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Dark shapes skittered stealthfooted between the gaps in the trees, soundless and unheeded.

Obedience had caused the child to grow absentminded of his surroundings. Over a breakfast of warming oatmeal, the Lone Woodsman had asked that he inspect the cedars on the southernmost slope of the hill. It hadn't taken long for the Commoner to learn that the boy had a nose for sickness. He could find the rot when it was still brewing in its roots, and he would mark the affected with a stub of chalk for the Woodsman to attend to since he himself was much too young to take life with the golden axe. Having obtained over the years a healthy fear of the tough old recluse, he had succeeded in defying all distractions since he set out that misty morning.
Now all it took was the snap of a weak branch, resounding like a clap of thunder across the hill, for him to realize the danger he might be in.
Nature was restless even in its darkest season, yet an unnatural stillness lay over the wood as suppressive as the blanket of snow that had fallen the night before. Not a soul stirred. He looked up and ahead, concern furrowing his brow, and the bronze sheep's bell around his neck clanked with the motion. He raised a clawed hand to still its rusty chime, and following an instinct long passed down so too did he lift his nose to uncover the secrets in the air.

Tasting the atmosphere's invisible channels in a silly snorting way, the child searched deeper beneath the layers of the village; its chimneys, its ovens, its ordinary, everyday grime... and there he happened upon a mystery. Something his nose had no answer for. Something that was man but not man, that carried in its balsamic scent fragments of imperial lands far from this one, and…

((Zzzing!))
The arrowhead soared inches from his pea-colored face and bore into the bark of a marked tree behind him. The quiet of the wood was no more.
"There it is!"

"Get him!"

It seemed to the child that they came from everywhere: a group of boys no older than he was, dressed in identical garments of papyrus and gold, some with sacks full of arrows slung across their backs, some with holsters stuffed with knives. They stampeded, they shouted, they swarmed. Their target fled from them in a blind panic and tripped over an overgrown root he really should've known was there considering he spent little time elsewhere but out here among the trees. There was no other place for him; the village had told him so.

He dropped to the powdery floor with a cry. The bell went on rattling and just as he was about to shield his head with his arms, he beheld a curtain of darkness draping over him and heard the faint whistle of the golden axe as it came swinging down.

"Back! Back! And away with yous!"

Shrieking, the boys scattered and stragglingly reunited in an uneasy huddle. The child panted clouds of visible breath and stared wide-eyed at the back of the Woodsman, whose burly figure was made even larger by swathes of rustic furs.

"Leave us," he commanded throatily, "and this place. Now!"

The boys looked at each other. They were not accustomed to taking orders from Commoners.

"But we found him first."

"He's ours to take!"

"Down there, in that little place," said the most grown of them, and he indicated the village, "They want rid of him. They said we could–"
The Woodsman lurched forward and thrust his axe. "There is nothing here for you. You will leave us at once!"
Then drifting up the hill came a voice as light and vigorous as the pattering of Spring rain.

"Ho there!"
The child thought it might be a Commoner from the village coming to collect his stray sons – in recent moons, the woods had attracted many nosy spectators, most of whom had been the child's schoolmates, for that brief but ill-fated turn – but looking at the way the handsome man held himself, shoulders rolled back, chest puffed out, and the smooth, unblemished surface of his shiny black skin, he knew he could be from nowhere around these parts. He was thickly muscled but jogging spryly, and dressed in a uniform not unlike what the boys wore, except his boasted finer materials and an additional cape, and across his chest intricate brooches were pinned.
In his holster was a sword made of the finest crystal. As he neared, the child could see that his ears were peculiarly angled and upright; long, pointed at the tip, and studded with jewels. Only some of the boys had ears like this; most were immaturely rounded.

"My good man!" The newcomer smiled widely. "There's nothing to feel threatened about!"

The Woodsman grunted unconvincedly and pointed with his weapon. "This lot belong to you?"

"Yes. These are my pupils, soon to be Lord Brackhurst's Royal Guard." He looked tolerantly upon the huddle and, as if setting an example, bowed his shaved head, which was decorated with a thin crown of silver. "I am their Guide. I am Aramis."

The Woodsman stared wordlessly at the group with eyes as hard and grey as stone. The terror having passed, the child began to feel foolish sitting on his rump in the frosted dirt and tried to get onto his feet without drawing attention. But no one could look anywhere else. There was open resentment on the faces of the boys.

"So it is true what they say in your village," the Guide said with quiet wonder. "We were not just listening to the gum-bumping of washerwomen."

"That's not my village," the Woodsman sullenly returned.

"A troll out of his mountain…" Aramis’ elegant smile never wavered, though a disquieting hue had colored his voice. "I hope it's not a sign of the times."

The Woodsman's posture was stiff and unrelenting. "You and your Guard may take your leave now. We'll speak no more of it."

"We take leave when we are finished here, which is not for you to decide."

Some of the boys snickered haughtily.

"You're trespassing on private property, Mr. Aramis."
"Has Ramasker declared independence since last sundown? Your village and all it encompasses observes the laws same as all else." Aramis nodded solemnly. "But I apologize, as do my Guard, for the impolite intrusion. It is not the way things are to be conducted among the Common people. We had been instructed to knock first–" He turned purposely to the eldest of the boys. "Or was I misheard, Dunan?"
"The men down there said there was a beast in the woods," Dunan protested.

"We thought they were just drunks," another muttered.
"Some of them definitely were..."
Aramis banished their giggling with a gesture that meant nothing to the Woodsman or the child but set the group straight instantaneously. Their Guide inhaled deeply and raised his hands, palm open, to the overcast sky above.

"A fine forest you have here. I can sense the anciency of these trees, and they assure me that they are well looked after–"

"What did you intend to do," the Woodsman interrupted, "after you knocked on my door?"

"We're carrying out checks across all the villages on the journey's path, ahead of our Lord and Lady's visit."

The Woodsman laughed. It was a jarring sound to hear coming out of such a morose individual, and they were each startled. "Oh, of that I'm sure! Bunch of witless brats wielding blunt pocket tools, running amuck–"

"We are your Royal Guard!" Dunan fumed.

"Hush, Dunan. Everyone must start somewhere," Aramis said, soothing the boys' wounded pride. "We are of course joined by the Guard who are actively serving, who will retire after my pupils graduate. These exercises are invaluable. There is no training like being out in the field. You of all Commoners would know that nothing in the Wide World is predictable. You cannot foresee what you may run into."

"Like a beast!" A gaunt-faced boy cried jeeringly. The child tucked himself behind the Woodsman to avoid their laughter, the sheep's bell clattering gratingly against his breastbone.
Amusement narrowed Aramis' steely eyes. "Whatever does he wear that for?" 
"So I know where he is when we're in the wood," the Woodsman wearily replied.

"Does he speak any Tongue? Or is he as mute as any other animal?"

"He speaks the Plain Tongue as well as you and I."

"Prove it," one of the boys ordered, and Aramis didn't hush him. The Woodsman craned his neck to look down at the child.

"Go on."

"What should I say?" The child whispered up to him. This alone was enough to elicit gasps and murmurings. He looked back at the group and tried to swallow the dry, choked feeling out of his throat. He could only think of what he had been taught to recite at the meeting with the head of the village, who also happened to be the schoolmaster. Piping up in a small but clear voice, he said, "My name is Humphrey. I can write my name, and I would like to learn how to write lots of things, and to count, and to listen to the stories of old. I promise I'm not going to bite anyone.”

The boys' stoic silence disintegrated into peals of derisive laughter. Humphrey frowned, bothered by the possibility that he might have pronounced something wrong.

"I don't quite see the family resemblance," Aramis said, sparking even more hilarity.

The Woodsman regarded the Guide with detectable repugnance and a shred of pity. "He's orphaned. Got separated from his people. I offered him shelter, and put him to honest work."

"And you know this to be absolutely true? We haven't decided what is to be done with any straying trolls. Frankly, he is the first I have ever known of."

"Aye. He was alone. None have come since."

"Did you go in search of his clan?"

"No."

"And yet you are still certain there are no others? They may have followed him down here. They may be seeking new territory, and I surely do not need to explain why this would be a cause for alarm."

"There are none out here but him," the Woodsman said slowly, taking the time to enunciate each word.

Aramis looked down toward the village and was quiet for some time.

"It is still worth reporting. Very well, then. Your Lord and Lady will be passing through tomorrow with their sons on their journey to Fernichork, which has the honor of hosting the Solstice ceremony this year. They may stop in the village to spend time with those they serve. But I am ordering you and the troll to stay here until their business is finished."

The Woodsman snorted dryly. "You need not order me to do that."

"You will stay to ensure the troll does not enter the village while the Lord and Lady are present."

