babycakesdaydreams

[babycakesdaydreams]

[babycakesdaydreams]

Once the three of them had everything from Fandix’s horse, Kern dropped both of the animals’ reins on the forest floor and led the way into the large building

Inside was a large room with six sides; each side had a doorway, though rather than doors on the five sides that weren’t the building entrance, they were each closed off with drapes. Kern turned immediately right, pulling a green curtain aside to reveal a simple bedroom inside. Fandix glanced in, noting the green and black bedding and a bookshelf with the tools of a blacksmith rather than books on its shelves. John walked the rest of the way into the room, looking around with wide eyes. Kern gestured broadly to the rest of the doorways, as if to say ‘choose your room for the night’, and approached the center of the main room. A fireplace stood there, a standalone chimney built up and around it, disappearing into the roof of the building. Setting the saddlebags she’d been carrying down next to the fireplace, Kern began rebuilding the fire.

Fandix ended up choosing the room with dark grey and orange drapes, having recognized the language of the books on the shelves inside it. The other rooms - the one in white and yellow, specifically - had books in various other languages on its shelves. At least in this room she wouldn’t feel like she was in an entirely new nation. When Fandix came out of the orange and black room after moving her various saddlebags inside, she found John tending to a pot on the fire and Kern gone entirely. Biting back the question of where their escort may have gone, Fandix stepped out of the building instead.

The horse, pony, and both hounds were nowhere to be found. Fandix had to assume Kern was taking them to a barn nearby, and chose not to wander off and get herself lost in this strange valley. The trees, white with black shapes that looked eerily like eyes, were thick even among the homes here. Several of the trees - a majority of the trees, she realized - had red stones embedded in some of the black eye-shapes at various heights.

Kern returned nearly an hour later, nodding her thanks at John as she looked at the stew he’d been attending. Fandix had sat as patiently as she could before pulling a piece of wood from the pile meant for the fire and begun whittling at it. She wasn’t making anything in particular, which was good since she had zero experience.

Though she’d very much enjoyed the sensation of the moth goddess’ blessing, Fandix’s vow of silence burned at the back of her throat. It seemed that everywhere she looked raised new questions in her head, and she didn’t speak that hand-language Kern and the priestess spoke to ask them. After she’d eaten her stew, Fandix stood and paced a bit, trying to ignore Kern’s eyes following her in the room. John, having eaten more than he was probably used to being allowed, drowsed where he sat on the floor of the room. One of the hounds had followed Kern in when she returned; it lay with its back pressed against John’s leg.

Kern had removed her cloak when she returned this time, confirming Fandix’s suspicion about her right hand; the arm was gone, from just below the shoulder. The long-sleeve, undyed tunic Kern wore had been sewn closed around the missing limb. The woman had clearly lost the arm some time ago; she had a solution to everything she did that Fandix would use both hands for.

After another hour of restless pacing and scraping at her piece of wood, John fell asleep entirely. Kern woke him with a gentle touch to his shoulder and led him to the green bed she’d shown them both before. Fandix, realizing that sleeping would make sunrise come that much faster, bowed politely to Kern and stepped through the curtain to her temporary room. A little wooden fox, carefully whittled in to be laying curled up with its bushy tail over its nose, sat on one shelf of the book case in the room. Placing her bad attempt at whittling next to it, Fandix tugged all but her long tunic off and climbed into the bed with something close to resignation.

[babycakesdaydreams]

Finally, Kern led the other two to an altar at the back of the temple. Fandix had seen a few elves come in and approach this altar, kneeling before it and bowing politely. Fandix followed the lead of their escort and sank to her knees, putting her left hand on the ground in front of her. When Kern glanced back at them - both John and Fandix were mimicking her with only one hand - a crease appeared between her brows.

“Both hands mirrored, you two,” she said. Fandix and John did as they were told. Fandix suspected there was something wrong with this woman’s right hand, but she was about to take a vow of silence so the question would have to wait.

The woman put her elbow all the way out and bowed her head all the way to the floor. The result spread one ‘wing’ of her cloak out to reveal the design as if she were a moth herself. Though Fandix and John didn’t have the design of wings on their cloaks, they both let the cloth spread around them as they knelt in kind.

Softness seemed to spread over Fandix as she knelt, and the noise of the forest - faint but ever present - seemed to fade entirely for a moment. Muscles that had been tense before relaxed as the goddess blessed Fandix. A brief moment of sorrow - soft, and contemplative rather than the horrid grief she’d once experienced with her father’s death - made tears burn at the corner of Fandix’s eyes.

A soft touch on Fandix’s shoulder told her the oath had been sworn - and the sensation told her it was accepted - so she stood and followed the mysterious woman from the temple. John followed behind, sheepishly wiping at his eyes.

Fandix’s horse and what she assumed was their rescuer’s pony were waiting for the three of them outside, held by emotionless elves with shining silver eyes. Kern accepted her pony’s reins and turned to John, gesturing for him to climb aboard. The boy hesitated, but his legs must still have hurt from the way he’d been sitting inside. Fandix accepted the reins of her horse with a polite bow and climbed aboard immediately.

As they started their horses at a slow walk through the forest, a pair of hounds nearly as large as Kern’s pony appeared from between the trees, greeting their mistress with a soft nudge of their noses. Satisfied that she was unharmed, the hounds turned their attention to the newcomers; sniffing at the new horse and both humans. Fandix watched them warily; such large hounds were usually trained to defend their humans violently.

Once they’d traveled for about five minutes away from the temple, Kern made a gesture at the dogs; they both took off at a run, chasing each other excitedly. Her pony picked up the pace some; still slow enough for Kern to keep up but no longer at the slow crawl they’d left temple grounds at. Fandix’s horse followed the pony’s lead without any input from his rider, ears pricked forward with interest.

It took about twenty more minutes of a brisk walk through the forest before they rounded a tree and saw signs of civilization in the distance. Kern’s hounds continued to frolick around the group, never going too far as they chased and tackled one another in the brush. As they approached the building they’d seen in the distance, Fandix realized it was abandoned. Though the wooden accents around the windows and the door itself looked fairly new and well-tended, there was no sign of smoke from the chimney and no noise of life within. It was about the size of a small family home, made of thin rocks stacked carefully on top of each other, so thoroughly chosen to puzzle together that there was no gap to let wind in or out. Fandix had read of such homes, but never seen one in person. Thinking of the headache it would take to find exactly the right stone for that specific part of the wall made Fandix shuddder.

They passed that home and four more before a much larger one appeared from between the trees. There were no roads here, and the homes seemed to be scattered with no particular pattern to them. None of them was quite the same, though they all seemed to have six sides rather than the standard four. The building they approached also had six sides to it, though it appeared to be at least twice the size of the others.

Kern pulled the pony to a stop and held a hand out for John to use as he climbed down from the pony. Fandix climbed down on her own, jumping when Kern appeared from seemingly nowhere to begin pulling her saddlebags from the horse’s saddle. Her own pony had nothing more than the saddle on its back, and stood patiently as Fandix’s horse was unloaded.

