The next morning, I wake early, greeted by birdsong, a softly snoring cat, and a missing elf. Her gear is mostly there, so I’m not worried she’s run off, though I do feel a bit of concern that she hasn’t found any trouble.

‘If she’s left, she’s her own person, as long as she’s safe. All is good,’ I say to myself. With that, I stoke up the coals smouldering from last night and add a few small branches to start cooking a few bits for breakfast. Looking at the sky, I see grey clouds starting to gather, the air smells like rain, and the breeze seems a touch stronger. With the food sizzling on the cooking rock I found the previous night, I start to assess the resources I have on hand. It’s not much.

‘I really hope I can find somewhere to get properly sorted for supplies soon.’ I have to admit, I’m slightly worried about that.

Food for maybe another day, two if Elara really has left. I glance around the hollow—no bow, I sigh, but there’s a quiver of arrows. A couple of rough-and-ready swords, two knives, and that set of throwing knives. I look in the pouch tied to my belt. Elara had explained the currency, so I know I have 59 copper and 6 tin pieces, plus a small collection of rings and that one large one taken from the bandit. Elara felt it had magical properties but couldn’t say what and advised against putting it on until we knew more about it. Apparently, cursed items are a thing, and if you use one, the curse transfers to you and is a nightmare to remove. I don’t need to be warned twice about that, so the ring is wrapped carefully in cloth until we can figure it out properly.

‘We? Now, Del, there you go making assumptions,’ I think, feeling a tad grumpy. ‘Yesterday could well have been too much for her, and she’s probably well on her way back to her home.’ I kick a small rock and flip the meat.

The small clatter of the rock wakes Misty, and she looks up at me curiously, glances at the otherwise empty space, and stretches. I feel her thoughts, sending reassurance my way. She knows we’ll be alright.

‘Ah, for the wisdom of a cat,’ I think with a chuckle. Grabbing the waterskin, I drain the last of it and head a couple of hundred yards to the river. At the bank, I see a small pile of fish, the bow, and a gathering of Elara’s clothes and other bits. Looking out into the water, I see her floating gently. She sees me, bobs up, gives me a little wave and a smile, then starts walking up and out to the bank.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, apparently unconcerned at her nakedness as she comes up to where I stand, by her gear. I crouch down at the water and start to refill the skin, doing my best to avert my eyes—but damn, I’m only a man, and there’s only so much I can do.

“No problem,” I say, maybe a touch gruffly. “We all have times like that.”

“I caught us some fish for breakfast,” she says, with light-hearted happiness in her voice. “They’re slow swimmers, so I was able to shoot them quite easily.” I look up at her as she buttons up the shirt of mine she’s been using for a smock-dress. With her still wet, it clings to her and is almost transparent.

‘Damn it, Del, if she doesn’t care, there’s no reason for you to,’ I think with a mental shrug. Who am I to second-guess what is and isn’t socially acceptable? Not just in a completely different time and culture but also with a totally different race. I’d always been irked in my old life by those who judged history by modern-day standards and morals. Times change, and societies evolve. I pick up the pile of fish as she gathers her bow and puts on her foot wrappings.

“We need to find somewhere to get you proper boots,” I say to her, and indicating the fish. “This will be a good change in diet for us, and Misty will adore you. But we’ve got bush bacon for breakfast.”

As we wander back to the camp, the smell of cooking pork drifts towards us. My belly rumbles.

‘Yup, definitely breakfast time,’ I smile to myself.

The slabs of pig are nicely crisped on the edge, juicy and succulent. The few herbs we’ve found add some needed depth, but I have to be honest—I’m starting to crave some carbs. The bread from the bandit’s pack was mouldy, but with no better option, I trim off the green and toast the rest over the coals. I see Misty has a fish she’s attacking with great abandon. No complaints from that direction, then. Elara and I tuck into pig and toast, discussing the day’s plans around mouthfuls.

It’s in the afternoon that I smell woodsmoke drifting up the valley towards us. Misty’s ahead as usual but hasn’t reported back, so Elara quickly climbs a tree to see if she can spot anything.

“About a mile,” she says as she gets back to the ground. “I can see a chimney near the river, but too many trees are blocking the view to see anything more from here.” She looks almost apologetic at the limited details. “I think whatever is there sits at the edge of the wood. I can’t see many trees beyond it.”

I smile. “We need to be careful, but maybe we’ve found the settlement we’ve been hoping for.”

We continue following the riverbank, a mix of hope and anticipation balanced by concern for the unknown potential danger ahead. Elara walks very close to me, and at times, I have to be careful not to step on her foot. When Misty appears up ahead, we wait for her to arrive.

I reach for her mind, asking, ‘What have you found?’ I get back a vision, a feeling of a small building standing at the edge of the wood. ‘Two mans and a barker.’

“Looks like at least two people up ahead and probably a dog,” I say to Elara. “It seems Misty couldn’t get too close due to the animal, so we have to assume there may be more in the building.”

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“So, what do we do?” she asks, a hint of trepidation in her voice. I think for a minute or two, considering our options.

