Elixir number 8, the drink of legends. It had the power to turn the tides of war. Finding it was enough to make one a legend. It's not particularly hard to locate its sources. Almost every nation that owns land has a region dedicated to farming the drink. But the Eathean prairies are one of the best places for amateur elixir hunters to go. Elixir 8 is made from the gizzard of burrowing owls. Unfortunately, these owls spend the vast majority of their lives below the cursed fog, only occasionally surfacing at night sometimes to hunt bats in the giant willows native to the grassland lakes of the Eathean prairies. Breeding burrowing owls proved fruitful in Prattian studies, but... human-raised burrowing owl gizzards did not render elixir 8. Scholars theorize that the owls must actually stay in the cursed fog in order for their gizzards to be usable. Attempts to raise burrowing owls in the cursed fog proved less than fruitful. Since humans are unable to handle fog exposure for more than a few seconds without dying, and since burrowing owls are quite capable of breaking free of most harnesses and cages when unsupervised, farming elixir 8 was still a pipe dream. Many more hundreds of thousands of Prattian silk notes (aka "red leaves" the Prattian currency) would be poured into that research this year alone. Grath shuddered to think how the world would be once that nut was cracked.

Grath glided the Flounder's patchwork wings towards the outpost. It would be the second time in a year he set foot on solid ground. Trarn shuffled about the deck nervously. Cloudkin weren't known for socializing; they had no cities. Grath wondered if Trarn shuffled because of an old injury. He had never seen him truly stride anywhere. Trarn had agreed to watch the ship while Grath exchanged the klienah flower nectar for supplies. Bartering wasn't either of their strong suits. Grath hated haggling. Why not just sell at a fair price? We both already know what's fair! But that was not the nature of trading out in no man's land. Together, the two young men tied the ship to a massive docking pole in the ground. It was a huge oak log buried deep in the dirt. Much larger ships than the Flounder could be held by this log. Grath unrolled and climbed down the Flounder's hanging, knotted descending rope; then Trarn pulled it back up behind him. He looked towards the town ahead. The sandy dirt of the steaming lakeshore felt so odd beneath his feet. It shifted not at all. There was no give or rocking to it. One time, Grath had been aboard a massive Prattian sky-giant class ship. Its living quarters were the size of a mansion. That was the closest to land an airship could feel. He shook his head and marched towards the outpost gates. Guards eyed him as he entered but let him through. They carried lever-action crossbows capable of firing 30 bolts a minute. Anyone who acted up would be shredded, and law was blurry out here. Grath nodded at them and passed the pine posts of the gate. Inside, merchant ships were docked here and there amongst the driftwood and dirt buildings of the locals. The particular lake this outpost rested on, Grath knew no name for, but the outpost was named "Saltback." Grath reached the town center. Sulfur-smelling mist from the lake blew all over the town, and the stench of spoonbill stork carcasses and fish stank almost as much. Grath gritted his teeth and breathed through them, trying not to use his nose. He stepped up to a stall with tables covered in salted fish and bird stork meat. Let the haggling begin. Two hours later, he was stocked up on enough compact meats and breads to supply the Flounder for two months. Fresh patching cloth and thread were also restocked. Fruit he still had enough of for a while. He headed back to the ship. Trarn looked bored but perked up when Grath approached.

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"I had a thought."

"What's that?"

The two worked on loading the ship as Trarn explained: "I want to stay and help you on the Flounder, but..."

He paused. Grath looked at him confused. "What?" He wasn't too surprised Trarn wanted to stay; they had discussed the possibility of Trarn hitching a ride back after Grath finished hunting for elixir 8. But it wasn't like Trarn to drag out things. Then again, Grath didn't really know what this guy was like. He just knew Trarn hated pirates, and that was enough for Grath to get along.

"Elixir number 8. You can't get it from hunting burrowing owls."

Grath laughed. "Oh, is that it? I know it's almost impossible to kill one, and it's not a guarantee they have a good gizzard, but I am going to give it a shot. Don't try to convince me. I know the odds."

"No, you literally can't get number 8 that way. It's a myth."

"What?"

"I am serious." Trarn looked like he hated having to have this conversation, and Grath was beginning to hate it too.

Trarn continued: "Doesn't it seem weird to you that gizzards have to be processed by scholars in laboratories to get elixir 8? I mean, why are gizzards not farmable too? It's... a lie."

Grath stared at him incredulously before striking back. "It takes a lot of distilling and refining to get elixir 8 from a gizzard, and I think the owl has to be above a certain age." He couldn't believe he had to explain this. Are cloudkin really this behind modern research? Grath felt sudden annoyance. Trarn barely ever spoke, and now he was actually talking... just to shut down Grath's whole mission to the Eathean prairies.

"Look, I am hunting for them whether you are coming or not. I didn't ask for your help. I saved your life; you saved mine; we are even."

"I never agreed that you saved mine."

Grath stopped packing the dried meats, his right hand still holding a salted fish wrapped in wax paper. He clenched his knuckles, almost snapping the dry good in half.

"Get off my ship, you ingrate."

"I am sorry, fine, I take it back."

Why does this muckbrain want to stick around so bad? Grath grumbled to himself while packing the crushed fish away in the mid-deck cabin. "Just go buy yourself bolts or something for that beetle-raker crossbow," he spat angrily. "We're airborne before sunset. I am not risking one of the kreens sneaking aboard my ship."