"By Gods, he never leaves the bloody wood anywa–"

"You will stay to ensure this," Aramis spoke over the Commoner. "Or I can enforce it." His hand rested deliberately on his scabbard. "And you would do well not to become attached to this creature, Woodsman. He is not lawfully yours."

The Woodsman and Guide considered each other silently. The tension was enough to thaw the ice.

"He'll be here with me," the Woodsman said.

"Good." Aramis' gaze lingered on the old man's grim, darkly bearded face, then he exhaled sharply. "Guard! Whisper heartful tidings to the trees on our departure, and think nourishing thoughts with each step. We'll bid you farewell, Woodsman. May the season be kind to you."

At long last, the Woodsman thought. He tracked their every move as they gathered together to descend the slope. The boys looked back at Humphrey, making faces, sticking their tongues out – so much for whispering tidings. Just then Aramis halted the group.

"I feel it is worth mentioning that we intend to trek into the mountains when the dawn chorus sings again. If you should find he can be of use no longer, or he becomes unruly as he matures, we could return him to where he belongs for you. You need only send for us."

Humphrey gasped, tried to take it back, and shrunk away from the undesirable attention he had unwittingly geared toward himself. After a long pause, the Woodsman lay a hand on his head. Aramis reluctantly accepted this answer, or lack of it.

"Dunan, you see how ugly he was?"

"Forget that! Did you guys smell him? What a stink!"

"I can't believe we saw a real troll! Wait until I tell my brother..."

They listened until the voices were no more, and watched until the group were nothing but dots moving steadily along the low road into the village.

"Come, lad."

Humphrey followed dutifully at the man's heel. The sheep's bell bounced and tolled creakingly as he matched the Commoner's marching clip.

"Is there a scent to that lot?" The Woodsman asked.

"Yes."

"Then learn it well. If ever you should catch it around the wood again, you've to scare them away."
The boy jerked his head in a noncommital nod. He was still wrapping his head around the idea of wanting to be scary on purpose. "What are they? They don't smell like you or the other villagers. Is it because they come from far away? Do Commoners smell different there?"
"They are not Common. They are elves."

Humphrey quickly looked back, even though he knew they were gone. "But my books... they don't look..."

"They write the books. They paint the pictures. They don't see themselves the way others see them," the Woodsman explained. "And they talk sweetness, but they'd just as soon sink a knife into your back. Be mindful, should you ever cross paths. Elves... do not get along with trolls."

"Nobody does," the boy muttered glumly.

Humphrey almost thought the old man had slipped into his customary silence, because an answer was not forthcoming. He assumed the worst: his rambling had irritated him, or maybe the Commoner was hoping that he if ignored him enough, the boy might take himself and his perpetual odor down another trail to the cabin. Instead the Woodsman was lost in thought, reflecting on how many times the boy had asked him this question, and how many times he had provided an answer, and how stupid he was to expect Humphrey to accept that and to understand with no doubt why the only things in this World that were true and forever were the setting of the moon, the rise of the sun, and the hatred of the mountain folk.

"Legends," he rumbled.

"Legends?"

"The oldest kind of story. Stories that are told over and over again, by all people everywhere, until they start to sound like fact. Your kind hid yourselves away in the mountains, and now others tell your stories for you. That is why they say what they do, and why they treat you so. There are no other stories about trolls."

He turned back, briefly, to see the boy frowning at the footprints he was carefully following.
"And no one has to like anybody," he added in vain. "Your eyes are no use down there, lad. Look up. See that? That sky means another storm is on the way. Best load up the cart with firewood and go down. They'll be needing it. And we'll need provisions."
"But Aramis said not to leave me!"

"And are you planning on following? Where the washerwomen and farmers can look upon you?"
Humphrey shook his head briskly – no, certainly not. Desperate to clear his mind of those in the village he asked, "What's a Lord and a Lady?"
The Woodsman's laughter puffed noiselessly out of his nostrils. "Nothing that a troll needs to worry about."

Humphrey wouldn't worry about it, but he certainly would wonder. He knew that elves were among the smartest and strongest and bravest and most important of all creatures in the Wide World, and if the elves were doing all these things for someone else, then whoever this was had to be even more special...

