Gunter stood outside Lorna's shop, his hand resting on Bakule's neck. The elk's warmth was reassuring as he kept a watchful eye on the street. His fingers absently stroked the animal's coarse fur, a habit he'd developed during his training with his own elk.
As he surveyed the area, movement near the warehouse across the street caught his attention. A group of men was gathering, their furtive glances and hushed tones setting off alarm bells in Gunter's mind. Among them, a particularly large, scarred man seemed to be giving orders. Gunter's eyes narrowed as he studied the brute, committing his features to memory.
'That one's trouble,' Gunter thought to himself, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.
He continued to tend to Bakule, keeping his movements casual as he observed the group. Years of warrior training back home in Aldernhor had taught him the value of appearing nonchalant while remaining vigilant. The elk snorted softly, sensing Gunter's tension.
"Easy, boy," Gunter murmured, patting Bakule's flank. "We might need to move quickly soon."
As the group at the warehouse grew, Gunter's unease increased. Something was clearly afoot, and he had a sinking feeling it involved Mikhail and Anora. He silently cursed his friend's penchant for finding trouble.
Suddenly, two figures appeared at the end of the street, walking purposefully towards him. Gunter's breath caught in his throat as he recognized them. One was a portly man he'd seen around the seedier parts of Sablewood – Borst, if he recalled correctly. The other, to his dismay, was his own commander.
Gunter straightened, his mind racing. What was his commander doing with a known criminal? And why were they headed straight for Lorna's shop? A cold dread settled in his stomach as he realized the situation was far more complicated than he'd imagined.
He glanced at the door behind him, willing Mikhail and Anora to emerge. Whatever was about to happen, he knew they needed to leave – and fast.
As Borst and the commander approached, realization dawned on Gunter. The pieces of a puzzle he hadn't known he was solving suddenly fell into place. His commander's reluctance to interfere with the slaver caravan, the blind eye turned to certain criminal activities – it all made sense now. The corruption ran deeper than he'd ever imagined.
A bitter taste filled Gunter's mouth as disappointment and anger welled up inside him. He'd joined the city guard to make a difference, to protect people. Now, he saw the ugly truth behind the uniform he wore.
The two men stopped before him, Borst's piggy eyes gleaming with malice.
"Well, well," Borst sneered, "if it isn't a noble guard. Hand over the elk and your friends, boy. This doesn't concern you."
Gunter's commander nodded, his face a mask of stern authority that now seemed hollow to Gunter. "Do as he says, guardsman. That's an order."
Gunter straightened to his full height, towering over both men. His voice was cold as he spoke, "I'm afraid I'll have to disobey that order, sir. In fact, consider this my resignation from the city guard."
He unclipped the badge from his chest and let it fall to the ground with a dull clank. The commander's face reddened with anger, but Gunter continued before he could speak.
"As for my friends and this elk, they're not going anywhere with you. I suggest you leave, now." he said with as much authority as he could muster.
Borst's face contorted with rage. "You fool! Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
As if on cue, the men from the warehouse moved forward, forming a menacing semicircle behind Borst and the commander. The large, scarred man Gunter had noticed earlier – Rawl, he assumed – took his place directly behind Borst, cracking his knuckles ominously.
Gunter's hand tightened on his sword hilt, his eyes scanning the group. He was outnumbered. His mind raced, trying to figure out how to buy time for Mikhail and Anora.
"I know exactly who I'm dealing with," Gunter replied, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his muscles. "The question is, do you know who you're dealing with?"
Suddenly, a blinding flash of light burst from the windows of Lorna's shop, followed by an otherworldly rumble that shook the ground beneath their feet. The air crackled with an energy that made the hair on everyone's arms stand on end. For a moment, all eyes turned to the shop, a mixture of awe and fear on their faces.
Borst's scowl deepened, his jowls quivering with rage. "Enough of this! Get in there and grab them!" he bellowed, pointing a fat finger at the shop. His men hesitated for a split second, unnerved by the strange occurrence, but quickly moved to obey.
Gunter, however, was faster. With two long strides, he positioned himself in front of the door, his broad frame effectively blocking the entrance. His hand now gripped his sword, partially drawing it from its scabbard.
"You're not getting inside," he growled, his eyes hard as flint as he stared down the approaching thugs.
Rawl stepped forward, a cruel smile twisting his scarred face. "Step aside, big man, or we'll go through you."
