With the final words of the spirit echoing in the recesses of our minds, it turns and begins pacing away. The great beast fully fading from sight after several steps, and the hush that had descended over the glade giving way once more to the gentle sounds of the forest. Both of us standing awestruck for many moments, trying to fully comprehend what we had witnessed.

“That was,” my voice a quiet intruder breaking the last vestiges of peace, “Nico, that was incredible. I'm so grateful you invited me to see that.”

Wilde with no immediate response, only going over to scoop up the wolf pup, still lightly shimmering with the spirit's blessing. Both of us leaving the hidden glade without another word, and the gathered menagerie of woodland critters, big and small, dispersing back into the forest.

“I've never seen that before,” he says, once we'd gotten some distance away. “Usually it's much more simple than that.”

“You're joking.”

“No, that was something I've never seen. Back when I was in the guild I heard two stories like that, but not like that. One with a hawk and one with a boar. But that, that wolf, I think that was...”

“Koln.”

“That," his words coming out carefully, "may actually have been him.”

Koln, the ravenous giant wolf that had terrorized the villages within and surrounding the large forest to south of town, and the namesake of House Koln. Putting a stop to his pack's rampage had been the Great Deed that allowed them to be officially recognized. The spirit version had been calm and collected - displaying none of the reported bloodthirst and viciousness of the living version - and it had been in a very talky mood. Well, not talky, but verbose, loud thoughts.

“How do you feel about going down south next cycle?”

“That's exactly what I was hoping we could do,” he says.

The two of us lapsing into a comfortable, reflective silence as we forged through the trees in the direction of the road.

“So, as far as this little guy,” reaching over to put my fingers in front of the pup's snout, causing it to reveal its teeth, “what are you going to be calling him?”

“Be careful,” says Wilde. “I've been trying to explain the situation to him but his understanding is like a child's.”

Pointing with my index and middle fingers. You bite me and you'll regret it. Very slowly bringing my fingers to its nose and the miniature snarl disappearing. The wolf pup letting me gently scratch its muzzle and ears with a content expression.

“He seems friendly enough.” Glancing up and catching Wilde's bemused look. “What?”

“Enjoy him while he's like this. He's going to grow up quick.”

“How quick?”

“Only a couple cycles to be fully grown. For a name, I have no idea what I'm going to call him. I had one in mind, but after all that I don't know about it anymore. I'll give him a little time and see what he wants to be called. Or, if he wants me to, I'll come up with something. I don't know.”

“So you're saying it's totally up for grabs?”

“That's not how I'd put it.”

“How about Koln?” The wolf pup cocking his head at me. “May as well keep it simple. He was marked by Koln, so why not call him that in honor of it? I don't think House Koln would take offense if you called him that.”

“Maybe. That's not a bad idea. I'll ask him.” The two looking at each other with an intense air. Man to Dog. Mano a Pata. “He thinks it would be disrespectful.”

“Really?” Tapping on the pup's snout. You little shit. “Try and explain again, and tell him there's no disrespect intended. I think it's completely appropriate.” The two looking at each other once again. A momentous exchange. Man to Dog. The unbreakable bond. “He'll think about.”

A diplomatic no. Shouldn't dogs be eager to please? The wolf showing me its teeth again. Nope, this isn't a dog, it has a different mentality entirely.

“I suppose that's fair enough, I guess he wants to forge his own legacy.”

The pup putting its teeth away and letting its tongue loll out. A child's understanding, maybe, but it seems to understand. Definitely a step above normal canine intelligence, at the very least. You're going to make me work for it, huh? Alright, a generous helping of treats is in order. You'll understand where your bread is buttered soon enough. Giving its ear a final scratch.

***

Standing outside the bank.

“You were right,” Wilde says, still a little stunned. “I made more in one day than in almost ten cycles at the House.”

“They really screw you guys over there. A lot of these Houses do. Those deer alone. Anyway, I'll meet you at The Spider's Web in about four hours. The food's good, I was there a couple couple cycles ago.”

“But I'm hungry right now.” Clasping my hand. “How about we get dinner early?”

“I'd like to, but I can't. I have to deal with something, but I don't know how long it's going to take. It should be simple, but you never know with these things.” Looking around. There, a food cart. Trotting over and bringing him along.

