Archives: Lost Humanity
Chapter 10: Camp
The group had ridden until sundown, and found an oft-used campsite on the side of the road. It looked like it was used by merchant caravans, but none were here tonight.
First, the duties of setting up camp were attended to. Aroal took it upon herself to start a campfire, then set up some of the deer meat from the night before last to roast over the fire.
Elainne took to her squirely duties, pitching her and Al’s tents. After the tents were set up, she went about polishing his armor and her own upkeep on her own weapons and armor. Since they stayed at an inn the day before, she hadn’t had the time to enjoy the outside air and Mossian weather, which was so different from the Flaim heat that she was used to. The dry, almost musky, heat of the inn didn’t help with her chores, so she made up for the lax the day before.
Al sat in front of the fire practicing his boyhood tricks of palming a coin and then making it ‘disappear into thin air’. Little sleights of hand he picked up hanging out in the barracks with the common soldiers. It was a way to mindlessly get rid of the stress the sword was putting on him. The more he practiced, the more at ease he felt, as if the childhood tricks had taken away the years of stress and anguish he had faced in his brief life.
Zylanthian, unlike the others, took advantage of the only benefit that the elderly are left: that others would take care of the hard stuff. The old man sat next to Al, looking out ahead of him through closed lids. Wolfgang sat at his side, while Ludwig had simply wandered off out of sight. Wolfgang was fascinated by Al’s coin trick and, when the warrior revealed the coin to be gone, his nose poked up around Al’s hand, confused as to what had just happened. Wolfgang whined quietly, boggled by the swordsman.
Mieijha flopped down by the fire unceremoniously. Although that didn’t help her tender buttocks, she was delighted that the ground wasn’t jiggling and jostling below her. “Riding horses is hell,” she grunted and lay back on the ground. “I don’t think I can go on,” she whined. “Not on horseback at least. I’d rather take my chances dipping in a pool of molten metal then to spend one more day riding on the back of a horse. Let’s face it, elven butts weren’t made for long days on a horse.”
“Perhaps we should stop at a blacksmith and see what he can do about your request then,” Zylan said, a grin forming underneath his beard. “I prefer walking myself.”
“I wasn’t too familiar with a saddle when I was young—er inexperienced.” Al admitted, palming the coin again and pretending to pull it from his nose. “It’s something that a butt gets used to, elven or not.”
Sara smiled, “Maybe as an elf you would prefer to ride the horse bareback?” she commented while trying to hold back her giggles. The words bareback made her tingle inside. The thought of riding a horse bareback only made it worse.
Aroal, crouching next to the fire, chuckled a little at the comments made by her companions, but the barbarian woman had little to add. She kept her focus on the roasting meat, poking it to make sure it was cooking all the way through. It was near ready. She then thought of the wolves. They had no need for roasted meat. “Zylan, would your wolves like some raw meat, or will they hunt for their own food?” she asked the elderly man across the fire.
Scythed had followed in silence, his mind debating the physical possibility of drawing his sword if it was sheathed across his back. He was thinking up a complex system of pulleys and springs as he helped set up camp. Sitting by the fire, he decided that he’d miss the comforting weight at his hip. “Well,” he finally spoke up “Your ass will get twice as sore with the horse’s spine riding up in it if you go bareback. Don’t resist the animal’s movement when you ride, have your hips move with it... and if it gets really bad, just stand in the stirrups.” He’d managed to get into a calvary unit a while back, though he’d sold the horse as he’d had no one to hold it while he obtained the spoils of war.
Zylanthian looked down at Wolfgang and posed the same question to them, as if Aroal should have thought to do that herself. Wolfgang replied with a rather meaningful stare, which the old man interpreted as if it were common. “However it is prepared is fine. Ludwig is disinterested in your meal. Not a commentary on the cook, simply the ease of gaining it. However, Wolfgang takes it however.”
Aroal took out the last of the raw meat (the rest she sold to the innkeeper), and unwrapped it from the waxed paper, then laid it down for Wolfgang.
Mieijha sighed. “I’m far too old and too fragile to bouncing on a horse bareback, regardless of what you young ’uns think.” She pouted a little and half turned to Myel Elina. “Sing us something, would you? I think I’ve had enough of the conversation about my behind already.”
