Two days had passed since the five had found refuge by the pond, where rest had seeped deep into their weary bones. Refreshed and recharged, they pressed onward with renewed resolve. At last, they crested a large hill, and before them stretched the vast, rolling sea of grass — miles upon miles, swaying like a gentle ocean.
Francisco's voice lifted with joy, breaking the silence. "I can truly say, I enjoy moments like this. The unexpected beauty of the world."
Kira's chest tightened with a bittersweet ache, her heart pulled toward memories of her clan's seasonal migrations. She could almost feel the baron flats underfoot, smell the dry earth carried on the breeze, and hear her father's voice weaving stories of great heroes and gods who shaped the world. The heavy sun soaked through their clothing, wrapping them in warmth. She imagined the women humming soft songs that carried through the wind — a melody of home and belonging.
But the moment slipped away as Diomede's sharp call cut through the air. "Kira!" he shouted, his voice steady and commanding as the rest moved forward.
She hurried to close the gap, her footsteps quickening to catch the group.
Francisco's curious tone floated back to her from the center of the group. "Say, Clayton, what communities lie on the way to your home?"
From the rear, Clayton's voice rang out. "If I'm not mistaken, there should be two towns — Haststad and Fungal Grove. I don't quite recall which one we'll reach first."
Kira glanced back at Clayton as she passed him. "And what are they known for?"
Clayton's eyes sparkled with practical hope. "Well, Haststad breeds and trains horses. I'm hoping we can find a carriage there to speed up our journey."
Lily chuckled, playfully kicking a small stone into the tall grass along the path. "I can make a pretty good guess what Fungal Grove is known for."
Diomede's voice carried forward, sharp and sure from the front. "Their mushrooms are rumored to be used to make some powerful concoctions."
Diomede's voice carried clearly from the front of the group. After an hour's travel, the five crested a large hill and looked down upon an overturned wagon lying sprawled across the ground. Its contents were scattered in disarray over the dry earth.
From behind the wagon, an older man cautiously appeared. His thick black hair was streaked with white and gray, framing his face alongside matching mutton chops. "Hello there, travelers," he called out, his voice rough but hopeful. "Would it be too brash to ask for a bit of help?"
The group halted immediately. Clayton and Lily instinctively stepped ahead, positioning themselves to shield Kira and Francisco's unusual appearances. Diomede planted himself firmly in front, standing tall and speaking with commanding authority so all attention would focus on him.
"Yes, I don't see why not, my…" Diomede paused briefly, searching for the proper words, "…my squire and I will aid you."
Clayton's brow furrowed slightly at the title as Diomede turned his gaze toward him. The two moved deliberately down the hill to assist the older man.
Meanwhile, Francisco quietly took Kira's hand, tapping a steady rhythmic pattern on her palm. In response, Kira's form shifted effortlessly into that of a young, tan-skinned girl with soft amber-brown hair.
"Quickly now," whispered Lily, continuing her watchful stance to protect the group's true forms.
Francisco then patted his own stomach, his figure melting into that of an elderly man — bald, with a full snow-white beard. Kira's shape changed once again, now that of a dark-skinned woman with tightly bound black hair.
Kira's eyes widened with worry as she looked at Francisco. "Sorry sorry, I'm nervous!" He whispered.
"Well get un nervous." Lily harshly whispered as she checked to see if the old man had noticed anything.
The older man extended his hand gratefully. "Thank you. I've been stuck here since sunup. My name's Gareld Layer."
Diomede took the man's hand firmly in his own. "I'm Sir Eithen Markwood, and this is Eric Murk, my squire," he replied with quiet confidence as they shook.
Together, Diomede and Clayton bent low and grasped the wagon's side. With strength and effort, they lifted, pushing until the full weight shifted onto its wheels. The wagon groaned loudly, the creaking of worn wood echoing across the field.
Suddenly, with a sharp snap, the wagon jerked free from their grip and righted itself with a heavy thud against the earth.
"Oh thank you for helping me, the damned thing lost its grip going up that hill and I slid back down, whipped around—damn near lost Randy over there in all the commotion," Gareld said, loading the scattered goods back into the wagon.
Diomede's attention was fixed entirely on the horse. Randy—a brown and white spotted Hackney—stood quietly but with a certain weary dignity. Clayton noticed the unusual intensity in Diomede's gaze and nudged him gently on the side. "You alright? Not afraid of horses, are you?"
Diomede didn't answer. Without a word, he stepped toward Randy. The others busied themselves with the wagon, but Gareld's voice called out sharply, "Oh please, Sir Eithen, be careful! Randy's an old horse, but he's a mean one too."
Diomede paid no mind to the warning, reaching out slowly. As his hand neared Randy's graying muzzle, his eyes met the horse's—deep, steady, and ancient. In those dark pools, Diomede saw something far beyond the surface: the countless miles ridden, the endless roads traveled, and stories etched into the very soul of the animal.