Gunter's reply was cut short as Bakule suddenly reared up, antlers swinging dangerously. The elk's unexpected move scattered the men, creating chaos in the narrow street. Seizing the moment, Gunter spun around and shouldered the door open with all his might.
"Mikhail!" he shouted into the shop, his voice booming over the commotion outside. "Anora! You need to get out now! We're surrounded!"
As he turned back to face the recovering mob, Gunter could only hope his friends were ready for what awaited them. The odds were stacked against them, but he'd be damned if he'd let these criminals lay a hand on Mikhail or Anora. With grim determination, he raised his sword, prepared to buy them as much time as he could.
----------------------------------------
Mikhail's head was spinning, his lips still tingling from Anora's unexpected kiss. Her confession of love echoed in his mind, mingling with the lingering awe of witnessing her voice restored. For a moment, he stood frozen, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions and the magical aftermath.
Gunter's urgent shout cut through his daze like a splash of cold water. "Mikhail! Anora! You need to get out now! We're surrounded!"
Reality crashed back into focus. Danger. They were in danger.
"Come on," Mikhail said, his voice rough with emotion as he gently helped Anora down from the table. Her new voice, so precious and fragile, needed to be protected at all costs.
As they rushed past Lorna, Mikhail fumbled with his coin pouch, managing to toss a gold piece onto her counter. "Thank you," he called out hurriedly, not sure if the words were adequate for the miracle she'd performed.
They burst out of the shop to find chaos. Gunter stood like a wall before them, his sword gleaming in the sunlight. Bakule's antlers swept back and forth, keeping a group of rough-looking men at bay. The street had become a battlefield.
"Behind me," Mikhail ordered Anora, guiding her with a protective arm. He reached for his spear, the familiar weight of it in his hands bringing a measure of calm to his racing heart.
Scanning the crowd, Mikhail's eyes landed on a portly man who seemed to be in charge. The man's piggy eyes glittered with malice, sending a chill down Mikhail's spine.
Stepping forward, Mikhail raised his voice, trying to project a confidence he didn't entirely feel. "What do you want with us?" he demanded, his spear pointed at the group. "Who are you people?"
Anora's small hand gripped the back of his tunic, a reminder of what was at stake. Mikhail's resolve hardened. Whatever these men wanted, he wouldn't let them harm Anora. Not now, not ever.
The portly man stepped forward, a sneer twisting his features. "I am Borst," he announced, his voice dripping with self-importance. "And my employers have commanded that you and your little green friend be taken into custody."
Mikhail's grip tightened on his spear. "Employers? What employers? And why would they want us?"
Borst's piggy eyes narrowed. "Why? You've caused quite a stir, boy. Killing two of my employer's men, delaying a very important delivery." He spat on the ground. "For that trouble, they want you caught and brought to them. Seems you've become more than just a minor nuisance."
Realization dawned on Mikhail. The slavers. This was about their encounter with the slave caravan. His mind raced, trying to piece together the implications. Who were these employers? How far did their influence reach?
"Those men were slaver’s," Mikhail retorted, his voice hard. "They tried to take Anora and attacked me when offered peace. I did what I had to do to protect her and myself."
Borst laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. "Noble sentiments, boy. But do you think that matters? You've interfered with business far beyond your understanding. Now, you'll face the consequences."
Mikhail felt Anora's grip tighten on his tunic. He glanced back at her, seeing a mixture of fear and determination in her orange eyes. She had just regained her voice, more of her freedom to express herself. He'd be damned if he'd let anyone take that away from her again.
Turning back to Borst, Mikhail's voice was as hard as steel. "We're not going anywhere with you. Whatever your employers want, they'll have to come and get it themselves."
Borst's face reddened with anger. "You fool! Do you think you have a choice?"
Mikhail's eyes met Gunter's, a silent understanding passing between them. They'd trained together, fought together back in Aldernhor. Without a word, they both knew what needed to be done. Mikhail gave a slight nod, which Gunter returned, his hand tightening on his sword hilt.
In an instant, chaos erupted.
Gunter lunged forward, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he engaged the large, scarred man – Rawl. The clash of steel rang out, punctuated by grunts of exertion as the two powerhouses collided.
Mikhail spun his spear, the familiar weight of it an extension of his arm. Three of Borst's men charged at him, crude weapons raised. Time seemed to slow as his training kicked in. He sidestepped the first attacker, using the spear's shaft to deflect a blow meant for his head. In one fluid motion, he brought the spear's point around, catching the second man in the throat. A spray of blood marked the fatal strike.
