A humid veil hovered about the land. I hiked a narrow footpath up a grassy rise, the flaxen-haired boy a distance ahead of me. The smell of wet grass came on thick, and early flies and bees flexed their wings, sticking close to the ground.

A small log cabin rested on the bumpy ridge by a curve on the path. The first order of business was to pick up the sheep from the ranch. The place wasn’t called Mile’s ranch because there ever lived a man named Mile there, but because the corral stood quite precisely a mile from the town.

The current day resident was a man called Kynes, contracted under the Jarl’s beastkeeper.

“Why did sis have to ask you, of all people…” Norn grumbled, striding ahead in his oversized garments, quickly, as if wanting to lose me. Shoes the boy didn’t wear.

Apologies for being me.

We reached the cabin, on the small stairs of which sat an old, bent man waiting for us. His face weathered, heavily tanned and deep-creased, little else but hard-parched skin to cover the thin bones beneath. But the gaze of his squinted eyes was attentive and alive. Apparently, he had been the original owner of the ranch and the shepherd before the Jarl had bought the place. Alas, having grown too old, he couldn’t do his job so well anymore, necessitating hired help. Or perhaps it was a thing to be grateful about?

“Hi-hi~!” Norn yelled and waved. “Uncle Kynes! Good morning! Sorry, I’m a little late! I had to bring this weird woman with me.”

“Morning, lad,” Mr Kynes answered the greeting with a smile that wrung his face like a grimace, before turning a wary look my way. “And you might be…?”

“Good morning,” I said and bowed my head. “My name is Lunaria. I am an adventurer. I was asked to look into the presumed monster sighting.”

“Ah.” Mr Kynes exhaled wryly, but didn’t share more of his mind aloud.

“What do you mean, ‘presumed’!” Norn complained to me. “I know what I saw! It was really there! And you didn’t have to come! I’m not all helpless, you know? I could handle it myself, somehow.”

“Sure, you could. But now that I’m here, anyway, could I have a word with Mr Kynes in private?”

“Go get the sheep, lad,” the old man sent the boy ahead, appropriately reading the cue.

Left alone with him, he sitting still on the steep porch stairs, I standing on the hard path downhill, it was the time to extract more precise answers.

“You have managed this ranch for a while, correct?”

“For forty-seven years,” Mr Kynes said. “Inherited the place from my father, and he from his father. Grandpa journeyed to these hills from Trakia well over a century past now.”

“And then the Jarl made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

He tossed his bony shoulders. “No man lives forever. My wife left me too soon, and the Farsí didn’t bless me with a child of my own to pick up after me. The ranch was going to waste. Better the Jarl has it, than some foreigner. The coin doesn’t hurt either.”

“A wise choice, perhaps. And have you seen direwolves before on these hills?”

Mr Kynes shook his head. “No. Never.”

“You don’t believe what Norn saw was one, do you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sullen. “A part of me wants to believe the kid, sure. He’s an honest soul. I love ‘im like my own grandson. But…That kind of thing just doesn’t happen. I’ve seen the regular kind of wolf a couple of times, even a bear once, but a monster? Wargs, as far as I know, live far, far away in the north. It would’ve had’ta come a damn long way to reach these hills. No.”

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” I said. “Male cubs are chased out of their original packs when they mature. Or, it could be an old alpha male that was overthrown by a contender. If they can’t find a new pack to join, they remain strays and may wander astonishingly far from their original habitats. Thousands of miles, even.”

My source on this was a novel, not personal experience, though. But it was a novel written by a former hunter and largely autobiographical, so I would have liked to believe it was not pure fiction. Still, the theory felt a little far-fetched. Ms Vera had told me monsters didn’t come near active dungeons. Were the hills far enough? I couldn’t say.

“There may be some truth to that,” Mr Kynes begrudgingly admitted and spat. “But if it did come the distance, how come nobody hunted it sooner? Doesn’t sound right to me. Lots of folks keep cattle on lower land to the north side, folks bigger than me, or even our Jarl. They’ve got the coin to throw at hunters. It being a stray dog would be easier to believe. A sheep dog that ran from home and grew feral. They tend to be big too. We had one ourselves, Lines. She was a good dog. Became my legs when mine grew too slow to keep up with the jumbucks. Then she broke one of hers, taking a bad tumble, and I had’ta put her down. Real shame.”