"Were many of those cedars ailing? Did you hear me? Humphrey, I asked..."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"...you a question, varmint!" Four Guardsmen encircled Zahra and Humphrey like starved jackals. The half-orc glared balefully at each of these pompous young men pantomiming as warriors, but her gaze never drifted far from the one that addressed Humphrey: a spare, wiry-looking fellow, with a jawline sharp enough to cut, and slicked-back hair the color of dirty snow. His hand hovered too closely to his scabbard for her liking, and his nostrils flared unattractively with each snarled word. For him to sneer at them when she had more muscles than he and his comrades combined! She loathed that she lacked their focus and training. There was no mistaking the value of organized hostility.She rocked her companion by the shoulder, trying to rouse him from his ill-timed daydreaming. "Hey, uh, Humphrey? Feel free to jump in any time now, bud.""Humphrey?!" One of the Guardsmen mocked. "You could've picked a more convincing name for your tale of deceit!""That is his name," Zahra testily returned. "I've already told you. He's not like other trolls.""Yes. This one talks," another Guardsman added, smirking as he pointed out Humphrey's disoriented expression to the rest of the group. "Allegedly..." Zahra rolled her eyes at their laughter. "Do you need to hear him say what I've already told you? Is the story of two vagabonds passing through town so fascinating it should be told twice?""You're wasting our time, orc." The wiry one did not look the part of a leader, but he had a natural authority in his voice that the others easily obeyed. As one, they began to close in on the pair. This immediately ironed the tired slouch out of Zahra, and she quickly ensured that she knew the whereabouts of each individual. "I could say the same about you," she said. "We don't want to stay in Fernichork any longer than we need to. Since when did we need to ask for permission to stop for supplies?""Don't be dense. Everyone knows that the Lord and Lady Brackhurst are here to observe the Great Sundown.""Color us surprised. I guess our invitations got lost." "Are we to sincerely believe that you and this repulsive creature just happened to be in the area?""Repulsive!" Zahra laid a hand over her chest woundedly. "Now hang on just a minute! How could you say that? Look at him!" She reached over and cupped Humphrey's smooth chin – she grew stubble faster than he ever seemed to. "Isn't he just the sweetest thing you ever did see? I dare you to find a troll that's cuter. Dare you! I mean, look at those freckles!" Pulled out of his reverie by the enthusiastic squishing of his cheeks, Humphrey started with a jump. "Whu-huh?""There he is!" Zahra laughed much too heartily and smacked him on the back, then whispered into his ear through clenched teeth, "Keep it together, Trumpet Butt. We've got company." Unceremoniously reunited with the present, Humphrey gaped slack-jawed at the group. He was horrified to discover that his recollection of days long past hadn't faded as memories should, but was instead being reenacted right before his very eyes – this time with an even more intimidating cast playing out the story. Now the spotlight had turned on him. His guts swirled instinctively, and only one of the Guardsmen detected the faint grumble of the pressure shifting dangerously in his chambers. Zahra elbowed him softly, and he stumbled toward speech."O-oh! Oh! Uh! Sorry! My head, uh... I was someplace else... I don't know what I was... a-heh. Sorry about that."The Guardsmen looked as stunned as he did. "Blest pixies, he does talk!" blurted the youngest of them. This obvious statement earned him a cuff upside the head from one of his less tolerant elders. "I told you he did! Most of the time the problem's getting him to shut up." Zahra slung an arm amiably around Humphrey's neck. "Now that you're back, please tell these nice boys that we're not secretly plotting to kill the Lord and Lady, and that we're just stopping in town so we won't starve to death.""I can hardly see you wasting away," one of the Guards remarked as he scrutinised her heavy build. "Watch it," Zahra warned through a wide grin. "I think those pants might be cutting off the circulation to your head."The wiry Guard broke away from the group and swaggered into Humphrey's personal space. The sound of his sword being unsheathed choked a gasp out of the troll's throat."State your business," he growled.Humphrey's voice wobbled even more so than usual, and perhaps it was only blind fear that kept him rooted defiantly to the spot. "M-my business? Same as Zahra's. We're looking for somewhere to rest up. Then we'll be on our way again.""Our way to where?" "Well, we're still figuring that out." Zahra pinched him discreetly. He squirmed, then glanced at her to let her know he got the message. "We're trying to get back to somebody we know, in the Outer Fynelands," he added. "We're not staying in Fernichork.""The only place you should be getting back to is the mountains. And they are in that direction." The elf pointed with the end of his sword. "Not in Fernichork, or in the Outer Fynelands. Those towns and villages are where the Common people make their homes. What place does your kind have among Common people?""If you were lost, we could escort you," the youngest offered."Personally," another added grimly. Zahra looked curiously at Humphrey when he dipped back into silence. She noticed the same trance he had worn before spreading across his face, and this time it washed out his complexion to a sickly extent. He couldn't hold his nerve any longer. It all came spilling forth in an urgent burst of short, vile flatulence; its violent splutter suggested it had been building up inside of him for some time. Humphrey cringed as his gas petered out mostly. The stench of rotten meat hung densely, soiling the crisp, bitter air around them. Just as they had closed in together, the Guard fell back with horrified exclaims and frantic efforts to save their noses... and not be met with the sight of their partially-digested breakfasts splattered at their feet.
"Oh what the-"
"Gods!""What is that-!""S-Sorry! I didn't mean that!" The troll squeaked. Even Zahra had to take a minute to push through the overwhelming foulness and try and breathe again on the other side, though she knew better than anyone that it could've been much worse."Keep up the act and there'll be more," she coughed. "You don't want a troll to be nervous. Trust me, I'd know.""You are as filthy as the texts say!" The lead Guard roared, possibly frustrated by the fact that flatulence of all things had momentarily disarmed him. Before Humphrey knew it the tip of the sword was pressing into his jugular. Instantly, Zahra was by his side again – growling a throaty warning at the elf, and also subtly forcing the troll's tail down, since the only thing that could make this worse was more of his farting."Mark my words, if we so much as catch a whiff of you in that village, the price will be a pound of flesh!" The elf's jaw quivered and he added with discernible uncertainty, "Each!" The other Guardsmen looked at each other, but no one protested this punishment. "The Lord and Lady are here to celebrate an ancient and beloved tradition among the people they pledge to serve – not rue the fact that their homeland is infested with ner-do-wells!" Humphrey stammered, "W-We're not going to–" "Shut up." After a lengthy, rigid pause, the Guardsman slowly lowered his sword and scoffed. "They say your blood is like poison. My sword deserves a cleaner foe. You would do well to go back to the cave you were born in, creature. Few will be as merciful as we were today."He leered at Humphrey's hurt expression, then suddenly sucked up a wad of yellow phlegm and spat it into the troll's face. Humphrey reeled back and lost his balance, and the laughter of the Guard was uproarious, and before Zahra could knock the leader onto his rump with a sharp blow to the back of his head, the group were firing clods of muddy slush at the pair. Like cowards, they left in haste. Their jeering rang in Zahra's ears worse than tinnitus. "Charmers, aren't they? Shit!"She launched a small boulder into the air with one swift kick. "Fernichork's the last stop until we can reach Beggar's Run! Where the fuck else are we supposed to stock up?"Humphrey never said a word, which Zahra presumed to be out of disapproval. She pressed her knuckles to her forehead and groaned."I know. I know, okay? Could've handled it better. What else is new? But you can't just… stand there and take it! I don't care about the old ways – if they don't respect me, why the fuck should I respect them? And I don't know how the hell I forgot about that stupid ceremony. 'Oh! The sun has abandoned us, and now we must kneel to worship some big shiny thing in the sky instead.' Big whoop, it's the winter. It's supposed to be dark! And what the hell does a Lord and Lady care about a troll and a mutt like me, anyway? What do we matter? They've got everything they could ever need. Riches, popularity, protection. There'll never be enough for the rest of us. Gods, they act like we're something to be so afraid of..."She glanced at the quiet troll. He looked pensive, despondently so, and she heaved a sigh big enough for the two of them."They spooked you, huh? Don't worry about it. Elves like to talk a mean game, but I could see them looking at me. Specially that little one." She grinned boastfully. "They knew they'd need a whole squadron to take me down. Count yourself lucky that's the first time you've encountered these guys. Used to be a Guard stationed near the orphanage, and they were always paying us welfare visits...""It's not the first time I've seen elves, Zahra. When I was little, they came to the village and...""And? What?""