“We need to be careful, especially after that last fight we had. No telling if they’re connected, but we can’t rule it out.” I rub my chin—the stubble’s getting out of hand; I hadn’t worn a beard in over 20 years.

“You need to find your city to locate a mage trainer, and I need to find somewhere to resupply and figure out what to do next.” I shrug. “This is the first sign of civilisation we’ve found.”

“So, we go say hello?” she asks.

“Unless you have a better idea,” I answer.

That settled, we check our weapons and carry on down the path.

As we get closer, we can hear the thunk of an axe hitting wood and chatter, muffled by the trees and nearby river. The vista opens up ahead, giving us a view of a modest cottage sitting close to the woods’ edge. Several nearby stumps and a pile of logs sit close to a shed leaning against the cottage wall. The air smells of chimney smoke mixed with the resinous scent of fresh-cut lumber. A well-built man stands near a woodpile, splitting a log into billets, while another man uses a tool to strip bark from larger logs. A large black-and-brown dog, perhaps a mastiff of some kind, lies by the cottage porch, a heavy chain attached to his collar.

I feel some of the tension slip from my shoulders at this scene of rural life.

The dog is the first to see us. His head jerks up, and a low growl rises from his throat. As the nearest man looks up in response, the dog leaps forward, barking ferociously, only to be brought up short as his chain yanks him to a snarling halt about fifteen feet away.

The closest man walks towards us, his very obvious, very sharp axe in hand. The other guy has also stopped work and is eyeing us carefully.

“Newt doesn’t seem to like you,” he says gruffly, indicating the snarling dog. “So why don’t you come on real slowly, hands where I can see them, and tell me who the hell you are and why you’re sneaking out of the woods?”

We do as he says, keeping our weapons sheathed, walking carefully forward and keeping clear of Newt’s chain range. Misty is nowhere to be seen, not too surprising as she really doesn’t like dogs.

“Hello,” I say. “We weren’t sneaking; we got lost in the woods a few days back and were following the river, hoping to find a village or something.”

“Is that right?” he answers, still on guard. “Been hearing talk of bandits roaming these woods. How do I know you’re not with them?”

“We ran into some robbers a couple of days back,” Elara answers. “They attacked us. We were lucky there were only two of them.”

We stop about six paces from him, all of us still wary, but the initial tension has eased a bit. Newt sits, his chain taut, a low growl quietly rumbling from him.

“What happened, where are they now?” the woodsman asks.

“Feeding the worms about a dozen miles upstream,” I answer. “We were lucky, as my friend said. They seemed to be having an argument over a dead man when we came upon them. They attacked, we defended.”

The second man shouts from the cottage. “Newt, get back here.” With a small whine, the dog turns and trots back to his spot by the porch, earning a titbit for his diligence. “Bring ’em up, Bran,” he says. “Easier to talk and sort the whats and whys where it’s more comfortable.”

Bran shrugs. “You heard him—leave the weapons sheathed where they belong, and let’s go to the house. Be warned, though, Newt can reach anywhere in and around the place.” At the front of the cottage, a small area holds a roughly made table and chairs. We sit as indicated, and Bran goes inside to get a pitcher of water and wooden mugs. Once we’re settled, I introduce us, and we find out they’re brothers, Bran and Seth. The wood they chop supplies the local farm and village about five miles down the valley.

They quiz us long and hard about the bandits. We answer as best as we can, and I guess, in the end, they accept us as unconnected to the local band of cutthroats, in part after learning that Elara is an elf. Elves aren’t known to be part of the local groups causing trouble.

“That dead feller you said they killed—that’s the real puzzle,” Seth says. “I’ve not heard of anyone else from around here going missing, and there aren’t many other ways up into the high woods without going past here.”

“Anything make him stand out? Scars, tattoos, anything like that?” Bran asks.

I shake my head. “No, not really. He was pretty beat up and covered in dirt and blood from where he’d been attacked.”

“He was in fairly rough clothing, if that helps,” Elara adds. “I thought he might be a farmer.”

I have another thought and reach for my pouch. “He had a pendant on. I took it so I could see if anyone recognised it.”

I pull out the pendant and look at it properly for the first time. It’s small, maybe an inch across at most. On the front is a design that looks like three intersecting circles, and on the back are some marks that could be letters, though not in any language I know. The brothers take a long look at it, then finally pass it back to me.

“No, nothing I’ve seen before. Maybe someone in the village might know,” Seth says.

Bran stands. “Food’s ready. Will you join us?”

Both Elara and I look up hopefully. “If you don’t mind, that would be much appreciated.”

A few minutes later, Bran comes out with a large tray. On it are bowls of what looks like a thick meat stew with assorted vegetables and steaming gravy. At the aroma, Newt, who’s been snoring loudly, lifts his nose to sniff, then lies back down.

‘Now this is more like it,’ I think to myself as I tuck in.

The food is filling and warming, and the beer is nutty and strong. The four of us chat long after dark. Drinking and enjoying good company is the best cure for the recent trauma. At last, with a woozy head and wobbly legs, we’re led into the shed where some blankets have been put on the ground. With a contented sigh, I lay down close to Elara and fall asleep.