Beorn led Tyvjyo down the dirt road, reveling in his newfound senses. His awareness had reached a new level, his senses thrummed with the addition of new sights, sounds, smells, tastes to his already powerful perception that was honed from years of training.

He could see even further in the darkness and could make out faded tracks of those that had traversed this path days before. He could touch a leaf, and by touch alone count the individual hairs it possessed.

He could identify the odors about him with greater accuracy, separating the smells of freshly turned earth from the squirrel that excavated it and the seeds that were bruises underneath.

He could hear the patter of mice in the underbrush and the noise a flake of bark made as it settled fell to the earth; the beating of his heart was as a drum to him, a slow inexorable match, much slower than before the transformation.

His kinetic vision had improved beyond what Beorn assumed was possible for a non-Blessed human; he was confident he could shoot a dragonfly at a hundred paces from atop Tyvjyo.

An extra benefit to the blessing was the closer bond to Wilhelmina. He hadn't understood everything about it, but the presence of dragon blood flowing through his veins had allowed a deeper bond between their souls allowing him to sense her moods and feelings. Along with that, Wilhelmina could now share in his senses and experience the world as he did, although it strained her to do so. Beorn was glad for her, he shuddered to imagine having to reside in nothingness and perceive the world only through essence. She was currently resting from the strain of taking part in the ritual that granted Beorn his new abilities.

Yet with the heightened senses came his inability to cope with them, and he was thankful he had the long walk through the tunnels to get them under control. Despite that, Beorn dreaded entering a populated area. But he owed Tyvjyo a nice rest in a warm stable with a straw bed and some food that wasn't the wild grass growing beside the road. The stallion had been a faithful companion during the long distances he had to cover between the contracts even when left alone for days on end.

Beorn himself looked forward to an actual bed and a warm bath. He could also do with some food that wasn't old bread, moldy cheese, and lizard meat.He needed new shirts as well, he had gone through more of them in these few months of traveling than in two years of staying in Banehallow.

Beorn kept at swinging his sword with deliberate and steady motions. He was still unused to his increased speed and strength so adapting to them before facing another deadly monster was a priority for the ranger. He's ready experienced quite a few brushed with death recently and he didn't intend to lose his life because he'd mistakenly jumped too far. Besides, concentrating on his forms helped keep his mind off other worries.

Getting closer to Atilan had filled him with fear for his brother's wellbeing and a need to rush there, but Wilhelmina had assured him that Arwen's condition was unchanged. Her reassurance had allowed him to undertake the bounties with a clear head and his gift from the dragons made him thankful for his decision to complete them. His increased strength had made him more confident in his abilities to tackle whatever the Spire threw at him. It would be a definite advantage in his search for his brother. Although it had come at the price of a promise to investigate what had befallen the dragons, Beorn already planned to do so for Wilhelmina's sake.

As Tyvjyo trotted down the dirt road at a leisurely pace, Beorn reflected on the journey he'd experienced. The circumstances weren't ideal but Beorn felt liberated. He'd been stuck in a rut in Banehallow, patrolling the Wolvenrych and waiting for his brother to come for him.

Now his purse was full, his contracts nearly complete, he was halfway to Atilan and he had a trusted partner in Wilhelmina, Beorn was for the first time in a long while, content.

***

The sun had made its way past the zenith, not yet yielding its dominion to the twin moons. The dusk sky was magnificent with the setting sun painting it a purple hue with a golden band at the horizon. But Beorn was in no mood to enjoy the sight, he was ravenous. With the wind blowing towards him, he smelled civilization from a mile away. The rotten smells of excrement, rotten food, and human sweat mixed with the scent of baked bread and cooked food. It allowed Beorn to home in on the acceptable ones and discard the rest. A side effect of smelling only the appetizing smells had set his stomach rumbling, but he didn't wish to push Tyvjyo further in his state and so Beorn urged him at a slow trot all the while dreaming of hot food and a cold ale.

The dirt path soon turned onto a bigger cobbled road able to accommodate two wagons across. There were only a handful of travelers and a couple of wagons, but it seemed like a crowd to Beorn after days alone in the wilderness. Especially with his hearing magnifying the sounds to a jumbled cacophony. As he got nearer the village, the senses overwhelmed him. Beorn closed his eyes, trusting Tyvjyo to keep them on the path, and concentrated on his slow, steady heartbeat until it filled his mind. He felt the sounds and smells recede as he entered the village. He nodded to the guards at the gate of the wooden palisade. He could hear their heart start to beat rapidly, and the grip on their wooden spears tighten. So Beorn gave them his most harmless smile. It must have worked because they let him in without issue.