Myel-Elina gladly answered favourably to Mieijha. She had listened to only half of the conversation, something about horse-riding and bareback. Not the kind of talk that matters to her. She was still worried with that strange symbol on her lute and dagger… A little music would ease me too, she thought while taking her lute. The instrument was soft in the touch, and the bard always enjoyed the feeling of it in her hand.
She tuned the strings, then began to sing softly. It was an elvish song, written in that delicious language, although Myel-Elina was sure her voice and accent would seem rude to Mieijha and Sara. The bard did not understand the meaning of it, but it sounded like some sad story. Exactly the kind of songs her heart wanted to sing at the moment.
Some time passed while Myel-Elina played and the meat cooked. Finally, the meat was ready, and Aroal began to pass out the sticks with impaled steaks on them. As she began to eat, a throaty howl was heard in the distance. Aroal dismissed it as another wolf pack, and assumed they wouldn’t be foolish enough to trespass into their camp.
Al paused when he heard the howling. “Does Moss always have so many wolf sounds, or are we just lucky that way?” Al had dealt with desert wolves, but they weren’t nearly as meaty or thick as Wolfgang and Ludwig were.
Elainne pursed her lips at her master’s questions. Being city bred and not used to country life, she hadn’t had much experience with wildlife. “Master Al, tell us a story about the war with Marmo.”
Al shook his head. “It was long, boring and repugnant. I met a bunch of weird people from different countries and one of them was a quarter-elf. I met Parn,” he shrugged and continued, “Him and the high elf Deedlit. Though she was more of a blonde wisp of a lady than someone you’d call a real beauty. Not that she wasn’t beautiful, she just wasn’t really my type, I mean I don’t really go for twig creatures.” Al ate a bit more before continuing, “Other than that, there is really not much to tell about the war. We all went back to our respective countries after the Marmo decided to leave, and I had this cursed sword on my hands.”
The howl scared Myel-Elina. She could barely get close to Ludwig and Wolfgang without shivering, so the presence of a wolf pack, here in the dark in the wilderness, frightened her. The bard silently ate, lowering her head to hide her fear. She decided to focus on the conversation. She blushed when Al alluded to ‘twig creature’. She suddenly felt too thin, and her uneasiness get worse.
In spite of what Al might have said, there was much to talk about the war, and much to be sung. The battle and defeat of Marmo was epic and cost many lives. But she understood why master Al didn’t want to talk about it. In fact, she didn’t enjoy that conversation either. She could not forget how her own father abandoned his wife and daughter to die in the war.
When Al made the comment about Deedlit being a stick-creature, Mieijha couldn’t help but laugh. The elf couldn’t control the fit of giggles from hearing such an awkward description of one many sources pegged as ‘beautiful, almost beyond words’. “That’s rich,” she said in between giggles. “Deedlit’s a stick creature...haha, what would that make me then? A branch creature?” She continued to giggle and held her sides as all the laughing began to hurt her stomach.
“Al probably doesn’t like small women because he’d break them like twigs,” Aroal commented with a smirk. A woman like herself would probably be Al’s type, but Aroal wasn’t going to add that comment. Another howl echoed, this time from their west side, as opposed to the south where the last one had come from, but they seemed an equal distance away from the camp. Aroal paid it little mind. It was just the sounds of nature, which she was quite comfortable with.
“Th-that’s not true!” Elainne interjected, blushing furiously. “I’m- I’m sure that Master Al is just waiting for the right woman—or girl—to come along and... and...” Her mind was swimming with girlish fantasies of Al and her in nuptials. The young squire giggled and let out an embarrassing moan. “No..master Al...not there...”
At Elainne’s sudden moan, Al coughed loudly to bring his embarrassed squire back to Lodoss. “Are they circling the camp?” he commented on the wolf sounds. “I’m pretty sure that they just smell the other two wolves and are trying to get a response out of them.” At least that’s what I’m hoping.
