Swifty leads the way through the shroom-village by keeping to the edges of the walls, jumping up each bouncing mushroom and using them to ascend instead of the rickety bridges. I’d never even considered that this was a method you could travel about, though I’m equally concerned about Swifty’s commitment to stealth.

As I follow him, I see no eyes upon us. A successful [Snoop] shows me nothing but Elves either settling down beside their fire-lit hearths or already snoozing in their beds.

What’s he so afraid of?

As we near the top of the shroom we cross into the center of the final bridge. Above us, I can see only the spotty, veiny cap of the mushroom we dwell within.

“Ok,” Swiftrunner whispers. “Just a little further…”

He turns to me suddenly, amber eyes possessed by excitement.

“Use your tail, Little-Brother!”

I blink at him before realizing what he means.

“You…you want me to fly up?”

He nods vigorously.

“Uh…where?”

He nods up near the top of the wall, and I squint to try and make out what he’s looking at.

There, carved into the side of the wall just before it disappears into the vein covered top of the shroom, is a tiny mossy ledge.

Just big enough to fit two dogs, no more, no less.

I squint at him.

“Hm,” I ponder. “What’s so special about that?”

He grins an impish grin. It’s like looking at a whole different wolf.

“You will just have to fly us up there an find our, Little Brother.”

I wheeze, considering his weight and if 30 seconds will be enough to actually reach the ledge. My mind wanders back to when we crossed that broken bridge to flee that spider brood…

But, well, I’d be lying if I said he didn’t have me interested.

“Alright,” I say. “Ready?”

He plops his butt down in front of me.

“Ready!” he barks.

“Swifty,” I say as I grab hold of him with my front paws, and my tail starts it’s frantic buzzing. “This had better be good.”

I feel him laugh as we lift off, and I just manage to keep hold of him as we float through the musky air towards the ledge.

“Trust me,” he says. “This is good.”

Coming closer to the ceiling feels like challenging a veiny, spotted God, and I keep having to remind myself not to look down. At the same time, I can feel Swifty’s beating heart as his excitement mounts – either that, or it’s just adrenaline rushing through his body at the prospect of us both being pancaked into nothingness when we fall below.

[Tailcopter: 15 secs]

That’ll do it…

I throw Swiftunner onto the ledge just as we clear its edge and then gently touch down. My best landing so far, if I do say so myself.

And when I look up to see the only point of interest standing here at the ledge’s lip, I know why Swifty brought me here.

“I…is that?”

He grins, coming to crouch beside me. “Yeah. It is.”

We are looking at a simple stone jutting up from the ledge – totally innocuous were it not for the letters scratched across its surface:

Aethel Wiz Here.

I can’t help but laugh.

I turn to Swifty with a single raised eyebrow and he chuckles with me. Then he steps forward to place a firm paw on the stone’s surface.

“How did I find it?” he says. “As I researched the bowels of the Elves archives, I came across a torn piece of paper hidden inside a book on ancient brewing techniques past down through the ages. It said simply this: ‘Aethel’s stash – just under the shroom’s heed. Have a drink on me.’

“A note hidden in a book on booze,” I chuckle. “That’s perfect.”

“Isn’t it just,” Swifty agrees.

We both sit together, looking at the stone, remembering the short time we spent with Aethel, and the bravery of his final hours. Slowly, the vibrant lights of every mushroom that lines the walls begin to glow bright with their neon color patters – bathing the artificial night in a spectrum of colors. From up here, we can see it all – all the sleeping village huts connected by their bridges, and the great waterfall still raging down the North wall.

“It’s a beautiful place,” I say absent-mindedly. “I can totally understand why these Elves don’t wanna up-sticks and move out into the wider world. You could get used to a peaceful life like this.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Maybe,” Swiftrunner replies quietly. “But is it really a free life?”

I cock another eyebrow at him. Now that’s the voice of the Swiftrunner I remember.

“What do you me-“

“Ah!” he exclaims. “I almost forgot. Let’s see…”

He starts sniffing around beside the stone, his nose working overtime as if he completely forgot what he was talking about.

I sit back, giving my ear a little scratch. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I’m totally fine being a passive little dog for once.

“Aha!”

His snout comes up from behind the stone covered in dirt and grime.

And in his mouth is a bottle of beer.

“Swifty!” I cry. “You’ve got a booze-nose? I would never have guessed.”

He giggles through his teeth and placing the bottle down beside me.

Then he fetches another one.

“A Belchometrist’s stash,” I laugh. “Maybe that’s the whole reason the big guy sent us here.”

Swiftrunner uncorks both bottles with his fangs. We each watch our spirits bubble and froth as their contents spill out.

“Raziel,” he says, licking his lips. “Can you tell how old these bottles are?”

I bend down, sniff their tops, and try a little [Snoop]:

Substance: Thundersnaps Cider

Spirit Strength: Moderate

“No idea,” I shrug with a smile. “But Cider is made from apples, right? Surely it wouldn’t…”

Swiftrunner has already gulped down a healthy portion of his drink.

“Swift!”

I fly to take the bottle from him, but one swish of his combed tail keeps me away.

“Ah!” he breathes, amber liquid dribbling down his chin. “So this is what a Belchometrist’s brew tastes like!”

He turns to me and - with a little hic! - takes his bottle in his mouth and speaks over its tip.

“Raziel,” he says. “I think we should raise our bottles to Aethel. I do not know what the traditions of the Steppe tribes are, or even what humans do to honor their dead, but I think Aethel would appreciate this.”

