Niina's Run

[Wyvern]

OOC: to be posted in segments... This story takes place in the setting of Lymnor's Wake, which is given a brief run down in this thread.

 

IC:

 

The pavement of the square seemed to sizzle. Summer's lazy rain had turned to vapor, and bare feet circled through the dry dirt behind market tents, not nearing an inch of the cracked stone. Clef Forguun watched the boots that passed over the hotbed with distant eyes, puckering his lips and shifting a long grain of wheat between his teeth. He leaned back on the side of the dead fountain, craning his neck down far enough to catch a few drops of what remained at the fountain's pit with his rough blond curls.

 

"... or just a leather, like that."

 

Clef stared up at the silent fountain in a daze. A thousand open mouths, and not a single drop of spit. He sometimes wondered if they were built to laugh themselves an Ocean, or cry themselves a wishing well. If only they cried a wishing well. He knew what wafted from them open maws in this weather... couple gnats, and that cloudy dust of dried-up hope. Just waiting to catch a breeze and vanish under a hazy wave of heat.

 

"Horsehide, that. Not bad either."

 

Clef sat upright and wiggled his bare toes, not minding the heat of the stone on his sores and blisters. The long sleeves of his old shirt were grey with dirt, and the grain between his teeth tasted like seven days in the Eyrus Desert. The tip of the pitchfork at his side didn't glint or sparkle under the Sun, it just sat there like the tool that it was.

 

"Or that. What do you think, Clef?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

Clef turned his attention to Derg, who sat next to him on the fountain rim. He was eating a turkey leg and wiping the grease onto his sleeve, though his city sleeves certainly seemed able to afford it. He was shorter and plumper than Clef, with one eye slightly larger than the other, and a tuft of hair behind his left ear that never seemed to stay on one place.

 

"You haven't heard a word, have you?" Derg stretched his tongue to lick a bit of turkey fat from his cheek. "You haven't even been checking the boots."

 

"Told ya, Derg." Clef flicked the grain from his mouth and watched it drift to the pavement. "I can't be affordin' no new boots, not this month. Or next, I reckon. Just fix up them old ones, I'll pay you back with the new seed when it comes in full."

 

"Clef." Derg stared towards Clef with eyes that verged on disbelief. He lifted Clef's former boots, the cheap leather torn with holes large enough to lose lesser feet, muddied with blisters and spotted with bramble and thorns. Clef sighed and raised a hand to his brow as Derg dangled the dirty rags of leather in front of him.

 

"There are some things not even the Miracle Tailor of Weeslar can fix." Derg tossed the torn boots into the fountain pit. "Look, I'm not seeing you off barefoot with the trip you have to make. You can borrow a pair of cheap leathers and pay me back for'em later."

 

"Wait on it, I'll be hangin' round this evening." Clef brushed a hand over his sunburnt forehead. The heat of the pavement seemed to lift around him, causing the Weeslar market to shimmer in curves. "Reckon pops wouldn't let me in without that oxen he was wishin' for. Lym' be gone if there ain't a single oxen in Weesler up fer sale on a fine Summer day. Must be them damn feast-mongers up East."

 

Clef watched as Derg lifted the turkey leg for another bite. He flicked out his lithe fingers and caught a small spider crawling up the bone's length of the meat, only to raise it in front of Derg's face and crush it with a flick of his fingers. Clef struck a smug smirk and whistled to himself as Derg frowned and carefully examined the leg. When they'd mock-jousted with branches as kids, Clef had rarely lost a run... though he'd always chosen the better branch to begin with, the one with more width and gnarled edges. Eighteen years later, and he had to admire Derg for not being fed up with the little competitions.

 

"Don't s'pose I could crash on yer rug?"

 

"Still room in the furnace, I think." Derg and Clef exchanged glances, then laughed. "Come on, grab your damn pitchfork. Taste-testing the homebrewn market ale is free."

[Wyvern]

Clef spent the rest of the Sun's rays sipping on tiny cups of Pixy Meferr and exotic Mushreein wine. He never bothered spitting, letting the mixes settle at the pit of his stomach, like a blanket of forgetfulness over his oxen woes. By the time the light receded, he had drank a cup and a half more than Derg, but his competitive streak had dwindled down to a half-hearted tug. Derg led him by hand, past the Proud Weeslar pub and through a small cemetary of jagged stones. Barely a patch of land, but Clef knew that long as there was a body, no fancy headstone could ever bring that memory back. God, that memory.

 

"Derg Gorramos."

