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Dearest Readers, my utmost thanks for your patience with these wanderers. ;)
THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 23: Underfoot
Okami scrutinized a cooking pot with the gravity of a general inspecting his soldiers' weapons. Hefting it between his hands to check for weight, scanning the surface for rust or discoloration. None would be surprised if he loaded the vessel into a catapult and fired it at a nearby wall for a standard test of quality control.
"Not deep enough for you?" the halfling woman shopkeeper grumbled. "Are you trying to feed an entire army?"
Irse poked at the soup ladles hanging at the display rack, then realized something of severe importance.
"Ah, Teacher?" she began diffidently, pausing to wait for him to notice her. "Am I… doing the cooking?"
"No. Your duties are to the forge as part of your learning."
"But I can cook too," she insisted.
Okami raised an eyebrow. Irse grinned. Certainly, he must be recalling that one day when Nells felt a bit under the weather and the young elf volunteered to cook on top of her dish washing duties.
Breakfast, with Shar-Teel yelling how could anyone possibly burn cold porridge, Dotie grousing at the shells in her fried eggs. Then lunch, with Shar-Teel swearing she was served the Sea of Swords in a soup bowl, and Dotie grumbling of the buttered beans cracking teeth and a dwarven pickaxe. Finally dinner, well, her Teacher had decided to intervene. They dined that night on expertly filleted and seasoned pan-fried trout, though Shar-Teel swore it was the last time she would ever give a man the chance to poison her.
"Right. You do the cooking, I'll do the dishes," she pronounced, relieved when he said nothing more and resumed inspecting the pot.
The implements were paid for and loaded into the wain. Now to find an herbalist selling san qi to replenish their supply since all of it must have been spent on her, the young elf supposed with a pinch of guilt. Along the way, they passed by a kiosk selling used books. She broke away from the cart and scooted closer to catch a glimpse of the titles. At the first stack the young elf turned up her nose - histories, philosophies and poetry. But with the next heap, one with tomes clearly having seen better days, the girl stayed to pick a book or two, beaming at the titles before setting them down. One in tatty and faded green covering caught her eye, eagerly snatched up, leafed through, cradled for a moment.
"A book you have read at your old home?" Okami inquired as he stepped in beside her.
Irse hastily replaced the tome on top of the pile and waved him away as he leaned over the desk. "Yes, but it's nothing I probably need. Let's go," she dismissed curtly and rushed out of the stall. But the blacksmith lingered, surveying the rest of the books before leaving as well.
None of the herbalists in the market carried san qi. Not a surprise, with the powder derived from a rare root grown only in Kara-Tur. Fortunately at the last stall they came upon, the shop keeper offered them bloodstaunch as a substitute. After agreeing on the price and quantity of the items, Okami excused himself, informing them that he wished to check back on one of the shops they visited earlier. His apprentice nodded her assent, affirming she would stay and wait for the shop keeper to prepare their purchases.
Perhaps to the kitchen shop to buy an extra-sturdy potholder, she presumed.
"So, you use it just like san qi?" Irse turned to quiz the herbalist who spooned the crushed herb into small pouches.
"You do, and it's more common around these parts," he replied before stepping away to instruct his assistant in knotting each of the tiny bags.
Meanwhile, their porter loaded another sack into the cart, the glass bottles within giving out a faint clink as he set them down among their purchases. Healing potions likewise bought from the herbalist. Just then, Okami returned with a tightly wrapped bundle that he wedged in next to the tools.
"For the smithy, just in case?" she pointed to the bag of potions.
"Unless you fail to exercise caution and take heed as I teach you to," he answered. "Otherwise, you will not need them at all when we are working in the forge."
"Ah-ha, they're for the lessons," she jested, then sobered when Okami seemed apologetic.
"Faerun is not a place of bamboo grass as we have in our homeland which we use to make shinai – a practice sword lighter and flexible compared to the bokken."
The disclosure made her wince, remembering the impact of solid wood against the slaver guard's flesh. Well then, what did sages always say? No Pain, No Grain? Must have been some nose-to-grindstone farmer who said that.
The herbalist and his assistant completed re-packing the bloodstaunch, the small pouches put into another bag which Irse carried back to the wain.
"Miss, you dropped one of 'em," the assistant called after her.
She looked down at her feet. "Planning to escape, little fella'?" the elf teased and promptly scooped up the fallen pouch from the ground, absently stuffing it in her pocket.
