Despite the noise of the battle, the storm and the thunder that had accompanied it, Yirp and Snarl still remained asleep when Chance returned to the camp with Shags. Chance set his staff aside and then settled back down where he had been lying earlier. He let his eyes slip shut, though did not seek out sleep straight away. Instead he turned his thoughts inwards, to the deep core within where Craghand resided.

Thank you, he sent to the dwarf.

Ach think nothin’ of it, laddie, the dwarf replied. Just doin’ my part ta keep my body alive.

How did you know? Chance asked. That there was trouble out there.

A hunch, a feelin’, ye understand. Nowt else for me ta do in here, so I keep a watch out when I can.

Well, it paid off.

My pleasure, laddie.

A heaviness settled down upon Chance as he shut down all thinking, making his mind go blank, nothing passing through it. Sleep took him once more.

He woke later than normal, the sun already risen by the time he roused. The sounds of quiet whispering greeted him. Opening his eyes and sitting up, he saw the others awake and talking around the fire, which had been started again. The three turned to look at him, all talk coming to an end.

“Morning,” he managed to yawn, scratching at his beard.

“You went off without us,” Yrip said accusatively, while Snarl gave him a fierce stare, vigorously sweeping his broom.

“Sorry,” Chance apologised. “It didn’t occur to me to wake you. I wasn’t really thinking. Tell you what, next demon that we come across I’ll invite you along.”

Snarl responded with his peculiar cackling laugh. “We must all be mad, wanting to actually fight a demon.”

Chance grinned at him. “Moderately so, yes,” he agreed. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

Getting up, Chance asked over to the stream drinking from it. This far from Azval Stalvaq, any trace of the energy that came from the focal point had dissipated to the point that it was unnoticeable. It was crazy, he reflected as he drank, that his friends actually wished to aid him in slaying demons, but he was glad that they wanted to be there for him. He didn’t think that he could do it alone and, rare as it was for him, he was willing to accept their help.

Once they had eaten a simple meal, packed up and allowed Snarl a chance to clean up and sweep their campsite clean, they headed off once more, headed for where the forest and the plains met. The forest was already slowly beginning to thin out, with trees more spread out, the region becoming more open and even bushes replacing trees in parts. There was no actual border between where the forest ended and the plains began, but more a blending of the two as the grasslands slowly began to emerge from among the trees, taking over from it throughout their morning walk.

Towards the middle of the morning, as the heat of the day began to pick up, they became aware of a wisp of smoke rising into the air ahead of them, a thin pencil line reaching into the sky. They exchanged looks, for the fear of a fire was of great concern. If it took off while they were in the forest, they could be in danger.

“I’ll check it out,” Chance said, dropping his gear with the others. Pranaq, he whispered and once more his body shuddered and assumed the form of the great wedge-tail eagle, lifting up into the sky. With a beat of his powerful wings, he flew up and forward, lifting on the thermals as his sharp-eyed gaze fixed upon the smoke, seeking for its source.

It was there that he caught his first view of any form of civilisation since arriving, even if it was just a simple farm on the eaves of the forest. A small farmhouse of logs and thatching had been built there, the smoke rising from a chimney set into it. The farmhouse and a couple of smaller side buildings surrounded a yard in which a number of chickens scratched about, and a couple of goats grazed nearby in a pen.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

A frightening urge to swoop upon the chickens came over him, the instincts of an eagle to hunt, and he had even begun his swoop before he brought the urge under control, banking aside and down, headed back to where the others waited.

He landed among them and shook out the eagle form.

“There is a farm ahead,” he announced when he was back to being himself again. He gathered up his gear where it lay. “It is by the path and the stream, so we will be passing it by on our travels. Hopefully, we can get some information from whoever lives there about the region.”

“Did you see anyone?” Yrip asked.

“No, but the fire indicates someone is living there.”

Their once meandering pace picked up now that a destination had been spotted, drawing them on towards it. The farm had been a long way from anywhere, as Chance hadn’t spotted any others during his short flight, making it isolated. It was, however, the closest anyone lived to Azval Stalvaq, and that made it of interest to him. Still, he wasn’t sure what kind of reception he might receive. Whoever lived there obviously wanted to be far from anyone, and as a city boy, he had always heard stories about what rural folk got up to in isolation. He wasn't exactly a teen who had gone on holidays and gotten lost, though, and he did have company that was, for the most, rather intimidating in appearance. He doubted anyone would start trouble while he had Snarl and Shags with him, even if Snarl was carrying a broom.

The forest had largely ended by the time they reached the farm, though there were still patches of trees about, scattered across the grasslands, and more around the fmr itself, sheltering the buildings beneath broad branches and long shadows.

As they grew near they spotted a man in a straw hat working a patch of ground near to the steam with a hoe. The ground there had been cleared and staked out and a field of vegetables grew where he worked, clearing weeds. He looked up as they walked into sight and they saw him grip very tightly to his hoe, looking across to the farmhouse some distance away, and then back to them. It was as if he was judging if he could run for shelter, but having decided there was no chance, waited in resignation.

He is very afraid, Shags noted. Terrified even.

“I think most people out here might be if a group of strangers like us turned up,” Chance responded.

No, he isn't afraid of us. Well, not much, Shags explained. Something else is causing the fear.

Chance nodded slowly as he drew near to the man. That sounded like trouble; unexpected trouble at that. The farmer didn’t look particularly old, but his face had the weathered look of someone who spent his life outdoors, his face was lined with concern and his dark hair bore a few strands of premature grey at the temples. He wore a simple pale tunic, belted at the waist, and dirt-stained from working in the fields, and his boots were muddy.

His eyes took in Chance and his companions, widening slightly as he saw exactly what they were, a motley crew, and he swallowed hard, face paling.

“Good morning,” Chance said, putting on a friendly tone and raising a hand in greeting. “We were just passing by and mean you no harm.”

The farmer looked off in the direction that Chance had come from, and then back to Chance. “You came from there?” he asked, his voice nervous.

“Yup.”

“The dragon…” the farmer started to say.

“The dragon isn’t a problem anymore,” Chance responded. Of course, that was why the man was so scared, living so close to where a dragon had laired. It all made sense to Chance now.

To his surprise, though, while a look of some relief crossed over the farmer’s face, it was not completely erased. “Then we are much indebted to you,” the farmer said. “It was a blight on the region, its depravations driving many honest fold away. We had nowhere else to go, so we were forced to remain here, but we still lost much to it.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Chance explained. “Others killed the dragon.”

The farmer frowned, trying to puzzle the matter out. “But if you came from there…” He stopped and then nodded to himself. “You are a druid then?”

“I am working on it,” Chane replied wryly. “Not very well, but I’m trying.”

“And these…?” the farmer asked, looking at the wolf, the gnoll and the kobold.

“My friends and companions.”

Slowly the farmer nodded, trying to take it all in. “Before the coming of the dragon, the druids lived in the sacred heart of the forest, though they kept to themselves, even when others were in need.”

There was a silent, unasked question in there. “You are in need of help?” Chance asked,

“Not just me,” the farmer replied. “Many are the troubles that we suffer, the farms and villages of Yereshalzar, and there are none that are able to help us.”

“Tell us what troubles you and we shall see what we can do,” Chance told him.