...nothing. What do we do now? They'll be looking for us.""They'll be too busy with the ceremony. We'll sneak in around the back, and–""Even if they don't notice, how are we going to get anybody to sell anything to us? Fern's not here."There was no taking it back, though, for a brief moment, it looked like he was going to try. Humphrey lowered his gaze, unable to stand the look he was sure would cross the hybrid's face.Zahra had made it clear that she hadn't wanted them to stop talking about Fern, or to treat her name like it was a thing never to be uttered. But the wound was raw; Humphrey couldn't help but tiptoe around it. He missed the fey-touched woman something awful – her inquisitiveness, and infectious wonder; her ceaseless affection for him, regardless of what he was, and the best head scratches he'd ever known – but whatever sorrow and emptiness he felt for his lost friend was sure to be a mere fraction of what Zahra was living with day after day. She was still for a moment longer, then she nodded thoughtfully."I know. It was easy in the summer, when the bushes and burrows were full... usually, I'd cache some to see me through the dark months, but we've been so busy...""Can I say something? And you'll hear me out?""I can't guarantee there won't be a snappy retort.""Yeah, yeah..."She smiled faintly at his tried-and-tested tolerance. "Fire away.""It's about Beggar's Run," Humphrey began. "They say it always freezes over this time of year, but we've barely had a hard frost. The snow last night was gone by dawn's break. What if we get there and we can't walk it?""It's not supposed to be crossed just like that, Humphrey. That's why there's no bridge. It's supposed to be challenging. And the reward is–""The quickest way to the Outer Fynelands," Humphrey finished. "Sure, I get that. I don't mind trying to swim across a river in the springtime, Zahra. What do you think's going to happen if we try to swim this time of year?"Zahra tilted her chin up to the overcast sky and stared. "And if there's nothing to eat..." Humphrey shook his head gravely. He could hardly get out what he said next. It pained him to do so. "I'm built for a lot of things, but skipping meals isn't one of them!""Although the Gods know it's made for a more endurable tent experience," she grumbled. "There's that too. How much longer can we sleep outside? Our tents have seen better days, and we've nothing to repair them with. And not having anywhere to take a proper bath…""I'm hearing a lot of negatives here, Humphrey. Throw me a bone."He laid his hand on her forearm. "Look out there."The troll directed her attention away from the sky and the village, and all the way over to the other side, toward the pastoral hills."It's about as long a journey as it is to Beggar's Run, I'd say – but the village of Ramasker's not far from here," he said."And are the streets in Ramasker lined with bowls of hot soup? What's so great about that? It's just another place where we're not wanted.""That's where the Woodsman's forest is." Humphrey knew he had her attention, then. "And his cabin, and my old shack. It's no palace, but there's a bed, a big iron tub, and no shortage of wood to burn. He would be able to get us food from the village."Zahra gave him a peculiar look. "You mean we've been retracing your steps this whole time? We're going backwards for you?"Humphrey flicked his tail and shrugged humbly. "Hey, I don't mind. I've seen plenty of the World already. And I'll see more of it, still, when Fern gets back." He smiled at the appreciation that was drawn into Zahra's face, and how it affectionately crinkled her olive eyes. They could look so genial, sometimes. "Do you get what I mean? We can see out the rest of the winter there, and we'll cross Beggar's Run as soon as there's enough sun to warm the water.""What about this Woodsman? What would a Common man make of you pallying around with a half-orc?""The same Common man that took in a lost troll?""Good point." She hooked her thumbs into her belt as she studied the sheep-flecked bluffs. "You were there, what, twenty years with this guy? The non-conversationalist, as you make him out to be. How on earth did you pass the time?""Well... I had my chores. And at night I had my books...""Twenty years worth?""Sure. Except I didn't read them… I can only read a little. But I liked the pictures. And the Woodsman always said I had too much of an imagination. I guess that helped!"She laughed pleasantly at him, then folded her brawny arms and sighed again. "I don't know, Humphs. I know I'm going to sound like a real centaur's ass, but–""You miss her," Humphrey kindly cut in. "You want to get to this witch as soon as you can. I do, too. And if you want to try Beggar's Run, then I guess I better hope trolls are buoyant. Whatever we do, we'll do it together – just like we promised.""You’re gonna make me tear up here." She narrowed her eyes. "That's not an excuse to cut one, by the way. Put it down."He cleared his throat and lowered his tail."Okay. I hear you. It's an idea. But it doesn't solve our first problem, does it? Whatever journey we go on, our tanks are going to need fuel."In response, his trio of stomachs growled mournfully. "And clean water. Maybe some new clothes..." He fingered his flannel and waistcoat, which was starting to look threadbare."A beer wouldn't hurt, either," Zahra said, yearningly. She started forward."Wh-where are you going?!" Humphrey cried."Into Fernichork.""Did I miss something?"The hybrid stopped mid-stride. "Look, this isn't the first time I've passed through here. There's a tavern that used to be here moons ago – back when my mom was still around, we stopped in for a while... she knew to stop here because of it. They might be able to help us. I dunno if it's still in business, or if the Lord and the Lady might mean they need to close their doors, but it's worth trying." She sniffed the air, which had suddenly acquired a richly pungent tone, and buffeted her hand in front of her face. "Woah! Gods, Humphrey, you've not eaten anything for a day and a half! How are you still this lethal?""You know I don't like crowds." He was shrinking back from the not-so-distant township, his tassel-like tail tip pressing up between his buttocks in a gesture Zahra knew all too well. "I've not been in a Common village since... since… a-and w-what if they spot us?! T-They said they'd…""Oh, forget that pound of flesh crap! They're too chicken to ever do it.""What if there's another bounty on our heads? What if we get chased out with pitchforks?""Then they'll be downwind of you," Zahra said, winking. "Can't see that lasting long. Come on, Humphrey. It's our only chance."After some coaxing, Humphrey helped her hide their inventory in the thickest brush patch they could find, then trotted behind Zahra, whose natural gait was that of an effortless hiking pace."Have you ever seen the Lord and Lady?" He asked. "I've heard the name before, I think... a long time ago." "Not the Brackhursts, no. The Ardamurchans' castle was close to the village I lived in. Figure they're all the same," she grunted. "Commoners who already owned the biggest share of land, and then the King and Queen decided to give them whatever forts and manors they had left over and told them that made them more important than all the other Commoners. The lucky just get luckier.""But why do the elves work for them? They're elves.""And?""Elves are the smartest and wisest of all the kinds, right? They'd do chores for somebody else?""Why shouldn't they? The rest of us need to. Well, except for me!" She chuckled. Another weaker laugh escaped her at the genuine confusion on the troll's pale green face."You're being serious, aren't you? Wow. Okay. I don't know what pictures you were looking at, but elves aren't all they crack themselves up to be," she went on. "They're the perfect servants. They can't think for themselves, and people like that love to be bossed around, even if they pretend they don't. Plus, it means they get all the perks that come with serving the Lords and Ladies. It's a cushy lifestyle. You get a nifty sword, some fancy garb – but I'll tell you something, Humphrey. I'd rather be stuck in a coffin with you after a couple of bowls of scorpion chilli than answer to anybody. Especially some snooty, pretentious, 'royal' Commoners..."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The stockiest of the Guard breathed raggedly as he tried to keep up with their de facto leader, whose fervid pace made the ignoble settlement ahead of them seem like a beguiling paradise. "Gods, how I'd wish he'd slow down!" The elf lamented. "I was rather enjoying getting away from this dunghill!""Fernichork's an awful bore," another agreed."It's worse than that, Elgon – it's a dirty awful bore. Never known a place where you have to watch your step more than in this scummy little podunk…""And there's a distinct shortage of beautiful young women, to boot.""It's a wonder you complain. Surely that means less opportunity to embarrass yourself.""What's he in such a rush for?" The youngest Guardsman's curiosity spared Elgon from having to think of a comeback. "We aren't late for something, are we?""Oh, Avie, I forget it's your first year on foot. You haven't seen Stront when he's brooding before."Elgon raced a few paces ahead of the other two to demonstrate his impression of Stront's heels-on-fire strut. Avie chortled at its accuracy, which induced the stocky elf to cuff him upside the head again."Hey! You can only laugh at him once you earn your rank.""Happens every time he gets in his head about something," Elgon went on, walking backwards so he could face the pair while he elaborated. "He's the obsessive type, you see. Latches onto things. He'll be keen to report back to Dunan. Things like this make him feel important, I suspect. Mind last year, Tain, when some gum-bumper in a watering hole convinced him there was a pack of rogues invading the Garten Bridge?""We must've walked the Two Moon Path in less than three hours," Tain groaned at the memory. "My calves might never forgive me. And all for naught!""And now he's got troll on the brain." Elgon breathed a tired sigh. "Which won't end well for us, no doubt."Tain grumbled in agreement."I should think so, if the texts are true," Avie stated tensely. Though they hadn't mentioned anything about trolls wandering from their sordid caves, or banding up with orcs, or speaking the Plain tongue, which had unnerved the new recruit more than he meant to let on. "What was that ugly thing doing down in these lowlands, anyway?""Who knows?" Elgon said."Who cares?" Tain grumped. Avie was shocked and then shamed by their indifference. "I suppose I only say that since I lack the training," he admitted shyly. "I haven't the slightest idea what to do if we have to fight them.""No one has the training, numb-nuts," Tain retorted. "Those gasbags never come down from the mountains." "Until now," Elgon said thoughtfully. "Suppose there's more than just him?""Oh, lay off that sort of talk! All you need's a good clothespin." Tain grinned, and the others joined him in burying their concerns in laughter.
