In order to curb Cove's impatience (and, I admit, my own growing impatience as well), we agreed to teleport as near to the rook's nest as we could see. No sooner had Cove grabbed my arm did the rooftop we were standing on vanish, the shadowed alleyway we'd spotted almost entirely across the small city appearing in its place. This far from the port, the crew members' distractions were mere echoes, occasional undistinguishable shouts and noises. It was quieter, so much so that we could hear the loud buzzing of dying fluorescent lights as the hotel sign hanging to our right flickered.
Cove was all business. He leaned out of the alleyway, craning his neck around the corner before withdrawing slowly, like a turtle. "This way," he instructed, walking out before he even finished his sentence.
I hastened to follow him, straining to match his long-legged pace. He pointed forward to the shadowed tower just barely visible in the distant moonlight on the outskirts of the town, overlooking the forest beyond.
Though 'tower' may have been an overstatement. It was an extension of the Mad King's paranoia, a four-story hastily built structure that, even nearly a mile away, appeared as though a brush of wind could knock it over. The boss rook we'd faced in the water dungeon had a wingspan longer than the tower was wide. Even for the non-boss rooks, it appeared to be a tight fit.
"Can it even fit?" Cove asked skeptically, eying the tower with disgust.
Of the same mind, I only shrugged.
He continued forward, past the mobilizing guard, and through the gates of the city, his shoulders set forward, and his eyes fixated ahead, reminding me of a bloodhound on the hunt.
A few meters into the forest, Cove whirled on me, his brows drawn together and his hands still balled up into fists. "Will you stop that?" He snapped.
"What?" I whispered back harshly, passively attempting to remind him we needed to stay quiet.
A hand unfurled to jab at my feet as he rolled his eyes. "You've been stomping ever since we left the rooftop."
"I have not–" A particularly loud crack and numerous crunching leaves sounded from beneath my feet pierced through my voice, cutting off my sentence. "--been stomping."
He didn't have to say it–his face spoke for him, bearing the same skepticism he'd turned on the tower.
I lifted my foot, suddenly aware of my matching clenched fists and the muscles pulled taunt like a bowstring through my entire body. My shoulders ached, and my neck felt stiff.
I took a deep breath, unclenching my muscles as I breathed it out. My chest burned, and, thinking back, I realized I was furious. I had been, ever since our conversation in the library.
It's one thing to fear becoming your parents, I thought, having had experience with that myself, but another show it so blatantly. He was letting fear rule him, like a child.
And you aren't?
With another deep breath of cool evening air, I pushed away the thought, unsensing my muscles as I released my breath. The next step I took was still louder than I'd have preferred, but it was a massive improvement.
The sight of Cove's angry set shoulders was almost enough to throw me off, and I could feel the irritation rising once more. To distract myself, I asked Cove if going as a dog would be preferable. I wasn't serious–we needed to be able to respond quickly and effectively against any threat at any time. We were on a harsh time crunch, unlike the castle break-ins, and only had one chance.
Predictably, Cove refused.
Shortly before we stood at the gates of the door, we switched over to the thief class, buffing ourselves up as much as possible. Once that was completed, I took another arrow from Cove, planting it in my inventory and switching to the gunslinger class. Cove switched classes alongside me, the wooden bow appearing between his hands. They tightened slightly at the familiar weight, and Cove checked the quiver, reaching over his shoulder to pull out one arrow, placing it against the string and leaving it ready.
We padded past the guards when they turned their back, slipping into the castle almost as easily as we would our own homes, climbing the few flights of stairs up into the rook's nest. A simple wooden door hung at the top, and Cove sent me a look before gently and slowly pushing the door open.
A gust of wind brushed against my cheek, carrying the scent of a stale farm with it, infiltrating my nose. Surprised, I let out a small little sneeze. Immediately, the attitude of the room shifted, and I felt as though I were under a microscope. Cove pulled the string back, his shoulders pinching together.
With a twang, he let the arrow fly. It whipped out of his hands, soaring into the moonlight room.