They set off for the terminal at the North Gate to hire a wagon to Dearg. Unfortunately, the quickest way would have to cut through the market square, presently packed with crowds, kiosks erected in defiant disarray all over and in the middle of the avenue, and haphazardly parked caravans. The ocean of humanity flowed and swelled without signs of abating; not even a pirate armada could sail through unimpeded.
"I know a side street 'round and away from the square. Always use that shortcut myself," the porter suggested.
What he boasted as a shortcut turned out to be a series of winding gaps between the houses. Commonfolk passed through as well, though the corridors left little space to walk side-by-side. More than once did they have to back off to let through another cart meeting them head-on and already closer to the exit. They navigated another alleyway, narrower than the others for the walls seemed to close in together, leaving room enough for them to walk only in a straight procession. Her Teacher lead the way with the porter bringing up the rear. Suddenly he halted and turned to face them.
"Stop," he commanded. "Draw your bokken," Okami said to her.
"What's the matter?" Irse blurted out, alarmed.
"All is well. I only wish to show you something."
Relieved, she casually pulled the wooden sword from her pack. Upon fully drawing it out, the tip struck the wall, eliciting an irritated grunt from the elf before she raised it at mid-guard. Okami considered her stance for a second then waved his hand.
"Put it through your belt. Unsheathe as if in rapid-draw, battojutsu."
Irse grasped the length of the bokken as if it were in a scabbard and pulled with her right hand. Barely freed from the belt, the wooden sword thumped against the wall to her left. Annoyed, the elf shuffled to her right, replacing the bokken once more in her belt and prepared to draw again. Okami motioned for her to pause.
"What did you observe?"
She pondered for a moment. "This space is too tight. I keep hitting the wall. What more if it's a real sword, like one of the bigger, longer ones?" A comical picture came to mind, of her waving a greatsword, the huge blade getting nowhere and eventually stuck in between loose bricks, yanking and pushing and grunting as the stupid thing refused to budge.
"Correct. A moment's delay and disruption in your flow could cost you your life. In close quarters such as this, it is preferable to fight with a smaller weapon such as a dagger."
"Right."
"But what if you have none and all you have is your sword or a larger weapon?"
"You run, of course."
"And if the way is barred and they are already upon you?" he probed further. Then Okami stepped back, clutched his scabbard and drew his sword. In a flash and without hindrance, the blade hung free in the air between them.
Irse blinked. "How? Yours is longer than mine!"
He re-sheathed and showed her his grip. "A minor alteration in the method. Recall how the sword follows an initial path oblique to the horizon as it leaves the scabbard and strikes?"
Brows furrowed in recollection of the lessons. "Yes," she replied.
Her Teacher demonstrated once more, unhurriedly, blade leaving the sheathe in a more upright trajectory to steer clear of the walls, finishing likewise at chudan.
"Oh," she breathed, but then wrung her hands. "Hey, not fair. You did it differently, I can tell. You brought your sword all the way to the back, then some flippy-flippy with your wrist!"
His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "You were referring to this?" He re-sheathed then drew, almost pivoting to his right, the sword twirling towards the back but completing the circle with an upswing to the front. All with swift and fluid ease, seemingly a mere flick of the wrist.
Irse leaned forward and glared at the blade, eyes narrowing in challenge. But it will be a great while more before he would let her try on her own. She straightened and looked to him, awaiting the lesson.
"Examine your surroundings, even briefly. When you are familiar with the length and path of your blade, you will know how to turn the hindrances of your environment into a virtue to establish your advantage."
Eyes widened in understanding. "And if I have a mop instead?" she kidded.
Her Teacher returned the sword to its sheathe and shrugged. "Pray you also have a bucket to throw at your opponent."
Hopefully, a piss bucket full to the brim, she imagined, smirking with impish glee, then coughed when Okami shot her a strange look. They resumed their march through the alleyways until they came upon one a bit wider yet empty, save for a lone man stumbling and grasping at the wall. Okami halted, possibly assessing him – perhaps a drunk, or ill of body or mind, or an opportunistic fraud. Irse peered from behind her Teacher. The man wore a finely made gambeson though torn at the side; blood trickled down his trousers.
"He's hurt," she pointed out.
"Get the bandages and bloodstaunch," Okami instructed as he himself approached the wounded fellow.
But the man raised a hand and laid another at the dagger in his holster. "No, stay away," he stammered.
"We mean you no harm, we only wish to aid you," the blacksmith assured him, taking the other's elbow.
