Despite appearances, the drotlings did not act like human children. They were very polite, reserved, and generally inexpressive. They worked like obedient ants, each responsible for a different job in the small encampment: tending to the gardens, picking berries, cutting meat, creating pottery.

Those who didn’t work, slept, sprawled out on tarps in the middle of the clearing. Quite a few of them were nursing injuries, bandaged arms and legs, burn wounds. They didn’t look like the kind of wounds you’d get from farming—some of them were quite serious, and the childrens’ faces were pale, almost lifeless.

The encampment itself bore scars, too. Half of the drotlings' small hut-houses were torn in half, windows cracked. Spikes had been attached to every surface, warding off an enemy Akemi couldn’t see. It looked like what a child might do in a tower defense game: place thorn after thorn and hope it was enough to make the giant stumble.

Spotting the intruding outsiders, some of the resting drotlings came to huddle around them, flagrantly staring. Bamo frowned shyly, looking at his feet, while Akemi stared back.

“Hello to you, too,” she said, putting her hands to her hips. As she spoke, their eyebrows rose in recognition. They hadn’t expected to hear their own language escape her lips. It felt like she was a clown at a childrens’ birthday party. “Impressive skill, right?”

The drotling that had led them in, Mort, stood in front of the group and addressed them.

“If you are intending to trade, you can speak to Zobar,” he said, hooking a finger behind him. There was a small stall decorated with various pieces of pottery and fresh vegetables, manned by another inconspicuous child—this one had bandages, too. “Otherwise, you may stay until the sun sets, as our visitor. But after that, you will have to leave. It will not be safe.”

Totally not ominous.

“Actually,” Akemi began, clearing her throat. “I’m interested in the Moonlit Fjord.”

Might as well cut to the chase.

All at once, the busy energy of the encampment stilled. Feet froze where they were in the grass; eager hands cutting meat and vegetables halted. All heads turned to her.

Despite the obviously heightened tension, Mort’s tone of voice didn’t change.

“The fjord is a sacred space. Only us drotlings are allowed inside.”

Akemi clenched her jaw, and shared a look with Bamo.

So, the easy way was out of the question.

Maybe I can make up some lie about my heritage? They don’t seem to understand why a human would speak their language. Maybe they’d believe me if I told them I was one of them.

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“My mother was a—”

“Human,” Bamo interjected, giving her the glare from hell. “A human. And mine is a chimera. But we also worship under the moonlit goddess.”

Akemi’s eyebrow rose. If he was cutting her off to interrupt her lie, why would he throw out a lie of his own? Unless… Unless it wasn’t a lie. She supposed they did worship the moonlit goddess, at least on paper. The chapel had been decorated from floor to ceiling with half moons. Architecturally, it was a bit maximalist, but it sure did ram the point home.

“You worship The Dark Lady?” Mort asked.

“Yes,” Bamo said. “We’re here on a pilgrimage.”

Akemi could laugh. So much for being honest.

He probably just didn’t want her to lie, and… she couldn’t really blame him. Her dice rolls were for shit. And since she just got a good one back there at the entrance, it was inevitable the next one would get their head chopped off. Or worse, she’d have to become a permanent babysitter.

“Even so, the rule stands.”

Akemi sighed.

“Look, yes, we’re… earnest pilgrims, or whatever… but we’re also skilled mercenaries. There’s obviously something that’s got your people on the mend,” she said, gesturing to the drotlings laying in the field. “Maybe we can take care of it? A favor for a favor?”

“It is a curse,” Mort retorted. “Blades don’t kill curses.”

“Well, we’ll just have to get creative, then,” Akemi said, undeterred. “What kind of curse?”

“A tusk beast. He visits our village every night at dusk. We have tried to kill him with weapons and with magic, but neither have any effect. All we can do is defend ourselves until day break, when the sun ascends, and he runs again for the forest.”

Akemi considered this with a hum. An invulnerable warthog, huh?

“You said it leaves when the sun comes up. Is it allergic to sunlight or something?”

Mort shrugged. “We do not know. We suspect that the curse only holds until a certain time in the morning, and then after that, it vanishes.”

“Can you grapple the beast at all? Like, keep it in place?”

This seemed to be harder for Mort to answer. The drotlings turned to each other, communicating with eyes alone. After a moment, Mort nodded to himself.

“It can be impeded by structures, yes. It has run through many of our homes. We have mainly survived by distracting it. The beast enters a singleminded fury when it spots one of us, and it will rampage around the town until that drotling is under its hoofs. We are very nimble, so we can evade for a long time, but the trampling has its casualties.”

“But have you tried trapping it?” Akemi said, an idea brewing in her mind. She had grown up on a farm—she knew the only way to handle a rampaging animal was to get it back in its stall. “If it hates sunlight so much, trapping it and exposing it to the daylight might just be the way to kill it.”

Mort pursed his lips, taking a long, disturbingly loud breath in.

“We have not tried this method,” he said, finally. “It is not entirely implausible.”

“It sure isn’t. You guys look like apt crafters, and me and the bat could act as your running decoys. You put the pen together, we lure it inside. Simple as that.”

When Mort said nothing, Akemi smiled widely, stepping forward and extending her hand.

“Let’s call it a deal, shall we? We help you with your hog problem, and you let two simple little pilgrims into the fjord to celebrate our goddess. In my native language, we’d call this a win-win.”

Mort turned to the drotlings behind them, and they stared silently at each other for several seconds. When the drotling turned to them again, he smiled unevenly, showcasing a row of terrible, rotting teeth—a glimpse of the wretched thing underneath the childlike illusion. It took everything in Akemi not to react to it.

“We agree to your terms, human.”