“Feeling brave, huh?” one of the guards at the Camp’s southern gate asked as Greg walked in with Thoko and Yamikani. “Seen anything out there?”

Greg shook his head.

“Pretty sure he smelled something in the distance,” Thoko added.

Greg walked her and Yamikani all the way to the roadhouse. To Greg’s surprise, the proprietor waved him inside in a bored manner, even as a wolf. Even though the taproom was packed wall to wall.

Another change.

Another form of acceptance that would be unthinkable in Deva. How long would that take to change in the big city? How long until he could just—be himself, in whatever shape, and not be stared at?

The guests of the roadhouse barely even glanced at him. In fact, he could tell who the new workers were at one glance because they were the only ones who looked up from their drinks at all.

How long until Thoko and he could move here?

Would Morgulon be willing to come? Perhaps she might take, what, territory? A bit of forest of her own, along the Savre? And his daughters could stay with him and Thoko right here, at the Savre camp? To grow up treated like people.

Normal.

Greg stopped at the middle of the room, glancing around at the crowd that paid him no mind, his heart beating painfully hard in his chest. Funny, how desperately he suddenly longed for something he hadn’t even known he could have.

“Mr. Feleke? Sir? May I take you to your room?”

It was a good thing wolves couldn’t cry like humans did, or he might have embarrassed himself in front of the servant who approached him. He managed a nod, and the man led the way past the bar to the big set of stairs that had been rebuilt since the Rot-queens attack.

“I hope you don’t mind the stairs,” the servant said. “We’re out of ground floor rooms, unfortunately.”

Greg shrugged, a gesture which the man obviously recognized. He moved onwards, up the stairs—which were awkward for a wolf, that much was true—and then into the corridor, stopping at Greg’s door. He opened it and added, “Please don’t hesitate to ring,” indicating a piece of string hanging from the ceiling next to the door.

Greg ducked into his room, shuddering. He dropped the clothes onto the bed, and turned around to look—there was enough room for him to turn around easily, even in this form.

It looked deliberate to him. The bed had been pushed all the way against the wall, and the rest of the furniture had been lined up next to it, creating two empty walls and a maximum of free space.

Or was he getting overexcited? How many werewolf guests could they have here? Most of the ones staying in the camp would have their own land?

Where was Laurent staying?

Greg tried to locate him, but wasn’t entirely certain. Below, probably. Not that that meant much. Half the camp seemed to be drinking below.

He turned human and got dressed, then checked his money pouch. When he went below to see if Thoko and Yamikani would be there, too, there was a spring in his step.

He felt lighter, now that Yamikani had given her approval, for him to marry Thoko—even if it was grudgingly, it was still a relief.

Would it be possible for him to marry her officially? Even by Loegrian law? Mendel, Randal, Dicun and Harold each had gotten their bit of land, despite being werewolves now, hadn’t they? And Duke Stuard had offered him his own silver mine—though Greg wasn’t sure how serious that offer had been.

He should have demanded the right of marriage right then and there, but even if he’d been thinking that quickly, he still would have needed to ask Thoko if she even wanted him. Just because Yamikani was eager to see her daughter wed, didn’t mean Thoko felt the same.

Though Greg hoped she did. He’d have gone to ask her straight away, but Yamikani would hardly appreciate it if he tried to visit Thoko in their room.

He didn’t spot her in the taproom, either, so he settled down at the bar and traded a piece of paper for a glass of beer. That, too, was so much easier here, where he didn’t have to worry about revealing himself or whether or not the proprietor would take David’s paper money.

What could their wedding even look like? Where might it take place? Thoko would hardly agree to a church. Would her uncle do it, right here?

Mabe Eyal could do it. He was the leader of this settlement, wasn’t he? Surely, that would come with some kind of legal power similar to a magistrate?

But he was getting ahead of himself. Imani would kill him if she didn’t get to attend.

Funeral first.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Thoko’s extended family arrived with the three o’clock train from Eoforwic. As Greg found out, some of them had started their journey early in the morning all the way at Breachpoint. There was more family than he had expected, too: Yamikani had mentioned her brother, but not that he was married and had five kids. Or that Thoko’s father had a couple of sisters who each had their own children. Greg quickly started to lose track of who was who when Thoko started to introduce him to a bunch of cousins, and he was fully confused when it came to more distant aunts and uncles. There were a bunch of people from the expat community at Breachpoint, too, led by a pair of tiny, frail elders.

And everyone had brought food.

Thoko was both surprised and flustered to see the crowd of people who had come to be here to pay their last respects to her father, greeting people awkwardly and trying to whisper their names to Greg.

“I didn’t think they’d all be here for us!” she whispered to Greg in shock as the growing crowd filled the plattform.

Greg wondered how many of them were here because of the funeral of a well-respected healer, and how many of them were here to see the “new” parts of Loegrion, but he didn’t voice that thought. It wasn’t like the two were mutually exclusive.