"I said stay away. Don't get involved," the man warned as he shoved at Okami and rushed for the exit.
Seeing her Teacher stagger against the wall and the man coming up to her, Irse let go of the bag. She intercepted him and managed to grab his arm as he ran past their wain.
She yelled, "Hey, what's the matter with you? We're only trying to-"
And then a flash of... black? Followed by an odd sensation of being pulled through a funnel of wind.
In a mere blink, her world, the brick walls and the cobblestone street had been replaced by tapestries, plush furniture, and velvet carpeting on the floor. The searing sunlight gone, replaced by the dim glow of magelights ensconced along the walls.
Bewildered, the girl let go of his arm. "Where are we? Where's everything? Where's Teacher?" she cried, breath heaving in panicked gasps. What is this place; how did everything suddenly change? How, when not even another step had been taken?
"I teleported us to an underground safehold," the man replied in a pained voice. "No, just myself, but you got dragged along because you touched me. You should've left me alone like I told you." He hauled himself to an ornate dresser and clumsily wrenched at a drawer. Visibly seeking anything for his wound and finding none, he cursed and slammed it shut.
"We've got every bottle of wine from all over the realms, but dammit, not even a single roll of bandages. Blast you, Herry. Told him last month to check the stocks every week," he muttered and collapsed at the adjacent couch. With effort, he unbuttoned and removed his gambeson, tossing the ruined jacket to the floor and pressing a hand against his side.
Irse spun around but saw no door nor window, only walls. Impossible. Obviously they got here by magic, but there has to be a hidden entry somewhere, perhaps behind the hangings. She squinted at each painting, each tapestry.
Something like this always figured in the chapbooks of bardic tales and adventure mysteries, frowned upon by Ulraunt for being the lowest form of literature in his lofty opinion. And in those stories, always it was the ones with the most boring picture or a portrait of the ugliest ancestor hiding the secret switch to the secret exits. But every single one only portrayed a hunting scene. Whoever commissioned these really likes shooting at deer in the forest.
"Might I interest you in a glass of wine as I tell you the glorious tale behind each portrayal of my Uncle's grand annual hunting expeditions in Cloakwood," the man offered. "While I bleed to death, surrounded by ironic reminders of how today I myself became the hunted and prey."
Irse gave up searching for a way out and plopped down sulkily next to him. Perhaps he would be more inclined to return her to the alleyway if she helped him first. The elf removed the man's hand and lifted a bit of his shirt to check on the wound.
"Slash or stab?" she inquired.
Despite his pain, the man chuckled. "Just a slash. Or two, I think. But a wickedly sharp blade, likely enchanted. Went right through my gambeson and shirt." He looked down and frowned at the beginnings of a stain on the upholstery. "Uncle Aldeth will have my hide for ruining his brand-new couch. Though I told him a pallet should suffice for a mere safehold. "
He flashed a weak yet cocky grin. "I'm Dabron, by the way. Dabron Sashenstar."
"Irse," she murmured back absently without even pausing to acknowledge him. His disappointment didn't escape her notice - an embarrassed wince at her lack of recognition and admiration. Obviously a nobleman, shoulder-length chestnut hair smelling faintly of pomade, the face perhaps somewhat fetching though with overly patrician features - a lot of jaw and a nose that could put an eye out.
From a mahogany desk, she swiped a small vase and the doily on which it rested, unceremoniously discarding the cut blossoms and pouring its water on the delicate cloth. With the dampened doily, she wiped the blood off the wound, pausing to pluck a torn fiber or thread from the skin.
"Oh good, at least Herry remembered to replace the flowers yesterday," he pointed out dryly. "You seem to know what you're doing, though."
She merely shrugged in reply. The young elf had seen enough, watching Brother Karan treat an injured laborer or kitchen worker with herbs and bandages every now and then. Healing potions were reserved for the Avowed as much as possible. And then a pained memory of being on the receiving end herself.
"I could patch you up, but much better if we could do something about the bleeding in case you cut a big vein, I dunno," Irse mumbled. Brother Karan always talked of a major artery or vein being hit somewhere whenever someone was bleeding all over the infirmary cot. Sighing, she patted at the side of her trousers in a gesture of resignation. Her palm felt a small lump through pocket. The bloodstaunch she picked up from the floor at the herbalist's shop. Now to find something to seal it with.