"Anora, stay close!" Mikhail shouted, using his body to shield her as he faced the remaining attackers.
She dug herself into his back as far as she could. Doing her best to match his movements.
The third man came at him with a wild swing. Mikhail ducked under it, thrusting his spear upward. The blade found its mark, piercing the man's chest. As the body fell, Mikhail wrenched his weapon free, already turning to face the next threat.
Bakule bellowed, his massive antlers lowered like a deadly fence. The elk charged at a group of men attempting to flank them, scattering them like leaves in the wind. One unfortunate soul caught the full brunt of Bakule's attack, lifted off his feet by the antlers and tossed aside like a rag doll. Blood and torn flesh hung from his antlers.
Blood pounded in Mikhail's ears as he fought, every sense heightened. He could feel Anora at his back, hear her quick breaths. The need to protect her fueled his every move. Another man fell to his spear, the battle turning the street into a grisly scene.
Through the melee, Mikhail caught glimpses of Gunter holding his own against Rawl, their fight a brutal dance of strength and skill. The sounds of their combat mixed with the general chaos, creating a cacophony of violence that echoed off the narrow street's walls.
As Mikhail dispatched another attacker, he realized with grim satisfaction that they were holding their own. But he also knew they couldn't keep this up forever. They needed a way out, and soon.
The clash of steel and shouts of combat were suddenly drowned out by a new sound – the clanking of armored footsteps. A group of city guards rounded the corner, their faces a mix of confusion and determination as they took in the chaotic scene.
"Break it up!" one of them shouted, moving to intervene.
But before they could act, a voice rang out, cutting through the din. "Belay that order!" It was the corrupt commander, his face red with exertion and anger. "Take the elk rider and the goblin girl into custody! Now!"
Gunter, still locked in combat with Rawl, saw the guards hesitate. He knew they had only moments before the situation became even more dire. "Mikhail!" he shouted, parrying a vicious blow from Rawl. "Get out of the city! Now!"
Mikhail hesitated, torn between the need to escape and his loyalty to his friend. "But Gunter-"
"I'll be fine!" Gunter insisted, his voice strained as he pushed back against Rawl's onslaught. "I'll find you soon. Just go!"
Making a split-second decision, Mikhail nodded. He turned to Anora, who was watching the scene with wide, frightened eyes. "We have to leave," he said urgently, guiding her towards Bakule.
Mikhail helped Anora into the saddle, wincing as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his wounded leg as he supported her weight. The adrenaline of the fight had masked it, but now the injury made itself known with a vengeance. Gritting his teeth, he hauled himself up behind Anora, his body protesting every movement.
"Hold on tight," he told her, gripping the reins with one hand and keeping his spear at the ready with the other.
With a click of his tongue and a nudge of his heels, Mikhail urged Bakule forward. The elk needed no further encouragement. He surged ahead, his powerful legs propelling them through the crowd.Mikhail could feel Anora’s body pressed against his. Men dove out of the way, those too slow to move were simply bowled over by the elk's bulk.
Suddenly, Bakule gathered himself and leapt. Anora let out a startled scream as they soared over a group of Borst's men, her newly recovered voice high and clear in the chaos. They landed with a jolt that sent another spike of pain through Mikhail's leg, but he pushed the discomfort aside, focusing on their escape.
They thundered through the streets of Sablewood, Bakule's hooves striking sparks from the cobblestones. Mikhail kept his spear close, ready to fend off any pursuit, but the streets ahead remained blessedly clear. Perhaps luck was on their side, or perhaps the commotion they'd left behind had drawn all attention away from their flight path.
Soon the southern gate loomed ahead, a promise of freedom beyond its arch. Mikhail's heart pounded in his chest, matching the rhythm of Bakule's gallop. They were so close.
As they burst through the gate and out onto the open road beyond leaving surprised guards and some merchants behind, Mikhail allowed himself a moment of relief. They had escaped the immediate danger, but he knew their troubles were far from over. With one last glance back at the walls of Sablewood, he urged Bakule onward, into the uncertainty that lay ahead.
As they galloped away from Sablewood, the wind whipping through their hair, Mikhail noticed something alarming. Fresh streaks of blood ran down Bakule's neck and side, stark crimson against the elk's russet coat. The wounds from the crossbow bolts had reopened during their frantic escape.
