The long, fiery fingers of twilight stretched across the sky, the sun a large, glowing orb on the horizon. Beneath the few meager wisps of clouds that hung below the heavens, the white puffs turned into smears of blood by the struggling daylight, a small town rested. Houses and inns, bakeries and tailors all nestled together among other shops and taverns. Most the denizens of the quaint place were either finishing up their day’s work, or already heading home for the night.
Home. Where their friends or loved ones waited, where spouses or children would greet them upon their arrival, would dine together, then huddle around the warm hearth as the mild spring day gave way to the lingering chill of the night.
Rayadell, clad in her usual brown cloak with the hood drawn over her head, wove her way through the dirt streets, a bulge at her back easily mistaken for a large pack hidden beneath the garment. She leaned her weight onto the intricately carved staff she held, the silvery metal tipping either end glinting in the fading light. Alas, it was not to the home of a spouse that her feet led her, nor to the company of friends where she could spend the night laughing and drinking and eating her fill in good company.
Bruised and battered from a fight with a young chimera that had somehow managed to wander into the local area, Rayadell made her way to an inn with a worn, painted sign with the words, “The Laughing Phoenix” surrounding the fiery head of a phoenix. With the proof of the chimera’s eradication delivered, one of the pouches at her belt was weighted by a fair amount of gold. It would be enough to last her for a while... at least, as long as the inn did not charge an arm and a leg for a half-decent meal and a bed for the night.
Inside, the stench of stale ale and sweaty bodies permeated the main floor tavern. No matter how often she smelt it, she feared she would never get used to it, to the smell of humans and other races trying to drown their sorrows or relax after a long day by staring into a flagon of cheap alcohol.
Though the gaze of the single, silvery eye not obscured by her black-tipped white hair darkened, the rest of her even expression never changed.
She quickly surveyed the half-empty tavern, taking in the few halflings, dwarves, and humans who occupied the tables. The light of a couple lanterns cast shadows over their faces. All were men, save for the waitress who flitted about the tables, flirting with the customers as she cleared tables and delivered food and drinks. Her simple, stained skirts twirled about her body as she moved.
Rayadell turned her attention from them when a man with a bow leaning against his table, a hood drawn over his face and his feet crossed at the ankles on the table, took an interest in looking back at her.
With easy, elegant steps, she went to the bar where a mousy man in his thirties leaned over from behind the counter, trying to arouse another three times as thick as him and covered in furs who looked to have passed out on his stool, his head turned away from her.
The mousy man looked to her, frustration pulling at his thin lips. With a sigh, he left the unconscious man and stepped toward her.
“What can I do for ya, miss?” he asked with a slight accent, looking her over, taking in her youthful appearance and snowy complexion.
“I need a room for the night,” she said softly, her voice just loud enough to rise above the noise of a group of dwarves who had begun to sing a drinking shanty horribly off-key. Her eyes narrowed and her head twitched toward the offending group. “Single bed. And a hot meal.”
“It’s a solair for an unshared room,” he informed her, crossing his arms. “Five krazeals for a meal.”
“Fair enough.” She was in no mood to argue, her body ready for a nice, long rest. She reached into one of her belt pouches, and pulled out two solairs--round, golden coins with a small hole in the center--and placed them on the worn countertop. “If you have it brought to my room, you can keep the change.”
“As ya wish, miss.” He greedily snatched up the coins. “One mo, and I’ll get a key for ya.”
“Thanks,” she said with a nod.
“I’d know that voice of yours anywhere,” a deep voice slurred as the man on the stool raised his head high enough to turn it to look to her. “If the world ain’t small, I’ll eat my coat.”
Rayadell exhaled through her nose, and irritation settled over her face. Her long fingernails drummed once against the countertop as she turned her head to look to him. He sported a long, bushy beard the color of honey. His green eyes glittered dully, and were slightly glazed over from either sleep or intoxication, if not a bit of both. His skin was dark and weathered, a scar running over his mouth lifting the corner of his lips in an eternal smirk.
“If it ain’t the Silver Wanderer herself!”
Rayadell scowled at the nickname the man had given her when they had traveled together nearly a year past. No matter how hard she had discouraged it, the burly human insisted on calling her it.
“Valos,” she greeted irritably with a stiff nod. “It’s been a while.”
“Eleven months, two weeks, and three days,” he grunted, his head lowering back to the countertop and eyes closing.
“I’m flattered you’d bother to remember that.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
He did not respond, and, for a moment, she thought he had passed out again.
“You’re looking well,” he grumbled, his eyes opening.
She lifted an eyebrow, hoping the barkeep would return soon. “I’d say the same, but then I’d be a liar.” She tapped the nails of her free hand impatiently on the counter, her hands covered by a pair of leather, fingerless gloves.
Valos let out a deep, rumbling laugh that ended in a hiccup that looked like it traveled through his entire body.
How long does it take to retrieve a key? she thought irritably, glancing to the door between shelves of bottles and mugs that the barkeep had disappeared through.
The feeling of being watched crept down Rayadell’s spine. She glanced over her shoulder, and found the man at the table, his face hidden in his hood, still looking in her direction. Her eyes narrowed.
“What name should I put for ya, miss?” the barkeep said when he finally reappeared. He placed a brass key on the counter and slid it toward her.
“Took you long enough,” she snapped at him.
“Tarora Shadefell,” Valos answered the barkeep’s question for her, her alias rolling off his tongue sluggishly as he turned his mug in his hands and stared at it with a newfound interest.
The barkeep glanced to him with a scowl, then looked to Rayadell for confirmation, a frown still pulling at his lips.
She nodded as she took the key, a piece of parchment hanging by a leather cord with “16” scrawled messily on it.
“Top floor.” The barkeep pulled out a crude wad of parchment and quickly scribbled her name down. “Last room on the left. Food’ll be brought to ya by the hour’s end. Be out by an hour after sunrise.”
Rayadell nodded, then headed for the stairs visible in a hall opposite the entrance.
“Try to not cause too much trouble,” she muttered to Valos as she passed, who only grunted in response, then placed his mug on the counter with the demand for a refill.
Rayadell hurried to her assigned room, eager to rest her weary body. The steps creaked beneath her, and the lamps that lined the walls in even intervals cast eerie shadows down the bare hallway at the top floor. The heels of her tall boots clicked lightly against the floorboards.
The room was fairly small, a single lantern casting its meager light over the two even smaller beds, one pushed against either wall to the left and right. Two pathetic, crude dressers sat against the wall opposite her, a bowl for washing setting on both the furnishings. She entered, locked the door behind her--leaving the key in the lock--then went to one of the beds. Slowly, she leaned her staff against the wall beside the head of the bed, then, making sure the sole window in the room was blocked by the curtains, removed the cloak.
A pack was strapped to her back, its form rather narrow. On either side of it, a set of silvery bat-like wings were tucked against her body at a rather uncomfortable-looking angle, and a tail of fine, silvery scales curled up beneath the pack.
With a relieved moan, she stretched her wings and uncurled her tail, the translucent membranes spiderwebbed with purple and blue veins.
She quickly unstrapped the pack and placed it on the floor beside the bed, her tail swishing slightly behind her from where it protruded from her self-tailored pair of pants. She went to the center of the room, and stretched her wings again from the open back of her shirt. She extended them to their full impressive span.
She gasped when a knock sounded at the door, her wings drawing in and her body crouching defensively. But no one tried to enter. No one spoke from the other side, requesting entrance.
Instead, an envelope slid in through the bottom of the door.
Rayadell stared at it for a moment, then glanced around the room before cautiously picking it up. She flipped it over in her hands. Though there was nothing on the front, someone had written five simple words in a shimmering red ink on the back: “Leave response at room 7.” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, she reached into the envelope and pulled out the folded letter inside.
The moment she unfolded it, she gasped at the name it was addressed to. She folded it, and quickly unlocked the door. She carefully poked her head out into the hall and looked down either side, but whoever had left her the note was gone.
Taking a deep breath, she retreated back into her room. She relocked the door, then unfolded the letter once more to read through the elegant script of the letter.

