***Added June, 2021***


More trees. More tangled underbrush. More rocky ravines and spring-surging streams. Nimble, strong, swift-footed Gurgi would have no trouble with any of it but for the terrible twisting of his leg… and the bashed-in bruises… and the slashes and gashes. Oh, sorrowful sufferings! Oh, miserable moanings and groanings!

"Wicked warriors!" he cursed breathlessly as he stumbled along. "Tricksome traitors, with… spiky swords and… poking pikes! And sneaky scout! Oh, foul Powel—worst of all—leading poor, good-hearted Gurgi and Erim straight into danger! But Gurgi showed them all, oh yes, with powerful pummelings and sharp scratchings!"

His muttering and moaning assuaged his hurt a little, but not enough to make the going easy, nor to lessen his guilt over failing to save Erim. How much time had passed since the attack by Meilyr's men? How many nights spent shivering alone? How many hours stumbling and tumbling back toward Caer Dathyl? Not enough, yet… He must keep on. But how tired he felt! How weary and bleary!

He paused to look warily over his shoulder again, ears perked and nostrils flaring. No, still no sign of his attackers. Darkness was creeping in, though, with a fluttering of bats and a hooting of owls. Surely, he could take a rest… After scouting around for a bit, he found a sheltered space at the foot of a mighty sessile oak. With an exhausted sigh, he hunkered down, burrowing into the damp moss and musty leaf-litter among its gnarled roots. Trusty old tree! Yes, an hour or two of rest would carry him through…

The clomp and stomp of booted feet, rustling through underbrush, snapped him awake sometime well after dawn. Wide-eyed with fear, Gurgi peered out between the leaves and twigs. Closer and closer the footsteps came, swift but steady—the pace of a man with a destination in mind. Closer… and closer still. Gurgi held every muscle motionless. Closer… Closer… The boots were within sight now, mere paces away, heading straight toward him…

They stopped. Gurgi stared at the worn leather, heart in his throat, scarcely daring to breathe. The boots turned, then turned again, indecisive. A weary sigh wafted down from above. Then, a heavy shadow sank down, settling with a grunt upon one of the massive roots. Another sigh. A rummaging and rustling through a pack of goods. The scent of dried meat. A few drops of spilled water spattering onto the dry leaves below. The moments crept by like an inchworm. Gurgi waited silently, willing the man to leave.

Suddenly, Gurgi spotted a tiny spider dangling just above him—another creature seeking a morning meal. Down, down, down it rappelled on its gossamer string, bit by bit, until it landed right upon Gurgi's nose. He felt a tickle… then, a prickle… then, he sneezed.

Leaves scattered. Twigs crackled. The stranger let out a yelp, bolting from his seat faster than if he'd settled down upon a nest of ants. He spun around, sword drawn, gasping. "Don's blood! Who's there?" he shouted.

Gurgi, too, shot to his feet, bracing for an assault and snarling as ferociously as he could manage. His heart thumped like a hundred rabbits' feet. He longed to flee, but didn't dare turn his back on the man for an instant.

The hooded stranger gaped at what appeared to be a pile of underbrush sprung to life. He noted its nearly human stance. He took in its ragged sheepskin jacket, and the empty knife sheath belted at its waist. His brows beetled. He took a better grip on his sword. Although still poised for an attack, he appeared to be thinking better of it. "Belin's bones… what are you?" he croaked.

Gurgi bared his teeth wider, flashing sharp canines. "It is Gurgi!" the creature roared. "Mighty, fierce, vengeful Gurgi!" He straightened and raised his arms high, trying to look imposing, but a bolt of pain shot through his leg. He winced and crumpled inward, clutching at the wound that flared anew.

The man sprang back a step, but continued to study his opponent. His brow furrowed more deeply still. "You're injured…" he noted. His stance eased slightly, and he lowered his weapon. Gurgi shook his head vigorously as he, too, backed away, wincing. "No… you're quite bad off, aren't you?" the stranger continued, sheathing his sword entirely and moving closer. "I can help, if you'll let me."

Gurgi's mouth fell open in surprise. He panted heavily as his pain slowly ebbed. "Help?" he whimpered. "You would help poor, humble Gurgi? You will not stick him with pokes and proddings of pointy sword?"

