off.” He spat. Hot damn, smelling her tea, cotton began filling his mouth. “Your town’s sheriff gave us this ridiculous job, and before I even got a word out, he accepted it.” He hastily added.

The mining mare’s head tilted curiously, ears perked up. “Huh? What for? I heard bits and pieces of your guys’ banterin’, but I ain’t exactly educated on this.”

Shit, there’s no out. “Uh, i-it’s nothing, really, like…like some nonsensical bounty work we could- shouldn’t give two cents about. Do you remember those nasty characters who attacked this place? Agh! Of course, you do,” Big Iron nodded with an even expression. “Nevermind. Point is: your, uh, sheriff wants us to track down someone who might be organizing these sorts and arrest him. I don’t know why Mr. Cullen accepted, it’s not as if y’all hor- -ponies don’t have officers too, right?”

“Right.” The miner mare bobbed her head in agreement.

“S-So…sigh look, I don’t wanna be stuck here. Mr…Finn seems so indifferent- no, bullheaded, whenever I try explaining to him that he has a wife and kid! Hell, if anything, we-we’re gettin’ paid for this gig- and HE nearly rejected it.” James let out a troubled groan, dragging a bare hand down his face. God, his eyes were heavy, pounding like pulsating puss pockets of drowsiness and eye crust.

Big Iron sipped her tea, then shifted onto her side, fully facing James. “...What happens if you can’t go home?” She questioned.

Hearing this dreaded inquiry, James grimaced. “Shut up! I, I don’t need those kinds of…It won’t! Just don’t go there!” He berated tiredly.

An uncomfortable air infested the air, leaving either room’s occupant unwilling or unable to break whatever fragile silence separated them. Big Iron longingly locked onto her half-empty cup, while James’s eye dashed and darted across every surface, not taking in his surroundings, but merely looking without thought.

If the fire were lit, he wouldn’t have these insufferable chills.

“...My…My parents died five months ago.” James nearly jumped but narrowly avoided furthering the strained discomfort keeping their conversation together. Idly examining Big Iron’s solemn features, she continued without pause. “Illness finally caught my mother, and- a-and with mah brother gone, ah, Pa just couldn’t handle it. I tried my best! I did!” A small, missable hiccup rocked her throat, mouth pursed and jaw clenched. “After he’d gone missing, they found him three days after I made the report. They couldn’t scrape everything off the canyon floor.” She shuttered, breathing a shaky sigh.

James sat silently, staring dumbfoundedly. Jesus, if he ever had an emotional whiplash before. “Um, you're pretty open about somethin’ like that.” He chuckled sheepishly. “But…sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

A hollow, humorless laugh responded, “Don’t be. It happened ages ago. Besides, ah’m the one who had ta watch my father's remains be shoveled into ah jar for his funeral.” Her hoof wiped away coagulating tears, a bitter smile replacing her soul-drained frown.

Needles pricked James's chest and hot coals broiled his guts, cold sweat drenching his face. He guesses that no matter where you go, shit’s the same song, a different dance. City life and country living wasn’t so different- despite Mr. Cullen’s claims. It’s just that people living in cities breathe smog and motor oil rather than fresh grass and horse shit. Everyone’s got something wrong, a tumor preventing a perfect life. Is it so wrong for him to feel bad for something- someone he doesn’t trust? It’s probably human nature, empathizing with someone’s tragedy. Why is she telling him this private information? Did she expect something?

James quickly extinguished this line of thinking; there’s no point in being paranoid now. “...Hey, uh, Miss Iron. I, uh, wanted to say-.”

“I’M SORRY!!”

Reeling from the miner mare’s volume and almost falling out of his seat, Big Iron had her two front hooves pushing her high on her chair’s armrest, her face strained and stone-like, carved awkwardness.

“Oh! Do-don’t mind me. Ah didn’t mean to shout…or bring the mood down. I get loud when ah’m nervous, heh.” She apologized, turning redder than a ripe summer apple. “What, uh, what were you gonna say again?” James realigned himself, tugging his shirt’s collar. Good thing he always kept spare night clothes for him and Finn, but their stuffy make wasn’t helping to relieve this unbearable heat.

