writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia

It was true; the woods made Nadir nervous. He was happy and comfortable inside the castle walls, with his books and his sword, his education and his training. His routine. The woods were not part of what made him feel safe or comfortable. They were dark, even during the day, with their giant twisting trees, their windy branches, their silence.

That was what bothered Nadir the most about the woods. They were too quiet. He couldn't hear birds or anything else for that matter. It felt like slipping into pure absence of sound. He didn't mention it to Baz; that would mean actually admitting that fear aloud - never mind that Baz seemed to know Nadir was more than just unnerved. But he still refused. At age twenty he was nearly a knight of the realm, ready to leave squiredom - and the remains of childhood - behind. He couldn't be afraid of a mere forest.

The third time Baz let out his perfectly calculated huff, Nadir sighed and put down his book. He knew that sigh, the weight of it, the balance, the careful planning that went into Baz sounding just the right amounts of forlorn and discontent. Baz had had years to get it right, after all.

Nadir resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, a habit he'd developed after years of spending time with Baz and instead swung round in his chair to look at him. Baz didn't even have the decency to look sheepish at interrupting Nadir. In fact, the corner of his mouth was twitching slightly, like he was fighting back a smile.

Calmly Nadir took in Baz's appearance. He was dressed in his walking clothes, casual clothing the squires wore when not in training. With their impending knighthood only a few months away, they didn't have much time to themselves anymore. So it was rare they found the time to - in Nadir's case - catch up on reading, though it appeared he was not about to have that time now either. "What is it now, Bastian?" Nadir used Baz's full first name, making it clear that he was displeased, albeit only slightly.

Baz smiled then, that charming, almost too-white smile that always crumbled at Nadir's resolve. "I'm bored."

It was Nadir's turn to sigh. "Of course you are. And you need me to do something about it?"

Baz only smiled wider, sensing an advantage Nadir hadn't intended to give him. "I need you to come with me."

Nadir narrowed his eyes, his dark heavy eyebrows knitting above them. "And go where?"

"Into the woods."

"Let me in," Naj whispered, running pale hands up Tessani's chest to curve over his shoulders and hook behind his neck. He shifted, hips canting upward, one leg moving to curl around Tessani's.

Tessani grunted, the sound low and short. "Move like that again and I'll be the one asking you that."

Naj grinned, and deliberately rolled his hips again.

Someone stirred behind her and she whirled, starting at a sleepy-eyed Jindra crawling out of their tent. Jindra's hair was mussed, her gaze unfocused, and despite their spectacular fight the night before, Bel still found herself smiling. "Good morning. I didn't expect you away just yet."

Jindra tilted her head, her own expression softening as she looked at Bel. "I felt you wake and I didn't want to miss all of the sunrise."

Only half an hour later he found them. Zara stood with her back to the tallest in a ring of imposing stones, while Jindra knelt in the center. Her head was bowed, but her body pulled taut as a bow string, cocked as though she were ready to fight at the first sign of something gone wrong. Tessani wouldn't have been surprised if that was exactly the case. He hadn't known her long, but she wasn't difficult to read.

The squire's eyes stung as sweat poured into them, but he didn't so much as raise a hand to wipe his brow. He could feel his knight's eyes on on him and the number one thing he refused to do was look weak. So he blinked the sweat away as rapidly as he could, took his stance and lunged again.

Once again his thrust was easily parried, but this time, the knight slapped the blade further to the right, slid into close range and smacked the flat of the blade against his stomach. "Hit. Were I an enemy, squire, you would be dead."

"Not fully," the voice reminded him. "And yet that matters not to you. Why?"

Naj's nostrils flared. "Are you so blind to anything beyond what lurks with you in those shadows that you cannot recognize love?"

There was a moment of silence and then a deep chuckle, one that startled Naj more than anything. "No. But you, tyro, are so stubborn and proud that you would not admit such a thing until now."

The shadows had taken control. Tessani could no longer keep them at back and with that last hold broken, they swarmed, covering his hands and feet, crawling up over his neck and head, pouring across his face until finally, they seeped into the very whites of his eyes. Tessani screamed, back arching up off the floor as his hand clenched tight, crushing Naj's fingers in his own. Naj bit back the cry of pain that threatened to come, watching as the last bit of deep warm brown in Tessani's eyes was eaten by swirling darkness.

Tessani screamed again, the sound suddenly changing to an echoing howl, a sound that couldn't come from a human throat.

Tessani pressed his hands against his ears, knowing full well it wouldn’t drown out the insidious whispers. The voices, the shadows, they were in his head, in his skin, everywhere; he couldn’t escape them. Tessani let out a choked sound and swallowed it down immediately. Steeling himself, he gathered his will and fixed the roving shadows in place on his skin, the voices he couldn’t muffle entirely, and every day, they grew just a little louder, but for now he could still ignore them. He still had control of his will, his mind, and his body, and for now, he still had work to do.

Tessani sat, his back hunched, his head in his hands, and the shadows on his arms writhing. They moved freely now, only staying still when he willed them to do so.

If you listened to us, you could have your answers. Everything you want, if you accept what we offer.

Tessani pressed his hands against his ears, knowing full well it wouldn’t drown out the insidious whispers. The voices, the shadows, they were in his head, in his skin, everywhere; he couldn’t escape them.