By the time they got off the road and found a nearby stream, the wounds on Wil’s chest screeched pain. A quick inspection showed that the wampus cat’s claws hadn’t dug in too deep, but it still hurt. Two hours into their adventure and already Wil had an injury and a new enemy. A bit faster than he expected, but he supposed it could’ve been worse.

“How’re you feeling?” Darlene asked for the dozenth time.

“Like an apex predator landed on me claws first,” said Wil. “It hurts but I’ll live, really.”

They stopped before the water, Darlene holding Wil back. She looked around carefully, straightening her spectacles. Wil honestly found her care endearing, but that water looked cool and he knew how soothing it would be to wash his wounds.

“Alright, it’s clear,” said Darlene, motioning for him to come forward.

Wil dropped to his knees at the river. Gingerly, he peeled his shirt up and off of him, wincing at the way the blood made it cling to his torn skin. Some of the blood had already dried and hardened, leaving streaks of muddy brown crust. It looked worse than it was, but Wil wasn’t used to real injuries and found himself distressed.

In the time it took him to get his shirt off and sit down, Darlene had already grabbed a pitcher and a sponge and was in the process of digging through Wil’s pack for a potion. She grabbed one of the bigger bottles and bit the stopper off, letting the cork drop into her lap after.

“This is going to hurt, right?” she asked.

“Probably,” said Wil with a sigh, trying to keep very still and not tremble at the sight of so many lines in his skin.

“Then I’m really sorry for this.” Darlene tilted the bottle over his chest and let a line of viscous goo out over his chest over his wounds.

Immediately the wounds sizzled and hissed and Wil’s entire chest felt like someone had poured oil over him and lit a match. That was just the powerful potion clearing out any potential bugs or bacteria and priming the body to heal faster. It wasn’t the kind of potion that healed immediately, but it sanitized and promoted healing.

It was one of the last potions Bram brewed before he’d been lured into Faerie, and Wil couldn’t help but think of him through the pain, and hope he was doing better than they were. The thought made him laugh, blinking away tears at the pain. When he looked back down the wounds weren’t closed so much as no longer bleeding.

There was a high pitched sound Wil took too long to realize came from him before he cleared his throat and fell silent. Darlene patted his back before filling the pitcher with water from the stream and she poured that over the potion. He slumped in place as the cool water washed away the burn of the potion.

She dipped the sponge in the river and worked at some of the dried blood, cleaning around the spots carefully. “So, wampus cats?” she asked.

Wil laughed, but it hurt. “Big, six legged cats who are smart and can talk, as you may have noticed. They’ll hunt and eat anything and whatever they eat, they gain something from it. If their prey is powerful enough, at least. If they eat an ogre, maybe they’ll grow stronger. They eat a wizard, and they might be able to cast one of that wizard’s spells. They’re incredibly dangerous.”

“Maybe,” said Darlene, lips quirking up in a smile, “but he also made a very satisfying thump when I hit him.”

“With the two of us, we’re probably okay,” said Wil, wincing as Darlene came close to one of his wounds. She kept at it, gently scrubbing the blood away. Cuts like this deserved stitches but Wil would probably make do with an alchemically treated bandage. It’d scar, but they didn’t have time to take it easy. “Just gotta be careful.”

“If it’s going to take us a week to get to Oakheart Spiral, that’s a lot of opportunities for that thing to jump us again,” Darlene grumbled, dipping the sponge in the stream again. “I don’t like it.”

“Not sure what else we can do,” said Wil. He looked around, suddenly feeling weird. Nothing had explicitly changed around them, but there was a certain quiet, a stillness, that didn’t feel right with how loud and lively this place was. This stream seemed too… alone.

Darlene saw the look on his face and tilted her head questioningly. Wil motioned for his staff, a few feet away. She quietly handed it to him, slowly turning to look behind her. After getting to his feet Wil considered what to do. He imagined a ring forming around him, and he filled it with his intent, summed up in two words: seek life.

When he let go, he was flooded with sensory information for every bug and flower and worm and mole in the dirt around him. Hundreds and hundreds of little lives giving him a mental map of the streamside thicket around him. What interested him wasn’t what showed up, but the gap where no life whatsoever showed up. Smiling, Wil released the spell.

“I’m giving you a chance to come out now,” said Wil, motioning for Darlene to stay calm. “I’m going to assume you mean us no harm. Please don’t make me regret it.”

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Silence, then right where Wil predicted, a bestial man appeared. He was half human, more or less, with a bare human chest and arms and most of his face that of a man. His legs were hairy, spindly things on cloven hooves. His nose was flat and goatlike, as were his golden eyes with square pupils. He had a sheepish smile on his face framed by a short, sharp beard. Twin ram horns rose out of his head, spiraling outward.

“Hello there,” said the goatman brightly, in a gently lilting voice. “I not only mean you no harm, I actively have an offer for you, wizard.” He held his hands up to show he was unarmed, wiggling abnormally long fingers playfully. “Syl of the woodlands association, at your service.”

