Walking, walking, walking. Lark was reminded of the phrase in novels she read back home of characters complaining that they could barely feel their feet as they laboured through a challenging adventure. She respectfully disagreed. She could feel every part! Her blisters had blisters, and the arches of her feet had tiny knives that felt like they were getting pushed deeper and deeper with every heel strike through the grassy plain. Lark looked longingly at the back of the Centaur. Why couldn’t she climb up on his back? I bet she’d feel like a feather to the massive beast. Would he even notice?

“Why are you staring at me, human?”

“My feet are killing me! Can I ride on your back for a few minutes?”

“No! I am not one of the domestic pack animals you can toy with, human! Your new class does not give you any control over me!”

Lark limped on in silence. She felt ashamed that she had upset Fallston, even if she didn’t understand why. It was a small amount of shame, barely perceptible after all the Captain had done…or not done, to protect her. Still, that feeling was enough to keep her quiet as she limped and stumbled behind the Centaur as they inched along the grasslands at a painfully slow pace.

“Here” The Captain threw something by her foot as she sat, tugging off her running shoes and gingerly removing her sock. They had stopped when she had felt blood coating her feet.

“What is it?”

“A lesser healing potion. Just pour a small amount on your feet, and we can keep moving.”

The blood was, in fact, serum, leaking from the large blisters, several of which had burst. The blood-tinged serum oozed onto her fingers as she pulled off her socks; grimacing at the sight of her battered skin, Lark swiftly looked at Fallston, who was gazing pointedly at her wounds.

“I haven’t marched with humans in some time. I’d forgotten how soft their feet could be. Hooves are superior in every way.”

Lark rolled her eyes, splashing the healing potion onto her feet and once again, watching in awe as the delicate skin knit together and the blisters dried and shrank before her eyes before turning into pink, healthy-looking skin. “Not a mark.” She whispered, turning the bottle with the red liquid over and over in her hands.” If she ever got back to her world, could she take this? Imagining the possibilities, Lark slipped it into her backpack as the Captain munched on some fruit that resembled a larger apple.

He had retrieved it for her. She wasn’t sure when or how. She had been so angry, and in shock that she just accepted the torn and battered backpack with a glare. Lark had patched it as best she could with the sewing kit the Centaur carried. apparently, all soldiers had tools like this on them at all times, and the Captain managed to keep a lot in the pouches around his waist.

Her feet taken care of, Lark tossed her shoes in the bag and tested out her healed, bare feet in the grass. Part of her didn’t want to put on goopy socks without giving them a good rinse in the river first.

They walked, and walked, and walked.

“How far?”

“Far.”

“Didn’t you say we would reach the road today?”

“I did, but I had never seen the speed at which you walk.”

“Jerk.”

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“What?

“Nothing, that’s a compliment from where I come from.”

The Captain snorted, and Lark couldn’t help but chuckle. Centaur or not, he reminded her of a very stubborn mule.

Day turned to evening and the sun sank below the distant hills.

“We will stop and make camp, instructed the Centaur. Sit and rest, if you try and help me it will take longer.”

Little time passed before Lark lay down, the fire crackling with a chunk of the hog roasting over the spitting flames. The Captain had lain with his legs folded under him on the other side of the fire, quietly rotating the spit and staring into the flames.

“Why are you here with me?”

He paused, staring at her without changing his expression. The spit once again began to rotate as he slowly began to answer her question. Cersa is the second wife of my father, the Chieftan of the herd. My mother died some time ago, and my father grieved her for years. While I was away at war, my father remarried. Cersa is strong and wise. It is a good match. When I met you and brought you back to the herd, she told me of finding your grandmother as she appeared through the stones. Your grandmother came from a different place with strange ways and customs, perhaps another continent or even another world. I want to know about this other place and the truth from you before we reach the road.”

“Why? I do not know how to cross back. I don’t even know how I got here.”

“The how is important for later but the why is much more compelling. Why your grandmother and now why you? What is your family hiding?”

“I don’t know; I already told Cersa this; I never really knew her.”

“She gave you that staff, once a mighty magical object. I would like to know more about how you plan on using it. Perhaps you know nothing now, but your blood knows, and it will reveal the truth in time.”

“Ugh, yawn! Goodnight, you brutish and mystical horse.”

“Goodnight, Lark.” Fallston smiled. He couldn’t help himself. The human had a spirit that was unusual for the species he was familiar with in his realm. If all the women were like Lark where she came from, it surely must be a formidable world.

Something was sliding between Lark’s legs, and it was long and wet and slippery. She woke, paralyzed in fear. Captain Fallston was overtop of her, and he had an arrow pointed at her chest. She stared dumbly up at him as he gazed into her eyes. Unable to speak, she reached for the dagger she kept by her side.

“Don’t!” yelled Fallston

Glowing eyes and an open mouth shot towards her arm as something coiled around her legs.

She didn’t even have a chance to scream before an arrow protruded from its eye, and the creature recoiled, flopping and twitching on the ground.

Something grabbed Lark. It was the Captain. He hauled her away as the animal’s teeth gnashed against the ground, watching as it continued to twitch, writhing and spasming without pause.

“Is it dead?” Lark asked, horrified at the snake-like creature in front of her.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t killed one before. Can I borrow your dagger?”

Lark passed him the dagger, feeling pain in her legs as the circulation came rushing back.

Fallston flicked the dagger, catching the point between his fingers before he threw it. The dagger’s point slammed into the creature’s good eye, hitting so forcefully that it penetrated deeply and pinned the head down into the earth. The withing stopped, and the mouth gaped open with rows and rows of sharp teeth protruding.

“Hmmm, appears to be dead. You can go back to sleep; I will remain on watch.”

“You have got to be joking!”

“If you want to remain awake, I will sleep. Wake me when you are tired; I do not need much.”

“What the hell is that thing?”

Lark edged towards the creature, grabbing her staff and poking at one of its odd limbs. No reaction, she inched closer, looking at that horrible mouth, a gash with too many teeth. The creature somewhat resembled an Axoloti, but it was massive, the tail three times the length of the body.

“Probably for constriction,” Lark muttered.

“Hmmm, yes” They are primarily aquatic but will walk a little way on land; you see those tendrils? The tendrils can act as legs though they can’t move quickly on ground but they do have an impressive strike. The beast can hit before you blink and wrap their bodies around a full grown Centaur if given a chance. We call them Mud snakes, but Aboleth is the proper term. This is a small one, they get much bigger. It has likely been following you since you went down to the river to wash your socks.”

Lark moaned. “I have got to get out of here.”