Marek didn’t relish the prospect of an afternoon spent mucking around in filth. Optimism was a strength of his, however, and he took satisfaction in securing his first side job. One for one, he thought, stretching out his legs as he loped through town. Warmed up from his meanderings early that morning, Marek noticed more subtle differences in his body. It wasn’t merely a matter of strength or stamina. His limbs moved differently. He might be tempted to use the word nimble if he hadn’t experienced combat in the powerful body he’d occupied in the Crucible.

“I’ll be thrown into the Rift, but I feel good!” he said joyfully. “Almost like I’m not a man heading for madness and doom.” Giggling, Marek jogged and then ran, streaking across to the eastern edge of Northshore. Not once did he stop along the way. His lungs heaved when he reached his destination, yet they didn’t burn as they used to. And he didn’t trigger a coughing fit.

An odd sensation came to his awareness then. As he slowed to a walk, Marek experienced a series of pulsing zaps worming down his legs and into his feet. Feels like my nerves are being plucked like lute strings, he thought. Hope that’s a good thing? Maybe Tilda will know.

He sighed, dismissing the idea as quickly as it had come. Marek needed to keep his new Class and Abilities a secret. Mirrin had the notion the blasted King of Casteras might be looking for him. His stray thoughts cleared and his breath slowed when he spotted Wick Wick’s one straight ear peeking up over the fence.

Then he cleared his throat. “Umm, Wick Wick? Are you—”

An explosive hiss emerged through the gaps in the fence. The scrape of claws dragging over oakwood. Then a pair of pink eyes glared down at Marek, annoyance filling them to overflowing. “Why the sneaks?” Wick Wick snapped. “Much early and little sun! Why sneaking around Wick Wick’s?”

Marek held up his hands, showing his teeth in an apologetic grin. “Didn’t mean to sneak. Sorry if I scared you.”

Wick Wick’s frown somehow deepened. He opened his mouth, exposing the flat, blunt teeth so prominent in the Haikini people, and hissed a second time. The rabbit kin dropped from the fence and landed with a soft thud. Then he promptly ignored Marek, the swish of a brush dragging across a horse’s back the only sound. Wick Wick continued to tend to the animal, and soon Marek realized the Haikini man held no intentions of speaking to him. Truly, these were a strange people. Or maybe Wick Wick’s just rude, he thought.

Steeling his nerves, the Sigilist tried again. “I’m here on business,” he said hesitantly. When his statement garnered no response, he thought to be more specific. “I need to buy a horse in the next few days, and I trust you more than the Southshore farriers.”

“Southshore’s filled with thieves,” the rabbit kin muttered. “Prices high! They steals and robs, Wick Wick knows.”

Marek frowned and suppressed a disheartened sigh. He’d have to be blunt. “I have silver—for the horse, I mean... and maybe a little gold.”

The brush strokes ceased the moment Marek uttered the final word. “Gold is good,” Wick Wick said quietly. A moment later, the rabbit kin walked to the gate and stepped outside, latching it behind him to keep the animals inside. He stopped before Marek, studying him head to foot. Wick Wick was shorter than Marek but tall for a Haikini, who ranged from four to five and a half feet. One tall ear jutted up like a spear from atop his white scalp. The other toppled forward, bent at the base. The rabbit pressed his blunt fingers together and grinned. “How much gold does the small man have?”

Marek winced. Compared to the price of a good horse, he knew he didn’t have much. He’d heard of nobles paying thousands of gold for a single horse, though war mounts were of a different stock entirely. I don’t need a charger, Marek reminded himself. I don’t even need a common plow horse. Just one strong enough to carry me. I’m sure he has a mount I can afford.

“A bit,” Marek said, sidestepping the question as best he could. “Do you have any horses you can sell at the moment? I’m going on a short journey into the hills north of here and need a way to travel faster.”

Wick Wick tisked with annoyance. “Little man can die here in town. Fall in river! Jump from roof! Save time and save horse. Why go to hills to die?”

“I… I don’t plan on dying,” Marek said defensively.

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Wick Wick chittered. His laugh was strange, shrill and manic in its pitch. The antics alerted another of the Haikini, one Marek had seen in passing a few times but couldn’t immediately place.

A few inches shorter than Wick Wick, the other Haikini tottered up. “Why the laughing, Wick Wick? You will wake our Sheerka.”

Our Sheerka? Marek wondered before it clicked. Oh, this must be the other husband. Principalities, but that’s a strange custom.

“Little man will buy Wick Wick’s horse and ride into hills.”

The second Haikini tisked. “To die? Why he wasting a good horse? Much easier to do the dying here in Misthearth.”

