Summer was well on its way in this part of the world, and spring was beginning to gracefully step aside. Rohaan couldn't wait. He spent the majority of his life outside and he was never born to live too far north, for it was much too cold for his tastes. He could wether cold on the road better than most, but he'd just...rather not. Spring was nice, but it brought a lot of rain and no traveler wanted to spend a night outdoors in the rain. So he welcomed the slow arrival of summer with wide open arms. The night was pleasant and already there were crickets beginning to sing their high songs and fireflies were lumbering around and setting the forest ablaze with their light. But Rohaan ached for a bed. A real, soft, actual bed. More than that though, he wanted a mug or two of good ale. Scratch that, even half decent would do.

Rohaan was a thief, and most things in life that he needed or wanted, he just took. That was how he survived as a kid, and the teachings of pirate captain Berlin only solidified and refined those behaviors. But there were some things that were hard to steal, some things that were better obtained the usual way, and ale was one of them.

Rohaan pulled out his map. It was an old, beat up thing made of waxed canvas, and squinted at it. According to the thin scrawls, there was a little roadside tavern not far away, and good sense be damned, he was going. He chose the form of an eagle and gained altitude, eventually spotting the wisp of smoke in the distance from its chimney. He flew most of the way, but somewhere just outside the town he landed in a secluded area and shifted back to his true form, then followed the road the rest of the way.

The man that entered The Thirsty Lute was an obvious traveler with a black cloak and hood, and practical, well-loved clothing that suggested he'd been around. It was hard to gauge where he might be from, as he wore no sigils, and he had no visible weapons that one might use to determine his origin. Wherever he was from, he'd clearly been on the road a long time and both his clothing and his physique showed it. And though his face was still shrouded by his deep hood, the man smiled at the barkeep. "Evenin'. Looking for a place to stay, but more importantly some food and drink." His tone was friendly, but there was something reserved about it, like he would not be the sort to say more than he meant to.
"Aye," the aging man behind the counter nodded. He saw all types in his tavern. And yet... "I got all that ifn y'got coin." The man was still studying him, trying to place the subtle itch in his mind. This man might be a little bit strange for these parts, but he couldn't figure out why he really felt it.
Rohaan's smile widened. "I do, mate. Do you frown at all your customers this way?"
The barkeep blinked suddenly and cleared his throat; he hadn't realized his brows had pinched together. "Er, no, sorry, I didn't mean to ah--"
Rohaan held up one hand and with the other, he produced a few coins. "Fetch me something to drink and a bit of whatever you've got in the pot and I'll be satisfied."
"Right, right." And the man scuttled away.

Rohaan took a seat in the corner, a lesser lit one. Still within earshot of the others in the room in case any good news came up, or someone felt like striking up a conversation. But dim lighting helped to keep the color of his eyes somewhat ambiguous. Cobalt blue with a black ring around the iris. Not a normal color for any normal human to have, but then again, he was not normal. Or human. Whenever people saw his eyes, things always went downhill. Merchants often turned him away. Women would shriek and herd their children away. Occasionally carpenters or big muscular smiths would come and threaten him with their big hammers if he didn't leave town, believing that because Rohaan was not obviously armed (he carried a concealed knife but nothing more) and because he was not some large, burly beast of a man, that they could beat him handily in a fight.

Oh, how foolish they were.

He didn't always[ want trouble, and when he did it usually wasn't with the common folk. So mostly he would leave people to their superstitions and go on his way, but that made for a lonely existence. Tonight he just wanted some grub, and if he was lucky, he'd hear someone start up a tune he knew and could join in on.

The afternoon hours were oppressive. Summer had cast spring aside and it had done so with a vengeance. The sun began its descent just after high noon as it had always done but still the temperature had risen to an unreasonable high for an early summer day. Combining the temperature with the humidity in the air that was so thick it hurt to breathe made for a deadly combination if one was not careful. Even the grass hung low with exhaustion as the sun beat down on every blade that silently wept for the humidity to coalesce into the much desired precipitation that had not blessed the land in a few weeks.

Even the animals were struggling to cope with the heat. The prey of the midlands struggled to rest easy in what little shade they could find, even though a predator was nigh to be seen. Those that could be found were seen lazing around the grassy plains or lapping up water as if the rivers would soon run dry. Perhaps there had been some sort of unspoken truce for such an occurrence when the weather was the dominating factor controlling the lives of every beings across land. What any of them would do for a nice ocean breeze, unfortunately an ocean could not be seen for leagues in any direction.

Xander had learned early on, that if he was going to travel along the main road across the midlands north of his hometown of Pyre, it was best to do so in the shade when at all possible. On this particular day, before the sun had reached its peak the young man had waded across the Cherafir River to exploit the shade of the Glandrather Forest. Yes it was dangerous, that much was well known to those of the area. But it would not matter compared to the potentially slow death of heat exhaustion. The shade provided by the forest’s tall and ancient trees provided a level of protection far outweighed the potential risk.

More importantly, Xander had made great time. The comfort from the penetrating rays of the sun that the shadows of the trees had provided allowed him to move swiftly along the river’s banks, whereas others had to approach the day’s travels in a more reserved manner. The young man had reached the first checkpoint in his journey before he had previously thought possible. It would seem determination and a little planning would go a long way on this journey.

Xander had reached the Thirsty Lute well before the evening had begun to set, as the establishment was still quiet. The fire had burned low in the hearth. The tables were clean. The common room was quiet. The growing scent of roasting stew and baking bread hung heavily in the air. The barkeep spent more time in the kitchen then behind the bar, lackadaisical ensuring that the preparations for decent night had been made. Xander was not sure what to expect, but he learned quickly and would certainly pick up on the common comings and goings of the local establishment as time had carried on.


Soon evening had set in. The Thirsty Lute was full of life. Although the inn was not overcome by patrons it appeared densely packed. The plethora of tables that had once been clean were now slathered in crumbs soaked with spilled ale. The floor decorated with the footprints of muddy boots that had long since moved on. Chairs were askew and people moved among the common room sharing in the fine atmosphere. A newly feed fire blazed in the hearth, illuminating the room far better than the menagerie of table lamps and sconces positioned throughout.

Xander found a suitable if slightly uncomfortable wooden chair near the hearth. There were six chairs all together, each couple split by a smaller table more suitable for decoration than for eating. It allowed him to keep his back to the wall and a grand view of the door, even if it were obscured by the growing crowd. He was not yet a teenager but no one had questioned his choice of beverage, a mug of Midlands Ale brought down from the capital, and made the Thirsty Lute’s own by adding a spoonful of sugar and a crush bean of vanilla. It was considered the inn’s delicacy, but the boy nursed it with caution nonetheless.

He had been lucky to arrive early. He had his pick of the beds upon arrival save for a few that were on reserve. He found a small room on the second floor with nothing more than a bed and a small end table. But it had a window that opened and a door that locked. Perhaps he was being over cautious, It was not often that news spread from the central regions of the Midlands that the darkness meandered about unchecked. Xander felt he had to maintain a certain level of control over his situation as he would not be able to control those around him. He was on a mission, and the first stop was this inn.

