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Dearest Readers, may springtime bring you blossoming kindness along life's trail.

THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE

Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 26: Along the Path, Wildflowers

Spring. And along the path, wildflowers.

Sprouted among the grass and rocks, as it were a diminutive parapet of the delicate whites and yellows of snapdragons and buttercups, pale blues of gentians and forget-me-nots, blood-red poppies, deep plums of pansy and orchid, and the blush of pink sorrel and catchfly.

Irse halted at the trail leading to the smithy, staring at the wildings. And frowned. For right at where a pair of feet had dug their mark, evidence of another who had stood there for quite a while, a significant section appeared to be missing a whole bunch of the colorful blooms – conspicuously hacked at the mid-stems. Not that she had planted these herself, but sometimes she watered them when the summer sun blazed at its hottest. A tiny sense of ownership and responsibility for equally small things. Not to mention – the act committed at their footpath. Theft and vandalism!

She flicked at the marred shrub. Who among the villagers would have reason to make off with such insignificant sprouts when the womenfolk themselves often boasted of their own gardens? Certainly her Teacher wouldn't have done this – for what use did he have for flowers?

Flowers!

In sudden panic she looked around, eyes alighting with alarm at the smithy. She remembered now. Not a few of the village women, the ones unspoken for, had been dropping by for neighborly visits, flittering with their coquettish small talk, unconvincingly pretending to be interested in her Teacher's ironwork, then oh-not-so-subtly mentioning the Maycircle to him.

She flicked at a stem. The Maycircle, the traditional pairing dance at Greengrass where the unmarried may take part, though customs required the man to invite the woman to become their partner. And how? With a bouquet of flowers.

An eye narrowed, twitching. Which one of those sneaky schemers could have tricked and trapped her Teacher? Pennie the Pie Pincher? Tilly the Titterer? No, it must be Lanie the Lash Lasher – fluttering her eyes at Okami so furiously you'd think she was trying to summon a whirlwind.

Have you got a stye in the eye, Irse had questioned the woman but only got a head-to-toe sneer in return.

That's it. The elf marched, nay, stormed through the pathway, darkly reciting more names like an executioner's roll, bothered at having already reached the door before she had even reached the end of the list of suspects.

One deep breath to compose herself, and then she opened the door to the smithy. First to meet her sight, Okami welcomed her with a quick nod as he scooped fresh coals into the furnace.

"A... beautiful afternoon to you, Irse," came a shy greeting from another.

Startled out of her thoughts, she rounded on the intruder. "Oh, it's you. Thadd."

The young man, about her age, stood there with hands behind his back. Thadd, one of the village boys, tall and flaxen-haired and smooth-faced, industrious as the rest of them, but given to dreams of becoming a minstrel and leaving his father's farm to travel the realms someday. To live on song and poetry rather than with soil and plow.

While they considered each other as friendly not-so-next-door neighbors, lately the boy seemed to shadow her steps a bit too frequently. And for the most annoying reasons. Sometimes inquiring what her "elfin hearing" thought of a tune he composed and sang to her, as if the pointy tips granted musical abilities above human skill.

Worse, seeking her opinion about a line of a poem he had been working on, perhaps believing that growing up in the shadow of the Great Library somehow granted her a note of bardic talent. Tolerable if his verses spoke of battle and heroic deeds.

But, no. They gushed about flowers and hearts, the moon and stars. The worst offender being – "Your smile is like the sweetest fruit / While your voice sings like a magical lute."

She cringed so much and long after reading it that upon coming home, Okami took one look at her face and asked if she had tasted a more potent pickled radish from another and if so, could she ask them to kindly lend him the recipe.

For the life of her, Irse couldn't fathom why Thadd would bother her over such things she clearly didn't care for nor excelled in. What would Teacher say? A thousand pardons for I am a blacksmith, not a wordsmith. Worth a try next time he thinks to foist another of his sonnets on her.

"Thadd has been waiting for you for quite a while," Okami remarked as he scraped at the coals.

Irse crossed her arms and addressed the young man a little too coldly, "Is it about the hinges for the barn door?"

Odd for not only his family's barn needed repair. A few of the farmers recently hired them to look into their sheds and paddocks. Some brazen burglar has been going around, breaking through barns and animal pens. Even more puzzling, the toolsheds weren't missing anything while the stolen animal didn't leave tracks or drag marks they could follow – as if the thief had no need for iron and instead possessed the strength to lift a small goat with ease. Watchmen tried lying in wait in one of the burgled farms but caught none for the thief never struck in succeeding nights. Likewise a search of the woods by the village yielded no clues.