He looked down the hill, bitter, and spat again. “I liked that damn dog.”

“My condolences,” I presented. “A feral dog could be dangerous too, to the sheep and the boy both. I’m going to have to see the place where it was sighted. Finding clear tracks would be helpful. Do you have any weapons I could borrow, Mr Kynes? A bow, perhaps?”

“Shouldn’t a hunter bring her own weapons?” Mr Kynes asked critically.

Touché.

“You are not mistaken,” I said. “But it didn’t occur to me I’d be roped into hunting direwolves when I left home this morning.”

“Then you shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

“Sometimes there is no choice.”

“There is always a choice: give it up. If there’s a warg out there, it’ll tear straight through ya. Your life should be what matters most, lass.”

“Then I will take Norn with me and you must manage your sheep on your own legs from this day on.”

The old man exercised his facial muscles for a moment in conflicted silence, forced to finally admit that sometimes life indeed left you with wretched few choices.

“I have a crossbow,” he grunted. “My grandfather’s old. But it’s long broken and ain’t nobody around to fix it. It’s no good to you, I fear.”

“May I see it?”

“It’s in the house, in the back. Get it yourself.”

I climbed the worn stairs up into the cabin past Mr Kynes, who made no effort to give way. Then strode across a cozy living room, trying not to gawk at his assorted belongings, and went on to approach the very promiscuous compound crossbow hanging on the shadowy back wall. It was a large armament. Not made for hunters, but a genuine war bow. Almost as long as my leg from the waist down, reinforced with steel and heavy, thickly coated in flaky dust. Next to the bow was a small wood quiver, where four short, thick, feathered bolts were left. Perhaps Mr Kynes’s grandfather had been drafted into the northerners’ wars in his time?

The old, thick hemp string was cut and needed to be replaced. The trigger mechanism was stiff. Maybe the machinery was rusted, maybe clogged up by dirt. Maybe a part inside was broken? Was the thing even worth dragging along? But I wasn’t going to kill a direwolf with a dagger, if there was one. At least, it shouldn’t be my first choice.

Reluctantly, I took the bow. I would try to disassemble it later and clean it. If it worked, fine. If it didn’t, I would throw it downhill as a personal favor to Mr Kynes.

Norn and I left the shepherd’s cabin to follow the windy, winding ridge higher towards the clouds. I had wondered what a horde of sheep there was going to be, but there weren’t that many, less than two dozen. They were completely unlike their fluffy, slovenly kindred I’d seen before at a farm on the outskirts of the Imperial capital. They were small, scrawny creatures, their long faces and stick legs coal-black, the streaked furs on their backs very dark, dirty brown. Almost all were ewes, with but three rams along and two calves.

The herd moved loosely ahead of and around their human guide, a tattered, sullied cloud caught in his paltry gravity. Norn climbed uphill with steady feet, not minding the animals occasionally pushing him, Mr Kyne’s old crook in his hand, a small leather bag swinging by the hip, like a frugally dressed apprentice magus. A child prophet and his apostles.

Norn glanced back and frowned, his canine ears bending.

“What? What are you sniggering there for?”

“Eh…?” I paused and reflexively touched my face. “Was I...smiling?”

“You were! You weren’t laughing at me, were you?”

“Not at all,” I said and recomposed myself. “Is it still far away?”

The child shrugged. “About three miles more.”

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I turned to look back. Though the mist had largely cleared, no sign of the town could be seen from this position, the buildings veiled behind the hills. I’d had confidence in my stamina, but was growing rather hot and short of breath already. We had hiked at least four miles by now and were barely past the halfway mark? It was certainly far.

“Do you come this way every day?” I asked.

“Yup.”

“All alone?”

“I’ve got sheep to spare, don’t you see?”

“Don’t you miss other children of your own age?”

“Ha! Who’d miss snot-nosed weaklings like they? They’d just get in the way! I’m better off on my own.”

“A tough fellow.”

“You have to be, if you want to live in these parts!”

