Days passed, vultures flew, hunger grew, and the intervals between petty arguments diminished.

The duo stuck with traveling the barren cliffside, in the hopes of—perhaps—finding some measure of civilization, a possible river mouth, or, at the very least, a most charitable caravan, one for them to either reason with or rob to their heart's content—whichever came first. Unfortunately, these lofty hopes brought them naught but the repeating scenery of rocks, crashing waves, and looming birds of carrion.

Little water remained in their wineskins, and their meals were not that better off, constituting so far of no more than the occasional coastal lizard, squirrel—all either under or overcooked, due to the lack of proper firewood. That and whatever plants Zelikman assured were safe for human consumption. This the Frank affirmed with slight hesitance, born from his relative indifference to the study of edible botany during his time as a pupil of the medical arts.

Succulents in name only they were. Something Amram enjoyed reminding him ad nauseam, to which the Frank never failed to retort with a biting critique of the Abyssinian's expertise, on the butchering and preparation of reptile and rodent flesh.

Fatigue—and some measure of delirium—began to claim them, and, eventually, so too did their bickering screech to a halt. Now, as they marched on yet another rising hill of sand, sea-stone, and the occasional, beautiful—though nevertheless inedible—desert rose, there was little else to say, little else for them to squabble about. Finding themselves in such a dire state of affairs, and noting the looming birds of carrion ever so closer with every passing moment, Amram forced himself to break the deathly silence, if only to make the inevitable a tad more bearable.

"So?"

Zelikman groaned. "So, what?"

"So…who do you think they were?"

Zelikman huffed. "Does it matter, Amram? Does it really? I'd much rather eat another of your delicacies than to recall that fiasco…"

"You think they were barbarians perhaps? Or rather, northern berserkers of legend?"

Zelikman shot a flat stare at his companion. He cackled.

"Berserkers? Of Legend? Oh my dear friend, my most dear culinary envoy of the Almighty himself! You truly are starting to lose it, are you not? Euphoria and adrenaline, my dear Amram, euphoria and adrenaline, both mundane explanations for the supposed feats of the supernatural! Yes, blame me you can, for the inaccurate taste of succulents, but hallucinogenic in any way they most certainly are not! Perhaps your state of mind is best attributed to whatever poisonous, undercooked glands your dishes carried!"

Amram sighed and wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Enraged brutes are a dime a dozen, Zelikman, I know that much. We have both fought northerners before, lest your succulents have finally claimed your remaining shreds of sanity," he shook his head. "No, it is the strength of those six raiders that haunts me. Not even the mightiest of the Norse—with all their euphoria and adrenaline—could have fought back against the force of those blows."

"Bah! Blabber as much as you want! My point still stands, atop the hill of utmost objectivity, and by stand, I mean ridiculing us, like the forces that be mock the poor fool! The fool that laments himself about the mishaps of romance, and taxes!"

"…What? Are you alright, Zelikman?"

"Just. Pea. Chee!" Zelikman spun back, screaming and stomping all over the sand, his enraged leaps synchronized to his every syllable. His ruckus was such that the overhead flock of vultures—most wisely—flapped their wings and increased their distance.

"Have you a problem with me, huh? You bunch of feathered-brained flesh-feeders! Want my liver on a silver platter, do you not? Well, you better fly down here and come get it!"

Ignoring the fist-swinging fit, Amram continued towards the top of the hill. His gait came to a halt.

"… Zelikman."

Zelikman continued to blather, stumble and swing his lancet around in an erratic manner, as he spat a string of colorful profanities, spoken in the mother tongue of the Franks, directed towards the far-off flock of carrion birds. The vultures—in all likelihood deeming the Frank not worth the effort—cawed a communal response of their own and flew off into the horizon, the exact meaning of which shall be left untranslated for brevity's, and decency's, sake.

"Zelikman!"

"What! Can you not see that I am asserting my dominance over the avian species?"

Amram grabbed Zelikman by the shoulder and spun the Frank with the ease that one would a spinning wheel.

Zelikman groaned and shook his head. Once he regained what little remained of his composure, he shot Amram a look of pure spite.

"What is wrong with you? Is it not enough that you keep feeding me those loathsome, stringy, undercooked—"

The words died in his mouth. Not too far from where they stood, positioned near an imposing, mountain-like cliff-face, was a small, yet thriving seaside village, full of people, sound, and life. As well as the likely possibility of finding a tailor to fix the minuscule wear on his hat, courtesy of the aforementioned fiasco.

"Oh dear me. Oh, heavens above! Do you see that, my good fellow? We're saved, saved I tell you!"

"That I most certainly can."

"Praise the Lord above! My eternal gratitude is yours and yours alone! No longer must we suffer from the torture of this eternity-spanning hell, nor of the horrendous, inadequate preparation of undercooked—"

Amram shoved Zelikman, who fell and rolled all the way down the slope of the hill, coughing up bits of sand as he went on by.

Never once did the Frank let go of his precious hat.

"You know you're not yourself when you're hungry," said Amram, as he ate the last strand of meat from his poultry leg and tossed it away.