Rayadell Farrodane,
We give our sincerest apologies for the suddenness of the message, but we have found ourselves in dire need of your assistance. Alas, we cannot give the details of the mission by such an insecure method, for there are others who would gladly intercept this letter. We beseech you, come to Caldavail upon the 19th of this month so we may discuss the particulars of what we would request of you. However, we can tell you this: it is a retrieval operation.
I assure you, we do not ask this of you lightheartedly, and will reward you most handsomely. Should you accept the terms and return successful, we believe we have a way to alleviate you of the curse that has haunted you for all these years.
Sincerely,
Mr. and Mrs. Carish

For a moment, Rayadell forgot how to breathe. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, or a trap. But she had not used her real name in many years. There was nearly no one who should know it, and yet, whoever the Carishes were, they did. She read the letter twice more, her gaze lingering on the last line of the letter. Subconsciously, she raised a hand to finger the swirling marks her curse had left on her face, the marks she kept hidden behind her hair.
Caldavail was a small village a few hours’ travel from where she was. Which was just as well; the morrow was marked the nineteenth. If she left early enough, she would be capable of making it in time.
And if it’s a trap? her voice of caution asked.
And what if it’s not? came her silent rebuttal.
She read the letter again, then once more for good measure, as if the red ink would reform and tell her if it was a trick or not. But the words did not change.
“Dash it,” she muttered. “It’s worth it.” She hurried to the bed, placed the letter and envelope on the thin bedding long enough for her to tuck her wings into her back and replace her cloak.
Locating a plume-less quill and a bottle of half-dried ink, Rayadell scrawled out her response on the front of the envelope: “I’ll be there.”
Folding the letter and placing it in the pouch with her money, she left her room and headed for room seven. She found it on the floor beneath her, and knocked. No one answered. After trying again with the same result, she slid the envelope beneath the door, then hurried back to her room. If she wanted to get up early enough to make it before nightfall, she would have to call it an early night.

The young Elf knelt down before the Altar, legs crossed and arms atop his knees with a poise that bespoke honor and respect. Two small candles framed the small shrine, illuminating Calanon's visage and trailing wisps of smoke twirling into the cooling air of the night.

He breathed in...and out. His keen senses raising to new heights as he focused upon his meditation before the small shrine that represented his Gods of the forest. For near an hour he had sat there, his truest friend and steed behind him, idly chewing on thick tufts of grass while he remained in his reverie.

He found he had to do this more often than not these days, ever since he had been tainted by the artifact of the Dorcha. He could feel his anger and hatred lessening, and therefore the pressure upon his arm was lessened as well. He truly needed the recent guidance as well, for he had received a mysterious letter not a day ago about a retrieval quest he was to perform if he so chose.

He would not say no without giving it due attention, and in truth he needed something to occupy him. He had spent too long chasing Orcs in the underbrush of the woods the past few tendays. The forest was his calling, but he longed for new places to go and faces to see. Brogach, his Elk, was of similar mind it seemed. For as he thought of such things, he could hear a snort in the background. A calm, small smile spread across his face. He turned to Brogach, his thick hair swaying. It was of a reddish brown hue, only darker than one would expect, oftentimes mistaken for true chocolate brown.

It seemed the Gods had spoken to him through his companion, and he felt that there was no better way to bring a message across. "Ready, my friend?" he asked. The Elk perked his great head up, staring at Calanon alertly before striding over to him, touching their noses together in a sign of friendship. Calanon smiled brightly and patted his friend's mane. "Let's go."

The two moved in unison, and the fit, nimble ranger leaped upon his steed's back, and they galloped forward. The trees before them were no obstacle at all for they, as the two had traversed thick forest paths for many years. They were only two days from the small village of Caldavail, and would be out of the forest thickets by morning tomorrow if they kept the pace steady.

