Mountaliya was indeed a mountainous region, but that didn’t mean it was filled with steep vertical mountains. Its mountains were like high altitude lands with even ground, “even” by Mountalian standards at the very least.

Granted, they were a bit steep, but reality was different from how people from other sovereign provinces described Mountaliya in their books and literature.

Entradel was such a high hilly town, with a slightly curvy land, and made for an excellent stronghold. It was surrounded by high defensive wooden stockade walls, with a small gated fort made out of bricks which served as the entrance.

Azlan approached the entrance with the Ghost in tow, he was wearing his black cloak with the hood on. There were two guards stationed outside the gates, standing at each end. As he neared the gate, they took notice of him and their posture became mildly alerted.

“State your business!” one of them demanded in typical fashion, slamming the spear he was holding to the ground, making a metallic sound.

“I am a traveler”, Beowulf replied.

“Very well”, the guard on the left answered. “Welcome to Entradel, the most secure stronghold in all of Nortaliya. You know the regulations. Submit your weapons for inspection, if you’re carrying any. They will be given back to you in a few hours’ time”, the guard said as if reading a script, while the other one moved near for inspection.

“Also, due to the recent changes in regulations, you are now obligated to provide 10 silver coins as an entrance fee, by the order of Chief Rufous”, the guard stood before Beowulf.

[I see, human establishments require a fee for entrance, this has been educational.]

“Cut the bullshit, Elgar...” Beowulf addressed the guard and removed the hood from his head. “There’s no such rule”.

The guard’s expression changed from lazy and tried to shock and bewilderment.

“Sire Beowulf!” hearing the name, the other guard also became unnaturally attentive. “I... forgive me, I did not know it was you”.

Beowulf gestured him to take it easy.

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[“Sire”? What is with the obviously forced respect? Are you perhaps holding his family hostage?]

“Is chief Rufous in town or away due to business?” Beowulf asked him as the guard calmed down.

“Master Rufous is currently in the town, due to the ‘Winterfare Festival’. As always, he’s deeply involved in the preparations, and insists on participating in them”, the guard called Elgar explained as the other guard looked on.

Ah.

Azlan had a brief idea about what the Winterfair festival was, if he recalled correctly, it was supposed to be a farewell to winter, and a supposed celebration to welcome the new season.

There were twelve months in a Mountalian Year. Namely: Janua, Februa, Markh, Aprilla, Mayum, Junes, Jules, Augum, Septem, Octo, Novem and finally Decem.

The other guard called out to the guards stationed on the roof of the fort, and instructed them to open the doors.

“Tell them to inform Master Rufous as well”, Elgar added.

“It’s alright, there’s no need for that...” Beowulf tried to persuade him.

“No, sire. We must. He will be delighted to hear the news. That is how much he holds you in high regards”, Elgar insisted on delivering the news.

Very well.

Azlan conceded.

Arguing about small things just wasn’t in his nature.

[You did not tell me you knew the guard.]

There was dissatisfaction in its tone.

“I wouldn’t know beforehand whether or not he was the one on duty, would I?” Beowulf was too tired to entertain its musings as he waited for the gates to slowly open.

As the doors sufficiently opened, the guards corrected their posture.

“Once again, welcome to Entradel! Sire Beowulf. We hope you enjoy your stay”, they gave an official greeting.

[I can see why you wanted to come to Entradel now.]

The being remarked as they entered the town.

They had only entered the town, and yet it seemed like the whole atmosphere had changed. The path, for example was now covered in cobblestones with small plants growing out of some of the cervices. The music could be heard far-off, no doubt coming from the taverns and market place due to the festival.

The cobblestone path lead to streets of Entradel, filled with houses and inns, with smoke coming out of their chimneys, not exactly a rare sight. However, a mild surprise to new travelers was the small aqueducts and the waterways of the town, quite impressive for a mere stronghold.

As the wind gently caressed his cheeks, Beowulf closed his eyes to focus on the ambient noises.

Despite being a wendigo, moments like these felt right to him.

In these fleeting moments, he knew he was safe.

And for once, the snow leopard wasn’t uttering a word.

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