He led Tyvjyo to the center of the village, through the main street which was lined with buildings of timber and sod and a variety of merchants hawking their wares, a constant bustle and thrum of activity around him. People in the packed street bartered in loud voices, whilst gangs of children played along the street dodging the occasional wagon wheel and horse leg. Beorn spotted the village inn and made towards it.

It was a modest two-story building built wide and constructed of sturdy stone. A weathered wooden signboard with a barely visible painting of a giant foaming mug occupied the space above the door. A small fence to the side led to what Beorn assumed was the stables from the smell. He dismounted and led Tyvjyo into an empty stall. He noticed a giant horse, a chestnut destrier barely able to fit inside the one opposite. The saddle hanging from the wall was embossed with a familiar sigil, a set of scales enclosed by a shield, but Beorn was unable to place it.

Unable to remember where he'd seen the sigil before, he shrugged, took off Tyvjyo's saddle and his bags. He patted him before leaving, "Don't worry buddy, I'll have some give you a good brush and some actual food."

The interior of the inn surprised Beorn. For a small village in the middle of nowhere, the inn was extremely clean and smelled much better than the outside. Though the sour tang of sweat was still present, it was overpowered by the sharp smell of spices and crushed flowers giving a welcome respite to Beorn's overworked nose.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The inn had only a few patrons currently, a group of four men in mud-stained overalls nursing their mugs in the corner. The owner was behind the counter currently busy polishing an already gleaming glass. He looked like a man who valued cleanliness with short grey hair, groomed facial hair, and a clean apron.

Beorn tossed him a whole silver, before asking him to take care of Tyvjyo. He added another for his best rooms but was surprised when it was pushed back to him. The owner's weathered face held an apologetic expression, "We already have someone staying in it. We do have another slightly smaller room which should serve you well. The silver should take care of that and your horse for the day."

Beorn was impressed, he added another silver and pushed both back, "Give me two flagons of your best ale and lots of whatever is giving off that amazing smell."

Beorn noted that the innkeeper actually looked reluctant as he pocketed the silver, "Alright," he looked over at Beorn's tattered shirt and weapons, "I'll pack up some food and drink for you when you leave. You'll be wanting a nice warm bath in your state and I'll send the tailor round to your room in the morning."

He called into the kitchen, "Irma, get our young friend here some stew and bread and send the boy to take care of the stables."

He took a flagon from behind him and poured it the brim with a fruity, frothing ale from the tap. Placing it on the table, he nodded at Beorn before moving to take the saddlebags from him, "I'll take these up to your room, you wait at a table for Irma to bring you your food."

Beorn kept his pack containing the Dragonstone but allowed the rest to be taken away. He spotted an empty table near the door and took a seat. The ale was light and fizzy with a nice crisp taste. He took small sips from his flagon, whetting his appetite for what smelled like an excellent meat stew.

While waiting for his food, his sensitive hearing couldn’t help but overhear the hushed conversation taking place between the other patrons of the inn.

A brown-haired man with a bald spot was sitting with his back to Beorn. He was waving his mug as he spoke to the other, "They say the roads to Algested are being attacked by a wyvern… "he pointed across the table splashing some of the liquid contents of his mug on it, "Cob here says he saw a winged shadow a few days ago by the forest."

Beorn raised his eyebrows and perked up his ears.

Now, this is interesting. Wasn't the next bounty around there.

The sallow-faced man sitting across him gasped, "You didn't!"

Their bearded companion slammed the table with his fist, "I swear on Aslanor's white blade it's true. I was out cutting some firewood when it flew over me and darkened the sun. I looked up and saw dark wings."

He took a long draught from his mug before continuing, "You 'member the last caravan here, Graham tells me it never reached Algested."

"Oh, and where did Graham hear that?"

The bearded fellow scowled, "He runs the store, he has his ways. Besides its been nearly two months since we've heard anything from there. What's important is what we do if it decides to attack us? We're much tastier than some caravans."

