The two combatants sat and watched one another wearily, surrounded by the quieted night within Bards lighted arena. Their chests rose and fell in tandem as they tried to catch their breath and calm their rampaging hearts. Bard was the first to recover as the wolf lie prone on the ground, tensing as the man approached.

As the Bard approached, the wolf weakly snipped at his legs, its head barely shifting from the ground. Bard did not flinch away at the meager attack, only looking down at the now trembling beast.

With a hand still firmly placed to staunch the bleeding on his side, Bard walked to the boulder. Placing a single hand to the stone’s rough surface, he widened the opening to his earlier hovel. With only one hand, the molding was progressing slowly. After some time, Bard stood and looked at his work, nodding to himself in approval as he wiped sweat from his brow.

He turned and walked back to the wolf, noticing it had tilted its head as far as it could to watch him from the side of its eye. Stopping just behind the wolf, he knelt down and placed a hand on its head. The wolf stiffened in response.

As Bard moved his hand across the wolf’s face, his fingers became slick and he noticed a large cut that ran in the shape of a crescent moon, half encircling the wolf’s left eye, hidden under wet fur that clung to the wound.

“I do not wish to harm you any further than I, unfortunately, already have.” The tension in the wolf did not lessen. A deep growl grew, sounding like the rumble of a mountain quaking. Bard sighed. “I am going to lift you up now. Please do not attack me.” Removing his hand and shifting his weight, Bard placed both hands under the creature’s body and lifted. The rigidness of the wolfs body made it relatively easier to lift, like holding up a plank of wood rather than a sagging sack of flower.

Bard grunted as he lifted the wolf off the ground, wincing as pain shot through the wound at his side, nearly tumbling sideways with his cargo complicating his balance. The wolf’s eyes frantically looked around, unsure of what was to come next. Being a lone wolf had twisted and broken its sense of trust and so, while it did not attack Bard out of fear, it did not have to believe his words of comfort.

Bard shifted his weight and steadied himself. He turned and paced slowly toward the opening in the boulder, kneeling as slowly as possible to not topple his cargo or make his wound any worse than it already was. He placed the wolf’s body through the now rough wolf length hole and set it down gently.

Taking his hands back, Bard cupped them together and closed his eyes. The wolf watched him tentatively. As the Seconds dragged on, the ring on Bards’ finger glowed softly, further dimming in heat. Remembering the heat and fear of its defeat, the wolf began trying to push itself away, but only encountered the cold stone at its back.

Light leaked through Bard’s fingers in ever brightening strands. When the light became almost too much, Bard unclasped his hands and flattened his palms, allowing another of his compact suns to roll off and into the hole that remained on the floor. Heat radiated outward from the floor and the wolf slowly calmed itself once more.

“There, you can stay warm while you recover,” said Bard as he waved his hand over the glowing fissure. Backing fully out of the crevice, Bard worked the stone once more. He placed his hands against the ceiling of the boulder at an angle. Almost instantly, the ceiling glowed red hot and began to bubble and ooze.

Thick droplets of molten stone fell from the ceiling across his angled palms. Slowly at first and gradually picking up speed, collecting in a rapidly cooling stalagmite. One after another, drops fell upon each other until thin twin columns rose in the center of the mouth of the hovel and met the ceiling. Dusting stone dust from his hands, Bard flicked one column as if to test it, meeting eyes with the wolf.

“Not that I do not trust you—well, honestly, as much as I appreciate our bonding moment and you not ripping my throat out, that would be a lie.” The beast only responded with a low growl. “These,” he motioned to the columns unphased, “shall guarantee myself a bit of a head start. Rest a bit, regain your strength, and you can easily break free and go on about your business. In your current state, however, it would not be a simple task and you may further harm yourself.” Bard backed away and stretched to his full height.

“Well...it was a pleasure.” With a tip of his hat, he turned and continued his journey east. With a snap of his fingers, he snuffed out the ring of lights that helped in his fight, filling the woods with suffocating darkness. “Probably won’t listen to a word I have said,” speaking low enough only he could hear. The sound of claws tiredly scraping on stone followed him, swiftly fading as he delved deeper into the thickening wall of trees.

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Each step was a painful reminder of the wound at his side. Blood from his wound had dried, adhering the cloth of his shirt to his skin. To prevent the cloth from tearing away from him and reopening the wound, he had to walk nearly doubled over. The journey was slow going.