"Guard!"
"Oh, shite. Here we go."Tain led the way toward Stront's beckoning call. The pride in the elf's stance underneath the decaying arched entranceway stuck out like a sore thumb with the lowly village as his backdrop. The Commoners of Fernichork, who had been going about their usual businesses that cool and clear morning – driving herds of bony ewes and mangy goats into pastures, catching loose fowl, pushing wheelbarrows worth of harvested vegetables up and down potholed roads, draping wet, patchwork clothing out to hang – stopped to observe the approaching Guard, with whom they had shared their home the last two nights.The whipping wind might have had nothing to do with the flushed rouge that had painted Stront's narrow face. His eyes were that of a prey animal, brightly hysterical. Elgon and Tain shared a knowing look before he turned to address the trio."Not a word to the Lord and Lady about those strays, men.""You don't think it's worth reporting?" Tain asked evenly. He knew Stront scarcely had the willpower to keep himself from announcing it to the whole of Fernichork right this minute."Of course it is, fool. But only through the appropriate channels, and I'll initiate that. Now chin up. Look lively."So they made their way into the crowd that had formed to greet them, and who sluggishly parted to carve them out a path, bowing their heads to them reverently, and stifling the coughs and snorts of the seasonal flu that was currently running through their people. Stront fell into step beside an elderly farmer carrying a shepherd's hook and they exchanged some muttered words while Elgon and Tain and Avie felt every dull, rheumy eye of the village fastened to them.Fernichork was as Common as Common could get. Perhaps in days long past, they may have made more of an effort to clean things up for the visiting Lord and Lady, but they had catered to too many ceremonies to maintain the illusion, and no one harbored any delusions that their village was what drew nobility to them. It was the Brackhursts' castle, Pomona, up on the highest hill, that granted them such an honor."Does anyone actually own these animals?" A fat fly-ridden boar had come snuffling up to the trio. Its dirty snout nosed greedily at Avie's handcrafted uniform and left a brown smear on his leg. "I've heard of free range, but this is taking it to new extremes.""Fine place for a troll to skulk about, eh?" Elgon remarked jocularly. Tain shouldered him roughly and nodded his head toward Stront. "Careful.""Gillespie says the sons have arrived," Stront told them, having finished with the old man. "They're on a track by the wheat field, but the Lord and Lady have been delayed.""By whom?" Elgon asked. There was the clink of shifting armor as he and the others prepped themselves for facing a new foe."By snow. The same storm is headed our way, and I would like to see that the sons are safe in the castle before it arrives. Let's not dawdle."The Guard needed no encouragement. "Snowed in at the finest castle in the west," Elgon proclaimed with a whistle. "Not bad, boys! Not bad at all!""And about time! I couldn't take another night of sleeping in a stinking barn!" Tain rejoiced, carelessly in earshot of a family who did that every night.Underneath the shelter of hefty evergreen branches, on the border of a barren field lined with rows of scant, weak grass, a fine carriage had been parked. One strapping elven woman offered clay bottles of water to the two centaurs bound by harnesses to pull the cab. They shook the sweat out of their long hair and stomped mud from the grooves in their hooves. One of their furred ears rotated sideways, detecting the sound of the oncoming Guardsmen."Here come your scouts," she announced to a caped elf kneeling beside the carriage, where he rubbed an oil-soaked rag into the golden cogs."About time," he replied.Stront was inelegantly breathless by the time he skidded to a halt in front of his superiors. He couldn't bear the thought of any of the underlings opening their mouths first, though none would have dared. "Dunan–""Trim away the fat of your report this time if you don't mind, Stront," the older elf sharply interrupted. "I don’t fancy having my ear chewed off again.""Y-yes, sir. Ever since our arrival, we have been patrolling the village, as you know, and today we…"At that moment the door of the carriage opened and a stout figure emerged. She wore a uniform that was similar to the Guards but less suited for warfare. She was plain for an elf, if she even belonged to their kind; her appearance undisguised in its various blemishes. "Oh my...""How is he?" Dunan asked, effortlessly ignoring the dismayed Stront. She wordlessly raised her eyebrows, along with the shallow pail in her hands. Its liquid contents gave off an acidic smell. "I think we're feeling a little better, though I wouldn't want to chance luck."The elf who had been tending to the centaurs walked over to give her a hand down the steps. "Here, Margoyl. I'll empty that.""I advise we wait a short while before heading up to Pomona," the healer continued. "Or Benjamin may travel on foot if it suits him. He could use the fresh air.""As could I!"Each of them was startled at the sight of the youngest imp-faced son balanced precariously at the top of the ladder, and each instinctively stepped forward, but he descended them just fine, and chuckled just as easily."It was all those bumps in the road. And maybe the half a dozen eggs for breakfast! They weren't scrambled when they went into him!""Don't be crude, Elliot." Benjamin mopped at his mouth with a handkerchief as he followed behind."No time to rest," Dunan told Margoyl. "We have a schedule to keep. The Lord and Lady expect us at Pomona for midday.""Lord Brackhurst would wish for us to put the welfare of his sons first," said the elven woman, without looking at Dunan. "If we must stop for a spell, then we shall stop."The Guard watched the space between their Captain and Dunan very carefully. Dunan's smile was hard and slight. "Of course, Caith. Always.""I'm perfectly fine," Benjamin assured the group, having been revived by the cold air. "And if I'm to rest anywhere, I should like it to be in my own bed – the carriage is small and stuffy, and Elliot can hardly sit still." He glanced at his younger brother, lithe and somewhat feminine in his youthful, unwrinkled prettiness; he was running his hand along the flanks of the centaurs, chattering away to them merrily. "There is no need to hurry." Stront spoke with unearned authority, and Dunan's expression reflected this when he deigned to look upon his inferior again. "I've spoken to Gillespie. Our Guide sent his hawk to them with a note. The Lord and Lady have been caught in a snowstorm. They'll have to dig ahead for the horsemen. It could take another day's trek before they're here.""What about the ceremony?" Benjamin asked fretfully. "There's still another day and a half until the Great Sundown," Margoyl reminded him. "And we can still observe without all the fuss of a party.""Would be a shame to miss it," Benjamin returned in a small, surly voice."And I'd suggest we don't allow the sons to travel by foot," Stront went on."Why might that be?" Caith asked coolly.Stront's trio held their breaths, knowing this was the moment he had been longing for. The wiry elf clasped his hands behind his back and confidently announced, "We discovered a troll and an orc prowling outside of Fernichork."Elliot looked up vaguely in the direction of their voices. "A troll and an orc?""In all my days," Margoyl sighed. "If we could just have one Great Sundown where things go to plan!""Were they together?" Caith asked eagerly. "Yes. Together.""You are certain it was one of the mountain folk?" For the first time, she regarded the trio. Thus far she had been more than content to ignore them entirely."Yes, Captain," Tain answered gravely. "We encountered them just outside of the village parameters. They claimed to be travellers. They had hoped to stop for supplies, but Stront sent them on their way.""Did you inform the village?" Caith asked."Only Gillipsie, who speaks for them all," Stront said. "I've ordered them to report any sightings and to be on high alert. The old man mentioned something very interesting…""There's been a troll in these lowlands before! It'll be the very same!" So far Dunan had done a remarkable job of containing himself. Each of the elves knew this was one subject where his steadfast composure was bound to crumble, and in Caith's opinion, the emotional storm brewed by his fixation was liable to shame them as a species. Stront's lips craved the curve of a satisfied smile which he resisted, though his eyes never left his parading superior."When I was a boy, we encountered him in a forest on the edge of Ramasker," Dunan told Caith, who had already heard this story thrice before, "Aramis had wanted us to take him back to the mountains, but the creature was the ward of a woodsman, and he wouldn't have it – I knew something like this would happen one day. I just knew it! He was supposed to be confined to the wood. Now he wanders freely, doing as he likes!""Collect your senses," Caith advised, with visible impatience. "If Stront sent them on their way, and they have been suitably warned, and we have the eyes of the village locked on the land for us, then what do we fret for? Let's not turn this into another situation like Lord Benjamin's crowning ceremony.”All but Avie and Margoyl had been there, for when the attendants of the garden party had fallen victim to a mysterious, odiferous mist. Lord Benjamin's fickle gorge never stood a chance.Elliot laughed cheerfully."Oh, that's right! The troll that sabotaged your birthday party! What fun that was, eh, brother?""Shut up, Elliot!" Benjamin