Warning: This chapter contains themes of abuse/child abuse.
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Another nightmare. Another waking hell that he doesn't understand. His mind musters these illusions for the sole purpose of tormenting him, at least that's what it feels like.
Again, he's standing on that cliff high above a cloud of fog cloaking the ground, if there even is one. From what he can tell, he's closer to the edge than he was before. The only difference that he can see is that the white sky is now grey, but still an endless void. He has both his arms again. The silent, rainless storm pushes on around him, and this time he can hear thunder rumbling in the distance.
He still can't feel anything. His body is numb to the world.
He tries to move but he can't, not on his own anyway. Looking out behind him, before the cliff's edge is a forest with a mist rolling in across the ground. Emerging from the darkness is a person. A man.
John Wright.
Cree tries to move, to reach out to him but he can't move a muscle. He's locked in place on that edge.
He can't speak.
He can't do anything but watch.
John starts walking towards him with a smile on his face.
It would have made Cree smile too, but he can't change his expression to emote anything but a blank stare and the cold shell of himself. Even though he can't control himself, he doesn't understand why his own mind won't let him smile at seeing him again after so long.
It's not even mourning that keeps him restrained. It's nothing but pure apathy.
It doesn't matter if he can't show his smile, he knows how he feels. But it doesn't matter once he watches John close the distance between them and stand before him. His smile fades into fear and his eyes are pleading. He tries to speak but only silence fills the emptiness.
Cree doesn't know what happened.
Not until he, or whatever subconscious part of him this is, looks down and sees that he's holding his knife stabbed through John's chest.
No matter how much John fights to break free, he can't.
He just reaches forward with the last of his strength and grabs Cree's shoulder. It's only then that he realizes his metal arm is back.
As the light fades from John's eyes, he shows one last smile before fading out into nothing.
He becomes lost in the void.
Cree tries to scream out and cry, but he can't. He's left numb to it all.
He didn't kill John. He would never do that to the man he called his brother. His best friend. The first person to truly understand him.
He didn't kill him.
Did he?
He doesn't hear the little girl crying. This time, he hears the cries of someone else. It's him, his own cries.
His own screaming and begging for the nightmare to end.
That's what that memory was after all.
A nightmare.
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The immediate thing he notices is different from when he was knocked out is that he is no longer on the ground or touching any surface at all. His only real arm is sore, with a tight binding around his wrists that keeps him suspended in the air.
He blinks his eyes open and sees the world slightly spin in a blur. Orange light of the setting sun shines on his face, telling him that he's been out for a few hours but can't tell how long exactly. He looks up to see his wrists tied together above his head on a tree branch. He sighs and looks down at his body, seeing the red stain on his white tunic from his wounds reopening, but the blood has dried by now.
The pain sets in once he feels himself slowly returning to life and his vision clears, only to see someone standing on the ground a few feet in front of him. As if today couldn't get worse, he's once again found himself in the situation of being restrained before Sara.
Why can't he have just one normal day on this damn continent?
Sara chuckles. "We certainly need to stop meeting like this. You being tied up and helpless to me. I'm starting to think you enjoy it. If that's the case, you should have told me that first night we had. I would have gladly seen to your needs, love," she hisses.
Cree groans as he tries pulling his arms down but his strength fails him. "Sara... did you do this?" he growls. Sara snickers.
"Tying you up? No. I would have done a far better job than those Latyrs did. Which is saying something because that's quite impressive." She eyes the ropes restraining him.
He glares at her and pulls on the ropes, but his efforts amount to nothing. "What the hell do you want? Did you really just come here to stand there and gloat, if so you can save your breath and walk away now," he mutters.
Sara giggles elegantly and steps closer. "I can't resist helping a damsel in distress when I see one. However, I'm sure you know that my actions are not quite what one would call 'noble'."
"I'm not a damsel in distress," Cree growls and tugs a bit harder. It feels as though it only tightens the ropes the more he struggles.
Sara rolls her eyes. "Please, you're hardly the hero of this story."
"There's a difference between trying to be a hero and just refusing to be a coward," Cree states.
"And yet here you are, tied up and defenseless." Sara smiles and draws her silver dagger. "I could kill you easily if I so chose to. I would complete my mission and find satisfaction in doing so. But instead, I'm prepared to make you an offer." She runs the blade over his side, lightly enough that it doesn't cut him, but just as a warning that she's not afraid to hurt him. As if that wasn't clear already.