[babycakesdaydreams]

Nearly two hours passed as Fandix and John sat on the floor of the temple, wondering what came next. They were still gagged, their hands tied behind their backs. Fandix felt the rope around her wrist biting into it, and knew she would have some painful bruises by the time this was over. Her legs were numb from the way she was sitting, as well; she didn’t dare readjust how she sat for fear she would lose her balance and fall over. Better to have feet falling asleep than to be stuck laying face-first on the mossy floor of this temple.

The priestess also refused to speak to them, gesturing in some silent language to her kin as they came and went and otherwise ignoring the two humans in the room. Most of the elves that came through didn’t even look at Fandix and John.

At last, someone entered the room who looked their direction. At first glance, they might have been mistaken for an elf - they wore the same design of cloak as the other elves, and their hair was in their face so Fandix couldn’t make out their eyes. But they were short even for a human, and the corner of one ear peaked out between their hair, rounded like any human’s. John made a strangled noise from his position on the floor, sitting up straighter as he looked at their potential savior with hope written on his face. Fandix felt a pang of guilt at the boy’s face - he was her escort, and should have known not to come this way, but he was still just a boy and she was an adult. And here he was bound and gagged in an alien temple because she’d asked him to lead her through a dangerous part of the forest above his village.

The stranger turned to the elven priestess and slipped their left hand from its hiding place behind their robes, making gestures similar to what the priestess had been making earlier. Finally, the priestess nodded, and turned her attention to the elves that had entered behind this human. The human, on their part, finally approached Fandix and John.

When she squatted before the pair, Fandix was finally able to see her face. But, even as she took in the woman’s appearance and tried to put it to memory, the image seemed to slip out of her mind like water. Something about this woman’s face was impossible for Fandix to keep in her mind, and she fought the sensation until it started to make her head hurt. She supposed it must be an illusion of some sort, spelled to prevent the viewer from remembering details about the face. Fandix had never heard of such an enchantment, and the very idea of someone using it in court or around her queen made her shudder. When the woman spoke, Fandix’s urge to fight the spell faded and she focused instead on what was being said.

“I am Kern. You have entered the holy land of the moth goddess of mourning silence. Judging by the gags the elves have put on you both, I imagine you continued to speak even after they requested you stop. It’s understood by the elves that humans don’t know what the bagworm goddess expects in her holy land, so I was sent for to attend to you for them.

“Thankfully, the goddess is forgiving - moreso than her followers, at least. Should we vow to remain entirely silent until sunrise tomorrow, she will forgive us for our noise. Once we have her forgiveness, I will be able to arrange your release. From there, I can escort you to the Dead Valley and tomorrow I can return you to your village below the mountain.” She spoke softly, eyes flicking between Fandix and John as she did. Her cloak had parted slightly as she squatted before them, and Fandix was just able to make out the undyed tunic beneath.

“Do you both understand what I’ve said?” The woman asked. Fandix nodded once; John, more desperate to be freed, nodded several times. The woman nodded, and reached out to untie the boy first. “Remain silent. Once I’ve freed you both, follow my lead. I’ll show you the proper way to ask her forgiveness. We’ll leave immediately afterward. And remember - we’re not to speak at all until the sun rises tomorrow, whether we’re still on her holy land or not.”

Fandix resisted the urge to stand the moment their savior had untied her, instead shifting her legs from underneath her and stretching them painfully. John was less disciplined, and attempted to stand immediately. Kern caught him deftly with her left hand, helping him sink back down to the ground so he could stretch a bit. Much like the elves, this woman’s face remained neutral of all emotion, and as Fandix and John’s legs were recovering, she turned back to the elf priestess. Once again, she used only her left hand to communicate with the priestess, who used both of hers. Fandix watched in awe as the two of them appeared to have a full conversation with nothing but flickering fingers.

[babycakesdaydreams]

The elves who captured Fandix and her young guide John were silent and expressionless, ignoring Fandix’s protests as she and John were dragged through the woods. She’d read that elves could speak the common language, and John had said his father traded with elves sometimes, but it seemed that the elves who had caught them couldn’t understand her. She tried to explain as they marched that she was on a pilgrimage of sorts, passing an urgent request from her queen to the gods at the Dead Valley Temple, but they didn’t seem sympathetic. When she tried to explain that she was trying to prevent a war, she was actually gagged. John was handled with slightly more care, but he was gagged too. His eyes were wide and sweat trickled down his brow just as it did for Fandix, but he didn’t cry or squirm.

Fandix had seen elves from a distance before, and even a dwarf once. But she’d never seen one in person, and her research into their societies had been barebones - enough to know their impact on the duchy she would one day inherit, but no more. Seeing them now, in person, she was surprised by how human they appeared.

Their eyes were abnormally large, somewhat slanted, and unnaturally colored. Rather than browns and greens, the most common colors in her nation, these elves had eyes the color of metals. One, leading the group, had eyes with the same shine as a well-polished sword.

Another, occasionally glancing at Fandix with that emotionless stare, had eyes like copper, shocking against her otherwise bland features. Slightly taller than the average human, each of the elves wore a long cloak with intricate embroidery in the shape of a moth’s wings. One even followed the group from above in the trees, hopping lightly from branch to branch. Their cloak spread with each hop, looking for all the world like a moth in flight. Stumbling over a twig, Fandix tore her eyes away from that one and focused on what was in front of her.

A house appeared among the trees, a haphazard stack of logs in the general shape of a pyramid, covered in moss and fallen leaves. Another elf stood outside, great tufted antennae growing from just above her eyebrows and twitching in the direction of her approaching people. John was transfixed by the twitching antennae, eyes wide as he stared openly. Fandix tried to show some more respect, even attempting a bow as she approached what was clearly an elven priest.

Priests of the gods took on their gods’ animal aspects; priests of the wolf god had wolf canines and black claws instead of finger and toenails. The goddess of harvest, whose primary animal was a goat, was represented by goat priests complete with horns and rectangular-pupil eyes. Fandix, however, had never seen a priest of a bug god. She hadn’t even realized bug gods existed.

[babycakesdaydreams]

I want a story about a king whose son is prophesied to kill him so the king is like “whatever what am I supposed to do, kill my own kid wtf is wrong with you” so he just raises him as normal, doesn’t even tell him about the prophecy, and instead of some convoluted twist of events that leads to the king’s murder the son grows up and when the king is very old and dying and in excruciating pain the kid is just like alright I'mma put him out of his misery.

[babycakesdaydreams]

Who knew MASH would still be topical.

Wear it like MASH’s best dressed corporal

[babycakesdaydreams]

Superior writing advice:

Make your characters FREAKS. Make them DERANGED. Make people think ‘surely this one guy towards the back is normal’ only to reveal FUCK NO. The guy in the back exclusively collects clown paintings (paintings done by professional clowns) and has an irrational hatred of second floors.

[babycakesdaydreams]

There’s a bit in Hogfather where two bands of carollers meet in the street.

