The wind seemed to howl strangely for a moment, almost like the call of a wounded beast, and Hemlock could swear he heard the leaves muttering his name as he sheltered himself beneath spindly branches. The storm raged on, so Hemlock pulled his cloak tight around him and settled in to rest until the storm tired itself out. The raindrops fell like heavy tears from the eyes of a lonely giant, and Hemlock could feel something calling out to him deep within his heart. He had never felt so bittersweet about a storm, but this storm gave off a desperation in its abrupt onslaught that almost felt like its source was human rather than nature.

Almost as if whispered directly into his ear, Hemlock heard the tearful words calling to him, and sat up with a jolt down his spine. When did we become like this… Suddenly, it was all too clear that the strange figure Hemlock had seen in the darkness had to be Hazel. If Hazel had been trying to track him down, she would have had a hard time with it. To put herself through that... she must be seeking him for something important. It was just a feeling, but Hemlock couldn't deny the unique sensation of his twin needing him.

It was as though years of bitterness had a bright light shined on them– the current thoughts couldn’t break through what felt almost like an enchantment, that strong force that always brought them together no matter how far apart. Tentatively, Hemlock lit his candle again, and stepped out into the night in a bubble of clear sky. He followed the pull to a nearby tree, almost not even surprised to find her so nearby.

Standing just near enough that she could hear him, but not so near that he couldn’t run if he needed to, Hemlock spoke, “Of course I’d find you here once again, bringing that dark sky with you… go ahead, tell me, what task do you bring me this time?”