The first day passed in quiet progress, the road winding gently through fields of well-tended farmland. Rows of broad-leafed crops swayed under the occasional gust of wind, their deep green hues stretching toward the sky. Scattered farmsteads, their thatched roofs weathered and sun-bleached, stood at intervals, smoke curling lazily from chimneys as families went about their morning routines. The occasional sight of a worker leading a plough beast—sturdy, six-legged creatures with thick, shaggy hides and blunt faces—served as a reminder that civilisation still held its grasp on this stretch of land.

Beyond the fields, patches of woodland softened the horizon, their edges trimmed where cultivated land met the wilderness. Strange birds flitted between the branches, some no larger than a thumb, their iridescent feathers flashing violet and green as they darted through the air. A few skittering lizards, their tails ending in curling spirals, basked on sun-warmed rocks before vanishing into the undergrowth at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Naomi managed well for most of the morning, her excitement carrying her through the first few miles. She had practically buzzed with energy when they set off, eyes constantly darting to every new sight along the way. But by midday, the enthusiasm had faded, replaced by an unmistakable slump in her shoulders.

“My feet hurt,” she announced, dragging each step like it weighed a stone. “A lot.”

Del had been expecting this.

“Let’s stop for a bit,” he suggested, steering them toward a wide tree near the road, its gnarled roots stretching out like a web across the grass.

Naomi made a show of her suffering, flopping onto the ground with a theatrical groan before reaching down to tug at her boots.

“Don’t do that, Naomi,” Del warned.

She paused, looking up at him with a frown. “But they ache so much, and my boots hurt.”

“And if you take them off, your feet will swell, and then you won’t be able to get them back on again.” He dropped his pack near a large stone and gestured toward it. “Sit here, lean against the rock, and put your legs up on the pack. It’ll help ease the aching.”

Naomi eyed him with deep scepticism, then, with a resigned sigh, did as she was told.

‘Wearing in new boots is never fun,’ Del thought as she flopped back dramatically against the stone.

“Will they always hurt?” she asked, staring at her feet as if they had personally betrayed her.

“No,” Elara cut in, crouching beside her. “A day or two more, maybe. Once you’re used to all the walking, your legs will toughen up.”

Naomi let out another heavy sigh. “Alright. I guess.”

The sheer defeat in her voice made Del chuckle. He handed her some bread and cold meat to chew on, then did the same for Elara and Misty. The cat, who had spent the morning perched atop Del’s pack like some noble dignitary, accepted her portion with an air of quiet entitlement.

As the small fire crackled, sending thin tendrils of smoke curling into the still afternoon air, the comforting scent of warming tea drifted through the clearing. The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional chirp of unseen insects and the rustling of undergrowth as small creatures scurried unseen through the foliage. The world here felt settled, at ease with itself. Even Misty, usually sharp-eyed and alert, had taken to a slow, lazy grooming session, flicking her tail in contentment.

When it was time to move on, Naomi rose with exaggerated reluctance, hobbling like an old woman.

Del sighed and crouched down. “Alright, come here.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

“Get on,” he said, motioning to his shoulders. “You can be our lookout. But you have to point out anything interesting you see, deal?”

Naomi’s grin split her face in an instant. “Deal!” She clambered up, settling onto his shoulders with all the grace of an enthusiastic goblin.

With her vantage point secured, they continued along the river. The cultivated lands grew sparser, the wilderness creeping back in as they left the last farms behind. Trees pressed closer to the road now, their branches arching overhead, creating dappled patterns of light across the dirt path.

Naomi took her scouting duties seriously, pointing out every oddity that caught her attention.

“There’s a zivver! It has four wings, but watch out for the lower ones—they’re sharp!” she announced, gesturing wildly to where a small, finch-like creature flitted between the branches. Its lower wings flickered like slivers of glass, catching the sunlight as it darted toward a cluster of blue fruits.

“See that rock?” she pointed again. “It looks like a fat pig!”

Del followed her gaze to a moss-covered boulder that did, indeed, have a round, lumpy shape to it.

“Good eye,” he said, indulging her observations with a nod.

He had expected the enthusiasm to wear off, but she remained diligent. Whenever she spotted something, she called it out, and he took mental notes, slowly piecing together more about the world they were moving through.

It was during one of these observations that he finally put a name to a creature they had already encountered.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

“Funnips!” Naomi shrieked excitedly, pointing toward a meadow where several squat, furred creatures lounged in the grass.

At first glance, they looked harmless—small, rounded things with twitching noses and oversized ears. But Del knew better.

‘So that’s what those meat-eating bunnies are called,’ he thought, finally placing a name to them.

Naomi’s excitement faded slightly as she lowered her hand. “Mummy says we shouldn’t play with them,” she said solemnly. “She said they’re fun when they’re little, but then they nip off your fingers for dinner.”

She gave a small shiver.

Del barked out a laugh. “That seems like wise advice.”

She nodded sagely, as if imparting the greatest of wisdom.

Misty stretched, her golden eyes gleaming. She glanced at Del, then turned toward the undergrowth.

‘I hunt,’ Misty told him, her tone carrying the smooth certainty of a creature who had never once doubted her own skill. Then, without another word, she vanished into the undergrowth, a ripple of ginger fur disappearing between the tangled roots and trailing vines.

They continued on, the road crunching softly beneath their boots as the valley stretched ahead. The warmth of the afternoon sun settled on Del’s shoulders, casting long shadows across the path. Naomi was still perched atop him, her fingers absently playing with a loose strand of his hair as she hummed a quiet, tuneless melody.

