The aftermath of the slaughter left the tunnel smelling like a butcher's shop, thick with the fresh scent of black blood and mushy entrails.

That didn't stop them from acting like lowlife scavengers, though, rummaging through the piles of eviscerated Myrmur carcasses and digging through the mutilated bodies for their spoils of war.

Gael looked at the mess around him with a grin, his hands working efficiently, though they were smeared with pungent blood and other equally horrible and unidentifiable fluids. The halfling Myrmurs, ragged and torn, had a variety of aero-resonating stones embedded inside their chests. Some had multiple stones, others had just one. Every last one of them was completely worth its weight in Marks, and there were more of them than he'd expected, so maybe he could even keep a few to sell off in a pinch if he really needed the coins.

"This is at least a hundred stones, isn't it?" Cara mused as she plucked a rather large stone from one of the Myrmur's chests, admiring its alluring glow as she held it above her head. "It's a whole nest of them just sitting inside the halflings. Who could've guessed they were the grand treasure all along?"

Well, Gael was sure these stones weren't the 'grand treasure' Bharnish had been risking tooth and nail to get all these decades, but he chuckled and wiped his hands on his pants before pulling out another stone with a sickening tear.

"I could've guessed it," he said idly, tossing the stone to Maeve, who tossed it to Fergal, who tossed it to one of his goons for storage inside their extra satchels. "See, I surmise that the reason why the Petalborn can live in this forest without getting their asses torn apart by the trees is because their aero-resonating necklaces act like a shield. They emit the same sound waves the forest gives off, so the trees don't see them as intruders. It's like… biomimicry. Or environmental camouflage."

"And these Myrmurs figured out they could swallow the stones and get the same effect?" Maeve asked.

Gael shrugged, tossing another stone into a satchel. "They figured it out. That's how their numbers managed to swell to this extent. I've got no clue how they figured it out only now, though, when they haven't been smart enough to do so for the past half a century. Most likely, they didn't figure it out by themselves."

Because somebody taught them how to do it.

He didn't have to say what he didn't say out loud. Everybody knew what he meant. However, he was probably the only person here—aside from Maeve—who had a hunch as to who that person was, and it was probably the same Plagueplain Doctor who'd implanted three Myrmurs into Evelyn.

You're being an incredible prick in my southern ward, you know?

Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you trying to do?

Fergal grunted from across the room, a look of grim satisfaction on his face as he examined a stone. "You really think that's the reason Myrmurs have been popping up more recently, Plagueplain Doctor? Someone is teaching them how to do this?"

Gael shrugged. He could give the gangster a straight answer, but he'd rather not. Instead, all of them continued gathering their stones in silence, and halfway through, some of them shifted their focus to butchering as much meat as they could and stuffing them into even more satchels inside satchels.

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Unfortunately, due to how violently he and Maeve had fought, most of the Myrmurs were torn, decapitated, eviscerated, and mangled beyond recognition. Their bodies were scattered across the ground, and their insides were ripped into puddles of mushy, bloody mess. Collecting the meat was a struggle.

"We won't be getting as many points as we should be," Maeve muttered, "but this is still a lot. It's a very large haul even by upper city Symbiote Exorcist standards."

Hearing that, Gael felt the satisfaction of a job well done settle in his chest like a warm buzz. His gloves, however, were sticky with blood and pulpy bits of flesh, and he didn't feel like taking them off just to take a swing of his alcohol.

"That's the lot of it, then." He grinned, clapping his hands together. "Time to go home."

It felt good to be done with this forest—to finally close the lid on this bloody expedition—but as he slung two satchels over his shoulders and prepared to walk out of the tunnel, Liorin stood in front of his way, two hands planted on his hips.

Backlit by foggy morning sunlight, the boy looked a little hesitant, but then he started making loud gestures with his arms, miming something everyone understood immediately.

"Stay little longer!" the boy said. "Forest… um, fun! Stay! Show you fun things!"

In response, Gael reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch, holding it out in front of him.

"No need, kid." He waved his cane dismissively. "I'm feeling terribly homesick, so we're gonna find our way out just fine by ourselves. You don't gotta do the one week round trip just for us."

Then he pressed the pouch into Liorin's hands, making sure the boy had a tight hold of it before letting go and patting his shoulder.

"Here," he said with a grin. "Payment for helping us out last minute against the Myrmurs. Now scram and go back to your ungrateful village."

"..."

It was now that Gael would really appreciate some facial features carved into Liorin's mask, but he supposed it didn't matter either way. The boy looked at Gael for a long moment, then he looked at the rest of them, and then he went back to Gael.

With a dejected dip of his head, Liorin turned and dashed off, rushing across the clearing to get back to his Mournspire Pine where his village was.

Maeve, standing beside Gael, reached a hand out instinctively as though she wanted to say something to the boy. Instead, she hesitated, her fingers curling slightly as she watched him run off, her expression a mixture of concern and something softer.

Gael noticed the way her shoulders slumped just a little, a subtle hint of melancholy in her posture.

"Are you sure we shouldn't talk to him a bit more?" Cara said quietly as she stepped up beside him, frowning at the back of the distant boy. "There's still so much we don't know about those people. Why did they all fall asleep? Why didn't Liorin fall asleep? Why is he the only one with a mask? And why does it seem like the villagers can't stand him?"

He didn't say it out loud, but he felt he already knew the answers to most of her questions.

What was the right thing to say in response to Cara's question, then?

"... Eh." He shrugged. "Why bother? We're not fucking detectives. The Petalborn have their lives, and we have ours. As long as they're safe and healthy, what does it matter what really happened?" Then he grumbled, scratching the back of his head as he started feeling a little irritated again. "Also, they were ungrateful bitches. I don't even wanna think about them any longer."

Cara let out a soft huff, but she couldn't argue with that last bit. Maeve didn't seem fully convinced, but she didn't press him further either.

With that, Gael began walking, his boots crunching the dry earth beneath him as he moved out of the tunnel. Maeve and Cara exchanged a brief glance, but they both fell in line behind him. Fergal and his goons trudged along in silence as well, keeping watch behind them in case the forest had any more surprises to throw at them.

Of course, Gael noticed they were all looking mournfully at the Mournspire Pine Liorin disappeared into.

They just didn't notice he, too, was glancing at the closing wall of vines, where the boy's silhouette disappeared into the shadows of the colossal pine.

… Hmph.

Enough was enough. No more thinking about the Petalborn. He just had to be happy with the successful harvest and get back home safely.

He shook his head and looked straight ahead.

Still.

I wonder if he'll use his 'reward'.

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