snapped, frantically worrying at his fingernails."You believed that to be this same troll, did you not?" Caith asked Dunan flatly.Dunan trembled underneath his armor. "With all due respect, Captain, to my knowledge, you have not encountered any trolls. I have. You don't know what they're capable of…""What are the chances of more than one troll straying without having been spotted already?" Elgon asked the group. "Perhaps Dunan is right. It could be the same creature. By the sounds of things, he's tracking us.""Then we must go back to the village!" Dunan cried, rounding up the scouts. "We need to find them, and arrest them–""I'm not keeping a troll in custody in a bloody royal castle!" Caith barked. "We will take the sons to Pomona and get them settled in. Your men can then be sent back to the village later this afternoon to keep watch.""Can I go with them?" Elliot asked. Caith fumbled for an answer, having not anticipated Elliot's question, and looked to Benjamin for advice."Well, I'm not babysitting him!" He spat."Babysitting! You've never babysat me in all your days. You were always running off and chasing girls, leaving me alone to fend for myself... if only Mother and Father knew the half of it!""I'm not sure that's wise, Elliot," Margoyl said. "There's not much to Fernichork, anyway. You should know that by now."Elliot picked his way across the puddles of snowmelt toward the mass of bodies. "I heard some good stories down there when I was younger. I like the people. I won't be a bother to the Guard. Promise."The trio looked hopefully at Caith, all three of them willing her to refuse, but she nodded lightly."Very well, then. So long as the Guard is with you at all times. Not just Maggie."She and Margoyl loosened the harnesses of the centaurs so they could graze at what was left of the foliage and plod along at a less demanding pace, while the Guard would push the carriage along the track. Elliot took up the rear, though only as much as Caith would allow, and stretched out a hand to brush his palm against the bare branches of the berry bushes that grew on either side. Something scratched and tickled at the back of his neck, and the tiny humanoid barely missed his swatting hand as she crawled out of his fur hood."Eugh! You're starting to sweat in here, you know. Why do boys get so hot..." "I can hardly help that, can I?" Elliot returned. "Or would you have me freeze?""Puh. What's all this hoo-ha about wanting to go into that village? Don't suppose you stopped for a minute to consider whether I might want to go?""You don't have to come, Maggie. You could stay in Pomona.""With your spewing brother – fine company! And what might those villagers make of you, without me there?""I thought I might fit in better, actually," Elliot suggested. Avie turned back to frown at him, having not yet become accustomed to the relationship the young Lord had with the minuscule creature. If Elliot had known this, he would have correctly surmised that Avie thought he was talking to himself. Everyone always did."Don't think I didn't hear about the troll, either. It's one thing to be curious, Elliot…""Isn't it something, though? No one back home has ever seen a troll!""And for good reason! They're not supposed to be seen! Orcs, as well – you don't want to get on the bad side of them! If you were to put one foot wrong…""Well, that's what I’ve got you for, isn't it?" Elliot asked, reaching up to poke her gently.
"Brother!"
"How's your stomach?" Elliot asked wryly, as Maggie's connection guided his feet toward the newly-crowned Lord."It's just fine, thank you. I've never travelled well. Don't know why you still find it so amusing." He reached out to muss Elliot's styled brown hair. "What are you really going into Fernichork for?""Enough! You make it out like I cooked up some grand plan. I just don't want to be stuck in the castle, that's all.""You aren't excited about the party?""This'll be my twenty-fourth. I think I'll manage to sleep through the night," he scoffed. "Listen to you. You sound like an old curmudgeon! This is the best time of year.""Of course I like the Solstice," Elliot amended. "The food. The presents. But the ceremonies get tedious.""It was different when we were lads; we had no part to play. Now there are expectations of us. That'll make it even better.""Oh goody...""I've to give a speech, and offer tours of the castle," Benjamin continued. His teeth gnawed at his thumbnail. "Father hasn't mentioned what he wants you to do yet.""Sit down and be quiet, I imagine," Elliot mumbled."I wouldn't worry about it too much. Whatever it is, it won't be anything too big or important."Elliot glanced tiredly at his brother, who meant well but never seemed to consider what he said before he said it. "I'm not worried. Who's your date?""Gods, you're a little sneak. Were you listening in on me last night?""Who is it, then?""The Lady Thornside," Benjamin said smugly."Isn't she in her sixties?""Her daughter, you dolt!""Oh yes. The one from your garden party. She didn't laugh when you whoopsied all over yourself?""You're such a child," Benjamin grunted, though his cheeks had darkened. "Mother says it's good to be a little childish. She says without it you lose your wonder. There's no joy in life without wonder, Mother says.""Mother says a lot of things. Do try and grow up a little before the ceremony, Elliot. There'll be lots of our contemporaries there, and we ought to start thinking about that.""Grow up in a day and a half? That's ambitious.""Sometimes it only takes a little time for a lot to happen," Benjamin said, misquoting a scholar from the time of dragons. "You might want to invite someone. Perhaps one of the boys in the village. We'll find you a fine young swill carrier!" He shoved him playfully. "Hey! Can't you speak to Caith and let me and Maggie go down there alone?" "I'm flattered you think Caith would listen to me any more than she does you. Why would I ask?""Because they don't... want me to come," Elliot said bashfully. "The Guard. I can tell. I'd rather be alone than have to drag them along.""They don't have a choice.""That makes it worse!""It's only because you're extra work for them. You're extra work for everybody!"It stung. Not that Elliot made that obvious, or that Benjamin understood this. Maggie did, though, and the young Lord took solace in the featherlight touch of her small hand reaching up from beneath the lining of his hood to pat his cheek comfortingly. Overhead, strings of grey clouds swept across the salmon sky. By the time anyone in Fernichork had noted the changing light, or the animals that had crowded themselves into too-small shelters, the first snowflakes of the Solstice were coating the roof of Pomona Castle.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The strangers considered each other over flickering ribbons of red and orange. The distrust and wariness of previous evenings had given way to benign curiosity in their dozy gazes. A day of chases, near-misses and surprises (and, most memorably of all, stenches of astonishing foulness) had drawn to a much-appreciated close, just as the vagabonds were now drawn close around the campfire. Zahra was beginning to suspect that the standard for most days spent with the troll going forward had been set. Why the witch had sent her on the trail of a boldly-venturing cave-dweller she was yet to learn, but for now, Zahra was content with the education she was receiving just from being in his aromatic presence. Humphrey challenged her perception of his mysterious people. Her mother, when she had been alive, hadn't much to say about the mountain folk, because in her estimation they were too scarce in number to pose any threat to the lowlanders. Even as a youngling Zahra had questioned her. It was not out of defence for a belief that had been drummed into them by the loudest voices in the largest villages, but from sheer incredulity. How could anyone know exactly how many of them were feasting and breeding and warring in those dank, slimy caves, when no one dared to go up there and discover them? 
When she found herself spending more time than she ever wanted among other inquisitive young minds, this vague notion of hers was enriched by truths the other orphans had gathered in their respective short lifetimes. Of course no one wanted to explore the mountains. Trolls were neither man nor animals, with flesh of blue and grey and green; they had sight that could distinguish through the thickest darkness, noses that could smell the blood bubbling inside your passages, and grew claws for the sole purpose of snatching you up and pulling you into an expansive mouth crowded with gnarled teeth and a tongue that longed for nothing more than that desperate and most coveted taste of life's sweet essence. 
But now that she had encountered one for herself, she found those ideas less than logical. His claws were too blunt at the ends to slash and score fragile skin, and were probably best used for taking care of an itch in his posterior. His teeth were no more crooked nor jagged than her own. Though it was true that his flesh was off-colored, as though he suffered from a permanent case of queasiness, and his nose was a focal point of his appealing face, always seeming to be sussing out whatever there was to be sussed out in the air – the nostrils hardly still, ever-quivering. But if he had an appetite for blood he never let his desires be known through even the smallest of signals, and Zahra doubted there were many things that trolls could successfully suppress if the unceasing episodes of putrid flatulence were any indicator. Now that he had unintentionally demonstrated this terrible weapon to her, neither saw much point in him hiding the habit anymore, though every third or fourth word out of him was a redundant apology for his grass-wilting gases.
Dressed in clothes built for endurance rather than style, hugging his knees with his furry cow's tail curved over his funny little shoes, he watched her keenly with mild eyes of blue. No part of her felt that he was doing it out of hunger, or lust, or anything but bewilderment. Even to the chronically uninterested Zahra, it was obvious that he could hardly comprehend that they were still here, together, as a pair.