 

Two men stood in front of the Weeslar Tailor. One was tall, almost Clef's height, with a cheap pipe in his mouth and long brown eyebrows. The other was a halfling, well-built and brawny, with half a goatee and an awkward strut in his step. Clef watched Derg come to a halt and slap his forehead.

 

"Aww, guys- I'm sorry, I just- it's been a pretty long-"

 

"That's alright Miracle Tailor." The halfling let out a low chuckle. "It's still the hour. Who's your friend?"

 

"Never told me you worked in front of no graveyard." Clef swayed over and caught his balance. Derg grabbed his shoulder and steadied him.

 

"Clef, an old friend of mine. Just needs a place to sleep for the night. Come on, usual shuffle?"

 

Clef watched Derg fumble through a set of small keys and unlock the door with a creak of rusted metal. Long rows of boots covered the shelves and floor, and a table cluttered with tools and half-finished heels dotted the left corner like some kind of cobbler throne. A bundle of old quilts lay stacked together next to the darkened fireplace, with a single quilt hanging over its aged frame. Clef smiled at the design of the quilt: a horse kneeling with its mouth in a large feeding tin. He still saw it half-finished, with Derg's mother kneeling over in her careful sewing, her deep dimples failing to hide that radiant smile of hers. Back then, he and Derg had run chores together every day, but Clef hadn't been around to witness her illness when those last days rolled around. She had always been an angel to him, that Gurtha.

 

"Grab whichever you like." Derg motioned towards the quilts. He lit a lamp on the cobbler table, and sweeped the projects there to the floor in a clatter. "The boys and I are gonna play some hands. You should rest. Sleep wherever."

 

Clef nodded with a groggy swagger and fumbled his hands over a quilt. The texture felt a bit rough as he passed it through his fingers, but he tried to ignore the prickly feel of the fabric as he settled down with it near the fireplace. He turned his back to the rays of the lamp and drifted in and out of sleep, the thought of pops' face at the word of no oxen haunting him awake. He knew that scowl of his all too well, those blackened tobacco spit teeth. What teeth he had, that is. Still, for all those wrinkles, Clef knew he could still hit like a wild stallion. Strength was just in the Forguun bloodline, he reckoned.

 

"Well, I double your bet, and raise you three Antaen silvers."

 

Clef sat up at the sound of the halfling's voice, his head throbbing and his stomach loosening a bit. He turned and retched towards the old ash of the fireplace for a moment, then shook his dizzy head until the room seemed straight. It was still dark out, and the lamp's dim light covered the jumbles of boots in a homely warmth. Clef's eyes turned to the table, and he watched the tall man look over his hand of cards.

 

"See, my sister, she's lost her head. Wants to marry this Scadrow fellow, and do you know what he works?" The tall man tilted his eyebrows and layed down his card. "Street vending, the worst kind."

 

"I tell you, my little sis can never be satisfied. Twice as bad as that." The halfling layed down the superior card with a wink. "She won't rest till there's a ring on every ear, and two on every toe."

 

Clef lifted himself with a grimace, and took a careful step forward.

 

"But you see, this Scadrow is a wiley blackmarketer. Your sister's greedy, sure, but mine wants to wed a-"

 

"Clef."

 

Clef paused at the sound of Derg's voice. He stood at the door silent, his hand clenched around the wooden handle of his pitchfork. He turned his head for a moment and saw Derg's face staring at him from the table. His eyes looked so uneven in their concern, but Clef already knew that Derg understood why he wanted to go out.

 

"Thought you were resting. Where're you off to?"

 

"Just gonna get some air." Clef gripped the door handle and pushed it open, ignoring the chill of the breeze. "Reckon I'll be back after the last hand has passed."

[Wyvern]

Clef stepped through the cemetary in long strides, using the blunt end of his pitchfork as a walking stick. His eyes carefully avoided the shrunken stones dotting the mounds on the ground. Those familiar stones. His destination was nowhere near that halfling and that queer-looking pipe-puffer, some place lost. They took the air, the town, and Derg's hospitality for granted, and that was fine. But there were some things that you didn't take for granted in this world. Like family.

 

Clef lost his balance as he stepped over a stone without looking. His long legs flailed forward in his dizzy state, but he planted his pitchfork and caught himself on it. He shook his head and stared at the ground before shutting his eyes. When Miima passed, they hadn't been able to etch the stone. He dragged her back home, fast as those long legs could carry him, the blood running down his arm and into her hair. Layed her out near the front deck. Those hoof-markings on her face were like some kinda fancy tattoos 'round a broken mouth, and the dirt imprints on her skirt weren't hiding the bruises. And Lord, he had cried. Miima. Momma's last one.