I fix him with a dumbfounded stare before chuckling again.

“Here I thought you hated all humans, Swifty.”

“Raziel,” he replies. “Since journeying with you I have met people I never would have met if I stayed in my Clanhome. I never would have dreamed that I would one day stand here to see the kingdom of the Elves. You told me you have been busy training and learning lessons. But I too have been learning. I have already learned so much – and one lesson I now know is that bravery is not the sole domain of the wolf. This is a lesson I do not think these Elves have been taught.”

The way he speaks that last sentence so seriously, in such a reserved way, makes me think that maybe it’s the booze talking (we don’t know how long it’s been sitting there for, after all). But then I look in his tired eyes and see that, yeah, there’s something else behind those long-lashes and that pampered nose.

Fear.

“Swifty,” I say, almost knocking over my own bottle. “What do you mean?”

“That dragon – hic! – I don’t think it is on our side.”

A chill breeze blows between us.

Maybe honoring Aethel’s memory wasn’t the only reason he brought me here after all…

“I – sometimes the faces of these Elves scare me.”

“I mean, they certainly ain’t no Snappingjaw,” I retort with an awkward laugh. “But – come on – even we dogs can appreciate the beauty of the humanoid races.”

“That is not my meaning,” he says, looking around surreptitiously. “It is a difficult thing to explain. They have something only a feral beast can see: the eyes of a deceiver. The eyes of a predator hidden in plain sight.”

“Come on Swift,” I snap (rather like a certain angry Master of mine). “No riddles. Tell me what’s going on.”

He places his bottle down again and bites his lip.

“The Elves here – they may wear smiles on their faces. But there is something that lurks behind them.”

The face of Myrathellon flashes before my eyes for a second.

They definitely aren’t all happy…

Swiftrunner watches the village below, glancing at me sidelong as he points his snouts at all the sleepy houses.

“Does it not strike you as odd,” he murmurs. “That the dragon gives a command and instantly none of the Elves bar your hosts say much of anything to you at all? Remember how they looked at you with pure awe when first you were chased into the village square?”

“Well, yeah,” I agree tentatively.

“And now they don’t say two words to you,” he continues, brow twisted in consternation. “Worse still, I believe they are actively preventing me from speaking to you. ‘The Lightborn’s stuffy lessons are too boring for a cutie-pie like you!’ That is what they say to me. But I was not born a knave, Raziel. I know they are trying to keep us apart.”

Suddenly a very different weight comes crashing down on me.

“That’s why I haven’t seen you…” I murmur.

“Of course, Little Brother! I was charged with being your guide. You do not think for a moment I want to be galivanting around this place with its mushrooms and its women, do you?”

I gotta admit Swifty, part of me did. Maybe I had you pegged all wrong.

“Do you remember the sound of that dragon’s voice in our heads, Raziel?” He asks me with a shiver. “I will never forget it. Witherfang once spoke of the days when dragons ruled over the skies of Arwyll. They are cunning and clever creatures, and will use any means necessary to defend the treasures in their lair. Think on this: is it not strange that this coven of Elves obeys the whims of such a creature, utterly without question?”

I look past Swiftrunner’s shaking form to the whole village below, thinking about this. Looking at the place with new eyes.

“I didn’t see any gems or gold down in that Sanctum,” I say. “You think Palka’s using the Elves to guard something?”

He regards me for a moment, before letting out a gruff sigh and returning to his bottle. “I don’t know, Little-Brother. I just want you to be careful. I do not think we should stay here longer than we need to.”

There’s fear in him that I didn’t even see when Seneca battered him across the plains beneath the Salien tree. Whatever he’s seeing in the elves, I have to admit, I’ve never even guessed at. But, then again, I haven’t exactly been looking.

I pick up my own bottle and chop off the cork with a flick of my paw.

“Alright, Swift,” I say. “You’re the brains of this team. Once I’ve mastered the Glimmering Thrust, we’ll be on our way to Glumgavel and saving this weird world.”

He smirks down his bottle at me. “I will drink to that, Little-Brother.”

“Nah,” I reply. “Drink to Aethel.”

He nods. “To Aethel, then.”

We down the bottles of Cider almost to the dregs before giving up, and nearly vomiting its contents all over the ledge.

“B – by Lyca!” Swiftrunner cries. “This concoction is a poison!”

“Yeah,” I cough. “Somehow, that’s exactly what I expected.”

I see with a little [Snoop] that there’s a third bottle lying lazily next to the carved stone and decide to pocket it for myself. There’s a hunch I have. Call it a newbie Belchometrist’s intuition, but…

Item: Thundersnaps Cider

[Belch] effects: Gust of wind up to 40 knots. Results in Status condition {KNOCKBACK}

You’re a sly one, old Aethel. You didn’t just want us to get blasted on these bottles, did ya? Shame we pretty much wasted the other two…

I’m suddenly taken by a strange urge as I fix on the little stone mound and Aethel’s carving. I walk forward, leaving Swiftunner staring after me, and tip the rest of my bottle onto the stone.

“Raziel?” Swifty asks.

“I dunno why,” I reply. “But something in me tells me this is the right thing to do. Maybe the old human Lightborn in me knows that this is how people like Aethel would be buried. Maybe it’s something else. Either way – I dunno – it feels right.”

Swiftrunner smiles as he comes to join me, tipping the remains of his own bottle over the little stone.

“Be resting in peace,” he says.

“Have one last drink on us, big guy,” I whisper. “You sent us here for a reason. And I think that, pretty soon, we’re gonna find out what it was.”