The Ferrets Are On Fire

As it turns out, throwing away your primary weapon into a horde of monsters was not, in fact, a good idea.

It became even worse when Johanna went to retrieve her halberd, only to find out it had become the linchpin keeping the frozen corpses of the fire wyrms in place, causing the lot of them to fall and collapse on top of her head, burying the elf beneath them.

Nearly three hours of digging later, they finally managed to pull her out of the pile of ice. Or, really, Palmira melted the ice while the rest dug through the soggy-charred corpses of the wyrms to find their erstwhile comrade.

And Goddess alive was it disgusting. The smell alone made her want to puke.

"Are you sure we can't just leave her there?" Teresa complained.

"I already paid for her hotel room," the guildmaster growled. "And Goddess be damned, she will stay in it, even if it is as a corpse."

But, finally, they pulled the unconscious elf free of her completely avoidable fate. She was injured and likely had a concussion, but hadn't frozen to death thanks to being an ice mage, so the guildmaster just shoved a healing potion down her throat before throwing her in the back of the carriage.

"Well," the guildmaster sighed once all was said and done. "That was a waste of fucking time. Are we ready to continue on, or…?"

"Brother dearest," Chiara smiled kindly at him. "If you make me march through the night after hours of wading through wyrm guts, we will be returning home sans a guildmaster."

"Yeah, I figured as much," he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Palmira, you know this area well, right? How far until the nearest city?"

Palmira—who had set herself on fire when they'd started to stay clean and had yet to put herself out—started. She'd sort of zoned out for the last hour, the wyrm corpses bringing back some bad memories. "Um," she blinked slowly. "I think we are… well, we passed Rezzalio so it would be… ah. Um, there's a small village up ahead, but…" she shook her head. "No, never mind. It's not important."

The guildmaster looked like he wanted to press, but he either trusted her enough or—more likely—was simply too tired to argue. "Excellent. We'll stop there for the night and get clean. Onwards, then! And someone remind me to tell Ósma to cut her pay when we get back!"

Palmira nodded along with everyone else, but personally felt that threat would land better if they were actually getting paid.

--

It took them another half-hour of marching to reach the village, by which time Palmira finally managed to put herself out.

The village itself was a small place, only about a dozen buildings in total, and only a single small inn built into the mayor's house. But it was a place to rest their heads and, more importantly, clean themselves.

The mayor herself was an aging widow, the kind of person who'd been voted into office because she'd practically raised half the village and also owned the only part of the local economy that wasn't farmland.

More importantly, she let them stay in her inn—and even use her bath!—for free, provided they deal with some Furetti di Fuoco that had been tearing up the local rice farms. An offer which the guildmaster leaped at, seeing as they were already behind schedule and weren't exactly swimming in pocket change.

The people who'd be dealing with the Furetti were obvious. Having pissed off the guildmaster on the way here, Johanna was put on extermination duty while everyone else got to relax.

Well, everyone except Palmira, who was unfortunately immune to fire, and so also had to go deal with the fire ferrets.

"This sucks," she told Morte, wading through the muck.

Rice farms were normally flooded to better grow the grains up until the harvest. But now harvest season was wrapping up, which left little more than a big, muddy swamp in its wake. Which of course attracted the Furetti di Fuoco, who sucked at digging and so set up their burrows in such places to hibernate for the winter.

They were a Goddess-be-damned menace and the fact she no longer had to deal with them was one of the few bright spots in her otherwise pretty shitty life.

"This is adventuring," Morte agreed with a sigh. "The stories and larger than life personalities make it easy to forget that. But think of it this way—the guildmaster will definitely be giving you a bonus for this."

"Bonus my ass," she hissed, yanking her foot out of a particularly stubborn mud-pit with a wet 'plop.' "I've barely been given pocket change since joining up! The only reason I'm still here is because they're giving me free room and board!"

"And because you've made friends."

"And because I've made friends," she begrudgingly agreed, before falling to the ground with a groan. She couldn't even bring herself to care about the mud anymore. "I'm just… I'm so tired, Morte. I want to go to bed."

