A wagon, he said. Two days tops to reach Magnimar with a wagon.

So why did Arlo see at least ten other vehicles all lined up along Market Street?

“Good news,” Coradiel grinned as Arlo stared at the caravan. “I got us about five hundred gold each for a round trip to Magnimar.”

“Five hundred?” He took a deep breath. Rubbed his nose. “Are we the only ones guarding this thing?”

“Of course not,” Coradiel scoffed. “There are a couple of archers riding along with us- uh… where’s your horse?”

“Horse?” Oh, for the love of whatever gods roamed this place. “No one said anything about a horse!”

“It’s fine, Coradiel.” Arlo had to bite back a groan as Aldern appeared out of nowhere. “I can buy your friend a horse.” He shoved a purse of gold at Arlo, who feebly tried to fend the money off. “Nonsense, take it. I meant to purchase you a mount for the hunt, but I got too excited and forgot. Allow me to make up for my mishap, and display my gratitude more properly. You can catch up to us quickly on the road.”

A loud whistle ran down the caravan, and wagons began moving. Coradiel mounted a bay horse as Aldern climbed onto his own.

“You better hurry up,” the paladin warned. “We’re not waiting for you.”

A frustrated groan slipped from Arlo’s throat as the wagons lumbered forward. He waited for them to clear the southern gate before racing up the street toward the stables.

Deverin Hosk was just dumping out a trough when the catfolk skidded to a stop beside him.

“Excuse me sir, I need a horse,” he gasped out.

The man’s face soured.

“A horse. That’s not much to go on. What do you need a horse for?” Deverin demanded. “Leisure riding, hunting, a warhorse?”

“Uh… travel and guard duty?” Arlo tried.

“Fine. I have two available, the rest have been picked over. Rosie here,” he motioned toward a bay horse much like Coradiel’s mount, “has something of a temper to her.”

“Got anyone who can withstand the crack of a musket?”

“A what now?”

Arlo motioned to the gun tied to his pack.

“A musket,” he repeated. “It’s loud and shoots metal long distances.”

“Never heard of it. And as such, I have no idea if any of my horses will be skittish around it.”

“Fine, any horses that are trained around battlefields? Not necessarily a warhorse, but something a bit more sturdy?”

“Jack’s the closest you’ll get to a warhorse from me,” Deverin said, motioning toward a blonde sorrel. The light-furred horse whickered, reaching for a barrel of oats that had been left a bit too close to his stall.

“I’ll take him,” Arlo said, ever mindful of the wagons still lumbering across the Turandarok River.

“75 gold with the tack. I’m assuming you can ride,” Deverin said sharply.

“Uh… Well enough?” At least, Arlo had ridden ponies at a fair before. He knew it was a lot of balancing.

He passed the gold to Deverin, and the two began saddling the horse. Arlo let his [Riding] skill do most of the work; as low as it was, it was still better than the alternative.

Mounting carefully, the catfolk pulled his tail into his lap. He turned Jack a bit awkwardly, but the horse seemed to respond well to his touch. Before long, he was on the road, passing the bridge out of town, and on the trail of the caravan he was supposed to guard.

They caught up to the caravan easily. Slow, lumbering, the wagons would be easy pickings for any determined assailants. Arlo knew the first few hours were the most dangerous; now was when bandits from the town they’d just left could easily catch up to them out of sight of the town’s defences.

The caravan passed out of the thicket outside of Sandpoint quickly enough — by now, Arlo was a veteran of working his way down the Lost Coast Road, at least a mile out.

Then they hit the Ashen Moor. On their left, the land rose into a limestone escarpment. Jagged peaks cut across the skyline, but aside from a cloud of stirges chasing down a raven, nothing too dangerous appeared. Arlo still kept an eye out as they passed — bandits weren’t necessarily the most dangerous creatures they’d face out here.

A mile passed quickly enough, and then another, carrying them from the moor. The smell of the sea carried past them — they followed the coast down the road, though the rumble of wagon wheels prevented the sound of the ocean from reaching Arlo’s ears. It worried him; what else might he miss because the wagons were too loud?

Passing between Brinestump Marsh and the Ashen Rise, the caravan plodded slowly out of the Sandpoint Hinterlands, and into the more dangerous part of its journey. This close to the town, bandits from Sandpoint could be well within range to strike the caravan, while being far enough out that the town guards would not be able to respond.

Coradiel seemed perfectly fine to let Arlo do all the guarding — the paladin was engrossed in discussion with Aldern. Finally, he broke away from the noble, and dropped back to Arlo’s position.

