"Which tent?" I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper, as I dragged my feet through the dust. Each step felt heavier than the last, Duke's absence a silent weight upon my shoulders. He can't really be gone, can he? The question echoed in my mind, a relentless whisper.

"Beatrix!" Paul's voice pierced my reverie, a sharp contrast to the soft, haunting questions swirling in my thoughts. I saw him rushing toward me, his expression a mixture of urgency and concern.

"What do you want?" The words escaped my lips more harshly than intended. But the moment I spoke, I realised that my needs and his purpose might just align, despite my brusque demeanour.

"I've sent Karen to the lagoon to fetch Chris and Kain. Hopefully, Joel found his way there, too. You've still not seen him?" Paul's words tumbled out.

"No," I said simply.

Paul's reaction was immediate, his brow furrowing, a physical manifestation of his growing concern and frustration.

"Which tent is Jamie's?" I interjected, seizing a moment to steer the conversation toward the practical concern at hand. "He needs clean clothes."

"Follow me," Paul replied, a hint of resignation in his voice as he gestured toward the tent on the far left.

A soft sigh escaped me as I trailed behind him, my mind grappling with the unfolding events around us. "You could have just pointed the tent out to me," I grumbled under my breath, a quiet protest against the unspoken expectation of companionship in this moment of shared adversity. Yet, as I followed Paul, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude for the presence of someone who, despite everything, remained steadfast in the face of our collective challenges.

Paul held back the front flap of the tent, and I hesitantly stepped inside, my eyes widening as I took in the expanse before me. "Impressive," I whispered, my voice barely carrying in the spacious interior. The large central living area branched off into additional rooms on either side, each inviting a sense of wonder and curiosity about their contents. "It looked big on the outside, but the inside is even—"

"They're ten-man tents," Paul cut in, his voice pulling me back from my awe. "Almost military-grade quality."

I scoffed lightly, a mix of admiration and skepticism swirling within me. Where the hell did Luke get these from?

Our attention was abruptly diverted by a loud grunt emanating from the floor. Turning, I saw Henri, his furry face tilted upwards, eyes locking onto mine with an expression that tugged at the heartstrings.

"He looks so sad," Paul observed, his voice tinged with a gentle empathy as he squatted beside the chubby dog.

"He's hungry," I corrected, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite the sombre mood. "Don't mistake that resting bitch face for sadness. I've seen that gluttonous look in his eyes many times." My familiarity with Henri allowed me to read beyond the superficial cues, to the more mundane, yet endearing, aspects of his personality.

At my words, Henri let out a yap, his tail swishing against the tent floor, as if in agreement or perhaps just in anticipation of what was to come.

"Come on, Henri," Paul said, a hint of affection in his voice as he rose to his feet and headed toward the collection of bags along the wall of the right wing.

"I'll feed him," I interjected quickly, the words leaping from my lips before I fully registered them. My affection for animals, particularly in these trying times, seemed to amplify, and Henri's recent loss of his older brother tugged sharply at my heartstrings. I caught a tear that dared escape.

Henri, with a sense of understanding or perhaps just a response to the routine, followed me to his bowl, his steps echoing softly in the vast tent.

"Here, catch," Paul's voice broke through my thoughts, a tin of food arcing through the air toward me.

Catching it deftly, I paused to inspect the label, my fingers tracing the outlines of the text. Henri, clearly unimpressed with the delay, voiced his impatience with a sharp yap, urging me to hasten.

With a slight smile, I pulled the ring, the tin yielding with a satisfying hiss. The rich scent of beef and gravy wafted out, surprisingly appetising given its canned origin.

"That almost smells good," Paul remarked, a hint of humour in his tone, his chuckle resonating softly in the spacious tent.

As I scooped the food into Henri's bowl, his eager eyes and wagging tail animated by the prospect of his meal, I couldn't help but respond to Paul's comment. "And people say that I'm the odd one," I said, directing a playful look at Henri, as if including him in the joke.

Henri, for his part, offered a snort in response, his focus shifting immediately to the meal before him, his tongue eagerly lapping at the air, anticipating the taste of his breakfast.

"Hey, Beatrix!" Paul's voice echoed from the left wing, drawing my attention away from Henri and the momentary solace of our interaction.