“Another mug kid,” the Innkeeper inquired just before Xander had tried to wave him off. “We don’t get a lot of young’ns here, best mind yourself on these roads. Not entirely safe by ‘urself.”

Xander took the opportunity to peruse the room. He used the innkeeps position to camoflauge his blatantly obvious investigation. A few more men had entered the place. A number of shorter fellows in the corner had started off on a wonderful game of the drink. A few at the group table in the center had become boisterous taking up cards and offering slanderous jests in their attempts to gain an upper hand.

“Who’s that fellow over there,” Xander asked the Innkeeper, motioning to a corner table with a tip of his head.

“Not too sure about that one there. Came in with the rest of the crowd. Not a regular though…” The innkeep said before turning away from the young man. “Yggdrasil be kind to you boy, he always keeps the little ones.”

“Until they actually need ‘em,” Xander replied thinking of the sister that the Innkeeper could not possibly know.

He turned his head to eye the stranger in the corner more directly. He examined his garb, trying to ascertain any level of threat but could obtain nothing of any use. A normal individual by all accounts. He swiftly shifted away. Did he see Xander staring? He couldn’t help but contemplate the implications of a perceived interest. Was he being nosey, paranoid, overcompensating for his lack of understanding or presence? Initiating the conversation was half the battle. But with so many people it was a battle that could go very wrong very quickly.

The food was wonderful. It was hot, it was hearty, and it was good solid stuff, nothing too uppish or fancy, but the sort of thing one wants to eat at the end of a long day. Warm bread, generous pads of butter with a drizzle of honey, a hearty stew that undoubtedly had been made with a bit of ale and good tender beef, and a little sliver of cheese. Sheep cheese, if Rohaan had to guess. Goat, maybe? More than anything, it was hot, and for a man who traveled as light as he did (which was very light, and somewhat peculiarly so when one stopped to think about it) hot food was a sheer delight. And the ale! Rohaan had tasted many a draft from the larders of many lords, ladies, and other sorts with too much money for their own good. And frankly, none of it compared to a nice solid variety like this at the end of a long hard road. Not to mention, the vanilla was a nice touch. How long had it been since he'd had vanilla...?

Rohaan finished his meal with gusto, and the first mug of ale likewise. Eventually he flagged down the barkeep and asked after an apple and another mug of ale that he sipped rather than inhaled. One to wash down the food, another to enjoy. It was quite nice, not some watered-down swill that some places passed off as beer. With his stomach full, he felt he could breathe again, and he felt his muscles beginning to relax. So he munched on the apple, nursed his drink, and listened to the talk of the room. At one point a song did break out amid one table, but seeing as how the whole tavern didn't feel inclined to join in, neither did he. Or at least not at any great volume. He sang along in a soft voice one would have to be very close to hear; he did not feel like drawing too much attention to himself. Not tonight.

Except it seemed he'd done a poor job of that already. For one thing, the tavern's resident mouser-cat, a little white and black thing with yellow-green eyes, would occasionally flick its tail at him and hiss in his direction. Rohaan wasn't surprised. He learned early on that wherever he went, most animals wanted nothing to do with him. Cats would hiss and slink away, dogs would bay and howl but would not approach, and horses would all but panic. All shifters had that problem, and people said it was because they had too much of the Darkness in them, that animals knew. Fools. The animals could sense something in them, yes, but it was not the Darkness, for Rohaan had none. They sensed what his people called an ilun-tai, or in the common speech, 'true alternate'. Every shifter had their natural form, and though they had a repertoire of others at their command, each had one in particular that they felt the most comfortable in, the easiest to hold, the most like them. Animals sensed that in him.

There was another thing thing that bothered him. More than the cat, he could feel eyes on him. He couldn't explain it, but he'd gotten good over the years at honing this pseudo-sense. He had to in order to survive, so maybe that was it. Maybe he was just more perceptive than some. But he could feel without a doubt that someone was watching him. So slowly he glanced around from underneath his hood, just waiting to see some overzealous sellsword or local guardsman staring him down. But there wasn't. There was just a lad.

Rohaan hadn't really noticed him before now. He'd been quiet and kept to his own affairs, and so had Rohaan. But he'd unmistakably been looking at him, really looking. Normally this would get the shifter on edge, and perhaps prompt him to slip away. But a kid? What would he want with him? And come to think of it, he was awfully young to be traveling by himself. Especially in these parts. Curious. Rohaan knew firsthand that all kinds of scenarios threw young sprouts into the wide, cold world before they were ready. What was this one doing at a place like this?

He could almost hear Berlin's booming voice in his head. Leave it, Rheoaan. Ain't worth trouble. But then he thought, what if it was? Besides, if this kid wanted to keep to himself, he wouldn't likely be keen on grilling Rohaan for personal information. Ah, what the hell. Rohaan got up and bringing his mug and half-eaten apple, he plunked down hard in a chair beside the lad. His hood was still over his face, but his demeanor was casual as he settled into the chair and looked mostly at the fire. But he spoke eventually.

"Nice night, innit? Even nicer with a fire going." Rohaan had a slight accent but it was impossible to determine where from. Through a mouthful of apple he asked, "Where ya comin' from?" The question was asked without any real weight--he was not so much after the answer as he was after conversation. And anyway, he didn't want to grill the kid.

His adolescent eyes opened wide, unblinking and staring at the floor. In his mind things had been different. Xander had been calm and collected, brazen even as he stood up to those who came before him with gusto demanding a fellowship be assembled to assist him on his personal journey. His heartbeat quickened. Breathe came in short, sharp waves. This wasn’t like the stories he had heard growing up. Stories of people coming together to assist in the cause of the greater good, to combat the growing darkness before it sweeps across the kingdom. Now, he was nervous, afraid even.

Pyre was a well sized hamlet, but by settlement standards it was still quite small. It was a well populated hamlet, around three hundred people all together. Unfortunately, outside of the hamlet proper most gathered in small collectives only rarely seeing other people. Leaving Pyre on his own was a step that most people didn’t take lightly, let alone a child. But Xander had decided that his cause was just and teachings be damned, with Yggdrasil’s blessing or not he was going to save his sister. But he did not have much to go on.

“I’m looking for Abyssal Shade, Atrestrianna, and a way to cure the darkness…” Xander blurted out, sweat beading across his forehead dripping down his face.

His face grew pale. An exasperated look swept over his rough visage. His mouth hung open, jaw slack with disbelief at his folly. So foriegn had interactions with individuals outside of his own family, or even the few people he encountered in the hamlet proper been that he truly could not comprehend how to initiate an actual conversation with another person. What would his sister have told him?

“I...I’m sorry,” Xander sighed, more disappointed in himself at this point than nervous. “I’ve come from Pyre. My name is Xander. What’s yours?”