The energy that had numbed him during his earlier duel with the wolf had now worn off, and hunger sank its own teeth into his stomach, stealing away his already waning strength.

It was only when murky rays of sunlight pushed through the twisted branches he knew it a new day had begun. He wrapped his coat around himself, shivering as a chill wind snaked through any opening in his clothing it could find.

As if to solidify the cold he felt, a thick fog began rolling in, weaving through each tree, swallowing any form of path in front of him. It moved at an unnerving speed as it surrounded him, pressing into him like a damp, suffocating blanket. The sea of gray reduced his visibility to only his hand at the end of his arm, making the world beyond his reach lost to the haze. The hairs on the back of his neck sprung up as if he was being watched. And yet, he felt utterly alone. No sounds flitted on the breeze, the eerie silence only adding to his growing paranoia.

As he dodged tree trunks and low-hanging branches as they materialized out of the fog, it felt like an endless maze. He stumbled on loose rocks and raised roots, his fatigue only growing with each misstep.

A sudden weightlessness sent his stomach into his chest as his next step descended into the open air. Losing his balance, he tumbled forward, rolling uncontrollably downward and bouncing off a slanted landscape. Rocks and roots sticking out of the side battered him on his way down. He landed with hard with a splash. Cold water shocked his system, and he launched himself out of the shallow waters.

Bard laid himself against the opposite shore and its soft grass. Lying on his back, he wheezed heavily, a fresh injury discovered with each inhale. The shore’s gentle slope made it perfect seating to catch his breath.

Wagging his toes and rolling joints, he slowly took stock of his injuries. Gratefully, he concluded that although he had been tossed about; he had not sustained any serious injuries. Bard took another few moments to gather himself before rolling onto his stomach and crawled to the top of his resting place.

The slope ended just above his head, flattening out to the world above. From his prone perspective, the fog cover broke only slightly to the distance. A light flickered, catching his attention. Just past the fog, an orange glow of a fire slowly pulsed just behind its grey veil.

Unsure of lay ahead of him, he pushed forward. Pain, hunger and desperation pulled Bard up to his feet, potential risks be damned. The fog slowly parted before him as the fire drew closer. What seemed like a distant campfire grew into a large brazier. Its flames licked lazily at the surrounding fog, forcing it back.

Just beyond the flames, a large wooden gate sat open and unattended. On either side of the gate, remnants of a stone wall lay in tatters. Large, intact sections of the wall stood sporadically, showing its former towering height above the surviving gate. The gate itself loomed twenty feet above his head and was wide enough to accommodate two carts side by side, still allowing pedestrians ample room to pass freely.

Bards nearly lost his footing as the ground transitioned from dirt to a wide cobblestone road. He walked as fast as his body allowed down the deserted street. Darkened houses revealed themselves through the fog that still clung to the buildings, revealing more and more of the town. Soon enough, the homes ended, and the path opened to what Bard assumed was the town’s center.

The bones of unopened market stalls littered the courtyard. A few of the town’s residents looked his way curiously as they began setting up their goods. None met his eye for long and they found other things to keep them busy as he came further into the square.

With no offered help, Bard looked to the buildings at the edge of the square, their hanging signs his last hope for any kind of help. The carved wood sign in the shape of a quill, most likely the town’s scribe. An anvil and hammer, the blacksmith, and next to that a horseshoe for the farrier. All useless to his current predicament.

Bard walked through the square and its haphazard booths, looking at each sign as he passed. Then he saw it, mortar and pestle. The herbalist would have to do. He hobbled to the door just under the sign, the sense of help nearly draining the rest of his energy. Knocking rapidly, he leaned against the door frame. Hearing nothing inside, he continued to knock and with more force.

“Horris, I swears to the gods yer headaches are never this important!” came a near muffled voiced from inside. An inner latch was angrily undone, and the door was thrust open. “Wha-“ the voice was cut off as pale grey eyes met Bards. An older woman dressed in a rumpled nightgown and ruffled grey hair stood staring. Her eyes looked him up and down, resting uneasily on the ground.

Bard curiously looked down to see blood was beginning to pool by his foot. His wound had reopened during his tumble. He raised his eyes back to the woman and tried to form a warm smile, his pale face ruining his unbothered illusion.

“It seems I may be in need of your assistance, madam.” The ground seemed to meet him as he finished his sentence. Darkness crept in as voices fell over him, sounding distant and muffled, as if someone was shouting under water, until it quickly faded into silence.