"Enjoy, little fella," I murmured to Henri, giving his head a gentle scratch, feeling the soft fur under my fingers before reluctantly pulling myself away.

"Come take a look at this," Paul's voice carried a note of urgency that piqued my curiosity despite the lingering scent of the tin in my hands.

With no bin in sight to dispose of the offensive container, I carried it with me, navigating through the tent's spacious interior to where Paul had stationed himself. "What am I looking at?" I asked, my gaze following his to the canvas floor.

Paul was crouched, his finger pointing at several small, dark droplets that marred the otherwise pristine surface. "Does this look like blood to you?" he asked, his tone serious, his focus intense.

Squatting beside him, I peered closer at the droplets, the familiarity of the scene unsettling. "I guess it could be," I conceded, the ambiguity of my response reflecting the churn of thoughts in my mind.

Paul's eyes met mine, laden with a mixture of frustration and expectation. "I would have thought you'd be able to give a more certain answer given how much blood you've seen recently," he remarked, a hint of accusation threading through his words.

I felt a flicker of annoyance at his comment, a surge of defensiveness rising within me. But rather than engage in a pointless spat, I rolled my eyes and turned away.

Pushing Paul's remark to the back of my mind, I made my way to the small assortment of bags and suitcases clustered in a corner, rummaging through them in search of clean clothes for Jamie. The task provided a welcome distraction, allowing me to momentarily set aside the weight of Paul's words and the foreboding implications of the mysterious droplets.

"I'm sorry, Beatrix, I didn't mean it like that," Paul's apology cut through the tense air, his tone attempting to mend the rift his earlier words had caused.

"It's fine," I snapped back, more sharply than I had intended. The simmering ache in my head was now a pounding drum, threatening to split my skull open, and my patience was wearing thin.

"I think Joel's in real trouble," Paul continued, his attention returning to the suspicious stains and the dishevelled bed sheets, his voice laced with concern. "We're just not equipped to survive out here."

His words pulled me from my focused search through the luggage. "There's a bunch of camping gear and related shit piled in Luke's living room," I pointed out, a hint of frustration in my voice at the oversight.

"Really?" Paul's interest was piqued, a note of hope threading through his tone.

"It's where that kayak came from," I reminded him, trying to anchor his understanding to something tangible. "I think some of it may have got a bit damaged during the shadow panther attack last night, but I can bring you everything that's there anyway."

"That'd be great," he agreed, a flicker of relief crossing his features. "We'll sort that out once we've decided what to do about Joel."

"And Duke," I couldn't help but add, the unresolved tension around Duke's fate hanging heavy between us.

Paul's expression softened, a shadow of sorrow passing over his face. "It's really sad that we can't give Duke a proper burial."

That statement hit a nerve, and a wave of anger washed over me. My hand clenched around a handful of clothes, the fabric wrinkling under my grip.

Pausing in the archway that led back to the main area, I turned back to Paul. "Jamie won't let you cremate him," I stated flatly, the finality in my voice a clear signal that I was done with this conversation.

With that, I hurried out of the tent, leaving Paul behind. I needed to escape, to breathe, to not be suffocated by the heavy air of grief and impending decisions that loomed over us.

Head down, absorbed in her thoughts, Glenda rushed toward me, her urgency palpable. I let out a startled gasp as our paths crossed, narrowly avoiding a collision. Her presence was like a sudden storm, unexpected yet unmistakably charged with purpose.

"Please take this with you and give it to Jamie. He can wrap Duke in it until we can organise more suitable arrangements," Glenda implored, her voice a mix of haste and compassion. She extended a clean, neatly folded sheet toward me.

With a silent nod, I took the bedsheet from her hands, the fabric cool and smooth against my skin. The weight of the sheet felt heavier than it should, laden with the sombre task it was destined to fulfil.

"Charity is right, Beatrix," Paul's voice came from behind me, pulling my attention away as he exited the tent.

"You take charge of it then," I huffed, my frustration bubbling to the surface. My head throbbed in time with my beating heart, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil that churned within me. Determined to distance myself from the matter and the mounting pressure, I turned sharply on my heels and walked away.

Each step I took was a bid for escape, an attempt to put some physical space between me and the weight of decisions, arguments, and grief that clung to the air like a persistent fog. I needed a moment—a breath of fresh air, a sliver of solace in a world that seemed determined to deny me any peace.