Rohaan expected some kind of roundabout answer, or maybe the answer he might have given at that age, which would have gone something like an insult and a suggestion to stick to one’s own business. He would have also expected a shy answer too, but what he got was something else entirely. He got a good look at the boy, a real good one, and noticed he was clenched tighter than a crusty old clam. He was sweating and Rohaan could just see the rate at which his chest was rising and falling. Did he have something to hide...? Maybe he’d had some bad water on the road and was feeling the consequences now, and his tension was just from trying to keep it together. Maybe he—

The lad actually spoke, more like spewed words out like they had a mind of their own. Cure the darkness? Asinine! Rohaan couldn’t help it, he thought it was a good joke so he laughed out loud, heartily. He nudged the boy’s shoulder with one hand playfully as he tried to catch his breath. “Good one lad! Maybe you’ll...” And then in realization, the smile melted off the man’s face. “Oh, stars above, you’re serious...”

Rohaan shifted in his seat so that he could face the lad a little better. The man’s eyes were not visible, not so clearly in the shadows cast by the firelight, but it was clear he was looking the lad up and down. “Atr...atre..San....atrestia—blast, you’re looking for what now?” He attempted to speak the word; the attempt was slow, sticky and awkward as though he had never heard or spoken those syllables together in his life. But he seemed to have a familiarity with the practice of sounding out new words. He spoke two languages and had to painstakingly learn one of them.

“Pyre, eh? Can’t say I ever heard of it...” He took out his worn cloth map and squinted at it. “Ah! I see. Small place, innit? Huh.” He paused for a moment, obviously thinking, then added, “Well met, Xander. Rio Ja’aisen,” he said with a nod. “For starters, why don’t you keep drinkin’ that brew you got there? ‘Dras knows you need it, you’re wound up tighter than an old lord’s asshole!” He took another drink from his own mug, as if mentioning Xander’s made him thirsty.

“So uh...lemme guess, you left home specifically for this quest of yours? To uh,” he tried not to choke, “cure the darkness? I mean...don’t get me wrong kid, I admire your spirit. But you got a plan? And what’s this other stuff for? This Abyssal Shade and this...” he waved a hand, “other thing? Astre—-A-tres-tri-a-na? Right?” Rohaan had a little bit of a beard starting and he scratched it thoughtfully.

It was still relatively early in the evening. The bar had not begun to wind down for the evening. Mugs of ale chimed against the wooden table tops as they were emptied. Spoons clattered against bowls. Boisterous laughter reverberated through the rafters. Various noises common to this type of establishment echoed off the walls. They were cheerful, amicable at worst but even those who struggled to handle their alcohol were enjoying a joyous occasion.

But then the room fell silent, or so it would seem. As Xander’s thoughts coalesced into words, he felt as though all eyes had fallen upon him. He felt as though everyone was looking to him for the answer to a question that scholars had been pondering for centuries. It was a question that he did not have the answer to, only a passing fancy taken from an excerpt in a book written in a language known only to a few all across the Midlands, north or south. But he would not give it to them willingly.

Xander took a mouthful of ale, puffing his cheeks outs like a rodent before forcing the liquid down his throat in one painful gulp. It was a gulp too big for his adolescent throat. The pain was apparent in his clenched eyes that blinked furiously as he wavered his head from one side to the other.

“You’re not from around here, are you? North Midlands, the Glandrather… it doesn’t matter", Xander began as he scanned the room to be sure his delusions were just that. "I have - a plan.”

He was just shy of being a teenager. He was alone. He had only one reason to go back to Pyre and only one reason to continue forward. Which was bigger? Spend what little time she may have had in this world and watch his sister die or struggle with the fear of losing her while trying to save her with the only lead he had.

“I’m going to the Capital.” Xander began, as that is where his plan would either end or continue. “My sister is sick. She got it from those things that creep around the wood, carrying the darkness.” Xander took another drink before setting his empty mug down on the table between them. He leaned in closer to the new acquaintance, “Before I left Pyre, Maestra Luna showed m a book. It was old. Put together in a way I’ve never seen before.” Xander turned away for only a second to ensure that no one had wandered to close. “Her translation said with a potion, the darkness can be stopped.”

With his free hand, his right hand the boy reached into his belt and pulled out a piece of parchment. On either side were multiple drawings related to two separate plants. Each side depicted representations of their leaves, roots, flowers, and last known locations at least according to the translation now written in the common tongue. Xander offered it to Rio with no inclination or concern as to whether or not he would be able to make heads or tails of it.

“The Maestra thought the Great Athenaeum in Orthreloth would have more information. It was the only direction she could give me.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Rohaan most certainly was not. For one thing, he had not been to his homeland since he’d left it as a child. But truthfully, he didn’t actually know with any certainty exactly where he was from. He had an idea, a region at least, but he’d never found it on a map or any sea charts he’d ever seen. He and Berlin once spent hours sorting out where he’d come from, and the only thing they’d settled on was that Rohaan was from an island somewhere off the southern coast. But was that south directly? Southwest? Southeast? There was a lot of coasatline down there. And he’d never tried to scope it out.

Rohaan let a slow smile spread on his lips. “No lad, I’m not. Not remotely. I can guarantee you ain’t never heard of the place I come from. Ain’t important. But for the record? South. Really south. But like you said, don’t matter. Lemmy hear this plan of yours.” As he spoke and without looking behind him, he reached up a hand and dropped his very very bare apple core onto a plate held by the resident serving lass as she passed.

Rohaan watched the boy as he explained he was going to the Capital and why. At the mention of Orthreloth he just sort of laughed as if remembering something fondly, but that mirth sort of melted off his face as Xander went on. He squinted at the parchment he was handed, slowly making out the words. Many were unfamiliar to him, and though he did learn his letters, he was never very quick with them. Rohaan handed it back when he was finished, then leaned back in his chair and gazed at the fire for a moment as if thinking. He was silent for a long time.

It was a bad idea. Rohaan was full of those, so that didn’t necessarily stop him. But it was something to consider. This lad was probably some upstanding type, liked well enough back home. And all he wanted was to save his sister. Rohaan, on the other hand, was not the sort of man one wanted to be seen with. He was not a ‘good’ man exactly, though he wasn’t the monster most made him out to be. Life had cornered him and he chose to fight—that was all.

Rohaan knew what it was to be alone. He knew what it was to be desperate. And he wondered if this kid from some little hamlet would make it alone. Judging by the fear in his eyes, he probably wouldnt. And the shifter remembered clearly being half starved, severely injured, and hiding out in an overturned barrel in a filthy shit-strewn alley. He remembered a bear of a man wearing sailor’s clothing coming towards him with an offering of bread, hard cheese, and an orange. Berlin had saved his life in more ways than one. It was time Rohaan returned the favor.

All of the casual mirth seemed to have left him as he turned his chair around to face the lad directly. He was very serious as he leaned forward and said, “I have been to Orthreloth. Now, provided you can actually survive the trip there, they won’t just let you walk into the Athenaeum—-“ he said this a little bit slower, it was a somewhat unfamiliar word to him, though he’d heard it before “—-just because you ask nice. As far as they know, you’re a dirty rotten thief. Now, I don’t think you are. But they don’t know that.”