Zelikman huffed, licked the chicken bone clean, and threw it aside.

"I already begged for your forgiveness, thrice. Will a fourth time finally please you?"

"No, I am already quite satisfied. Thank you very much," Amram grinned.

"Oh, believe me, I could not tell," Zelikman sighed and shook the remaining sand off his hat. "I'm not even sure why your mood is that of such high spirits anyway. We wasted our only spare coin buying those chicken legs and refilling our wineskins. We are not making it all the way to Spain like this! My stomach still rumbles…"

Amram chuckled and bumped the Frank's shoulder with his elbow.

"We are at a village, Zelikman. A village in the middle of a festival it seems. Surely we can make do," he winked. "Given the context, all we need to do is find a stable, make a slight diversion, if needed, and swipe two of their finest steeds while no one is looking! We will be galloping off into the sunset before you know it, my friend. Bellies full and heart's content!"

"Amram."

"Yes?"

"I do not think this is a village we should attempt to steal from," Zelikman muttered under his breath.

Amram raised a brow and gave a look around. Zelikman's worries would have been understandable to the average person, given the large amount of people and children going on about their everyday lives. That is, a populace going about their day-to-day wearing beady-eyed animal masks, long necklaces made out of roses, donning tunics of a most outdated fashion sense, and singing ominous, foreboding melodies of harvest.

The Abyssinian shrugged. Not that he was dense or ignorant to the eccentricities of the village folk; he simply did not care.

"Different customs, nothing more," he gave Zelikman a friendly slap on the back, which, due to their difference in girth, translated into an audible crack. "So what if they like to celebrate the wondrous gifts of nature in their own manner? It is nothing to be alarmed of."

Zelikman groaned and stretched.

"Still twisted up I see," said Amram.

"Shut it, you fool," Zelikman groaned as he stretched and popped his joints back into place, much to his, momentary, relief. "And what a fool you are all the worse if you fail to notice the danger that surrounds us, what foul skullduggery there is afoot!"

"And that would be?"

"Paganism, Amram, paganism! This entire pit reeks of it; I feel it in the depths of my very soul."

"Zelikman, how many times must we rehearse this tired topic? Pagans are not cannibalistic savages or sacrificial monsters. Trust me! I have had my fair share of run-ins with those. These good folks are merely…well…uh...um…different!"

Zelikman glared at Amram as if the Abyssinian had grown a second head.

"You've heard the tales, Amram, we all have. Stories of such macabre tinges do not spread like the plague for naught…oh no…oh no you don't. Don't you dare give me that look! You know that I am right!"

"Of course, Zelikman, you always are," Amram responded in monotone.

Zelikman took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I swear, in the name of the Almighty, your carefreeness shall be the end of us both."

"Blasphemous of you to swear in vain, Zelikman, and in his name no less."

"Blasphemous? Blasphemy is spread all over this forsaken place, in case you haven't noticed," Zelikman whispered, as he shifted his eyes to peer at the crowd. "Who knows what sort of mischief lies beneath those mask-wearing faces…or those suspiciously accessible poultry prices! But no, oh no, it is I who must be deemed the blasphemous one! It is I, who is always in the wrong, aren't I—"

Zelikman, absorbed by his rant, failed to notice the shape before bumping into it and falling to the dirt floor. That something Zelikman soon found out, as it loomed over him, was someone, one so large, so enormous, that it made his hulking Abyssinian companion look positively tiny in comparison. Were it not for that someone's kind, almost child-like eyes, he would have screamed aloud, at the sight of a rose-covered demon, beneath broad daylight.

"Oh, I s-sorry, s-stranger," an unfitting, light voice came out of the colossus, of whom three masked children made his back their personal playground. He did not appear to mind.

"P-please help you, let me."

What the giant meant to be but a slight tug pulled Zelikman up as if he were nothing more than a rag doll, a toy picked up by an ungentle, over-enthusiastic infant. The Frank stood quiet for a moment, caressing his wrist until his surprise settled and the words finally came to him.

"I…t-thank you, kind sir."

The giant, whose mask was too small and instead fashioned as a horned hat, gave him, and Amram, a bashful, crooked smile.

"No thank need, me…D-de…Dem…D-dem—"

Zelikman was about to scream until someone else did so for him.

"Demetrios!" cried the headstrong voice of a young woman.

The giggling children playing atop the giant gasped, jumped off his back, and fled as fast as they could. Then, from the crowd appeared a bronze-skinned, fierce-eyed woman, her semblance compensating for the litheness of her frame. Her mask, that of pelican bird, hung tied to her hip, in sharp contrast to the rest of the village folk, who, aside from wearing garments of a much more well-kept quality, donned their veils at all times.

Both Amram and Zelikman could not help but notice the stares of the populace, who, even while masked, made it quite clear that they observed the woman with much interest and a detectable sense of expectance.

"Ariadne!" Demetrios called out with adoration and near-perfect diction.

Ariadne stomped her foot on the ground.

"No, Demetrios! How many times must I tell you? You cannot allow people to treat you so, not even children!"