Rayadell woke early. The sun had yet to show its face, yet she heard the sounds of others moving just outside her locked door as a couple others made their way to the main floor.
Though she was sure she had only gotten a few hours of sleep, anticipation granted her an extra boost of energy. She had not unpacked anything the night before. A wooden bowl the barmaid had brought to her filled with soup the previous evening sat empty beside the bowl on the small dresser, a tattered washcloth resting on the bowl’s brim.
Rayadell got up and went to the bowl. Water filled about half of it. Though it had been warm when the waitress had poured it, now, hours later, the water was cold. Though she had the ability to fix that, Rayadell quickly splashed it on her face, its chill washing away what sleep still clung to her mind like sticky cobwebs. She dried her face quickly, then gave her wings a nice, long stretch. With a sad, irritated sigh, she reluctantly pulled them back into her body as tightly as she could, situated her backpack between them, then draped the cloak over her shoulders.
She missed the days when she could roam her hometown without having to hide them, when she could move freely, not laden by the cloak.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. But she was past that. She had to be. Those days were long gone, and there was no going back. No undoing the horrors of her past. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to put them behind her, to forget them, some part of her refused to let it go.
Opening her eyes, her usual, stoic look settling over her face, she grabbed her staff. She took a moment to run a hand down the intricately carved vines that resembled the real things, shockingly realistic animals prancing or hiding within the wooden plants. Her fingers paused on her favorite animal--at least of the ones she had spotted so far: a snow fox, sitting there, looking out at its surroundings with a sly glean in its blue eyes, its head cocked as if it had not a care in the world. Gripping the staff firmly in one hand, she grabbed the room key from the bed and headed to the main floor.
She paused on the stairs as the all too familiar sound of a deep, sonorous snoring that would have impressed a dragon reached her ears. She rolled her eyes, then entered the tavern.
Though the seats were empty save for a couple people bent over a simple breakfast, it was far less crowded than when she had last seen it. The barmaid stood in front of the counter, violently shaking a slumbering Valos, who sat in the same spot with his arms draped over the counter.
“I’ve got this,” Rayadell told the barmaid with a smirk as she sat the key down on the counter.
The girl’s curly black locks bounced slightly when she looked to the Elagon. “I’ve tried everything, miss,” she said exasperatedly. “There be no waking ’im. He’s disturbing the other customers!” She gestured to a man at a table who was glaring darkly at Valos. He looked about ready to lunge at the man.
“Not everything.” She nodded for the girl to stand further back.
Once the barmaid had obliged, Rayadell examined the stool he sat on for a short second, deciding on how much effort she would need to put forth.
“Valos!” she yelled, drawing out his name angrily as she kicked the barstool out from under him.
He gave a surprised shout as the stool went one way, throwing his body another. He caught himself on the counter, now as awake as he had been asleep. With surprising speed for someone of his bulk, he swung around with a fist held out.
Despite his speed, Rayadell was still faster. She had spent enough time with him before to tell he had drank too much, the drink dulling and slowing his senses. She easily ducked beneath his arm, kicked his legs out from under him, then placed a foot on his chest to keep him on the floor, the end of her staff resting against his throat.
“You’re getting slow in your old age,” she taunted with a smugness in her voice as she quickly removed the staff and her foot before he could try to retaliate. She offered him a hand up.
He grumbled foully under his breath. Ignoring her helping hand, he pulled himself up using another stool.
“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Rayadell grabbed her key and handed it to the barmaid.
“Thanks.” The girl gave a small smile and nodded toward Valos.
Rayadell only gave a nod in welcome. She headed to the door as Valos, still grumbling to himself, slapped a few coins onto the counter.
Though the sun still had yet to rise above the horizon, casting the world in a dull gray light preceding its arrival, people had already begun to traverse the streets. Candles glowed in a few windows.
She cast a quick glance around the street, pulled her hood over her face, then headed out into the town to pick up a couple supplies before making her way to Caldavail. If she wanted time to scope the area out, to search for any sign of misgivings, she would have to move fast.
With that thought, she quickened her pace and headed deeper into the town.

"They're guarding the eastern pass." Calanon whispered to Brogach, his still form and Elven clothing keeping him hidden among the brush. One hand was placed just below his jawline, bending a branch lightly as he peered down the forested slope. Below, various brutish humanoids were mingling in some form. Their sloping jaws, primitive features, and coarse fur were all too familiar to Calanon the Ranger.
Orcs.

It looked to be some kind of small feast. There couldn't be much more than a score of them, grunting to each other in their native tongue within the general area of a large bonfire beneath the tree canopy. Calanon had thought once he and his friend had gotten over that last rise they would have had an easy run to the plains that led to the next town. Luck was not on their side this day, he supposed.

Any attempt to go around would lead to them spotting him, even as concealed and agile as he and Brogach were. But he had dealt with Orcs before. If you needed to get passed them and not be given chase, it was best to confuse the brutes. He whispered to his truest friend in Elvish, and then strung his bow as quietly and quickly as he could. The two had performed such a maneuver before. Brogach disappeared into the forest to play his part.

With his powerful legs and agility, Calanon leaped up and hauled himself upon the lowest branch of the Oak he had been hiding near. He then traversed his way across the tree canopy, knowing that he couldn't rightly pass by the camp itself without risking being spotted from his shadow on the ground, or an unlucky gaze upwards. Once he was in position, he saw Brogach was as well. Calanon whistled like a bird.

The Elk bounded into the sight of the Orcs, rustling the bushes and causing the camp to look his way. "Oh, a tasty treat to add to the dinner, eh?" one of them said in broken common. Others grunted in agreement. The Elf let his arrow fly, hitting an Orc at the back of the camp in the leg with an arrow. The creature howled and clutched his ruined limb, falling over and writhing. The camp then turned his way, confused and yelling.

Calanon shot another, hitting another Orc in the shoulder, causing it to fall over with a roar of pain. The Orcs began to look every which way, and Calanon loosed an arrow back, from whence he had come to rustle the bushes back that way. The Orcs began to give chase at the supposed source, focused now on a new direction and quite bewildered at all that was transpiring now. Calanon Aenarion used this moment to dash from tree limb to tree limb in great leaps and catches, before shimmying down a tree the farthest edge of camp while their attentions were elsewhere and mounting Brogach, galloping out of the forest and making it to open ground.

The wind now whipping his thick, dark hair and youthful face. "That was a close one." he said, rubbing Brogach's head and making the last few miles across the plains before they saw the town in the distance after the next rise. Behind it were small but beautifully forested mountains, and a mountain pass that lead further north into the colder tundra. The woundrous sight of nature left a lopsided smile on his face. Brogach and his Elven rider made it safely across the small bridge that led to the front gate of the town, his hoofs clomping over the wood before the entered the settlement proper.

Sensitive creatures, horses. Powerful, majestic, and fast, yes, but sensitive, like so many other animals. They have a sixth sense, animals. At least, most of them do. Alas, the horses occupying the stables in the town all had a too keen of a dose of that extra sense, making them all fearful and antsy in Rayadell’s presence as they sensed the aura of dark magic about her, leaving her to travel to Caldavail on foot. Which was just fine by her.
She traveled through the forest and plains, heading east. She passed nearly no one on the road. Only a single cart drawn by horses heading west shattered the relative quiet of the forest. But the trees were all the company Rayadell wanted. Alas, the further east she went, traveling into the more unfamiliar territory of the Eastwood forests, the gentle, comforting whisper of the trees grew quiet, more reluctant to let her hear them. Soon, even their reluctance turned to silence.
Until, near the eastern pass, a wind rustled the leaves and a single tree sent a whisper her way, a sound that was more a feeling than an actual word:
Orcs.
Scowling, Rayadell slunk into the forest, letting the plants conceal her. When the sounds of the Orcs’ gruff language reached her sensitive ears, with swift movements and staff still in hand, she got to her hands and knees and slunk through the undergrowth, careful to not rustle so much as a single leaf.
Pushing aside a branch of a shrub to get a look at the encampment beyond, she saw the billowy black smoke of a fire rising above the trees not far from her. Traversing the treetops, she soon had the Orcs’ temporary campsite in view. With their slightly tinted skin and sharp, yellowed teeth, they mulled around, a bore with massive tusks cooking over their bonfire. They looked on edge, a couple patrolling the perimeter of their camp. One was groaning on the ground, and snapped at anyone who got too close as he tended to a wounded leg, while another still had an arrow in its shoulder as it glared murderously into the flames with its beady eyes.
She needed to avert their attention from the forest so she could pass unnoticed. Slowly, she released her staff and raised her freed hand toward their fire.
The flames flared up, making the hide of the boar catch fire and sending the Orc with a wounded shoulder scrambling backward with a screech. At Rayadell’s silent command, the flames stretched out from the hearth, the rutilant sparks turning into a fierce white as they fell to the Elagon’s will, spreading out in a line and cutting the camp in half. In the blink of an eye, the flames started to circle around them, and every Orc save for the one with a useless leg, set to trying to put out the flames.
Taking advantage of their distraction, she muttered a quick spell, turning her body into a mere ghost of herself, and she hurried through the forest, unnoticed, toward the final stretch between her and Caldavail, the flames extinguishing themselves and leaving only the faintest of scorch marks on the forest floor once she was well out of sight.