“Excuse me a moment,” Zylanthian said after a moment. The old man stood up and pulled up his cane. “I think its time I visit the neighbors. It is rude of us not to.” With a nod, the man tapped along, quickly followed by his overly muscular Wolfgang. Zylan had plenty of experience with predators and calming their discomfort. After all, they shared a home. He wondered, however, why Ludwig hadn’t taken care of this yet. Zylan disappeared from sight a bit quicker than anyone expected. Away from the fire, Zylan opened his eyes to once more see as if it were day.
Sara sat there and began to think. With all this talk about wolves, the curiosity of being able to change at will started to get the better of her. So she started to focus on her hands to see if she could get them to change.
Does Zylan really want to ‘visit’ the wolves? Even after two days traveling with the old man, Myel-Elina could not understand such a behavior. In fact, she could not even imagine someone could feel quiet in presence of such predators.
But Zylan did, and went forward to the pack. The bard wanted to say something to stop him, but she quickly came back to reason. Zylan actually lived with two wolves, spoke to them, knew their language and feelings. Even if she could not understand it, Myel-Elina had to let Zylan act the way he had chosen. “Take care,” she simply said to the old man.
* * *
Zylanthian knew he was safe. As the old man walked out into the night life, away from the fire and the light it brought, he opened his obsidian eyes. It was refreshing to be able to see once more. With the vividness of day, he could see every detail. The shape and character of every leaf, the size of every pebble on the ground, and even the tracks of wild animals. He took his cane up further in his hand, no longer needing it to probe the way ahead.
He knew very well what the howling was. It was communication. It was not merely a warning to other packs, but a complex song of expression. Wolves, he had found, were remarkably capable of such forms of communication. It was one of the reasons he liked them so much.
The pack was by no means hard to find. They had been moving closer to the camp since the howling began. He knew very well how some of the others would handle wild animals and that was an brainless, brutal thing. Diplomacy, he thought, was always a better solution. So the old man put himself in their way and sat, eyes down at the ground. Ludwig and Wolfgang both joined him in a similar fashion, though they stood.
There were chuckles mixed with growls as the pack’s leader approached Zylan and his two wolves. “Do you think by prostrating yourselves in front of us that we’ll take some measure of mercy on you lesser breeds?” the alpha grunted in common. “We’re not here to negotiate with you lessers, we’re here to invite the female to our pack. Remove yourself from our presence and we’ll forget your obnoxious scent.”
“One should never forget their roots,” Zylanthian replied. Already, Ludwig was well prepared to fight, but Zylan was not. An entire pack of werewolves was not what he had planned on speaking to at all. “However, this was a misunderstanding, I assure you. I came to speak to genuine wolves and similarly have little interest in your presence.” The old man yawned as he turned away. “I would not recommend approaching further however. The pack she is currently in is a bit defensive. Best if you wait here. I will send along your message and, if interested, she will come in person.” The old man put his hand against the raised hackles of Ludwig. “Any further approach will be considered hostile, I’m sure. Please be so kind as to respect boundaries.” Zylan proceeded to walk away, non-nonchalant in his dealings.
“Tch,” the pack leader spat. While the old man’s attitude and behavior were seemingly insulting, it was best not to push, just in case there was anything remotely dangerous inside the encampment. “Do as you will,” he grunted.
Zylanthian looked to Wolfgang with a smile underneath his beard. They’re not so tough, now are they? he asked the wolf telepathically. No, you’re probably right. Not enough hugs as a kid.
The closer he got to the fire, the more Zylan relied on his cane until he was back to blindness, cut off from the darkness by the campfire. He tapped his way to the edge and, standing up tall and looking to no one in particular, he spoke clearly, “Sara, my dear, I was not aware you had a following, quite literally.” When the others had quieted down enough to continue, he did just that. “I was expecting wolves that I might commune with, but it seems that they are quite articulate without my skills. Quite articulate enough to threaten an old man and insult Wolfgang and Ludwig. I have convinced the rather disgruntled werewolves to stay away from the camp. However, they have taken an interest in ‘the female’. While I don’t find their attitude savory, I did promise I’d relay the message: they wish to collect you, Sara. Assimilation into their pack, if you will. I told them, if you were interested, you would go to them. If not, I would recommend we all leave this place, since violence seems to be a popular option with them.”
Elainne blanched. “W-werewolves? As in more than one?” The young squire couldn’t help but fear if outcomes weren’t gentle. “A-are you absolutely sure that they aren’t going to invade anyways?”