 

Clef shuffled out of the cemetary and through the deserted streets. A half moon shined its light over the lonesome patches of dirt where the drink tents had once stood, and Clef stumbled through the abandoned town square with a swagger. He came to a halt when he reached the Weeslar stables. They were all locked up and darkened, the pale moonlight barely reaching them. Several wagons lined the dirt in the stable yard, empty and desolate. The kind of cart that not even a spook would want to drive in his last night of haunting. Clef layed his head against a wooden stable wall and breathed a quiet sigh. Not a single oxen. He had to come up with a good excuse for Pops. He knew that wouldn't be enough, but he had to come up with one anyway.

 

That's when he heard the breathing.

 

It was a faint sound, but Clef had heard fainter in his cattle days. It was shakey, desperate. Terrified. Clef stepped against the stable wall and peered through the shadows, into the stable yard. The moonlight only lit two or three of the wagons, but he spotted a faint silhouette around the last cart. It looked like a man casting the shadow. He was standing still, and his head was tilting from one direction to another.

 

"shh-shh-shh-shhh"

 

Clef's eyes darted towards the sixth wagon, sitting there in the shadows. No doubt in his mind now. He crept along the stable walls in the hopes of seeing a bit more with the moon's rays at an angle, but his worries were answered for him when a small light was lit in the back of the wagon. It was dim, at hardly a flicker. But it was enough.

 

A man and a woman were standing next to the back of the cart. Another man was already mounted on it, with a tiny lantern set at his side. Clef knew lanterns like that didn't come cheap. The woman in front of the cart was stark still. Her eyes were shut, and she was trying her damnest to stop that breathing of hers.

 

"be glad you're not in salinsway. would've silenced you, one way or another. shh."

 

The man at the woman's side had one hand working at her blouse. His fingers pinched and snapped off the top button, letting it fall to the dirt. His other hand moved the smooth part of a knife up and down one of the woman's long pointed ears. That was all that it took for Clef. He stepped from the shadows and cleared his throat.

 

"'Scuse me."

 

The man outside of the cart paused and squinted, not taking his hand from the blouse or his knife from the ear. He stared at Clef with a look that bordered on disbelief.

 

"The Hell...?"

 

"I uhm." Clef shifted his feet through the dirt. "Just wanted to load up my wagon here, 'fore the dawn sets in. Wanna stand clear of that mornin' rush."

 

The second man hopped off of the wagon and shook his head in Clef's direction. His shirt was already missing, and his scrawny chest had less hair on it than a sheared sheep. The first man slid the smooth surface of the knife off of the woman's ear, and she breathed in sharply. Clef's eyes met with hers for a moment, and they were wide and milky, with an endless green that was almost hypnotizing.

 

"Get lost, prairy kisser." The first man frowned and twisted the hilt of the knife in his fingers. "There'll be time for your wagon in the morning. You came here way too early."

 

Clef tightened his grip around his pitchfork.

 

"Prairy kisser?"

 

The sound of crunching gravel caused Clef to turn his eyes. The silouhette reaching from the final wagon was gone, and another man was eyeing him at a distance from the cart. Clef glanced at the other two men, and their calm meant that the third stranger was also in on it. Not a second to spare now.

 

"Everything al-"

 

Clef sprung forward, gritting his teeth, both hands clutched around his pitchfork. The man holding the knife barely had time to look back from the watchman as Clef drove the blunt wooden end into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The second man's eyes widened and he reached a hand for his sword, but his pants fumbled loose and Clef swung the wooden length of pitchfork into his face. Clef grunted and turned to strike the gasping first man in the head, knocking him out cold. But the third man was running faster than Clef thought, and he barely had a second to raise his hand as a short sword sliced above his head, taking a few strands of hair. Clef grimaced and drove the sharp metal end of the pitchfork forward in desperation. One of the needles punctured the man's neck and tore across it. Clef watched him clutch at the gash and drop to the ground, his blade clattering in the dirt. The woman's breath was coming faster now. More panicked, just as terrified. A patch of blood was forming under the third man's neck, and he was twitching on the ground. And it was at that moment that Clef noticed the uniforms on the three bodies. The formal blues and greys they wore were more visible when strewn across the dirt, faded in the lamp's dull light. The proper wear of the Confederacy.

 

"Sheeit."

[Wyvern]

Clef heard her breath, so fast, coming out sharp. And then it was gone. Gravel.

