On The Run

I had been navigating my way through trees and brambles for two weeks; where I could I hunted and foraged for food surviving on a diet of mostly rabbit, squirrel, and berries. I had not experienced difficulty finding water with streams being common in these woods and the shape of some of the plants leaves being able to store rainwater. I cooked the meat on fires at night as sparsely as I could, so as to avoid being seen by the men that I knew Lord Motten had sent after me. Passing near the edge of the woods, on occasion I had heard the beat of hooves nearby and from then on moved deeper into the cluster of trees.

Navigating had been somewhat difficult; on cloudy nights I had trouble seeing Cleonora’s star in the night sky and had to rely on my best guess until the sun rose in the mornings. I had no doubts that I had likely veered off course to an extent, though still confident that I was travelling in the right general direction. In the past few days I had grown tempted to leave the trees and find a road to travel on, the dirt had become uncomfortable to sleep on and it was not a pleasant sensation to wake up with bugs attempting to excavate your body. I was sure that by now I had left Motten’s land and was at least one or two provinces over, however, my better judgement prevailed; my white hair was too distinctive, and it would only take a talkative traveller to reveal me to one of Motten’s men.

According to the schedule that I had adopted, today I awoke with the breaking of dawn and after taking a few bites of the squirrel I had cooked the night before, I shimmied myself up to the summit of a tree and checked my sense of direction. Observing the sun, still not fully over the horizon in the east, I determined which direction was south-east and continued my journey.

I had been walking for a good few hours when I reached the edge of the woods, looking around I see that if I wish to continue south-east then I will have to abandon the protection of the trees and take my chances in the open. In the distance, beyond the cleft of a hill, I see the rising plume of smoke. A campfire, perhaps? I think as I scratch an itch in my hair, No, it’s too big for that. Maybe a big camp? Hearing a noise from my stomach, I finish the meat that I had hunted and wash it down with my canteen of water. Wait, how far away from a village am I? I try to picture the maps that I had seen in my past but find myself unable to place where I am

With no other choices available to me, I hope for the best and walk towards the smoke. I lay my hand on the hilt of my mothers’ weapon for reassurance, picturing her face as my finger strokes the grooves that make up the carving on the ebony. As I crest the hill, I see that the smoke is not in fact coming from a camp but a village. From what I can see as I move towards it, at the sluggish pace that two weeks of travelling on an almost empty stomach offers, I see that it does not look all that different from Blue-Rock. It is a little larger, the design of the buildings a little stranger, and the paint coating the wooden planks of the structures a little brighter.

As my route merges with the pathway that leads towards the entrance of the village, I see far more differences to Blue-Rock. Where my village was relatively secluded with little traffic from travellers, this place seems to be brimming with people from far and wide; merchant caravans and peddler’s wagons crowding the streets. And the people… All my life I had never left Blue-Rock except for the occasional visit to one of the nearby villages. But here there were people I had only read about in stories; I gaze at the long-elongated ears of elves and the stubby stature of a dwarf. I stare at the dwarf, never having seen a man so short before. Sure there were boys in my village that were short, but this person was a man.

“OI! What are you staring at, ya tramp” my cheeks flush with heat as I hear the deep voice of the dwarf, looking at me as he arranges some items in his wagon

I stop next to him and look down, “Oh, uh… I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen an actual dwarf before” I say, scratching the back of my neck as I try to give him my most endearing smile.

His brow furrows as he looks up at me, “What. Makes. You . Think. I’m. A. Dwarf” he says, slowly and carefully pronouncing each word in the deep accent that sounds so strange. My cheeks turn as red as his frizzy hair and mottled beard as I worry about what I said to offend him

“Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I thought you wer….” I flounder, trying to recover. Really? Is he not a dwarf? But he’s so small

He gives me a glower for a moment before breaking into a laugh and slapping my thigh, “Relax kid, I’m messing with ya” he attracts a few glances from passers-by with his roaring bellow. “Course I’m a dwarf, you think any of you humans are this good-looking when they’re as short as me” he adds. I look at him, starting to recover from the startle he gave me.