Well, not her problem. A more pressing matter now presented itself.

Irse huffed, "I'm almost done but I did say you'll get them within the tenday."

In other words – Not. Today.

Thadd blinked, seemingly confused, but caught himself. "Oh, yes! Hinges! Pa did mention the hinges when I told him I'm going to the smithy. You weren't here when I arrived earlier, so I told Mister Okami instead."

"Good. Then why are you still here?" Irse snapped.

So sharply, Thadd almost jumped from where he stood.

"The thing is, I came here for another reason."

"More hinges?" Please, Oh Master of Blades and Pointy Things, make it about hinges and not poetry again, she begged inwardly.

"Uh, no. No," Thadd stammered as he awkwardly stepped forward. "But before anything else, I want to give these to you," he pronounced as he drew a bouquet from behind him. A bouquet suspiciously looking like the missing wildflowers along the footpath.

Irse stared down at the offering but took it from his hands. "Yay, flowers," she muttered dryly.

Her eyes darted to her Teacher standing behind Thadd.

Okami tilted his head and shot her a reprimanding look sternly admonishing – show respect for the effort, give thanks and praise the gift liberally in front of the giver.

Irse countered with a glare – but he stole them from our footpath; yet conceded.

"I thank you, Thadd. These are lovely. I'll find a nice place to put them in." One of the empty biscuit tins should do.

The boy's face brightened at the acknowledgement. It seemed to have bolstered his confidence for he puffed out his chest.

"Truth is, I came to… to tell you. I want you to be my partner in the Maycircle this coming Greengrass," he said, blurting out the invitation itself though evidently attempting to appear cool and casual, running a trembling hand through his hair.

What.

Fist gripped tighter around the bouquet, stems near snapping, the blooms twitched as if choked. A partner for the Maycircle! Though she certainly enjoyed watching the lively dance of the village youth, the grace and coordination requisite to flawlessly execute the weaving steps intimidated her more than forging an acanthus leaf from cold iron through hammer and stake raising.

First instincts flashed within - yell a blood-curdling war cry, smack Thadd on the face with the bouquet in kesagiri diagonal stroke, and then leap through the window, glass flying and all and never to be seen again; but rational thought prevailed. Think, Irse, think! Did not the great heroes of the old tales when caught in a great bind, managed to stall their impending doom with wit and words, and prevailed?

"Greengrass isn't impending- … I mean, happening soon. It's more than a tenday away, winter's barely gone and we still have a bit of snow out there. Isn't it too early to be sniffing around for a partner?" Irse dissuaded him.

"Uh, yes, it's certainly days from now, but it wouldn't hurt to get a headstart before anybody else gets the chance to call on you," Thadd reasoned.

"As we say around here – The early bird gets the worm, and the early seed shoots the first sprout. Don't you have a saying like it in the East, Mister Okami?" the young man asked hopefully, turning to the other man for support.

The blacksmith thoughtfully patted the scruff on his chin. "True, we have a similar adage in my homeland. Though it is said in this manner…"

"He who draws the sword belated, in battle is always first beheaded," he continued solemnly.

Thadd paled at the proverb. "Right, right! So ah, Irse, I'd like for you to be my partner in the Maycircle."

Irse stared at him, incredulous, as if he'd asked her to be his torture partner in a Hells' circle.

Clearly sensing hesitation from the elf, he reached over and gently touched the tip of the blossoms still in Irse's hands, like a loving father would with his babe in the mother's arms. What he didn't sense was the girl's extraordinary effort at refraining from drawing the bouquet in battojutsu.

"Oh, Irse. Wouldn't it be a lovely sight to behold a crown of roses upon your flame-hued hair, and your elven grace clothed in the deep emerald silk of a spring gown," he waxed longingly, eyes gazing down shyly at the bouquet in her arms.

What.

A crown of roses and a gown?

The hells must have added a new level to the current nine.

Irse glared abyssal fire past him and at her Teacher.

Okami squeezed in his shoulders, shaking slightly, head somewhat bowed, a knuckle pressed against quirked lips.

Obviously suppressing a laugh!

Thadd gazed at her, hope and pleading in his eyes.

Irse sighed. Along with the unmarried womenfolk, all her peers who have come of age with her this year would certainly take part in the dance. Kerda herself had expressed interest, that is – should any of the boys were to ask her. What harm then could ensue if Irse were to accept his invitation?

And then came a recollection of the past couple of years, of sneaking around with Kerda and some of the other girls to catch peeks into the courtyard of Mistress Jocey, the dance teacher, where the participants sought to master their steps.