 

"Hey!" Clef unfixed his eyes from the uniforms and saw her run. She was swerving through the stable yard, dust raising up behind her. Left and right, escape with no direction. Good as caught. He sprang forward and almost slipped on one of the swords in the dirt, jumping over one of the bodies and kicking up a cloud. He watched her skid in the dirt and slip near the last wagon. Her sobbing caught his ears as he slowed down near her. It was quiet. So quiet, like a child in the middle of a marketplace, some sorta foolish pride draining that choking sound. What in the hell did she have to hide on a night like this?

 

Clef reached down with a hand. She didn't turn around, kept that quiet front facing the dirt. She started to crawl a bit. More of a fidget, far as Clef could see. She wasn't moving anywhere, just getting that pretty dress of hers dirtier and dirtier, as if the hands of that filth hadn't ruined it enough. Clef reached down further, and gripped her arm. She froze up at his touch, and turned her head towards him, her milky eyes wide and bloodshot. Her long brown hair was shifting in every direction in the dirt, and her fingers seemed to be scraping at a rock, trying to dig some kinda safety nest.

 

“Hey.” Clef spoke softly. She lunged over and bit him on the hand, sinking her teeth hard. Clef winced as a tiny line of blood fell under her chin, but he only tightened his grip. He rose his voice a notch and stared at her with as steel a look as he could muster, trying to erase any signs of gray and blue from his thoughts.

 

“You wanna run?” Clef shook his head. She tried to bite his hand again, but he hardly felt it this time. Her pretty thin lips were pursed in something like disbelief, and the spots of blood on her chin looked like rashes in the moonlight. “You can’t. You know who those people are?”

 

Clef blinked some dust from his eye, and when he opened it she was quiet and still. Just staring at him.

 

“Well, that’s mighty reassuring. You got some sense in you. I wanna help.” Clef kept his eyes fixed on those deep greens of hers, speaking slowly to make sure she understood every word. “You chose the wrong night to be walking Weeslar alleys, and now you gotta leave. Ain’t no choice. But I wanna help, c’mon.”

 

Clef tugged at her arm and helped her to her feet. Aside from the blouse missing a top button, the bottom of her dress was torn from the fall. Clef couldn’t tell whether it was a simple white or a hue of silver in the darkness, but he could see that she had skinned her knee through one of the holes in the fabric.

 

“C’mon.”

 

Clef placed a hand around her shoulder and helped her find her balance. The fabric of the dress felt soft and smooth, or maybe it was just thin and that was her flesh. Or maybe it was only soft to his palm after wielding that pitchfork around. His fingers fell from the soft texture as she started walking straight, and he moved them to her hand, gripping it through the darkness. Weeslar still looked deserted at this hour, but Clef picked up the pace of his walk a bit. As he passed through a side-street near the plaza, his eyes caught sight of her ears again. He’d never seen anything like them. The story was that an Anarshin was behind Derg’s eyes. A staring contest, Derg had told him, with a wager. Derg had never been able to look straight again, and he swore that the elf kept staring at him, even as he handed him the money and left. Clef hadn’t even been sure they existed ‘til now.

 

Clef pulled a bit on the girl's hand as he reached the cemetery. She was hesitating, and the pale dirty look of her hair with those ears made her look like a restless spirit in front of those stones. He tugged at her hand twice before she started following again.

 

“C’mon, just a lil’ further now.”

 

Clef directed her through the cemetary with careful steps, until he arrived back at the familiar Weeslar Tailor door. Derg answered after seven knocks. Clef watched his eyes widen and his chubby cheeks fall.

 

“Who is--?” Derg's half-open eyes seemed to drift from the girl, to Clef, to the metal end of the pitchfork. "Clef? What the-- where, hell, what's that on your...?"

 

"Sorry Derg, ain't no time to explain. I gotta leave, now, before sun up. Wonderin' if I could borrow a loaf of bread." Clef raised a hand to his head and stared at Derg with eyes that he could only hope would show how sorry he was. "I uhh, reckon I may need to take you up on that leather boot offer of yours as well."

[Wyvern]

"I wonder, Clef." Derg wrapped the salted ham a little too tightly around the loaf of bread. He squeezed it into a leather pouch two times too small for the food, then fumbled for a knot at the top. "You owe me, you know."

 

"Yup." Clef moved his feet from side to side, staring down at the glimmer of the new leather in the dim light of the Tailor. Last time Derg had given him such a fine pair was when they were little, and pops had stripped him of his own shoes for upsetting the milking cow. Derg had given him a pair off his own two feet, and told him they were his until the harvest. Clef reckoned Derg knew that Gurtha had another pair set for him, or had felt responsible for all the jousting they'd done around that cow, but it was mostly Derg's good will that made him such a fine friend. "When the seed comes in."