Rohaan spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “But I am. The dirtiest and the rottenest. In fact, I have a bit of a warrant out for my arrest in Orthreloth, actually. The city guard and I go back a ways.” He chuckled a bit. “The Cloaks too. That’s a story for another time. My point is, I can get you there, and I can get you in, and back out again. No one better. But before you gimme some sad story about how you ain’t got much coin, or worse, before you start throwing it at me, I don’t want it. Money ain’t worth much to a man like me. No, what I want from you is merely an answer. It has to be honest! And you have to promise to keep things quiet.”

Rohaan glanced around for a second, then very carefully pulled up his hood—just a little. The firelight finally reached his full face, and even in the orangey firelight the chilling too-blue color of his black-ringed irises was sharp and distinct. Even if Xander had heard nothing of shifters and their infamous eyes, it was obvious the blonde stranger was not exactly human.

“Just how far are you willing to go to save your sister, Xander?”

”Sarah!” Xander yelled, his back pushed against the exterior of his hamlet farmhouse.

”Heheheh...No Sarah ‘ere ta save ya now boy…” The grotesque darkness addled beast growled.
The creature, humanoid in form but more darkness than man took a step closer slowly pulling a crude curved short sword from its belt. Bearing its blood stained yellow fangs, the strange beast of pale green skin seemingly decayed and stretched over his sinew and bone cackled with glee. Its body covered in cloth and loose hanging bandages, large bat like ears lined with golden rings. Incandescent eyes of topaz, peered through Xander’s skin fueling the slobbering jaws that moved just enough to allow its pointed tongue to flick a wet tongue over its dry teeth.

Slowly the creature raised the rusty steel blade above its head, glistening in the moonlight. Above its head, the blade wavered. It’s adjusted and tightened. The blade fell from its clawed hand. Its eyes spread wide. Its jaw went slack and a blade erupted from its chest, black blood dripping over the nearly forged steel.

”Come on Xander,” a feminine voice cried out in panic, “we have to move!”


That was only the first time she had saved him that night. The creatures had swept across the hamlet in the late evening as people were winding down from their evening meal enjoying the crisp summer air. They were not equipped to burn. Such fires would betray the darkness as it moved in secret. But they began by gutting the homes closest to the forest before moving into the hamlet proper before. Two guardsmen on duty. They couldn’t even sound the conscription alarm. The tailor had done that before he was cut down with the guards standing only a few yards away. Of course, they were fighting their own battles.

Despite how fast Xander and his sister fled, they had no one to run to. Their parents had been entangled in their own battle. They had been trained to fight to a certain extent, but none of it could have prepared them to combat the darkness. The first had only been slain because she had feared the loss of her baby brother. Subsequent encounters had not gone so well. Evasive maneuvers, parry, dodge, feint… both of them had learned them all to varying degrees. But there were too many of them. Every scatter point seemed to lead them to another encounter.

So they did what children do when they have nowhere else to turn. They stopped running and they hid. They used their knowledge of the hamlet and found themselves a quiet place to hide. Their biggest danger had been their inability to see. From their nook upon the storage space of a barn, nestled in amongst the bales of hay they could not keep track of their enemy. As they were laying in wait, hidden, the adrenaline had begun to wear off and a drip of blood tickled Xander’s leg. A drip of blood that had fallen from a gash on the girl’s arm. His sister’s arm.

But the darkness moves like a wave. It had swept over the hamlet of Pyre, taking with it whatever lacked the strength to prevail. But it would not recede back to the forest from which it came as though it were the ocean. Instead, it pressed onward as if it were still cresting along the plains of the southern Midlands.

While Pyre gathered its dead and made its dying comfortable, the darkness moved on. Rumors spread quickly that the King’s riders on a routine patrol had come across their path and quickly thwarted the threat. Word of mouth suggested that they had not left a single monster to roam the land. Of course, Xander had not the means to go carousing through the grasslands to see his vengeance fulfilled.

Looking up from the floor Xander turned to face Rio. His eyes determined, and he spoke sternly trying contain the apprehension in his voice.

”To save my sister, as far as I have to go.

Rohaan smiled, but it faded quickly. This kid needed to know what he was in for. And Rohaan wasn't so sure he did. There was the matter of survival out in the wilderness with all the Dark creatures out there, and some that were as plain and untainted as a lamb and yet just as wicked, if not worse for knowing better. Rohaan was well acquainted with those sorts, and he had the scars to show for it. But he could help with that, Rohaan had been dealing with those sorts of problems since he was a boy. No, what bothered the shapeshifter was the fact that the kid did not know who he was, and did not seem to know what he was either. He would not have someone who wanted to destroy the darkness find out halfway through the journey that he was a grayblood. Rohaan was not of the Darkness, and neither were his people, but that didn't stop most people from believing that.

"Understand something, Xander. It's going to be dangerous. I think you know that, and that's good. Believe me when I say I sympathize with your cause and I want to help you. And I can. I will. But first you have to know who you're taking up with. If we part ways here and you learn nothing else from me, learn this: be wary of people, Xander. Not all of them are good. And not all the good ones are who you think they'll be. Protect yourself. Because very few people in this world will do it for you."

Rohaan tipped his mug all the way back and tipped his chair back a bit on its hind legs to reach over and set his empty mug on a nearby table. "My name is Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen and I'm a black-blooded shapeshifter with at least one warrant out for my arrest in almost every kingdom. I was raised by pirates, and it's entirely possible I've killed more men than you know." He shrugged casually. "Dunno how many people you know but...you get the idea. I'm a compulsive pickpocket and I have a loose moral compass. Now, I'm not a complete degenerate monster and I'm not of the Darkness, despite what people would have you believe. But if none of that bothers you, and you're willing to bring me along with the understanding that I'll bring some logistical problems, I'll see to it your sister gets that medicine, and that you live to tell the tale. You don't have to decide now. Sleep on it if you want, I'll be here. I want hot breakfast." He grinned a little and shrugged.

"I got me a bunk in the big common room. Top one next to the window, if you need to find me for any reason." He stretched out, folding his hands across his chest as he enjoyed the heat of the fire.

Essentially, the entire repertoire of a seemingly lifelong criminal. Xander found it to be quite an oddity. He may have been young, but he was far from naive to the ways of the world. Being on the outskirts of the Kingdom, he had the opportunity to encounter a number of people that might be included in the seedy underbelly of the southern Midlands. But there was a major difference in the encounters Xander had with those individuals, and the one he was having with Rio. Those individuals he had encountered in Pyre, were more secretive of their past. They had even gone so far as to hide it, or at the very least refrain from talking to it all together. But this man, a career criminal it seemed like was more attuned to disclosure.

Of course, his eyes did not widen as the story went on. But his face did contort into something of disbelief. Some men, Xander had heard, would openly boast about their exploits using events that they were not personally present or accountable for to boost their reputation and avoid unnecessary confrontation. It was a common occurrence amongst some of the more lackluster individuals of Pyre who were attempting to avoid some rapscallion or attention from the wrong people. Some of these things they spoke of, never happened all together. But why would Rio need to make use of such tactics with him? Xander was but a child trying to save his sister, certainly no competition for a full grown experienced warrior. Perhaps it was some sort of “cool-factor” that Xander was not aware of?

