When Misty appeared ahead, Del and Elara instinctively slowed, waiting for her to reach them. She trotted toward them with her usual air of quiet confidence, but her sharp gaze and twitching ears hinted at something more significant this time.
Del crouched slightly, meeting her amber eyes as he reached for their link. ‘What have you found?’ he asked, his thoughts projecting across the bond. A vision flickered back—a small building nestled at the edge of the wood, smoke curling lazily from its chimney. Alongside the image came the distinct impressions of two figures and a large, bristling form near the door. ‘Two mans and a barker,’ Misty’s message conveyed, simple and clear.
He straightened, turning to Elara. “Looks like at least two people up ahead, and they’ve got a dog,” he said quietly. “Misty didn’t get too close—probably because of the animal—so there might be more inside the building. We’ll need to be careful.”
Elara’s brows knit together, and she glanced toward the tree line. “What do we do?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of unease.
Del rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his fingers brushing the coarse stubble that was growing increasingly out of hand momentarily distracting him. ‘I’ll need to do something about this soon,’ he thought absently, though the more pressing issue kept him focused.
“We’ll approach cautiously,” he said after a moment. “Especially after the last fight we had. No telling if these people are connected to the bandits, but we can’t rule it out.” He shrugged, his gaze returning to Elara. “You need to find a city to locate a mage trainer, and I need somewhere to resupply and figure out what the hell I’m doing next. This is the first sign of civilisation we’ve come across, so... yeah, we go say hello.”
“Unless you’ve got a better idea?” he added, quirking a brow.
Elara hesitated before shaking her head. “No, you’re right. Let’s just hope they’re friendly.”
With the decision made, they checked their weapons, ensuring everything was secure but accessible, and resumed their journey. The sound of the river guided them, mingling with the faint murmur of distant voices and the rhythmic thunk of an axe striking wood.
As they neared the edge of the forest, the trees thinned, revealing a modest scene nestled against the backdrop of open land. A sturdy cottage sat close to the wood, its walls weathered but well-maintained. Smoke drifted from a stone chimney, and a small shed leaned against one side, surrounded by neatly stacked piles of lumber. The resinous scent of freshly cut wood mingled with the acrid smell of chimney smoke, giving the air a homely, rustic feel.
Near the woodpile, a broad-shouldered man swung an axe with practised efficiency, splitting a log cleanly into billets. Another man knelt nearby, stripping bark from larger logs with a simple but effective tool. The steady rhythm of their work and the peaceful scene sent a ripple of cautious relief through Del.
Then the dog noticed them.
The large black-and-brown mastiff’s head shot up, its ears pinning forward as a low, menacing growl rumbled from its throat. Before Del could react, the animal surged forward, barking ferociously, only to be brought up short as the heavy chain attached to its collar snapped taut. The beast dug its claws into the dirt, snarling and straining against its restraint, its teeth bared in an intimidating display.
The man with the axe turned toward them, his sharp gaze narrowing as he hefted the weapon onto his shoulder. The other man paused his work, his expression wary as he reached for a nearby tool—a wood scraper, but still sharp enough to do damage in a pinch.
“Newt doesn’t seem to like you,” the axe-wielder said gruffly, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. “Why don’t you come on real slow, hands where I can see them, and tell me who the hell you are and why you’re sneaking out of the woods?”
Del raised his hands slightly, keeping his movements deliberate. “Easy, now. We’re not sneaking,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “We’ve been lost in the woods for a few days, following the river and hoping to find a village—or something like that.”
The man’s eyes narrowed further, his grip on the axe tightening. “That right? Funny thing, though—there’s been talk of bandits roaming these parts. How do I know you’re not with them?”
Elara stepped forward slightly, her hands raised in a similar gesture of peace. “We ran into some robbers a couple of days ago,” she said, her voice steady but not without a hint of tension. “They attacked us. There were only two of them, and we were lucky to get away.”
Del nodded in agreement, keeping his posture relaxed but ready. “Like she said—just the two of us. You’ve got no reason to worry.”
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The dog’s growls subsided into a low rumble as it sat back on its haunches, its chain stretched taut. The woodsman studied them for a long moment, his gaze flicking to the weapons at their sides before meeting Del’s eyes again.
“What happened to them, then?” he asked, his tone neutral but sharp. “The bandits. Where are they now?”
Del met his gaze squarely. “Feeding the worms about a dozen miles upstream,” he said evenly. “We stumbled on them while they were arguing over a dead man. They attacked, we defended. End of story.”
The tension in the air remained palpable, but a faint shift in the woodsman’s expression suggested he was at least considering their words.
The second man called out from the cottage, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. “Newt, get back here!”