The kids were staring at Oli and and the rest of the large pack of resident werewolves with a familiar mix of nerves and curiosity, while their parents were apparently unsure whether or not they could just march into the camp with the small army of people they had brought or if there was some etiquette to observe. Eyal showed up with Mr. Kohen to greet the whole group and welcome them into the camp. The large, outdoor space in front of the communal hall quickly became a gathering space, with people setting out the food.

Greg felt rather out of place while Thoko went around greeting old friends, relatives and neighbours. She didn’t tell them he was a werewolf, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they would smile at him the same way if they knew. It was a relief when Isaac waved him over to one of the tables.

“I didn’t know there were so many people from Thoko’s home country here in Loegrion,” Isaac commented. “I mean, she mentioned that Breachpoint had a community, but this is a lot of people.” He grimaced, and added more softly: “You know, for a man who’s been dead for nearly two years.”

“I bet there are a lot of communities like this on Loegrion,” Greg said. “If you’re running from the Valoise, there aren’t that many places you can easily go in the world. Thoko’s father was a healer, and we all know how much the Valoise love it when a people has their own magic users.”

Isaac muttered something under his breath which Greg was fairly certain was an insult to the Valoise.

“Do you know when the actual funeral will be?” Isaac asked. “I didn’t think it would be right now?”

When Greg looked up, Thoko and her mother were indeed leading their relatives towards the cemetery gates.

“It’s not until dusk,” said a new voice. “And what comes next is women’s work.”

Greg jumped when Thoko’s uncle sat down at their table. He was—well, he reminded Greg a lot of Bram, actually. A similar age, the same weathered, dark skin, and short cropped hair. A firm handshake and a sincere smile.

“Best leave them to it,” he said, and held out a hand to Isaac. “Limbani,” he introduced himself. “Thoko’s uncle. Heard a lot about you,” he added, when Isaac gave his own name. “And you,” he turned back to Greg. “You’re the werewolf, right?”

Greg swallowed hard, but nodded.

Limbani smiled. “I don’t think anyone ever thanked you properly for keeping Thoko alive in the forest. And ever since. So thank you for that.”

“It was my pleasure,” Greg said. That at least he could say with complete honesty.

“My sister mentioned that,” Limbani said, grinning wider. “Do you want to marry Thoko?”

Greg opened his mouth, closed it again. “I’d like to ask her, too,” he said. “But if she’ll have me, then yes.”

“That’s a good answer,” Limbani said. “But I don’t think you need to worry. Thoko has been writing to me a lot, telling me about everything that’s been going on. I don’t think she’d have stuck around if she weren’t committed. And you do have my blessing,” he added. “Not that you need it. I’m not going to tell a daughter of Yamikani what to do with her life.”

He chuckled to himself, as if that were a joke.

“Thank you,” Greg said. Mostly because he couldn’t think of anything better to say. “Will you come to Deva,” he asked, remembering what Thoko had said about marriage, back after Oldstone Castle. “I don’t have any uncles on Loegrion. But my parents would be pleased to meet you.”

“I will happily accept that invitation,” Limbani said.

“What ah—what happens now?” Greg asked, looking back towards the cemetery.

Limbani leaned his head to the left, then the right. “The women would wash the body, usually. Dress him and wrap him in the funeral cloth. Sing and talk and share stories. While the men, well, we do the same while we prepare the grave. Which I believe is already taken care of.”

He shrugged. “I’m honestly not sure what exactly they will do. I’ve never heard of a proper funeral on Loegrian ground, let alone two years after the death. That’s part of the reason why so many of us are here,” he added. “If you truly have a place for burials safe from the Rot, there will be others eager to lay their loved ones to rest in the ground.

But let’s have this one first. Come! Let’s get you introduced properly. And let’s have some food!”

Before Greg knew what was happening, he was pulled out of his seat and along to meet Thoko’s family—at least the men. And not much later the women, too. There was great food that reminded Greg of some of his mother’s favourites, and somebody told the joke Thoko had told him ages ago in the mountains, about why the dog couldn’t dance—which led to a whole barrage of similar ones, and a lot of tears. There was singing, and Mendel offered his lyre, and then the rest of the Wayfarers got dragged into the group as dinner was served.

They hung back when the sun finally began to set, and Yamikani led the way back to the cemetery. Greg wanted to stick to the rear, too, but Thoko dragged him along, to where Laurent was standing over the open grave. Digger and his men had turned the crater the werewolves had produced into an actual grave shaped hole, with a wooden frame to stabilise the opening.

Limbani lowered the body into the ground himself and sang the first song. Greg didn’t understand the language, but the sentiment was clear enough. More songs followed, while the wood was removed and the grave closed in with loose dirt.

Thoko finally cried, leaning against Greg’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, glad that he got to be here. Glad that he got to finish this part of the journey with her.

There was only one brief moment, a whiff of something putrid, just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon completely, but it was gone before Greg was certain it was even real, not a figment of his imagination.

And then it was over. The first burial of a healer on Leogrian soil since the Valoisian invasion, and the Rot hadn't as much as dared to raise an ugly head.