They hadn't even found any burrows yet! If this whole thing was just a waste of time she was going to scream.

"Hm…" Morte hummed thoughtfully. "…Say, you've been working on your divination, right? Maybe that will speed things up."

"Yes. And before you ask, no, I've never gotten it to work."

"Well, maybe it'll work this time! And hey, it's not like it'll hurt to try!"

Palmira groaned, but started setting up the spell regardless. Morte, as he was unfortunately often, right. The spell was simple enough, even if she had yet to get it right.

Divination was a finicky subject. It had cropped up a lot in her lessons on Cosmology with Morte, as whole branches of Divination utilized the stars to work. Similarly, branches of divination were also known to use fire to work. So, after some vaguely remembered moments in her nightmare a couple nights ago, she'd figured it'd be as good a jumping off point as any to put her lessons on Cosmology to practical use.

Which let her to this. 'Divination.'

She started by forming a ball of fire in her arms, letting it coalesce into something almost solid. Then, she began poking and prodding it, letting it shudder and spin. Squinting into the flickering flames, she followed what little instruction she'd found on the subject, trying to see shapes and images that could lead her to her goals.

And saw nothing. As always.

Palmira scoffed, rolling her eyes skywards. She didn't even know why she was bothering anymore, it wasn't like—

Wait.

She turned her eyes skyward, swearing for a moment she'd seen…

There!

The stars had only just begun to come to life in the sky. The constellations weren't yet fully formed, and the moon wasn't yet visible either. But what few were there seemed to almost… dance behind the smoke of her fire. Each time the flames flickered new puffs of smoke would fly up into the sky, warping the stars behind them.

Instead of the fire, she stared into the smoke, and slowly, barely, she could swear images began to form.

The stars seemed to flatten, giving off the vaguest shape of an animal. A particularly long one too… a Furetti? Or was that just wishful thinking? Though it was flickering, and vanished—wait, no, it just came back! But now it was bigger.

It repeated the action again, and Palmira felt a grin begin to grow on her face. She had no idea what that all meant, but if she could just make sense of it, maybe she could—!

"Kid behind you—!"

"DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!"

That was all the warning she got before she got jumped, a furry, fiery bastard leaping onto her back with its demented 'Dook.'

The Furetti screeched, claws digging into her leather armor. The fiery beast was only average size for its kind, which unfortunately put it at over a meter in length and wider than her head. It had also latched onto her back, snapping at her neck but thankfully getting rebuffed by the fact it was currently on fire.

Palmira tried to get it off her, but well…

She panicked.

She set herself on fire, it set itself on fire. She screamed, it screamed. Morte started shouting at her, Malocchio started aggressively speaking at Morte, none of which helped—

This continued for a bit.

Finally, Palmira remembered that she had other methods besides fire at her disposal.

In her defense, it had been a long time since fire hadn't worked.

But that was why she had a mace!

Spinning around, she tried to hit it where it was on her back, but it was just! A little! Too! Far! Away!

Unfortunately, her wild swings only served to make her dizzy, and with a yelp she slipped in the mud, falling to the ground with a splat.

Luckily, that managed to dislodge the burning ferret! So it was totally part of her plan, and would be regaled as such to anybody who asked.

The giant ferret hissed, spitting fire at her. But now she was prepared, and more importantly not panicking anymore. Remembering her training, she kept Malocchio between her and it, and quickly smacked it aside when it tried to jump at her again. It whimpered, scrambling back to its feet, but by then it was too late.

Palmira brought the mace down, and the Furetti died.

She let out a relieved sigh. "That… was much worse than it needed to be."

"No shit," Morte grumbled, which was just unfair. She was getting much better! She just got surprised, that's it! "What are you going to do about the rest of them, though?"

"Rest of them?"

"DOOK!"

Palmira spun around, already dreading what she'd see.

A half dozen Furetti di Fuoco already surrounded her, fur ablaze and murder in their eyes.

With a sigh, Palmira readied herself for a long night.

--

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Over an hour later, Palmira stumbled into the inn, long after the sun had already set over the horizon.

"Ah, there you are!" Johanna called out to her, a beer in one hand and a smile on her face. "I was wondering what took you so long!"

