The group woke up around the same time, the rain having subsided over the night. The dew clung to the grass, and the scent in the air stuck to the inside of the nose.
Epim stretched his arms, the pain from his previous fight already quickly leaving him. The sun was in the sky, and he felt its rays shine on his skin. Prose lazily floated through the air, yawning with as much force as he could.
Bart led the group forwards, through the woods and towards his home. Their spirits were high, though Epim noticed as they went forward Bart would explain less and less of the things he saw.
He thought the conversation from the day earlier had perhaps made him apprehensive, and he felt a tinge of regret. But, quickly he understood this was not the case.
As they came upon the village that sat under the cliffside where a tall castle lay, the scent in the air was of death. There was dried blood everywhere. Broken homes, trees that had no illusion of life and were bare and only husks.
Moans could be heard deep in the village, and rotten food stench emanated around. The houses were slightly better than makeshift, made of smooth stone hatch roofs and some glass for windows.
“Sirs. This is my home. We call it Bewit.” Bart’s grateful tone, his happy tone, all of it was gone. All that existed was pain in his voice.
“... The water’s red.” Prose stares at the coast a bit far away, the color striking him.
“Yes, it is. At one point it was a vibrant blue, and it was our pride. I’ve only heard the tales of it, however. It was far beyond my time.”
“How old are you, Bart? I can’t tell you my age, unfortunately.” Epim laughed, feeling quite uncomfortable..
“I’m fifty.” Bart spoke with a bit of bitterness.
The number was quite higher than Epim thought, although he had no frame of reference.
The Shade took an intense interest in the area. It broke off immediately, walking outwards into a stray alley. Epim reached out for a moment, to call the thing back but Prose waved it off. “It’ll come back. Don’t be too needy now.” thus the Shade went, off on its part of the journey.
Epim nodded, but still felt a bit of pain at the trio being broken up. The look on his face was obvious, and Prose, ever insightful, took notice.
“Bart, can you take us to the head of this village? Or, is there a town square?”
Bart breathed in, and nodded his head forwards. “This way, friends. I’ll introduce you to the village elder.”
The three walked through the village, the buildings marking the side of a broken and dirt road. In the houses, small and frail faces looked through the window. None were confident enough to come out and greet their visitors.
“Bart, was it always like this? Why isn’t anybody out?” Epim felt a horrid sensation in his chest.
“Always has been, at least since the Elder has been alive.”
“And how long is that, exactly?” Prose asked, quizzically.
“One-hundred and fifty.”
This sounded quite high, to both Epim and Prose.
As the three walked, they came to a slightly decrepit manor. Brick’s partially stayed in their place, though some were slipping from their foundation. The doors were wide open, and they looked like they had been that way for quite a long time.
They entered, and both Epim and Prose were quite shocked by what was in front of him. Were Bart to stand upright, he’d be about the same size as Epim. What stood in front of them now was about four times the size of Bart. The fur on its body was white, and its eyes, while black had a dull white light captured within them. Its body could almost reach the ceiling if it was standing at full length, though as of now it was laid out on the ground similar to a dog.
“Bart, who are your friends?” The voice that came out was masculine, and unbelievably gentle. His care for Bart is clear.
“This is Epim, and Prose. They have another friend too, but he’s out in the village. They are travelers, and they want to know about our culture, and who we are.”
“M-May I ask your name, sir?” Epim stutters out, the previous simplicity of the words weighed on his tongue.
“I am Bavt, the elder of our small town.” His eyes examine the two in front of him in great detail. “You want to hear about our culture, eh?” A chuckle travels through his massive body.
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“Yes, we’ve come all the way from nowhere, and we’re quite interested in what you have to offer in experience.” Prose swings his hands upwards to the side, making a sight of his appearance.
“Truly?” Bavt raises an eye, but does not question it. “If so, you’re quite a bit more foolish than your friend who went off on his own.”
Prose looks at him, his eyes squinting. Epim tilts his head, wondering the meaning. Bart shakes his head resolutely, and speaks up.
“Please, Elder. As you said, they're my friends. Can’t you quit it with the antagonism?” Bart does not speak of his hope for them to go up to the castle, nor of their unique abilities. He hopes it comes across as a gesture of good will, but truly neither Epim or Prose cared about hiding goals.
“Oh fine, oh fine.” Bavt opens his mouth in an open smile. “I was just playing around, surely such noble men as this can take a jest or two?”
Prose nods, hands in front of him. Epim gives a meager thumbs up.