"I don't want anything from you." Cree frowns. Even though nothing about this situation is enjoyable, he finds a small hint of relief in the fact that she isn't using her magic on him to make him want her. So at least he's able to maintain some form of sense as she's speaking to him.
"No? Alright, then tell me. How do you plan on getting down from there?" She leans against the tree beside him and waits patiently for his reply.
"I'll find a way," he says. "I always do."
"Go on then. Let's see you get down," Sara hisses.
Cree growls and focuses on ignoring her so he can think about how to free himself. He remembers what Regan mentioned earlier about his arm possibly having a release switch on his shoulder somewhere, but he can't even begin to look for it since it's covered by his jacket, which he can't get off while tied up.
"You might want to hurry. You wouldn't want to be late to save your pet bard from being sold and beaten by those Latyrs. They seemed to be rather enjoying themselves last I checked."
Cree keeps ignoring her and looks for an alternative solution. His knives are on his belt. It would be really hard to reach one of them without his hands. He might be able to bend his foot up to get it out of the sheath, but he doesn't know how he would be able to get it from his waist to his hand that way when he can hardly move.
He could try breaking the branch, but he eyes the width of it and notes that it would most definitely take a lot of strength that he needs to save for, unfortunately, helping Regan. Not only that, but he still feels his consciousness is weaker than usual, and using too much energy puts him at risk of falling comatose again, which he doesn't have time for.
He has to find a way. He won't give Sara the satisfaction of his compliance again. It clicks in his mind that that is probably the reason she isn't using her magic on him right now. She wants him to rely on her on his own, so whatever happens next is on him. "I don't need your help..." he murmurs as he keeps searching for a way, but mainly contemplating the possible options he has already found.
Sara shrugs and steps away from the tree. "Suit yourself. It'll be nice to not have to worry about the bard anymore and I can only assume you feel the same way. I bid you farewell." She turns and begins walking away.
Cree keeps his eyes off of her to try pulling his attention back to escaping. But other thoughts fill his head. Thoughts of Edith and how much she has lost recently. John, CLive again, her home in a way. Thinking about how it would hurt her to know she also lost Regan because she for some reason loves him so much causes him to mentally curse himself.
"Sara, wait..." he calls to her with his head down.
Sara stops walking and grins, slowly turning back to face him. "Yes, my love?" she purrs at knowing that she, once again, has him wrapped around her finger. Only this time it's without the influence of magic or booze.
He can't bring himself to meet her eyes so he stares at the blood staining his shirt. "...Get me down," he says through grit teeth. He can't believe he has come to this. Since when did he rely on anyone but himself? Well, not including John as they completed each other. John had always felt like that piece of himself that Cree never knew he was missing. When they were together, no matter what they were doing. From fighting to sharing a beer at the Watchman, Cree just felt right. But since he lost that part of himself, he can see what has become of him. He's lost his strength. His will. His desire to push forward through the storm.
Before coming to Aramora, he was able to live with the loss because he had a goal in mind. The final act of Mortality was the final send-off for John that would let him rest knowing that the war was over and he didn't die in vain. But without that drive, and with the thought that John's main passion in life has been complete, he no longer feels that fire that kept John alive in his heart. Instead, it's just cold. And this is what he's left as.
Sara knows it too. She knows how he is losing his motivation and passion. And she's loving every second of it because she knows that's how she will have him under her control, no need for magic or manipulation.
She makes her way back over and smiles up at him. "I will help you down, however, you should know that my assistance comes at a price. You will owe me a payment that I shall collect when I see fit. Do you understand?" she hums.
He glares at her. "What sort of payment?"
"That shall remain a mystery until the time is right. These are my terms. I will cut you down so you can save your helpless little bard, and in return, you will owe me something of my choosing in the near future," she explains with a complacent grin.
He hates everything about this, but he doesn't have much of a choice as Edith is the only person he can say even comes close to how he felt for John. It's not nearly the same, but it's still a stronger connection than he feels for anyone else still living. Well, aside from maybe Peace, but he knows she isn't alone. She can take care of herself, especially with Data-Li at her side.
Cree just grumbles and looks away again. He can't admit to this while looking at her. She's already taken enough of his dignity as it is.
He nods.
"Say it. Do you agree with my terms?" Sara demands. "Look me in the eyes as you say it."