I nearly slipped on the slick trail, the heavy crossbow on my shoulder leaving me unbalanced, and had to invest more attention to my footing for a time.

Maybe I should have been impressed by Norn’s courage, a courage beyond his years, but his words stirred only a regretful ache in my chest. I recalled my own unstandard childhood, and if I could choose, I would have preferred no one else to go through experiences of similar isolation. You might think you can make do without people, and maybe you can, but there are sure to come, sooner or later, rare individuals worthy of admiration, individuals you’d like to share your life with, but don’t know how. Because you didn’t learn how to connect with your kind when the others did, never figured out how that game was played, and it was too late to learn now.

I was getting left further behind.

“Do you still think I’m a Thurian spy?” I asked.

“I still think you’re weird,” Norn replied without looking back. “Because you are.”

“Frighteningly weird?”

“I’m not scared of you! Well, you’re trying to help, I can see that. Though I don’t know why. What’s in it for you, sticking your nose into everyone’s business like that? Sis said she’s never met a woman as crazy as you are.”

“That is a rather severe assessment,” I said.

“She also said you’re too pure for this world. What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”

“...I wonder.”

Norn stopped and turned back to point downhill at me.

“You may have put my sister under your spell, but you won’t win me over that easily! You hear me? So better not try anything weird when I’m around, or I’ll make you regret it!”

The sheep steered away from the kid, alarmed by his yelling.

“What a suspicious child,” I remarked.

“I’m not a child, knock that off!”

“You’re twelve.”

“So?”

“You don’t think a twelve-year-old is still a child?”

“I can’t afford to stay a child,” he grunted, his voice growing hard, and turned to go on. “I have to grow up as fast as I can, so I can help my sis.”

It was a brave, respectable attitude to have, I thought. But no less sad. Everything about this child was beautiful—and sad. Whenever I looked at Norn, it wrung my heart.

“I may not be able to read your sister’s mind,” I said. “But I’m sure she would agree that you should stay a child for a little longer.”

“What? The heck’s with you…?” Norn grumbled. But his tone was somewhat softened. Brightened.

In another two hours, we reached a more level area on the high hills. The rock face was exposed here and there, but around the sharp, jagged crags grew grass rich and tall and verdant. We settled there among the rocks with our sheep and had a late lunch. I had made myself sandwiches imitating Corporal Samuel’s road menu, with thin cuts of dry-aged ham, boiled eggs, pickled beetroot, and herbs. Meat and eggs were expensive, but I couldn’t afford to lose my strength before going into the dungeon.

Then I noticed Norn eye my lunch with envy. He had only hard bread, a chunk of old cheese, and water. That was all Mr Kynes had to spare for his shepherd. Likely the man himself had been brought up on a similar diet and knew of no better. But what a failure I was as a maid, thinking only of myself. I took my knife, cut one of my sandwiches diagonally in two, and offered the other half to the shepherd.

“Want to trade for a piece of your bread?”

Norn’s eyes brightened. “For real?”

“Yes. Final offer, take it or leave it.”

“You got it!”

The kid tore off a piece of his bread and traded it for the sandwich slice. I could have given it to him for free, but had a hunch his pride was too great for charity. When dressed as an equivalent exchange, it was accepted without suspicion, regardless of the actual value of the goods. Psychology was a strange art.

Norn devoured the sandwich in no time and licked his fingers. “Mmm. So good!”

“Glad to hear that.”

I ate at a considerably more modest pace and then poured myself a cup of cold tea. We sat and watched the heavy clouds crawl over the dales below our own altitude. Then Norn spoke.

“Say, do you know why they call these hills the Hikers?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, a long, long time ago, there were giants living in these lands. The people living further up north then hired the giants to go to war with this big empire down in the south. Because they knew they couldn’t win on their own, but giants were really big and strong and would do it for them. So they built a huge giant army and sent them to march against that empire.”

“I see.”

Was that supposed to be a tale about the days of Vallacia?

“But because the giants were so big, they were also really slow and heavy to move. And the southern empire was so far away, the giants started to grow tired on the way there. And when they got tired, they got even slower, and the slower they were, the longer the trip took, and the longer it took, the more tired they got of just marching—until the giants couldn’t keep moving anymore and all went to sleep. They slept for years and years without waking up again and turned to stone. Their bodies were covered by grass and rocks and trees, and became these mountains. That’s why they’re called the Hikers. We’re sitting on the back of giants right now! Isn’t that funny?”

