Fritz breathed a sigh of relief as they exited Dandelion's shop. Staring at his hand, he turned it over and over, surprised to find no dagger sticking out of it. A smug grin was plastered all over Marcelle's face. Checking that no one was watching, a hoard of herbs and rare goods were summarily stuffed into her dimensional bag.

The two began their trek back to the inn. The sheer loss of blood was affecting his strength. Fritz could barely walk in a straight line. His legs felt like jelly. His mind swam with nausea and the resulting adrenaline crash. Marcelle hooked her arm underneath Fritz's as she slithered next to him. Fritz did his best to walk down the paved roads in a straight line supported by the lamia.

"Hehehe. Fools." She said, "You did well, minion."

"Please don't call me that. I thought I was your assistant?"

"Today you are a minion. Just then, you played the perfect minion." Marcelle bragged. Fritz rolled his eyes.

"I'm exhausted and missing a lot of blood. Being a 'minion' sucks."

"See? You've already accepted it." Fritz winced in mental anguish at his own mistake. "You're fine, just take my arm and try not to fall over." Marcelle said.

The two walked down the different streets of Hueryss back towards The Resting Goose. Marcelle kept mumbling under her breath. Strange curses mixed with plans and schemes for her alchemical pursuits. Her long straight hair obscured most of her face. Fritz ignored it. He could feel several eyes on him, watching him walk unsteadily forward next to a maniacal looking lamia. Young beastkin milled about in the streets of Hueryss. To all outside observers, an exhausted, sad looking man was being led through the city by a sinister lamia mumbling hidden incantations. Surprisingly no one said anything.

Seeing a particular shop, Marcelle stopped.

"I'll just be a minute." Marcelle said. "Take a break outside."

Fritz watched, as Marcelle entered the shop. A small brass bell announced her entrance, as her long purple tail slithered inside. Looking inside, Fritz saw bolts of cloth stored away in shelves. A fresh faced attendant was happily chatting with Marcelle inside. For a moment, Fritz closed his eyes as he leaned into the shop's stone wall.

"You alright cutey?" A stranger asked him. A playful slap against his ass caused him to open his eyes. Turning towards the voice, Fritz adjusted his vision downwards as he looked at an incredibly short beastkin. Her messy hair was brown and cut short. A pair of fuzzy round ears atop her head twitched slightly as she waited for him to respond. Crossing her arms over her small chest Fritz watched her toned biceps pop. She wore a pair of well worn high boots tucked into a pair of worn leather pants. On her back was a deadly looking curved axe that glistened in the sunlight.

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"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't look like it. You smell like blood. Getting in fights?"

"Ahhh probably because of this." Fritz held up his hand, turning his palm outwards.

"That your blood? Where's the wound?" The woman asked.

"Oh, yes. My blood, all of it. All my blood. Every drop."

"Uh, huh." The smaller beastkin quirked an eyebrow at him. Fritz tried to flash her a disarming smile. "Just what have you been up to? Need me to take you to a healer?"

"Uhhh.... I got stabbed? A lot. Never felt so much pain in my entire life! But I'm fine now!" Fritz answered awkwardly. As soon as the words left his mouth he realized his mistake.

"And you're 'fine'?" The beastkin woman asked. Her eyes moved up and down his body. "You don't look fine to me."

"Yeah! I'm fine! Very tired." Fritz responded wearily.

"Where'd you get stabbed?" The short beastkin asked.

"Oh, just in the hand. Probably about thirty times. One for each healing potion."

Fritz turned around looking into the shop. Marcelle pulled out a bit of gold and handed it to the excited shopkeeper. Fritz turned back towards the stranger before finishing his train of thought. "Just uh-"

"Was this some kind of blood play?" The woman asked.

The door to the shop opened again. The twinkle of the brass bell above the door came again. Marcelle stepped out, and slithered over towards Fritz.

"Come on, minion, let's head back to our room! I am excited to-" Marcelle frowned as she saw the woman. The woman quipped an eyebrow as Fritz subconsciously rolled his eyes.

"You both look like garbage." The woman said nonchalantly.

"Who's this dead woman? Why is she talking? Fritz, you know I don't like you talking with strangers."

"Brenn." The woman replied simply.

"Fritz. And this is Marcelle." Fritz offered his bloody hand to the ratkin. Half a second later, he apologized and offered the other. The woman regarded him with suspicion looking at his hand wondering what Fritz was doing. Marcelle grabbed his wrist pulling him away.

"Right. Human custom. It was nice meeting you, Brenn. Hopefully, next time I'll be more lucid." Fritz said with an awkward smile. The woman regarded him coolly, and merely grunted. "Uh, time to head back?" Marcelle nodded, as she hooked her arm underneath his. Her purple eyes fixated on the short ratkin as she scowled.

"My time is precious minion, let us away."

"Please, stop calling me that. It just makes you sound like a dorky villain."

"I am not dorky!" Marcelle screeched. "Those words should never be used when describing me!"

Fritz and Marcelle walked back to the inn. Brenn watched them move down the street. Her eyes were glued to Fritz's butt. Scratching her head, she wondered what the hell was going on with the two.