With a sudden jump of anger amidst his emptiness, he snaps his gaze to her and frowns with a burning glare. If he has to do this, he might as well do it with some form of defiance. "I agree. Now stop talking and get me down already. I swear you talk more than Regan at this point," he spats and shakes his head. He sees the amusement gleam in her eyes at watching him try pathetically to reclaim his sense of self-worth.
She chuckles. Faster than his eyes can process, she draws her dagger and leaps up to the branch, swiftly cutting through the ropes in one slice. Cree feels the blood rush to his head again as he drops to the ground. He groans and rolls over on his side, holding his arms over his stomach. Thankfully, it doesn't feel like the bleeding has started again, but it still hurts like a bitch.
Sara doesn't spare him a glance as she resumes walking away. Cree pushes himself up on his metal forearm and glares at her. "Aren't you going to help me find him? Where did those bandits take him?" he coughs out and inhales sharply to fight the stinging pain.
Sara glances back and laughs. "No, of course not. The agreement was that I would help you by cutting you down. Finding him and rescuing him is all on you. As for my payment, don't worry about not being able to find me. When I'm ready to collect, I will find you. Good luck saving the bard, Cree." She smiles and turns forward again.
Cree growls and forces himself to stand up and support his weight against the tree as he lets his strength slowly start to return. "One last thing, before you go," he calls out. She doesn't turn around this time, just looks back at him over her shoulder. He glares at her with the most sense of dignity he can muster.
"Don't call me Cree. You don't even know who that is."
Sara just rolls her eyes and walks away.
He knows she disregarded what he said, but for his own sake, he needed to say it.
He would stand around and ponder on the current state of his mind and will, but he doesn't have time to. He's strangely thankful for that, despite knowing that he now has to save Regan from a clan of bandits, or 'Latyrs' as he keeps hearing them be called. He's not too worried about not being able to find him since the horses have proven their loyalty by staying put this whole time. Again, he can't tell how long it's been, but the fact that they didn't run when the Latyrs began fighting shows that they aren't going anywhere.
He makes his way to Regan's horse, Juliet, and opens the saddlebag to pull out Romeow, who seems strangely anxious for once. He must have stayed behind for this reason in particular, knowing that only Cree would be able to help Regan. He sets the cat down. "I'm gonna need you to lead me to Regan." He feels so weird about talking to the cat but tries to remember that it's probably smarter than him.
Romeow turns his head west and motions that way before glancing back at Cree. He nods and goes over to his horse. He rolls his shoulders back and tries jumping up, but he fails and drops back. In his state of feebly returning strength and focus, he briefly forgets the situation they're in and goes to ask Regan to help him up again, but then he remembers that he can't.
He sighs and grabs the reins of both horses. "Looks like you're getting a break, Bishop," he says and realizes that he actually referred to the horse by that name and grumbles in defeat. He makes sure he has everything together before turning back to Romeow and nodding.
"Lead me to Regan."
Romeow leads him to a relatively small camp in the middle of the forest surrounded by a wall made of wooden logs. By the time they get there, the sky is starting to fade from orange to dark blue. A few stars begin to dot the darkness.
Cree signals for Romeow to hang back with the horses where he left them on the outskirts. The cat complies and retreats, leaving Cree on his own as he sneaks around the wall. The gate is open a crack, but he figures just walking in wouldn't be the best idea. He can kind of see through the small gaps between the logs that make up the wall, and inside the camp he can see a few of the Latyrs scattered around. There are a few tents and crates lining the walls of the camp and in the center is a campfire.
Two Latyrs are laughing and standing over something that's just on the edge of the light from the fire and the shadow of the approaching night. It's hard to see from here, especially with the bandits blocking his view, so he stays down and waits.
One of the Latyrs cackle and pats the other on the back. "Here, let me have a turn," he says and kicks what they're standing over, resulting in more laughing. As he moved to the side, Cree catches a glimpse of what has their attention. It's Regan. Only he doesn't seem anything like himself. He's just laying there, staring off at nothing as the bandits continue laughing at his expense. He has some blood on his face and a black eye and his clothes are slightly torn up. His fedora is sitting on the ground near the campfire.
Seeing Regan like that should give him a weird feeling. He knows he should feel remorse or sympathy, but for some reason, he doesn't feel anything for the scene he's witnessing. He knows that as annoying and unbearable as Regan is, he doesn't deserve this. But at the same time, Cree is finding it hard to express that. It's hard to care even though he knows he should, and that scares him.