In between the merry fiddle music and Mistress Jocey's stern scoldings, there sprouted the inescapable teasing among some of the young men and women. Always, the teasing ultimately blossomed into closeness and affection. Not a few of the married folk in the village spoke of meeting their future spouse in the Maycircle, the match taken for a sign of Chauntea's blessing assuring a fruitful union.

Lord of Sword Stances not Dances, save her from this horrific fate!

Wait! Why not tell him someone else already asked her? But who, then?

A quick tally of the village boys scrawled in her mind. Though most of them were kind and decent, and some could even hold a conversation about anything made of steel, none of them appealed to her tolerance, enough for her to even consider partnering with in the dance. And besides, Thadd would find out quick about the lie, her dishonesty rooted out, her cruel disregard for the heart of a well-meaning boy. Visions of the ensuing shame and censure from the village folk and especially her friends blazed in the mind's eye. And her Teacher's stifled laugh replaced by a sigh of grave disappointment over the dishonorable falsehood.

All culminating in an imagined sketch of getting run out of Dearg with torches and pitchforks, and having to find another place with her Teacher to settle in.

Mister Kagain would surely insist on keeping the rent deposit, though.

Either way, whether to dance or to lie – her life would be ruined! Oh come now, surely she merely thought too far ahead and made too much of the whole situation? Irse shut her eyes and furrowed her brows. No, ruined indeed, she smothered all rational thought. Her stomach sank and ached, and definitely not from hunger.

It was then that of all people, Winthrop's words came to her; words wherewith he teased the youngsters when caught red-handed in a prank.

Honesty is the best policy, if you can't fib away a folly the size of a gully.

The elf breathed in slowly, drawing strength.

"Thadd, I'm grateful for the invitation and it's truly kind of you to consider me for your Maycircle partner, but I must decline. I'm sorry," Irse apologized with a bow.

Okami raised his chin and looked at her.

It took a twinkling for the rejection to sink in. The young man blinked several times and mumbled, "Y- you won't be my partner at the circle? Why? Is there someone you'd rather be with?"

Irse shook her head. "No one. Only that I'm not at ease with the idea of dancing…"

"Just… that? You'll never know unless you try," Thadd pressed.

She paused and pondered his words. Boy's got a point, and makes sense, too. Perhaps this might turn out fine like everything she had discovered after overcoming the initial trepidation – such as climbing a high wall to find a new escape route and shortcut to the stables from the buttery, or leaving home and her foster father to seek her parents.

Yet all of them were choices of her own making. And none as terrifying as parading in front of everyone and prancing and dancing in a flowery spring gown.

"You're right and perhaps I might even reconsider later. Who knows? But this time, I will not," she said with genuine gentleness.

The young man's face fell, his shoulders sagged. "I suppose I can respect that. No one should have to force you if you really don't want to do it. I thank you for being honest with me, at least," he said with a pained smile.

Indeed, Thadd looked so lost and pitiful, her heart suddenly ached, the weight of rejection mirrored in her own soul.

"Is there anyone else you could ask instead?"

"I can't think of anyone. Nobody else seems interested in the things I wrote myself, and you're the only one who ever took time to listen to me or read them," Thadd confessed sadly. "Even though I can tell from the look on your face… you didn't truly like any of my songs and poems, did you? "

"Oh. I'm so sorry," Irse stammered, embarrassed. "I'm sure they're fine work, only I'm not versed in… verses."

"It's all right. I'm still grateful you read them at all," Thadd countered, chuckling.

The elf crossed her arms and rubbed her chin. "There must be another out there who would be happy to partner with you. All the other girls in the village can dance, but who among them, like you, could…"

Sing. Irse's eyes broadened. Of course! Recollections rushed back to her, of Kerda quietly crooning a mournful ballad under her breath as they picked through her mother's herb garden. The girl could carry a tune with the sweetness of a warbling nightingale. Irse used to tease her friend to sing a little louder because only the field mice could hear, but the latter would blush and fold up, claiming she sounded like a snivelling orc. And so the elf chose instead to remain silent and pretend to not notice when the other girl lost herself in a task and absently resumed her song.

"What about Kerda?" she suggested, feigning nonchalance.

"Kerda?" Thadd murmured. "She's kind and pretty, but I don't think she'd be impressed with me, or my songs and poems."

It took just about every ounce of self-control to refrain from wringing the young man's neck. The fool has put on horse blinders shaped like elven ears and hasn't noticed at all! The timid yet yearning glances Kerda would cast in Thadd's direction as the lad passed by while he hummed and penned a song. The blush in Kerda's freckled cheeks each time Thadd halted in front of them to greet Irse and showcase his latest verse.