The small village was nestled snugly amidst the spring green of the forest. Significantly smaller than the town she had left behind, wide dirt roads wove through the buildings. Protected only by those living in the houses on the outskirts of the village, it was teeming with life as people went about their daily evening chores.
As Rayadell, an air of weariness still lurking about her from both her travel and use of magic, entered the village, a couple curious heads turned toward her, a stranger amidst the familiar. But it was only one figure that caught her attention; the man she had seen in the inn’s tavern the previous day leaned against one of the buildings. The bottom half of his face was just visible in the sunlight from beneath his hood, showing a slightly pointed chin and full lips.
She sauntered toward him, her gaze wary as he lifted his head toward her.
“You’re the messenger, I presume?” she asked as she neared, keeping a safe distance between them.
The man’s lips pulled up in a smirk.
“You presume correctly, Rayadell Farrodane,” he answered in a thick, oily voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind.” He pushed from the wall and collected the bow leaning against the building beside him. “The Carishes are waiting.” He gestured down the road with a nod, rested a part of his longbow lazily on one shoulder, then headed down the road without checking to be sure she was behind him.
Rayadell hesitated, but followed him. She had come this far, after all, so there was no point in stopping now.
“Have you a name?” she asked as they made their way to the opposite end of the village, many heads turning their way to get a look at the cloaked newcomer.
“Hasn’t everyone?” A smirk was audible in his voice.
Rayadell scowled. “What’s yours, then?”
“You can call me Salven, if you feel so inclined to do so.”
Her brows raised. “Tell me, Salven. What can you tell me about ‘Mr. and Mrs. Carish’?
“They’re a nice enough couple,” he said with a shrug, “in need of some assistance.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re someone else assisting with the... retrieval?”
Salven laughed. “Nope. That’s your job. If you accept, anyway.”
Salven led her to a quaint farmhouse at the edge of the village. Animals mulled about the fenced property, a couple escaped chickens strutting around the front yard.
“Here you are.” He gestured laconically to the farmhouse with a wave of his free hand. “Knock, then just go on in. They’re expecting you.” With that, he continued through the property, offering her only a quick wave in farewell without turning around.
Rayadell went up to the simple, wooden door. She stood there a moment, looking around the farm, searching for any sign it was a trap. She lifted her empty hand and glanced to the gem-studded golden bangle hanging there. Enchanted to warn her of any spells against dragons or other lizard-folk, it gave no indication of such trickery.
Taking a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest at the prospect of being so close to abolishing her curse, she knocked, then entered the small, quaint home.
“Hello?” she called as she opened the door to a small living area furnished with crude, hand-made chairs and cabinets, not quite daring to let the door close behind her quite yet, her grip on her staff tightening as she waited for a response.

Of course, it took very little time for the good people of Caldavail to take note of the Elf riding upon the back of a great Red Elk trotting through its streets. A few of them men eyed him with distaste and open suspicion, while many of the women hushed their children and drew them to their skirts for protection and reassurance. He wasn't imposing, and though he was well armed, it was not his weapons that drew such ire either.

With his keen ears he could hear whispers from the townsfolk of them suggesting he was a representative of Fey creatures from the forest to the south. True, there were some Elves who took it upon themselves to focus their lives on a dark pursuit of power, but civilized Elves did not do such a thing. It seems these people did not know the difference.

He hopped off Brogach to enter the tavern, but was subsequently halted by the town guards. A burly armsman eyed him and looked him up and down. "Whats your business in town?" he asked him. Calanon paused, and looked up to him. "I was invited here, sir. I mean no trouble." The guard raised an eyebrow. A few of the townsfolk watched the exchanged. "Oh aye? Well now who invited you?"

"I did." Salven said, approaching Calanon and shooing away the guard with a few choice words. "So, you're here for Mr. and Mrs. Carish I presume? You fit the description of who they called."

"Yes, I am."

"Right this way. And bring your mount. He's liable to be butchered if you leave him out here." the man said, putting an arm around Calanon.

Calanon called for Brogach to follow, and they made their way to the meeting area.