 

"Yeah, well, it better." Derg's voice sounded so anxious that it might have been an apology to pops right then and there. Clef watched him pick up the loaf and set it on the table, then pick it up again and place it by his feet, only to walk in a circle and pick it up before tossing it onto the table in front of him. All the while, Derg's eyes darted through the dim light of the room, glancing back and forth between the girl and the pitchfork.

 

"You owe me for all this. And for her." Derg waved a hand in her direction as he paced back and forth. She was half-asleep, her head tilted against a quilt of a horse in mid-stride. Those ears of hers made the stallion seem to jump out of the fabric. "A longears, Clef? Hell."

 

"Sorry, Derg." Clef lifted himself from his seat and moved towards her, knowing his time to leave but not wanting to wake her with a start. She'd had enough shocks in Weeslar, poor gal. He gently touched her elbow and shook it once, noticing that the shirt fabric didn't shine in the glow of the Tailor, not even a hint of silver over that dull white. Her lips parted for a moment as he shook her once more. They seemed to whisper something silent, moving on their own. Then, those milky greens of hers flicked open and stared. Clef stared back and held her shoulder until the fear had passed from her face.

 

"We gotta go."

 

"You owe me, Clef." Derg followed Clef as he made his way to the door, distancing himself from the girl's hobble of a walk. His larger eye occasionally glanced towards the red surrounding the tear at her knee. "You gotta come back here and pay up, remember. No disappearing act."

 

"Thanks for everything, Derg." Clef struck a tired smile and clapped the Miracle Tailor on the shoulder. Derg's round face looked dead serious under the open doorway, like it always did when Clef tried to pass over something important like it was nothing. "I'll be back with that seed."

 

The night air was cooler than it had been when they had walked earlier, but the sky was just as dark, if not darker. Clef helped the girl along through the streets, holding her arm so he could hurry her step with that knee of hers. She wasn't resisting his grip any more. Clef turned through small alleyways to make sure he went a different route than he'd tracked before; a longer course through Weeslar to avoid the chance of the law having spotted the stables. By the time they reached the Weeslar North Gate exit and headed towards the outskirts of Elrai Wood nearby, Clef reckoned it was the second longest night he'd ever had to endure.

 

When they finally reached the tall oaks and wide bushes typical of Elrai, the Sun had begun to crack through the night sky with a few dabs of light. Clef staggered through brush of the wood, carrying almost the girl's full weight in her sleepy state, weaving left and right through bark and leaves. He clung to her as he tripped over a tree branch, and the two of them slid down a slope of leaves before the exhaustion set over Clef's eyelids.

[Wyvern]

The first thing that greeted Clef when he opened his eyes was her lips. The jagged greens and browns of the leaves obscured his vision a bit, but there they were, slightly parted, supple, almost glowing under a thin spot of sunlight. Clef shifted his weight a bit, wincing as he found his left leg asleep under his pitchfork. He lifted himself with a grunt, letting the stray leaves fall from his chest and trying to remember what he was doing in the forest with some gal when pops needed oxen. The sight of the tip of her ear surfacing from the leaf pile made it come back to him in a flash, and he shoved his pitchfork to the side as he heard her mumble something sleepily. Clef stood up and rubbed the back of his neck, pausing at the sound of her voice.

 

“You?” She squinted at him, and her hands instinctively moved to the tear in her dress, trying to cover the holes. Or maybe she was just touching them and feeling at them in disbelief. “It was real?”

 

Clef stared down at her with distant eyes, his thoughts lost on the sound of her voice. Despite the nervous tone, there was a light musical ring to it that seemed to quiet any speech that might have been in his throat. It was the kind of voice that could get words dancing through people’s heads in song. Like he’d always known she could. Pops at the dinner table, with that open bottle of rot gut and bronze spittoon, asking her to say grace. She’d known better than to sing the words with that forlorn look on pops’ face, but Clef had been saving up silvers to buy her those lessons. He knew that she’d have made a great songstress, that Miima.

 

“I-I’m sorry. The other night-” The girl tried to lift herself from the leaves, but her pretty face twisted in pain and her hands dropped to her knee.

 

“Hey, whoa now.” Clef kneeled beside her and extended a hand. “Careful with that knee of yours, reckon it’ll take a couple days to heal. I’m Clef.”

 

She squeezed his hand a bit when he took it and helped her to her feet. He watched her rub her wound for a moment and grabbed her arm as she staggered forward. She looked him in the eyes with those deep greens of hers in some kind of silent plea. They’d lost their hypnotic feel in the morning calm, but they were still big and tough to look away from.

