A color-streaked sky stretched overhead, painting the endless fields of rolling grasses in the late autumn hues of salmon and gold. The fading sun slowly sank below the western horizon at their backs. White puffs of cotton grass danced in the cool breeze, kicking up an aroma similar to nettle and steeped bitter leaves. With the twilight hour approaching, a peacefulness settled over the swaying tundra. It was calm. It was beautiful. And it went entirely unnoticed by Daana, who was on the verge of throwing herself from the saddle.

Everything hurt. Her legs, her back, places no respectable lady dared mention in front of company. Daana no longer fancied herself a lady but, regardless of whatever she qualified as these days — ruffian, outlaw, overgrown baby — admitting her ass hurt came with a guaranteed amount of embarrassment she’d rather avoid. She suffered in silence instead, trying to recall whether or not sitting for prolonged periods of time had always been this agonizing. The pain was particularly noticeable on horseback. Daana swore she could feel her hip bones steadily wearing away against the leather saddle beneath her.

Her horse plodded on, blissfully unaware that each bobbing stride sent a jolt of pins and needles into the last place anyone wanted pins and needles. Daana wouldn’t be able to sit still for much longer. Which was unfortunate, considering they wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. Snag was hellbent on using every last shred of available light. He insisted they would set camp only after nightfall and not a moment sooner.

“We’re not stopping,” Snag said from his position at the lead of the procession.

Daana glared at the back of his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t have to. You were thinking it. I could tell, what with all that restless squirming you keep doing back there.” Snag’s small frame sat straight in the saddle with his long ears fanned wide, shifting directions at will as he listened for would-be trouble. “The closer we get to the border, the better.”

Snag wouldn’t divulge much else. Daana knew this as she’d tried to pry him for information several times that day already. Daana decided to try her luck with Ashwyn instead. She twisted around in the saddle to get a better view of the orc riding behind her. Like Snag, Ashwyn was on high alert. She held her mouth partially open, pulling in the breeze through her nostrils and running the air over her tongue, silently processing what the different scents were telling her.

“Any change?” Daana asked.

Ashwyn’s unfocused gaze stared straight ahead, as if she’d shut off her ability to process visual information to better concentrate on smell. “I’m picking up more than yesterday. Little buggers keep increasing their numbers.”

An unknown number of goblins had been trailing them since their breakfast encounter two days prior. Although Daana occasionally caught the sounds of whispered voices and the scurry of bodies darting through the tall grasses, she had yet to see any of their goblin pursuers. So far their followers weren’t hostile. The majority trailed a quarter of a mile or so behind, maintaining a healthy distance at all times.

The undulating sway of the tundra grass had a hypnotic effect. Daana feared if she stared too long, she’d forget herself entirely. She rid herself of the feeling with a shake of her head. “What do you think it means?”

Ashwyn’s brow furrowed, as though the question was a direct insult to her intelligence. “That more goblins are following us? What else would it mean?”

“I meant why.”

“Then you should have bloody said that!”

Snag’s raspy voice rang out ahead of them. “They’re following us because some bright-eyed youngsters went and told every den in the area how a nice traveling caravan gave them a whole rasher of bacon for some measly information. The rest are just trying to figure out how to get in on the action.”

The tips of Daana’s ears burned as she turned back around and sank lower in the saddle. “Are you worried about theft?”

“Not really. They’re looking for handouts, not trouble.”

It was a fair assessment. After all, Snag would know better than anyone how the area’s dens operated. And while Daana did not doubt the truth of his statement, she suspected there was more at play than he was letting on. “Are you sure this doesn’t have to do with the other thing they said?” Daana prodded. “You know, regarding that infamous goblin who’s been welcomed back home?”

“Don’t start,” Snag said.

“I mean, who wouldn’t want to catch a glimpse of a renowned hero? Seems something like that could draw a crowd just as easily as handouts.”

Snag had a developed unique way of shutting down Daana’s arguments without having to neither confirm nor deny her suspicions. Naturally, it involved pain. “What’s that? You wanna keep riding through the night, girl? Keep talking and your wish shall come true.”

“For goddess’s sake! Quit while you’re ahead, Peaches!” Ashwyn snapped her tusks with a mighty crack. Daana swore she saw the surrounding grass quiver in fear. “I swear, if we have to go all night because of you, I’m going to double your training exercises in the morning.”

“It was simply an observation,” Daana replied smartly.

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“I have an observation for you,” Ashwyn said through gritted teeth. “Stop, else you’re hurt in places you aren’t even aware of.”

“That’s a threat, not an observation.”

“It’ll become an observation when I watch you run drills from dawn to dusk!” The orc’s voice rose to match her escalating irritation. “Sleep will be but a past memory.”

Daana rolled her eyes. Her observation had been a legitimate one. In fact, given Snag’s overreaction, it was probably more than legitimate. Possibly even accurate. As pointing this out would not end well for her, Daana did the sensible thing and bit back her tongue. That, and she spent the rest of the ride making faces at the back of Snag’s head — which wasn’t so much sensible as it was petty, but dammit it was something.

The trio rode until the sky turned from dusky pink to violet, and then ink black. The stars were in full display by the time Snag found a suitable spot to rest. He built a sheltered fire while Ashwyn roped off the perimeter with strands of low hanging twine attached to bells. The bells were an alarm system, meant to give them the split second they needed to cut through the first wave of attackers if and when they were jumped in the dead of the night, according to Ashwyn anyway.