I’m still looking at him strangely as he continues, “but seriously, ya smell like a tramp. When was the last time you washed? You humans just don’t have the same natural aroma as us dwarves” I look at my filthy clothes that I had been travelling and sleeping in for two weeks. I had tried to wash them at the beginning but that had left me moving in cold and wet fabric, after that I had became used to the rank odour. Now they had become caked in dirt and blood stains from the animals I had hunted.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” I ask, raising my arm for a smell

“Kid, you smell worse than a mine rodent” he says wafting in front of his small nose. “Heck with it, you can borrow some of these. They’re big, so I figure they should fit you” he adds as he takes a few items of clothing from his wagon.

“Uh, thanks. Why do you have these clothes? It’s not like you would wear them” I say as I look at the shirt and pants that are now in my hands

He shrugs, “they were on the wagon when I found it, I was going to see if I could sell them. I think getting rid of your smell is worth more than however much I would get for them though” he runs a finger through his ginger beard

“When you found it?” I ask cautiously, looking around and seeing the occasional person without a shirt so I figure it wouldn’t be inappropriate for me to change it now, “Do you mean that this wagon isn’t yours?”

“Course it’s mine” he says defensively, giving the wooden side of the wagon a slap with his palm “I’m the one that rode it here. Saw it just sitting on the road and I needed something to get to Alynthir, so… bam, it’s mine” the short man just shrugs his shoulders, seemingly finding my question odd

“Right. So you’re going to Alynthir too?” I say, trying to wrap my head around the dwarven way of thinking about property

“Ay, off to your big city of humans. Going to take that test and make me-self an adventurer like my great great grand-mammy” he says, the serious tone that he started with making room for his cheerful attitude as he apparently enjoys the conversation. “Yep, she fought in the thousand wars. Heard she killed a devil back in them days” he adds with a repeated nod of his head

As I listen to his story, I see someone walking through the village in metal armour with a sword attached to his waist. Clasped to his shoulders is a white cloak with the sigil of a bear sewn onto the back. Recognising one of Lord Motten’s guards, I turn my face to avoid him seeing me and reach for a cap from the clothing in the wagon and cover my white hair with it.

The dwarf glances to where I was looking and back to me as I try my best to look inconspicuous. “Ahh, on the run are we. You and me both buddy!” he roars with a laugh as he slaps my body again, “They wouldn’t let me leave the mountains until I’d had my first century and earned myself a name. but I figure if I became an adventurer now then I’d end up with a great name when my time comes. Something like Korin Beast-Slayer, or Korin ****-Bringer, ohh maybe even Korin Dragon-Fu-“

I cut him off, the short man seems to be too fond of his words. “Right, I get it. I’m taking the test as well” I pause for a moment and look back at him, “Uh, could I maybe travel with you to the capital? And can you make sure that those guards don’t see me” I ask hopefully

He frowns again as he scratches his beard, “Ay, ya could. But I want to know what trouble you’re in. Don’t want them coming after me too if ya ain’t worth it” he says in a curious tone, gesturing for me to take a seat on his wagon.

I sit down and tell him about Lord Motten, about what he did to Elsie’s mother, and about the fight with Zarin. As he listens to why I’m being hunted he sits with me on the wagon and reaches into a pile, pulling out a waterskin of something that smells far different from water. He uncorks it and takes a swig of it, humming and nodding his head as my story takes its turns.

“Ay, ya can travel with me. Those Mottens sound like right cunts” he says sourly as he spits on the dirt, glancing at the liquid with regret as he realises there was some **** in it. “I’m Korin” he offers a hand to me

“Aucus, and… well thanks I guess” I say as I take the hand, feeling his firm grip as he gives it a vigorous shake.

“Well Aucus” he says, slurping down the liquid and sloshing some onto his beard, “ya can travel with me, but there is a condition” a hand slapping into my back and knocking a breath of air out of me

“What is it?” I ask nervously. This dwarf seems eccentric, and his condition could be anything

“Ya gotta drink of course. Nothing sadder than a dwarf drunk on his own, but with company… now that’s a cheerful dwarf” he says with a grin, he finds another skin and throws it to me, “Now drink” he declares

I open the container and am hit by the pungent smell of ****, grimacing I raise it to my lips and take a nervous sip. I feel the fiery liquid burning the back of my throat and can’t help but cough at the sensation.