The journey that day was a rather peaceful one, where the only disruption came in the form of intermittent bursts of rain. As predicted, they occasionally passed by guards patrolling on horseback. Each patrol usually consisted of four men, burly and armoured, who watched Coin and the others warily from behind the shade of their helmets.

Yet, for as peaceful as everything was, that sense of unease never left Coin. Some ancient, primal sense of danger lurked in his brain, an animal instinct that his evolution hadn't burned away.

They ate a nicer dinner of grilled meat sandwiches, which Essine crafted and seasoned with care. Coin savoured his and ate it with relish, but it did little to dull the worry he felt.

So, after everyone was fast asleep, the restless mimic eventually strode away from the camp. His movements were silent and cautious, creeping among the tall grass. He made a few laps of the clearing they'd made camp in, growing progressively distant and repeatedly sniffing for any scents that didn't belong.

He was about to give up on finding anything, only to halt when the faint whiff of a foreign scent hit his nose. A distinct aroma of human sweat, coupled with strong notes of tobacco smoke. It wasn't Elijah's scent, he was damn sure of that.

Coin quickly morphed his body, a coil of twisting grey flesh that flew from the collar of his shirt. He emerged outside his fallen clothing, becoming a hunched and vaguely reptilian shape with coarse grey skin. His elongated fingers neatly folded his clothing up, beneath the shade of a tall tree. He'd retrieve them later, for now he wanted to be able to prowl around with some measure of anonymity.

So much time spent maintaining the same shape eventually grew to be uncomfortable too. Mimics had evolved to be able to maintain the same shape for hours or even days at a time, motionless to lull prospective prey in. But any muscle, even the slippery and malleable ones of shapeshifters, could grow stiff and sore.

But, though he had put his clothing aside, Coin kept his promethium ring hooked to one finger. Just in case. And his gold was, as ever, stored in a pouch of flesh in his gut. He'd sooner part with his own arms than his gold.

His head grew pointed and elongated, thin slits forming into nostrils at the front of his snout. His skin shifted to adopt the texture of dark wood, leaving his taloned feet and hands looking akin to angular tree branches. A long, willowy tree that had shed its leaves and taught itself to walk.

Coin quickly darted through the woods, sniffing the air until it grew progressively more pronounced. And, once he had passed a considerable distance, he couldn't help but pick up on other human aromas, and the lingering stink of burning wood. It was possible, Coin reasoned, that he was merely sneaking up on a camp of normal travellers.

But the wariness he felt never faded. He still needed to check to see who these people actually were, just to put his mind at ease.

His path eventually took him to a bush-strewn hill. Coin crept to the thick overgrowth, scarcely disrupting a single branch. His large, sharp eyes peered down through the gloom, to the flickering orange light of a large campfire.

A group of men were seated around the blaze, smoking, drinking, and generally chattering amongst themselves. And, Coin quickly noticed, each man was armed with a sword or axe. That in itself wasn't an indication of criminality, only a fool would travel the roads unarmed these days, but Coin still stood to attention at the sight.

"Damnation," one of the men, a scrawny beanpole in leather armour, hissed from where he sat, slowly swilling a tankard of ale in his hand. "Colder than a elf's tit tonight. You figure we're in for more rough weather?"

The man to his right, a gnome with a shaved head and a face lined with tattoos , took a puff from the pipe in his hand. "Might be. Rain might get worse, actually, given how thick the clouds are looking." He motioned upward to a stubby hand, to where a great coil of black clouds was trying to smother the moon.

A woman across from them, adorned in half-removed plate armour, slowly wiped at the blade in her lap. "Yeah, well, that'll make things harder for us. You know we gotta keep an eye the roads come mornin'."

"I know, I know," the first man replied, before taking a long gulp of his ale. "In case that wagon comes by."

That made Coin perk up, his haunches tightening. The mimic let his biomass shift around, adding strength to his hearing.

"All that rain. And if it fogs up, that wagon could roll right by us if we ain't careful," the gnome said. He puffed at his pipe, slowly and thoughtfully. "Although, you ask me the whole thing is odd."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"How's that?" the woman asked without looking up from her blade.

"Well I mean... ain't right, is it? All that money for some fancy bloody paintings." He spouted twin streams of smoke from his nostrils. "I dunno. Rich folks are always a bunch of dafties. Suppose if you can afford to spend your money on anything, you choose all kinds of crap to buy."

"Yeah, it's a stiff sum," a third man said, perched on a creaking wooden box. He was tall and well built, his armour ill-fitting on his body. "Maybe it's art what's got naked ladies painted on it. That probably makes it valuable."

"Does it matter?" the woman replied with a exasperated sigh. "Whatever's in those boxes isn't important, only that we oughta grab them and leave them undamaged. And that we don't kill the old man."

"I know," the gnome replied.

"Do you?" the woman asked, glaring at him. "Because the last time you were told not to kill a specific person-"

"It was one time! And anyway that fool pulled a knife on me first! Course I'm gonna skewer the bastard if it's a choice between my life and theirs!"