Buying two. “Here's something to tide you over.” Giving him one, and the pup accepting my bribe without complaint. “If nine's too late, how about eight? If my errand gets slow I'll try and hurry it along.”

“Eight? Can't wait. It's a date.” The guy just grinning at me.

“You're awful.”

“So I'll see you at eight?” His grin getting even more obnoxious.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Sticking out my tongue. “It's a date.”

Both of us going in our respective directions. Him, northwest over to Stormhawk, and me, to the east, to the clothing store. Paying my tab and getting completely out of my well stained gear. Certainly not as relaxing as the bathhouse, but time is more of a factor at the moment. Using one of the mirrors to try and make sure there aren't little bits of anything in my hair. Glancing around and grabbing a random shirt to clean off a missed spot on my face. Ten minutes later, everything cleaned. My armor - it had been cleaned, not a complete savage - back on. Weapons fitted. And cloak on top.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Thank you so much.”

“Certainly no problem, Ms. Macarthy,” says the proprietress. “I appreciate your business.”

Heading to that same bakery from earlier in the day.

“Excuse me. Hi. I'd like to get, oh shoot, you don't have any left. Okay, um, how about two of these cupcakes over here. Yeah, those big reddish ones with the vanilla frosting. And then can I get some coffee? Put it in this canteen. Do you have a mug I can get, too? Great, thanks.”

Heading back to my apartment - coming in from the west this time - balancing the box with the cupcakes in one hand. Up the steps and knocking on three oh one. Nothing. Looking through the kitchen window and the woman inside clearly seeing me. The woman looking down and away. No, you don't get to ignore me. Giving the window a few taps. The woman inside turning and walking in the direction of the door. The bolt being undone and her face appearing in the partially cracked opening.

“Hi, Lacey, I think we got off to the wrong start.”

“It's Stacy.”

Halting my momentum entirely. It's like she's looking at a rodent that chose her front step to die on.

“Stacy. Right. I'm sorry for the mix-up. We absolutely got off to the wrong start. I've brought a peace offering.” Waving the box some to draw attention to it. The woman glancing at it, but then looking at me. Not saying anything. “Can I come in?”

Continuing to look at me, continuing to not say anything, assessing my state, eyes on my gear, eyes on the box. Opening the door the entire way.

“Thank you.”

Following her inside. The walls a soft beige and decorated with paintings. Some landscapes, some stills and a portrait of her and a man, presumably her husband. Words written on the wall in script. Home Sweet Home. Very similar layout to mine, but much more cozy. A throw rug in the entry, and a larger one in the living room. Matching furniture set, couch, love seat, chair with an ottoman, and a coffee table. Plant in a pot. Two guitars placed vertically on stands and an easel with a half completed painting. Window drapes, a pale yellow, framing the glass door leading out to the balcony.

Putting the box on the table and opening it up.

“I'll get some plates,” she says, while walking into the kitchen.

Taking off my pack and setting it down, removing my glove and putting it on the table. Getting the canteen and filling the single mug. Stacy coming back with two small plates. Taking note of the single mug.

“I'll get another cup,” she says.

“No need.” Everyone loves this trick, it's a fantastic ice breaker. “Here's your cupcake.” Attempting to place the cupcake on her plate, but maybe moving too quickly, and due to an unexpected movement my hand bumping into hers, causing the cupcake to partially miss the plate and drop, frosting first, toward the floor. A vision of the cupcake, frosting marred and disheveled, speckled with dirt and hair, coming to mind. A vision of Stacy, rag in hand, scrubbing the rug and cursing me, following it right after. Not going to be able to get to it in time. Instinctively using the shield to snatch the cupcake midair. The sudden flash of sound and light causing the woman to warily step back. The carpet had been saved, but the cupcake, held a few scant inches above the ground, had been completely pulverized.

Looking up to assess the damage. From her expression it seems the dying rodent had somehow found its way into her living room. “I'm sorry,” it squeaks.