Sleep did not call to him despite the day's taxing efforts; he was too alert with the thrill of having company after weeks of wandering the World alone. And this was company that talked back! These were not the circumstances he was used to, growing up in the woods. He didn't mind her laughter when he spoke of his time spent among the Commoners of Ramasker, because laughter was seldom heard from the Lone Woodsman even during his brighter moods, and the only other laughter he had known was of those who took the hill-path from the edge of the village to taunt him with crude rhymes and quarrel with one another in the hopes of delaying the inevitable challenge of seeing who was brave enough to hurl the first stone...

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Humphrey started with a full-body jerk, and for his efforts received a smirk and a pitying shake of the hybrid's head.

"Clearly this wise woodsman forgot to teach you to stay away from orcs."

"I don't know if he ever said much of anything about orcs," the troll said, recovering what little nerve he had. "Or much of anything about... anything."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm not used to it. To this. People never want to be this close. Especially after I've–"

"No need to remind me," Zahra sharply broke in, before pointedly massaging the bridge of her nose. "That stuff of yours is unforgettable."

It crossed the troll's mind that there was still a very real chance that he might wake up in the morning alone, and his face reflected this unhappy possibility. Not for the first time, the half-orc sensed that her brittle way with words might have rubbed Humphrey the wrong way, though rather than take responsibility for this, she rolled onto her preferred side for sleeping and made herself as comfortable as one could be on the ground.

"Better get used to people running away. Whether it's because of your butt or my mug. They won't be welcoming us with open arms anyplace out here."

"I thought it might be that way," Humphrey said. "Maybe that's better."

"You're satisfied enough with just me?" Zahra asked, looking over her shoulder and toward him again. This troll was unusually sociable. Why else would he defend a camp without any obligation to do so? To make friends with the Commoners who then proceeded to scream in his face when the nature of their hero was revealed to them?

"I worry about knowing people. About making friends..."

"I don't," she grunted. Then, despite the uneasy pricking that the hard earthen floor had nothing to do with, went on to say, "And why worry, anyway? Why does any of that matter? So long as you know how to take care of yourself, everything else is just a distraction."

"I get scared that I might disappoint people," Humphrey explained. "I don't know if I've got all the things you need to be a friend. I'm not very smart. I don't know about many things, not like you do. If I was going to be someone's friend, wouldn't they like me to be smart, and brave and–"

"Personally, I would start with cologne."

Her insult rolled right off of the troll. His eyes seemed to search the star-dotted sky for answers.

"I guess I worry about not being enough of anything," he finished.

An owl's plaintive call echoed all around the clearing. He knew he was to blame for Zahra's withdrawal. Even with only a couple of days of experience, he was already aware of which topics the half-orc was likely to shy away from.

Suddenly restless, Zahra huffed and changed her mind about this being her best sleeping position. She fell heavily onto her back, attempted to silence her thoughts, and then felt her eyes pry back open to stare into the deep purple sky.

"Do you remember anything from before met you the Woodsman? From when you lived with the other trolls?"

"Little things," Humphrey said softly, after a short pause. He had thought all conversation was done for tonight. "Nothing that means much."

"But not nothing?"

"I remember tunnels. All the darkness." The very same was starting to encroach on Zahra, leading her toward a protected place beyond this present moment. "And I remember that each tunnel had its own kind of dark. I remember one tunnel with little holes in the wall, where the sun must've shone through, and it would make speckles all over the ground. And that was the tunnel with the dip in the floor, that would take you to the Big Light. We weren't supposed to go near that tunnel." His mouth twitched into a little smile. "I remember getting my ears tugged for going too close, more than once. And I remember..."

He looked at Zahra, did what he could to determine that she was asleep, and went on unshielded from any attacks.

"Feeling safe."

Never did he have to travel far to find a hand to guide him through those longer, trickier passageways, the ones with the twists and turns in them, or to help him find something to fill his bellies, or dust the dirt from his face or stroke his hair or nurse his wounds and wipe his tears. Never was he alone in navigating this life.

"And warm..."

There was always another body to curl up beside, to share heat with. Only later in life did he learn that snow lay all year round on those mountains. They made sure the young never had to feel the cold.