Mikhail's first instinct was to stop and tend to the injuries. His mind raced, calculating the risks. But the memory of Borst's men and the corrupt city guard was too fresh. They needed distance between themselves and Sablewood.
"We can't stop yet," Mikhail muttered, more to himself than to Anora. He could feel her tension, her small frame rigid against his chest.
Instead, he eased Bakule from a full gallop into a quick-paced trot. It was still faster than a walk, but it would give the elk some respite without sacrificing too much speed. Mikhail kept his eyes on the horizon, searching for any sign of pursuit.
As they trotted along at a decent pace Mkihail’s mind was full of regrets. He hadn’t been able to keep a promise that he had made to Anora, the promise of getting her a weapon for her to use for defense. He also cursed himself for being naive and confronting the slavers. If he had just steered around them then none of this would never have happened. His thoughts churned for a silent time as they traveled down the southern road.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, a structure came into view in the distance. Mikhail squinted, making out the shape of a farmhouse and barn. A memory tugged at his mind – Gunter mentioning leaving his own elk at a farm south of the city.
"Could it be the same place?" Mikhail wondered aloud.
Anora turned her head slightly, her orange eyes questioning. Her newly restored voice was still hesitant when she spoke. "What place?"
"Gunter said he left his elk at a farm south of Sablewood," Mikhail explained. "This might be it. If it is, it could be a safe place to rest and tend to Bakule's wounds."
He weighed the options in his mind. It was a risk, stopping so close to the city. But Bakule needed care, and they all needed rest. Plus, if it was the right farm, it might be where Gunter would look for them.
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"We'll check it out," Mikhail decided. "But we'll be careful. At the first sign of trouble, we leave. Understood?"
Anora nodded, her hand tightening on the saddle pommel.
Mikhail guided Bakule towards the farm, his muscles tense, ready for action. He kept his spear at the ready, eyes scanning for any threat. As they approached, he could make out figures moving in the farmyard – a man and woman, going about their daily chores.
"Here goes nothing," Mikhail murmured, urging Bakule forward. He hoped his instincts were right, that this place would offer the sanctuary they so desperately needed. And perhaps, if fortune favored them, it would be where Gunter would find them when he escaped the city.
With a deep breath, Mikhail prepared to hail the farmers, praying to Aran that they were about to find allies, not enemies.
As Mikhail, Anora, and Bakule approached the old farmhouse, they saw an older man, his weathered face speaking of years under the sun, chopping wood near a large pile of logs. The rhythmic thunk of his axe punctuated the quiet country air.
The farmhouse was a modest structure. Its white plaster walls framed with wood and a thatch roof, surrounded by a few strong oak trees that provided ample shade from the heat of the sun. Small windows stood open, providing ample fresh air and sunlight for the interior.
The man paused in his work as they drew near, his eyes widening at the sight of Bakule. "By the Creator," he muttered, clearly impressed by the magnificent elk.
Mikhail took this as a good sign. Dismounting carefully, wincing at the pain in his leg, he approached the man. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know a man named Gunter?"
The old man's bushy eyebrows rose. "Aye, that I do. What of him?"
Mikhail's face brightened with relief. "I'm Mikhail, a friend of Gunter's. This is Anora," he gestured to the small figure still atop Bakule. "We've run into some trouble in Sablewood. We're looking for a safe place to wait for Gunter and to tend to our elk's wounds."
As Mikhail explained their situation, leaving out some of the more alarming details, the old man – who introduced himself as Gareth – listened intently, his weathered face inscrutable.
Before Gareth could respond, the farmhouse door opened, and a young woman stepped out. She was perhaps seventeen, with long blonde hair and a kind face. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Mikhail.
"Grandfather," she called, "are these travelers staying for supper?" She smiled warmly at Mikhail, dropping into a small curtsey.
Gareth noticed her actions and shook his head, he was quiet for a moment, his eyes moving from Mikhail to Anora, lingering on the latter with a hint of suspicion. Finally, he nodded. "Aye, Elara. They'll be staying a while, waiting for their friend."
He turned back to Mikhail. "You're welcome to stay, lad. Any friend of Gunter's is welcome here." His tone was gruff but not unkind, though his gaze kept flickering to Anora with poorly concealed wariness.
Gareth called out, and three more girls of varying ages emerged from the house. "Girls, we have guests," he announced. "Mira, Lila, take their elk to the stables and tend to his wounds."