I wondered, was the story his way of making up for the treat?

“That was very interesting indeed,” I said. “Thank you for sharing, Norn.”

“No problem,” he said and bashfully rubbed his nose. “My mom told it to me when I was little.”

“Your mother…What happened to her?”

Norn looked away uneasily.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it. Sis will get mad if I do.”

“Your sister isn’t here to overhear us, and I promise to speak to no one else about it. You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. But sometimes it can make you feel better to talk.”

The child thought it over for a moment.

“…You promise not to tell?”

“A maid’s word of honor.”

Norn sat for a while in silence, finished with his lunch, gazing over the round summits of Hikers around and beneath us. Then he finally spoke.

“This isn’t our real hometown, you know. We came to this land because dad wanted to. It was many years ago, I was too small to remember so well, but my dad was an adventurer. He wanted to conquer the dungeon under the mountains, and that’s why we moved to this town. Because it was closest to the entrance. Though it’s such a crappy little town.”

“Really? He was an adventurer too?”

“Yeah. Dad bought that house as our base too. Mom looked after me and sis, while he went up there every day to look for stuff to sell. He found all kinds of cool treasures and weapons, sometimes even gold.”

“I see.”

“But one day, he didn’t come back anymore. We waited days, weeks, but in the end, he never showed up. The Guild people said he was dead for sure, but mom didn’t want to believe it. She said dad was just caught up in a bad spot and couldn’t get away, and somebody had to go there to help him. But they…Nobody wanted to go. They were all scared, saying it was too dangerous. Those other adventurers—they just left our dad there to die.”

“...I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. That was the end of the good days. I don’t know how, but they say dad owed a lot of money to old man Fossler. And since he was dead, we had to pay back the debt in his place. Mom and sis worked hard every day, but no matter how much money we made, it was just never enough. Then mom fell sick. She started coughing in winter, and even after summer came, she wouldn’t stop coughing. She started coughing up blood too. Doctor Ham said mom worked too hard and didn’t get enough good food, or sleep. But I think she just missed dad so much it broke her heart. She never stopped believing he would come back home, and set out four plates at the dinner table every night. Then, she was suddenly gone too. Just like that. Some man came to tell us she fell down at work and couldn’t get up again. By the time they got her to Ham’s, she—she was gone. Then it was just sis and me left.”

A lot of tragedy for one household.

Now I could make more sense of Ms Vera’s attitude towards adventurers and the Jarl. It seemed mercy was indeed not one of the local lord’s virtues.

“Dumb, isn’t it?” Norn continued. “We work our asses off every day like this and dad’s debt still won’t go away. Just how much did he owe them? He should be here paying for it himself, instead of getting himself killed like that. Don’t you think so too?”

He said so with a wry, self-deprecating laugh that didn’t suit a child his age. There were no tears. Burying his grief and longing in irony and humor—he really was one tough kid. Maybe too tough. Unnaturally hardened. As long as he kept the grief at bay without facing it, it would keep on haunting him, and eventually break him. But he was only twelve. It was too soon for him to go through fire and ice to face his feelings. Not every adult was capable of that. Some could never be, not even in old age.

And I lacked the wisdom to show him the right way. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to do it anywhere near adequately enough, but only add to the damage, I could but swallow my remorse and give up on the effort. My job here was only to listen.

Therefore, all I said was,

“Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it.”

Norn stood, stretched his arms, and picked up the curve-headed crook.

“The heck, it really does feel lighter, somehow!” he exclaimed to the mountains vales. “Like damn magic! But not a word to sis, got that? You gave me your word! You owe me a million gold if you break your promise. Got that?”

“My lips are sealed,” I said.

The youth turned to go after the sheep. A few steps along the trail, he paused and glanced back, showing his teeth in a little guilty, a little haughty smile, and added,

“I once said I’d become an adventurer myself and go find our dad in the dungeon. Sis hit me so hard then, my ears were ringing. Don’t want seconds of that!”