Border station

The border station would probably be the best place to spend the night, Theron concluded. The presence of it and the armed men and women stationed there acted as a deterrent, keeping the immediate surrounding more or less clear of passing barbarians and other fiends, so they could even choose to camp nearby to it and feel safe, if Sofia would prefer not to make their presence known to the rangers.

Theron told Sofia where he planned to lead her, and the proud noblewoman voiced her approval of his reasoning.

Again, they moved through the woods, their short conversation at the oak having been one of the few moments bereft of silence. This silence was partly due to both of them focussing on keeping a good pace of movement, partly due to the fact that Theron saw no reason to press Sofia on anything concerning herself and her background. And Sofia, as of yet, had shown no interest in informing him about any such matters.

So it was with barely having said a word to each other that the two came to spot the small, fortified log building that served as the border station as it laid on the top of a narrow ridge.

It was a good defensive position, with plenty of steep slopes to race upwards if one was attacking it. Theron had been inside it when a group of forty unwashed barbarians, an unusually large group, had tried their best to eradicate it. He and his comrades had been lucky that night, for the entire garrison was present at the station. Usually, there was not more than a handful of rangers present there, the rest being out on patrols.

As they carefully made their way up the difficult slope in the oncoming darkness, Theron wondered if anyone he knew would be there.
When they came near the wooden stakes that surrounded the building, a voice called out from the top floor of the building.
“Halt! Who are you!?” The voice queried.
“Just an old ranger and his employer, seeking shelter for the night!” Theron went out of his way to sound as laid-back as possible, hoping that it would work better than trying to sound important or official.

“An old ranger!? Where were you stationed?” The voice wanted Theron to provide some backup to his claim, of that he was certain. After whispering “Why can’t people just be little less jumpy?” under his breath, Theron raised his voice and replied:
“All around, like most rangers. I was stationed here in this abominable shithole until two years ago, when the powers that be deemed me fit to reintroduced into the bloody society! My ten years were finished two weeks ago, and I spent the last time down near Yolanta, serving under a Seridian captain named Truian. Is that enough, or should I tell about how the martinet fucker of a captain had a mole the shape of a disfigured penis or his right buttock, or how he would let loose a virtual whirlwind of flatulence each time that he got drunk!?”
This provoked a long roar of laughter from inside the station.

“How did you know about his birthmark?” The voice asked Theron.
“You know damn well that most captains are lazy bastards who can’t even wipe their arses by their lonesome! Now will you let us in!?”
“Alright, just make your way to the gate.”
A minute went past before the door was opened, Theron and Sofia now standing in waiting by the crude “gate” that blocked the one way of relatively secure passage past the long, sharp stakes.
Theron got a first look at the figure in the illuminated doorway, before it stepped out onto the small yard.