The mastiff’s ears flattened slightly, and with a reluctant whine, the dog turned and padded back toward the porch. Once there, he was rewarded with a scrap of meat, which he snapped up eagerly before settling back into his spot. The man on the porch leaned against the doorframe, his stance casual but his eyes sharp as they flicked between Del and Elara. “Bring ’em up, Bran,” he said. “Easier to talk and sort out the whats and whys where it’s more comfortable.”
Bran, the axe-wielder, gave a half-shrug. “You heard him. Leave the weapons where they belong, and let’s head up to the house.” His tone was firm, though not unfriendly. “Fair warning, though—Newt can reach anywhere in or around the place. Don’t give him a reason to get up.”
Del glanced at Elara, catching the faint tension in her posture. She gave him a small nod, and together they followed Bran toward the cottage, keeping their hands visible and their steps measured. The smell of chimney smoke grew stronger as they approached, mingling with the crisp aroma of freshly cut wood.
The cottage itself was modest but sturdy, its weathered stone walls and timber beams speaking of solid craftsmanship. A small porch extended from the front, where a roughly made table and chairs sat in the dappled shade of a nearby tree. Bran gestured for them to sit, his expression neutral but watchful.
“Wait here,” he said, disappearing inside the cottage. Moments later, he returned with a pitcher of water and several wooden mugs, setting them down on the table with a solid thunk.
Once everyone was settled, Del took the lead. “I’m Del, and this is Elara,” he said, his tone measured. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with us.”
The man on the porch nodded. “I’m Seth, and this is my brother, Bran. We supply wood to the local farm and village about five miles down the valley.”
The conversation turned quickly to the bandits, the brothers quizzing them with sharp, probing questions. Del and Elara answered as best they could, recounting their encounter in careful detail. The tension around the table gradually eased, especially after Elara’s heritage came to light.
“Elves, eh?” Bran remarked, his tone shifting to one of grudging respect. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen one around here. You don’t exactly blend in with the local troublemakers.”
Seth nodded in agreement. “Yeah, they’re more likely to slit their own throats than work with someone like you.”
Elara’s expression softened at the implied compliment, though she said nothing.
“That dead feller you said they killed—that’s the real puzzle,” Seth continued, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve not heard of anyone going missing from around here, and there aren’t many ways into the high woods without passing by us.”
Bran frowned, resting his elbows on the table. “Anything stand out about him? Scars, tattoos—something like that?”
Del shook his head. “No, not really. He was pretty beat up. Covered in dirt and blood from where they’d attacked him.”
Elara chimed in, her tone thoughtful. “He was in rough clothing. Looked like a farmer to me, though I can’t say for sure.”
A thought struck Del, and he reached for his pouch. “He had this on him,” he said, pulling out the pendant he’d taken from the body. “I kept it in case someone recognised it.”
For the first time, Del took a proper look at the pendant. It was small, maybe an inch across, with a design of three intersecting circles etched onto the front. The back bore faint marks—letters, perhaps, though they weren’t in any language he recognised. He passed it to the brothers, watching as they examined it in silence.
After a long moment, Seth handed it back. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like it,” he admitted. “Might be someone in the village would know, though.”
Bran stood abruptly, brushing his hands on his trousers. “Food’s ready,” he announced. “Will you join us?”
Del and Elara exchanged a glance, the question unspoken but clear. At her small nod, Del turned back to Bran. “If you don’t mind, that would be much appreciated.”
A few minutes later, Bran returned with a large tray, setting it down on the table with practised ease. On it were bowls filled with a thick, steaming stew, the rich aroma of meat and vegetables rising into the air. Gravy pooled around chunks of root vegetables and tender pieces of meat, and the sight of it made Del’s stomach rumble loudly.
‘Now this is more like it,’ Del thought, a flicker of genuine relief easing the tension in his chest.
The mastiff, Newt, lifted his head briefly to sniff the air, but after a moment, he let out a snuffling sigh and lay back down.
The food was warm and filling, the perfect antidote to the day’s weariness. Seth brought out a jug of beer, its nutty flavour strong but smooth, and Del savoured the taste as he leaned back in his chair.
The conversation turned lighter as the evening wore on, the four of them swapping stories and jokes. For the first time in days, Del felt a semblance of normality returning. Elara even smiled—a genuine, unguarded smile that seemed to light up her entire face.
When the night grew late and the beer jug empty, Bran led them to the shed, where blankets had been laid out on the ground. The space was simple but clean, with the faint smell of wood shavings lingering in the air.
Del sank onto the blankets with a contented sigh, his head already spinning slightly from the beer. Elara lay nearby, her breathing soft and even.
‘Not a bad end to the day,’ he thought, his eyes closing as sleep claimed him.