“You weren’t kind this time, either.”

The sound of an engine revving filled the camp, no doubt coming from that ridiculous bike of the girl’s. With a growl and a roar it was off, the warbled sound of Raven’s portal vanishing with it a second later.

Vernal leaned against a tent pole with her eyes shut, arms folded across her chest, like a guard of the nightwatch taking a nap. She listened to the sounds of birds taking flight, of the billowing gale of a harsh spring wind.

“I know...”

Vernal’s eyes opened at the soft admission from Raven, spoken to the so-called daughter who had already deserted her.

The tent flap flew open, Raven returning to her abode with her usual imperious air. “I take it you heard all of that?” There was nothing accusatory in her tone, merely a confirmation of what she already knew.

“Yes.”

Raven let out a vague grunt of acknowledgement. If Vernal had transgressed any of Raven’s boundaries, then the bandit queen didn’t think it worthy of chastisement. Dark red eyes swept from one wall of the tent to the other, surveying the damage her daughter had done. “It’s a shame.”

“About your daughter?” Vernal rubbed her nose, an old nervous tic from a long-forgotten youth. “She’s a tough kid, I’ll give her that.”

Raven snorted. “I meant the furniture.” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm, waving over the table that Ember Celica had been unleashed upon. “That’s going to get her killed one day.” Vernal remained mute, unsure of where her leader wanted this conversation to go. “Clean that up, would you.”

The Spring Maiden nodded, even if Raven’s back was turned to her. Without a word of complaint she began picking up the splintered pieces of wood, bundling them into stacks of kindling.

Even a ruined table could serve a purpose.

The glass cups had survived the blonde chick’s macho display, to Vernal’s mild surprise and thanks. Stools and tables could be fashioned from trees quick-enough, but proper ceramics were a lot harder to come by. Hardly the kind of necessity that justified a trip to a town to replace.

Her leader was tense, Vernal could tell, as she finished tossing the last of the detonated table. Not that Raven Branwen was ever what would be called relaxed. Her posture changed but her eyes never did, still sharp and alert and penetrating whether in a fight or a meal or a bed. But right now, Raven was more tense than normal. Her shoulders were hunched and her brow furrowed, her fingers strummed the hilt of her katana with a restless energy.

“How about some tea?” Vernal offered, dusting the dirt from her hand. “Actually hot, this time.”

Raven looked like she was going to dismiss the offer, but she turned her head before she spoke, and thus caught the expression on Vernal’s face, the look in her eyes. “...Thank you.”

Vernal took her leave of the tent, walking straight to the center of the camp. Once upon a time, many years ago, she would have wondered what the bandits thought of her now. Her boisterous scheme to ransom a Schnee had turned into something of a farce, the Bandit Queen of Anima all but holding the door for her hostage on the way out.

She walked over to an open campfire, where a pot of water was boiling. She plucked it from its rack over the fire pit without a word, its hot water commandeered for the pleasure of Raven.

Nobody so much as grumbled.

Vernal made her way back to the tent and began the familiar tea making ritual. That was something she did remember from her childhood, even if those memories felt like an alien graft to the woman possessing them now. She followed the ritual anyways. The protocol for soaking and stirring the loose leaves that turned them into tea. Which hand to pour from, which to serve with. The wordless prayer to the spirits. The campsite had none of the ceremony of her memory - gone were the courteous bows and the featherine robes - but the essence of the ritual remained. Vernal had long stopped believing that the little gestures would bless the drinker with serenity and long-life.

She did them anyways.

Raven had pulled out her bedding while Vernal had been fetching the water - little more than some thick cushions that could be rolled and stored compactly. The night was still young, but Vernal sensed that there would not be any more camp business to attend to until sunrise. The men outside were still licking their wounds from the smarting Yang and the Schnee had given them, struggling to return to the normalcy of routine.

“Here,” Vernal said with a small cough, proffering the saucer when Raven failed to note her approach.

Raven blinked, those dark red orbs drifting until they were peering into Vernal’s very soul. “Thank you,” she said again, lifting cup and dish from the Maiden’s hands. She took a deep sip while steam was still rising from the cup, the reddish-brown liquid appropriately bitter for the mood. “It’s very good.”

Vernal smiled a little. Despite everything that had happened, despite everything that had made her who she was, she still warmed a little at a word of praise from Raven.

“My pleasure.” There was nothing fawning in Vernal’s tone, no overt obsequiousness or submissiveness. Just pride and respect, both earned the hard way.

The Spring Maiden stood over Raven, sipping from her own cup for a few delicate seconds. The tea was, indeed, actually very good, stronger than she’d intended but a welcome palette cleanser. “Would you like me to sleep in my tent tonight?”

Once again, that tone that was neither pitying nor pleading. If Raven didn’t want her tonight, she was hardly going to be heartbroken. It simply seemed impolite to assume, given the day’s-

“Stay.”

It was all Raven needed to say. The bandit shuffled over on her bedding, leaving a familiar space for the Spring Maiden to fill. Vernal nodded in acknowledgement of Raven’s words - were they a request or an order, she never needed to know - finishing her tea in a hasty gulp.

She set the ceramics aside, checking the fastenings on the tent to ensure it was sealed, keeping out wandering eyes and the night air both. Candles and lanterns were extinguished with puffs of air, plunging the tent into darkness.

When Vernal returned to the bed she found Raven lying on her back, arms folded beneath her head.

“Something on your mind?” Vernal asked, sliding into a spot beside Raven. “Taiyang’s brat?” Without thought, Vernal’s hand came to rest on Raven’s mane, the flowing black hair that was an inked inverse of her daughter’s.

Raven snorted, but kept her eyes fixed on the canvas overhead. “She’s Qrow’s problem now,” she said, remorse and resignation in her voice. “Gods help them both.”

Vernal leaned forward so she could unlace her boots, kicking off her footwear. It was not uncommon for them to sleep fully-clothed - the cold of the night and the threats of the wild often necessitated it - but Vernal had never been able to sleep with her feet covered.

“Was that an actual prayer, Raven, or just a trite phrase?”

Raven rubbed the bridge of her nose, before exhaling heavily. Vernal sensed a reprieve in Raven’s silence, retreating slightly to her side of the padding.

“Vernal.” Hearing her name caused the woman to sit up, to realize that Raven had rolled onto her side, her posture loose and languid.

“Yeah?”

“You did well today.” Raven’s hand snaked out, her fingers curling through Vernal’s hair. Hairs just long enough to grasp and tug, to guide this way and that. “My daughter can be somewhat… volatile… but we made it through the day unscathed.”

“Well… mostly unscathed…” Vernal corrected, her eyes darting to the emptiness in the tent where a table had once stood.

“Hmh.” Raven let out an amused snort, guiding Vernal’s head towards her own.

The kiss was short, bordering on chaste, a pleasurable peck and nothing more. Raven never asked before she took her kisses - never needed to, not from Vernal. The Spring Maiden would run a blade through the heart of any other soul in Remnant that tried to take from her, but to her Bandit Leader she surrendered everything.

“You best get some sleep,” said Raven, releasing Vernal’s head and sinking into the cushioning. Vernal didn’t let so much as a flash of disappointment cross her face. “We’re going to be busier than normal in the days ahead.”

“Oh?”

Vernal lay down on the bedding, staring into Raven’s back, at that hair that seemed to transition into the threads of feathers.

“Tomorrow morning, have the men prepare to move camp.”

“We’re relocating?”

“Soon.” Raven’s tone was final, and Vernal didn’t press, not for answers, not tonight.



Heat, however, was an entirely different affair.