The first band are upper class aristocrats, who are pleasantly singing carefully edited carols, raising donations for those sections of the poor who they deem worth receiving for being “suitably picturesque and not too smelly and could be relied upon to say thank you.”

The second band is the Canting Crew, the worst beggars in the city, who are all singing and howling and screaming different songs at the same time loudly and badly.

And it’s here that the book says that carolling and wassailing come from old midwinter traditions, when you had to stamp and scream and shake the darkness out of the world. And unnoticed by either band of carollers, squiggles of darkness, the black mould of the soul that forms in winter’s short, bleak, grey days, are squeezed out from their hiding places and into the night by the Canting Crew’s horrible, horrible singing.

Cozy commercialism contrasted by the seasonal urge to rage against the dying of the light.

And that’s what burning the Gävle Goat is like to me.

[babycakesdaydreams]

“Wake up,” his voice was cracking, broken. The general approached slowly, her hand still wrapped around the bleeding gash on her arm. Someone reached out to grab her – to tend her wound or stop her from approaching, she didn’t know – but she pulled away, walking closer.

Keep reading

[babycakesdaydreams]

I woke up. It was late in the morning, and I know I get headaches when I sleep too late in the day, so I decided to get up. I got up, walked to the door thinking about breakfast, and the bedroom door was closed. I blinked, surprised.

I woke up. The blanket was exactly where I remembered it being, my body in the same position. The cat was curled up in the crook behind my bent knees. I grumbled about weird dreams, and got up. I blinked.

I woke up. Sitting up, still annoyed, I realized it was kinda hard to breathe. Thinking about all the memos they keep putting out at work, I wondered if it was coronavirus. I started coughing.

I woke up. I wasn't coughing any more, but it was still hard to breathe and I felt an itch in the back of my throat. I thought, "I'll need to text my boss so he knows I might have the virus, and I need to go wake mom so she can take me to the hospital." I reached for my phone.

I woke up. I was starting to panic now. I moved to get up, but my body didn't answer. I've read about sleep paralasys before, so I closed my eyes rather than look at whatever monster my brain thought up. I tried to move, but my limbs felt heavier and heavier.

I woke up. I tried to get up, but I still felt too heavy. Mom was in the next room, maybe I could call for her and she could wake me properly. I tried to say something, but my lips were numb. "Mom," I whispered. I heard myself, but was it just my imagination, or was it real? Mom didn't answer. "Mom," I said again, frantic. If it was a whisper, it was too quiet to reach my bedroom door. I tried again, and again, until I gave up.

I woke up.

[babycakesdaydreams]

“You alive, kid?”

Fandix opened her eyes, blinking through exhaustion and a layer of sweat. Kern stood over her, looking about as exhausted as she felt, one hand on her glaive and the other clutching at her side. Fandix knew she’d been asked a question, but she didn’t have the energy to answer.

“Good,” Kern mumbled. She pushed away from the tree, shifting her weight until she was leaning on her glaive instead. “Listen, kid, when they show up... Don’t try to make sense of them. And when they ask you a question-”

Her eyes locked on to Fandix’s, making the young duchess shiver. The level of focus in her eyes was almost inhuman, and though she still couldn’t describe the eyes physically, the impression they left would be burned into her memory for years.

“-don’t bother lying.”

“There you are,” voices overlapped voices, young and old and soft and angry. Fandix felt dizzy, as if she’d stood up too fast. She was still sitting, back propped up by the tree. Wasn’t she?

“Fuck off,” Kern said, exhaustion tinged with annoyance.

“I have a question for you,” the cacophony of voices all sounded amused. And just a tiny bit offended. Had Fandix always been able to gather so much information from a voice?

“I answer the same way every time,” Kern grumbled.

“But one day, you won’t!” A cheeriness that seemed false. A shadow was taking shape in the corner of Fandix’s vision. She turned to look, but nothing was there. She blinked; the shadow in the corner of her eye remained, even when she turned her head. It was like she couldn’t quite keep up with it.

“Will answering differently change the course of the cycle?” Kern asked, softly. Sadly.

“Maybe! Maybe not.”

“Ask your question,” Kern ordered.

“You live and breathe and fight and nearly die over and over again for these little creatures.” One of the fallen soldiers nearby actually moaned. Fandix was fully awake now, and afraid.

“Get on with it,” Kern snapped. She was paler than before, new beads of sweat rolling down her neck.

“They comfort you and flirt with you and kill each other and sometimes they even betray you.” It didn’t seem to have a full grasp on the human language, dragging sentences on well after their expiration date. “After all of the cruelty you see these creatures commit, after all of their evil schemes and murderous plots...”

“Ask the damn question,” some of the fire had gone out of Kern’s voice, her shoulders drooping and eyes reddening. As if she were holding back tears.

“Are they really worth saving?” The silence following the question was deafening. The tension continued to build, a feeling close to panic setting in. The soldier groaned again, and Fandix felt a tear escape her eye.

“Yes,” it was barely more than a whisper, but Fandix felt a strange surge of relief when she heard it. As if a different answer would have meant some unfathomable tragedy.

“Every time you say that, there’s just a little bit less truth to it,” the voices sounded excited by the prospect. Fandix felt sick.

“You have to hear it six times,” Kern said. Her voice was emotionless now, as if she spoke out of habit rather than any emotional obligation.

“I do,” the voice admitted, some of the glee fading.

“And you can’t ask the others until you get a ‘yes’ from me,” Kern continued.

“Correct,” the voices almost sounded annoyed now. Kern actually laughed, though it was cold and empty in a way that hurt to hear.

“If you think it’s taken a long time to break me,” Kern said, turning toward the field of fallen soldiers. Out there, in the distance, Fandix could just make out a few figures, wandering among the fallen. “You have another thing coming when you try to break the others.”

“And what do you think?” The voices still didn’t have a shape, a body to be attached to, but Fandix knew they were speaking to her. When Fandix didn’t answer, too stunned by the full force of these voices echoing in her head, they spoke again. “Are humans really worth saving?”

“Of course we are,” Fandix said immediately.

“Oh, dear. I didn’t ask if you were worth saving. I asked if they were.” The distinction didn’t make sense. Did it?

A million faces flashed before Fandix’s eyes, and with each instant that held a new face, she felt like she knew the person with the intimacy of a lifelong friend. All of them looked sad, each of them silently pleading for...something. If she had a heart, it would have broken.

Wait. If she had a heart?

“You’re overwhelming her,” Kern said, reproving. “Besides, you can’t ask her yet. She isn’t ready.”

“Oh? I suppose not, after all. What a waste. I’d love to hear an answer...”

The presence was gone, and Fandix heaved a sigh of relief. Her head was still spinning, and her limbs felt to heavy to lift, but she was alive. She’d survived...whatever that was.

“What was that...thing?” She asked. Kern sank onto the dirt next to her, groaning with the effort.

“A god,” the other woman murmured. Her eyes fluttered shut, and Fandix’s did the same only a moment later.