Such a bold mention of “shape-shifter” and “black blood” had struck him as odd. Shape shifters were infamous in his hometown. Exclamations of snatching up naughty children from their bed or those who wandered too far beyond the boundaries of their territory. Of course, those old wife's tales were often attributed to condemnations by the teachings of Yggdrasil. A belief that Xander had disregarded when he left. Descriptors such as “black” or “dark” blood were often times spoken in hushed tones. This Xander knew personally, although he was not so quick to disperse with that information. As it were, Rio did not appear to have the black blood as he did beneath his cloak. There was no way to argue against it without further proof.

It was simple. Xander believed no such nonsense. Criminal he may have been, he could believe this. But a shape-shifter and a black blood, well, those were harder pills to swallow and Xander did not have the stomach for it.

Xander stood up, turning his back to the flames of the hearth. “I can’t think of anything more dangerous than facing darkness in the eye.” He made sure that his left arm had been concealed beneath the mundane cloth, “I can’t think of anything that makes me more worthy than surviving that meeting.” He leaned in, locking his gaze with Rio’s which allowed him to take note of the powerful blue hue to the man’s eyes. At the same time, it exposed the slash of black scale like flesh noting a touch of darkness upon his face to be scrutinized. “And since you offer, I would be stupid to turn down your company.”

He took a few steps back to allow a comfortable space between the two of them, “I’ve got me a tiny private room up the stairs, end of the hall. A bit pricey…. Maybe I shouldn’t have…” Xander bit his bottom lip as he turned his view to his feet slightly ashamed at such wasteful spending. “It’s at the top of the stairs, third floor, end of the hall. I got a window too.”

The boy turned away and began the short journey to his room.

Faced the Darkness in the eye, had he? Rohaan found that to be odd and noteworthy. Most people didn't survive to tell about it unless they were guardsmen, mercenaries, or....well, him. He'd seen a few dwarves that got a kick out of hunting them down, though Rohaan supposed they could be lumped in with 'guardsmen' in their own way. Rohaan lived on the road and sometimes off it; he had to deal with various Dark creatures often enough, and he was well equipped to face them. But this kid was no shapeshifter, no mercenary, and no fully fledged guardsman. Rohaan itched to know the story but he wasn't about to ask it just yet. Patience. They had only just met each other after all, and it was never a good idea to ask too many questions up front. He'd save that for later.

Interestingly enough, the boy took up his offer. Rohaan's surprise at this was in no way veiled or disguised; the man blinked at the boy with raised eyebrows. Rohaan had just spelled out every reason he should turn the other way and run, and yet this one decided he was worth sticking around. And without hesitation, too. There had been times in his life when a desperate person would bend the rules a bit to get some help from him in one little thing or another, but they always hummed and hawed about it, squirmed and eventually with some disgust they would agree. But with reluctance and disdain. And while Rohaan liked knowing he at least had useful skills to offer, it was nice for once to be accepted without so much cursing and scowling.

He laughed, and it was relaxed and merry. "Alright kid. You got yourself a deal."

Rohaan watched Xander go, planted himself at one of the larger tables to ply some local news and some casual chat out of the men there, then eventually retired himself. He had come here for a bed, after all, and boy did he get one. By decent folk's standards it was lumpy and thin, but to him it was like an entire mountain of fluffy down. He slept soundly and heavily until early morning. He meant to sleep in a bit later but someone else was moving about and making enough noise to keep him up, so he left the Inn and did a bit of a walk around the tiny settlement. During this walk, he pilfered a small bag of coin and a slim, small knife, which he brought back to the inn.

Rohaan did not, however, use the door. He took note of the fact that the window to the room he reasoned was Xander's was ajar (the nights were getting warmer after all). And, making sure no one was around to see him, he changed shape into a raven and flew up through the window and into the room. The blue-eyed bird hopped from the sill and then shifted into the shape of Rohaan. His hood was off this time, and his shoulder length blonde curls were a bit of a mess where they'd come out of his ponytail in his sleep. And as always, his eyes were bright against his olive-tone skin. Rohaan gave a cheeky grin. "Knock knock. The old man's about to serve breakfast downstairs. And I brought you something." The thief took a sheathed knife, sleek and flat, from his belt and offered it out to Xander. "Dunno if you had a weapon already, but figured even if you did, a hidden one is better than two visible ones. Find a comfortable place to stash that and don't be caught without it, and you'll be alright. Just uh...maybe keep it less visible until this place is behind you. Wouldn't want someone to confuse you for a thief."

The room that Rohaan would come to observe was small, perhaps a little more than a fairly large closet. A casual observer would find a single bed just as thin and lumpy as the others, if only a little better dressed than those seen in the common sleeping quarters. A single bedside table with a couple of draws and a single book resting on its surface; “Life as Written by Yggdrasil.” It was a religious text purportedly written by the Protector and Preserver of Life itself. While well maintained and properly cared for, it was a book that Xander would leave undisturbed in its locations. A single object weapons rack was built into the wall beside a standing coat rack in the corner beside it. The room was entered and exited by the same wooden door, typically smaller than an average door but functional nevertheless, and it came with a lock. The latter detail was of particular importance to Xander.

Upon speaking his words, Xander began to stir from his restful sprawled out position on his belly. He withdrew his exposed arms from above his head, the armor like scales of his left arm catching on the rough spun sheet that covered the hay that had been used for stuffing. He pulled them beneath himself slowly, confused as to what had aroused him from his sleep. A voice? A familiar voice, but an oddity as he had locked the door before closing his eyes. Staring at his pillow while pushing his chest up off the “mattress,” the young boy’s breathing began to quicken and his heart to race. Fear was slowly setting in, washing over the fog of sleep.

Then the boy turned his attention towards the wafting breeze come from the open window set more towards the ceiling. His fear turned to panic. Not because he was worried that he might be in danger. Rohaan had helped Xander to turn his xenophobia into something more of a nuisance rather than an irrational fear. For the first time the darkness slowly devouring his arm had been entirely visible, accentuated even by the warmth of the morning sun that he would not even feel. Quickly the boy pulled it to his abdomen attempting to conceal it in the folds of his undershirt.

“How’d you get up here?” Xander yawned looking towards the locked door. Obviously, he had momentarily forgotten the greater details of the previous nights conversation.

The young boy did not wait for an answer. He had his own insecurities to deal with. The boy moved to the coat rack in the corner, pulling from it a durable travel cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders, securing it quickly at the neck. With his scarred arm concealed once again, Xander took a better look at his friend. He eyed the knife with a certain level of admiration, less so because of its viability as a weapon but because of the level of character Rohaan had shown in providing it. Reaching up Xander caught the blade in his clean hand only a split second after his new friend had released it.

