The one thing that the Feisty Fox did not have in ready supply was books. Reference guides, treatises, descriptions on history and geography … a ship was not particularly an ideal place for such. Most of those that belonged to the Gilded Lily did so back in the vast fortress where they had their more permanent base. It meant that Philomel had a lack of resources in which to find more information about how to track, find and kill a medusa or gorgon beyond what the Huntsman had told her.

She had found a mirror - that had been the easy part. And in all likelihood Vaeron had managed to collect some also, if he had tracked down the right information first. In fact she had three - two small and a third a foot square plain of metal that had glass pressed as a layer over top. So she had a start, but she had little middle or end. She gathered all the maps she could find from the deck to the very bowels of the ships and poured over them, trying to find what best suited a search over land. The problem was that ships have sea charts in majority but land maps in few, and thus she found it difficult to even begin to construct a plan.

Two days went by of absolute frustration. During this time Philomel went to meet the Huntsman once, and hardly spoke to him but rather shoved his plate down before sauntering off. It was clear from the way he looked at her that he thought she was being stupid now. There, simply waiting for her was a willing hunter born exactly for this sort of thing. A man who she had scorned at first, swore to end, but then faltered. She had dragged him to foreign seas, subjected him to a short life of subjugation - but in physical concept only.

“I won't,” she kept repeating to herself as she tore through copious captains logs, journals even though all of them were irrelevant. “I won't ask him-”

Golden eyes looked back at her. She blinked and then hissed at them, flapping a hand at him.

“Veridian, please -”

I hate the industry of Alerar as much as you, he said softly, But options are staring you right in the face and you refuse to accept it.

“I can kill!” she protested, “He told me the differences, and what I need to kill it.” She gestured angrily at the table. “I'm far more powerful than his weak self. If he can end one life, so can I?”

You can kill it yes. But, Veridian stressed. Do you have the experience and the instinct to understand where it's lair lies, which direction it could move, what behaviours it exhibits.

“I can get him to tell me,” she growled, hastily trying to draw out a copy of the best map she could find of the area. It was poor. “That would be-”

That would take weeks, beloved, he sighed, swishing his tail as he watched her shake her head with frustration. Even years that none of us have.

“Oh - go boil your eyeballs,” she retorted back, and Veridian retreated. But he could feel and hear her heart beat fast. Because he knew that she thought he was right. He knew that she had had these stresses running through her own mind, and he had repeated them back at him.

“I won't,” she said again, to empty air. “I won't, I won't, I …”

The ship got into harbour the next day. Gathering up what she had - the very little she had - Philomel charged down the gangplank. Under her arm she had the rolls of sparse notes and maps, in a satchel at her side she had the mirrors tucked and folded safely away. She strode with purpose and with pride, fully armoured and dressed as her eyes scanned the jetty for a singular individual standing there.

Tall. Brown hair, but greying. Hands shoved into pockets and on his face two scars, one on either check. They gave him the permanent ability to never be ability to smile, but this day it did not matter. For there was nothing to be happy about. When he saw Philomel he let out a grunting sigh and walked forwards to throw his arms around her.

He held her, only as a friend would, but still close. He embraced and comforted her, whispering apologies in her ear again and again. She kept shaking her head, telling him it was not her fault, but he kept saying it was.

“You tasked me with looking out for her and she wandered off.”

“It is not your fault Vaeron,” the faun told her daughter's father. “It is not your fault.”

Vaeron grimaced but shook his head. “Philomel, there is nothing. I found so little.”

Looking up to him and drawing back she waved her hand before grabbing the scrolls of paper under her arm. “I found maps. And some information. It may get us somewhere.”

Vaeron paused, his eyes glancing around the general hubbub of the small town jetty before he unrolled the papers. He blinked, silent for a moment. She waited for his nod, but it never came.

“What is it?” she frowned. “I found …”

“Princess, this is not enough,” he sighed. “Seriously. She could be anywhere, and unless you want to take days scouring the site then, thus increasing her chances of death … well.” His eyes narrowed. Her jaw tightened.

“We need another solution.”

Veridian hopped up onto her shoulders and grinned at Vaeron. Philomel tightened her jaw and began to shake her head.

“No,” she began to say, “No way …”

The unsmiling man frowned, and looked from fox to faun. “What?” he asked after a single second. “What is it? I know that fox's smile.”

The golden eyes gleamed.

“What?!”

“No, I can't-” she began to protest.

“Princess!” he grabbed her shoulder and snarled at her. “This is your heir we are talking about. The daughter you wanted. What does Veridian mean and what is going on?!”