As he starts searching for a way in, he sees the chief walk out of the largest tent and chuckle as he watches the men by the fire entertain themselves with beating Regan. "Hey, as fun as that looks, keep in mind we've gotta keep him in working order long enough to find a buyer. Don't break him too bad," he states.
The two men sigh and nod. "Yeah yeah, we get it. Just a little more and we'll be done for the night. Promise," one of them says.
The chief nods back. "Good. If you asinals are still bored afterward, feel free to have a go at the little one. Not likely anyone's gonna buy it, so do all the damage you want." He turns and walks back into his tent.
Cree starts moving towards the gate, following the shadows as they begin to grow as night approaches. He peeks through the entrance and sees that to his accumulating misfortune, there's a Latyr on watch. With a deep breath, Cree reaches up to his neck and presses down on his implant. His body becomes transparent as his invisibility cloak conceals him from sight. Not wasting any time, he swiftly ducks past the gates and hides behind the nearest tent.
He looks around for the best path to take. He wants to avoid another fight as he doesn't think he'll be able to take them all on his own in his condition, but he doubts he'll be able to get Regan out of here without taking more than a few heads. He figures the best option is to wait for the two Latyrs to be done with Regan before he makes his move. He can, however, get ready to act fast by moving over to a closer tent.
It's not hard to maneuver his way behind them as they are arrayed in a way that leaves little room for anyone to see him. He reaches the end of the line of tents and leans forward to look around the corner at Regan and the Latyrs. Now that he's closer, he can see more of the damage they've done. There is some blood on his chest and stomach, and a little in the corners of his mouth. Despite the obvious pain he's in, he's strangely not crying or making any attempt to run away. The only restraints on him are the bindings keeping his wrists together behind his back, but nothing keeping him in place.
Cree looks closer to see that Regan's eyes aren't staring at nothing. He has had his attention on the chief's tent this entire time, and he has a hint of that inquisitive look in his eyes.
One of the Latyrs laughs and kicks him again. "No more smartass comments, bard?" he snides.
Regan turns his head up to look at the man weakly. "I would, but I don't want to waste them on people who wouldn't get it." Even with the pain he's in and the knowledge of how they're humiliating him, he still holds a semblance of himself in his voice. The men snicker and nod to each other before kicking him at the same time. Regan grunts and bites his tongue. He lets out a quiet whimper that makes the Latyrs laugh more.
One of them glances back at Regan's fedora and he grins as he grabs it. "Only a rich boy could afford something like this. Why don't I show you what we think about you displaying your 'nobility'?"
Regan stares at him in question and says nothing. He finally understands his meaning once he backs away from him and steps towards the fire.
"No..." He meekly shakes his head.
The Latyr laughs as he carelessly tosses the hat into the flames, watching as it quickly becomes engulfed by the fire and is left as nothing but ash in moments. Regan gives a little resistance and fights against his bindings, but he knows there's nothing he can do but wait. He's thankful that the bandits appear to be done for the night as they retreat to the chief's tent, laughing and carrying on as if they hadn't been just hurting someone who's already defenseless.
It reminds Cree of a memory he would rather forget.
He shoves all thoughts aside as he's given his window. There are a few Latyrs in front of the tents, but they're in a perfect position for Cree to take advantage of. He sneaks around to the front of the tent and draws his knife. He stares at the man he's about to strike and his hand begins to shake. Luckily, the knife is in his metal hand, which remains steady even with the rapid beating of his heart.
Before he can protest against himself, he lunges up and grabs the bandit from behind, stabbing the blade into his throat and lowering him to the ground as his struggling stops. He stares at the dead man for a moment and sees the blood. His hand trembles more but he grabs his wrist to calm it. He shoves all second-guessing thoughts aside and turns to strike down the next Latyr.
Once he's taken down three, his nerves are gone. He feels an almost sickening rush but he fights it. He can't run into this blindly. He starts making his way over to Regan, but feels the invisibility implant start to deactivate until it flickers and leaves him exposed. He freezes once the Latyrs leave the chief's tent and spot him. He sighs and stands up, stepping out in the open as he knows he's been caught. He sees as Regan's eyes light up but he keeps his attention on the bandits who are ready to confront him.
"Damn, you actually survived? I thought you'd be dead long before we could—"
Cree cuts him off by charging at him and grabbing his arm, kicking him in the back of his knee and knocking him down. He slices his blade across his throat and turns to throw the knife at another man. The blade stabs one of his eyes and Cree retrieves it.