Holding the small knife, perhaps a utility blade for performing odd jobs Xander thought of the implications. ”Hidden… he considered before crouching down and concealing the blade against his leg on the inside of his boot. A fitting place for such a subtle blade. Of course, it would not act as his primary weapon. Xander turned his attention towards the sheathed short sword hanging on the weapons’ rack.

”Suppose we should eat ‘fore we go? Keep it light?”

Rohaan laughed, his lapis and black eyes alight with real mirth. He was the kind of guy who was very obviously and visibly rough around the edges, and for good reason. Life had not been kind to him, and though he'd weathered whatever it threw at him, he did not do so without scars. Some literal, some metaphorical. But still, Rohaan was a generally jovial sort of man. And everything about him was relaxed, like at any moment if the roof caved in and the whole town lit on fire, it'd be no skin off his back. He projected a kind of untouchability, though it could also perhaps be called arrogance. Neither were wholly wrong, as he was jaded and experienced in many things, but did have a bit of an ego.

"Tevira's tits boy! Don't you remember what I told you?" He made a mock-disapproving clicking noise with his tongue. "When I said I was the dirtiest and the rottenest of thieves, I wasn't blowing smoke. Nor was I kidding when I said I was a shapeshifter." Something occurred to Rohaan and he studied the fumbling boy as he scrambled to hide himself, though he didn't need to. Rohaan was curious and would ask about the arm in his own time, but he was undaunted. Unlike most people, he lived his life in the quiet places of the world where decent folk did not dwell, and where Dark things roamed. Unlike most people, Rohaan had lived his life being treated as if he was of the Darkness. A boy with an infected arm was a curiosity and a misfortune. That was all.

"You don't really believe me, do you? Or maybe you do now--go on, inspect the door. I'm a decent lock pick but I assure you I didn't pick that one. But you didn't last night, did you? I'm curious to know what you do believe. Perhaps I can enlighten you on some things." Rohaan shrugged nonchalantly. Xander could tell him he was a demon straight from Hell and Rohaan wouldn't be much offended. He'd heard it all before anyway.

Xander still seemed somewhat flustered even as he hid away the knife and suggested they go down for their meal. Rohaan laughed again. "You ain't traveled much have you? Or maybe it's just me. Ain't nothing light gonna be about my breakfast, no sir! I'm an opportunist at heart, always have been. Living on the streets will do that to a kid. But hang on a moment." Rohaan reached out a hand and clapped it on the boy's shoulder. The shoulder concealed by the cloak. And those eyes of his drilled right into Xander's. "Let's straighten something out here right quick. I saw that thing, Xander." His eyes shifted to where his arm lay under the cloak. "I ain't gonna hang you, boy. You don't have to hide from me like a first-time whore." Rohaan smiled. "Now, I'm mighty curious as to how you came by that, but I ain't gonna press. And if you can stomach traipsing Errandil with a black-blooded thief, I don't think your arm is going to bother me, kid." Rohaan's tone touched on serious for a moment before he playfully slapped his back. "We're partners now after all, aren't we? We ain't got use for secrets. Now c'mon, I smell toast."

Rohaan went downstairs, but as he did so he turned up his hood. He wanted breakfast, not a beat-down. After a quick word with the innkeeper and an exchange of coin, Rohaan seated himself with a plate full of plump sausages, a fried egg, a slab of very fresh bread with some equally fresh butter, and a bit of cold chicken from the night before. Absolute heaven! Rohaan did not often get the luxury of hot food on a plate and to actually get it was a real treat.

Xander contemplated Rohaan’s words. The dirtiest, most nasty thief within the confines of Errandil. He considered what he had been taught in his small hamlet. It was not comparable to the education one might have received in the capital of Orthreloth or even one of the larger towns. However, he had known a little bit about the world. Perhaps not the particulars of individuals and their reputations but at least the more common understandings of that world. At least regionally, the Men in Cloaks were the most notorious in the Kingdom. But they rarely traveled far beyond the capital’s walls. When they did it was merely to entertain the criminal element in another larger city. What fun could a thief have in a hamlet? More oddly, what fun could a notorious thief have on the road? Xander could not figure out such a concept. For he had not the experience of a more well traveled adventurer.

Xander contemplated Rohaan’s words. The stories of shapeshifters were not so far from the unknown, at least in the folklore. Devourers of the lost and weary, stealers of naughty children, the haunters of a land when scavenging the dead. It was often told that Shapeshifters would often prowl the remnants of battlefields, the belief was that they were better able to relate to the dead and dying than the civilized beings of higher society. If the presumption was still held that this was the case, why would Xander still be alive? He had nothing to offer. He would not allow himself to believe his mission was a pipe dream, but reality would have to set in if some advancement was not made quickly. At the very least he was still a child, and had the attention span of such. He needed progress and regardless of what Rohaan would tell him, true or otherwise the man had offered his assistance and he would take it with Sarah in mind.

The young boy, with his arm still concealed stepped towards his door. It would not be unbelievable to think that if Rohaan was indeed the thief he had proclaimed to be that he could pick a lock without leaving a trace and subsequently lock the door. But to Xander it was not futile to check. The young boy examined the lock in the bright light of the morning sun shining through the window behind his new partner. It was locked to say the least with no exterior proof of its tampering. The boy unlocked it and checked the opposite end when he opened the door. It too was clean.

”Impressive… Xander whispered before turning around to address Rohaan openly. “We are tainted by one and the same.”

The young man abruptly unveiled his left arm, the cloth of the cloak hanging limply from his elbow. A quick shake and the cloak broke free from the abnormality with a small tear. What he had presented was an arm no longer than his other. But it was markedly different. What appeared to be an armor moved with the fluidity of flesh, the dark exoskeleton like scales haunted by hints of a crimson flow pulsing beneath the flesh of the underside of his forearm. Xander maneuvered his arm in a manner that would allow Rohaan to appreciate the design of the exterior armored spikes without any apparent loss of dexterity

”If you are a shapeshifter, Yggdrasil has cursed us both. But at least you seem to have a grasp on yours.

Xander turned away from the shapeshifter, concealing his arm beneath his and meandered down to the common room a head of the man. He wouldn’t protest a nice breakfast before moving on but he certainly had been in a better mood last night.

Rohaan was a very good lockpick, exceptional really. Berlin had taught him everything he knew and Berlin was one amazing thief, plus he'd learned some things in his short hard life on his own. But he hadn't touched that door. The blonde smiled. "Windows, mate. People living in high towers think they're safe from the likes of me. But then, they've never met me." He laughed. But his mirth was sort of clipped short a bit when Xander called him tainted. It wasn't an insult, especially not coming from the partially transformed boy, who obviously really was tainted by the Darkness. Rohaan probably earned a bit of trust from that assumption...just...it wasn't true. Rohaan had been able to shift since he was a toddler, and he had not personally encountered a Dark creature until he was about five. There weren't many near his tiny island home, as they were far from the mainland. But the ocean has Dark depths, too. His father had been there to protect him then, and neither had been infected. No, Rohaan's and his father's shifting had nothing to do with the darkness. Yet people were so convinced otherwise.