 

“Thank you.” She turned her eyes away for a moment, glancing towards the edges of Clef’s pitchfork as he planted it in the ground. “I’m sorry, I- my name, I can’t speak it.”

 

Clef stared at her as if she were only half there, wondering if she’d taken a hit to the head when she’d fallen or something of that sort.

 

“It’s not trust.” She brushed a leaf from her dress, looking him directly in the eyes. “It’s just, in my bloodtree, a woman speaking her true name to a man she has not chosen is considered disgraceful. And to a human, beyond forbidden. You see?”

 

Clef smirked at her and slowly shook his head, wondering if she was making this stuff up or if the longear types really were as odd as Derg had described them. He reckoned Derg was probably right; any type that could stare you into a disfigured face was bound to be full of surprises.

 

“Well, I reckon you better start thinking yourself a false name then.” Clef moved forward and grabbed her hand, starting on through the woods. “We gotta get a move on. Better walk the forests today, they’ll be searchin’.”

 

“Where are we going?” She hobbled behind him with her bad knee, but Clef was still impressed by the speed of her pace. The Elrai oaks loomed over them, casting huge shadows over large sections of forest bramble.

 

“Little ways North, to a small town called Edmeer. They got an outpost there for trading foodstuffs, and there’re a lotta farmers who drive their carts West.” Clef brushed a branch from his face and lifted it for the girl to pass under. “Figure the best chance you got is hitching a ride on one of’em. Easterners ain’t much for pardons.”

 

After some travel, they stopped at a clearing where two fallen tree trunks seemed to form an arch, and sunlight beamed in spots through the dense leaves above. Clef snacked on a piece of bread as he watched the girl hobble and seat herself under one of the trunks, examining what looked like some kind of flower tangled in weeds. A raccoon rustled from the brush and approached her, and Clef smiled and watched it sit right next to her and examine the flower as well. He wondered if she noticed the raccoon there, or if she wasn’t paying attention… either way, he reckoned that raccoon’d never have gotten that close to him unless he hid and set up a food trap. As a spot of sunlight hit her cheek through a breeze in the leaves, Clef could have sworn it was Grizzly Well over again. It was almost as if time had reversed itself to before that day out in the cattle fields, where no herding and no screaming could change anything. Clef snapped from his thoughts as he saw her a few feet away from the soft bush where he was resting. He squinted up at her through a spot of sun

 

“You sure tread fast.”

 

She struck a little smile and shifted some sort of weed from one hand to another.

 

“It’s only because I’m used to the forest. I know where to walk, here.” She sat down beside him, careful to straighten the leg with the bad knee. “I found some Espess Vine. If we come across horses, we can mix it with mud for a painkiller. It might speed up the flight.”

 

“Went flower pickin’ and pulled in a buncha vines?” Clef leaned back and turned his head to the side in a lazy stretch. “You longears are strange.”

 

She stared at him with a look of disapproval that quickly melted to a thankful smile. She tilted her head up and watched a bird fly from the tip of the tree trunk arch, following its course until it vanished through the leaves and into the sky.

 

“In that case, for a name, you can call me Niina.”

 

Clef’s eyes flicked wide open and he sat up straight, turning to her with a look that bordered on disbelief.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“Niina. She’s a figure in elven myth, known for always bewildering humans and getting into trouble. I think it’s appropriate.” She shrugged and tied the weeds to part of her gown, then paused when she saw the expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Niina.” Clef leaned back against the bush and stared up at the leaves above. For a moment, Clef could’ve sworn they each rustled in turn, like some kinda well-thought-out pattern. And he thought of the girl, drowning out her voice in his thoughts. And he wondered, staring up at that pattern, if this was fate. “Hunh.”

 

“What’s wrong, Clef?”

 

“Nothin’.” Clef smiled at the way she spoke his name in that musical voice of hers, and lifted himself to his feet. “C’mon, we got more traveling to do before the day is up.”

[Wyvern]

They spent the rest of the day traveling under the shade of the tall Elrai oaks, exchanging words ever so often but mostly just listening to the forest. She seemed to be a quiet one, and Clef wasn’t about to complain after her ordeal. Wasn’t as if talking was going to speed up the trip anyhow. Still, as they passed under some low hanging branches, he watched her lift her head and wondered how often she’d dodged branches at her home before the East. He wondered if her father had taught her to step between brambles the way she did, or if that dress of hers had been sown by her mother before it was ripped under the dirt of human hands. He wondered what kind of family those long ears of hers were from, and what kinds of sounds she heard with them when everything seemed quiet. Niina. Out of all the names she could have chosen, it was Niina.

