Mud covered boots schlepped through the ruins of Broken Cart. The villagers slowly cleared the rubble with little enthusiasm, all avoiding meeting the Warlock's eyes.

Murphy sat on his knees on a churned up hillside, staring blankly at the body of a little boy. Cardic didn't look peaceful, his face was twisted in fear, and his eyes bloodshot. He was cold and dirty by the time Murphy found him again. He hung his head in shame, thinking about what he'd taught the boy. Maybe if he hadn't shown Cardic the fireball, the boy would have stayed in the cellar.

The boy's hounds sat nearby and watched, waiting for Murphy to leave their master's side. He wiped the tears from his face, and nodded to the danes. It was their turn to mourn the senseless loss.

Turning to leave, he saw Cardic's aunt standing a few feet behind him. Her expression was empty, save from the stream of bitter tears that flowed from her eyes. She looked at him, holding her stare for half a minute.

"This is because of you," she said coldly.

Murphy looked at his feet. Her accusation resonated with his own thoughts on the matter. He looked up to meet her eyes, opening his mouth to talk, but finding no words.

"You need to leave now, Warlock," she said, her voice growing in obvious anger. She closed her eyes and turned her head, as if to catch herself before her rage found its way out.

"You’re not welcome here," she said, before looking him square in the eyes. "You filthy rot."

Her words struck his heart like an arrow, and he looked back to his feet. Nodding gently, he skulked past her. He half expected to receive a knife in the ribs as he passed. Though to his disappointment, she sought no retribution, only amplifying his guilt.

He kept an eye out for some of the people that he'd gotten to know, only seeing a few familiar faces. Oats had told him that not all of the villagers were in the pub cellar. Apparently some of them had decided that they'd rather hide in their own homes, among everything they know. The fight covered enough of the town for that fact to have caused some devastation. He saw Dalley by the ruins of his smithy, but didn't have the nerve to approach the shattered man.

He found Oats standing quietly against a wall, watching the nearly empty clearing while May knelt silently next to what was left of her Demai lover.

Murphy nodded to his friend, and Oats hung his head.

"It's a sad thing, for sure," he said softly. "Don't matter how many times you see it."

Murphy put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "He fought like a hero, we owe him a lot tonight."

Murphy himself was wrapped by grief, though he stayed strong. Oats had a gentle heart, and they'd all grown close in a way over the passing months. No matter how much the loss stung him, Murphy couldn't bear the idea of collapsing under its weight. He would hold his chin high for the sake of his friends, for once the pain took hold, it was nearly impossible to slip its grasp.

"Eseyfirr," May called to him in his mind. "Give me a hand."

She never looked away from Serril. Murphy and Oats gave each other a curious look. He shrugged, and slowly approached her.

The rain fell softly on them while he stood next to her, neither one saying a word for a full five minutes. Eventually, she sighed and stood, stumbling from fatigue. He noticed then that her wounds seemed to have faded entirely, leaving only a crimson wash behind torn cloth.

"We will send him to his ancestors," she thought to him, wiping her eyes clear. "After that, I'm leaving this place behind."

Murphy nodded again, still at a loss for words. May was difficult to speak to at the best of times, he didn’t want to risk her scorn at that particular moment.

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Oats dragged a broken door over, and they got to placing the fallen warrior atop it. He was heavier than Murphy thought any mad had the right to be. He suggested they remove his armour, though the look May shot him told him that wasn't an option. The Demai held their gear in high regard, it would have been a misjustice to take his kit before his last battle. They dragged the door out of town, Serril's feet trailed through the mud, since he barely fit on their makeshift carriage.

Finding kindling and dry timbers was a fruitless task, so once the pyre was built, Murphy used his magic to flood the pile with fire aspect. He flinched when the flames roared to life in a big ball of heat, but the sight brought a smile to May's lips. She took in a deep breath, and looked to the sky.

"He flew the Icarus path," she thought to them. "Until the next life, my love."

Murphy tossed what was left of the warrior’s sword into the flames, and watched as they swallowed what remained of the giant man.

Another pyre glowed towards the centre of town, burning bigger and brighter than the little funeral they'd made themselves. Murphy looked puzzled at the sight, and Oats chuckled.

"They do things different to the towns and cities out here," he said quietly. "All manner of nasty things come looking for death out in the wilds. Best to burn the dead, send them where they're going, good and quick."

"What kind of nasty things?" Murphy whispered with a quiet shiver.

"Wraiths, to start," May interrupted, now walking towards them. She stopped, and looked Murphy up and down.

"I'm leaving, but you two can tag along until the next town. He would have wanted me to keep you safe."

Oats nodded. "Thank you, Elf."

Murphy looked between them. He'd never thought he'd meet an Elf, he wasn't even sure they actually existed. He chuckled on the inside.

Any other time, he would have been elated to learn such an interesting fact. Given the circumstances, he had to laugh a little. He'd made up his mind already, he was going after the dragon. May's nature would probably be the last intriguing thing he would learn in his short and curious life. At least it had been interesting.

He looked to the ground, took a deep breath, and shook his head.

"I won't be coming," he said, looking in the direction the dragon had flown.

May stared at him for a long beat, eventually turning to look at the same mountains.

"You surprise me, Warlock," she thought to him. She tapped the armour plate on her thigh, and summoned the same small wooden box. Passing it to him, she grabbed his hands and demanded his gaze.

"It's your fight now. You're earning your name, Eseyfirr. Don't fail to honour your medal."

Gesturing with her fingers, she summoned a metallic green coin, then placed it onto the box. It was bordered with a strange language, and marked by the portrait of a deer.

"Use this only once if you see one of mine. It will grant you their ear, how they react beyond that is up to them."

She took a big step backwards, then looked at both of them. Without another word, she bowed her head, and walked quietly towards the forest.

Oats face was pained as he looked at the Warlock with sorrow.

"So I guess this is us then," he said, holding back tears.

"Until the next life, it seems," Murphy said, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"This is gunna break poor Sausage's heart, it is," the gentle man choked up a little. "Don't suppose I could change your mind? I haven't told you my whole story yet."

Murphy sucked in a sharp breath of his own. "I'm sorry, for whatever that's worth. I don't know why, but I know I have to do this."

Oats let out a long and quakey breath. "I understand," he said, hanging his head. "You’re a man of your word, that's for sure. Must be the Demai in you," he finished with a sad chuckle.

Murphy laughed, and pulled his friend in for a hug. "Go and tell your stories to the world," he said, holding Oats at arm's length. "This world needs your tales and talents. I'm going to miss your cooking more than most things."

"And I'll miss watching you get in trouble," Oats laughed, wiping his eyes.

~~

Before parting ways, Murphy gave Oats his backpack and ledger box, taking only the one remaining red crystal from inside. He showed his friend how to retrieve the ledger he'd written, and taught him how to make his own. He offered the same to Uundah, but the O'jin flatly refused to leave his side.

They left the town on Serril's mount towards the mountains. He pushed on as fast as he could kick the beast running, trying to outrun the weight of his heavy heart, less it slow him down and change his mind.