The two youngest, looking to be about thirteen and eleven, nodded eagerly and approached Bakule with awe in their eyes.
Mikhail started to protest. "I should really see to Bakule myself-"
"Nonsense," Gareth cut him off. "The girls know what they're doing. Your elk will be fine."
As they moved towards the house, Mikhail noticed the two older girls – Elara and another who looked about fifteen – paying him particular attention, giggling and whispering to each other. Beside him, Anora's posture stiffened, her orange eyes narrowing at the two.
Inside, the farmhouse was warm and inviting, filled with the aroma of cooking food. As they settled in, Mikhail couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety. They were safe for now, but how long would that last? And when would Gunter arrive?
He glanced at Anora, who was keeping close to his side, her wary gaze taking in their new surroundings. Despite the temporary reprieve, Mikhail knew their troubles were far from over.
Mikhail and Gareth conversed for a while, discussing the farm and Gunter's occasional visits. After a lull in the conversation, Mikhail cleared his throat. "Is there a place I could clean my spear?"he asked as politely as he could.
Gareth nodded, gesturing towards the back of the house. "There's a well out back. Help yourself to the water."
Thanking him, Mikhail excused himself and headed outside. He stopped by Bakule, retrieving a cloth from the saddle pack. Mira and Lila were busily tending to the elk's wounds.
"How's he doing?" Mikhail asked, concern evident in his voice.
Mira, the older of the two, looked up with a smile. "He's doing well. I've cleaned the blood from his wounds."
Lila chimed in, her hands coated with a greenish paste. "And I'm applying a special poultice. It'll help him heal faster."
Their faces bright and cheerful. Bakule seemed content, enjoying the attention from the young girls. His large brown eyes were half-closed in contentment as Lila gently applied the salve and petted his side.
Satisfied, Mikhail made his way to the well, drawing up a bucket of cool, clear water. Anora followed silently, not wanting to be left alone in an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar people. She took a seat on a nearby stump as Mikhail settled on another, laying his spear across his lap. The blade of it stained red with blood that had dried while they had fled.
As he began to clean the blood from his weapon, an awkward silence fell between them. The only sounds were the soft splashing of water and the distant giggles of the younger girls with Bakule.
Mikhail's mind wandered to Anora's confession in Lorna's shop. 'I love you,' she had said. It had been the second thing she had said after who knows how long being silent. He had grown to know her enough to know that she only did the things she meant. She must have been thinking that for some time now. The words echoed in his mind, stirring a whirlwind of emotions. He hadn't responded, hadn't told her he loved her too. Did he? He searched his feelings, trying to untangle the complex web of emotions.
He had saved her out of duty, out of a sense of right and wrong. And from a sense of justice as all he had thought of then was how his sister had felt when something similar had happened to her. Now it felt that somewhere along their journey, things had changed. He cared for her deeply, that much was certain or he wouldn’t have put himself in harm's way for her, no that wasn’t right. He had always been taught to help others and he would have done exactly what he had done over again. Had it been fate? Maybe it was it love?
Feeling her eyes upon him Mikhail opened his mouth, ready to break the silence, to say something – anything – to Anora. But before he could, the sound of giggling interrupted him. He glanced up to see Elara and her sister watching him from the kitchen doorway, whispering and smiling in his direction. The oldest waved at him before snickering with her sister again.
Beside him, Anora stiffened. Her orange eyes flashed dangerously as she glared at the two girls. Without a word, she stood abruptly and walked over to Bakule, leaving Mikhail alone with his thoughts.
As Anora began to stroke Bakule's muzzle, murmuring softly to the elk, Mikhail watched her. The sunlight caught her red curls, making them glow like embers. Her small green hands moved gently over Bakule's fur, and Mikhail felt a tug in his chest at the sight.
He turned back to his spear, scrubbing perhaps a bit harder than necessary. The situation was complicated enough without adding confused feelings to the mix. But as he worked, he couldn't shake the image of Anora's hurt expression from his mind, or the warmth he'd felt when she'd kissed him.
With a sigh, Mikhail realized that sooner or later, he'd have to confront these feelings. But for now, cleaning his spear and waiting for Gunter would have to do.
Anora stood by Bakule, her face clouded with a mix of jealousy and hurt, Lila, the youngest of Gareth's granddaughters, looked up from applying the green paste.
"Don't mind them," Lila said softly, nodding towards her older sisters. "They're always like that with new boys."
