image [https://i.imgur.com/hmxgwrd.png]

The mists from the early morning faded to allow the sun to alight the ground, the first sunlight in a while for this temperate town. It was just passing midday, the slight angle of the sun cast short shadows across the town of Blank River. Yellow and dusty stones taken from further south laid the foundations of most the settlement's buildings, including the wall that surrounded the northern half of the Blank River itself. Pale red wood from ever green trees crowned the walls and homes when they reached too high to be built from stone.

Browyn casually held the reigns to the white horse that gingerly led them beneath the open arch of the north most wall. For a mile or more, there was orchards and vineyards that connected to large farms and distillers. A large metal kiln bellowed smoke. The smoke carried a fruitful and sweet aroma along the winds that made their way to the wagon. A small sting came with the smell of that brewing cider. A dozen minutes on the trail brought them to a stable just before the inner wall leading properly into the large town. Browyn tugged the leather gently bringing the wagon to a stop and breaking the long silence that had fallen upon the small group.

"It's best we get out now, unless we want Old Joel to know it was us who took his horse and cart."

Wincing as she stood, she suddenly stopped with realization before dismounting.

"You stole the cart?"

Gyile held his hands out in a mocking defensive position.

"Hey now, we borrowed it. Besides we were tasked with a higher purpose."

"You'd cite the gods as the catalyst for your crime? Do you have any respect at all?"

She was fuming, squeezing the aged wood of the cart enough to make it groan in her anger. Playful cheer drained from Gyiles face, as he had again made a mistake.

"We were trying to help, if we hadn't had the cart it would have taken us days to reach the old village, you would have died."

"You might not believe me but I actually heard the Mouse this last night, he told me to do it. It was my idea anyway, why are you yelling at Gyile?"

Browyn's defense did little to quell Tannen's rage.

"I'm yelling at the both of you, you bandits! And boys like you should now not to blame the gods for your own..."

She trailed off, reminded of what she had heard from her own god before she had escaped from that sunken temple. He had mentioned the Mouse as well. She was still for a moment wondering if it had been a coincidence, or something more.

"The Mouse of Courage. He told you to steal the cart?"

"Well, not really, a little bit. I'd thought about grabbing a cart and heading out to find where those monsters were coming from for a while. This last night I had a dream where I took my father's sword and charged right into their lair. I can't say why but I know that it was him, it was like..."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Browyn took a deep breath, but couldn't find the words to let the air back out. But she knew what it was that he spoke of.

"Like someone was seeing for you. Breathing, moving and thinking for you."

She held her brow with reluctant understanding and landed on the moist dirt when she finally stepped down from the cart. Thinking for another moment, she realized that it couldn't have been her god that convinced another to save her anyway. The boys had set out the morning of, before or as she fell unconscious within the temple. It was coincidence after all, but fortunate all the same. She sighed.

"Whatever the reason, you should have had the sense to at least ask the lord for them first. And now that you've stolen it, you should have the decency of kneeling at his doorstep, giving him the payment that he's due and begging him for forgiveness."

She slid her pack from the floor of the cart to her back and made her way to the arch of the inner wall. She slowed the closer she came to it, wandering her mind for a moment. She hated traveling with herself, but knew that no other would join her. She was glad she had the chance to journey with them, if only for a while. She turned back before she reached the arch. Their heads hung low while they grabbed their effects from the cart. Browyn hesitated, but patted the horse in thanks. Gyile looked around to Tannen as he dragged the spears out from the cart.

"Thank you, boys."

She turned away before she could see their response. The feeling was subdued, but the pressure of water creeped back into her chest. She failed to ignore it.

She trod under the redwood arch absorbing the ambiance of the town. The pungent smell of cider still lingered in the air, now mixed with the aroma of grilled fish and imported grains. With one gaping breath she could taste the charcoal and the bread, and wash them down with the hard drink. The street was wide and well trodden, wet from the past day’s rain but drying and caking to a soil. The temperance of the weather made way for the sun to break through the clouds every so often. Whilst the sun shined a dozen or more traders and salesmen, roadside chefs and servicemen would shout and show their goods using the sun as a natural spotlight. The streets were not chaotic, but busy. Men and Elves trotted from shop to shop, though more so Men, ignoring the pleas of those posted outside with their wears. Out the corner of her eye she thought she saw a pickpocket, but turned in time to find nothing. She turned her gaze upward to find a sign or a plaster for room and board, but they were covered by obnoxious banners and high lofted flags from the street vendors.

Instead she watched the people, not as individuals but as a pattern. She saw where most headed and why. Mothers and Fathers would take baskets and roam to a larger rounded building closer to the archway. Every now and again a sickly looking boy would go to a small but long house, then exit with a bottle or an herb. She looked to find herself in the crowd, outsiders and newcomers, or better than herself, those familiar but not native. The tell she found were the packs, the luggage. Following them around a turn in the road further in, she found herself at the foot of a large building. Its foundation was dug into the ground to allow for the stone to be stacked 'higher'. This building was not so new as to have been built with cranes and pulleys, but still had the feeling of some of the pure stone buildings she heard that the architects of Esmony were so fond of. The stonework rounded to the corners and angled closer to each other the higher they were stacked. When the stones reached a common line they could not go above, the woodwork and carpentry took hold as it rose straight to the sky. It was built for a floor or more above the rest of the surrounding buildings. Atop the steep roof rested a carving, or a kind of collection of planks that sculpted the form of a sleeping beast. It laid for the whole length of the roof, it's stumpy legs supported its resting head. A horn bulged forth from it, shaping its head and just below was a square jawline filled with exposed and sharpened teeth.

A bridge led straight to a relatively small door, when compared to the majesty of the building it opened to. To the sides of the bridge were a set of stairs on either side leading to the basement entrance. A fair few took the stairs, the rest crossed the bridge pushing through the freely swinging door. Above the door was a sign, carved from a foreign stone, darker than the rest she had seen and more glossy.

It read simply 'Napping Tarrask'.

A nap sounded good for now.