The man started again upon hearing Gurgi actually speak. "No, no—I've no wish to hurt you," he replied hastily. "I only feared you meant to do me harm. One doesn't expect a wild… uh… whatever you are… to come leaping out of a tree like that. Here—sit back down. I'll see what I can do."

As Gurgi eased back against the sturdy tree trunk, the stranger began picking away the leaves and twigs stuck in his matted fur. Gurgi pointed out his wounds, and the man carefully inspected each of them, cleaning them as best he could with water from his flask. Gentle hands. Friendly eyes. Perhaps Gurgi could trust him? Another rummaging through the stranger's pack yielded linen bandages and a packet of dried herbs. "Here—chew on these," he instructed, holding out the leaves. "I haven't anything for the cuts themselves, and won't hazard covering them at this point lest they become inflamed, but these herbs should take the edge off of the pain." Finally, he began binding up the sprained leg, lending it extra support. "There," he pronounced, flashing an encouraging smile and giving Gurgi's good leg a pat. "That's about the best I can do. Hopefully, it will be enough to get you wherever you're headed."

Gurgi smiled weakly but gratefully in return. "Humble Gurgi is most thankful to thoughtful stranger."

"Call me no stranger," the man said, extending his hand to shake Gurgi's paw. "The name is Iestyn."

It was a name without a tail. "Only 'Iestyn'?" Gurgi asked after a moment's silence. "Not 'Son of So-and-So, or 'King of This-and-That', or 'Iestyn of Somewhere-or-Other'?"

Iestyn's smile faltered, overtaken by a fleeting look of discomfort that passed as swiftly as a darting swallow. "No, no—just Iestyn," he confirmed. "One name is enough for the likes of me."

"Gurgi has only one name, too," the creature replied with a nod. "No one seems to mistake him for anyone else."

Iestyn chuckled. "No, I should think not," he remarked.

"So…" Gurgi continued timidly, eyeing his newfound companion's pack, "does Iestyn have crunchings and munchings? Now that Gurgi's wounds are tamed, his belly is squelching and belching for attention."

Iestyn broke into a full-blown laugh, and his deep brown eyes twinkled with mirth. "And how could I say no to such to such a request? That look you're giving me is more pitiful than a begging pup's!" So saying, he brought forth some more dried meat, and a handful of hazelnuts for good measure.

"So, my shaggy friend… from where do you come, and where are you headed?" Iestyn inquired, as Gurgi gnawed on the provisions. "And how came you by those injuries? Those aren't the claw-marks of a forest beast."

Gurgi opened his mouth to answer frankly, but immediately snapped it shut again. Careful. Must be careful. Iestyn appeared to be a good sort, but Powel had seemed trustworthy at first, too. "Gurgi… Gurgi would rather not say…" he finally answered, hesitantly. "Where is Iestyn going?"

"Oh. Well… more or less eastward at the moment," Iestyn replied with a vague wave of his hand toward the still-climbing sun. "I'm aiming for Caer Dathyl. Seem to be a bit lost, though, to be honest," he added sheepishly. "I really ought to know better. But, in my defense, I haven't passed through this countryside in years—and you know how quickly forests can change. Nevertheless, if your path points in roughly the same direction, and you'd like some company along the way, we might as well go together. If you happen to know the way to Caer Dathyl, so much the better."

Gurgi studied the man narrowly, weighing the thoughtfulness of his actions and the kindness in his eyes against the mistrust born of sad experience. Iestyn seemed harmless enough—just a mid-sized man of early middle years, wearing simple, rough-spun garb. Didn't look like a thief—Gurgi had nothing worth stealing, anyway. Not a paid warrior, either—although he did have that sword. A commoner with a sword? Fingering his empty knife sheath, Gurgi recalled the men who'd attacked and pursued him. Good to have a companion with a sword. Safer. Watchful Gurgi could keep an eye on him, in any case… "Gurgi knows the way," he admitted at last. "He will help Iestyn get there, if Iestyn will help him hobble along."

"Of course! As soon as you are ready," Iestyn pronounced, returning to his feet, dusting off his leggings, and adjusting the hood over his walnut-brown hair. He shouldered his pack once more, then reached out a hand to help Gurgi rise upon seeing that he'd finished his crunchings.