Anora looked at the young girl, surprised by her perceptiveness. Despite her newfound ability to speak, years of silence made Anora hesitant to use her voice. She simply nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Lila grinned, seeming to understand Anora's quiet nature. "You know," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "if you really like Mikhail, you should sit next to him at supper. Show my sisters he's taken."
Anora's eyes widened at the suggestion, but she found herself considering it. She continued petting Bakule but became aware that Lila was staring at her. She met her gaze, Lila's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she looked at Anora.
"Is it true that goblins have sharp pointed teeth?" she blurted out. Anora, caught off guard, looked about with her orange eye’s panicking a bit, but after a second to calm herself she nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. She opened her mouth, revealing her pointed teeth.
"Wow!" Lila exclaimed, leaning in for a closer look. Mira, standing slightly behind her sister, looked both fascinated and hesitant.
Now encouraged by Anora's openness, Lila continued, "Do your people live in caves?"
Anora nodded again, then spoke softly, her voice still new to her. "Some do. I... lived on the surface."
Mira, overcoming her shyness, asked, "Can you see in the dark?"
Anora's orange eyes met Mira's, and she nodded. "Very well," she added.
Lila bounced excitedly. "That must be so useful!
Mira hesitantly asked, "Does it... hurt to be in the sunlight?"
Anora shook her head. "No, but it took some getting used to."
Lila, still full of questions, blurted out, "Do you have magic powers?"
This time, Anora shook her head. "No magic. Just... me.”
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, they all went inside to sit around the dinner table for supper when a familiar figure appeared at the farmhouse door. Gunter stood there, his face and arms covered in cuts and bruises, his clothes tattered but intact.
"Gunter!" Mikhail exclaimed, rushing to his friend. "How did you escape?"
Gunter recounted his tale as they gathered around him. He'd managed to overpower Rawl, seizing an opportunity to flee amidst the chaos. He'd then navigated through fields and trees, evading the city guards.
"I came here to rest and collect my elk," Gunter explained. "We should all hit the road soon. It's not safe to linger."
Before they could make plans though, Gareth insisted they sit down for supper. "A good meal before a journey is important," he said firmly.
Gunter's face lit up. "Thought you'd never ask! I'm so hungry I could eat a horse!" he said, grinning from ear to ear.
As they settled around the table, Anora, remembering Lila's advice, quickly took the seat next to Mikhail. She scooted close, her small frame pressed against his side. Mikhail glanced down at her, a mix of surprise and something softer in his eyes. He felt a nervous flutter in his stomach at her proximity.
The older girls shot angry glances at Anora, but their attention soon shifted to Gunter, who politely acknowledged their interest without encouraging it.
As they ate, Mikhail, Gunter, and Gareth discussed their next move. "Me and Anora are still headed for Rivertown," Mikhail said, his voice firm as they talked over locations.
The large wooden table groaned under the weight of the hearty farm meal. Steaming platters of roasted chicken, seasoned with herbs from Gareth's garden, sat alongside bowls of buttered potatoes and fresh green beans. A basket of warm, crusty bread filled the air with its comforting aroma, and pitchers of cool, sweet cider stood ready to quench their thirst.
As they passed dishes around, Gareth cleared his throat, his weathered face serious. "You boys need to be careful out there," he said, looking at Gunter and Mikhail. "The world's not as simple as it used to be."
Mikhail nodded, helping himself to a piece of chicken. "We've noticed," he said dryly.
Gareth continued, "Especially you, Mikhail. Rivertown's a different beast altogether. It's full of all sorts - elves, beast men, even some of them cat folk from the southern deserts."
"Beast men? Sounds interesting," Mikhail replied, his curiosity piqued.
"Interesting, sure," Gareth grunted. "But dangerous too. All those different races in one place... it can be a powder keg. You've got to watch your step."
Gunter leaned forward, interested. "Have you been there, Gareth?"
The old man nodded. "Once, years ago. It's a place of opportunity, but also of cutthroats and thieves. And the gob-" He stopped abruptly, his eyes flickering to Anora, who was quietly eating her meal next to Mikhail. Her eyes met his as she was taking a bite from a chicken leg.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Gareth changed tack. "Just... be careful who you trust. Not everyone's as they seem in Rivertown."
Mikhail felt Anora tense beside him. He placed a reassuring hand on her arm under the table, feeling her gradually relax at his touch.
"We'll be careful," Mikhail assured Gareth, his voice firm. "All of us."
