Aduren’s smile is tighter than the hide on a Weahlow Drum. What a fraud. His leather bound travel pack glistens with fresh moisture as he spurs his mount ahead of mine. As he flees my indelible assault. I imagine his eyes glistening with the same precipitation, but I doubt they do. Not yet.

Good times come spontaneously and unannounced, and now is one of those times. It is difficult to place why I feel the way I do. Perhaps because I have dealt Aduren a blow he can’t heal. Perhaps because the world is lush, vibrant, and beautiful. Perhaps contentment is a cycle in my own mind. Nevermind all of that. ‘Why’ is not important.

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Up to the summit of a towering earthen formation. Down a winding footpath ridden with loose cobble, Thornworms, and the possibility of a fatal plunge into the valley below. Up again to the apex of yet another tectonic brawl. Down past the dissolution point of our treacherous footpath, and across a wide, shallow watercourse brimming with flat fish and freshwater anemones. Up to the crest of gargantuan anthill poised to cause maximum hindrance to our travel. Down a comfortable, sodded gradient and finally to the tail end of the serpentine train of murderous men happily on their way to do murder.

The serpent’s tail stiffens and shudders to a halt. Drums fall silent. Chanting drawls off. We’ve been noticed.