Gifts in hand, or more realistically, gifts in messenger bag, Saila made her way to the gypsy caravan's camp site along the Southern Glen. Although she knew that the people these gifts were intended for would be away, her plan had been to find Mark and leave them with him for safekeeping. She'd only met Mark once, but what she'd learned from Quinn was that Mark was more or less in charge of the place, and so he seemed the likeliest candidate to give them to for safe keeping.

But when she arrived in the clearing, the caravan was....gone?

Sure, there were still two campers, but both of them looked empty. The fire pit had been cleared. Tire tracks and a few indents -- deep notches left in the earth -- were the only remaining hints of what had been, even just a couple of days ago.

Hm.

Chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully, Saila turned in a slow circle, mismatched eyes sweeping the entire glade, brows furrowed in concentration.

Nothing. The place was deserted -- no one here but a handful of woodland animals.

Well, so much for that plan.

Surveying the two remaining campers, the mercurial muse figured that one of them might belong to Levi. That's where the three of them had been staying, after all, and since they were all out of town together, it stood to reason that the RV would have been left behind.

On second thought, though, the three of them were actually travelling together. Maybe they'd actually gone to Kentucky in Levi's mobile?
Her so-called sidekick hadn't mentioned any particulars beyond the purpose for the trip.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Making a snap decision, booted feet carry her to the trailer on the left, first. Climbing the little stairs, she pushes the sleeve of her most recently acquired massively over-sized hoodie back from her right hand. Delicate fingers covered in a scattering of tiny silver rings wrap almost tentatively around the door knob.

Long silver lashes flutter closed, her hand unmoving on the handle.

Brown hair. Dark eyes. The heavy scent of alcohol. Billie. Had to be. And there was something else, too, something a million times more familiar. Coilin.

Letting her hand fall away, Saila turns, heading back down the stairs. Two images in her mind overlap one another, mostly lined up but not quite -- Quinn's version, and Coilin's. A little smile finds pale lips for a number of reasons.

That left the other RV. Crossing the space where the fire pit used to be, the girl in black pushes a curtain of deep purple away from her face, tucking it behind one multi-pierced ear. Her fingers linger near her mouth, the index and middle fingers curled against the full swell of her lower lip, and she closes the distance to the other vehicle.

Rinse, repeat. Climb the steps, circle the door handle with her fingers, wait.


Nothing.

There were chaotic flashes, but nothing she could wrap around, nothing familiar. Not his.

So they'd taken the camper after all.

Well, so much for that idea. Time to head back to town.