Approaching the river, I consciously inhaled several deep breaths, each one a deliberate attempt to don a veneer of calm and sympathy for Jamie's sake. The cool air filled my lungs, a temporary balm to the burden of my thoughts and the throbbing pain in my head.

"Is it cold?" I ventured, pausing beside Duke, who lay still and peaceful by the water's edge.

My voice seemed to startle Jamie; he turned abruptly, sending small droplets flying into the air like miniature crystals, catching the sunlight. His surprise was palpable, yet his face remained an impassive mask.

A vacant shrug was his only response, words seemingly too heavy to muster.

"I've brought you a towel and change of clothes," I announced, setting the items down on the ground. The towel unfurled slightly, touching the earth, and I carefully placed the clothes atop it, a makeshift altar of fabric and necessity.

"Thanks," Jamie's voice was a low murmur, almost lost amidst the gentle sounds of the river. He splashed water onto his chest, his movements deliberate, methodical, as if each gesture was an effort to wash away more than just the physical remnants of the night’s events.

"I... I've also brought a bedsheet to wrap Duke in," I added hesitantly, my voice trembling slightly with the weight of the words. "To keep him safe," I quickly said, hoping to cushion the impact of the reminder of Duke's fate.

Jamie's reaction was a void, his silence a chasm that seemed to stretch between us. He continued his ritual of cleansing, each stroke of his hands an attempt to scrub away the pain, the loss, the dark reality that clung to him as stubbornly as the dried blood he sought to remove.

I bit my lower lip, feeling it tremble uncontrollably. The saline behind my eyes threatened to breach their barriers, stinging with the promise of tears not yet shed. Torn between the impulse to provide solace and the respect for privacy, I chose the latter, positioning myself near Duke but with my back to Jamie. He deserves at least a little privacy, I reassured myself, trying to find solace in the decision.

There, beside Duke, I sat enveloped in silence, my mind wandering through the labyrinth of recent events. The world around me seemed to fade into the background as I delved into introspection. What would life be like now if I had never answered that phone call from Gladys? The question echoed in my mind, a haunting refrain that offered no comfort. Even as I pondered alternate realities, I understood a harsh truth: my ignorance of Clivilius would not have altered Duke's fate. His tragic death was a cruel stroke of destiny, one that perhaps no foresight or precaution could have averted.

Stop it, Beatrix! I chastised myself, an internal rebuke aimed at curbing the spiralling thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. Yet, despite my efforts to steer clear of despair, my gaze inevitably drifted back to Duke. Each time I looked at him, lying so still and serene, a fresh wave of sorrow clenched my heart, tightening its grip with merciless persistence. You're going to give yourself a stroke, I silently warned, recognising the futility of my emotional turmoil but feeling powerless to quell it.

"Do you mind if I do it alone?" Jamie's voice, tinged with a quiet resolve, caught me off guard from behind.

I turned to face him, noticing how the droplets of river water clung to his skin, reflecting the bright sunlight. His eyes, laden with a depth of sorrow, met mine as he gestured toward the bedsheet cradled in my lap.

"Of course," I managed to reply, my voice a whisper, betraying my internal conflict. I wished he hadn't felt the need to take on this burden solo. Wrapping Duke was a final act of farewell, one that seemed too heavy for any one person to bear in isolation.

"Thank you, Beatrix," Jamie said, a hint of gratitude piercing through the dense fog of his grief. With a measured movement, he grabbed the towel, pulling himself from the river's embrace to wrap the fabric around his damp form.

I nodded silently, my heart heavy with empathy for his solitary struggle. Gently placing the sheet beside Duke, I allowed my fingers to linger on the fabric, an unspoken goodbye. Casting one last glance at the dog who had been more than a mere pet but a source of joy and comfort, I blew Duke a soft, tender kiss, a final gesture of affection.

Reluctant to return to the others, yet unwilling to intrude on Jamie's moment of private mourning, I found a compromise in the shade at the back of the tents. There, amidst the dappled light and the soft rustling of the fabric, I stood in liminal space—close enough to offer support if needed, yet far enough to respect Jamie's request for solitude.

