I know it’s a classic thing to say, the goal means nothing; the journey is everything, but after looking at trees and farmland for days upon days, you start to get a bit tired of it. At the very least, Fiir-ette doesn’t mind teaching me more of the language, so by now, I can almost hold a proper conversation!

“That was mean,” I say, trying to recall if he ever taught me the Aetongue word for ‘bullshit’, but he’s really not the type, so I doubt it. “And you really had no say in it?”

“It’s a judge,” he mutters, pulling on the reigns to make Frog go along the road and not into the forest. “Saying no isn’t an option. Do you want me retthvredett?”

From where I sit next to him, I frown, making sure he can see it even with his eyes on the road. “What is, uh… rettverett…?”

“Oh, ah, uh…” He mirrors my frown. “When judge have you killed by rettskiperen… Yes?”

I have no idea what that last word is, but I think I know what it is. Nodding, I recall the many times I have almost been executed. “Yes, yes. Not-like when it happens.”

He gives me an odd look before breaking out into a chuckle. “You speak as though through personal experience.”

I don’t say anything to prove or disprove his statement. One day, I’m sure he’ll learn. But that’s in the future—right now, he’s a pretty neat companion, and that’s all I ask for.

But, yeah. Apparently, the judge sent us both on a quest to serve the wine to the emperor. Yep, apparently, it was that good. And Fiir-ette—despite having a life to get back to and a father who’s surely missing his several barrels of wine by now—was sent out without any fanfare whatsoever. The judge just told him to get his ass to the capital, and if he didn’t agree on the spot, boom! Capital punishment.

The reason he hadn’t gotten sent out earlier, before I arrived, was apparently due to a lack of suitable personnel to escort him to the capital. It’s a long and arduous journey, and the judge wasn’t eager to send his own guards, which created a bit of a dilemma. One solved by the arrival of a human. Because, apparently, at this point, humans are seen as, like, wandering mercenaries or something, I guess? Just grab one, tell it to head to the capital, and it’ll agree instantly. Which I did. So, way to go, me! Breaking stereotypes since… Never, apparently.

Which is how we ended up like this. Normally, sending a single guard to go along on a journey like this would be unthinkable, but since I’m a human… You get it.

Not that I mind, of course. Everything turned out for the best! The journey should only take a few weeks, so I have plenty of time to learn the language a bit more and try to prepare myself for how I should best avoid being arrested on sight once I meet other humans. Sure, the people in the ante-purgatory trials didn’t recognize me, but they also haden’t seen any of my wanted posters. Ergo, the people who have been here for a while are most likely a bit more familiar with my ugly mug.

Oh, and I’ve also informed Gecko of what I’m up to. Apparently, she only has to do two of the ledges, so she’s doing her first quest now. She’s also on the center continent, but she’s way up north, so it’ll take me a while to get to her. Unfortunate, but that’s how it goes sometimes. It would probably take a month or two to get there, even if I went from the capital.

All in due time, I suppose.

For now, I might as well enjoy the ride.

Turning my attention away from my grumbling, I look down at the map. This morning, we left this village over here, and then we took a break over here; at this bend in the road with the small hill, we ate lunch over here, and since then, we’ve been travelling for four hours, which would mean that we’ve gotten… I use my fingers to measure out the distance… To this place! Hmm. If we keep going at this pace… Ah, no, wait… Yeah. Okay, so, even if we go as fast as we can, we won’t reach any village or similar for the night. Though, of course, camping out in the forest is nothing new at this point.

Let’s see, if we keep going at this pace, we should be able to get to this place, and according to the map, there’s a cave over there, which will probably be good for resting. Great! With the course set, I communicate the plan to Fiir-ette, who nods in return.

Since there are plenty of hours left to go, I pull out my flute. Now, just to be clear, I am not especially good at playing this thing. Sure, I recognize some of the notes from when I played the piano, but it doesn’t mean I can string together anything real. No, right now, my main goal is just to make nice noises. Eventually I might be able to string together notes to make a proper melody, but, for now…

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

I purse my lips and blow, encouraging the flute to sing. Fwiiiiii. My fingers go here, and here… Man, goblins sure have small hands… Sometime, I should get a properly-sized flute made… Thumb here, forefinger there…

I play a little. After a minute or so of listening, Fiir-ette joins me by whistling a melody—a proper one. To support it, I root through my mind until I’m able to figure out what key he’s playing in, and then I play notes that kind of match what he’s going for.

It becomes a song. To the backdrop of the rustling trees and the drakes chattering in the distance, it becomes music.

After some time, spurned on by his song, I try to play a little improvised stuff, too. It doesn’t sound very good, and I play a lot of false notes, but he doesn’t point it out. He whistles a light, supporting aria.