The sweet aroma of boiling meat and vegetables permeated the home alongside the pungent scent of a fire. The house was warm compared to the outdoors, making Rayadell realize how chilly it had been outside for a spring evening.
Rayadell tugged her hood from her head as she looked around.
Movement in a doorway to her left made the girl spin toward it as she gripped the staff in both hands. Her body hunched and ready to fight or defend, with a gentle magical push, two silvery blades sprung from the ends of her staff as she turned.
A plump woman with short curly hair gave a surprised shout and stepped back, her eyes wide. “My land, girl!” The woman placed a hand over her heart, her gaze on Rayadell’s weapon. “You trying to give me a heart attack? Put that away, would you? You’re in no danger here.” She gripped the stained apron wrapped around her plain skirts and flicked it irritably at her guest.
Rayadell eyed the woman for a long moment. She looked somewhere in her late twenties to early thirties. Her lips were pursed into pale lines, and her dark hair curled closely into her tan oval face. Her warm brown eyes held an air of kindness and hardship in almost a motherly sort of way.
Slowly, Rayadell straightened, though her grip on the staff did not waver. “Mrs. Carish?”
“Call me Thea, hon.” The woman’s lips pulled up in a nervous smile. “Would you prefer Rayadell, or... what was it you’re going by? Tarora? Or perhaps--"
“Rayadell’s fine,” she snapped. “Since you know it, anyway.”
“As you wish. Now, if you would be so kind as to--” Thea gestured to Rayadell’s staff.
“How do you know it? I haven’t used that name in years.”
Thea gave a kind, yet sorrowful smile. “We did our research, hon. We’re rather good at it. Alas,” she gave a sad sigh, pain shimmering wetly in her eyes, “when a life hangs in the balance, one can take no chances. We need the best, and only the best. But that’s a story to be told once Calanon arrives. He, too, must have plenty of questions.” She glanced to the door behind Rayadell. “Hopefully he won’t be too much longer.”
Rayadell’s gaze darkened. She had not expected to have an adventuring partner.
“Come, please.” She gestured toward the room beyond her, where an iron stove with a pot was just visible through the gap. “I have a nice pot of stew on. It should be about ready, and I imagine you must be famished after your journey. My husband’s just around back collecting more wood.”
The plump woman turned and headed into the kitchen, casting Rayadell only a reassuring glance before heading to the stove.
Slowly, Rayadell held her staff vertically in front of her and, with another magical push, the blades retracted into the staff, leaving only the metal tips on either end. Ever wary, she entered the kitchen.
A small, simple room, it had a couple cupboards on the walls. An iron stove rested near the far wall with a water basin beside it. Off to the side was a table with four chairs.
“Have a seat, if you’d like.” Thea gestured toward the table with a wooden ladle.
“I’m fine.” She paused, watching Thea stir her stew. She cast a quick glance around the room, looking for any potential eavesdroppers. “Your letter. It said you know about my... predicament.”
“Yes, hon.” Thea glanced toward Rayadell pityingly.
“Then you’ll take no offence when I say I work alone.”
“You’ve worked with others before.”
“Yes, but--”
“So you have the experience needed to watch for the signs your curse is affecting someone else.”
“Yes.” Rayadell looked at her suspiciously. “How do you--”
“We were research experts in another life.” Thea turned toward Rayadell and crossed her arms, the ladle still in hand. “If there’s even the slightest shred of information out there, you can bet we’ll find it. But that’s beside the point right now. This isn’t something anyone could do alone. It requires at least two. That’s a part of our conditions. But that's all to be discussed with everyone over dinner.” The woman gave Rayadell a stern look, telling the girl that her word was final.
Rayadell jumped and held her staff defensively when the back door opened, and a bare-chested man with dark, weathered skin entered with an armful of cut wood.
“Oh!” he said over his pile in a deep voice, looking to Rayadell. “Good!” He crossed the room and deposited the wood as Rayadell stepped a bit closer toward the door to avoid being cornered.
The man brushed his hands off on his tattered trousers, then thrust a hand toward Rayadell to shake. “Merek Carish. You must be Farrodane.”
“Rayadell, dear,” Thea called over her shoulder as she once more stirred the stew.
Rayadell nodded in greeting, but ignored his hand.
“Go watch for Calanon, won’t you?” Thea requested sweetly. “Hopefully Salven found him before he could get too badly lost.”
Merek chuckled. “I’m sure he’s fine.” All the same, he gave a nod at Rayadell, then hurried behind her through the doorway to the front door.
Rayadell stepped around the table to stand closer to the back exit. She stood there, still as a statue, her staff gripped tightly in one hand as she watched Thea. Her senses were on alert, and her gaze stony as she waited for this mysterious Calanon to arrive. Rather, to get the answer she truly wanted: did they really know of a way to cure her of her curse, of a secret to succeeding in the very task she had devoted so many years of her life to, only to fail, or was this indeed some sort of trap?

"A cottage." he said softly as he guided Brogach forward, one hand resting on the Elk's neck. He hadn't expected something so wholesome and cozy looking to be where a mysterious letter would lead him to. Then again, he'd not exactly gotten a mysterious letter before.

Many things that happened in and around cities were often strange to Calanon. He'd sometimes make short 'visits' by simply making camp near city walls and simply watching the way people went about their lives. But his biggest experience with civilization were frontier towns and Elven Villages.

"Aye, been here for years. I'm thinking you'll like Mr. and Mrs. Carish." Salven said. He gave a grin to the Elf as they walked. "They'll answer all of your questions. I'm sure you have some. Even a quite type like you." Calanon gave a nod at that, and Brogach snickered and shook his great head.

They made it to the bottom of the small downward slope of the hill, leading to the quaint front door. "Stay here Brogach. I'll be right inside." Calanon said to his friend in soft Elvish as he stroked his steed's neck, then let him go. "No need to knock, boy." Slaven said, opening the door to let him in. Calanon gave a smile to the man, amused that so many men called him boy when he was probably Salven's senior in years.

Calanon strode inside to find himself in a warm, cozy home fit for a fair sized family. "It smells good in here." he said, his tone amiable and friendly. It was then he noticed Rayadell standing just beside him. "Oh, hello." He put his palms together and gave her a small bow in greeting.

Thankfully, Rayadell did not have long to wait. Only a few seconds after Merek had disappeared through the house to the front door, her head cocked toward the kitchen’s back door beside her as a voice she recognized as Salven’s wafted faintly through it. She gripped her staff tighter, and she stepped hastily aside, expecting Salven to enter, bow or sword at the ready.
But it was not Salven the gentle breeze blew in. She took in the elf who walked through instead. Though he looked as young as she was often mistaken for, she knew better than to speculate. He could easily be her elder.
Thea, whose attention had turned from her stew to look to the new arrival, smiled at his compliment.
“Thanks, hon. But hold that thought!” Thea hastily sat her ladle down and hurried to the front door, calling her husband’s name as she disappeared into the adjoining room, her movements rather sprightly for one of her stature.
Her expression apathetic, Rayadell returned Calanon’s greeting with one of her own. Placing her right hand in front of her chest, her palm held flat toward the floor, she mimicked his slight bow.
“Calanon, I presume?” she asked as she straightened, her tone lukewarm.
Thea quickly reappeared, her husband, who towered over her by at least a foot, right behind her.
“Pardon my poor manners, hon!” Thea flicked her apron at her own rudeness. “I’m Thea. And this--”
“Her husband, Merek Carish,” the man introduced himself, stepping forward to offer Calanon a hand in greeting.
“Like I told Rayadell,” Thea continued, ignoring the others in the kitchen, “we can discuss the matters at hand over stew.” A slight shadow crossed her eyes, her expression sobering slightly, but she quickly replaced it with her friendly smile. “I’m sure you’re half-starved by now!” She quickly set to laying out wooden bowls at each of the chairs around the small table. “Please, have a seat!” she added as Merek sat heavily in one of the chairs, leaned back, and linked his fingers behind his head.
Rayadel hesitated, but turned one of the chairs closest to the back door to the side. She sat carefully, ever mindful of the wings hidden beneath her cloak, as Thea began to dish out the stew.