 

They set down to rest for the evening in a clearing where thick patches of grass were strewn like blankets under an open spread of sky. The Summer night was warm, and they each lied down on a separate spot of grass, staring up at the stars. An owl hooted faintly from a tree branch far above them, and the silver moonlight seemed to carve a smile on the trunk of a nearby oak.

 

“Y’know…” Clef broke the silence of the grove, staring straight up at the sky and pushing his pitchfork to the side with an elbow. “You’re gonna need some grub for traveling West. Long ride.”

 

Her musical voice sang softly from her spot on the grass.

 

“Grub?”

 

“Food.” Clef smirked a bit. “Know someone in Dyaar who can fix us up, owes me a favor. That’s only a skip away from Edmeer. He’ll lodge us too, I reckon. Probably the best route. Elrai wood weaves West, at any rate, so we’ll need to risk the common trails come sun rise.”

 

Clef stared up at the stars, his eyes fixed on the spot where Lymnor’s Quill used to be. He was only a boy when pops had pointed out the constellation from the porch, but momma’s presence beside him made it linger in his mind. She was on a stool behind him, ruffling his hair with those big hands of hers, talking ‘bout how Lymnor wrote the sky with his own two hands. After she’d passed away giving birth to Miima, one of those stars in that long curving pattern had disappeared. Clef had never seen the full Quill since.

 

“Well, g’night.” Clef rolled over and shut his eyes, feeling the quiet of the clearing. He reckoned that Niina had already fallen asleep, which wasn’t surprising given the trek and that leg of hers. The owl hooted somewhere distant as a long silence passed.

 

“Clef?”

 

Clef opened his eyes and shifted his head at the sound of her voice, trying to see her resting spot in the shadows. She was only an outline.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“… why are you doing this for me?”

 

Clef blinked, then stared back up at the stars. The Ageless Steer was in full view this evening, in all its jagged glory.

 

“A second chance.” Clef sighed a bit as he let the words fade into the warm air of the clearing. He knew they were lost on her, but he wished she understood. “Well, I dunno. Might just be runnin’ from home. Pops sent me to fetch an oxen, there was no luck. You know how it is, he’d be right furious. And, well, I wasn’t just going to leave you there.”

 

“The stars must speak of you, tonight.” Niina’s voice was so soft that Clef swore he could see her tender eyes through the darkness. “Clef. I-I really don’t…”

 

Her voice trailed off into silence, and Clef lied awake until he was sure she had nothing more to say. He shifted over and shut his eyes, letting the warm feel of Summer and distant owl’s call pull him into sleep.

[Wyvern]

The dirtiest road is dirty cus’ most people’ve walked it. Pops’ sayings were never the second coming of Lym’, but there was a haggard wisdom in them that seemed to stick with Clef as he began walking with Niina the next morning. It was as if all the oxen in Weeslar had been herded just so that he could meet her and spend this time with her. For all the dirt he’d shuffled through his palms, the sight of her trotting by his side just felt like something to dare for. Something to relive. Something to right.

 

“Spots of sun.”

 

Clef turned his eyes to where Niina was pointing. The tips of the Elrai trees rustled under a soft morning breeze, and sunlight fell on the brush below in small dots. The dots appeared and reappeared with the motion of the leaves, moving in a kind of crooked pattern.

 

“The Anarshins say that you can read fortunes this way.” Niina smiled at Clef. “You see the triangle of lights? Ours is favorable, if I’m not mistaken.”

 

“My eye can’t keep track of them dots.” Clef smirked as he stepped over a few fallen branches. Her prediction seemed to calm him a bit, never the less. “So what’s this triangle telling us?”

 

“Well… to be honest, I wouldn’t know. I’m only half Anarshin. Maybe less. Still.” Niina’s tone seemed sullen as she spoke, with a kind of false cheer thrown in as a thin cover-up. Clef wondered if he’d somehow set foot on the wrong side of her soul as they walked along in silence.

 

“Well hell.” Clef finally broke the quiet, scraping a few leaves to the side with his pitchfork. “What do you think them triangle lights are telling us? I’ll believe you. Ain’t gonna know the difference anyhow.”