And with bodies came sounds – the kinds that Zahra teased him for, and others that he learned to identify those bodies by when his senses had yet to master the environment they lived in. There was one voice that he knew better than any other, and which he longed for more than any other. Not for any of the words that it said, which he could never recall the meaning of no matter how he tried. He did not need to understand the words to understand their meaning. For that, all he needed was its music.

Music like none he had heard in the village. Music that not even the Woodsman when his heart was beating at its kindest rate could make. A sound that meant safety and warmth, comfort and happiness, and the best feeling of all: the kind of togetherness that was true and forever.

"And wanted," he whispered, as the last ribbon faded into the cinders with a hiss, and the darkness swallowed them whole.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Darkness, Zahra knew, would be their strongest ally. It was also their only ally. This knowledge was enough to temper her exasperation at Humphrey's purposely laggard pace as they crossed the village's boundary line. With the imminent Great Sundown, dusk was summoned more swiftly and wholeheartedly than any other time of the year. A township as humble as Fernichork would lack the resources of some of the larger communities – there would be no lamps illuminating every square inch of the podunk, nor enough vigilant people to spare as watchmen – so, if they were crafty enough, it wouldn't take too much work to go undetected as unwanted visitors.As stone-colored snowclouds surged in from the west, the half-orc led the troll away from the tangle of run-down cottages and toward the center of the settlement, where some of the corroded farmland had been cleared to create space for a marketplace. Being the last stop on a fairly well-traversed trail, Fernichork took ample opportunity to profit from the business of any passers-through. Some stalls sold travelling supplies and materials while others offered cheap, simple, and largely tasteless fare. Fernichork didn't take much stock in any complaints; in the winter, it was either you ate their food or the buzzards ate you.If you had the misfortune of not being Common or belonging to one of the more acceptable species categories, you weren't entirely out of luck... but luck was only to be found if you knew where to look for it."Stop," Zahra ordered, lifting a big hand a second too late; Humphrey clumsily bumped into her solid frame with an oof. "This is where things get interesting," she murmured, squinting through the snow that was now steadily falling and straining to call upon faded memories. "I'd kind of rather they didn't," Humphrey remarked from her side, his youthful voice thick with trepidation. "Tough titty. See that gap in the fence?" She indicated with her finger. "That's how we're going to get in – if we used any of the main paths, it'd be too obvious. We'll slip in on the fringes, then we're going to walk purposely toward the far end of the village. None of this skulking around in the backstreets. It'll only draw attention. Besides, Fernichork hasn't changed much. I'll bet the Boiled Boar is right where it always was."Humphrey gulped queasily and backed away from their hidden vantage point. "This is a little too risky for my liking, Zahra. What if we can't find anyone who wants to help us? What if they turn us over to the Guard? What if someone notices your prints once the snow starts to lie?" The half-orc could've bet on the subsequent gassy rumble of his worrisome stomachs, and the blanching of his face. "M-Maybe we don't have to do this. We could head for the woods instead. Yeah! There's always something to eat in there!""Oh, like those roots you famously digest so well?" Zahra studied him thoughtfully in what was left of the daylight, then started to shed her sheepskin jacket. "C'mere. It's going to be loose on you, but it's better than nothing.""I'll be fine. You know I don't need it. Trolls naturally run hot. Or at least, I think they do. I do.""It's not for the weather, it's to disguise you," she explained, yanking him towards her by a fistful of his flannel. "Nobody's rolling out the red carpet for orcs, but at least the Boil's used to seeing us every once in a half moon. Trolls are different. Way different." She snorted sarcastically. "If anyone asks about your color, we'll say you're recovering from a flu. Can't do much about the claws, I guess. But that tail has got to go.""Go where?" Humphrey asked incredulously, glancing behind him at his tufted flyswatter. "Shove it inside your pants. Down one of the legs.""Like... this?""That's right. And no wagging it. From now on, nothing makes you happy. How's the tank situation?""I'm as starved as I was this morning," Humphrey sighed dejectedly as he struggled to fit his arms through Zahra's jacket. It was already hanging down below his knees."I'm talking about the stuff you're never empty of. The Boil's not exactly high class, but I can't have you stinking it up. You'll give us away for sure then. This is a historical moment, Humphrey." She shook her head slowly in mystification. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually want you to rip them. You need to clear the worst of it out before we go anywhere near the place. So... have at it. Fire in the hole and all that."The troll immediately clammed up. Tempted by her offer, his windy guts began to stir, but he cleared his throat to block out the sound and shrugged with exaggerated casualness. "You know, now that I think about it, I don't think there's very much in there, actually...""Get to blasting!" Zahra demanded sharply.Whining like a kicked dog, Humphrey looked away, shyly glimpsed at her with his miserable, anxious countenance, and upon registering Zahra's even scarier and stormier expression, reluctantly poked his tail back through the hole in his pants, raised it, and pushed. A feeble fart squeaked out. Nothing followed. He smirked at the hybrid. "See! Didn't I tell you? That's all I'm–"He was punctually interrupted by his stomachs' wrathful gurgling. Before he knew it, his tail had tail shot up from the force of a large, noisy fart. Zahra glanced around them panickedly to see if anyone had heard it."O-oh! Nope! Okay! That's definitely not all! Oogh..." The troll groaned gutturally and unwittingly bent over, crumbling under the pressure that was vigorously amounting inside of him. One arm wrapped consolingly around his bubbling, churning midriff as Zahra took cover from the ghastly gush of flatulence that began to billow out of him. The foul winds flapped the overhang of her coat and blew her breath away, as well as a few unsuspecting moths. The last fart came out in staggered brassy stutters, and Humphrey hefted a relieved sigh when it finally wrapped up on a powerful trumpeting note."Are you done?" Zahra snapped into the renewed silence. He jolted and turned to look up at her, where he saw tears building in the corners of her nipping eyes."A-heh. Heh. Sorry about that." The troll grinned disarmingly and waved a helpful hand near his fragrant rump. She scoffed and pulled the hood of her jacket up over his head. "Keep your face covered. It gives you an air of mystery, which'll serve you well in a place like this." 
(Poot!)
"Last one! Heh! Heh...""...Gods help us. Hopefully that's the only air you're bringing in there. Eugh... come on."Movement was proving troublesome when he was swimming in sheepskin, so Humphrey slipped his belt out from his pants and used it to fasten the jacket around his waist before he hurried after Zahra. She held the gap in the fence open for him so they could both climb through. Now inside the village, his sensitive nose distracted him from the fear prickling at his heart. Here he encountered a thousand smells all jostling for his attention: the dirty rockdust reek of coal-fired ovens, the peculiar pungency of this region's oils and healing balms, the rich gamey aroma of sizzling duckfat, and most recognizable of all was the earthen tones of the lumber wood used to craft various tools, such as stakes and hiking staffs. Zahra ushered him forward smartly as they breezed past the marketplace and progressed further and further into the shadows."You think a place that's going to entertain the likes of you and me will be anywhere near this tourist attraction? Come on!" She exclaimed. Most of Fernichork looked cosy in the snow, the way Ramasker had in the wintertime, with the invitingly golden radiance of the candlelit windows of the cottages, and even the marketplace had lanterns strung on taut ropes to guide prospective buyers along – but this area of the village was a better example of how raw and debilitating the season could be. It also appeared to be the village's dumping ground, with planks of rotted wood, broken troughs and old rusted pails littered everywhere upon the frosted terrain. Rats scurried at their feet. The troll could smell their urine and the decomposing vegetables and offal they feasted on. He hadn't noticed that where they had come to a halt was an entrance until Zahra grunted something and exchanged silver coins with an unseen figure. She whisked them inside without another word.A stuffy, mildewy, dingy watering hole packed with wayward wanderers was, as Humphrey discovered, not an improvement over the eerie absence of villagers outside. Now they had eyes on them, and their presence in the village could be accounted for and reported to the necessary authorities. Not that the Boiled Boar was renowned for attracting a clientele that cared much for authority. The gore-stained metal of knives and armor glittered openly and unabashedly in the firelight. Someone was playing something badly, or perhaps just very slowly, on a piano in the heart of the tavern, and someone else was struggling to sing along, dripping beer all over the already sticky floorboards. A mangy dog gnawed on a bone and looked up briefly at Humphrey, its nose twitching purposely, then returned to tearing out shreds of gristle. People of all creeds sat at benches and tables and drank themselves silly to chase away the cold. This went only so far as to reassure Humphrey, since he was still the only troll.Did you honestly expect anything else? He shook his head at the strange and unexpected longing that had surfaced within him, and rid his blond hair of a dusting of snow while he was at it. Zahra made a beeline for the bar area, where they occupied two empty stools. Hers creaked forbiddingly when she tried to sit down, so she opted to stand, instead. "Not much point in making myself comfortable, anyway," she told him. She stared over Humphrey's head toward a curtained-off area in the far corner. "How do you know who to talk to?" Humphrey whispered, craning his neck to look out at the sea of faces."I don't," Zahra admitted. "I just have to trust my gut. Stay here – order me a beer, whatever's flowing. Keep your eyes forward. Don't talk to anyone." She deposited a bag of coins next to him, and he pocketed them silently, making a point of not letting his eyes follow her as she moved on from the bar.He wondered if it might be safe to pull down his hood, now – wouldn't it be considered impolite to keep it up like this, anyway? Aware of his particularly rounded ears, he thought better of it. And the atmosphere of the place suggested that he wouldn't be the first to have abandoned courtesy. He discreetly surveyed the others at the bar. A pockmarked Common man who was missing most of the digits on his right hand was perched on the very last stool, and beside him was a gnome smoking a pipe full of strong-smelling tobacco. They were playing a game with pieces of ceramic tiles, though all they had to bet with was a bowl full of nuts. The barman, an exceptionally hairy cyclops, slapped a wet, yellowing rag down on the counter before Humphrey and grunted at him expectantly as he began to mop up the spillage. "Uh, one beer, please," Humphrey requested. Then added, crucially, in his most manly voice, "Whatever's flowin'."The cyclops gave this attempt the contempt it deserved then stopped mid-grasp of a tankard. All faces had turned toward a commotion behind the troll. Two lizardmen had started to quite literally butt their scaled heads. Thankfully, it had nothing to do with Zahra – though his heart began to race when he realized he couldn't see her anywhere. The cyclops slammed a fist down on the counter, making all the tankards and bowls jump, and snarled out a warning. The melee simmered down, then one reptile hissed something under his breath and suddenly a table was upturned and a chanting crowd had formed a semi-circle around the pair. The barman leapt over the counter with surprising agility and broke it up himself.Wide-eyed and feeling more nauseous than ever, Humphrey swivelled forward in his seat again and was startled by the sight of a woman he had not noticed before. He tried to quell his shock at her appearance. Half of her face was covered with crater-like pustules, while the other half was a shade of dark mahogany, and was so cracked and brittle the flesh looked to have been replaced with wood."An' fer yersel'?" She asked in a voice that sounded like chunks of granite being grated against one another."...for m-me w-what? Oh! No, nothing," Humphrey said. He wasn't much of a drinker, anyway, and he knew from summer nights with the Woodsman that beer was an unwise choice if he wasn't able to freely vent any emissions. "I'm fine, thank you.""No even somet'ing t'wet t'hroat?" With a voice like that, he couldn't help but think she was the one in need of quenching. She fixed him with an eye that seemed as foreboding as any abyss, but which did not look upon him with any noticeable malice."I guess a water might be nice," he muttered. He blushed when his stomachs grumbled hungrily. Right now, those bowls full of nuts seemed like a veritable banquet. "Is t'hat all?""That's all," he confirmed, regrettably. "Mmm." As she nodded, Humphrey swore he could hear the sound of branches creaking in the breeze. She brought her splayed hands together, tenting her fingers, and Humphrey's suspicions proved to be correct. One of her hands (and presumably the rest of her arm, hidden beneath her long, dangling sleeves) was made out of hundreds of old tree roots tightly entwined, and at the end of each finger, the wood had been sharpened to a claw-like point."Yersel' looks weary. Burdened. What've ye got to hide under that there cloak of yers?"One of the deadly spikes reached out to tilt his chin upward. Humphrey felt his heart plummet into his stomach and thousands of small hard bumps raised on his pale green flesh. She grinned grotesquely. "Ne'r mind. I'll fix ye up wi' jus' what ye need. Mmm-mmm."Had Humphrey not been surprised by Zahra's reappearance, he might've noticed something strange in the way she exited – in that, she seemed to slip right through the old floorboards, like smoke, or a cockroach – but Zahra's hand suddenly resting on his shoulder was enough to trigger him to release a small cloud of his defensive musk. The pockmarked Common man and the gnome looked up sharply at the noise of a balloon slowly deflating and were soon covering their noses and mouths at the fetid aroma that followed."When I'm right behind you!" Zahra snapped as Humphrey successfully cleared out the other stools at the bar. "Real classy!""You scared me! Gods, this place is giving me the weirdest feeling," he confessed, rubbing his abdomen comfortingly as his bowels anxiously cramped and ached."Every place gives you weird feelings. You've never been anywhere! Anyway, it won't be for much longer. I'm just about to sign a deal." She asked for the rest of the coins, which Humphrey picked out of his pants pocket and placed in her open palm. "Someone who can get us fully stocked for all the way to Beggar's Run and back. Just hang tight. And for the love of the Gods, clench those cheeks!""Isn't that the last of our money?" Humphrey observed nervously."Not if I win this poker game.""The what game? Zahra, wait! Don't–"Zahra's fearsome eyes begged him to be silent as she grabbed her tankard and retreated into the crowd. A glass of clear liquid was waiting for him when he turned back around. The cyclops was serving a portly hawk-like creature, and the wooden woman was nowhere to be seen. Humphrey lifted the glass and drank without hesitation. He had no reason to smell it first, and even if he had, he wouldn't have had any cause to suspect it. His throat was badly parched – he and Zahra had used up the last of their water last night – and he swallowed two generous mouthfuls, licked his lips, and then drained the glass to its dregs. Maybe it was because his throat was so dry, but it was some of the cleanest and most refreshing water he had tasted since he had left the Woodsman, and he certainly hadn't expected it from a place like this.Where was Fernichork's nearest water source, anyway? He had become too tired to question it. He also felt less inclined to worry about openly staring at the other patrons. True enough, no one seemed particularly upset about the visiting half-orc. The hawk-creature was hardly turning heads, and the lizardfolk and the gnome and the one-eyed barman appeared to be as integrated as any of the Commoners. None of these creatures were being made to disguise themselves. He wondered what might happen if he pulled down his hood and set his tail free. They would be stunned, at first, but... what about after the initial shock had dispelled? Would they be angry? Or perhaps just curious? Surely it would occur to them that all this time he had been sitting here among their throng, minding his own business and harassing no one – well, except for a couple of olfactory systems, of course – and wouldn't it be so silly for them to assume that anything would change once he had revealed his–Humphrey juddered out of his daydreaming. He had become keenly aware of a deeply unpleasant sensation fermenting within him. He sprung from his stool and interrupted the cyclops and the hawk-creature mid-natter."Is there a bathroom in here?!" He cried.The cyclops indicated with a jerk of his head toward a set of doors at the back of the room. As Humphrey lurched toward it, Zahra caught sight of him through the slit in the curtain that shielded her negotiations from the rest of the tavern, and she jumped out to grab him by the arm. "What are you doing? I told you to stay put!" "I-I'm not feeling so great, all of a sudden," Humphrey stammered between wheezy breaths. "I think I might be sick.""Jeez, is this the weird feeling thing again? I told you, you only need to hold on a little longer!""Not that feeling. The..." He gulped, then lowered his voice. "Emergency feeling."Zahra's face writhed in disgust. "Oh no. Nuh-uh. You're not using the bathroom in here. I don't think their toilet'll hold it!" She paused. "I don't think any toilet could hold it. And even giants visit this place, sometimes...""Then where?!" He squealed desperately."Outside! Go... fertilise a field, or something. But come back inside as soon as you're done!"Humphrey wanted to protest, but out of fear of publicly humiliating himself, he bolted past the doorman and into the frozen landscape. He was gladdened for the immediate and intense blast of refreshingly cold air because now the distress in his stomachs had crawled up to pulse inside of his forehead, the impact of which was blurring his vision. He reeled forward, making an awful clatter when he knocked over a pair of pails, and clutched desperately at the slimy exterior walls of the tavern as he lost the feeling in his legs. With trembling fingers he tried to loosen the belt to shrug off Zahra's coat, for he was rapidly burning up. Pearls of sweat dotted his brow and slithered down his cheeks. But his hands were starting to tingle and grow heavy, just as his chest was growing heavy, just as his head was growing heavy, and his arms flailed helplessly as his legs finally gave out from underneath him. The icy white World slipped away, so that the darkness reigned supreme, as he made a perfect snow-angel underneath the star-dotted sky.Perhaps the doorman might've noticed someone's unconscious body sunken face-down into the deep snow when he indulged in his every-hour-on-the-hour smoke breaks, in which he was also kind enough to conduct an enthused patrol of the tavern's location. But at the exact moment Humphrey passed out, he was too busy ramming open the Boil's door and bellowing feverishly over the din of the jovial patrons."Everybody hide! The Royal Guard are headed this way!"

"no, it's why i left my village. i wanted to find my own stories."