Daana was left to tend to the horses. Normally she didn’t mind, but her arms and legs were unbearably stiff and each saddle suddenly felt like it weighed ten times what it normally did. The brush down went smoother, except for when it came to Wormy, who kept nipping at her pockets in his relentless demand to be spoiled.

“I don’t have any apples,” Daana insisted as the nosy horse muzzled her jacket, probing for something edible.

This didn’t stop Wormy, who decided the end of Daana’s braid was just as delicious.

“No, no, no!” She tried to pull her hair free of the horse’s mouth, but her efforts were for naught. In a mere matter of seconds, the situation turned from a rescue attempt to a painful game of tug-of-war. “Snag, help! He’s turned cannibalistic!”

“Predatory,” Snag corrected.

Daana attempted to whip her head in his direction, which was difficult considering she was still battling the mutant pig-horse for her hair. “What?”

“Wormy’s not an elf. And unless you’re implying you’re suddenly a horse, it’s not really cannibalism, now is it?”

Ashwyn was knelt on the ground, still rigging her alarm bells. She snorted her amusement. “We all knew she was a horse’s ass already. At least now she’s admitting it.”

“Wormy is an opportunist eater.” Snag carried on as if his precious beast wasn’t inches away from munching on someone’s head. “Saw him eat a snake once. Wasn’t even hungry, just ate it ‘cause–”

“Snag!” Daana yelled.

A single, sharp whistle from his owner was all that was necessary to convince Wormy to relinquish her hair. Daana gathered the soggy mess protectively into her hands. The edges of her nostrils wrinkled in disgust as she realized her meticulous braiding had been for nothing. Her hair was now a wet, matted tangle that smelled overwhelmingly similar to a pigsty. Awarding Wormy her fiercest glare, she turned and limped towards the cook pit, unsure of how exactly she was going to remove the stench of putrid horse mouth from her head.

She snatched the blanket from her bedroll and wrapped it snuggly around her shoulder before settling onto the cold ground next to Snag. Her sores flared, largely forgotten until now, kindly reminded her that sitting on the ground was not any better than a saddle. Daana refused to stew on it. Not when there was a mutant pig-horse that deserved the focus of her growing ire.

Snag kept his eyes on the simmering liquid within the soup pot. The tips of his needle-like teeth were sunk well into his bottom lip, fighting a smile.

“It’s not funny,” Daana muttered.

“I told you making your head smell like a bucket of flowers was a bad idea.”

“Bouquet.”

Gods forbid she actually smell like something other than sweat and horse! That was the part all of the grand adventure stories conveniently left out. Everyone smelled awful all of the time. What was even more unrealistic was the hero’s kiss at the end of each brazen rescue. The cloud of body odor and perpetual morning breath would have been enough to convince any damsel to choose life with the dragon.

“Nah.” Snag’s harsh voice cleaved the strange thread Daana’s mind was swiftly spiraling down. The goblin gave the mysterious contents of his stew a few slow stirs as the smile stretched further across his leathery face. “I meant what I said. Your hair definitely smelled like pansies in a slop bucket.”

Daana narrowed her eyes at him.

As usual, glaring did little to deter Snag’s relentless teasing. “What?” He feigned innocence, clasping a hand to his chest. “I said slop and not shit, didn’t I? See? I cater to your precious feelings sometimes.”

Daana awarded him her fiercest scowl yet. In lieu of stopping, Snag merely thumbed his nose up at her instead.

Ashwyn dropped down onto the ground between them, disrupting their silent battle of wills. “Goddess, I’m starving. I hope that stew’s nearly ready, else I’m gonna have to find some other means of nourishment.”

Daana noticed the way the orc was eyeing her hair and switched her mangled braid to her other shoulder, out of reach. “Hilarious.”

“Thank you. I thought so, too.”

The stew was ready not long after. Snag was in the middle of ladling portions when a shrill screech blasted over the top of the grasslands. His ears shot into the air, eyes so wide, each pupil floated like a miniature island in a sea of yellow. The squeal of the pipe persisted, working through a series of off-key notes in the most torturous manner possible.

Daana watched Snag’s face for clues. The subtle eye twitch was certainly indicative of something. It was too bad she didn’t know what.

“More visitors?” she asked, once the message had been delivered in full.

Ashwyn tucked her bowl of steaming stew closer to her chest with a snarl. “Greedy little buggers aren’t getting my dinner this time. Better eat up quick, Daana. Before they get here.”

At the moment, food wasn’t her main concern. Nor was it the possibility of another goblin encounter. Daana was far more troubled by Snag’s rapid transition from teasing asshole to stone statue. She swore he hadn’t blinked once since the pipe music started. “What’s the message? What are they saying?”

His lower jaw quivered, needled teeth glistening in the low light of the cook fire. “I…” His voice failed him and, gathering his courage for a second attempt, he still only managed to get a single word out. “I…”

Daana’s heartbeat picked up. “You, what?”

“I…” Snag’s ears drooped as his entire body sank, as though he was attempting to become one with the ground. Finally, around the quivering of his tongue, the words tumbled free with a whimper. “I don’t want to be here.”