The sallow-faced man nodded quickly, "Yeah, we know the guard is useless."

The balding man spoke again, "Well we have the Knight who rode into town yesterday. He should be able to take care of it."

The last member of the group, a young blonde man interjected, "But what about Rollo and his band. Aren't they-"

Cob scoffed out loud, "Those scum, they won't stand a chance against a wyvern. They only speak big. Believe me, Shep, don't you get close to those troublemakers."

The topic shifted to the upcoming planting seasons and Beorn stopped paying attention, instead of concentrating on the big bowl of steaming hot stew and a whole loaf of bread being carried towards him by a buxom young lady.

"Here you go, love," Beorn barely noticed her as he began attacking the stew after mumbling his gratitude.

Deep into his third bowl of the excellent shepherd's stew, Beorn was startled by the door being kicked open. Three rough-looking men entered the inn smelling of oil, sweat, and booze. All three wore swords at their waist along with old leather armor. They staggered over to the counter.

Beorn heard the whispers saying 'Rollo' and 'scum' before the group of four fell silent. They seemed to find their mugs extremely interesting as they sat examining them ignoring the newcomers. Beorn shrugged and resumed his meal.

As Irma came carrying his fourth bowl, a swarthy wiry man stepped out and blocked her path. The others whistled as they looked at her with lecherous gazes.

The man flashed his blinding white teeth, "Hey sweet cheeks did you miss me?"

Beorn saw the waitress flare her nostrils, before gritting her teeth and speaking, "Move out of the way Rollo, I have actual customers to serve."

She attempted to sidestep but the man moved to block her once more, he put a hand around her waist. Irma shivered but he continued without care, "Now don't be so touchy. How about we go upstairs and…"

The innkeeper set down three mugs with a loud crash onto the counter, "Leave the girl alone Rollo, we have people who actually pay their tabs for once. Just take your drink and get out."

Rollo turned around to look at Beorn and smirked, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking the bowl himself while I talk to the lady here, does he?"

Beorn had had just about enough of this moron, he decided to end the farce. Just as he stood up from his chair, he felt a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Settle down young man, there is no need to trouble yourself with these hooligans. I shall perform my duty and rid this fine establishment of these ruffians."

Beorn was surprised that someone had managed to sneak up on him, he'd only heard a slight clank of metal on metal. He turned around to see a man with copper-colored hair, blue eyes, and an angular face that stood taller than Beorn and seemed to possess the physique of a bear. He wore full-plate dull grey armor that made him look even bulkier, and a white tabard embroidered with the sigil he had seen earlier, the scale enclosed by the shield.

A Peacekeeper

Beorn's eyes widened as he remembered the symbol of the traveling judges. Relieved, he sat back down in his chair in anticipation of the show that was about to unfold. He tore a piece of bread and started moving up the rest of his stew as he watched; those swaggering buffoons didn't stand a chance even he was currently unarmed.

The knight's imposing presence filled the room, instantly silencing the rest. As he walked towards Rollo and his gang, the wiry leader let go of the waitress, clutched the hilt of his sword, and stepped back amongst his men. Irma, freed from his clutches, rushed to the side and set down the tray. She too watched as the knight approached Rollo and towered over him.

"I would like you to vacate the premises before I am forced to eject you."

Beorn smelled the sweat pouring from their bodies and heard the rapid heartbeat of the trio as they sized up the giant of a man. Rollo gulped and released his grip on the sword before raising his hands, "Alright, we're leaving. Come on boys."

They sidled past the Peacekeeper, not daring to look back despite their earlier bravado.

As the door shut behind them, the group from before clapped and thanked the knight.

The innkeeper too joined in, "Thank you, sir, for getting rid of them. They always cause a ruckus in here."

The knight shook his head, "Oh no need for thanks, I was just doing my duty. Do not hesitate to inform me if they ever trouble you. And now I would love to be off if you could give me what I asked for…"

"Of course, sir, we have it packed and ready, I had the boy place it with your horse."

"Excellent. Thank you, good man. I shall miss your fine establishment whilst staying in the wilderness. I will be sure to visit it in the future."

With that, the knight turned on his heel and strode out of the inn, but not before patting Beorn on his shoulder, "I commend your courage young man, but you must practice caution when outnumbered."

Beorn followed his flowing grey cloak disappear behind the closing door with an incredulous look on his face.