He heads to the courtyard.

Domic walks down the worn steps and into the courtyard of the commandery. Tired guards go about their business, but only one is stomping over towards him.

"Are you Domic?!" the short blonde shouts at him, hair tied back into a tight braid.

"Well, she has her father's height and demeanor," he thinks, "but luckily not his looks," he can't help but smile as the girl's face resolves itself into a pretty square, cut from a block of limestone, chiseled masterfully to reveal imperious cheekbones and a straight nose. Big, wide-set and brown eyes barge into his, her lips pressed together in impatience. She wears a much higher quality guard tunic, smoky grey with yellow edging, brown breeches, and high boots. A musket slung on her back and sword cinched tightly on her hip complete the standard equipment of a Pael guard. "Yes, you must be Cerni, it's a ple-" he says.

"Let's go," she says, giving him a once over look before spinning around and marching out the front gate of the commandery. Domic follows her at a fairly brisk pace, through the narrow streets of Pael, through the northern gatehouse, and onto the north road. The dark forest stretches all around in the distance, beyond the fields and scattered hovels surrounding the town.

"Well?" Cerni turns to Domic expectantly as they stand outside the town gates. "Where do we begin?"

"Introductions?"

"I'm Cerni, you're Domic. My father ordered you to do this, because I 'need' to know it. I don't think I do, because when I'm Captain, I'll delegate it to people like you."

"Uh," he stammers.

"It doesn't matter regardless, so let's go," she says and marches at the same brisk pace up the road and towards the forest. It is clear and pleasantly warm, but the leaves of the trees have changed to bright yellows and vibrant reds, and are beginning to fall to the ground. As they reach the edge of the forest, and the north road disappears from their sight behind the trees, Cerni stops. She checks her boot lacings, adjusts her sword belt, and unslings her musket, holding it at a ready position. Domic stares at her.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm getting ready. We're going into the forest, aren't we?"

"Yes, but yo-" a bird calls nearby.

"What was that?" Cerni says, cocking and shouldering the musket in one swift movement, eyes narrowed and scanning for the sound.

"A grosbeak."

"Is it dangerous?"

"It's smaller than your head."

"In swarms they might be dangerous. What do they eat?"

"Seeds. I've seen them do that. Put the musket down, you won't need it," he sighs. "You've been in the forest before, right?"

"Uh, yes."

"Alone? Or with a dozen heavily armed guards?"

"Hum, with the guards."

"I thought so. We're not going far, and we'll be back in town well before nightfall. We're not going to run into anything dangerous this close to Pael. No drakes. No trolls. No orcs. Maybe a wolf, I don't know," he says.

"Fine," she says, and stomps forward into the forest. Domic chuckles and casually follows her. Throughout the rest of the morning, Domic guides her in a big circle around the town, heading southwest. He teaches her to how to step silently, the names of the trees, the owners of any animal tracks they come across, and if that bird was some horrible monster. With the sun high in the sky, they come to a rest in the middle of a grass clearing, guarded by oaks. They eat a lunch of some dry meat and hardtack, along with a few fresh cloudberries, and chat, as the wind blows softly through the trees.

"So your father taught you the hunting and tracking - what about the plants?" Cerni asks, wiping cloudberry juice from her mouth.

"Mostly my sister Izabel - she's a journeywoman apothecary, so she knows all the herbs and plants and what they can do. I mostly remembered the ones that I can eat, or that'll make a quick salve for a wound," he says, taking a drink from a waterskin. "The rest, well, you don’t need to know in order to survive in the forest. Southerners pay a pretty price for them though, I guess."

"Hmm, I see. Do you have any other siblings?" she asks.

"No, just Izabel. Do you?" he says.

"Yes. An older sister, but she decided to leave Pael to go marry some stupid southern burgher," she says, dismissively. “Can’t say I really blame her. It’d be nice to go south again,” she sighs.

“What’s the south like?”

"Oh, it's alright. I only went with my family for my sister’s wedding, just to Breige, for only a month. "It's warmer, more people. Seemed to think we're all backwards up here," she snorts. "One day I'd like to go further, visit the Sun Coast, maybe once I don't have any more duties in Pael."

"Mmm, I'd love to go to-" the wind shifts direction, and a putrid smell invades Domic's nostrils. He looks around quickly. "Get down," he hisses, grabbing and pulling Cerni to the ground. Eyes wide, he fumbles around for his musket.

"What is it?" she sniffs. "Ughh, what is that?"

"Shh," he says, finally getting a grip on and shouldering his musket. "It's an orc. It's close by," he says, peering down the barrel and through the grass towards the tree line, and nothing.

"An orc? I thought you said ther-"

Domic pulls the trigger, and the musket cracks. He drops it, grabs Cerni's musket, and rises to one knee, pointing it at the head of a large green orc, who stands at the edge of the clearing, ax raised, and stopped mid-run. Domic hails the brute in Norword, the northern descendant of the Empire’s old trade tongue, and one of the few things to survive its fall, due to its necessity for communication amongst the four high races. Most every northerner speaks and understands some basic Norword, and those who earn their living from trade or the forest speak it fluently.

"Halt! Stay right where you are! Who are you? What are doing here?" Domic yells at him, heart pounding in his chest.

The orc stands still, panting slightly. "Uh, I'm an orc," it finally grunts, "I was simply uh, walking through the woods."

"Alone and this close to Pael? Lies! You're a spy!”

"Domic what are you doing? Kill it!" Cerni yells at him.