His keen Elven ears twitched as he listened to the hushed voices in the other room. Sometimes being an Elf had its advantages. Still, it was generally impolite to allude to the fact that he could hear others from far off, and always let them reiterate to him in person so as not to be appear like he had been eavesdropping.

Other than the twitching of his pointed ears though, that was the only thing that would tip anyone off that he heard within the other room. His eyes stayed fixed on Rayadell however, when he was not bowing. "Yes, it's an honor to meet you." he told her. He appreciated her bow. If her tone was seen in a poor light by him, he didn't show it. He often let many things slide, for he was usually a fish out of water when it came to various peoples.

He blinked and turned to see Mr. and Mrs. Carish to enter the room, and he gave them bow as well. "Oh, that'd be very nice. Thank you." he told them, his voice matching his demeanor, calm and respectful. He joined them at the table. The Elf pulled out a chair for himself next to Rayadell, though it was on the otherside of the table's corner.

"Well, now that we're all here." Thea said, clapping her hands together. "Let us have some stew and allow us to get down to business after a full belly." Her smile was bright and her cheeks were rosy, and she began serving the stew in robust bowls with carved doves interconnected by their beaks and tail feathers. "Water?" she asked them, pouring a bit into glass cups and handing them to Rayadell and Calanon.

Calanon glanced at Rayadell for a moment, wondering if she had a bit of Elvish blood in her as well, and what the significance of her being here was. He supposed he was about to find out.

Rayadell leaned her staff against the table beside her. She kept all three of the house’s current occupants in her line of sight, Calanon resting more in her peripherals. When offered a glass of water, she opened her mouth to decline, but Thea placed one in front of her anyway before she could speak, then hurried back to the counter.
Noticing Calanon’s glance, she returned it, her head turning just enough to put him better in her sight before looking back to the couple.
With the stew dished out and the broth steaming invitingly, the scent tantalizing, Rayadell absently turned the ornate bowl. Though her stomach growled softly at the aroma, she made no move to consume it. She watched Merek closely as he straightened in his chair, waiting for him and Thea to take the first bite.
Merek leaned over his bowl and inhaled the scent. He gave a contented sigh, then, ignoring the spoon that had been placed beside the bowl, picked it up and slurped some down.
“Manners, Merek!” Thea scolded, glancing over her shoulder as she pulled two more glasses from a cupboard. “We have guests!”
“Who I’m sure have encountered ruder ways of eating!” All the same, he placed the bowl back on the table and used the spoon.
With a shake of her head, Thea poured two more glasses of water for her and Merek, then sat beside her husband and started on her food.
“You told me a life was at stake?” Rayadell asked, eager to get to the point of their meeting as she picked up her spoon.
Thea’s lips pulled down, and she looked suddenly ten years older, a shadow again crossing her eyes. Merek, too, looked somber as he chewed a chunk of meat.
To Rayadell’s surprise, it was Merek who answered.
“Our daughter,” he muttered into his soup.
“It’s why we’ve come to you for assistance.” Thea took a deep breath. “It came on nearly two months ago. We don’t know how, or even what it is, but even the best healer has failed to alleviate her of it. Her health has only continued to deteriorate. If we don’t obtain a cure soon...” Her trembling words trailed off.
“It’s an enchantment, I tell you!” Merek growled, his hand balling into a fist around his spoon.
“When the healers failed, we started to search,” Thea continued. “We uncovered a legend about a talisman that could cure all ills, both normal and magic. Including enchantments and, even, curses.” She glanced between Calanon and Rayadell, who raised her chin a fraction. “Treasure hunters have been after it for many a year, but all have failed to locate it.”
“But we have,” Merek added with a tone of relieved triumph.
“We’ve narrowed it down to a northern mountain. But, alas, neither of us were made for such adventures.” The couple cast each other a regretful glance, Thea’s eyes watery. “Which is what has brought us all here. You two are our last hope. Of course, should the talisman not...” she took a steadying breath, “should it not work, or if we are incorrect about its location, we’ll still compensate you greatly for your troubles.”
Rayadell sat quietly, searching for any signs of misgivings in their demeanor. But she saw none. As far as she could tell, they were truly desperate for a way to save someone they loved. Her gaze softened slightly. She knew all too well what the fear of losing someone you loved felt like.

Calanon did his best to remain attentive and to keep his eyes on Rayadell and the Carishes. Up until they began talking about their daughter, and it was then he needed to look at his soup, for throughout the ordeal he had been shoveling it into his mouth (politely, though). It was the soup. He could see how Merek wanted to gulp it in one go. It was quite delicious.

His dark brown eyes lit up and he glanced upwards at the proclamation of what they were trying to locate however. He lifted his head up and wiped his mouth with a cloth as he listened. At first he might have been a bit skeptical on how they could gather the information of the location of something no one else could find. But they did prove they were good at finding out many things not a minute earlier, so he supposed he believed them.

A talisman that cures all ailments? He suddenly went from curious, to having a darkened mood to his visage as he thought of the curse that ailed him. He sighed, one hand idly running over his marked arm. The Elf nodded, resolution dawning on his face. "I'll go." he told them. "Payment I don't need, if you would rather not provide."

Rayadell glanced to Calanon when the elf gave his answer, watching him rub one arm.
Thea gripped her husband’s hand and beamed at Calanon. “Thank you.” She looked pleadingly to Rayadell, awaiting her response with what looked like fearful anticipation.
Rayadell raised her chin, then nodded slowly, suddenly more conscious of the hair draped over her own dark mark. Even a slim chance based on a rumor was more hope of breaking her curse than she had had in years. “You know the only payment I desire. And just trying is enough.”
The couple breathed a sigh of relief.
“Of course, we’ll provide you both a place to sleep for the night, and any provisions you’ll need for your journey, as well as a map.” Thea stirred her soup absently. “If either of you have any questions, please, ask.” She looked to Rayadell’s untouched bowl. “Your food’s getting cold, hon.”
Rayadell glanced down to the bowl, her spoon still resting, unused, between her fingers. Slowly, she placed it into the broth and began eating the delectable stew, the hunger gnawing in her stomach egging her on.
“You travel with an elk, right?” Merek asked Calanon, returning to his food. “We have an empty stall in the stables if you’d like to shelter him there for the night.”
“And I’m sure we have some feed somewhere that he’ll like.” Thea gave one of her friendly smiles.
Ignoring his wife’s glare, Merek raised the bowl to his mouth to finish off its contents. “I can take care of that if you’d like.”

Calanon was normally a very stoic Elf, with an old soul and a calm visage that bespoke of deep thought. But he could not help but beam back, giving them a small incline of his head. He also raised up his bowl as a gesture, to reiterate the point that the soup was indeed quite good! He let his future traveling companion speak, and it seemed she was on board as well. Hopefully Brogach wouldn't mind more company. Then again, the great Elk was never one to complain.