The lively chatter that had been permeating the air tapered into a hushed silence as Jamie and I emerged from behind the tent, stepping into the collective gaze of the group gathered around the campfire. A thick, uncomfortable lump of bile lodged in my throat, making it difficult to swallow, as my anxiety surged to new heights. I could feel the weight of everyone's eyes upon us, a collective scrutiny that sent a shiver skittering across my shoulders. Deep down, I recognised that their focus wasn't truly on me; it was Jamie, bearing the weight of Duke, now shrouded in the bedsheet, who commanded their attention.

"Jamie," Paul initiated, his voice betraying a tremor of emotion as he addressed him. There was a brief pause as Paul's eyes flitted across the faces surrounding the fire, seemingly seeking a silent solidarity before he pressed on. "I know things are a bit painful right now, but we need to know when you last saw Joel."

Jamie halted in his tracks, the gravity of the question anchoring him momentarily. After a contemplative pause, he responded, "It was just before the attack last night. He was in his bed in the tent when I took off after Duke."

The air seemed to thicken with tension as Paul continued, treading lightly, "And when you returned?"

A visible shadow passed over Jamie's features, his expression dimming as he offered a simple, yet heavy shrug in response.

"Then it's settled," Glenda interjected, her arms wrapping around herself in a self-comforting gesture, her nerves palpable even in her posture. "Joel is missing."

As Glenda’s words hung heavy in the air, my eyes shut instinctively, an involuntary response to the mounting cascade of grim tidings. My fingers found their way to my temples, massaging gently in a futile attempt to stave off the throbbing ache that seemed to pulse in sync with the escalating tension around us. Could this day possibly get any worse?

Amidst the sombre assembly, Charity, who until now had remained a somewhat enigmatic presence at the periphery, stepped forward. An aura of confidence and authority seemed to radiate from her, casting a stark contrast to the prevailing mood of despair and uncertainty. "I am certain Joel has been taken by the Portal Pirate. I will hunt him down and bring Joel back," she declared, her voice imbued with a resolve that seemed to pierce the fog of our collective despondency.

My eyes opened wider, my gaze locking onto Charity as her words registered. Come again? Did you just say that Joel was taken by a Portal pirate? The notion, while not entirely new, struck me with renewed force. I recalled Charity's earlier mention of such a being, a detail I had dismissed too hastily amidst the shock of grief, now surfacing with jarring clarity.

Before I could fully process the implications, Jamie's voice cut through the air, decisive and devoid of any doubt. "I'm coming with you," he stated, his resolve starkly evident.

My gaze shifted to Jamie, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within me. A grave shadow of concern enveloped my heart. Don't be a bloody fool, Jamie, I implored silently, wishing my thoughts could reach him, steer him away from this perilous path. You're not equipped to take on a freakin' Portal pirate!

Charity's nod was like a gavel striking, her decision final. "Prepare your things. We leave immediately." Her command sliced through the heavy air, leaving a trail of incredulity in its wake. Seriously!? She can't be serious... is she? My mind raced, teetering between disbelief and a creeping sense of urgency.

Jamie's reaction was visceral, his eyes wide with a terror that mirrored my internal turmoil. He looked down at Duke, the bond between them palpable even in the silent, heavy air.

Charity's presence was commanding as she closed the distance between her and Jamie, her stride purposeful. With a gesture that brooked no refusal, she gently but firmly lifted his chin, compelling him to meet her gaze. "If you want any chance of finding Joel alive, we must leave immediately." Her voice, while steady, carried an undercurrent of unspoken urgency that tugged at my consciousness.

Hell no! The silent protest screamed within me, echoing my deep-seated dread and resistance to the unfolding scenario.

Jamie's voice broke through the tension, "I need to say farewell to Duke first," his vulnerability laid bare in his quivering lip and trembling arms.

Charity's eyes remained locked on Jamie's, unwavering in their intensity. "Life is full of decisions and consequences, Jamie. You need to make a choice: Joel or Duke." Her words, haunting and unyielding, cut through the air like a cold blade.

This hunter bitch is a freakin' psychopath, I couldn't help but think, my gaze fixed on her with a mix of horror and disbelief. Her blunt, unsparing approach to the situation struck me as brutally insensitive, her ultimatum laying bare the harsh realities of our existence in this new, unforgiving world.

