Aetae the wind spirit, granted it all but seconds later. Merryn burst through the quiet valley.

She pushed aside the surrounding grasses while aiming for the nearby road as she trembled and gasped for air. Nothing to the left or right—at least not yet.

The lead guards had gotten way too close; they were about a mile back. It was pure luck that his horse tripped in a golp hole. She paused, trying to calm her heart that pounded. She wiped her forehead. It wasn't much luck, but considering how everything was going down to the dark–ones lately, anything helped.

A sharp twinge ached again along her side. Taking her hand off the wound, her fingers dripped from blood that splattered on the ground. She gritted her teeth and pushed on.

Behind her, horses clopped. She weaved and bobbed forward, her legs aching with every step.

She stopped and she then stepped out onto the path. She glanced around. How far behind? Blood that dripped from between her fingers left a trail. Her head hung low as she fought to stay upright.

Staggering onto the path, she wobbled. The valley spread out before her; it was such a long way down to the bottom of the valley. Hooves clopped behind.

She spotted an old abandoned house and hid behind a crumbling broken wall. Silent now. Closing her eyes, she willed her hurried breaths to slow. The pebbles crunched underfoot as she stepped back onto the path.

Her voice soft as the winds over the grasses, she whispered to Aetae again. A heat flowed over her, its energy tripled her speed.

A muted clopping from behind grew louder every second. She ran over a short bridge; past it, a long dusty path expanded into a dirt road that led to a modest town smack in the middle of the valley.

The pain in her side burned and throbbed, wrenching away the passing nostalgia. Whenever she stopped, wisps of purple smoke wafted near her vision; then disappeared. It was getting stronger. Whispers, faint whispers grew stronger by the minute.

Doubling over, nearly fainting. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head to clear it and continued.

She called off the cooling shadows cloaking spell; it rippled about as it faded.

The smells from a nearby bazaar caused her stomach to rumble. Breathing in the delicious smells that wafted from the bazaar was maddening. A roast boar, a healer, a bath—she didn't care if she had to wash the dishes or skewer giant scorp-rats to get it.

A shirtless youth ran past. His arms shot up and a hovering silver orb ball hovered over his head.

“I've got it!”

He motioned his hands and the ball shot off towards a girl that was running towards him.

The ball whirled between hers, and without her touching it, the ball shot off towards a garden off to the right; they both bounded off into it.

A merchant beckoned from behind, his narrow counter several feet away.

“Young lady, you shall find the finest delicacies here! Why, we have the rare Basitg fruit from across the five seas! Guaranteed to be of value!”

His words had a honey quality to them that made her pause. 

“Some other time.” She steeped to the side where there was more space.

He was a tall man, wizened and stringy. His wind-weathered skin reminded her of an old soggy boot. The crinkled skin folded down around his eyes highlighting the fiery glow of youth that was so at odds with the rest of him.

“No thank you.” She attempted to move past him, while covering the wound. Don't need any poisoned fruit.

He stepped around the counter; holding out his arms with palms up. 

“But, wait! I am an aged man trying to pay the taxes here. Will not you reconsider?” 

His smile was forced and more a grimace that spread across his face and his eyes conflicted with this; a pain of some sort shone through. 

He laid his palms together gradually separating them; a dark energy ball formed between his hands. A rounded object grew in the center. After a few seconds, a precious golden pear appeared, its skin an iridescent yellowish color. His smile smoothed out returning to normal.

“Young lady, why don't you take this; it is a rare fruit, said to give extraordinary powers to those who eat it.” 

He moved it in his hands, the light reflecting off its sides.

“I need to go.” The pain was flooding in it was hard to concentrate. Let me be.

“A special offer today: only three hundred twenty-five, gold!”

“If this is so rare, why aren't you giving it to a noble?” She gripped the counter to stop her hands from shaking. 

His right eyebrow twitched; he continued to smile, though now it did not reach his eyes. “Think of it as a gift from a friend.”

Friend? Mine are all long dead; the war made sure of that. She narrowed her eyes.

She held it out to him. “And who might that be?”

Hardly anyone knew she was here. Few less she called friend. Better play along.

“Three hundred gold is as low as I'll go.” His back straightened and his face blank.

“I told you no!” She pushed off and away from the stall. Far too pushy something was up.

“Who gave this to you?” 

“Ah, he did not give his name as he was quite shy. I do remember him being tall and having a staff.”

She squinted at him. His features shimmed. Must be the heat.

“If you do not like it you can have another for free.” 

He moved quick to her side and dropped it into her largest pouch and held out a had.

I'll punch him later. “Fine, take it.” She tossed a gold pouch onto the counter. Still, even with the pouch's enchantment to make the coins lighter it was good to have it off of the belt.