"Dagger?" she requested. Dabron unsheathed one from his holster and handed it over, handle facing her. She took the blade and went to one of the tapestries, cutting through the cloth at the bottom.
"Pity you didn't start with Uncle Aldeth's face," he joked hoarsely.
Irse huffed as she ripped out the entire length of the tapestry's base. He didn't seem too fazed at such a close call with death. One might wonder what he has already seen and lived through. She returned to his side, took out the pouch and emptied the bloodstaunch into her hand. Dabbing the crushed herb at the wound, adding bit by bit until the cut was fully covered, using the tapestry cloth for a makeshift bandage on his abdomen.
"There, that should do until you get yourself to a proper healer," Irse said as she tucked in the edges. "Which I don't see any around here unless you can teleport to one, however you did it."
"How? With this."
He tugged at a silvery chain around his neck and pulled out the pendant from within his shirt and over his head to show to her - a palm-sized nondescript stone wrapped with twine. Irse peered at it, amazed that an ordinary pebble could perform such a feat.
"We had a mage from Neverwinter craft this stone of recall for us, one of a handful for my family. Specially made to teleport the bearer to places where the wardstone is attuned to, like our safeholds, the headquarters, our houses, as well as return us to the last place we've been. A fine thing to have on your person when you find yourself in danger or in a trade meeting with idiots. I only need to touch it and think of my destination."
"Then you can easily take me back to the alley," she pressed him.
Dabron's mood dampened. "Assassins from a rival merchant guild are pursuing me. Among them a wizard who managed to block the magic from my wardstone. Only Tymora's luck helped me get away from them, just far enough to let me try again and activate the recall spell."
He leaned back in the couch and solemnly dangled the pendant in front of him, the chain loosely coiled around his palm. "Forgive me, Irse. As much as I'm grateful for your help, I prefer not to jump right back under the same sword after my neck. My pursuers will have surely come upon your companions. Hopefully, only interrogating them and nothing more. Besides, it's safer if we wait here or I teleport us to our manor."
So, he won't help her at all. Panic raced through the mind as quandaries piled on top of one another. If Dabron could at least take them to another place, how would she find Okami in such a large city? Possibly, he might report her disappearance to the city watch. And yet, what if they're in cahoots with the other merchant guild?
Worse, if those hunting Dabron were to turn upon her Teacher and the porter out of frustration? Against armed foes, she feared not for him; but mention of a wizard among the assassins had brought back the grim reminder of human helplessness against a mere wand that day at the banks of Chionthar. What else could she do when more than walls kept her here? Fists clenched, unclenched, fingernails scraped at the knees, fidgeting.
That's it. She slammed a fist on the upholstery between them. "I'm sorry. But I will get back there, even if I must tear down every brick in this place to climb out of here," Irse declared as she reached over and snatched the pendant. Dabron yelped in surprise just as the chain yanked his hand.
A singular thought flashed in the mind as fingers closed around the stone of recall. Teacher.
All surrounding finery as well as the couch disappeared beneath them, and they landed on their haunches on the cobblestones of the alleyway. Okami stood over them, stunned, while the porter crouched behind the wain, peeking cautiously over the pile of their belongings. And what a sight they must have made, sitting side-by-side, Dabron grasping her arm, caught in the very act of attempting to stop her from activating the wardstone now in her hand.
"Hi," she sheepishly greeted just as Okami swiftly pulled the elf from the ground and set her behind him. At hearing the familiar click of the hilt being released from the scabbard, she shouted, unthinking of her words.
"Wait! Don't slice off his limbs!"
Everyone stared at her.
"That is quite… specific," Okami remarked with a side-eye at his apprentice.
Irse scrunched her shoulders and grinned awkwardly. Well, that was what she would've done had her Teacher been taken instead of her.
Dabron rose to his feet, clutching protectively at his side. "Fear not, your elven friend is unhurt. I was only afraid she might accidentally use the wardstone to teleport us somewhere unsafe."
Without easing from his stance, Okami turned his head to her. "Is this true?" Seeing his apprentice bob her head, he relaxed.
"I didn't mean to spirit her away. But you must understand, there are hired blades after me. I only did what I could to save myself," Dabron reasoned.
Okami removed his hand from the hilt. "Your pursuers arrived after you disappeared. I told them the truth, that you vanished before my eyes. They seemed to believe me for one among their number spoke of teleportation."
Irse tugged at her Teacher's sleeve. He and the porter appeared unharmed, but the worry wouldn't subside so easily. "Did they do anything to you?" she whispered.