Wick Wick chittered again. “As I says to him! Listen to Crin Caw, human. Wick Wick’s husband is wise.”

Marek bit his lip, tamping down on his frustration. The Haikini were an odd folk, but they were reasonable after a fashion. He only had to figure out how to reason with them. “I won’t be traveling far, hopefully. Just a week or so from town. I have business that can’t be delayed.”

Crin Caw shrugged, his two brown ears twitching as he did so. “Kobolds kill and eat you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Or little man be taken by Druskin or Haikini. Tribes fighting in hills. Foolish to ride there now.”

As the brown-furred creature left, Marek decided to swallow the wisdom that was being handed to him. If anyone in Misthearth knew of the goings on in the hills north of town, the Haikini would.

A third figure emerged from the same barn Crin Caw had. A short, broad female gave Crin Caw a little pinch on the arm before falling in beside Wick Wick. “Should pinch you too! Wick Wick complains no humans and no gold. Then warns first who comes all week. Maybe small man will not die as you say. Maybe it wants to spend gold at Wick Wick’s!”

She’d placed obvious emphasis on want—enough for the stubborn Wick Wick to deflate a little. “Wife Sheerka is right. Tiny man may see horses now. If he has gold, he may come.”

“How much does it have?” Sheerka asked bluntly.

Marek blinked a few times, taken aback. His pride stung from how often the Haikini had pointed out his modest stature. Tiny? That’s a bit much. I’m not that short! And to be asked so directly about his finances… Ardeans were a private bunch when it came to personal matters, and of course, finances were quite personal. Regardless, he’d come here for a reason, and he shrugged off his discomfort. “Not much,” he admitted. “I was hoping you might have a horse for one or two gold?”

Wick Wick huffed, but his companion didn’t miss a beat. She twitched her head to one side and said, “Cheap gold for cheap horse. Come, small man. We have one for you.”

Marek thanked the Haikini wife who chose to lead the way. They passed several barns housing a variety of steeds. Most were of common stock, neither tall nor handsome, though Marek recognized their worth regardless. These would be used to pull carriages or bear single riders from town to town. Others were shorter and thickly muscled, a few stout oxen among them. Beasts of burden meant to draw plows or haul wagons full of stone. Finally, Sheerka stopped at the entrance to a small, dilapidated barn.

She twitched her head again, indicating the sorry animal within. “Old old, bad back, teeth missing. Will live long enough to die with you in mountains. You may buy for one gold, ten silver.”

Marek tried to conceal his reaction but apparently failed. Wick Wick tisked, pointing a clawed finger at Marek. “You give cheap gold. I don’t give horse away. You want better horse? Pay better gold.”

Marek nodded. “I… I can part with two gold. That’s as much as I can spend, though. I’m sorry. Is this the only option?”

Sheerka waved him closer as she entered the barn. She pointed to the animal’s back and curved hooves. “Just get her in two days ago. I clean, brush, fix hooves. Still old and tired more years she lives. Strong enough to carry small man.”

Marek frowned at Wick Wick’s wife, not at all appreciating the ruse the Haikini was trying to play. “That’s a donkey!” he complained when Sheerka’s demeanor didn’t falter.

Sheerka tisked, then whispered to her husband in the airy language of the Haikini. Clicks, snaps, and hissing—it was an odd tongue to Marek’s ears, completely indecipherable. Wick Wick grumbled under his breath, then finally turned and left his wife to finish the business. Sheerka bared her front teeth in an approximation of a human smile and said, “Mule, not donkey! Short and ugly but mule strong. Strong enough to carry small man... Two gold, six silver.”

Marek sighed, blowing out his frustration and accepting the fate that had come his way. He stepped a little closer to the beast and held out a hand. The beast swung its head around angrily and stomped again. Then its mouth opened. The whites of its eyes grew as it snapped at Marek’s leg. He leapt back and cursed the creature.

“Mule mean mean,” Sheerka said in a quiet voice that held a tone of respect. “Two gold, five silver.”

Marek laughed despite his anger. The Haikini were always interesting to interact with. Still, the mule did look healthy, and he’d worked with stubborn mounts before.

He left after paying half the cost, promising to return with the rest when he planned on leaving Misthearth. The loss of such a large portion of his coin stung, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that this had been his most expensive purchase. Marek crossed a bridge to Southshore, and by the time he’d reached Tilda’s shop, the sun was warming the cobblestones. The folk of Misthearth were up and about, the district busy as ever.

Unfortunately, the Healer wasn’t in. Marek decided to take a gamble, heading to her home not far away. He found the woman just as she opened her front door and stepped outside.

“Oh! Hello, Marek,” she said with a pained smile. “How was the talk with your uncle?”