Palmira barely spared her a glance, slumping into the seat next to the elf. The inn didn't have a bar, but it did have alcohol and a couple tables, so that's where the two of them were seated. Everyone else, she assumed, was asleep.

"The Furetti," she groaned, rubbing her shoulder where one had managed to scratch her. "What else?"

"Ja! But I think they were overhyping the whole issue. I only found two Furetti in the whole farm!" she shook her head in mock exasperation. "Ah well. An easy quest is an easy quest, you hear me?"

Palmira stared at the elf.

"Hey, kid? I think we got scammed."

Palmira nodded. "Hey, Johanna? I'm going to punch you."

"What?"

Then she punched her.

Later, when an exhausted Dante pulled them apart, she admitted to having been motivated purely by spite. The guildmaster nodded, agreed, and praised her for not burning down the building before he got there. Instead, he just made Johanna pay for the one barstool she'd shattered before dragging them both up to their rooms and forcing them to just go to bed already.

Somehow, this also made the elf like her even more, and she'd spend the rest of the month bragging to anyone who'd listen about how she 'took the newbie's first barfight!'

Because of that, she'd also take her second.

--

The next morning, after she'd finally gotten a chance to sleep, Palmira caught the guildmaster as they were preparing to leave.

"Guildmaster," she nervously stepped up to him. "I have a request, while we're here."

He looked up, but she was too nervous to meet his eyes. Instead she focused on his hands, noticing they looked to have started crystallizing recently. Was he practicing his magic more?

"Yes?" he placed the papers down, giving her his full attention. It was something she liked about the people in this guild—they always looked at you when talking. "What do you need?"

Palmira took a calming breath, clenching her hands to stop any nervous sparks from flying. "My… home, used to be near here. The village Vittoria, further down the valley. I was… wondering if I could visit?"

"Oh?" he hummed. "And why do you want to visit? Is someone there you know?"

"…My parents. It's been… a long time since I've been able to visit."

"Your parents?" he frowned. "But I thought you were—ah."

She shuffled nervously in front of him.

"…How far away is this village?"

She let out a sigh of relief, untensing ever so slightly. "A couple hours by foot. If I leave now, I should be able to catch up to the rest of you before you make it to Iscrimo."

The guildmaster clicked his tongue. "Nonsense. We have plenty of mounts with us, you don't need to walk. In fact—Chiara!"

His sister looked up from her breakfast. "What do you want?"

"Get up! Palmira needs a ride, so go unhook your horse and help her."

"What? Why me!?"

"She needs to go somewhere, and since she's most of the reason we're staying here free tonight I'm letting her."

"Isn't she also the reason we're paying for that barstool?"

"Yes. Now get off your butt and get moving already! It's just, what, an hour's ride at most? You can do that easily."

"Fine, fine, I'm moving!" she scoffed, giving Palmira a tired glare from across the room. "I'd better get to sleep in the carriage once we get back for this!"

Palmira winced. Really, this wasn't something Chiara needed to bother herself with. She could make it herself, surely.

"Ha!" Morte shot back before she could respond. "Look at this silly little flesh monkey, Malocchio! I mean really, imagine needing to sleep. Couldn't be me."

'Agreement. Sleep is inefficient.'

"Shaddup!" Chiara scowled at the two crimes against nature. "I don't want back-talk from two cursed sticks. Come on Palmira, let's just get going already." And with another tired yawn she marched out of the inn, waving for her fellow adventurer to hurry up.

Palmira just nodded and followed, relieved despite herself that she wouldn't have to walk.

--

Riding behind Chiara was always an awkward affair. Her crystal horse was barely big enough for the both of them, forcing her to press up against her friend in a way that caused her hair to ignite. Riding with Lorenzo was much better, since Bella the bear was more than big enough for them to have some personal space.

…Huh, thinking on it, she was the only one in their little group without anything to ride.

"Hey, Chiara. What kind of mount do you think I should get?"

"What?"

"Like you guys. It feels weird, being the only one walking all the time."