"They asked and threatened, but only those," he replied with a reassuring smile, evidently noting the concern in her eyes. "Nothing that required me to draw my sword to defend myself and our companion."
Relief washed over her. She approached Dabron and returned the wardstone to him. "I dressed his wound with bloodstaunch. He's also with the merchant guilds," she told her Teacher.
"I see. Had not Lord Bron and his council put a stop to the hostilities?" Okami questioned the other man.
"Our company, the Merchant's League, is not of this City. We hail from the Gate, but I do know what you mean. We've only recently established a representative bureau here but apparently the entrenched guilds aren't too happy about interlopers sniffing for opportunities in their territory."
"You should tell the council about this. Let them know what happened to you so they can punish the other guild for trying to have you killed," she urged.
"Oh, the council knows of these incidents for sure. But they deem it unnecessary to march against the merchants once more, so long as there's no open bloodshed as in the days past."
Dabron slipped the silver chain over his head. "I truly appreciate what you have done for me. However, I must take my leave of you now, lest they return."
"Will you be all right?" Irse said.
"I will be, much thanks to you," Dabron replied with a smile. "I'm sorry I don't have any gold or wealth with me right now to properly repay you. But know that from this day forward, you are friends of House Sashenstar. Tymora always smile upon you."
The merchant waved at them, touched the stone of recall, and vanished.
They resumed their trek to the North Gate in pensive silence. Irse cast one more look at the spires of the Old City behind them. Could the safehold be under one of those towers? All that wealth and luxury to allay the knowledge that a rival could simply order your demise as if your life meant less than a house of gold or a caravan of goods. A comfortable yet disturbing existence. And yet, Dabron carried on as if such things were expected, ordinary happenings to plan for as you would a picnic or a simple chore, the fatal consequences a mere forethought.
She wrinkled her nose. "You'd think all these noblefolk with riches enough to live their lives safely and in comfort needn't kill each other for even more gold."
"Greed for wealth and power blinds even the most learned and strips them of reason and humanity, so that violence becomes a mere routine in their sight."
"And look what could've happened. What if ordinary people get caught in between? The council already made it against the law for them to keep fighting and still they do it anyway."
Okami nodded sternly, the corner of his lip crooking in distaste. "Be not surprised at the stubbornness of man. You can send heralds in every corner of the realms to announce that the battles are to be stopped. But you can never send one to a man's heart to tell him the war is over."
Dusk had already fallen by the time they arrived at Dearg. Friendly village watchmen led them to their new lodgings, tailed by a small procession of curious neighbors. Word certainly spread fast for visitors had come calling within the hour. Grizzled farmers eager to lay eyes and opinion on the man who would be fixing their ploughs and tools, and their wives who took it upon themselves to tidy up the cottage, taking the chance to steal any gossip-worthy bit about their new residents.
"Poor thing, you must be hungry from such a long journey," the womenfolk cooed and fussed over the young elf who wolfed down the pies they brought with them.
"Everything tastes so good! I feel as if I'm at a midwinter feast," Irse exclaimed, eyes glistening with happiness, cheeks and chin stained with pie filling. The women beamed and murmured with approval among themselves, not a few boasting of proof now obtained that their very human fare had been deemed worthy of, in their opinion, sophisticated elven tastes.
The village folk finally left a little before midnight and the two busied themselves with unpacking their belongings. Inside the cottage were no more than a table, a few stools, a shelf, and a fireplace. At least the dirt floor remained dry and well-tamped down, suitable for laying on bedrolls for the night. First thing to be done in the morning would be to find a carpenter among the villagers, task him to make any necessary repairs, make two beds, and partitions to serve as makeshift rooms for each of them. Then, get the forge up and running.
The elf rummaged through her pack and spied a swathed bundle sitting atop the pile of tools. She unwrapped it and found a handful of books. Books! She grabbed two of the topmost tomes and skimmed the titles.
She read one and whistled. The Aesthetics of Large-Scale Armed Conflict. Goodness, what kind of war would she be fighting to have to read something like this? Must be some aggressive swamp rats and mosquitoes here in the countryside.
And the other one made her smile for it reminded her of Brother Karan's lessons about the cosmos. So You Can't Find Your Way to the Outhouse in the Fields At Night (A Novice's Guide to Celestial Navigation).
She waved the tomes at her Teacher. "You returned to the book stall for these?"