Gareth nodded at Mikhail's assurance, his eyes still serious. "I'm sure that you will," he said, his tone softening slightly. Then, as if remembering something important, he leaned forward, his elbows on the table.
"Listen, lad," he continued, his voice low and earnest. "You'll be passing through Cedarcrest on your way to Rivertown. When you get there, seek out a friend of mine - Eliath."
Mikhail's interest was piqued. "Eliath?"
Gareth nodded. "Aye, Eliath. He's a good man, been in Cedarcrest for years. Knows the lay of the land better than most. If you need any help, any information about Rivertown or the road ahead, he's the one to ask."
"Where can we find him?" Mikhail asked, committing the name to memory.
"He runs an apothecary shop near the town square. Can't miss it - got a big green door with a silver tree painted on it. Tell him old Gareth sent you. He'll help you out."
Mikhail nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Gareth. We'll be sure to look him up."
As the conversation moved on, Mikhail exchanged a glance with Anora. Her orange eyes met his, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in their depths. He gave her a small, reassuring smile.
The meal continued, the warm food and good company a welcome respite from the dangers they'd faced. But it quickly changed as it was suddenly interrupted by the sound of horses and shouting men outside. Gareth's face grew serious. "You three need to leave. Now. Use the back door and get to your elks."
They quickly thanked Gareth for his help and the meal, then hurried out the back. As Gareth moved to answer the front door, ready to stall the guards, the group rushed to the stables, Mira and Lila quickly helped Gunter saddle his elk - a massive beast, larger than Bakule, with a prominent scar over its left eye and across its muzzle. The elk, which Gunter affectionately called "Thunderhoof," looked every bit as battle-hardened as its rider.
Just as they finished tightening the last strap, the sound of approaching guards and the growing brightness of torchlight reached them. Gunter, thinking quickly, pointed out into the darkened fields behind the farmhouse. "We'll be caught if we ride. We need to run, now!"
After a hurried thanks and goodbye to the young girls, they led the elks out into the field. Moments later, the guards rounded the corner, finding only Mira and Lila in the stables.
Once they'd put some distance between themselves and the farmhouse, Mikhail realized their predicament. “Gunter.” Mikhail whispered as he stopped. “We can't see in this darkness, we are going to end up walking in circles. I say that we have Anora lead us out." he said.
“How do you suppose she does that?” Gunter asked.
“She can see in the dark.” Mikhail said. Gunter was quiet for a second then said.
“Very well. See if she will.”
Before Mikhail could ask her Anora stepped up and took point. Mikhail quickly explained that they needed to head west for a bit, pointing in that direction then they needed to head south, back towards the road. Anora nodded with understanding and with her keen night vision, she guided them past guard patrols, Mikhail silently thanking Aran for the moonless night.
Eventually, they cleared the danger zone and mounted their elks, riding south for several hours to put more distance between them and their pursuers.
The steady rhythm of hoofbeats filled the night air as Mikhail and Gunter rode side by side. Anora sat in front of Mikhail, her small form nestled against his chest, apparently asleep. The moonlight cast long shadows across the road, giving the familiar landscape an otherworldly quality.
Gunter had been stealing glances at Mikhail and Anora for the past hour, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he could contain his curiosity no longer.
"So," Gunter began, his voice low but tinged with an edge of concern, "about Anora..."
Mikhail tensed, sensing the direction of the conversation. "What about her?"
"Why are you traveling with a goblin, Mikhail? We're not supposed to have help this early in our pilgrimage. It's... unusual."
Mikhail's jaw clenched. "It's not a hard set rule, Gunter. You know that."
"Sure, but a goblin?" Gunter pressed. "Come on, Mikhail. What's really going on here?"
Mikhail sighed, exasperated. "I told you. I found her in trouble, and I couldn't just leave her."
Gunter was silent for a moment, then asked bluntly, "Do you care for her?"
Mikhail's hesitation was answer enough. Gunter's eyes widened. "By Aran's beard, you do, don't you?" He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Have you and her... you know..." He made a crude gesture with his hands.
"Gunter!" Mikhail hissed, his face flushing red. "No! We haven't... I mean... it's not like that."
"Not yet, you mean," Gunter pressed, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern.
Mikhail's patience was wearing thin. "What does it matter to you anyway?"
"It matters because you're my friend, Mikhail. My brother. And this... this isn't right."
"Not right?" Mikhail's voice rose, anger flaring in his chest. "What's not right about it?"