Darlene looked at Wil in disbelief, then back at the goatman. “We’ve already been lost and attacked today. Forgive us if we’re not feeling especially charitable, but who the hell are you and what do you want with us?”

The goatman, Syl, wiggled elongated ears. He bowed his head and swept his arms up in a grandiose motion. “My offer is to heal your wounds and guide you to Oakheart Spiral safe and sound. The land of Faerie can be dangerous to the unprepared, even the safer areas such as this. As you have obviously already discovered yourself. How is that wound treating you, Wilbur McKenzie?”

“Call me Wil,” he said automatically. Less for avoiding his name and more to avoid the odd discomfort that came from a fae knowing and casually using his name in front of him. He’d felt a light pull at his name he didn’t care for.

“Of course, Wil.” Syl stood up to his full height, almost seven feet tall. He towered over them both, but Wil really didn’t sense anything malicious in the man. Of course, that’s what the fae were supposed to be good at, making you trust them and then taking advantage of them. But then, a dark voice in Wil’s head whispered, that’s exactly what his own people did to the fae.

Smiling apologetically at Darlene, Wil decided to go full manners and friendliness. “My wounds sting but aren’t life threatening. Your offer is a good one, and that scares me. What do you ask for in exchange for this aid?”

The faun let out a bleating laugh, gently clutching at his stomach as he gave in to amusement. “I cannot fault you, wizard. Our kind are slippery and crafty, and your people don’t trust anyone anyway. All I ask for is for you to answer me three questions truthfully, your word bound to your power.”

“What does that even mean?” Darlene asked, hand remaining on her iron bar.

“It means I either tell the truth or I face a magical backlash,” said Wil. It seemed an easy bargain, but he knew damned well Syl could ask him an intimate, personal question or get him to either reveal secrets about the town or risk losing power permanently if he lied. This wasn’t without risks, but the benefits were worth it. They could use a guide, and if Syl had healing powers, that could be invaluable if Isom attacked again.

“Okay,” said Wil, bracing himself for the worst. “I agree to your terms. Ask your questions.”

Syl held up one brown, knobby finger. “What is your favorite color?”

Silence.

“What? Seriously?” Darlene scoffed.

“Dead serious,” intoned Syl gravely. “An inaccurate answer or a fib will weaken you. Choose wisely.”

“Well,” said Wil, giving it more thought than he ever expected, “I’ve always had a special spot in my heart for green. Green grass, leaves, frogs. Green’s a good color.” He shrugged sheepishly, unsure of what more he could say.

Syl nodded slowly. “An excellent choice, and one I share. Very good. Second question. Who do you love most in the world?”

“Oh jeeze,” Wil groaned, face already reddening. Darlene raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “That’s not an easy question.”

“The best ones never are.”

“Fine. I do have an answer. My mother, Sharon.” Wil was glad no one else was there to see his credibility as a big, bad wizard disappear with the admission that he was a mama’s boy, but he wasn’t about to deny it. “Satisfied?”

The faun shrugged, grinning once more. “Every nugget of information I get about you helps,” he said. “Which brings me to my final question. What are your intentions towards my people, Wil McKenzie?”

For a second, the only sound was the gentle rush of the stream beside them. Syl stood there at his ridiculous height, looking tranquil and pleased with himself for his question. Wil knew he must’ve looked surprised stupid, and Darlene just searched his face for a hint of what his answer would be. Problem was, Syl had caught him off guard. And now he needed to answer truthfully.

“My intentions towards your people are peaceful,” said Wil carefully, “provided my people are unhurt. My intentions are diplomacy and compromise to find a way to live with each other.”

“And if you can’t live with each other?” Syl pressed, leaning in closer for the answer.

“Then,” said Wil, going with his gut, “how to stay the hell out of each other’s way so we don’t end up fighting again. The last thing I want is a war on my doorstep with people I don’t have a problem with. Outside of, again, kidnapping my neighbors.”

The faun looked satisfied. “And what about you, human? What are your intentions?”

“My name is Darlene,” she said, “and that wasn’t part of the deal. He answered your questions, so you are going to heal his wounds and then guide us to the capital. Right?” Her voice had iron in it, a toughness and a suspicion Wil appreciated, caught up in the situation as he was.

Syl bowed low, horns almost scraping the ground. “You are absolutely correct, Darlene. The questions have been answered and I am satisfied well enough with the answers for now. Congratulations, you two have purchased yourself some magical healing and a tour guide!” The faun did a funny wiggly dance that involved a great deal of shuffling his hooves and wobbling his knees.

Darlene stared at the goatman as if he had two heads, then looked at Wil, who shrugged. As far as he was concerned, they were in a better position than they were just before the attack, so might as well be grateful for it. More important than anything, Wil decided as Syl clapped his hands together and moved close, was to keep an eye open. Just because he seemed friendly didn’t mean he was.

“Alright,” said Syl, golden eyes bright, and odd square pupils boring directly into Wil’s, “hope you’re not ticklish!”