Bowing to her, he stepped back behind his counter. Blurry, needed a priest. The wound seeped blood between her fingers as she stumbled forward.

####

The merchant's face was above hers. Must have been the light ... or blood loss. She blinked. When she talked, it came out as a babble.

“Miss?”

Strong for his age, he pulled her upright, his forehead becoming even more wrinkled as he frowned.

She faked a yawn. “I'm tired. Help me up, please.”

It didn't seem possible, but his forehead wrinkles deepened. He said nothing and pulled her up.

“My old brain forgot to tell you don't eat it; it just needs to be near you.”

“But you said be—”

“No, no, sold the wrong one. Perhaps its good fortune you fainted? If you'd eaten it ... why, I'd never sell another fruit again!”

He wrung his hands, his eyes wide and mournful. It was at odds with his smile, so pointed.

“It's fine; next time, make sure it's the right one.”

“Good, good.” He squeezed her hand a bit too hard before returning to his stall.

She shoved it in the larger pouch hanging from her belt and pulled the ties on the pouch tight. Won't make it to the priest; hope Dad is home.

Her vision wavered. She grabbed onto a wooden post that held up an empty merchant stall. The dizzy spell passed as she walked alone in the streets further into the town.

Two men staggered beside a small tavern. Their arms wrapped around each of their shoulders. Great. Fat-drunken-blockage. Any other day and she'd shove them aside, but today called for discretion. 

She moved over and leaned against the merchant's empty counter. The door never looked so far away as it did now.

The red-bearded man sang a raucous old sailor shanty. His friend leaned back while puffing out his chest as he bellowed the song. Together they mangled the lyrics, and sang off-key; as if they were a cat being beaten with a hot tong. She cringed as the red-bearded one hit a particularity ear-splitting note.

They bellowed and shuffled down the street kicking the legs out from the merchant stalls with each lyric they sang. The merchants and townsfolk were far from pleased, to say the least, as they came from behind their booths chasing after them. Both the men, as they ran away, dodged the assorted goods being flung.

She smiled. Finally. The Inn had been built it in an inconspicuous corner of the city. People of so-called good standing shied away from it. 

She arched her neck. Above the doorway a large sign read: Fuzzy Tail Inn. Below it was a picture of a black cat standing on its tiptoes, with its tail straight up in the air, proofed out. She opened the heavy wooden door, walking inside. The place had torches lined along the walls, although these and the candles on the tables did little to cast light into the inn. 

There was a group of men in the far-left corner. Three of them were soldiers dressed in shining silver armor. The lowest ranking did not wear tabards. The two others being bards wore ornate brimmed pointed hats and detailed brown leather jerkins. 

All raised their mugs, talking to each other while they used excited hand motions, and smiled. Spotted throughout the rest of the room were mercenaries in the darker corners, nursing their ales. 

She walked over to the innkeeper, and her gaze was drawn to the brass buttons running down the front of his shirt shinning in the candlelight. 

She was startled by the sight of several new raw, ragged scars. The revolution had been harder on him then he'd let on. A gentleness gleamed from within his eyes. 

“It's so good to see you. Have you traveled far? Sit down, I'll get your supper.” Uplar smiled. 

“Later. Do you-” The pain came on full as a ram–bear she faded into darkness. She crumpled down onto the floor, into oblivion. 

#### 

The next morning, she woke up in a familiar room; starting to stretch, but stopped halfway through, she sucked in a sharp breath. A soft pressure on her sides; there were now clean bandages double wrapped. 

She gripped the table, then splashed her face in the wash basin. As she eased into the leather armor, her sore muscles spasmed and burned. She clutched the sides, and hung her head over it. Telling him would be a bad idea. The Adapts would find out or worse. 

When back downstairs, he smiled then went into the kitchen. The scent of roasted boar wafted out. Straightaway he brought a gigantic plate overloaded with food and a large mug of ale. 

“Thank you; this looks delicious.” She dug in with the wooden spoon. 

“You're a good kid; I just wish you'd stay out of trouble!” 

“I try to.” She couldn't tell him about the book; the Adapts had sworn her to secrecy. 

She scrutinized the counter and ran her fingers over the smooth wood. No, it was better to stay quiet. It was hard to eat so she picked at the food. 

He squeezed her shoulder. “Picky, picky. Will you be staying long? I don't see ya' much of late.” 

She shook her head and wove her feet behind the stool. “I'm just visiting, I'll leave soon.” 

He crinkled his brow. “No you're not. Eat. Rest.”

“I can't.”

“You can, and you will.” He gave her the face, that I-miss-you-face that couldn't be denied. 

She stood and hugged him. 

“There's always time; if ya' make it,” he murmured, letting go.

She sat back down. 

“You should visit your Mother it's almost time.”

“I'm planing on that, but the next ship won't be back for another month or so.” And, get this god out. Mom will have to wait.