Gunter gestured frantically at the sleeping Anora. "She's a goblin, Mikhail! Think about it. What would your family say? The village? Have you even considered the consequences?"
"First off," Mikhail snapped, his voice low but intense, "I'll do what I please on my pilgrimage. Secondly, damn what they think! And third, I haven't..." he faltered for a moment, then pushed on, "I haven't thought of doing that with her. Even if I have, what does it matter? She's still a woman, isn't she?"
"A goblin woman," Gunter corrected. "It's not the same, and you know it."
"How is it not the same?" Mikhail demanded. "She thinks, she feels, she..."
"She's not human, Mikhail!" Gunter interrupted. "You can't build a life with her. You can't have a family. What future could you possibly have?"
Mikhail's hand tightened on the reins. "You don't know that. You don't know her like I do."
"And how well do you know her, really?" Gunter challenged. "You've been traveling together for what, a few weeks? That's not enough time to truly know someone, especially someone so... different."
"Different doesn't mean wrong, Gunter," Mikhail retorted. "I thought you of all people would understand that."
Gunter fell silent, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. The only sounds were the steady clip-clop of the elks' hooves and the soft night breeze.
Finally, Gunter spoke, his voice softer now. "I'm sorry, brother. I am concerned for you, truly. It's just... it's an odd pairing. Many won't like it. I don't want to see you hurt, or ostracized."
Mikhail's anger deflated slightly at the genuine concern in his friend's voice. "I appreciate that, Gunter. But I can take care of myself. And Anora... she's special. I can't explain it, but there's something about her. Something that makes all those concerns seem small in comparison."
Gunter nodded slowly, still not entirely convinced but willing to let the matter rest for now. "Just... be careful, alright? The world isn't always kind to those who are different."
"I know," Mikhail said softly, his arms unconsciously tightening around Anora's sleeping form. "But sometimes, being different is worth the risk."
They rode on in silence, Mikhail couldn't shake the feeling that Anora's steady breathing against his chest wasn't quite as deep as it had been earlier. He wondered, with a mix of anxiety and hope, just how much of their conversation she had heard as he knew she had been awake.
The night passed in uneasy silence, the three travelers making camp without a fire, each lost in their own thoughts as they leaned against their elks for warmth. As dawn broke, they ate a quick, cold breakfast, the tension from the previous night's conversation still hanging in the air.
They rode in silence until midday when they reached a fork in the road. A weathered signpost stood at the junction, one arm pointing south towards Ashwood, the other southwest to Cedarcrest.
Gunter pulled his elk to a stop, clearing his throat. "Well, I suppose this is where we part ways."
Mikhail nodded, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "I guess so."
An awkward silence fell between them, neither quite sure how to bridge the gap their argument had created. Finally, Gunter spoke, his voice gruff but sincere.
"Listen, Mikhail... about last night. I was out of line."
Mikhail's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh?"
Gunter sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. You're right, brother. You can do what you please on your pilgrimage. It's your journey, not mine."
A small smile tugged at Mikhail's lips. "Thank you, Gunter. That... means a lot."
Gunter nodded, then turned to Anora, who had been watching the exchange with wary eyes. "Anora," he said, his tone careful but genuine, "I owe you an apology too. I judged you unfairly. I hope you can forgive me."
Anora's orange eyes narrowed slightly, giving Gunter a look that could have curdled milk. She nodded curtly but said nothing, her posture still tense.
Gunter cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under her gaze. "Right. Well, I'll be in Ashwood for a while if either of you need anything. Just... be careful out there, alright? The world can be a dangerous place, especially for those who are... different."
Mikhail nodded, appreciating his friend's concern despite their disagreement. "We will be. You take care too, Gunter."
Gunter extended his hand, but Mikhail shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. "Come on, man. Brothers don't shake hands." He opened his arms wide. "Brothers gotta hug."
Gunter laughed, the last of the tension finally breaking. He dismounted and embraced Mikhail tightly. "You're right, you stubborn fool. Come here."
As they separated, both men felt lighter, the weight of their argument lifting. Gunter mounted his elk again, giving them both a final nod. "Safe travels, both of you. And Mikhail... I hope you find what you're looking for out there."
Mikhail smiled, his hand finding Anora's on the saddle. "I think I already have, Gunter. But thanks."
With a final wave, Gunter turned his elk towards Ashwood, while Mikhail watched him wander down the road.