[babycakesdaydreams]

"Just don't test the blade," Kern told John, handing him the bundle of leathers she'd brought from the wagon. "It's sharper than you'd expect."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, pulling away the leather to find the sword underneath.

"You want me to learn how to use a sword?" Fandix asked, stunned. She'd been carrying one as a preventive measure, not because she was interested in the use.

"You shouldn't be carrying a weapon you don't know how to use," Zithsa said, from his place across the fire. "That's a good way to get yourself killed."

"It's not as if I'm starting fights, or running around by myself."

"Did you travel with an armed guard to the Dead Valley?" Jyonto asked. He was embroidering a black tunic, his needle flashing in the firelight.

"Most of the way," she said, blushing slightly. "But that doesn't matter, does it? I got there just fine, after all."

"Luck," Calystra said, a little grin on her face. She sat on the far side of Fandix from John, watching the boy inspect the short sword with obvious interest.

"Whatever," Fandix muttered. "Anyway, I'll stop carrying a weapon, if it makes you so unhappy."

"That isn't really the point," Kern said, throwing a reproving glance toward Zithsa. The man shrugged, turning his attention back to the wicked-looking knife he'd been sharpening.

"What is the point, then?" Fandix grumbled. She looked over at the sword, surprised at how elegant it looked. It hardly seemed like the kind of weapon a drab woman like Kern would carry. The pommel was orange, reflecting in the moonlight like a strangely colored opal.

"You're going to war," Kern said, somewhat dryly. "Don't you think you should know how to take care of yourself on the battlefield?"

"I won't be going to the front lines," Fandix said immediately, pushing down a flash of fear in the back of her throat.

"Yes," Kern said simply, "you will."

"I'll be leading the army," Fandix reminded her, talking slowly as if she were too dull to understand. "As will you, I hope. Leadership doesn't go to the front lines."

"Good leadership goes where the dying is," Zithsa said. For the first time since she'd met him, he looked completely serious. The glint of the knife in his hand sent a shiver down Fandix's back.

"Let it be," Kern said to him. "Duchess, it may be your intention to avoid the actual battles, but that isn't how it works. War is messy, dirty, and unpredictable. No amount of planning and careful attention will keep you from seeing blood. I thought you might have realized that the other night." Fandix swallowed again, the pile of dead bodies swimming before her eyes.

"I don't want to fight," she said quietly, hating how weak she felt just saying it aloud.

"You don't have a choice," Kern said, her voice surprisingly soft. There was a long moment of silence, as Fandix tried to come up with some argument to keep Kern at bay. When she realized there was nothing she could say, she sighed.

"Okay, but why do I need your sword? I have my own."

"Swords are designed for the person using them," Kern said, back to her near-emotionless voice. "The one you're carrying might be sized properly for Gerrod, but not for you."

"Are you saying I'm too weak to use it?" Fandix asked, faintly offended. "I'm stronger than I look, you know."

"So am I," Kern said, drawing her own sword. "Draw your sword, Duchess."

Fandix stood, doing as she'd been told. Kern led her away from the fire, to a clearer area near the tents. She raised her sword, and Fandix mimicked her, grimacing as the blade refused to cooperate. The pose Kern had taken looked easy enough, and her grip on the sword looked almost loose, as if it could be knocked from her hand with just a nudge. But Fandix found herself unable to mimic the easy stance, the tip of the blade invariably wandering downward.

"It's hard to keep the blade up, right? Part of that is because you don't have the strength, but part of it is the length of the blade itself." She reached out, gently taking the sword from Fandix. 

Stepping away again, Kern raised this sword as she had the other. Her form looked almost identical, and she kept the blade up where Fandix couldn't, but there was a difference - that loose grip she'd had before was gone, her fingernails turning white as her fingers tightened on the blade.

"It's disproportionate," Kern explained, lowering the blade. "That makes it hard to work with, and unsuitable for a novice. The other blade is your size, and higher-quality, at that. Bring that sword over, please, Kid." John stepped away from the fire, presenting the sword to Kern sheath-first.

"Hilt-first," she corrected him gently, stepping around the sword to take it by the hilt. "Always trade weapons hilt-first."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, watching as she drew the sword. She handed the empty sheath back to the boy before returning to Fandix's sword, which she'd set in the grass. Waving Fandix over - and with John still hovering nearby - Kern lifted both swords side-by-side.

"Look at the blades," she said, turning them slightly so the setting sun lit them better. Fandix's blade was dull grey, and had a few small nicks in it There was even a hint of orange rust near the hilt. The other sword was a silvery-grey, shining brighter and with not a nick or rust speck in sight.

"What makes it silvery like that?" John asked, looking excited.

"The purity of the metal," Kern explained. "Ask Gerrod to teach you about it some time, he's better with metals than I am. Now, Duchess, lift this blade as you did the other." She turned the sword around, presenting the hilt to Fandix.

This sword had to be a third of the weight of the other one, even though the blade was only a little bit shorter. Kern resumed her earlier stance, drawing her own sword once more. John stood nearby, carefully inspecting the sword Fandix had been carrying for so long. Fandix lifted the new weapon easily, mimicking Kern's stance almost perfectly. She still couldn't manage the loose grip the other woman had, but at least the blade stayed up.

"Better?" Kern asked.

"Much," Fandix admitted.

"Then let's get started. Give John the sheath of your old sword. John, put that thing in the wagon, please."

Fandix shoved the pointy end of her sword in the dirt, pleased with the way it stood on its own as she removed the sheath from her belt.

"Now you have to clean the blade," Kern said, looking faintly amused.

"Guess I didn't think of that," Fandix admitted. John took off with the other sword, bringing it to Gerrod instead of the wagon. Looking back toward them, Fandix saw Gerrod set whatever he'd been working on aside, pointing to something on the blade in the boy's hand.

"The first thing we'll work on is your footing," Kern said, drawing Fandix's attention back.

--

Fandix had trouble getting up the next morning, groaning as every muscle in her body protested the previous night's training. They were on the last leg of their journey. The knowledge that they were so close to home may have been the only reason she was able to climb out of her blankets.

It was also her day to cook. She'd been told the night before by Zithsa, who had still sounded a little stiff after her comment about being on the front lines. She wasn't entirely sure why that comment had angered him so, but she was determined to make it up to him today. The only person friendlier than Zithsa in this odd collection of god-sent heroes was Calystra, but Fandix felt just a tiny bit closer to the spy. He'd been the first one to give her an honest, direct answer to her questions, after all.

The bacon was burning when Zithsa's tent flap finally opened, and Fandix was staring at it, trying to figure out what she'd done wrong. Burnt bacon was fine, though - she was trying to impress Zithsa, and he didn't eat meat. The porridge she'd been heating was on track, at least. She'd been very careful to keep stirring it, as Calystra had instructed.

"Good morning," Fandix mumbled, not looking up from the bacon.

"Good morning," the voice that answered was Zithsa's, and at the same time it wasn't. Confused, Fandix looked up - and blinked in surprise.