Al shook his head. “Elainne, calm yourself. Your current mannerisms could be misconstrued as offensive to some in our party.” His eyes lazily sought Sara’s facial expression, since the attention of the pack was on her and her hopeful joining them. “If you don’t feel like going with them, just say so,” Al said, scratching at the new facial growth he had forgotten to shave when they were in the inn. “I’d prefer if you stayed. However, being amongst one’s kind also makes for an appealing argument, as no one likes to be the odd one out.”
“If you even consider them your own kind,” Aroal added. The barbarian woman was on edge now. She had been comfortable thinking that the howls were only wolves, but werewolves made her uneasy. Sara had already earned her trust before she confided in Aroal, but werewolves could be dangerous. There were many on Marmo, and most had banded together in the Dark Forest. It seemed as if these werewolves had done the same.
Sara swallowed the large lump in her throat. A first it caught her by surprise but she quickly decided. “I’m sure they’re a nice pack, and I have every right to be courted, but I am not for the taking. I belong to no one,” Sara was giving the pack the benefit of the doubt. “That said, I’ve currently chosen to run with this pack, and as such will see it through. I can deliver the message,” Sara said with her serious face on the best she could. She gathered herself and made her way in the direction of the pack.
Al nodded and watched Sara go. Regardless of whether they were werewolves, goblins or humans, he had no desire to fight. The more he drew the accursed sword, the more its hold grew over his mind. However, he was uneasy. If the werewolves wouldn’t take no for an answer there would be a fight on their hands.
* * *
The pack leader eagerly awaited Sara, having noticed that her scent grew stronger, her presence closing the gap between them. The alpha stood tall with a crooked grin on his lupine lips. “I see you came to give your answer directly. I appreciate it a lot more than having the feeble and lessers come and deliver your message. So, what say you?”
Sara stepped up just outside of arm’s reach and set her eyes square into his. “I don’t care much for your tone...and my friends are not feeble nor lesser. Although you offer is flattering, I have to decline. Understand under any other circumstance I might accept, but life has already set me upon a path and I attend to see it through,” she said firmly. Her skin began to get warm and uncomfortable.
“That is...unfortunate,” the pack leader said, with some annoyance in his voice. “We’ll meet again in the future, and you can decide then whether or not to rescind your previous decision.” He motioned to his pack mates and skulked off into the darkness of the night.
Sara sighed with relief. Her nerves dropped and she waited a second before she returned to the camp.
* * *
“We should be fine. I don’t think he much liked the answer I gave him but they left it at that and went about their business,” Sara said with a sigh of relief.
“Hmm...I hope that’s the last of them,” Aroal mused. “We should prepare for bed then. I will take the first watch shift.”
“I will second that,” Zylanthian said, followed by a third by Wolfgang with a little growl to accent. “Honor thy parents, I always say. There was a clear lack of ancestral love there...”
Sara walked by Wolfgang and Ludwig touching both of them with her hands softly. “I’ll take the last watch if no one minds, I am a bit tired,” she said with a soft yawn and made her way over to a tree. Her nerves were shot and she was ready for the day to move on.
“I’m really not much for taking turns of watch, but I’ll take second watch. It’ll be the darkest part of the night, and I might as well be of some use.” Mieijha sighed. Taking watch really wasn’t something she’d be looking forward to. She’d much rather sleeping through the night so she was plenty rested for the long trip the next day.
Al grimaced. “I think I’ll avoid sleeping for most of the night...” he muttered under his breath. Secretly he was hoping to take the longest watch, so that his screams and nightmares didn’t wake the camp. “Elainne, turn in.” he half-ordered. “We’ll practice your swordplay tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Master Al,” Elainne said with a soft sigh. He’s not coming to bed. That means he’ll probably sit up all night so not to disturb the others. The young squire moved off into her tent and plopped herself onto her bedroll. If she tried to stay up with Al he’d just get mad at her, thinking that she was patronizing him. It was best just to sleep now, and sleep was easy to come by for the young woman.
Despite the fact that no watches seemed left, Zylanthian had decided to stay up at least for a while. Wolfgang and Ludwig appreciated the night almost as much as their companion did. Zylan could not help but hold precious the moments when his sight returned...