The world around them was alive with sound—the distant trill of a rattle-wing, the steady babble of the river to their left, the occasional rustling in the grasses as unseen creatures shifted and scurried about their business.

Then, a sharp, high-pitched squeal pierced the air.

It was the kind of noise that instantly put a person on edge—shrill, frightened, the unmistakable sound of something realising it was at the wrong end of the food chain. Naomi stiffened slightly, her humming cutting off as they all turned toward the source.

Where moments ago there had been a meadow full of funnips—those deceptively cute little carnivores lounging among the wildflowers—now there was only a swathe of flattened grass and settling dust. The creatures had scattered, their panic evident in the swirls of disturbed earth and the distant flashes of their round, furry bodies disappearing into burrows or deeper cover.

A few heartbeats later, the culprit strolled into view.

Misty, her tail high and eyes gleaming with satisfaction, sauntered toward them with a leisurely, unhurried grace. Dragging behind her, its limp form leaving a trail in the dust, was a funnip nearly as large as she was. She stopped at Del’s feet and released her prize with an air of smug accomplishment.

‘Dinner,’ she informed him simply.

Elara let out a low whistle, crossing her arms. “Didn’t take her long.”

Naomi stared, wide-eyed. “That’s a big one.”

Del glanced down at the sprawled funnip, its plump body still, its long ears twitching slightly in the breeze. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised—Misty was an exceptional hunter, after all—but seeing her drag back something of this size was still impressive.

“Well,” he said, nudging it lightly with his boot, “I guess we get to find out how they taste.”

Misty, evidently satisfied with her contribution to the group, launched herself up onto Elara’s shoulder in one smooth, effortless motion. She looped herself around Elara’s neck like a luxurious scarf, her purring settling into a low, steady hum of contentment. Within moments, her eyes fluttered shut.

Del met Elara’s gaze and offered a sheepish smile.

He raised an eyebrow. “Only fair, my passenger is the heavier.”

She rolled his eyes but said nothing.

They pressed on, the road unfurling before them like a ribbon of packed earth and scattered stones. The landscape began to shift subtly as the hours passed. Where earlier the valley had been dense with woodland, its towering trees creating a thick canopy overhead, now the land began to open up. The slopes still bore clusters of trees—twisted old oaks with gnarled roots, delicate saplings reaching for the light—but the valley floor stretched wider, its character softening.

Tough grasses rippled in the breeze, interspersed with patches of scrubby bushes dotted with small, deep-purple berries. Their scent mingled with the sharper tang of brambles, carried on the shifting air. Every so often, a flicker of movement betrayed the presence of unseen creatures—small lizards with frilled necks darting between the rocks, strange insects that glistened like polished amber clinging to the stalks of wildflowers.

The river ran alongside them, its once-shallow waters now deepening into slow-moving pools where the current thickened. The pebbled bed, once clearly visible, had vanished beneath shifting strands of riverweed, their long tendrils swaying like silk banners in the current. Occasional bursts of movement rippled through the water—small darting fish weaving between the greenery, their sleek bodies flashing silver in the dappled light.

Del watched as one broke the surface, snatching an unfortunate insect mid-flight before vanishing again with barely a ripple. The water settled, only for another to follow, a flicker of scales and a telltale splash marking its success.

‘I need a rod,’ he thought absently, his gaze lingering on the dark shapes beneath the surface. It was an idle thought, but a persistent one. The kind of thought that settled in the back of his mind and waited for an opportunity. He briefly considered fashioning one from a sturdy branch, tying a bit of thread to the end, but dismissed it almost as quickly. No point in wasting the effort when he could just buy one at the next town.

Besides, Misty was a fine ‘fishercat’ when she decided to be. And Elara—well, she had an uncanny knack for bow hunting.

No sense competing when delegation worked just fine.

‘You are being a bit misogynistic, Del, expecting the ladies to look after your needs.’

His inner critic was immediate, sharp, needling.

‘Bullcrap,’ he countered. ‘That’s just delegating to those better suited to the task. Equality and all that woke shit.’

A dry, mocking laugh echoed in the back of his mind. He scowled at himself.

Fed up with his own internal bickering, he brought them to a halt at a broad, open stretch of land beside the river—a good place to camp. The ground was flat and dry, with a natural break in the trees providing a clear space for tents.

“Let’s set up for the night,” he said, perhaps a bit gruffly.

Elara gave him a mildly amused look but said nothing. Instead, she simply shifted Misty from her shoulders, setting the cat down before unfastening her pack. With easy efficiency, she pulled out a waterskin and headed toward the river to refill it.

While the tents went up, Del allowed Naomi the much-anticipated luxury of removing her boots. She practically sighed in relief, wiggling her toes as she stretched her legs out in front of her.

“Go wash your feet in the river,” he instructed. “It’ll help.”

She didn’t need telling twice. She scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the water, splashing into the shallows with an enthusiasm that made Del briefly consider the likelihood of her simply wading off downriver.

When she returned, her feet dripping and her face flushed with satisfaction, Del knelt down and dried them carefully. The blisters were small but present, and he reached for the small tin of feldspar ointment he kept in his pack.

“This will help,” he told her, applying the salve with practiced ease.

She watched intently as he worked, then pulled her feet up to inspect them, flexing her toes as if testing them out.

“Thanks, Del,” she said, flashing him a grin. “You’re the best.”

He snorted. “Tell that to your feet in the morning.”

She giggled and, in the next breath, was off again—this time to chase Misty around the camp, her laughter carrying through the evening air.

Del leaned back, watching them for a moment.

“Watch out for funnips,” he called after her.

She shrieked with laughter and ran faster.