Coin grew increasingly tense from where he knelt. There was no doubt in his mind that they were talking about Elijah and his group. And if they meant to harm his allies, then he was well within his rights to hurt them too. Striking first, by his estimation, was more than fine.

It was at that moment that a man emerged from the tents, tall and willowy, adorned in an armoured red coat. He bore the pointed ears of an elf, but his pale purple skin was unlike any Coin had ever seen before. He approached the campfire, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

"You caused us a lot of bother that time, Nema," he said, glancing to the gnome who seemed to grow even smaller under the elf's gaze. "I won't forgive a mistake like that a second time. Cost us a lot of money the first time, after all."

Nema swallowed hard. "Aye, w-well, of course not, Vez. Wouldn't ever dream of it." he quickly replied.

The woman raised her blade and sheathed it, just as Coin crept from the shadows and slowly wound his way downhill on all fours. "I'm bored, an' I ain't tired out. Wanna get the songbird from her cage, see if we can't get a few yarns out of her?"

Nema grunted. "Maybe. She's kind of a pain in the arse to deal with though. And so damn moody. A pain to put up with."

"Can ya blame her?" the first man replied. "Doubt you'd be all that happy in her shoes."

Another man made his way around, wiping crumbs of bread from the coarse tangles of his black beard. "Damn fine singer though, has to be said."

"That's why we got her in the first place," said Vez. The purple elf sneered, a manic glint flashing in his eyes. "But if she wants to be difficult, there are ways to convince her to do what's asked of her."

"Fine. But I'm not dishing out the beatings on her this time," the bearded man said.

"Well I'm not doing it," Nema said. "Last time I had to persuade someone to do what they're told, my fist-"

Coin's jaws, like a fleshy venus fly trap with rows of rib-sized teeth, burst from the darkness and clamped shut around the gnome. Nobody would ever know what became of his fist because it, and the rest of his body, was crushed to a fine pulp in the blink of an eye. The scrawny beanpole to his side was, similarly, given little chance to react when Coin's claws jabbed outward, punching clean into the back of his neck and tearing it asunder.

The spray of his blood splashed onto the man seated on the box, who shrieked and was nearly knocked flat from his seat in his shock. He fumbled for his axe, just as the female bandit moved to draw her blade.

The gleaming steel whistled through the air and struck Coin's upraised arm. But the flesh was far sturdier than that of a normal human, the density scarcely yielding around the freshly sharpened edge. She jumped back as Coin's large arm swept toward her, barely avoiding a blow that would have cleaved her chest in twain.

The blood-spattered bandit took a blind swing with his axe, his other cohort going to grab a weapon while Vez hastily pulled his hands from his coat pockets. A meteorite ring glittered on his left ring finger. The weighted blade of the axe caught Coin's shoulder, the mimic hissing as flesh blood oozed from the wound. But the flesh of his shoulder quickly lurched, a pair of bone spikes snapping outward and skewering the axe-man's outstretched arm. He howled, trying and failing to wrench his arm free.

Coins jaws and throat flexed, swallowing the rest of Nema. "W-what in the Goddess' name is that?!" the woman shrieked, too paralysed to move.

A wave of red light exploded from Vez's left hand, closing the gap in an instant and slamming into Coin's body. His protruding bone shards shattered from the impact, freeing the axeman, and sending the mimic's bulk tumbling away. "Dead is what it is!" the elf snarled. "Kill it, quick!"

The axe man moaned, slumping back and clutching the gushing ruin that had once been his forearm. Coin tensed on his haunches, a gurgling noise rising in his throat. Another bolt of magical force shot from Vez's palm, but this time Coin jumped away and avoided the blast as it tore a swathe from the dirt. The woman rushed him as he landed, launching a flurry of stabs to his head before he properly regained his footing.

The tip nicked his head a few times, each stroke of steel opening a fresh bleeding mark. But they were mere flesh wounds, only drawing trickles of blood. Coin's clawed hand swept up, causing the swordswoman to pirouette away.

A feint, alas. And she didn't have time to dodge again as Coin's tongue whipped around and speared clean through her chest. The mimic's tongue, one of their best weapons. Humans and their ilk always, without fail, forgot about the tongue.

The woman was dead before she hit the ground, her sword clattering to the grass.

"Demon," the other bandit said, puffing over and clutching a great hammer in both hands. Sweat shone on his face, dripping from his beard, "It's a damn demon! Crawled out of the Bleak!"

Ignoring his ally, Vez took aim and fired again as Coin surged forward. But this time Coin braced himself, sweeping his hands upward and generating a swirl of pressurized air. It bore the brunt of the magical impact, which shook the ground beneath Coin's feet and sent his heels skidding a few inches backward.

That made the elf recoil in shock, locking eyes with the mimic. Instead of the baleful, singleminded eyes of a monster, he saw something intelligent looking back at him. This was a monster that could think.

"What... are you?" he asked.

Coin hissed and grinned.