“Root vegetable soup?”

Elara asks as she moves closer to the boiling pot, lowering her head to take a look at the dish.

“Yes. There was just about enough usable veggies here, and also... I was also craving for it.” I reply.

She stares down at the bubbling broth, refusing to look up at me as I speak. Something is clearly on her mind. I stir the pot and reach into my bag, pulling out a flat tin-box from it. The sides have been slightly caved in, a result of our last escapade.

“I brought some hard-tacks, it should pair well with the soup. Maybe it’ll make it more of a stew.” She finally looks up at me, albeit slightly confused. I reach over the pot and pass her two pieces.

“Oh! Sailor’s biscuits. I... Thank you.” She looks at it with a hint of sadness. I know it’s not exactly fit for royalty, but I didn’t expect her to be disappointed by it. My face must’ve given away my thoughts as she blurts out.

“No, it’s not like I dislike them. I Just... I had a... bad experience with it once.” She puts up a smile, but her eyes don’t seem to move as she says, “They’re called molar-breakers for a reason.”

I let out a chuckle and say, “I’ve never had issues with it, but my best friend always seemed to lose a tooth every time we ate one.”

We let out a laugh together. It’s the first feeling of relief I’ve had since entering the cave, or maybe even reaching the village... Maybe, since I’d left home.

The fire beneath the pot crackles as she adds another plank of wood.

“Meer.”

“Yes?” I reply. A few seconds pass as she hesitates to speak again. Eventually she does continue.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you it’s fine. Someone had to take care of the old man.” I let out a chuckle, hoping that’ll make it more believable.

“No. I mean, that too but...” She stares into my eyes. “I’m sorry that you got hurt because of me, and that I even thought of leaving you behind when you were the one who kept saving us.”

“Elara, I don’t think that’s what happened.” I reply. “I mean, we were both just trying to survive, right?”

“That still doesn’t excuse my actions. I just assumed that since you’re an adventurer, it wouldn’t matter if I abandoned you. After all... that’s what adventurers always do.”

There’s anger in her voice. Her feelings appear too deep-rooted to be a recent development.

I swallow before asking, “Does it still hurt to think about the Guild abandoning your village?”

I don’t really want to pry into something so personal, but it’s been a while since I’d talked to someone even close to a friend.

“Yes and all the other times too.” She replies. There’s definitely something deeper to uncover but I don’t have the heart to push further.

“I see. I imagine I’d be really angry as well if they did that to my village.”

“So you really aren’t from the capital?” She asks. Her eyes shoot up with intrigue, but the sudden question nearly makes my heart stop.

“W-who-who told you that?” I fail to stop the stutter.

“Sola told us last night at the Guardhouse. He said he had met you at the gate yesterday and you’d told him you were from Courage.”

I couldn’t have hid the shame from my face if I’d tried.

“Hehe- I only said that because I didn’t want him to ask too many questions. Also! I didn’t tell him I was from there, just that I’d accepted a contract there.”

I need to improve my lies next time. There were clearly some holes in my story. I make a mental note.

“That’s too bad. He looked so excited saying, “A mage from the capital can fix the issue in a jiffy!” Yes, that’s what he said.” Her impression of the boy was quite spot on.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to deceive you.” I bow my head in shame. She lets out a laugh. Her eyes convey happiness.

“That’s alright.” She says in between her laughs. “You told Gareth and I the truth so that’s all that matters. He even said, you’re most likely from a village. Something about not showing your Identity Slab.”

He got me. Citizens from the Capital tend to flaunt their Identity Slabs while us lay-folk forget that we even have one.

“Is Odel in the south?” She asks, stoking the flames with a rod.

“Yes it is. Have you been there?” I’m surprised she knows that.

“Not really. It’s just that, your clothes are thicker than most I’ve seen around here. My... family, is from up north, so this region is quite warm for us.”

The soup seems to be about ready.

“I see, did you move here recently? Your parents transferred here perhaps?” I ask.

“No, it’s been ten years.” Her voice softens, with the last word being barely audible. There is a gap in the conversation. A rhythmic cooing fills the air as we look to find Gareth awake, gently stroking the creature’s head as it sleeps nestled on his lap.

“Food is ready. We’ll bring you a bowl Gareth.” I tell him.

He nods in thanks, however before I can move, Elara stands to take out a fairly large metal mug from her bag which she uses to scoop up some soup. She places two biscuits on top of it and carries it over to him. Handing over the dish, Elara bends down and carefully lifts the creature from his lap.

“You can eat first by the fire. I’ll hold her for a while.”

“Thank you. I’ll bring you a batch after I’m done.” He says before standing up, making his way to where she had been sat.

I lift the pot from the stones around the fireplace and place it to the side. The corners of the cloth I use to grip it hiss, as it is singed by the stoked flame. Gareth throws in another plank and a crackle of embers jump out into the air.

“She doesn’t talk too much when she’s pondering.” He speaks in a hushed tone. Clearly hoping that Elara doesn’t overhear the conversation.

“And she’s quite an over-thinker you see. All of her youthful brashness and recklessness disappear as soon as she starts to think.” His eyes smiling, clearly happy to have witnessed our conversation.

He pulls out a biscuit and takes a sip of the soup.

“Root Vegetables eh?”

“Yes, and some of the dried meat we carried as well.”

“I’m glad I gave that to you. Elara isn’t much of a cook so she’d probably have forgotten we carried any.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “I would’ve put the meat in at the end if I were cooking this myself, but I suppose this way, the soup has more flavour. I like it”

“Do you cook for your family?” I ask.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Reaching for the small pot we’d found here, I scoop up some soup for myself. There is a hole near the brim, but it’s nothing a little balance can’t manage.