Zithsa was wearing a dress. What was truly odd, was how it didn't look odd. The dress was perfectly tailored, made of a soft yellow cloth that made Zithsa's skin tone appear warmer. It followed curves Fandix hadn't realized Zithsa had, and flared gracefully out at the hem. Deep brown embroidery, in a design she didn't recognize, ran in graceful patterns along the cuffs of the sleeves and the dress's hem. A hint of rogue was on his - her? - lips, making them look fuller. Even Zithsa's face seemed to be shaped differently, and Fandix recognized the magic that makeup could accomplish if applied correctly. 

"I'm sorry-" she started, realizing she'd been staring.

"That's alright," Zithsa had a wicked look in his - her? their? - eyes. "I like being stared at."

John, who had been sleeping in Kern's tent since the raid, was standing half in and half out of the tent, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Kern, who had been washing her face at the creek nearby, put a hand on the kid's shoulder as soon as she was close enough to do so.

"Zithsen," she said, nodding at Zithsa. The change of names only served to confuse Fandix more. Had Zithsa been a woman the whole time?

"I-uh-" she didn't know what to say, or do. Fandix didn't want to make a scene - Zithsa was obviously just as comfortable in a dress as they'd been in leggings - but how was she supposed to address them? Was Zithsa now Zithsen? Should she refer to them as "Miss" now?

"In my native language," Zithsen said, dress lifting beautifully in the wind, "we use additions to the name, instead of your way of saying 'mister' or 'miss'."

"So, Gerrod would be 'Gerrod-sa'," Kern said. John straightened, blushing slightly and closing his mouth. He didn't stop staring, though. 

"And you would be Fandix-sen," Zithsa said, smiling brightly. "Well, not really, there's another one for nobility, but that's beside the point."

"So... You're Zith...sen? Right now?" Fandix asked, only slightly less confused.

"Exactly!" Zithsen said cheerfully. "The same person, just using feminine pronouns."

"I think I understand," Fandix said, feeling a certain relief. At least now she knew how to address this new Zithsen.

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't," Zithsen said, that wicked grin Fandix had gotten so used to back in place. A small wave of relief hit her - this was truly the same person, even if she did look different. Zithsen sank down onto one of the logs they'd set by the fire, tucking her skirt under her gracefully. The relief was replaced with a tinge of jealousy as Fandix remembered how clumsy she could be in a dress.

"The porridge is burning," Kern noted, taking the spoon from the pot and beginning to stir. Fandix cursed, returning her attention to breakfast and mumbling apologies.

"I guess that means you're steering the wagon," Gerrod said, stretching as he stepped out of his tent. He wasn't wearing a shirt yet, and Fandix made a point to stare at the burning porridge instead of him. "No riding a horse in all that mess of cloth."

"You can still steer it," Zithsen said, sounding faintly alarmed, "I'll just ride with you."

"Not room for you, me, and the kid on that wagon, Zithsen," Gerrod said. he turned toward the creek, to wash his face as Kern had.

"Listen," Zithsen said, standing up. Her dress trailed behind her, more beautiful than it had any right to be, as she followed Gerrod toward the creek. "I'm no good at steering those things, and you know it! I only lead the wagon if you’re not around to do it-"

John was sitting on a log, watching Zithsen leave with the same wide eyes he'd had when he woke. Fandix nudged him with a foot, and he blinked, coming out of his reverie to look at her questioningly.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Fandix asked, somewhat pointedly.

"Yeah," John said, awe in his voice. Relief washed over Fandix again - he wasn't disgusted by Zithsen as she'd suspected. "She really is." 

[babycakesdaydreams]

Read this from the beginning. 

“Every good story,” Jyonto started, “begins with-”

Once upon a time, three siblings were traveling through the forest. They had been away on an adventure, and were returning home. The eldest was tired, and looked forward to the warmth of the hearth and the comfort of their own bed after months of sleeping on the road.

The embers of the fire seemed to grow into flames, flickering up until they took a vaguely human shape. As if stepping out of a bath, the figure pulled away from the fire and stepped toward Fandix. With each step it became more defined: short black hair, crow’s feet and a cloak that looked like it was made of the blue at the heart of a burning candle. The figure, now nearly the size of a person, turned and sat down at the fire, leaning against a log that Fandix didn’t remember seeing before.

The middle child was excited to return home as well, though for different reasons; a childhood love, waiting for their triumphant return. The middle child was proud of their accomplishments, and looked forward to spreading their tales of triumph.

Another figure appeared in the flames, stepping away. This one had reddish hair like burning embers, and a grey cloak with embroidery that matched the hair. The middle child sat down at the fire, shoulders squared and head held high with pride.

But the youngest wasn’t ready to be done adventuring. All they thought of when they dreamed of home was a list of chores, and friends who only wanted to talk about themselves. The youngest child had found a place among the adventurers and heroes of the world, and didn’t want to give that place up.

The middle child’s hair was brown, but their eyes glowed with the same yellow as the brightest flames. They didn’t sink down in front of the fire so much as collapse next to the eldest sibling, falling dramatically back and kicking up a puff of dust in the process.

“I want to see a dragon,” the youngest announced. “Do you think one lives in the forest here?”

“Dragons don’t live in forests,” the eldest said.

“They live in the mountains,” the middle said. “Maybe we’ll see one on tomorrow, when we go through the mountain pass.”

“I want to see one now!” The youngest insisted.

“Go to bed, Little One,” the eldest ordered.

But the youngest adventurer didn’t go to bed. When the other two were asleep, they snuck off into the forest toward the mountain pass. They would see the dragon, they decided, and come back to camp before anyone noticed.

The other siblings faded as the youngest stood up, hunched and walking on their toes as if sneaking past the city guards. Their bright yellow eyes glowed in the fading light, an excited look on their face. 

Trees began to grow around them, starting as twigs and rising, spreading branches that cast shadows over them all. Some trees were even growing directly out of the tents, as if the tents weren’t there. Fandix reached out to touch one of the images and was startled to feel bark beneath her fingertips. When she pressed harder on the tree, however, her fingers went straight through it and the feeling of bark disappeared.

The deeper into the mountains the youngest adventured, the darker the night became. Before long, they realized that they should have brought a torch; it was almost impossible to see where they were going. 

The trees thickened, bushes springing up and the shadows getting longer. Though it was hard to see any detail, the young adventurer’s yellow eyes still glowed like the fire they’d come from.

The youngest was starting to get worried that they’d get lost, when a light appeared between the trees. Thinking that the eldest sibling had come looking for them, they let out a breath of relief and walked toward the orange light. But when the youngest stepped on a twig, the light moved in a way no torch would. Gasping, they realized that it was not the eldest, after all.

It was a deer, looking up from between the trees. Its antlers were the source of the light, laden with a moss that glowed orange. 

Walking carefully, hoping for a chance to pet this beautiful creature, the young adventurer approached it. The glowing deer watched with eyes like little yellow lamps, cautious but not running. It stepped toward the young adventurer, and a vine tangled in its antlers bloomed with glorious purple flowers, shining just as bright.