"Oh, yes." he said, his smile warm enough to reach his eyes. "And I think he'd very much enjoy some feed and a warm place to stay. He often enjoys grass, but a treat would be good for him every now and then. I am quite fine to sleep in the stable with him, however. I'm quite dirty. I wouldn't want to spoil one of your rooms. Straw is a far better place to sleep than where I am often forced to find rest."

He chuckled in good humor, before asking for a second helping if he could have it. Once he reached out to grab the second bowl, he nodded. "I was curious on if you have any more information on this Talisman?" He decided he'd probably want to learn as much as he could from them as he began to devour the second helping.

Thea’s grateful smile only deepened at Calanon’s gesture with his bowl.
Rayadell glanced to him at Merek’s questions, waiting along with the man for Calanon’s answer. An elk? He had a steed? The corners of her mouth pulled down slightly when he confirmed the Elk’s existence. This could pose an issue.
Merek nodded as Calanon spoke, bringing is bowl to the counter and setting it there for washing.
“Nonsense!” Thea scolded Calanon's statement about sleeping in the stables, a look of offence at the mere suggestion crossing her face. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll give you the bedding most in need of washing. Or, if you wish, it would be no problem to draw a bath for you.”
Rayadell glanced up as Merek exited through the back door, presumably to lead the elk to his bed for the night.
When the Elf requested a second helping, Thea gladly dished more out for him before returning to finish up her own bowl.
“Yes, yes. Of course.” Thea nodded at Calanon's question, Rayadell’s gaze turning to her. The woman placed her spoon down, the majority of her food eaten. “The more you know, the better. It’s said it was created by the greatest Healers our world has ever seen: the Medella Latrones. Their story is not one well known. Not long after the dawn of time, they were a tight-knit band who lived in the coldest regions to discourage outsiders from seeking them out, because their powers went well beyond healing. But they refused to do anything else.
“They had one objective: create something that could cure even the worst ailments, something they could distribute so our world could be free of illnesses and curses.” Thea gave a sad sigh. “Alas, their end came in a bloody war, but not before they succeeded. They managed to create a single talisman that worked for their cause.
“Worried it would be destroyed out of man's fear of them and what they could do, their leader took the talisman and locked it in ice deep in a cave in the mountains.” She shook her head dismally. “Sadly, there are far too many rumors about what it looks like to narrow it down, and even more as to whether or not there are remaining wards or guardians. That will be up to you to discover, I’m afraid. Though I doubt you need to be told, expect anything, and keep a cautious eye out.”
“You know the specific mountain where the cave is located?” Rayadell’s brows rose slightly.
“We believe so, yes.” Thea rose from her seat and went to the side of the counter. She retrieved a large piece of parchment rolled into a tube. Returning to the table, she moved her bowl aside and unrolled the tube, revealing a fairly detailed map. She turned it so its wording faced her guests.
“This is us.” Thea placed a finger on the town labeled ‘Caldavail.’ “We believe the talisman is located about here.” She moved her finger to a broken mountain range surrounding another settlement. One of the peaks had been circled in a familiar red ink. Above it, written in the same hand as the letter Rayadell had received, were the words, ‘Glacialis Montis.’ “Ice Mountain,” she translated. “The entire area’s a winter wonderland, between frozen wastelands and snow-capped mountains. Other than the few towns and cities that have managed to survive out there, of course.”

Calanon gave his hosts a bashful smile in acceptance of their offering of drawing him a bath, but spoke no more and instead listened. It was what he was best at. The Ranger had always been a soft spoken one (other than his signature cries he let out in combat). He had learned quite young that one could learn far more listening than speaking, be it within and out of nature.

He had not heard that tale before, but then again he had never been this far north. "Yes," he said. "I believe I saw the mountain you're describing past the border peaks that surround this town. I could see through the northern pass into it. It looks like a wasteland of snow and frozen earth." To his hosts, seeing the pass was no feat. But seeing the mountain and the quality of the land beyond it was extraordinary, but then again Calanon had Elven eyes.

He found a cloth and wiped his mouth a final time, before drawing himself up and placing his hands together, giving them a respectful bow. "Thank you for the Soup. And if it is not too much trouble, I'll lead Brogach to the stables and take a small bath perhaps." He glanced to Rayadell and gave a small bow to her too. "I look forward to traveling together." He didn't know her, but he was nothing if not respectful and polite, and he did enjoy meeting new people despite how cool and indifferent he must seem to the untrained eye.

Thea gave an approving nod of Calanon’s accepting smile, and looked rather unfazed when he mentioned seeing the Northern Pass.
Rayadell stood and pushed her bowl slightly to the side to bend over the map. She pulled it slightly closer to her. She had visited the range before, long ago, though only in passing of their outskirts. Her eyes trailed the various towns and trails marked on the map, trying to decide on the quickest route to the mountains.
Her attention snapped to Calanon when he stood, a hand instinctively reaching for her staff. But he only excused himself.
“Of course!” Thea gave him a warm smile. “If Merek hasn’t already managed to lead him there.” She glanced to the back door where her husband had earlier departed. “Hopefully he’s found some suitable feed.”
Rayadell mimicked his second bow to her, her upper body dipping forward ever so slightly. Instead of answering him, she only nodded.
It’ll be interesting, no doubt there. She waited for him to leave before turning back to the map. She tried to quickly commit the various trails and towns along the way to memory as Thea took her guest’s bowls and began washing them in a basin.
“Our sources indicate you’re quite talented with fire. Is that correct?” Thea asked, wiping her hands dry on an old hand towel and turning toward Rayadell.
The Elagon finally tore her attention from the map. She stared at Thea for a short second before her words fully registered. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she wondered, not for the first time, exactly how much the couple knew about their hired hands.
All the same, Rayadell nodded.
“Could I request your help in warming some water for Calanon? And you’re quite welcome to bathe as well, if you so wish.”
Rayadell shook her head at the offer. “I’m fine, but thanks.” Her wings ached to stretch, but she had no intention of doing so here. Though the Carishes may already have known, she was not willing to take that risk. They could wait for the night, once the household had fallen asleep. “But I’ll help with the water,” she added, realizing she had not addressed the woman’s request.
Rayadell carefully rolled the map up. Leaving it on the table and grabbing her staff, she followed Thea into the main room.
She quickly glanced around, her eyes lingering on the couple doors to the side of the room, and a hall leading further into the house.
“Your daughter.” Rayadell glanced to Thea as the woman paused at the front door. As honest as the two seemed, she wanted to see the girl for herself, to validate their story as much as she could. “Have you moved her to a healer’s, or does she still reside here?”
The sorrow that lurked in the depths of Thea’s gaze came to the forefront. “She’s here.” She nodded toward the hall, then stepped toward it, Rayadell in her shadow.
Thea led the way to a room toward the back of the hall and stopped. “Please,” she began in a whisper, “try to not disturb her.”
Rayadell nodded silently as Thea slowly opened the door. Though the curtains were drawn, within the dim light of the fading sun filtering through, Rayadell easily made out a small lump wrapped in blankets atop a small bed.
She glanced to Thea, waited for the woman’s nod of approval, then entered. She went to the bed, her steps quiet, and bent down near the head of it.
A girl of about thirteen laid there, her breathing ragged. Sweat glistened on her deathly pale forehead, her long dark curls plastered to her sunken face. Without opening her eyes, the girl shuddered in her sleep, then turned away from Rayadell with a moan.
With a soft sigh and her proof gained, Rayadell stood and returned to where Thea waited.
“I’ll do everything in my power to see that she becomes well,” Rayadell said as Thea closed the door, then followed her to help draw and heat some water.