“If Al is staying up, perhaps you should go ahead and rest, Mieijha,” Aroal said to the elf woman. Mieijha was delicate, and Aroal thought it best that she sleep.
“R-really? You mean it?” Mieijha smiled sincerely. “Well then, goodnight all.” She rushed off into her tent and collapsed against her bedroll before someone could take it back.
Al laughed at Mieijha’s quick retreat. “Somehow I don’t think she wanted to stay up anyways,” he said, shaking his head. “Zylan, do Wolfgang and Ludwig smell the presence of those werewolves any longer? Regardless of what Sara says, I don’t think they’d just give up with their tails between their legs just yet.”
Zylan listened quietly for a moment to the silence of the night before responding. “Their scent was never noticeable this far away. We haven’t noticed it yet, besides present company of course.”
Aroal prodded at the campfire with a stick, pulling the logs apart. The fire was already dying out, and she was just helping it die a little sooner. There was no need for it, and soon their eyes would adjust to the darkness, making it easier to watch for potential threats in the night. Her cloak was enough for warmth. “Zylan, are you going to rest?” she asked the old man.
The old sage was faced away from the fire, looking out into a fog of murky shadows beyond his evening companion. His wrinkled face, aged against years of nature’s passing, looked like a tree at the day’s last light, only outlines of orange. “The evening is not a time for sleep when you are akin to the owl, my lady.” He leaned forward on his cane, clearly tired. “The day you shun what blessings you can gather is the day you enact your own curse.”
The logs were nearly burned out and Aroal’s eyes were slowing adjusting to the waning light. She was silent for a moment, digesting Zylan’s words, but what he said was rather enigmatic. How was he like the owl? In her mind, she believe it best that the old man rest before traveling tomorrow. “How are you akin to an owl?” she finally asked, though it wasn’t a habit of hers to concern herself with other people’s business.
“You have lovely blue eyes, madam.” Zylanthian hoped that answered her question. After all, how could a blind man know what color eyes you had? Of course, he had never bothered to explain to anyone that he could see at night, nor why. Zylan looked up at her, his eyes open, revealing his completely opaque, black eyes. Like polished stones, they reflected the dying light of the fire. “The answer is that we are both nocturnal.”
Aroal felt a chill up her spine as she saw Zylan’s solid black eyes. It reminded her of many evil creatures from Marmo, and it put her on edge. Yet, she knew Zylan. She had to ask about it, and she forced herself to ask another question, though it was awkward for her, “How did your eyes become that way?”
Zylanthian closed his eyes for Aroal’s comfort. “’Tis a tale of greed, madam,” The old man said, stroking his beard. “Many years ago, I was as much man as any, urbanite in his stature and noble in birth. I stood amongst the sharpest of thinkers in my time. The academy was my home and philosophy my expertise. You might be surprised to know that academia is as much a war zone as a battlefield. When you are proven wrong, you are ruined. It is a contest of ideas. I had a rival then, a baron. I myself was a lord in Moss at the time. When I defeated him in public, he retaliated with a disreputable spell. He placed a curse upon my eyes, so that I could only see in darkness. If I open my eyes in the daylight, it is rather painful and too bright for me to see.” Zylanthian sighed, shaking his head. “Thus, before traveling amongst you all, I moved by night.”
The warrior woman listened raptly to Zylan’s tale. He had closed his eyes while he spoke. Did she show that much of her discomfort? Now that she knew the reason, it was nothing to fear. “I see,” she acknowledged quietly. For a moment, Aroal pondered. This was the third curse revealed to since she had been amongst these companions. First Al’s sword, then Sara’s lycanthropy, and now this. “It may be hard for you to find time to rest while you travel with us.”
“There is no life in comfort, my lady. It is not until you struggle for everything do you actually learn anything,” Zylan said, his voice true to that of a teacher. “Though it may be difficult, I would not trade that difficulty for much.”
“I’m no stranger to what one can learn from struggling,” Aroal replied, then poked one of the smoldering logs with a stick to break it up further. There was a small flare. “However, there is only so much one can learn from exhaustion. I will make sure that you always get the chance to stay up for the late watch, though. Just take the time to rest before twilight and after dawn.”
