Traveling on the camedile did not necessarily make the trip faster, as it traveled only slightly faster than Sigmund himself, but being able to rest his feet and back from the luggage made the journey exponentially easier. It took them only a few days to reach the mountain base, where the rocky ground pierced the sands and stretched to the heavens above. The ground was already much cooler than the sand, but the humid air made the place almost harder to bear. The mountain trail was right before them, but before they could travel there, they made a stop at a farm-looking building near the road.

The sound and smell of animals was inescapable. The ruckus from the backside barn was disturbing, to say the least, but Sigmund was not interested in it. He was enamored by the first sight of a vehicle he had seen. A half-track, truck-looking car sat next to the main building, its paint long scraped off by sand. While it was made for crossing the desert, there were possibly proper roads nearby. The backside hull and general size seemed that it was also for either transporting goods inside it or with a trailer attached, which meant that there was a source of food and goods somewhere nearby, possibly on the other side of the mountains.

Meanwhile, Melune leashed the creature to the side and entered inside. Sigmund followed shortly behind, resisting the musky animal smell emanating from there. On the other side of a large room was a desk, yet it stood empty. Stepping a bit further inside, the two noticed a robed beast relaxed on the floor of what seemed like a living room, smoking a pipe with boredom melting his wide face like ice cream left in the sun. Countless rugs hung over the walls, some animal and some knitted long ago, fluttering from the constant draft.

(You must be Yinbe.) Melune raised her voice.

(And what if I am?) He asked without skipping a puff.

(I am here to return one of your rides.) She took out the note and gave it down to him. (It’s parked on the front.)

The beast took a look at the note to confirm and gave a long sigh. (Right.) He stood up and went to the counter and slid the note to one of the drawers. (Good. We’re done here.)

(Are there still bandits around?) Melune asked.

Yimbe brushed his overgrown mane. (There are no rumors. Folks from Eden say they’re on it, but our shipments still get robbed.)

(How can they keep doing it?)

(They seemed to be smart and big.)

(Then how are you able to keep up shop?) She raised her brow with skepticism.

(Pretty simple, really,) He snapped his fingers.

Mechanical clicks echoed in the room. The two turned to look and found themselves surrounded by half a dozen barrels sticking out of flaps in the rugs.

(Our family is both bigger and smarter.)

(You would not mistake a sage for a threat, would you?) Melune said with her hands high.

Sigmund stayed mute, holding his arms up. It was the first time he had been pointed with a gun, and he couldn’t even tell if they were being robbed or not.

(Even the desert lies. Besides, I’ve yet to see a sage traveling with a human.)

Melune felt the tension in the air, mixing with the nauseating fumes.

A cloth behind Yimbe fluttered wildly as he looked over with a cold, primal stare. (Well, miss sage? What’s the deal with you and that human?)

Though she had not told it to Sigmund, Melune had noticed someone following them. It would stay just far enough that she could only barely sense their presence. It was easy to tell, as few would trek alone and fewer would not try to make contact with other travelers if given the chance. She had not slept for days to not give the mysterious stalker a chance to ambush them, but her mind was wearing thin. This point was the perfect spot to try to lose them, yet she was sure that anything that she would tell them would only get sold to the stalker.

(This is silly. How could we be thieves? Didn’t you see the ticket? It has my sign on it and everything!)

(That was not what I was asking. Spill the beans, or I have to take you to the MIB.)

Sigmund was desperately trying to figure out what was happening. He could read the desperation on Melune’s tense face, like a cat being cornered. Her ears turned sideways as she took a long breath.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

(I found a lost human in the desert, and I am bringing him back to his friends.)

Yimbe’s ears scanned the air. (Can’t he do that himself?)

(He was robbed and has no money,) Melune replied with conviction. (I find it my responsibility to take care of him.)

(Don’t you sages travel alone?)

(Only the sun truly walks alone.)

Yimbe looked over to the silent Sigmund. (Well, aren’t you going to say anything?) He switched to Commal.

Sigmund stayed quiet. He had no idea what was going on, less what was being said. Even with his best efforts, his short vocabulary would not help him out of the situation. He could only wonder if this was how his great-grandmother felt when she had to flee her country.

