Or it was all in his head, some subconscious way of filling a gap he didn’t know needed to be filled. Because nowhere had ever really felt like home. Not Last Dawn. None of the scattered villages and towns he’d passed through as he’d struck out on his own. Certainly not Nal Eston, though, strangely, he had more fond memories of The Wilds than any other place he’d visited. And not Marchessault, which had felt more foreign a place than he suspected anywhere outside of Finfalla could ever feel.

I guess that makes me homeless, he thought, weaving his way around trees and thickets that seemed intent on blocking his path forward. No matter how at home he felt in the forest, it wasn’t like he could ever live here. That would be absurd. He could just picture himself, his beard down to his knees, necklaces made of pinecones and seeds strung about his throat.

He opened his mouth to share this vision of his possible future with Bryony, but then remembered he was alone. Stop it, he commanded himself. She wasn’t here and he needed to focus on his mission. This wasn’t about King Vedran’s command or the possible threat to Finfalla. This was all about Gado.

“Gado,” he said now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you alone that night. I’m sorry for failing you. I know this won’t fix any of it, but it’s all I can do. Give you your justice.”

Ludo knew most people would consider talking to oneself a sign of madness, but it never felt like that when he spoke to his brother. It only ever felt right, like for those few moments Gado was beside him, the pair of them as thick as thieves as they’d always been, like the past had been erased and he’d never left Last Dawn. Like he was whole again.

Regret swirled inside him, but this time it wasn’t because of Gado. He wished he’d shared these feelings with Bryony.

“Dammit,” he muttered. “Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Focus. You need to focus on the mark. The Fire Eater must be punished.”

He stopped, if only to distract himself from his thoughts with more intelligent pursuits, like locating his map and unfurling it. He already knew it had been rendered woefully inaccurate by Lostwood’s rampant growth, but Dunmire’s location hadn’t changed, and though the forest was now far closer to the village’s border than the map portrayed, it helped to reorient his current position, which he indicated with the tip of his finger. “If I’m here, then Lostriver should be close at hand.” He paused, cocking his head to the side to listen intently for any sounds of moving water. Nothing.