This is terrible. Such an insignificantly stupid colossal screw up. Easier to threaten her at this point than continuing along with this song and dance. Glancing around her tranquil apartment. It probably won't even take. Probably have to end up killing her twice because of some clumsiness with a cupcake. The first time to scare her, and then the next to make sure she keeps her mouth shut. Ambush her once she leaves the temple and drag her into the sewers for a second session. Taking a moment to calm down and discard my initial impulse. No, that's completely uncalled for, she's just some innocent bystander. That solution, however viable, is completely off limits. Even if today is a bust maybe send her a card as an apology next cycle, and then do my best to avoid her.

Dropping the compressed cupcake mass onto the plate.

“Can you please get another mug.” My eyes begging, pleading. Stacy returning to the kitchen, rooting around for a bit, and then coming back with a mug.

All is not lost. This can be salvaged.

“So now we're one cupcake short, right?” The woman just looking at me. Grabbing each side of the plate with the still cupcake shaped cupcake on it. Copy. Pulling the plate apart, creating two. “No worries, I've got it covered.” Giving her the best semblance of a smile available to me at the moment. The woman looking at me, then at the two plates. Reaching for the canteen on the table and pouring herself a cup of coffee before taking her seat.

“Maybe we did get off to a bad start,” she says. “You seem well meaning enough. Don't worry about that.” Gesturing at the non cupcake shaped cupcake. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

Sitting down, drinking my coffee and picking at my food while trying to come up with some non offensive, neighborly topic we could potentially bond over.

“First,” the woman says, taking the initiative - Thank you! “let me say that I'm not telling you this as an excuse. I'm not planning on making any excuses. We've been in this apartment for about two years now. Before this we were over in a different part of the district, a more trendy area, nearer to the nightlife. We had a neighbor that had one of those invisible monsters. The kind that once you've seen it, you wish you never did, because there it is, not going away after that. So one night, she and her boyfriend got into an argument. It was pretty bad, and one of them ended up blowing a hole in the wall clean through to our unit.” Putting her hands about three feet apart. “It wasn't the first incident in the building, not by a long ways, but it ended up being something of a final straw. Afterwards we looked around and we chose this place to get away from that sort of thing.”

“I can understand why you may have some concerns when I mentioned what I do.”

“I realize it's not very fair to you, specifically, but reputations are earned, and I'd much rather not chance needing to move again.”

“I will do everything I can to make sure you don't end up having to do that. I get more than enough excitement during the day, and I'm not particularly a fan of the nightlife. A pint or two after work, or maybe on a real awful day some of Melder's temporary happiness. That's about the extent.”

Stacy making a slightly different face than earlier, the dying rodent she'd invited her living room had unexpectedly popped back to life and was now in the process of chewing on the edge of her hardwood coffee table. Staring at her with half lidded eyes over the rim of my cup. Taking a long, slow sip. Not going to make any excuses for me if you're not going to make any excuses for you. Her eyes mostly meeting mine, only taking a quick glance or two at the knife visible under my cloak and the hatchet on my belt.

“How many times have you died?” she asks.

“There's been more than one occasion. Why do you want to know?”

“You've got that look.”

Putting the cup down and trying to find something productive to do with my hands. Compromising by ripping off a chunk of my cupcake. “In that case, I hope you appreciate why I'm interested in peace and quiet.” Staring at her, unblinking. “I'm not going to let anything disrupt it.”

Stacy catching my meaning. With nothing more to say both of us finishing our food and drink. Collecting my things and standing up.

“Thank you for inviting me in. I'm glad we were able to start things over again on the right foot.”

“You're welcome.” Crisp and polite. Walking me to her door.

“One thing I forgot to mention.” Rounding on her, causing her to freeze. “Your home is lovely. Did you do all these paintings yourself?”

“I- yes, I did, actually.”

“I really like them, and I really like your setup.” Definitely relieved to hear that. “You said your husband was a merchant, so I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something.”

“I, well, I suppose.” The poor woman now suffering from whiplash.

“My apartment was going to be furnished, and it is, a bit, but I need more furniture. I just got this assignment that's going to be keeping me real busy and I don't want to waste time going to the store. If I lend you a key to my apartment, do you think you could have some stuff brought in? A number of things, even beyond furniture. It'll be a decent size order. If I get you a list, could you get me a quote?”

“I'm sure John would be able to help,” she says. “Um, I do apologize, especially after earlier, but what was your name, again?”

“Lucy. And the apartment is under Lucy Smith.”