“Are you going to stay back here the whole journey?”

“Probably,” Arlo said. “Someone’s gotta watch our backs. And I’m wasted in a melee.”

“Does this have anything to do with my conversations with Aldern?”

“No. I don’t like the man, so if you want to keep him busy, that’s fine by me.”

“Right, because he’s a noble.” Coradiel grunted. “You know, not all nobles are horrible people.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

The paladin shook his head.

“Call me a terrible person after all I’ve done for you…”

“I didn’t realise all you’d done was just to get me to like you. Here I thought you were supposed to be good for the sake of being good,” Arlo said. “Thanks for proving my point. Nobles always have an ulterior motive.”

“Are all catfolk so standoffish? It seems you’ve done nothing but beg for my help and then belittle me.”

“I don’t recall begging,” Arlo growled. “Asking for help once to save Sandpoint from goblins, sure. Begging for help? Never.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Perhaps beg is the wrong word, but you’ve done everything you can to keep me at arm’s length. I think you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t like me. I think I’ll prefer riding with Aldern over you.”

“Oh sure, pick the noble. You always stick together, don’t you?” Arlo yelled after him as Coradiel trotted away. Coradiel raised a hand, no doubt shooting Arlo some sort of rude gesture.

And he was left alone in the rear guard, keeping any eye out for anything that might threaten the caravan.

Arlo set his tent up haphazardly, eager to crawl into bed. Most of the merchants seemed content to sleep in their wagons, and leave the horses posted to a pole Arlo had been forced to plant for them. Unfortunately, the muscles gained on his real body didn’t transfer to his catfolk body. By the time the pole was in the ground, every move Arlo made was agonising.

“You did it wrong.”

“Don’t care,” he grunted at the paladin. Fuck off. “What do you want?”

“Somehow, I was under the impression there was an inn between Magnimar and Sandpoint, and we would be sleeping there.”

“I don’t see an inn.”

“It exists, but it’s about ten miles further up the road. We didn’t make nearly as good time as I was hoping.”

“And all this means?” Arlo flopped into the tent, yelping as the poles collapsed all around him. “SONOFA-”

“Here.” Coradiel fished the amurrun out of the fallen tent, and began piecing the tent properly together. “It means I don’t have a tent. And the caravaners aren’t keen on sharing their space.”

“Oh, now you’re begging me for help.” Arlo snorted, then winced as his shoulders protested the motion. “Fuck… If I let you use my tent, we’re even, got it?”

“We can share it,” Coradiel pointed out, setting the last pole in place and starting on the stakes. “It’s a tight fit, but we can squeeze together so neither of us is in the rain tonight.”

“Rain?” Even as he said the word, a crack of thunder pealed through the evening sky. “Shit… what about the horses?”

“They’ll be fine. The stablers in Magnimar are very good at their jobs; they can make sure the horses are in good shape after we reach the city. But this is going to slow us down even more. Horrid time for a trade run.”

Draping a tarp over the whole ensemble, Coradiel grabbed a blanket from his saddlebags.

“Of course, we’re going to have to split watches.”

“Ugh. Just use my tent,” Arlo grumbled, raising a hand. "[Keep Watch].”

Instantly, the weariness fled from his bones. He still hurt, but he was wide awake now. According to the spell, as long as he didn’t do anything more strenuous than watch the surrounding areas, he should be well rested come morning.

“I didn’t know you had a spell like that. I could stand watch with you,” Coradiel pointed out. “Two sets of eyes is better than one.”

“Yeah, you could,” Arlo agreed. “But why would a noble want to get wet when he could be sleeping in a dry tent?”

“Did you miss the part about me being destitute because I gave my fortune to a Magnimar orphanage?” Coradiel demanded. “I’m a noble in name only.”

Arlo sighed, tearing down the tent Coradiel had just set up. He placed everything away with a little more care this time.

“[Keep Watch].” His hand on Coradiel was perhaps a little harder than necessary. Worse, Coradiel didn’t even wince, as if the strike hadn’t even fazed him. “I’ll take the north end if you take the south.”

“Then that wastes having two pairs of eyes on the wilderness,” Coradiel pointed out. “Walk with me. We’ll do a loop outside the wagons.” He pointed to the vehicles, all set up in a circle around a central campfire, with the horses nestled downwind to keep as much rain off them as possible.

Arlo followed Coradiel, keeping a distance between the two of them. They slipped outside the ring of wagons, and began working a long circle around the camp.