The next Latyr to run at him is the chief. Cree easily dodges out of the way and reaches out in time to grab him by his throat with his metal arm and lift him off the ground, holding the knife in his left hand. He isn't shaking anymore. The chief grabs his wrist and tries fighting to make him let go, but Cree doesn't waver for a second. He can see the fear in the man's eyes but doesn't care.
"Who's the weak little girl now?"
Cree takes the knife and stabs the man in his stomach. Then he pulls it out and stabs his chest, and as the chief struggles to stay conscious, Cree throws him back and he drops to the ground, still fighting to breathe. Cree just walks over and kneels beside him before stabbing the knife back into his chest, directly into his heart and he stops moving.
Cree stands up and looks around at the bodies scattered across the camp. His heart starts beating faster and his hand shakes again. He looks down at the knife and sees the layer of blood coating the blade and all feeling rushes back to him at once. He feels a slight urge to cry, but he keeps it down and wipes the blood off the blade.
He turns to face Regan and immediately sees that he's staring back at him with a different look than usual. It's fear, as well as concern. For himself or for Cree, who knows.
He walks over to Regan and glares at him without saying anything. He steps around him and kneels down, roughly grabbing his wrist and cutting through the bindings. He gets up and walks around to the front of him again as Regan rubs his wrists and stares up at him.
He throws a smile on and clears his throat. "Ty... You actually came back for m—"
Cree punches him across the face with his metal fist.
Regan drops to his side again and holds his cheek, wincing as this time it hurt far more than usual. There was little to no restraint in his hit and he shows no signs of being sorry for it. "That was for almost getting me killed," Cree states. "It's your fault we ended up in this mess, so don't expect me to be happy about being the one to get us out of it. You're lucky I even came at all." He puts his knife away and turns around. "Now let's go. We're going to keep heading for Balmoral. No talking until we get there or unless I speak to you directly, understood?" He doesn't turn back. Regan weakly sits up and nods.
"Y... yes," he says quietly.
"Good. Now come on. We've already wasted enough time because of you." Cree stops at the gate when Regan doesn't follow.
Regan stands up unsteadily and clears his throat. "Wait... I need to check something before we go..." he says and looks over at the chief's tent.
"I said no talking and no wasting time!" Cree barks.
"It'll be quick, I promise. I just need to know what the Latyrs seemed so fascinated by in there..." Regan timidly shrinks in on himself. Cree waits impatiently beside the gate while Regan walks over to the chief's tent.
He pushes the leather tent flap aside to peer into the space, when his face pales.
Cree irritably taps his foot as he waits, but his attention is immediately grabbed as Regan looks back at him with panicked eyes.
"Tyrell! Come quick!"
Cree growls and clenches his fists as he starts storming over. He can't suppress the amount of anger he's feeling but he doesn't know why. He doesn't stop to question it as he reaches Regan. "What the fuck is it now? I don't have time for more of your bullshit so how about you shut up and—"
He immediately stops as he turns his gaze into the tent and sees what has Regan so shaken up.
Tied up in the center of the room is a little girl with white hair and violet eyes. She can't be older than ten. Her pale, almost snow-white skin has blood and bruises similar to Regan's. She's wearing a ripped black dress and she's barefoot. Around her neck is a necklace with a silver pendant of a symbol of a sword run through a snowflake. There is a cloth gag covering her mouth that prevents her from speaking, but they can still hear her terrified whimpers. Tears stream down her cheeks. Her eyes dart between the two of them and she tries to scoot back to hide, but she can't get far with the restraints.
Regan shakes his head and looks at Cree. "Ty, we can't just leave her—"
He stops as Cree rushes into the room without a word and kneels in front of the girl.
She lets out a muffled cry of protest and tries to move away again, but fails to move more than a few inches. Cree slowly holds up his hand and his expression softens a bit. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I'm going to cut you free, okay?" he speaks in rhythm with his steady breathing to try keeping himself calm as well as her.
She trembles more the closer he gets, but she shakily nods without letting her eyes leave him.
Regan stays back because he thinks that with what she's probably been through, the last thing she needs is to feel overwhelmed by having more than one person surround her.
Cree cautiously reaches down and grabs his knife from his belt. He holds it up for her to see and checks her eyes to make sure she's okay with him having it before using it to cut her free. She takes deep breaths and nods again. She shifts to hold her bound wrists in clear sight for him. He slowly brings the knife down and gently but firmly grabs her arm to steady her shaking so he doesn't accidentally cut her. She tenses under his touch which limits her trembling enough. He carefully starts sawing the blade through the ropes until they break apart.