“So you wish to understand our culture. Well, I have an interesting proposition if you’re intrigued.”
“Anything you’ve got, old Bayt.” Prose instantly strikes a friendly tone, which does not come across as he wants it to.
“Whatever you think is best!” Enthusiasm masked Epim’s response.
“If you wish to understand, immerse yourself- by yourself. The fairy, go to the top right of the village. There is a building bigger than the others, and a garden behind it. Go speak with those there, and admire their care for their craft. Maybe, it will help you learn.”
Prose turns to Epim, seeing the uncomfortable look back on his face. Although he wished to say some encouraging words, he decided against it. “Very well, Bayt. I’ll return by nightfall. “
Prose left through the manor, flying upwards through the air and spotting the garden Bayt had just spoken of. His eyes focused, and he saw a lot of smaller but similar creatures to Bart from a distance. His eye’s squinted, understanding for a moment why he was being sent where he was.
“Well, I can’t say it’s not interesting.” Prose flies towards the garden, off on his part of the journey.
Bayt then turns to Bart, ignoring Epim and speaking to him. “Bart, go find their friend and tell me of what he has done, and what he has seen. You don’t have to bring back until night, but accompany him if you will.”
Bart's mouth opened in objection. “But Elder-”
“But nothing. Be a gracious host, and accompany them. I will take only a yes in response.” His voice was firm, but not angry. Still, the atmosphere in the room was heavy.
“Yes, of course elder.” Bart takes a moment to look at Epim, and then leaves the manor without another word.
Now only Epim and Bayt share the room, and silence falls. Epim thinks of saying something, but instead chooses to believe that he was not ignored out of malice.
Bayt breathes in, slowly and methodically. His eyes don’t leave Epim. “I’m unsure of what I’d like you to see. Do you know why?”
Epim shakes his head, slightly ashamed.
“Oh, don’t act like that. Nothing negative, I assure you. It’s simple, I think you’d enjoy, and love, anything I sent you to do. Do you understand my hesitation now?”
“Ah… I suppose. But, I would like to see whatever you find best.” Epim smiles, the tension in the air quickly leaving. His honesty makes Bayt raise an eye, again.
“Well then, if you truly wish to know what I find best, then there’s a flight of stairs over to the side there.” It lifts its massive hand, pointing towards a corridor. “Go down, all the way to the bottom. There you will find my ancestors, resting. Approach the largest coffin, set your knees down and pray.”
Epim looks to the corridor, and back to Bayt. “I’m not completely sure… how to. I mean, I can interlock my fingers, but, what do you mean pray? I don’t think I believe in the same god as you, or even know of the god you do.”
Bayt shakes his head. “Prayer does not have to belong to the divine. Pray, and think of my ancestors' visage. Your remembrance, surely, will be enough.”
Epim looks down the dark corridor, and walks forward dispelling his hesitation. “Oh, I’d like to say thank you for watching over this village that Bart comes from. He’s wise, and I can tell his heart is good.”
With this Epim leaves the room, leaving Bayt to think. The encounter was strange, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. It had been far too long since any that are different from their own had shown up. He understood well that those outside the forest had a negative opinion, generally, of their kind. He sensed none of that in Epim, and in Prose he only sensed an intense feeling of superiority. That superiority was based on individuality though, not of any implicit bias against their kind. He was unsure of what the visitors meant, but he had never seen Bart, someone he considered the most intelligent of their village, so reverent and expectant of others.
He could only think that perhaps the times were changing.
Epim walked through the corridor, into the long, dark, winding, endless staircase. His surroundings were small, which was odd to him because it was supposed to be a place of worship, yet Bayt would never have fit down the stairs. And how was he to be buried? These questions were all that he could ask himself, as went on his part of the journey.
Bart traveled through the town, looking for the Shade. It returned to where they arrived at the village, and followed the things footsteps. It led him through many parts of the village, though he could tell that it hadn’t stopped in any place at length in particular. As he followed the footsteps, he felt an anxiety creep up on him. The trail of the footsteps led to the hospital, where those who had encountered the mercenaries and got away were. The thing was a beast, and it making its way towards the weak was unnerving.
Bart approached the hospital's entrance, and the silence felt uncomfortable. He only hoped that nothing too wrong would occur. He thought of Epim, and wondered where the elder had sent him.
Epim, Prose, and the Shade all entered Bewit with the same intent, to see and experience the town. And each would come to an answer of what the town meant, on their own. So they each now began their own part of the journey.