“Eh, forget it. I wanted to…thank you For all you’ve done for us.” James forced out, “We’ll be heading out tomorrow most likely. Mr. Cullen’s not one for wasting time.”

“It’s the least ah can do, suga’.” She replied, finishing her tea and glancing at a clock’s ticking hands above the unlit fireplace. “So, ah hope ya don’t mind me askin’. Do you mind if ah hitch a ride with y’all?”

James turned to her, staring confusingly. “Well…my word isn’t as…validating as Finn’s, so you have to ask him. Why?” He asked.

Instead of answering his straightforward inquiry, Big Iron stood and retrieved her tea set, rounding her chair and stopping just before the kitchen's entryway. “....It’s complicated. I’ll tell you colts laters, just, uh, remind me, alright?” After James hesitantly nodded, wanting a better response, She gave a small, heartfelt smile and entered her kitchen. Tossing her drinkware into the sink, the heavy-set work pony rushed off, likely to bed.

Alone, the junior ranger switched his attention. As if noticing its existence for the first time since his equine host started talking with him, James’s tea sat cold and untouched, wisps of steam long since faded. Truthfully, he preferred cold tea, especially in hotter weather not unlike Appleoosa.

Taking it far too small, strangely human-like handle, James pressed the cup's edge to his lips and tilted his head back.

“Damn, this’s pretty good stuff. Reminds me of Granddad’s.”

January 18, 1912

-Day 7

Things are swimming smoothly thus far. Sheriff Silverstar was kind enough to offer us a Conestoga and supplies for our journey. James, as usual, is fighting tooth and nail for us to ignore everything and move on…but I can’t.

By God’s power and his holy name, I would dig through mountains and run across oceans if it meant getting this Celestia gal to send us home. I miss my wife's cooking, my son's face. My stomach’s doing backflips just thinking about it and how I won’t be seeing them anytime soon. But I can’t just leave these folk here and ignore the shit this liberation group is doing. Back home, it’s our job to maintain the peace and smack around any dumb sonnava bitch who would dare break it- it doesn’t matter where we are.

Maybe I lost it at some point, or this is all a dying dream I’m having. We’ll find out.

Also, Miss Iron will be joining us. I thought about rejecting her offer, but having more hands- or hooves -on deck will make things easier. Hopefully. Me and James are going to need every bit of help we can get.

“Alrighty! I think that about does it, mister!” Closing and stashing his journal away, Finn rotated around to find a weary James and a worn, but jovial, Big Iron behind the wagon, sweat glistening their foreheads.

Jumping off the wagon deck, blistering desert heat beat down onto Finn’s stiff joints and sun-kissed skin, his hat providing him with precious shade. He and James ditched their fur coats miles back, so both men were outfitted with their barely washed, dust-stained vests and dress shirts- sleeves rolled to their elbows. Weapons- Finn's revolvers and rifle, and James’s dual Borchardt pistols -were stashed alongside food and other provisions. “Looks like it. I could’ve helped, ya know?” He said, quirking a brow.

James, adopting a shit-eating smirk, chuckled. “I’m not a cruel man, sir. Someone as old and frail as you, heavy lifting? I’d imagine your bones would be grounded more than wheat by the halfway point!” He quipped, Big Iron including her own little snicker, making Finn’s eyes roll.

“Ah, don’t go throwin’ stone in your glass house there, Hoss. You ain’t looking too hot yourself. Climb on inside, both of you. We got time for resting before we head off.”

Neither helper raised an objection, nearly running over Finn as they climbed into the wagon’s cool, shaded oasis. Finn sighed, smirking. Letting Appleoosa’s rolling, dry breeze drift over his exposed skin felt nostalgic; no snow, no gray clouds blocking the sun, and no bears for naked partners to piss off. It’d been what seemed like years since his olden bones were properly heated, excusing the blisters and sunburns. Scents of apple and fur circulated the gentle breeze, carrying hints naturally found in open, wild areas. “Not much for farmin’, though. I wonder how these ponies ever began growin’ apple trees' at all. James’s the dirt digger, not me. What do I know?” Finn conversed alone.

Pst!