The girl instantly pulls the gag off her mouth and grabs Cree's knife, making an attempt at striking him but he easily deflects it with his metal arm and grabs her wrist. He remains calm and looks at the knife. "I know you're scared, but we're not going to hurt you. We want to help. Put the knife down so we can do that, okay?" He knows he could easily take the knife back, but he wants to make sure she feels safe. Taking it could be seen as an act of aggression, which would only provoke her further. He cautiously lets go of her wrist and holds his hands up peacefully.
The girl stares at him and swallows nervously, moving back a few more inches.
Cree slowly brings his hands back down. "What is your name?" he asks calmly. The girl looks between them again and she sees that Regan is in a similar physical state as she is, which eases her trembling a bit more. Her eyes land on Cree again.
"R—Reela M'Qinan..." she chokes out.
He thinks he catches a small accent, but it's hard to pick up with how quiet and shakily she spoke. He nods slowly and shows her a small friendly smile. "That's a pretty name," he says.
She clears her throat and tries to find a steady rhythm with her breathing like he did. "W... who are you...?" she asks. Now that she spoke a little clearer, he can tell the accent is also British.
Cree freezes for a moment and his mind answers for him without him having time to stop himself. "I'm Cree... Cree Tyrell," he says and keeps his eyes on her. He then notices that her ears are long and pointed. Her hair and skin nearly match in color so it was hard to tell from a distance.
Regan stares at Cree in question of his answer but says nothing. This is the first time Cree has introduced himself to someone as Cree instead of Tyrell. Normally it would take countless actions of trust and understanding to even come close to being permitted that right.
Cree nods to himself and stands up. He glances back at Regan and motions him in. Regan walks over to Reela and kneels in front of her with a smile. "I'm Regan Angevin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Reela."
Reela smiles at him and nods. Regan holds his hand out slowly and glances at the knife. She hesitates, but cautiously places the knife in his palm. Regan turns back to give it to Cree, but he seems to have vanished.
He sighs and looks at Reela again. "Wait here, alright?" he says. Reela's trembling slightly returns and she shakes her head.
"Please... please don't leave me here..." she begs.
Regan sighs mournfully and moves closer to her. "We're not going to leave you, I promise. Just give us a moment to talk, alright? I promise we won't be long," he says and gently holds her by her shoulders. Reela nods and throws herself at him, wrapping her tiny arms around his waist and holding on tight. He smiles and holds her as well. "Just stay here and try to focus on calming down and I will be right back." Regan carefully removes her arms from him and stands up.
He exits the tent and looks around until he spots Cree staring down at the body of the Latyr chief with blank eyes. He walks over and stands a few feet behind him out of fear of his own safety. "...We're not going to leave her, right?"
"Of course not, you fucking idiot. What kind of person would leave a child behind who's just been through hell?" Cree snaps and shakes his head. He keeps his eyes on the body of the man. The blood covering his chest and stomach. He knows he could have killed him with a quick stab in the throat or head, but instead he made sure the death was felt. He waited to see his fear before killing him.
He wanted him to die afraid.
"But I guess I must seem like that kind of person, huh?" his voice reveals no emotion.
Regan looks at the body as well. He won't lie, it scared him to see Cree act like that. He doesn't know why, since that wasn't hugely different from how he used to be a year ago. Maybe a little more aggressive, but still similar. It's almost like he became a different person. He sighs and takes a step towards him. "Ty... do you... want to talk about anything?" he asks quietly. Cree scoffs and shakes his head.
"What? You think that just because I saved your ass from some bandits means we're friends? It wasn't for you."
"That's not..." Regan takes a deep breath. "I know we're not friends... But I think I know you well enough by now to know that what happened before wasn't like you," he says. Cree closes his eyes and lowers his head.
"Then you don't know me at all."
Regan tries to find the meaning to his words but fails to piece it all together in time to think of a response. Cree sighs and shakes his head. "Forget it. Let's get the bodies cleared out before Reela comes out here. We're staying here for the night while she recovers and explains what happened to her. Then we leave for Balmoral first thing in the morning. Understood?" He turns and faces Regan with an apathetic glare.
Regan nods and looks away. "Of course... Whatever you say," he mumbles.
He starts walking back over to the chief's tent to presumably explain the situation to Reela. He quickly returns to start helping Cree move the bodies out of the camp and bring Romeow and the horses in for the night.