Demetrios lowered his head in shame and whimpered. "I…me sorry, me sorry so, Ariadne."

"It is not I who you should ask for forgiveness, Demetrios," she lowered her tone and caressed the giant's shoulder. "It is not anyone's forgiveness you should seek. You, yourself, are your own and no one but your own, you know that."

"I-I…yes, I know, m-me s-s-"

At that moment, the sound of galloping rumbled and the masked folk who surrounded the odd group in curiosity began to murmur and disperse, as to make way for seven mounted men. The riders were clad in the same ceremonial clothing as the rest of the people, their faces covered by the masks of horned animals. Said sight brought forth the creeping feeling of a deep pit in the stomachs of the Abyssinian and the Frank. Not because of the oneiric quality of the veils, nor the open presence of the rider's weapons and scabbards. That was not alarming enough. It was the horses, or rather, their two stolen horses, standing right there before them.

One of the riders, the one up front, riding Amram's former mount, removed his mask. Beneath it, a mature, clean-shaven face, bronze-skinned like the rest of the villagers. The crowd ceased to whisper as he cleared his throat.

"Ariadne my dear, must you always frighten our visitors?"

Ariadne stood rigid and delivered an even stiffer bow towards the man.

"Forgive me, Chieftain Callanicus," she bowed, though not in as harsh a manner, at Amran and Zelikman. "I meant no disrespect."

"Y-yes, f-father, s-she—"

Demetrios's words died in his mouth, for the Chieftain's mere glance, near imperceptible to all but himself, and the watchful eyes of Ariadne, Amram, and Zelikman, forbade him from doing so. He flinched and lowered his head, filled with shame and fear.

Callanicus smiled. A picture of warmth and reassurance, a perfect replica of what a parent should show their young.

"Demetrios, my dear boy, I am not reprimanding Ariadne, far from it," Callanicus looked around the crowd, swaying them with his mere presence. "This is a time of celebration, is it not? A time of renewal for the vows of our faith! Your problems and insecurities, mundane as they may be, should be of my utmost importance. If even one of my children were dissatisfied by the blessings of the heavens, then I would be in jeopardy. For it is my duty to oversee your wellbeing, my children, as the one and true voice of the Gods."

The crowd murmured words of approval in response to the Chieftain's own, as did Demetrios and Ariadne, albeit in a muted manner. Amram and Zelikman remained quiet, doing the best they could to keep their shock contained.

Callanicus smiled at the latter pair.

"I hope you can forgive me for the scene, strangers."

"Oh no, we were not bothered at all, good sir, in fact, we're just passing by!" Zelikman responded.

Amram cursed his friend's frantic tone and nodded at a snail's pace.

The Chieftain's amiable visage did not as much as blink.

"Be that as it may, I must see that you are both well received and well treated. For your momentary stay, of course!"

Zelikman's eyes bulged for the fraction of a second.

"But—"

Callinicus raised his hand.

"It is of no issue for me. I can see that you are travelers of some experience and wit. I too was a wanderer once, far too long ago now it seems," he chuckled. "Oh, how does time pass one by, I know what it is like, my dear drifters. Hospitality and well-meaning is in short order during these trying times, these times of spiritual demise, but sometimes," he smirked, "sometimes lady fortune sees it fitting to lend us some of her good graces. Such is the case now before you, with our little, humble community. Allow me then to put you in the care of our lovely Ariadne. She will be quite overjoyed to share her lodgings and sustenance with you, for as long as you deem necessary."

Amram and Zelikman turned to look at Ariadne and there they noticed—for her presence alone was enough to obscure it at first glance—that the litheness of her body extended well over to her cheeks and haggard eyes, a stark contrast compared to the average and at times plump builds of the rest of the village folk. In spite of it all, however, she stood strong, almost daring the Chieftain without a word.

"That I will, my Chieftain," she bowed.

Callinicus smirked and hollered. "Demetrios!"

"Y-yes, father?"

Without a word and yet another scathing glance directed at Demetrios, who blubbered and whimpered in response, Callinicus donned his mask and saluted his people. With the wave of cheers and adoration from the crowd, the Chieftain and his men galloped away, leaving poor, lumbering Demetrios lagging behind in the dust trail of the steeds.

Amram and Zelikman looked at one another, and then back at Ariadne.

She was rigid, unmoving. Her face, however, was far from the expression of defiance from before, now replaced by a forlorn gaze directed at Demetrios, as she watched him make the pitiful attempt to keep up with the horseback men. Then, as sudden as it came, it went away. Ariadne spun on her heel, gave the Frank and the Abyssinian a look of indifferent compliance, and stormed her way out of the village square.

Amram and Zelikman followed.

"Zelikman."

Zelikman understood from the inflection of his companion alone.

"Yes?"

Amram glanced towards the space of Zelikman's dark garments where the Frank's lancet laid hidden. Zelikman did so as well, by giving a look at the Abyssininan's back, the place where defiler of your mother laid concealed, bundled up beneath Amram's larger clothes and jerkin armor.

Zelikman nodded. Amram smiled.

"There is work to be done."