Peering left and right, a perplexed Finn spotted a cloaked figure poking their crown out from the wagon's side corner, motioning for him to come closer using a familiar hoof. “Over here.” He whispered.

“...Shimmering?” The name escaped him subconsciously, sounding halfway between genuine disbelief and abject disdain, both coated underneath a flat, strained tone.

The cloaked figure flinched hard. “Hey! Not so loud, Who-mane!” He shushed, anxiously double-checking if his cover had been unceremoniously blown. “Look, before you blow up, I-.” However, Shimmering’s explanation died swiftly within his throat, which found itself tightly secured between Finn’s clenched fingers as the senior Ranger shoved him down.

“James, get the deputies, we-!”

“Sh-Shimmerin’, is that y-you?”

Trailing behind James, who held Finn's rifle, contrasted the younger Ranger's panic with denial and pure relief- at least, those were some emotions Finn caught before she hopped down and separated the two. “W-What are ya…how? Are you… why…?!” A jumbled mess of words and disjointed sentences came spewing out, audibly withheld and bottled for years til this day.

Shimmering Comet peeled his hood back, revealing guilt-etched glimpses of his grimacing visage, diverting his eyes. “It’s…complicated Sis. I want…t-there’s so many things I haven’t said or done that I should've, and no amount of apologizing will repay my sins.”

“Brother.” She breathlessly said.

“I was stupid, thinking life was better after joining them.” The young stallion continued, breathing deeply. “So, the Sheriff and I came to an understanding. I’m joining you guys.” He stated.

Finn huffed exasperatedly, crossing his arms, James pumping the rifle’s lever- Shimmering visible flinched, hearing the sharp, oiled clicking. “For such a brooding loner type, you sure as shit tell good jokes. Too bad we ain’t laughing, boy. What makes you think we believe you, much less allow you to come along?” Immediately, Shimmering Comet conjured a thick parchment from under his cloak with his magic, handing it to Finn.

Huh? “A bounty poster? Where’s the date and amount?” Finn openly pondered, mulling over the monochrome image depicting a scowling Comet.

“If I get outta line or cause any trouble that he might hear about, Sheriff Silverstar will post copies across Equestria and alert even Celestia and her sister of my presence.” Shimmering further detailed, looking uncomfortable. “I’m lucky that word of what happened stayed inside Appleoosa so far. This deal I made, to help you Who-mane’s, is the only thing standing between me and petrification. If that.”

Not too keen on delving into what he meant by petrification, Finn nodded. During his short prison time here, he remembered idly reading bounty posters for outside gang members and local troublemakers mounted on a board near the jailhouse’s entrance. Checking Shimmering’s poster, nothing stuck out as being forged. For all intents and purposes, this piece of unsigned paper appeared legit.

How official his words were was yet to be seen.

“Alright, let’s say I believe you.”

James cut in. “Sir, you seriously can’t be considering this scoundrel's demands, right?” He exasperated.

Curse his words. “We’ll need all the help we can get. It doesn’t mean I’m willing to accept, depending on what you bring, boy.” Finn said, staring intently at Shimmering’s unsure expression.

“You have my word, Who-mane, I’ll do anything to get back at that crazy bastard.” Shimmering nodded, a fiery determination burning bright in his eyes. “Besides, my life and freedom depend on it.”

“Make one mistake, and you’ll be wakin’ home alone, get it?”

“Yes.”

Finn didn’t agree with one bit of Sheriff Silverstar’s plan, but saw how it may help them in the long run. Shimmering Comet would know things- important Zebracian Liberation Front outposts, their operation routes, number of soldiers. Even if it’s limited knowledge, any bread crumbs would keep a starving, desperate man going. Loading the remaining supplies, jumping into the wagon, and hitching Finn and James's mounts to the yolks, they began marching onward without further interruption. Buildings and ponies were soon replaced by sand, bleached bones, and faraway desert mountains.

He practically envisioned a thick wall of animosity and distrust built between James and their new crew member, sitting face-to-face, subtly scowling.

If they hoped to survive this journey, then they’d need to share the breadcrumbs.

However, Finn wondered who was the most desperate man amongst them.