“Evening,” he said, keeping his tone light but confident. “I’m looking for something specific—Whispergrass, the white kind. I know it’s hard to come by, but I’ve got something rare in exchange.” He held up the bottles Elara had entrusted to him, displaying the potions as they shimmered in the firelight.

The merchants’ eyes gleamed with interest as they scrutinized the potions, but their faces remained shrewd, lips pressed tightly in that way seasoned traders held when considering their next move.

The man with a thick, braided beard leaned forward. “White Whispergrass, you say? That’s a tall order, young man. Don’t see many peddlers out here asking for it.”

Cliff gave a small smile, slipping naturally into his element. “Not peddling. Trading. These potions aren’t your run-of-the-mill tonics,” he said, holding the bottles Elara handed him. “This one here? Eases pain and quickens recovery. And this—” he raised a smaller vial with a rich, iridescent sheen, “—accelerates natural healing without side effects, even on magical creatures. Rare stuff.”

The thin, sharp-eyed woman beside the bearded man raised a brow, examining the potions with a calculating gaze. “Where’d you come by such precious stock?” she asked, clearly probing his expertise.

“From a trusted source,” Cliff replied, keeping his answer vague but confident. “I don’t waste time with inferior goods, and neither should you.”

The bearded man sniffed, trying to appear indifferent, but Cliff caught the way he shifted forward slightly, eyes drawn to the glimmering potions. “What’s it to you, then? Looking to flip some profits on hard-to-find herbs?”

“Not profit, actually.” Cliff kept his tone casual but didn’t back down from their scrutiny. “Injury,” Cliff said vaguely. “My adventurer needs true Whispergrass, not the low-grade stuff you find in apothecaries partnered with small-scale city merchants.”

There was a flicker of something in their eyes, but the merchants didn’t soften. “You’re making a big ask for something rare,” the woman said, folding her arms. “Two of those potions for a sprig would be fair.”

Cliff let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head with a feigned look of disappointment. “Two potions for just one sprig?” he said, holding her gaze steadily. “One of these potions alone is worth at least three. Adventurers pay a premium for the quality.”

The merchants exchanged glances, calculating his offer. The man huffed, his tone almost grudging. “You’re a sharp trader, I’ll give you that. Two sprigs, and that’s final.”

Cliff considered the offer, tilting his head as if debating.

The traveling merchants’ appraisal eyes must not work correctly. That, or they did not graduate from university, or did a crime that made the merchant overlords remove their merchant’s sight. That would explain why they were wary of him, and why they were traveling with other groups. The alchemists must be using them for their licenses to sell.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

If they did have their eyes, they would have clearly seen the quality of whatever Elara gave him. Cliff saw the dirt on their clothes. They had no official store recognized by the merchant university.

Cliff put on an act. “Two sprigs and a roll of bandages, and I’ll throw in a word about your fairness with other traders heading through here.”

After a tense moment, the woman held out her hand. “Deal. But don’t think we’ll let you off easy next time, boy.”

Cliff clasped her hand firmly, hiding his satisfaction behind a polite nod. “Pleasure doing business,” he replied. With the sprigs of Whispergrass and the bandages safely tucked in his satchel, he turned to leave, feeling the thrill of having struck a fair bargain, his mind already on the next step of his plan.

___

Cliff stepped into the clearing, where Elara crouched beside the injured Roc, her green hair blending with the forest's shadows. She turned as he approached, her eyes flickering to the herbs he held out to her. She plucked a sprig from his hand, rubbing its leaves between her fingers and studying it closely.

Her expression softened, just barely. “Maybe you’re serious after all,” she murmured, her voice a low, approving hum.

Cliff held back a grin, nodding as he moved closer. The Roc lay curled on the ground, its great feathers shimmering faintly in the fading light. Its sharp gaze landed on him, golden eyes narrowing slightly, sizing him up. Elara nodded to a small space beside her. “Kneel down,” she said, her tone softer than before. “It helps if they can see us at eye level.”

Cliff eased himself down beside her, feeling the earth cool beneath his knees. Elara scooped some Glowthorn paste onto her fingertips. She turned away from Cliff as she made her new healing paste for the Roc. When she was done, Elara held his hand, guiding his fingers to dip into the jar. “We’ll work together,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, as though she feared the Roc might be startled by louder words.

Cliff’s fingers moved slowly under Elara’s guidance, smoothing the healing paste along the Roc’s injured wing. The Roc flinched, its massive body tensing, feathers ruffling in agitation. Elara squeezed his wrist gently, urging him to be patient, her own hands working in calm, practiced strokes.

“Gentle,” she whispered, her voice almost reverent. “They know when we mean them harm. And when we don’t.”

As Cliff’s fingers brushed along the Roc’s feathers, the creature’s sharp breaths slowed. He felt its muscles relax under his touch, its distrust melting away. His eyes met the Roc’s, and for a heartbeat, he felt its gaze soften. Was the Roc seeing his intent?

They worked in silence as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the clearing. The light filtered through the trees, dappling Elara’s face as she focused on the Roc, her fingers working deftly. Cliff found himself mirroring her movements, every motion becoming instinctive.

When they’d finally applied the last bit of paste, Elara leaned back, wiping her hands on a cloth, her guarded expression replaced by something almost like respect. Cliff sat back on his heels, brushing his hands off on his trousers. His fingers grazed the small talisman in his pocket. There, beneath the open sky, with Elara by his side and the Roc’s breathing steady, he felt like he’d found his purpose.

As the first stars appeared above, Cliff let out a long, contented sigh. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stay in this strange forest with Elara and her creatures, but here, under the fading light and with the gentle sounds of the Roc settling to sleep, he felt—for the first time in a long time—exactly where he was meant to be.