For a long while they walked in silence, picking their way through the brush and around the brambles, dipping in and out of patches of sunlight as they passed through small clearings and across rocky outcrops. It was slow going. Although the bindings on Gurgi's leg bolstered him a bit, he was still exhausted, and moved painfully. Several times, Iestyn needed to lend his shoulder for support. Nevertheless, they pressed onward, stopping to rest when Gurgi's energy flagged too far. An hour passed, then two, and three; the sun reached its zenith, cutting strong shafts of light down through the tree canopy.

Eventually, Iestyn struck up some conversation. "So, do you live in this part of the country? Or, are you merely passing through?"

"Yes, Gurgi lives here now."

"Have you seen the new king and queen yet, then?"

Gurgi nodded in reply.

"Good sorts are they? Like King Math? Someone said something about a pig being involved… They had a pig? Or stole a pig? Or followed a magical one? But that had to have been the nonsense that unfolds when a story changes hands one too many times."

"Good sorts, oh yes, clever and kind. Noble king was keeper of wise, white piggy for many years."

Iestyn let out a whistle of amazement. "Really. Now there's a tale you don't hear every day—and I've heard some strange ones. However did that come about?"

"Mmmmm… Too many twistings and turnings to tell right now," Gurgi answered, still reluctant to say too much. He added a grimace—only half-feigned—as extra dissuasion against further questioning.

For a while longer, they plodded on, tree by tree and stone by stone. At last, a few familiar landmarks came into view through the gaps in the trees: the slopes of Mount Eagle swooping broadly above the flock of smaller peaks that flanked it. Gurgi's heart fluttered in a breeze of hope. Almost. They were almost there. Hours, now, not days left to go.

Suddenly, through the trees came the distant sound of human voices. Gurgi stopped in his tracks, ears pricked. Beside him, Iestyn halted in kind. "What do you hear?" he asked. "My ears are not as keen as yours."

"Gurgi is not sure," the creature replied, scowling. He hobbled onward, pausing every so often to listen, and veering gradually toward the sound, while Iestyn accompanied him as quietly as he could. The voices grew ever louder—intermittent calls and commands, some urgent, some pained, and others merely weary. Gurgi sniffed the air intently as he went, seeking the telltale odor that would confirm his rising dread…

Then, there it was: blood. Its iron tang snaked faintly through the earthy scent of pines and soil. Gurgi's heart began to pound, and he hastened onward even more urgently. Soon, he and Iestyn broke through the forest edge, and peered anxiously out across the valley below. Far afield, they spotted the grim aftermath of battle: trampled earth, crumpled bodies, and the slow, repeated stooping of those gathering the wounded and tending to the dead. Gurgi's eyes went wide. He clutched his head and moaned piteously. "Oh, no! No, no, no! Gurgi is too late! Gurgi has failed!" He lunged forward, attempting to run toward the battlefield, but Iestyn flung out an arm to hold him back.

"Have a care, friend," he urged. "You won't change whatever happened here, and will only injure yourself further by racing toward it. That distance is longer that it looks, you know. At the pace you're able to walk, it will take a while yet to cover; by the time we reach it, the grisly cleanup will likely be finished, and everyone gone."

Gurgi stood still, but began to whimper and wring his paws. "Wise and kindly master… Noble, caring Queen…"

Iestyn's brow creased. "You do know what happened here… You sought to prevent this?" He looked back to the field, squinting hard. "I see the flags of Madoc… Rheged… another I do not know—the new High King's?" His back stiffened, and his otherwise sun-browned face blanched. "There is Arvon's banner, too…"

"Yes, Gurgi was a scout," the creature admitted. His shoulders slumped defeatedly, and tears welled up in his dark eyes. "He was trying to warn Caer Dathyl."

Iestyn gave a slow nod of understanding, then placed a reassuring hand on Gurgi's back. "Then let us continue the journey there. If we keep on slowly but steadily, we should reach it not too long after the surviving warriors return. Perhaps things are not as bad as you fear. As battles go, the bloodshed looks to have been fairly light."

Gurgi whimpered, but he nodded his agreement. Iestyn gave him a gentle pat on the back. "It is all we can do. Try not to fret until we have a full account of the battle's toll. Come on—carefully, now…"

With his heart sunk low, Gurgi placed his arm once more over Iestyn's shoulders, and resumed his homeward limp.