When the adventurer finally placed a hand on the deer’s nose, however, they realized that it was bone, not fur, that they touched.

The deer’s fur and muscle disappeared the moment the adventurer put their hand on its nose, leaving behind only bones. The orange moss spread over and throughout the deer’s skeleton, weaving between ribs and holding joints together like muscle. Little blue mushrooms grew anywhere the glowing moss was not, and when the deer shivered as if to shake off water, the mushrooms began to glow.

The adventurer was so startled by what they were seeing that they fell back, knocking into a tree on the way down. Darkness overwhelmed them, and the youngest adventurer passed out.

The figure collapsed just as Jyonto described, head smacking harshly into a tree on the way down. The trees began to fade, darkening until the only light was the reanimated deer skeleton, and the adventurer’s glowing yellow eyes. The blue mushrooms faded to black, then the purple flowers. The orange of the fungus disappeared, and then the only light was the orange of the adventurer’s eyes, reflected by the orange of the deer’s.

The orange faded, and the darkness made Fandix shudder. Just as the darkness started to close in and Fandix began to panic, light reappeared; the stars were coming out. The light of their campfire, dim but just enough to see by, returned. Fandix looked around the campfire as her eyes adjusted to the returning moonlight.

Everyone stared at where the skeleton-deer had been, wonder in their eyes. Jyonto looked incredibly pleased, smiling. Calystra’s eyes shone with excitement, and Zithsa had finally looked up from his writing. Even Gerrod, who had always stayed quiet and aloof, looked enthralled by the story.

“That’s not it,” Calystra protested. They all turned to look at Kern and Jyonto, expecting the story to continue. Kern shook her head, putting a finger to her lips. Their young runaway, John, had fallen asleep. He was using the dog as his pillow, one hand still tangled in its fur.

“We’ll continue the story another day,” Jyonto said quietly. “When our littlest member can hear the rest.”

“But what about the dragon?” Fandix found herself asking.

“It’s getting late,” Kern spoke softly, “and we didn’t get much sleep last night. Go to bed, everyone. I’ll take the first watch.”

Gerrod lifted the child with gentle hands, carefully carrying him into Kern’s tent and tucking him in before returning to his own tent to sleep. The hound the boy had been cuddling with followed them in, presumably reclaiming her place as the boy’s pillow.

Kern slept on the ground outside of her tent after her three hours of watching the camp for dangers.

[babycakesdaydreams]

Read this from the beginning.

John was ordered to cover his eyes as Jyonto carefully carried him to the back of the wagon. Fandix wasn’t afforded that luxury; though she was supposed to be helping Calystra and Jyonto break down the campsite, her eyes kept wandering to the steadily growing pile of dead men and women in the center of the clearing. Gerrod and Kern were gathering the dead, while Zithsa carefully searched each one. He slipped a single copper piece into their hands after every search.

“Do they need the coins?” Fandix asked Jyonto. He looked pale and tired, a sadness in his eyes.

“A bribe for the dead god, to forgive their latest mistakes,” he explained shortly.

“They died in battle,” Fandix argued. “The god of war will pay their bribe, won’t he?”

“They were scavengers,” Calystra said shortly. She pulled on Fandix’s shoulder, forcing her to turn around and get back to rolling tent canvas. “Scavengers aren’t warriors.”

It was nearly dawn by the time they’d finished packing up the campsite and searching the dead. Kern was left behind with the fastest horse as the rest of them rode away. By then the dead had begun to smell, and Fandix was feeling ill. One of the women had been stabbed in the stomach, her insides making their way to her outside in a way that would likely haunt Fandix for the rest of her life.

Kern rejoined them at lunch. She smelled like fire.

--

There was an uneasy quiet around the campfire that night. It was a warm night, so they’d let the fire fall down to little more than embers, everyone tending to some small job they’d found.

Zithsa was writing letters, a little wooden table with blue trimming in front of him. It was Kern’s; she’d packed it and brought it along from the Dead Valley. Jyonto sat next to him, carefully repairing a long cut in the sleeve of the tunic Zithsa had worn the night before. Calystra was replacing a strip of leather in one of the horses’ bridles, and Gerrod was replacing a few links in someone’s chainmail shirt. Fandix had a piece of firewood in one hand and a knife in the other, chipping away at the wood as if carving something. It wasn’t taking any particular shape.

Kern returned from the edge of the river they’d set camp next to, her hair wet and a flush on her cheeks. The water came directly from the mountain, and was no doubt freezing. John walked next to her, carrying the dishes from that night’s meal. He had shadows under his eyes and kept looking nervously into the dark trees around them.

Something cold pressed into Fandix’s elbow, and she turned to look, finding one of Kern’s hounds looking up at her with big brown eyes. The moment she raised her arm, the hound crawled forward, curling up on her side so that when she put the arm back down it would be in the perfect position to scratch its ears. Looking up, she saw Kern’s other dog doing almost the exact same thing with their runaway.

“It’s too quiet,” Calystra said suddenly. Fandix jumped, the wood in her hand slipping from loose fingers and into the campfire.

“Then tell a story,” Jyonto mumbled.

“Ugh,” she groaned, rolling her head back dramatically. "The only person who’s worse at telling stories than me is Gerrod.”

“Rude,” the big man grunted. He didn’t deny it, though.

“You tell a story, Zithsa!” Calystra ordered, stretching a leg across the campfire so she could kick him gently in the side.

“I’m busy,” he mumbled. Now that she looked closer, Fandix realized he wasn’t really writing. Whatever was on his paper looked less like a letter and more like a drawing of some sort. It was too far away, and at the wrong angle, for her to tell.

“That can wait,” Gerrod said. He’d set down his work, rifling through one of his bags, instead. He pulled out a strange-looking dried herb, giving it a close examination. “Jyonto. What sort of plant do you suppose this is?”

“No idea,” the healer mumbled.

“You didn’t even look,” Gerrod complained. Jyonto finally looked up from his sewing, squinting across the dying fire to look at what Gerrod held up.

“I really don’t know,” he said finally. “It looks faintly familiar, but I can’t put a name to it.”

“Mm,” Gerrod said, carefully wrapping his herb in cloth and placing it back in the bag. “Now that you’ve put down your sewing, tell us a story.”

“You trickster!” Calystra said, obviously impressed.

“A man can’t even get his sewing done in peace,” Jyonto sighed. Kern picked up the tunic, stretching the cloth where the rip had been. It had been so expertly ripped that only a trained eye would see the repair.

“You got your sewing done,” Kern said quietly. The boy next to her stared at Jyonto’s work in apparent wonder, one hand scratching dutifully behind the ears of the dog curled at his side.

“I don’t even know what story to tell,” he complained, sitting back on his hands. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned to Kern. “Okay, I’ve got a story I can tell. But you have to back me up with magic.”

“Maybe I want to be lazy,” she said, folding Zithsa’s tunic.

“Well, I want to be lazy, too, but here we are.”

“Fine. What story?”

“The Walking Fungus?”