“Very well,” Zylanthian compromised. He opened his eyes again, looking up to the sky.
* * *
Sara sat quietly most of her watch listening to the trees and plants, but now the sun was coming up and day break was upon the group. She stood up and gave a long and heartfelt stretch. I should probably get a morning fire going so the group can make breakfast, she thought to herself. “But first let me see what our surroundings have to offer,” she boasted as she made a quick gathering of some local fruit, roots and plants. Then she started a small fire as the other began to wake and place the fruit neatly on a piece old bark for the others to partake. She even went ahead and started a tea kettle for Zylan.
Aroal was awoken by Sara’s movements, as she had slept in her bedroll on the ground instead of in a tent. Quietly, she slipped out of her blankets, then rolled them up. She went about preparing for the day, putting her armor back on and packing up her belongings, while waiting for the others to wake up.
Zylanthian, by contrast, was dead asleep. Staying awake for part of the evening had tired his old body to the bone and was deeply engaged in some quality rest. Curled up next to his companions, he slept just as they did: on his side, with his hands and feet flailed to one side. Oddly enough, he looked comfortable that way.
Ludwig sat awake, his attentive head over Zylan’s sleeping form. He observed Sara and Aroal carefully, only looking away if a noise came elsewhere. Wolfgang remained asleep as well, curled up against the old man’s back for heat.
Al had fallen asleep despite what he had wished for. Nightmares and vicious thoughts clouded his sleep and made him erupt from his place of rest desperately grasping at his sword hilt, attempting to burst the cautionary binding he had placed on it, securing it to the sheath. Hoarsely he croaked out voiceless screams as if still trapped in his damnable dreams, and only the pain of his own fingernail breaking backwards woke him from his delusions. Al collapsed to all fours and buried his face into the ground, his tears and sweat helping to make a thick paste of the ground dirt on his forehead. How much longer can I hold out against this damn sword? He grit his teeth and just remained on all fours.
Al’s awakening was just as rough as ever, though this time Aroal heard no screams. She left her packed belongings and went to the knight’s side to check on him. “Al, are you well?” she asked. Though she was quite aware of how tortured he was by the sword, she couldn’t quite tell if he was dealing with that, or something more mundane.
Al grit his teeth and raised his head, giving Aroal a small smile. “Morning wood, tight pants—the bane of every virile man from ages thirteen to early fifties,” he joked sitting back on his haunches. “Just the usual bout of torturous dreams and wonderful visions of sugar plums and half naked fairies dipping my face in a vat of acid.” He grunted and got to his feet. “I should probably get Elainne up,” Al muttered waving his bloodied hand about. The knight moved over to Elainne’s tent and shook it violently. “Ahh! Shooting Star is attacking, run for your lives!” Al called into her tent.
Elainne groaned and threw her boot out of the tent. “Master Al...Shooting Star died before I was even born. I didn’t live through that era, unlike you.” She dressed while she talked, as she knew Al wasn’t going to let her get any more sleep after he first woke her up. She left the confines of her tent and picked her boot up, slipping it onto her socked foot.
“Normally I’d chastise you for throwing your boot at me, or the fact that you weren’t ready and on your feet when I said ‘attacking’, but I’ll let you off...this time.” Al came up behind her and clunked her on the head.
Mieijha shot up at the mention of Shooting star. The bed headed shamaness sighed and lay back down. Shooting Star has been dead for the past fifteen years. And he was located further north. She grumbled and buried her head under her pillow. “I wanted to get more sleep,” she whined. Adventuring to find her father was more taxing than she anticipated. Giving up on the option of more sleep, Mieijha rose and dressed, exiting her tent she plopped down near the fire and sighed. “What, no breakfast for this morning?” She pouted a little. She was still disturbed by the fact she wanted to sleep more
As Al went about waking Elainne, Aroal noticed the fruit laid out by Sara. There was enough for everyone, so Aroal took her share, and to be nice, took a handful of berries and another pear, then handed them to Mieijha. “The road isn’t so forgiving,” she said with a smile to Mieijha.