Rohaan did not speak on this at the moment; what would he say anyway? Berlin, and subsequently his crew, were the first people to ever see him as anything more than tainted. They weren't the only ones, but that list was sadly few. He'd tried explaining once or twice before, but they'd always scoffed at him, or resented him more for trying to pretend he was normal and whole. He'd think of what to say to Xander eventually. The boy stepped forward and actually revealed his mutated arm; Rohaan inspected it with a mixture of fascination and pity. "That's really something, innit? I'll admit, I don't actually know much about infections like this. Does it erm, does it hurt? How's it feel?"

Most people would have leaped back and some would even pluck a coal from the fire and try to burn the lad on the spot. But not Rohaan. He kind of saw himself in Xander a bit. Looking at him once again reminded Rohaan of the night he'd met Berlin. Rohaan was a half-feral, starved, beaten thing at the time and had tried to pickpocket the sea captain. He was caught, but instead of beating him or shouting for the local guard, Berlin let him go and followed him. The man did not see a monster, he saw potential. So when his attempts to coax Rohaan to him with food were unsuccessful, and since they did not share a language to communicate with, Berlin captured him. It seemed a great injustice at the time, but Rohaan learned fast that it was the greatest gift he'd ever been given in his life. Xander's story was different in many ways, but Rohaan couldn't help but see an outcast in the lad, and himself a fellow outcast who could help him. After what Berlin had done for him, how could he refuse that gift to someone else?

Down in the common room, Rohaan mopped up the runny egg yolk with a chunk of bread with relish. But he'd been relatively silent. Thoughtful. Rohaan was a talkative sort usually, but he was still sort of hung up on Xander assuming he was cursed. Rohaan didn't really take it personally--Xander wouldn't know better. No one did, especially not a kid from a small hamlet. But it gnawed at him still. Probably because they were going to be traveling together for a while. Partners. Xander needed to understand the truth.

"We aren't tainted," he said, seemingly out of nowhere between bites of bread. "Shifters, I mean. I know that's what you've been told. But it's not true. Yggdrasil never paid any attention to us, cursed or otherwise. My people barely even believe in him, or at least not the ones from my tribe. We're a people. A whole culture with history and traditions. We have a language. Didn't know that, did you?" He smirked a little, pointing to each different food on his plate as he spoke unfamiliar words in a thick accent that made it clear where he came by his usually more subtle one. Rohaan sighed, a little defeated. He doubted Xander would really believe him anyway. Few did. "Doesn't matter, not really. But there's a lot you don't know."

With his arm hidden beneath his cloak, the adolescent turned a stern eye towards the shapeshifter. He was not mad, but merely uncomfortable discussing such matters even privately. If anyone had known of his plight they would certainly respond with hostility. All of the possibilities had played out in his head. Of course, this wasn’t the first time he had thought about the ramifications of his desire to act so brazen and caste away his covers. He was not fond of deception, nor was he entirely good at it. The resulting decision would be solitude. He would ostracize himself away from prying eyes, remaining alone - at least, for the most part.

“It doesn’t hurt at all. It feels normal....ish,” Xander turned towards the door to meander down to the common room. “Just have to keep a little more room on my side is all.”

Xander moved through the doorway, specifically walking very close to the jam. His arm swung back and his torso jerked as the bony protrusions on his arm ricocheted off the wood. They left noticeable dents; however, the damage on the wooden frame was nothing more than aesthetic. His gate quickly shifted to one of youthful exuberance, with a sullen teenage underscore. Happiness and glee would not breach this boy’s sour visage.

Xander’s head jerked forward. His cheeks puffed out as he tried to keep the food he was chewing locked behind his lips. A pale fist pounded his chest as he tried to regain his breath, and dislodge the food that had been caught by his surprise. His eyes wide Xander coughed over his plate of breakfast delights.

“Are you crazy!” Xander choked out perhaps a little too loud to not draw attention before returning to panting whisper while he tried to catch his breath, “Are you crazy, Rio?"

The young man leaned in closely, “you can’t talk like that in here… in any where… in front of people… I mean.” Xander whispered trying to remain inconspicuous. He finished up the last of his meal. “I’m going to wait outside. You join me in a bit, when you’re ready.”

Xander pushed himself from the table and placed his spoon upside down on his plate. The universal sign for a finished meal. A few coins were placed on the table beside it and he slowly meandered away. His head darted to and fro as is admiring the owner’s choice of decorum, but it still looked rather queer. He was anything best inconspicuous. Perhaps odd, but relatively unnoticed nevertheless.

On the outside the air was crisp. The grass still visibly moist with the morning dew as reflected by the swiftly rising sun. Xander found a spot on the porch, overlooking the well worn thoroughfare that lead north along the river. There were already a couple of folks making their own journeys. With his one good arm the boy ran his hand through the flat black of his hair.

“We’ll head north.” He spoke to himself, turning to look at the door to await his partners arrival.

Rohaan wondered at the way the arm moved. It explained a lot about the boy's posture now that he knew. It wasn't that it looked like it weighed him down or anything, despite the fact that it seemed solid enough to mar the wood paneling a little. But now that Rohaan was looking for it, he did sort of hold it differently. Interesting. He was really curious to ask the lad more about it, but he would only do so in private. He might be lax about keeping himself hidden, but he would not out another man's secrets, not when he knew too well that secrets saved lives.

Rohaan chuckled and shrugged at the boy's obvious shock. "I might be a bit crazy, I'll give you that. But that ain't the point. I ain't crazy when it comes to this." He shrugged again. "I might not go touting it in the streets, but chew on this for a bit, Xander...if someone overheard me just now, what do you expect them to do about it? I don't look armed, kid, but I assure you, I am. What can a man do against a bear? Have you ever seen a tiger's teeth? Can you or any of these men fly? I can. I'm not afraid of a pack of weary travelers." He said this nonchalantly with one elbow propped up on the table, gesturing with a fork. But he sighed and said as if somewhat resigned, "Aye, I'll meet you outside."

It'd gone about as well as he'd expected it to. Xander didn't believe him. Rohaan had to remind himself that he had to undo an entire childhood of old wive's tales and scary fireside stories about wicked shifters and their sinister ways. It wouldn't happen overnight, and the man held out some hope that maybe by the time they were finished with their journey, Xander might actually come to believe him.

After mopping up every last morsel on his plate, Rohaan turned his spoon up and went to pay the barman. The resident cat, who was perched nearby hissed and actually swatted at him before yowling and disappearing behind the counter. Even if no one else could tell what he was, the cat did. Animals always knew. Rohaan stepped outside and found Xander waiting there. "Erm...I suppose you walk, don't you? Damn. We ought to find you a horse..." The blonde sighed. "Horse thieving is a miserable affair. I'm an excellent burglar but horses have never liked me. They panic, or at best, make a fuss. Hard to be inconspicuous with a spooked horse...ah, we'll figure it out later. If we ever have to make haste all of a sudden, I'll see to it." He said this casually, like there was nothing odd about it. There really wasn't to him. He'd been a steed to carry someone before and he would do it again.