(He doesn’t speak commal,) Melune stepped between them.

(Then where the hell is he from?)

(I do not know.)

(I see. So you’ve adopted this poor little human, ) Yimbe grinned with a smile most sinister. (Like a pet.)

(Is that all you have to say?) Melune waved off the man’s words like empty air.

Yimbe’s mood was through the roof as if his inflated ego would burst if she fed it more. (Fine. You can get robbed by those bandits if that’s what you want.)

(Thank you for your concern.) Melune turned away. (Let’s go, Ziegmunt.)

Hearing his name, Sigmund followed her out of the room, still wondering what he just witnessed. The two continued on foot to the mountains on worn yet oddly silent paths. The shop filled with smoke as Yimbe sat back down to enjoy his pipe while the gunmen hid themselves in the shade. Still, one remained by his side.

(What is it, Equan?) Yimbe asked, puffing a large cloud of smoke. (Why aren’t you at your post?)

(We got word that a black coat is coming.)

Yimbe glanced at him. The timing was too good. The face was dead serious, ears flopped back, trembling.

(I see.) He took another puff. (On what?)

(One of our rides. Grandma sends her regards.)

Yimbe sighed smoke through his large nose. (Get in position. Wait for my signal.)

(Alright!) He marched out.

Not much later, a man in plain clothes and black sunglasses drifted inside their shop. He couldn’t sell his smile nor his outfit for that matter. He had but the mildest wear on himself, and the clothes looking new as if just picked from a shop.

( Is the shop still open?) Buzzard waved around his receipt.

(Go to the desk.) Yimbe put down his pipe.

The transaction went without a hitch, but both knew it wouldn’t end there.

(You sure smoked this place up. Makes it hard to breathe with all these fumes. Still beats outside, huh?)

(... Sure.) Yimbe sat back down in the living room. (We’re done here, so get going-)

(By the way, I think saw some people go up the mountain trail. Isn’t that kind of dangerous? Aren’t there bandits around?)

(That’s their problem, not ours.)

(But it kind of is, though. I mean, you use those roads as well. You must be well armed to cross them safely, or…) Buzzard’s eyes swayed somewhere else.

(... We are running a legitimate business here, human. Take your suspicion out of here and go bother someone else.)

(Oh, I wasn’t saying anything, just a bit curious.)

(Get out, black coat.)

Buzzard’s smile flickered, the ends of his lips jerking up and down as if holding to the last bits of his patience.

(Sorry?) He hid his gritted teeth behind a thin veneer of a calm smile.

(No need to pretend, cop. You might hide your badge, but we can still smell the blood.)

(Heh, that’s odd.) He took off his sunglasses. (I always make sure to wash off your filth.)

Buzzard’s eyes glow crimson, pointing right at Yinbe. The smell of blood ruptured from him, raising the beast’s hair.

(What are you doing?!) Yinbe asked, back against the wall.

(Nothing really.) Buzzard shrugged. (Just taking out the trash.)

Yinbe reached for his gun, only for the room to flash red. The wind loomed through the room, whisking the wall rugs in a wave. Guns clocked all around Buzzard, ready to fire. The flick of the trigger was the last sound in that room. It took a mere few flashes until it fell silent again. Buzzard looked around the red walls and floor until he found a clean gun. Just to be sure, he put on a pair of gloves, took it from the cold hands, and fired a few rounds for each head. He then tossed the gun aside and walked out.

(Stupid beasts, always fighting against each other.) He put on his sunglasses with a sigh. (Now what am I going to do? Did they go up the mountain or not? Ugh, I hate hiking. Right!) He slapped his hands together. (I'll just do that!)

The sun began to set, giving the grand mountains even larger shadows. Casms grew dark, the wind began howling and fog descended from the peaks. Any wanderer would be wary of what the night would bring, or what would be following them in the distance. All that was sure was that it would be one long night, one of many, if one would pass, yet not many do. The only ones walking through the pass were those that knew of the dangers and those that would fall to them. Only time would tell their fate, and it was drawing closer and closer, only a step away. Then it was too late.