“You just want me to make an illusion dragon, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Calystra said immediately. She was sitting all the way up now, an eager look on her face. Fandix found herself leaning forward, too, excitement growing. She’d seen Kern make an incredibly believable illusion of herself; if she could make a dragon that was even half as convincing, Fandix wanted to see it.

[babycakesdaydreams]

Read this from the beginning.

“His name is John, apparently,” Jyonto announced as he sat down next to the fire. He’d woken the boy in the back of the wagon, taking him to the stream nearby so he could bathe with J’s special soap.

“Are there fleas in the back of the wagon now?” Gerrod asked. He was reheating the soup from the night before, filling their campsite with the warm scent of spices.

“I put some spelled herbs down,” Jyonto assured him. “And you have the salve for any bites you do get. You’ll be alright.”

“I hate flea bites,” the big man grumbled. He’d shown Fandix one such bite that morning; swollen and itchy. Apparently, he was allergic.

“We’ll leave in two hours, I think,” Kern announced, stepping out of her tent and stretching. One of her hounds hopped on his hind legs, planting his front legs on her shoulders. “Good morning, Little One.”

“Your other pup is with the boy at the creek,” Jyonto said.

“Good,” Kern murmured. The hound, satisfied with a friendly scratch behind his ears, hopped back down and returned to begging Gerrod for food scraps. The hounds usually slept at the entrance of Kern’s tent, or next to whoever was keeping watch on the tent at night. During the rain, however, she’d brought them inside.

“Why delay our departure?” Fandix asked. She was learning patience when it came to their delays; almost all of them were justified. Now she asked more out of curiosity than annoyance.

“Let the roads dry,” Zithsa said. He stepped out of the trees, where he’d disappeared to take care of his morning business. “Lose two hours now, or risk losing five or six in a sinkhole later.”

“Makes sense,” Fandix agreed. She accepted breakfast from Gerrod with a nod of thanks. Though she still didn’t understand this strange family, she was beginning to like them.

“Welcome back, John,” Calystra said, smiling from her place next to Fandix. Fandix looked up to find the kid, far less ragged-looking, standing nervously by Kern’s tent. Her other hound, the female, stood next to him, tail wagging.

“Have a seat,” Kern said, gesturing to the spot next to her. After a moment of hesitation - and a glance toward Jyonto, as if asking for permission - John sat down. When Gerrod handed him a bowl, he ate it slowly. It seemed that some of his fear that they would take his food had left him. The hound that had been following laid down next to him and rested her head in his lap, begging openly for him to share. One of his hands dropped from the bowl to pat her gently on the head.

“How do the hose fit, kid?” Jyonto asked, sitting on John’s other side. “I estimated your size, so they might not be a perfect fit. But they’re better than nothing.”

“Good, Mister,” John said quietly.

“Good. They used to be Kern’s. She’s the shortest of us, so it took the least work to alter her clothes.”

“You saying that Kern being short is useful?” Zithsa asked, a wicked grin in place.

“She’s travel-sized,” Calystra teased. Kern continued to eat her breakfast, more or less ignoring the others.

The decision to wait proved a good one. Not a full hour into the morning ride, they passed a merchant and his caravan guards, trying to dig a wagon out of the mud. Gerrod continued to drive slowly until nearly noon, watching for other mud pits and dangers in the road with an expert eye. John, tiny compared to the smith, rode next to him. He had light brown hair and bright blue eyes, and stared at the world around him with barely-hidden wonder. He’d clearly never left his city before; when they stopped for lunch, he slipped away to climb a massive tree next to where they’d stopped. When asked why, he admitted that he’d never seen a tree so big.

That night, John followed Kern around the camp as she dug the fire pit and built the tents. Mostly, he kept his mouth shut and stayed out of the way, but if Kern asked him to pass her something he did so without hesitation. He seemed eager to please, as if worried that they would ditch him the moment he stopped pulling his weight.

Calystra disappeared into the woods that night with both of Kern’s hounds, and returned with a fresh stag. Fandix had never had venison as good as that was, and went to bed with a full stomach and heavy eyelids. Zithsa volunteered for first watch, eyeing the remains of the stag with distaste. He’d made a meal of their apples and some berries Jyonto had found in the forest.

--

Fandix woke with a start, sitting up in her tent and staring at the flap. Detangling herself from the blankets, she reached for her sword and stepped out, certain that something was wrong. Kern had done the same; her hounds stood next to the fire, staring into the dark night with hackles raised.

“Do you know how to use that?” Kern whispered, gesturing toward the sword in Fandix’s arm. Embarrassed, she shook her head. She’d brought it to scare off the average ruffian, not because she knew how to use it. Kern didn’t seem surprised. “Get back in the tent.”

John was shoved into the tent with Fandix a moment later, a frightened look on his face. Kern stuck her head in - the tent was large enough for one person to be comfortable, not three - and ordered them both to be quiet. Her head disappeared, and they heard her issue an order in a language Fandix didn’t recognize. Peeking out of her tent flap, Fandix found both of the hounds standing directly in front of the tent, in a guard position.

“Are we gonna die?” John asked, barely above a whisper. He was shaking and pale. Forcing herself to stay calm, Fandix shook her head.

“We’ll be fine,” she assured him. She didn’t actually know if they’d be okay, though. She knew Kern would be able to fight, and certainly Zithsa was a deadly man. But she hadn’t seen or heard anything about Calystra or Gerrod knowing how to fight, and Jyonto was a doctor, not a warrior. Even beyond their capabilities, she had no idea what they were up against.

The first sound they heard was the twang of a bowstring, followed almost immediately by someone grunting and hitting the ground. Wincing, Fandix closed her eyes. A hand slipped into hers, and she squeezed John’s fingers in her best attempt at reassurance.

Steel on steel echoed through the clearing they’d camped in, and someone screamed. John whimpered, scooting closer to Fandix. Heavy breathing sounded next to their tent, and one of the dogs let out a vicious snarl. Someone yelped, and Fandix covered John’s ears as the person outside the tent was mauled by two massive hounds.

“We’ll be fine,” Fandix said again, as John curled up in her arms, his ears still covered by her hands. She wasn’t sure if she was reassuring the boy or herself.

More steel against steel, another loud twang of an arrow being loosed. Someone groaned, a sickening wetness in his voice that made Fandix shudder.

“They have a mage,” someone said nearby. She thought it might have been Zithsa, but the voice was muffled by the walls of the tent.

“I noticed,” Kern answered, closer to the tent’s flap. The other sounds of fighting had died off.

Hesitantly, Fandix let go of John, scooting until she could peek out of the tent. The hounds had returned to their positions just outside, and though they were clearly on alert, their hackles were no longer raised.

“I think it’s over,” she whispered to John. “Stay in the tent, okay?” Fandix slipped out of the tent, trying not to look too closely at the bodies littering the camping ground. Ahead of her, toward the road, she could see Kern’s small form, her bare sword in hand. Someone else stood further away, facing Kern with their hands raised. Like the ringing of bells in her ears, Fandix heard the other person call on some kind of magic. She wanted to cry out, to warn Kern of the coming danger, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth.