The night went by quickly enough. Calanon went outside to help out Merek with Brogach, settling Calanon's truest friend in the stables for the night. Merek had some feed available, and Calanon fed the Elk happily, letting Merek pet the great beast's head. Soft grunts from Brogach gave the hint that the Elk was enjoying all of the attention, and Calanon bid his friend a good night and fine sleep before he was escorted to his bath.

It had just been heated by the aloof Rayadell, and he enjoyed the water and the cleaning he gave himself, unaware of the child a few rooms within the home that was in need of a cure just as much as he. He slept well that night, his life within the wild leaving little room in his head for doubts, regrets or fears. He simply did his duty, and the things he thought deeply about were of the idealistic and philosophical way of things, having long outgrown too much introspection (unless something particularly unnerving happens). He slept with a clear conscience and rested well.

The morning was crisp and cool, and Calanon was up bright and early. He outfitted quickly, though not in a hurry. He was simply used to putting on his gear and did so methodically and with practiced ease. He strode out of his room with a light smile on his face for the first person who he would happen upon to greet. He had no idea if Merek or Thea would have any parting food or words for he or Ryadell.

Once the night had arisen and the household, as far as Rayadell could tell, asleep, she dared to creep outside, her cloak fastened loosely about her and pack abandoned in the small, quaint room Thea had given her for the night. Though she knew she would need her rest, her wings were aching for relief.
Leaving her pack hidden beneath the bed in the bedroom, she crept from the house. The only sound made in her wake was that of the gentle click of the front door’s latch as it open and shut. Outside, the celestial light of the stars and partial moon granted all the light she would need. She paused to inhale the cool night’s air. A hint of rain drifted on the breeze.
With a quick glance to the darkened home, she hurried over the property to behind a barn where she would be hidden from the main house. There, she removed her cloak, the chill of the night caressing the skin of her back. But she did not mind it. She stretched her wings to their full impressive span, the scales of them, her tail, and those winding down the bare portion of her back glittering slightly in the moonlight. She gave a relieved sigh as she worked out the kinks in her wing joints.
She cast another quick glance around the farm, looking for any sign of onlookers. Not even the animals stirred, her presence too far for them to detect. She looked longingly to the sky. It had been such a long time since she had dared fly, and the edge of a sleepy little village was the perfect place for that.
Though she knew she could not be long, with a few strong beats of her leathery wings, she rose into the air. She landed lightly atop the barn, looked about the vast portion of land in contemplation, then dove off the side of the outbuilding. Her wings caught her, and she glided over the expanse of field before rising toward the sky. She spent nearly the next hour swooping through the air, suspended somewhere between earth and sky. Though still careful to not get too close to where she could be easily spotted, she was all but drunk on the exhilaration the leisurely flight brought with it, diving through the air faster than a speeding arrow only to come to an abrupt stop mid-dive then rise once more. Only once did her skills fail her as she returned to the Carishes quaint home, a misplaced wingbeat and a sudden updraft shifting her off balance and sending her spiraling toward the ground, her heart beating in a panicked frenzy before she righted herself.
Back at the house with her cloak once more draped over her shoulders, she stole into her room, pausing only to listen to be sure the household still slumbered. She quickly locked the door, draped her cloak within reach of the bed, then sunk into the bed and quickly fell into the most contented slumber she had experienced in weeks.


The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread and cooking eggs aroused Rayadell from her sleep. She could hear movement coming from the room beside hers, Calanon’s room. The chill of the night had rolled over into morning and clung to the corners of the house, the scent of rain passed in the night.
She rose quickly, if not a bit groggily, and set about preparing for the day. She heard Calanon’s door open and shut as she went to her own, her well-used cloak once more in its usual place. She waited a couple moments with her hand on the doorknob before following his example, making no effort to make known her presence a distance behind him.
Humming came from the kitchen, along with the satisfying sizzle of scrambling eggs.
When Calanon reached the kitchen, Thea turned and cast him her own friendly smile.
“Good morning, hon!” she greeted, removing a pan from the stovetop. “It seems you’re in time for breakfast.” She set to work dividing the food evenly among four plates, leaving enough for another helping in the pan. “Merek should be here shortly. The work of a farmer’s never done.” She quickly sliced a loaf of bread sitting on the counter and placed one on each plate. “Would you like some jam? The Bayberries down the road made it. They make some of the best jam in the kingdom!”

He supposed they did have some parting food for Calanon. The Elf was surprised yet again at the hospitality Thea and Merek showed their guests. He guessed he'd been out in the wilds far too long to think of anyone other than the villages he already knew of it to be kind. Even the few cities he'd visit were often either hostile, or gave him unwelcoming looks.

"Oh, thank you." he said honestly, giving them a bow as he entered the room. "I would very much enjoy some if you'd offer it." The smell of jam mingled with the mouth watering taste of freshly cooked sausage, among other things. He decided to help her set the table. It was the least he could do. "Oh no, I couldn't" she said to him, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. Back at the villages he would frequent, they would always do everything for him and he had always wanted to help.

Once the table was set, he asked for leave so he could go see to Brogach. Thea said 'of course!" of course, and Calanon gave her a smile and just missed Rayadell as he went outside to check on his dear friend. The stables were still cozy and warm, and Calanon found Brogach huffing, but rested and ready to take on the day. "Hold a small while longer friend. We'll be ready shortly." the Elf said. Brogach tilted his great horned head, but said nothing else.

Calanon had strode back inside just in time to see the Thea and Merek having sat down, and Rayadell present as well. The Elf was soft spoken as always, and just as quiet when he began eating, not saying a peep as he downed the delicious food. Thea and Merek however began to chat idly over the 'withertoos' and the 'why fors.'