“Yes I do.” He replies. “It’s quite simple when you have a small family.”

The soup came out quite well if I do say so myself. The sweetness of the carrots and radish form a nice base for the assortment of veggies we’d scavenged. The smokiness and fat from the dried meat brings a fullness to the flavour. The aroma of dried herb powder adds a lot to it too, especially when there’s barely enough vegetables to justify calling it a dish. If only I had carried a little more salt. No matter, at least my nose approves.

“What brought you all the way East?” He asks.

“Nothing much, just heard from a contact in the capital that help was needed here.” It’s technically true.

“I see. Well I’m glad you did. We’ve had a handful of travelling adventurers come by over the years. But apart from being interested in the Edge of the World, none seem to want to stay.” I feel his eyes stare into my soul.

I guess people like me aren’t that rare after all.

“I would be lying if I said I weren’t intrigued by the Edge, but that is that, and this is this.” I can’t bring myself to lie completely. “I also need to earn money and find a place to settle down for the winter.”

I take a sip of my soup before plopping a biscuit into it.

“Fair enough.” he accepts my story. “Regardless, our village can’t afford to be choosy right now. I do appreciate the fact that you’re stuck in this hellhole with us.”

I give him a smile, hoping he’s half-joking at least.

“You don’t seem to be apprehensive about me being an adventurer. Both Elara and the guard at the gate had been... how do I put this in a nice way... wary?”

“You’ll have to forgive them. Stren is a new town so their experience with your lot is limited. Now that I think about it, all they saw were adventurers arriving and then leaving when things started to get difficult.”

He takes a swig of his mug. The bottom of it rises quite high above his forehead. I guess he’s almost done, so I take out the last two hard-tacks from my tin-box and place it on the stone in front of him.

“I spent my youth in the military, mostly stationed at the capital, so I’ve met enough adventurers to know when I see a bad one. Which reminds me, you’re quite young to be a traveller aren’t you?” He asks, leaning down to the flowing water next to us.

He rinses the mug vigorously and swishes the excess out in the air.

“That’s what the others say too.” I reply.

My biscuit has soften up and I use a fresh one to break it down into a thicker stew. Gareth scoops up the soup and places the hard-tacks on it just as Elara had and walks back towards the lady. The same act plays out, now with the roles reversed and we find ourselves back at square one. Elara sitting across from me, taking tiny sips from the fresh mug of soup.

“How is it?” I ask.

“It’s good. I hadn’t had these biscuits in ages.”

“Don’t they make these in the village?” I had assumed that these were a continental staple.

She seems to think for a while.

“They do, but I haven’t had any since moving here.”

She manages to break one into half, and stirs the mug with it while speaking.

“I hope we make it out tomorrow. The Captain already gave Gareth a hard time for deciding to enter the cave. If something were to happen while we are away, we’ll probably get into a lot of trouble.”

“Is this not a village sanctioned raid?” I ask, surprised.

“No, we barely have two dozen guards in the village so the Captain didn’t want to weaken our defence. The Guild representative said he would return with more adventurers once he submits a report in the capital.”

“Ah I see, but that would take too long wouldn’t it? The paperwork is slow to start with and even then, who knows how long it would take to convince adventurers to take the job.”

She nods silently. I guess it’s still a sore subject, I should try and change it.

“So...” I start to wrack my brain to come up with something, but my mind draws a blank.

The crackling of fire is easy on the ears. Smoke rises up slowly, escaping to the many cracks on the ceiling. Gareth stands up and walks towards me, handing over the little fledgeling and I cradle it in my arms.

“I think it’s safe enough to spend the night here. Judging by the light we saw in the last room, I’d reckon it’s early evening right now.” Gareth arrives to save me from my own social ineptitude.

He walks up to the barricade, plucks out some of the broken planks, and drops them on the ground by the fire. A bandage on his arm loosens, but he quickly fastens it back on.

“We seem to have enough fuel to last the night. Nevertheless lets be a little frugal with the firewood.”

Elara turns to him and says, “You should rest first. I’ll keep Meer company till she sleeps, and wake you to take the night-watch after.”

Gareth agrees and moves his bag and cloth to lie down at the corner of the room, hidden away from any prying eyes that may try to spy on us through the gaps on the “door”. A cool breeze sporadically enters through one of the cracks on top, but it’s hard to make out which one exactly.

The creature coos softly in it’s sleep. The downs of it’s wings ebb and flow with every breath. It’s right wing has a half strip of bandage running around it, pinning a small, green cotton swab to the wound. The dancing light from the flame causes the feathers to look ethereal, the iridescent colours moving with it like layers of flowing liquid.

“How do you know what she is?” Elara asks. I was wondering when they’d give in to their curiosity.

“I... met something similar in my travels.” I want to give a better answer, but the topic is difficult to explain.

“You mean like an adult sized one?” she prods.

“Hmm... not quite. It’s a little bit of a story.”

“Seems like the one thing we have plenty of is time.” She seems adamant.

I scour my memories for a suitable starting point. Scenes of odd villages, hopeless battles and dusty crossroads fill my head. It’s not too difficult to find a place to begin, but I need some time to rationalize the crux of the story. I close my eyes in self-deliberation, a part of me hoping that she’d change the subject if I remained quiet for long enough. But alas, I open my eyes to see her eagerly waiting, so I begin.

“Ahem... I guess you could say it all started during my journey to the capital.”