Kern’s form was wrapped in a burst of flame, lighting the clearing with brilliant red. Fandix gasped, staggering backward. Even from yards away as she was, she could feel the heat of that flame.

Just as suddenly as the fire had appeared, it was gone. The bells in Fandix’s ears stopped so abruptly that a shudder went down Fandix’s spine. A scorch mark was all that was left of Kern. Lifting the sword she didn’t know how to use, Fandix rushed forward to kill the mage that had killed her new friend.

And realized he was already down, someone standing over him with a blood-drenched sword. Fandix slowed to a stop, stunned to recognize Kern standing over him.

“But you-”

“Kern’s an illusionist,” Jyonto said, appearing from his own tent. A bag was in his hands, tied with bright red ribbons. “You should have stayed in the tent, Duchess.”

“I- I thought it was over,” she said weakly. Kern was approaching now, wiping the blood from her sword with a dirty rag.

“Get back in the tent, Duchess,” she ordered. “John doesn’t need to see all this blood, and he’ll try to leave the tent without someone to keep him still.”

“I saw you die,” she whispered. One of the fallen bandits let out a groan, making her skin crawl.

“You saw what I wanted the other mage to see. Go to your tent, Duchess. That’s an order.”

[babycakesdaydreams]

Read this from the beginning.

They finally set off the following morning, just before the sun had risen. Kern’s little foal had been left behind with Calystra’s herd of horses, and now her hound was staying behind with Gerrod’s niece. Their wagon was packed, the horses pulling it fresh. Everyone wore the same old clothes they’d been in before, though there were newer sets tucked away in the wagon.

Fandix rode on the wagon’s front left, watching the world pass by through tired eyes. Gerrod had settled behind the reins of the wagon with obvious comfort; Zithsa rode far enough ahead that he could hear someone call for him, but only if they shouted. Kern rode just behind and to the right of the wagon, with Jyonto and Calystra chatting as they rode at the back among the spare horses. They’d all fallen into their places with practiced ease, as if this was where they’d always belonged.

It became even more clear that they were used to traveling together like this when it came time to settle in for the night. Zithsa chose their spot, just off the rode beneath some trees, and everyone split to their respective chores.

Kern dug a hole for the campfire as Calystra gave each of their horses a careful inspection for injury, often pausing to detangle tails and manes. Zithsa gathered firewood, Jyonto always close by as he searched for useful herbs or edible berries in the brush. Gerrod carefully inspected the wagon from front to back before joining Kern as she finished building the tents in a tight circle around the firepit. Whoever finished their chores first would start the fire, as everyone else unloaded necessary things like bedrolls and saddlebags into their tents. How they decided who would cook was a mystery, though they rarely had the same cook each night.

Mornings were much the same, though Zithsa and Jyonto assisted Calystra with the horses, while Gerrod and Kern broke down the campsite and buried the fire. Fandix wandered among each job, learning both by watching and by careful instruction from each of them. By the time she arrived in her castle, she realized, she would be fully self-sufficient on the road. She’d even been learning how to cook, though each of the other five had their own distinctive flavors.

It was the second night on the road, with Gerrod tending his cooking, that they heard thunder in the distance. Everyone looked up at the sound, staring toward its source for a moment before letting out a collective sigh.

“That kid’s gonna be miserable,” Calystra said, stretching with a yawn.

“What kid?” Fandix asked. She’d been watching Gerrod add spices to his pot, intrigued by the scents they created.

“The one that’s been following us, stealing our food,” Zithsa said lazily, leaning back. Though his legs stayed crossed, he laid back all the way, resting his head on a saddlebag.

“Someone’s been stealing from us?” Fandix sat up, startled and angry. “And you’ve been letting them?”

“We’ve practically been giving them food, really,” Gerrod said. He stirred the pot, looking thoughtful. “Now that I think about it, I shouldn’t have made something that needs a bowl. It’s hard to leave a whole bowl out for a kid and not make it obvious.”

“Then go and get him,” Kern mumbled. She seemed almost asleep, her eyes half lidded as she leaned against a nearby tree.

“He’ll get a cold if we don’t,” Jyonto stood, stretching. “I don’t feel like dealing with that, honestly.”

“What are you going to do to him?” Fandix asked, more confused than ever. “Turn him in at the next town we come to?”

“He’s not a criminal,” Zithsa said, looking amused. “Just a runaway.”

“I’ll make room for him to sleep in the wagon,” Calystra said, standing.

“He’s been stealing from us!” Fandix said. “If that doesn’t make him a criminal, what does?”

“He’s a kid,” Kern said, pulling herself to her feet. “What do you want to do, hang him before he’s old enough to grow a beard?”

Fandix clearly wasn’t going to win this argument. Jyonto was already gone; Gerrod hadn’t budged, continuing to focus on the dinner he was cooking. Zithsa stood, going toward the wagon to tell Calystra to pull one of his spare tunics out of the bags for the kid.

Gerrod had just started passing around bowls of dinner - a thick soup that made Fandix’s eyes water - when Jyonto returned, a hand on the shoulder of a scared boy. As soon as they were both in the firelight, Fandix recognized him; he was the one Kern had given three silvers to.

“Oh, three silvers wasn’t enough, little thief?” Fandix growled.

“I thought ya coul’ spare some...” He muttered, shrinking. Jyonto shrugged.

“You were right,” Zithsa said cheerfully. “Now come and sit down, kid. There’s a bowl for you.”

“Yer not gonna kill me?” He asked, voice wavering.

“You have fleas?” Gerrod asked, eyes narrowed.

“Uh,” he started, swallowing loudly.

“He does,” Jyonto said. “I’ll get you some salve, Gerrod, and the boy can take a bath in the river before we leave in the morning. I’ll give him some soap that’ll run the fleas off.”

“Mm,” he grunted. “Just stay on the other side of the fire, kid.”

“Have a seat,” Kern said. She’d rejoined them at the fire, a bowl of Gerrod’s soup in hand. The space next to her was open, with plenty of room for both Jyonto and the kid. Hesitantly, the boy sank down next to her.

“Eat something,” Calystra ordered, passing him a bowl. “We’ll figure out what to do about you following us later.”

The kid didn’t argue any more, eyes wide as he stared into the bowl he’d been handed. It was almost too spicy for Fandix, who still couldn’t name the herbs that had gone into it, but the boy seemed to appreciate the burn. Gerrod sat down with his own bowl next to her, adding even more heat to his bowl before digging in.

“We didn’t pack enough for seven people,” Fandix muttered to him. Gerrod glanced at her before shrugging.

“We can get more at the next town we get to. Though, the way Kern thinks, she likely packed extra in case we were stuck out here for an extra day.”

The boy slept in one of Zithsa’s spare tunics that night, in the space in the back of the wagon that Calystra had cleared for him. In Zithsa’s oversized shirt, the boy seemed even thinner than Fandix had originally guessed. Maybe it was better for him to come with them, after all.