“Okay, we’re alone now,” Coradiel said as soon as he was confident they were out of earshot. “So, please explain why you hate me. I feel I’ve been rather decent to you, despite your attitude.”

“I don’t hate you,” Arlo muttered.

“It sure looks that way.”

“Why can’t you just leave it alone? Leave me alone?!” Arlo snapped. “Fuck, that would make this so much easier!”

“Make what easier? Ignoring your desire to fuck me?”

Arlo’s hand clamped over Coradiel’s maw. “Don’t say that!”

Under his hand, Coradiel’s lips turned. A wet warmth ran over Arlo’s hand, and the catfolk yanked back. He stared at the paladin, aghast.

“Did you just lick-?!”

“Shh!” Coradiel froze, staring toward an outcrop of rocks in the distance. “You hear that?”

“No?” Arlo took a breath. Petrichor, the ocean, dirt, cats- wait…. “Cougars?”

“Firepelts,” Coradiel confirmed, drawing his sword.

“Hold up. If we fight, we lose the spell, and I can’t cast it again,” Arlo hissed. “My mana’s almost out after digging the latrine!”

“Fine.” Coradiel sheathed his sword. “See if you can pick them off. Looks like a momma and two kittens looking for an easy meal. Like a group of horses inside a camp. You can have the honour of sleeping tonight.”

“I already took down the tent.”

“Then put it back up.”

“I don’t know how, and you can’t do it with the spell active.”

“Damn it!” Coradiel spun as a cougar suddenly leapt out of the brush. He dodged the strike, and unsheathed his blade. Sweeping the sword around to keep the cats at bay, the paladin glowered at Arlo.

“You are so infuriating!”

Arlo stepped back, sitting against a large rock as the cougars charged again.

“You know what, fuck it. Just fight,” Coradiel snapped. “Blasted wizards and your stupid spells.”

Snorting as he grabbed his musket, Arlo began loading.

“Seems I reached your breaking point rather quickly,” he said, shoving the musket at the paladin. Coradiel dropped his sword to grab the musket.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he demanded, dodging another claw.

“Pull the trigger!”

The half-elf yanked the trigger back. A muffled crack broke through the thunderstorm, and the cougar froze. Turning tail, the firepelt raced back toward the rocks, her kittens in tow.

A wave of fatigue washed over the amurrun as he watched their foes flee.

“Aw fuck. Guess we’re sharing a tent after all….”

Rain thundered on the tarp. A chill wind whistled through the wagons. But Arlo was safe, warm…

And immensely uncomfortable.

“Do you have to shove your dick in my ass?” he growled as Coradiel humped — actually humped! — into his backside.

“Sorry,” the paladin muttered. “It’s instinctive. I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“Well roll over. I can’t sleep if I’m terrified you’re going to fuck me.”

“I’m not going to-”

“Yeah, sure. You’re doing a great job of reassuring me right now,” Arlo hissed as the paladin pressed against his — thankfully covered — ass yet again.

An elbow jabbed into his back as Coradiel tried to roll over. And suddenly, the paladin’s own rear was pressing hard against Arlo’s. For some reason, this didn’t feel like the upgrade Arlo had thought it would be.

Yet it was a lot easier to relax without Coradiel knocking at his back entrance. The tent was small. His feet were poking outside. There was no room to maneuvre, and god have mercy if one of them had to fart. But for now, it was all they had to work with.

“Walda Ambrush came with us; she’s a Desnan cleric. She’s the one on guard right now,” Coradiel said. “She might have some spells to reduce fatigue, if you ask nicely.”

“Why do you mention her?” Arlo demanded with a yawn.

“Because you’re fidgeting so much being this close to me that there’s no way either of us will be sleeping tonight.”

“I’m not-”

“You are,” Coradiel interrupted. “Look, no one gives a fuck if we’re sleeping together. No one’s going to complain.”

“I’m too tired to argue. Just go to sleep. And keep your dick out of my ass.”

“Gladly.”

The two stilled. Arlo tried to create a bit more space between them, but the tent was really only meant for one person. Trying to fit two in here was ridiculous.

Morning came way too early. It found Arlo with his spellbook cracked open, and Coradiel vanished into the scrub around the camp. All around him, caravaners cooked a basic breakfast, or hooked up horses, or checked their inventory. By the time the catfolk was finished preparing his spells for the day, Coradiel was back, and the camp was torn down.

It took another two days to reach Magnimar.