And the sun falls, and the evening rises.

“It was the first time father let me take one out. Drakes lay a lot of eggs, I knew that, and we couldn’t keep all, but I still… When I cracked the eggs, and there were little half-formed babies in there, I felt bad. Grucht. Father knew we had to do it early, before they hatched. After hatching, it would be harder. The mother would grow too attached. It had to be while eggs. But, when I did, and one of the little unborn drakes, it was all alive, gasping… I didn’t know what to do. But he knew. He leaned over, and stomped on it, and I… I know it had to be. But I’ve never looked at him the same way, since.”

“It was probably needed,” I say. “He maybe not want you to have to. It was…” I search my internal library for a proper term. “Svitgabbrett?”

He chuckles, which I hope means I used the right word. “Yes—yes, it was.” He smiles, mellowly.

I glance down at the map. Oh, right, we’re almost… “At next bend, small path into forest, turn down there… Cave close by.”

“Oh, right, of course. Thank you. And there aren’t any…?”

I sniff the air. “Nope, nobody or thing dangerous. Only forest smell. Maybe bitedog, but…” I grin at him.

He grins back. “No need to fear bitedogs when I’ve got a hoeksak at my side.”

He knows me so well.

As per my instructions, we soon reach a bend, where we head into the woods. The forest is luckily pretty thin around this point, so we can reach the cave without having to abandon the carriage somewhere inconvenient. Once we’ve arrived, Fiir-ette jumps down, disconnects the carriage from Frog, ties her to a nearby tree, and is just about to ask me to help push the carriage inside the cavern when I stop him. “Wait,” I say. “There’s something in there.”

I hop down and creep inside. There, in the depths of the cavern, is a spur-clawed puma. I can smell it. I don’t need to go in there to find it, but… I return to Fiir-ette. “Should I kill it?”

He hesitates for a long while. It’s already dark, and with the stormclouds brewing above, finding another dry place to sleep will be difficult. However, he’s not one to enjoy needless killing—I know that much. After some time, very reluctantly, he steels himself, and says, “Yeah. And… if you skin it… We’ll be able to trade at the next town.”

I nod at him. “Alright, will do.”

Unsaid, is the part where he asks me to skin it where he can’t see it. It’s a bit silly. I’ve always assumed farmers and their children were tough about these sorts of things, but he’s a real softie. Luckily for him, his dad doesn’t farm animals, so he can avoid most of the slaughtering.

With his permission, I slip back into the cave, kill the spur-clawed puma, and after a few minutes, return with its pelt secure in my inventory. Oh, nice, he’s already got a fire going! I love those things. Pulling a few properly tanned pelts from my inventory, I set up so we can sit around it comfortably. I’m also the one who has all of the provisions, so I grab some of the bread we got at the last town. Combined with some lard I made myself, a bit of salt, a drake’s egg, and some dried meat… Roast it all over the fire, and…

—Ta-dah! Bacon and egg sandwich, perfect for any meal, be it breakfast, lunch or dinner!

I hand the first one to Fiir-ette, who accepts it, having already forgotten his mistake from yesterday. “Ow, ow, ow!” he hisses, tossing the freshly toasted sandwich between his hands, eventually opting to just stick it in his face. “Mhhh, that’s good… Your hoeksak recipes never fail to impress.”

“Thank you,” I say, preparing my own sandwich.

As I hold out the bread over the open fire, he once again makes a small face of apprehension. “And you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

“What, this?” I ask, plunging my hand into the flames. My skin crackles and burns. I pull it out, waving off flakes of soot and cooked skin. “No, not at all! Us hoeksak have strong protection. Cannot be hurt by little fire. Same cannot be said for little words. Little words sting and stab!”

He chuckles at my display. “You sure do have a way of expressing yourself, Fennrick.”

“Oh! Ouch! Your little words—argh! Painful, very painful!” To complete my dramatic display, I slouch down on the ground, as though he’d shot me in the heart. “How most bad. How very evil. Your cruelty knows no limit.”

He laughs at my silliness, and I start laughing too, only stopping to rise back up again and feed myself a sandwich. Man, this is good. It could use some italian herbs, but Italy is many moons away, so salt will have to do.

Once we finish eating, we watch the stars, tell stories, and play some more music. Unusually enough, he actually coaxes me to sing a little, something I’m not quick to do. I think he mostly likes it because if I’m singing, I can’t toot the flute. He’s too polite to say it to my face, but we both know I’m not very good at playing the flute. On the other hand, if I stop practicing because I’m bad at it, how am I ever supposed to get good?

So, I’ll keep playing.

As long as it takes, as long as I can, I’ll keep playing. I might never be any good at it, but that’s not why I’m playing.

I’m playing because it’s fun—and isn’t that what truly matters in the end?