"So then, shall we? I'm ready when you are." He'd let Xander lead the way unless he had any particular recommendations, or if they got lost. It wasn't his mission, after all, and Xander was nearly a young man by some standards. Rohaan was happy to be the rear guard until things got dicey and a more aggressive approach was needed.

The Cherafir River was running lower than usual for this time of the year. The water had dipped well beneath the hard packed embankments that had marked the typical shoreline. The river bed was quite visible despite the strong current that carried the debris of the most recent storm south to the sea. Flat stones worn away by the natural current and time hid beneath the waters’ tumultuous surface. The water had dipped so low that even the peaks of the larger rocks that typically did not breach the water’s surface now remained dry. It seemed very different than Xander remembered.

The sun had positioned itself midway between the horizon and the highest point it would reach in the sky that day. The morning dew had not yet been consumed by the swiftly rising temperature. But the air was stifling, thick and weighed down as if the land was trying to take in the air all at once. There was not a single cloud in the sky that morning. Merely the blazing sun smiling at the travelers as they passed beneath the warmth of its glorious kiss. The day, this day in particular would be unforgiving to those weary travelers too stubborn to know their own limitations. But Xander had no time to waste.

It was true, he had gained a new acquaintance in such a short time Xander could not help but feel a nagging string being pulled in the back of his mind. Had he gained a burden? Had he gained a risk? In this, the start to his party had gained an ally or even a friend? Presuming what Rio had shared was in fact true, Xander was taking a mighty big risk in traveling with him. What choice did he have? At this point, traveling alone would not only be painstakingly boring but potentially deadly. For the first time in his life, Xander had to weigh the difficult decision of controlling the risk while accepting the benefits. Was this growing up?

Regardless of his state of mind or the condition of his environment, Xander had acquired his bearing. The river or if the current state of things kept compounding the river bed, would guide them. The side of the river bed that bordered the forest was littered with animals imbibing the remnants of the river that had so amply provided for the land in the cool months. Hunting would be sparse for these inhabitants, the first meandering downstream as the waters continued to recede. This would equally suggest that migration patterns would certainly be changing as well, following the water-fed grass and the predatory beasts following their prey.

“It’ll be midday soon,” Xander said looking up towards the rising sun.

The young man had allowed Rio to take the lead, if only by a few paces. He was trying, that much was true. However, Xander did not yet fully trust the alleged shapeshifter. Perhaps that would soon change. Night would be upon them soon enough. He would have to learn to trust someone and given the current situation Rio would be a most advantageous choice. Perhaps it was a poor choice for Xander to strike out on his own with this endeavour. A small town boy with little experience of the outside world and while perhaps the least of those he knew, still xenophobic.

”Maybe it’d be best if we find some shade? Make camp before it gets too hot?” Xander inquired looking ahead toward his companion.

Space was not an issue. It was merely a decision of location. Xander had brought a small bedroll with him, but it was thin - certainly not enough to share. Nor did it provide enough material to create an adequate sized oasis from the sun for two. The western side of the river was littered with sparse collections of trees and a few larger boulders that might provide the desired amount of shade. Of course, the eastern bank of the river would be more preferable if protection from the sun was the only measure. However, the closer to the wood they traveled the more danger they would inherent. The darkness seemed to thrive in the shadows or so the childhood stories had suggested.

Rohaan didn't spend a whole lot of time walking, despite spending most of his life on the move. Or at least, he did walk, but not often on two legs. Horses were a luxury he learned to live without, as they all sensed something dangerous and predatory in him. After all, his Ilun-tai, his 'true alternate' form was indeed a predator. And they knew it. Horses screamed and reared, sidled away from him, or just tried to bolt whenever he tried to get too close. It was possible for him to master a poor beast anyway, but neither he nor the animal were ever happy about the endeavor, so he usually avoided it when he could. But this didn't mean Rohaan was a stranger to fast travel. He could cover a lot of ground as a wolf or a bird, or a fish if he was near a body of water. Walking for hours on his own two legs just felt arduous. Technically he could have changed shape into something that could carry Xander and himself across the land much faster, but that would be exhausting, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to get into that with the kid just yet. He didn't fully trust him, which Rohaan noted with some approval; he shouldn't trust anyone on the road who said they were nice. And watching a man morph his body into something else for the first time was enough of a shock by itself without having to then ride said beast.

Rohaan yawned widely; the sun was making him sleepy. He liked hot weather more than cold, but after several hours under the sun even he was sweating. Xander suggested setting up camp and he nodded. "Aye, wouldn't be the worst idea. If you're in a terrible rush, we can continue on by night and sleep in the afternoons when it's hottest. Or if you ain't in no rush, then we'll sleep like stones until daybreak tomorrow." He smiled. It wasn't really of any consequence to him how quickly they got there. He didn't really have much personal stake in the mission besides having some compassion for the lad, and he spent his life wandering from place to place anyway. It felt like any other day except he was walking, and he wasn't alone. That last part was strange; Rohaan was not used to company, but he did like it.

Rohaan studied the area around them for a moment, and then marched across the river. It was unusually low, even for summer. Maybe there were beavers that had moved in this year? "It'll be nice and cool on this side. Plus if anyone decides to get nasty with us, they'll have to slosh through the water and wake us up in order to get to us. Get comfortable, and then we should gather wood for a fire. Not a large one mind you, but enough to see by and maybe cook by. I'm going to see what I can find us to eat tonight. Might as well save our rations for when there's no other choice."

Rohaan spent most of his days hunting or foraging, and he was very good at it considering he had the whole animal kingdom and all of its noses, ears, and eyes at his disposal. He dropped his small satchel that slung diagonally across his chest on the ground and was about to shift without any warning when he remembered again that Xander had not seen him do this yet.

"Xander, lad, I'm going to change shape. I'm warning you now so you can be ready for it--I don't want to spook you. See, I don't hunt with a bow, or with traps. You'll get used to it eventually but...I thought for your first time I'd give you some warning." Rohaan's body changed very quickly into a furry, four legged shape instead of a man shape. The shift was quick, fluid, and it looked effortless. It might have been some kind of parlor trick, except the sable wolf that looked back at Xander had the same black-ringed lapis eyes. He stayed there a moment, studying Xander's reaction before Rohaan trotted away deeper into the woods in search of prey, but also to scout out the area for any signs of potential trouble.

After a while, the wolf with blue eyes trotted back with a small, limp rabbit in his jaws. It wasn't much of a prize, but it was something. If it were just him, Rohaan would have stayed in wolf form and just eaten the thing raw, but he guessed Xander wouldn't enjoy raw rabbit. Rohaan shifted back to his own humanoid shape as he set his catch down. There was blood on his face and staining his teeth; he gave his mouth a quick swish and spat, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He didn't speak yet. Rohaan figured after what he'd just shown a once doubtful Xander, he needed to give the boy time to process what he'd just seen. So he silently began skinning and cleaning the rabbit with a very utilitarian knife he'd produced from his belt.