Why couldn't anyone else have taken her place? All thoughts of the book, and the guards were swept away. I hope Mom is alright. She picked up her glass and sipped from it. 

“I have a priest friend, can delay the change, but not stop it.”

“Can talk about this later, please?” She yawned and it stretched her jaw. She blinked back sleep tears and rubbed them away.

He squeezed her hand tighter. “We'll talk more of this tomorrow. Now, about that gash. How'd ya' get it?” 

She took her hand out of his and gripped the counter. “I-” Her mind went blank. 

“What is it?” Dad said. 

Can't break my oath to the Adapts. She fought another yawn.

He came over and sat on the stool. “Do you owe someone coins again?” 

“No.” 

“Fine. Go, sleep.

“I don' know what to do with you—” He shook his head and started putting away the mugs left on the counter. 

She pushed the plate away and stumbled back upstairs. The wound hurt as she moved. In the room she crawled back into the straw filled sack mattress and pulled the blankets over her face.

#### 

Later that night, she woke up to a chirping near her window. With a flurry and flapping of feathers, a small sparrow flew around the room. It smacked into the walls, then into the lamp, and landed exhausted on the bed. Its little beak, was open and, its tongue hung out as it panted. The sparrow also held its wings open. It inspected her before preening a wing. 

She stood there silently, afraid to upset the poor creature. Boot-clad footsteps clomped across the cobbled stones below the window. She quickly went over to it, bending down and peering out over the lower edge. 

Bloody harpy hells! Her body shook, and her hands grew cold. She fought a tightness in her chest. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. The bird now rested, hopped onto the window ledge, and then flew off over the houses disappearing from sight. 

“No, sir, I haven't,” Dad said downstairs.

“I wish the woman no harm, I just wish to have a discussion with her about a stolen property,” Maxwell said. 

“It's not my job to keep track of every person who wanders here in town. Do you take me for, a spoony royal scribe?” Dad said. 

“Beware, if I find you have lied, your punishment will be dire.” He disappeared down the alleyway; his men followed. 

After a while she went downstairs. 

“I–” He shushed her. “Go hide behind the counter.” He stood still by the doorway. 

She stiffly hobbled behind the counter holding onto it while cradling her injured side, careful not to sneeze from the spices stored under it. 

He turned. “How did you shred and burn yer' armor? I have a spare cape; it has a deep hood.” 

He opened a closet into the kitchen; inside was a revolving wooden coat hanger. 

The wooden rods are at a 60 degree angle of the wooden pole they are embedded to. He spun it a few times before taking a gray hooded cloak off of the hanger and handing it to her. 

She ran up and hugged him tight, before letting him go. 

“Are you trying to induce a massacre, child?” He closed the door behind him. 

“You need ta' go to Dentree and buy a ship's pass, then go visit your mother.” 

“I'll think about-” She yawned. 

“Get some sleep.” 

“Yeah, good night.” She picked up the cape to drape it on her arm. Traveling by ship for a full year had to be the worst part of going back. 

She followed up the stairs bounding to her room. Relief washed over her and she fell to the bed, asleep when her head touched the pillow. 

#### 

Many hours later near morning, yelling from downstairs and several Steins as they shattered. 

“What are you're doing?” Dad yelled. 

They better not make him mad; Dad wouldn't put up with much. 

A man with a deep and sinister voice snarled. “If you continue refusing to disclose where the Elvin wench is, you will be begging the gods for a quick death when I finish with you!” 

She cracked the door open, spying on them. Ulpar turned his back on them. 

“I said I don't know where she is, Ya greasy pox-marked bugbear! Now kindly leave!” 

She watched through the crack in the door as the lead guard's face turned bright red with rage. The guard Maxwell gave a swift kick to his bottom, toppling him onto the floor. Dad! 

She tip-toed down the stairs, swung her legs over the rail and dropped into the cubby between the stairwell and the hallway to the back storage. She pulled out her daggers. Things are getting down to the wick. She shifted, ready to spring out at them. 

Ulpar, jumped over the counter in one leap. He grabbed a pouch near where he kept the mugs behind the counter. Untying it, he tossed the pouch to the men. Gassy smoke filled the room. All the men's faces turned green. 

The guards gagged, then shouted together. “Oh, gods!” All of them ran out the doorway. 

A sulfurous, greasy, sour stench wafted over and she pinched her nose shut. Forget that plan. 

“You should go now. This won't hold um' off long.” He stayed in the doorway until the clock tower struck eleven. 

How does he always know where I am? Nodding, Merryn bounded up to her room and quickly put on her armor. 

Back downstairs, she leaned over, and kissed his cheek. 

“Go through the back entrance in the kitchen.” He hugged her, a quick squeeze and let go.