The camp was enveloped in a palpable, uncomfortable silence following Charity's ultimatum. It was as if the air itself had thickened, laden with the weight of impending decisions. Finally, Jamie's gaze shifted toward me, his eyes conveying a storm of emotions, and he gave a gentle nod. Fuck no! the protest screamed inside my head, yet my face remained a mask of empathy and understanding, a façade honed by necessity.

With reluctant steps, I moved toward Jamie, my heart pounding against my chest as if trying to escape the unbearable situation I found myself in. As I reached out to take Duke from Jamie's arms, my hands were steady, belying the turmoil that raged within. Jamie's grip loosened with a hesitance that spoke volumes, and as Duke's weight transferred to me, a tear broke free from my eye, a silent witness to the internal storm I fought to contain.

"Duke knows you love him, Jamie. He won't ever forget that," I managed to utter, my voice laced with an involuntary sniffle that punctuated the emotional weight of the moment.

Jamie's response was a raw, visible cascade of grief as tears streamed down his face, each one a testament to the depth of his bond with Duke. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing Duke's bedsheet-clad form. "I'm so sorry, Duke," he whispered, his voice breaking with the weight of his remorse and love.

I fought to control my own rising emotions, the threat of tears and sobs wrestling for release as I tried to maintain a semblance of composure.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Jamie inhaled deeply, as if drawing strength from the air itself. When he spoke again, his voice carried a new resolve. "I'll grab my things," he announced, his gaze meeting Charity's, signalling his readiness to face whatever dangers lay ahead in their quest to find Joel.

Disbelief clung to me, thick and unyielding, as I watched Jamie stride towards his tent. The world seemed to tilt, reality skewing at the edges as I grappled with the rapid unravelling of our group's cohesion. Then, unexpectedly, Jamie paused, casting a look back over his shoulder. "Take good care of Henri for me," he implored, his voice carrying a blend of resolve and underlying sorrow.

Henri, upon hearing his name, perked up, his tail wagging briefly before his attention was diverted by some intriguing scent near a log by the campfire. His nose twitched, exploring the invisible trails left by cooking, oblivious to the emotion of the moment.

Paul stepped in, lifting Henri into his arms. "We'll keep him safe, Jamie. You have my word," he promised, his voice firm.

Jamie, without a further glance, resumed his march to the tent, with Charity's silent, determined figure shadowing him. I watched, a lump forming in my throat, as the reality of our situation sank in.

"Oh, Henri," I murmured under my breath, my gaze lingering on the dog now nestled in Paul's embrace. My thoughts spiralled, considering Henri's simple, joyous nature, how he found delight in the smallest things, like a hearty meal or a new scent. The pang of sadness hit anew, realising he wouldn't understand why Jamie, his constant companion, had disappeared or why Duke wouldn't be bounding around camp anymore.

My introspection was shattered by Glenda's sudden outburst. She collapsed to her knees, her voice tearing through the air. "Clivilius!" she cried out, her fists pounding the earth, her despair manifesting in a raw, physical display.

Oh my God, I can't take any more of this stupidity, I internally raged, feeling a surge of exasperation so intense it threatened to consume me. My eyes glazed over, a deliberate shield against the pandemonium that unfolded around me. Without a word, I began to walk away, distancing myself from the turmoil that had engulfed the group beside the campfire.

I hadn't gone far when Paul's voice pierced the veil of my retreat. "Beatrix, where are you going?" he called out, his tone laced with a mix of concern and confusion.

"Home," I shouted back, the word echoing with a mix of defiance and despair. The concept of 'home' felt abstract, almost mocking in our current predicament, yet it was the only refuge my mind could seek in that moment.

"What? Now? What?" Paul's bewildered response floated towards me.

My head throbbed mercilessly, a relentless reminder of the physical and emotional toll the past days had exacted. Scratches and bruises adorned my body, souvenirs from a brutal encounter with a shadow panther. Sleep had been elusive, a fleeting luxury. Even the ground beneath my feet seemed hostile, the fine dust irritating my bare skin with every step I took.

With no hand free to dismiss Paul's inquiry – not that a dismissive gesture would encapsulate the whirlwind of frustration and fatigue that engulfed me – I continued forward. My silence was my shield, my solitude my salvation, as I walked away from the campfire's flickering light and toward the familiar embrace of the Portal.