Mieijha blushed at Aroal’s offering. “Yeah, I...oh.” She took the food and turned a deeper crimson. “I’ll chalk it up to elven stupidity,” she muttered to herself. “So, Al, where in Moss exactly are we going?”
Sara let out a huge smile as Aroal took from her gathering. She was ready to go but could see that some of group might still need some more time. So she grabbed an old dead piece of bark and leaned it up against a tree about fifty feet away and used some berries to mark it for target practice. She then tightened her bow and started hitting the target with a few different arcs.
“Good question,” Al replied to Mieijha. “I was told that my grandparents lived in Moss, but I’m not to sure where in Moss.” He scratched his head aimlessly and laughed. “Uh, Dragon Eye, probably. It’s a bigger city, there should be a library there that has names of lords and ladies and the like.”
Elainne giggled. Master Al has no idea where he’s headed, as long as it’s away from Flaim. “Will we be sparring this morning?” she asked Al, trying to keep things serious.
“No, not today,” Al sighed. “We’ll spar tonight before supper. Just get packed up and ready to move soon.”
“Yes, master Al,” Elainne said with a smile. He doesn’t seem to be in that bad of a mood today. Lucky us.
Scythed woke and packed up his gear. He had felt somewhat out of place with the group, though he did have some fun conversations with the old man. Still, these people had been traveling together for a bit longer than he had known them and he was feeling like a third—or more like eighth wheel. Tossing his pack over his shoulder, he walked up to the fire and grabbed a fruit.
“Well folks, I hate to break it to ya, but I can’t say I really belong with you guys,” Scythed said, then took a bite of the fruit. “You don’t really need me, and I don’t really have a reason to be here, so I think I’d better head back to town and try and find a job with the guild.”
Al made a face. That was quick, he thought. “Well, if there’s nothing else then, we should pack and head towards Dragon Eye. Myel, Elainne and Mieijha you take the horses. Sara, if you don’t mind run scout. Aroal and I’ll take flank. Zylan, although you may find it a little impertinent of myself for saying so, we’d cover more ground if you shared a horse with either Elainne or Myel.”
Sara smiled, and quickly rounded up her things. “I’m all over it!” she said with great enthusiasm. Then with a few hops she was in the trees, and just as fast she came back right in front of Al. “Um...which way are we going?” she said to Al, a bit embarrassed. She couldn’t very well scout ahead if she had no clue what path they were taking.
Aroal watched Scythed depart back towards the city, then hefted her pack and settled it over her shoulder. That was one less sword, but she didn’t expect a lot of trouble on this trip, at least from outside the group. The warrior woman stepped up alongside Al, taking her assigned place while waiting for the others to do the same.
Al realized that Zylan was not up yet, and sighed and shook his head. “Zylanthian!” he yelled loudly. “Time to get up for the day. If you sleep any longer you’ll grow mushrooms on your hindquarters!”
The old man groaned, swatting poor Wolfgang in the head lightly. “Quiet yourself this early in the morning.”
Wolfgang whined back, unfairly blamed. Pushing himself up and brushing the leaves from his beard, he shook his head to Al.
“Quite convenient, that would be... Dinner becomes more portable.”
Wolfgang looked the man over for a second, waiting for him to come to. As soon as he became lucid, the young wolf swatted him back with his paw, dropping the daft sage flat on his back again.
“Oh... you’ll regret that action, mine furry companion... Just you wait...”
Al couldn’t help but chuckle. “Zylan, for the sake of efficiency would you like to ride upon my horse?” he offered again. “You won’t have the saddle to yourself, you’ll probably have to ride with either Myel or Mieijha.”
“Efficiency is the friend of laziness and inhumanity, but for your sake, I suppose I could.” The old man did not like the idea of making animals do work that humans could do. Walking was walking. It wouldn’t have been a surprising development, considering his only companions for many years were the animals of the forests. He rarely asked anything of his wolves, which he did less of ordering than requesting. “I should make sure to treat the upstanding animal with something when I am finished.”
“She likes eating carrots. Although too many will spoil her,” Al said on the topic of treats for his horse. He helped Zylan up into the saddle, and Mieijha behind him. Elainne helped Myel into the saddle behind her, and took rear guard. With everything in order, Al told the direction of Dragon Eye to Sara, and the group moved out without any further delay.