 

Niina forced a smile in his direction.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe something to do with fearlessness? Overcoming obstacles. I really don-”

 

“Shhh.” Clef suddenly froze in place and lifted a hand, signaling to Niina to stop. They had reached the edge of the Elrai Wood, and there were figures standing out in the grassy clearing that rested beyond the crowds of trees. A caravan of three wagons was parked in a curved line along the grass, and smoke rose from an extinguished fire that several gruff men wandered around. Clef squinted through the sunlight and took a careful step forward, trying to catch a glimpse of their clothes. His nerves loosened when he saw the dingy browns, wide hats, and old leatherhide boots. That hay stuffed at the backs of the wagons told all. Not a grey or blue in sight.

 

“It’s nothing, I reckon.” Clef continued to squint through the sun at the band of people, and Niina seemed to also be watching them carefully. Clef raised a brow at the sight of a tall man that leaned against the third wagon, smoking a long pipe. Damned if he didn’t look just like old “Pushplow” Williams, a work pal of pops. “Maybe lucky.”

 

“Lucky?”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Clef struck half a smile as he turned to Niina and had a good look at her. Her dress was just as torn and even dirtier since he’d first seen it, but that might go over well as a sign of an accident. Those ears were gonna complicate things, though. “Listen Niina, why don’t you sit ‘round by that oak there for a minute. I’m gonna see if I can’t get us a favor.”

 

“Clef.” Niina stared up at him, but seemed to know in an instant that he was sure of himself.

 

“I’ll call for you if it’s safe.” Clef nodded to Niina, then passed under a low-hanging branch and made his way past a few lonely trees before heading into the fields. Several of the horses grazing around the carts lifted their heads as Clef stepped briskly towards the third cart, and he raised his pitchfork in greeting as the man with the pipe caught sight of him.

 

“Will ‘Pushplow.’” Clef grinned at the tall man as he approached, and planted his pitchfork in the grass. “Fancy meeting you on this windy road.”

 

“Beg yer pardon?” The man stared straight at Clef. His similarities to Pushplow seemed to be gone at this distance. His nose was too big, teeth were too wide. And his voice sounded a lot older, though he didn’t have much gray hair on him. “You sayin’ I’m a plow pusher, boy?”

 

“Naw.” Clef shook his head and bowed it a bit to apologize, though the stringy remains of forest cobwebs hardly made his blond curls look flattering. “Naw, I’m sorry sir. Mistook you for someone else. I reckon I’ll be on my way.”

 

Clef cursed inwardly as he made an awkward turn and began heading back towards the Elrai wood. He was about halfway there when he heard the older man’s voice behind him, closer than expected.

 

“Now wait just a minute, boy.”

 

Clef turned and raised a hand to apologize again, but the man spoke first.

 

“The name’s Redsly, and I’m wagerin’ you were hopin’ for a friend cus’ yer travelin’, right?” Redsly smiled, showing a bit of one of his front teeth. “Well we gets hitchers all the time, and I know you ain’t no bandit with that godawful pitchfork of yers. This grains headed to Salinsway through Edmeer and Lutsville, so if you gotta destination along there yer in luck.”

 

Clef grinned and planted his pitchfork in the grass.

 

‘Happens I do. I got one more person traveling with me, hope you don’t mind? We’ll only be going a short ways, to Edmeer.”

 

Redsly shook his head and smiled, waving a hand.

 

“Always room in the hay. Better grab yer friend now, though, we’re leavin’ shortly.”

 

“Right.” Clef nodded as Redsly turned back to the wagons to help the others load up. He reckoned he’d help them as well, soon as Niina was with them. Had to make up for the kindness… and for those ears. Clef cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted. “Niina! You can come out!”

 

Clef waited for a minute or two, then turned to watch the three gruff farmhands help Redsly load their supplies onto the first wagon. He glanced back towards the oak he and Niina had agreed on. No sign of her yet.

 

“Niina!” Clef called again, louder this time, his eyes fixed on the distant tree. He waited for several minutes before a fear began sinking into his chest. Had it repeated? Unattentive. She’d been unprotected, hiding there. The same mistake, that time when the cattle ran like the thunder of Lymnor himself. That or she’d waited to run herself. He stared at the tree, feeling a bit dizzy as he squinted for any sign of her. He moved towards the wood, calling her name again.

 

“Niina!” Clef froze and breathed a sigh of relief as Niina stepped out from behind the tree. He watched her slowly make her way into the clearing, and crossed his arms as she approached him. “Took you long enough. Come on, we got a ride to catch.”

 

“Got lucky?”

 

Clef made contact with her wide innocent eyes as she spoke. There was something sad about the way she looked at him with them. A deep shade of green cloaking more mysteries than Clef cared to reach into. He was just glad she was safe.

 

“Yeah, lucky.” Clef took Niina’s hand. “C'mon, let’s go."