Okami nonchalantly plucked at a lint on his sleeve. "What manner of mentor would I be if I allowed your apprenticeship to interfere with the education your foster father had given you?"
Irse gathered another one to show to him. The book with the green cover. "This one! I used to read this back at home! The Fabulist's Parables" she said, pleasantly surprised. "Fables about talking animals told by some slave who lived in Chessenta, hundreds of years ago."
"Then you know of the wisdom hidden in those tales."
How could she forget? A recollection of an elven child sitting by the fountain at the courtyard. A warmer than usual Mirtul, the grass almost absent from the parched earth, laborers complaining of it being too hot to be out in the midday heat, and the fountain the sole source of cool relief. Yet despite the burning noonday sun, Irse leaned over the marble rim, transfixed, watching the birds watering themselves. Gorion had come upon his foster child and sat down next to her in the same quiet observation.
A raven flew down and perched right at the water's edge. Irse shrank back. Gorion must have sensed the child's fear for he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I know of an old tale about a raven, a Chessentan fable. Would you like to hear it?"
The child bobbed her head but kept her eyes trained at the creature lest it try something funny at them. Gorion then recounted the fable of the thirsty raven who found a pitcher of water but couldn't reach deep into it. But being wise and determined, the bird flew down to the ground and picked small pebbles, dropping them into the pitcher until the water rose high enough for it to drink.
"Little by little, by using our wits, and by not giving up, we surely achieve what we desire," Gorion intoned the lesson.
"Why didn't it just push the pitcher to get the water out? Isn't it faster that way?"
"Perhaps, that's something a naughty and impatient raven might do!" He reached down and pinched the girl's nose. Irse giggled and grabbed at his fingers until he let go.
"No. If it had done so, the water would've spilled and soaked into the ground. Haven't I told you? Haste makes waste."
"Yes, father, you always do. All right, so it's a smart bird," Irse agreed. "But it's still bad luck. Master Ulraunt said so."
The sage chuckled and patted at her head. "Nothing more than superstition, Irse. Nothing but words and fears when one doesn't understand the world around them."
"But everyone believes it. Even the monks."
"That's what the people here have chosen to think." He leaned down to whisper in her ear, as if meaning to reveal a great secret. "But do you know what people in other lands say of the raven?"
Irse shook her head.
"In the east, in Kozakura and Wa, they believe the appearance of the bird is a sign of the will of the gods, their divine hands working in the affairs of humans."
"But- but the Watchers say those birds eat dead people!" The child clutched at her foster father's hand in fear.
At her words, the raven flapped its wings and snapped its beak at them, as if disputing the charge. Irse jerked, startled. Gorion beamed soothingly.
"Yes, that's… what they do. But for the men of the east, seeing these birds descending upon the fallen in the battlefield is a sign of their gods cleansing the aftermath of tragedy. A chance for renewal and rebirth. Even tribes in the wilds and wastelands carve the raven in their totems. To them it symbolizes not only death but the rebirth and wisdom that arises from the passing of mortality."
Irse wrinkled her nose. "Eh, what? I don't understand a lot of it, Father. But if you say so, then I won't be afraid of it anymore."
She grinned as Gorion laughed heartily and took her hand. They walked together towards the kitchens, the child stealing confident glances at the raven which cocked its head curiously at them before spreading its wings and taking to the skies.
Irse smiled at the memory. She mouthed her thanks at Okami who nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The elf carried the books to an old shelf in one corner, but noticed a lone pamphlet stuffed among the pages. She yanked it out and raised an eyebrow at the title.
"Stretch Your Copper and Cook More – The Humble Goodwife's Guide to Feeding A Large Family for Less," she read aloud and slowly.
Okami crisply snatched the pamphlet from her hands. He cleared his throat and hurriedly stuffed the chapbook in his short robe.
"Perhaps a free leaflet thrown in as a token of thanks for the purchase. Kindling for the stove. Think nothing more of it," he said with hasty disinterest.
Irse canted her head, puzzled, then shrugged her shoulders and went back to emptying out her pack.
Finally, they settled down for the night. The girl tugged the blanket over herself and pondered on her journey so far. Not too long ago she expected to live her entire life behind the Keep's walls. Yet in a span of weeks, she had lain her head on the ground, in a ship's cabin, in a luxurious inn at a city where her foster father likely lived for a time during his youth.
And now here.
In the darkness she gazed up at the rafters, staring until sleep finally came and dimmed the line between the wooden beams above their heads and the stars shining in her dreams.