A quiet whisper escaped Diomede's lips, almost to himself, "Oh yeah... I know that look from anywhere."
Randy leaned gently into the touch, pressing against Diomede's palm as if acknowledging a shared history, a secret bond invisible to all others. Diomede's grip tightened slightly on the reins, guiding Randy to the wagon and fastening him in place with careful hands.
"Well, I'll be," Gareld said in surprise. "Randy ain't never been this calm. Say, are you from Haststad?"
"No," Diomede replied softly, eyes still lingering on the horse. "Further south. Just know how to handle animals."
Gareld nodded, then climbed onto the wagon. "I need to head back and restock soon. If you're up for it, I can give y'all a lift as thanks for the help."
"Yes, that would be a welcomed change of pace," Diomede said, signaling for the others to climb into the wagon. Clayton climbed up front and took a seat beside Gareld, while Francisco helped Lily and Kira settle into the back.
Diomede's gaze drifted skyward, scanning the horizon with a steady, searching focus.
"What are you looking for?" Gareld asked in a loud, confident voice.
"Trying to see if that Roc is near," Diomede replied, voice low. "We spotted it a few days ago, but haven't seen it since."
Gareld chuckled, adjusting Randy's reins. "You really are from the southern lands, aren't you? That old bird passes through here about once a week. Plenty of grass plains to soar over, always looking for something to snatch up."
A slow unease tugged at Diomede's gut, a quiet warning that made him shift uncomfortably. Reluctantly, he climbed into the back of the wagon and settled atop a crate.
"All right, Randy, let's get back to town," Gareld called out, clicking his tongue sharply. Randy responded immediately, bursting forward with a lively trot down the dusty path.
Clayton kept his eyes locked on the grass lining their route, his gaze sharp despite the sun's glare.
"Ya know, lad, there ain't much out here to worry about," Gareld whispered in his ear.
"Thank you for the reassurance, but I'd rather be prepared than caught blindsided," Clayton replied, never breaking his watchful scan.
"Say, y'all coming down from Blue Stream, right?" Gareld asked, curiosity creeping into his tone. "That's where I was headed before my little accident."
Clayton kept his face carefully still, hiding the pain swelling deep inside him. Kira, sitting beside Lily, caught the sudden shift in emotions and felt that same weight settle heavy in her chest.
"Yes, we did," Clayton answered quietly.
Gareld didn't notice the hint of sorrow in the young knight's voice.
"By chance, did you come across a man fishing by the river?" His question hung in the air.
Clayton's heart sank like a stone slipping beneath the waves, the memory crashing down with sudden, unbearable weight.
Gerald continued, his voice softening with familiarity, "He would have been an elderly man, out there fishing for the golden bass they say lives in the river."
Kira suddenly covered her face, as tears began to swell, shimmering just behind her fingers. Francisco noticed her quietly, and gently nudged Diomede's leg. Diomede turned from his watchful gaze at the sky and met the bard's knowing eyes. Francisco subtly motioned toward Kira, who now had fully buried her face into her hands, her body trembling with silent grief.
Diomede's head snapped toward the front of the wagon as Gerald's words lingered in the air. Instinctively, he tried to rise and move forward, wanting to interpose himself between Clayton and the stranger's conversation.
"Unfortunately, we didn't stay too long in town," Clayton said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken memories. "We traveled up from the path that skirts the edge of town."
Gerald let out a hearty laugh, breaking the heavy silence. "I tell ya, that old bastard's been after that fish for so long, you'd think the damn thing owed him a gold coin."
Diomede halted his movement and slowly sank back down beside Kira, placing a steady hand on her back. The simple touch offered her a sliver of comfort, a small tether pulling her away from the heavy shadows of Clayton's grief.
Francisco, sensing the fragile mood, pulled his lute into his lap and began to strum a gentle tune. The soft melody floated through the evening air, surprising Gerald, who soon found himself humming along, swaying in rhythm with the wagon's gentle roll.
Diomede leaned in close to Francisco, voice low, "How are you holding up maintaining the spell?"
Without missing a beat, Francisco's fingers danced lightly across the strings. "I'm fine. The spell isn't too difficult—as long as we don't get too active."
Diomede nodded in quiet confirmation and leaned back against the side of the wagon. His eyes lifted toward the vast, clear sky, where stars began to shimmer faintly as the day gave way to night. The cool breeze stirred gently, carried by the wagon's steady movement along the dusty path, washing over him like a soothing balm.
Francisco's soft lute melodies mingled with the rhythmic creak of the wagon wheels, weaving a calm harmony that settled deep within Diomede's bones. The steady vibration beneath him added to the sense of tranquility, coaxing his body into ease.
Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy, the tension of the day unraveling as warmth and fatigue wrapped around him like a comforting cloak.
With a final breath that released the weight of his worries, Diomede slipped quietly into a deep sleep—while the wagon rolled onward beneath the endless sky.