The half-elf rolled her eyes. "How should I know. You're a fire mage, right? Why not get a dragon?"

"What? Where would I find a dragon?"

Then she paused.

"Actually, I know a lot of places you can find dragons. None that I'd be willing or able to ride, though."

"A shame. Why don't you ask Lorenzo, he probably has a whole bunch of weird animals you could pick from."

"But how many of them are immune to fire?"

"In that case, why not get a Furetti? Those get pretty big, don't they? Maybe you can ride one of them into battle."

"Don't make me punch you."

They continued chatting mindlessly as they rode down the old dirt road. Seeing the state it was in nowadays, Palmira couldn't help but be relieved she'd been talked out of walking—it likely would've taken twice as long as she'd expected.

But Chiara's magic horse made it easy enough, and soon enough the signs that they were getting close started to appear.

Plant life grew sparser, and the creek that flowed alongside the road almost completely dried up. The land was hilly and almost mountainous, tall enough to block the sun this early in the morning.

Then the road completely disappeared, and that's how she knew they were there.

Before them was something that looked almost like a landslide, but she knew better. Dark brown, almost black dirt and stone dominated the landscape, with only the faintest mosses and tougher plants poking through.

The wasteland stretched out before her, boundless and bare.

Even now, it hurt to remember that this had once been home.

"We're here," she told Chiara.

"What?" Chiara looked at her like she was crazy. "What do you mean we're here? This was your old village?"

Palmira nodded.

It was exactly how she remembered it.

Dismounting, she marched through the wasteland, ignoring the tinking of her horse's hooves as it followed her. Nobody was talking, not even Morte, and for that she was grateful.

This was an empty, dead land. They didn't need to disturb it with their voices.

Or, it had once been. Even now, it had changed. Plants grew where they hadn't before. The dirt was softer, more brown than black. Even the sky was clearer, brilliant blue instead of a smoggy grey.

The small, bitter part of her soul hated it. It wished this land would stay dead. But she pushed it down with ease of practice.

She wouldn't break down here. Not again.

Eventually she made it to her destination. A dozen crumbling piles of stones, spread out around the center of the wasteland. Some had fallen over, but most remained intact.

Graves, unmarked and forgotten, piled high by a couple of broken little girls. For her parents, her friends, her neighbors. For everyone she knew, everyone she didn't know, and everyone who she'd forgotten.

She sat down before two in particular, situated next to a large hole in the ground. On them, in faded, childish scrawl were carved 'Mama' and 'Papa.'

"…Hi," she rasped. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry I took so long to visit."

She stopped, unsure what else she should say. What she wanted to say.

"I'm living in Firozzi, now," she finally settled on. "It's a beautiful city. I know Papa always preferred the countryside, but I've grown to love it. After all, it's not like there's any—I mean, anyway, I've got a job now! I'm an adventurer! I'm working for the Rosa Dominae guild! It's… um… not the best guild in the world, but I like most of the people there, and they even let me stay in the dorms for free! So, um…"

Palmira wiped her eyes. She didn't want to cry—she thought she was over this—it had been nearly a decade—but…!

"Things are getting better for me," she sniffled. "I know that, this isn't exactly what you wanted me to do with my life. But I just… I had to do what I needed to survive, and… I just… I miss you both, so much…"

Palmira cried. She wasn't sure what else to do, what else to say. So she cried. She cried and cried until she couldn't cry any more.

"…Are you feeling better?" Morte whispered softly.

She nodded.

"Good. And for what it's worth, I think they'd be proud of you."

There was a note of tired nostalgia in his voice, which she wasn't willing to question. That she didn't want to question.

She just wanted to sit here. To sit until the fire and stone took her like it took her parents, and maybe then she'd be able to see them again.

But she didn't. Because she was going to live on, as she always had. She would move on, as she always had.

Palmira wiped her eyes as she stood up. She turned to leave, back to Chiara (who was sitting awkwardly on her horse, not sure what she should be doing), before she glanced back at the graves.

"I'll visit again," she promised them. "Sooner, this time."

Nodding to herself, for the third time in her life, she marched away from her once-home.

And for the first time, her steps were certain.