"Then you've never heard her sing," the elf challenged.

"Kerda… sings?"

Irse raised her chin and pinched the air like the connoisseurs of fine tapestries sold at the market. "Exquisitely. But I'm not surprised you don't know at all. Nobody does. She's quite shy about it, probably thinks no one's interested to hear. But…," the elf said, readying the hook. "The right verses might just be the thing to break her out of her shell and let the world at last hear that beautiful voice."

Thadd rubbed his jaw, and then his temple, clearly considering this new choice. Suddenly he straightened up and now seemed an inch taller, dejectedness replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. "What a shame if she keeps hiding like so. But if Kerda could finally see for herself how her singing is worthy, then it would make her happy, won't it?"

"It would, and very much," Irse prodded. "Although…"

"Although?"

The elf rolled her eyes. "Bifen might be keen on asking her as well."

"Bifen?" Thadd sputtered. "That lummox who said all minstrels are useless ponces and that songs and poetry are… in his own words – dumb?"

"Is there any other in all of Dearg?" Irse asked coolly, knowing her gamble wasn't entirely untrue. Bifen, the village braggart, notorious for crowing his manful ways, chasing after anything in a skirt, and rudely scoffing at all fancy frilly arts.

Thadd huffed, rolling up his sleeves with a flourish. "Kerda certainly deserves better than that hayseed brute! I'm glad you told me right away!" Wasting no further second, he bid them farewell and left the smithy with purposive haste.

Her Teacher waited until Thadd left the trail and walked off to the village street. Okami then turned to his apprentice and with a silent nod, lauded her.

Irse twirled the bouquet of wildflowers in one hand, clasped the side of her trousers with the other and mock-curtsied in return.

Then sneezed.

"Avante! Avante!"

"Arrière! Arrière!"

"Are your simple minds so uncomprehending you cannot tell the difference between advancing and retreating?" Mistress Jocey shrilled at the rows of young men and women before her.

Why not simply say 'forward' and 'backward' so everyone understands, Irse wondered as she sat by the refreshments table and chewed biscuits in time with the dancers' confused shuffling, grateful to be out of range of the bifocaled banshee's screeches, sharp and cutting in the cool air of a spring evening.

Primped in dark velvet robe, pearls in the ears and graying hair, peacock feather fan swishing ferociously in her hand, the grave dame surveyed her charges with immense dissatisfaction. Decades of instructing the offspring of noble houses on the high art of courtly dance left her with little patience for imperfection. Mistress Jocey walked around, nay, prowled among them, seeking the graceless, smacking them on the head for each misstep.

Irse winced as she watched. And munched. Overjoyed at learning of Kerda and Thadd partnering for the Maycircle, the elf volunteered to watch and – for all knew how practice sessions with Mistress Jocey were quite the ordeal, to offer cheer and encouragement.

Of course, doing so went not without effort, and therefore required nourishment. Done with the handful in her mouth, Irse reached out to the side to collect another biscuit when she suddenly yelped and drew back her hand.

The girl rubbed at the sore spot and looked up, shrinking back from Mistress Jocey who now loomed over her, leather riding crop in hand. How did the old lady get around here so fast?

"You, elf! If you persist in your rapacious indulgence in the fruits of my larder, then I recommend you make yourself useful and contribute your labor to the effort!"

"Uh, what do you want me to do, Ma'am?"

"Go to the shed behind my house and fetch me wooden stakes and rope. To remain within the straight and narrow, these floundering halfwits must be disciplined most severely."

Irse's eyes widened. This mincing madwoman is going too far.

"Maybe you'll get the dancers to follow you better if you offer kind words and an extra helping of biscuits," she suggested.

"Instead of beating and choking them?" Irse added. Because nobody ever enjoys that, she'd bet on it.

"What are you gabbling about? I need the wooden stakes and rope to lay down markers in the ground to guide the dancers to keep their ranks straight!" the dance mistress barked at her.

"Oh," Irse mumbled, wondering how she thought of the former instead.

Through a cobbled path she walked around the house and into the backyard where the shed stood, bordering the woods. Freshly whitewashed and the paint barely dried. Of course, trust the prim and stuffy old hawk to spruce up her nest as soon as spring arrived and ahead of everyone else. Some of the boys she hired to make repairs at the house and shed had complained – a relentless and exacting taskmaster Mistress Jocey was. No surface left unpainted, undusted, unfixed.

Irse came upon the shed and paused. Broken door.

Ajar and peeking ahead of the jamb, the plank barely hung from its upper hinges. Eyes swept across the immediate ground. By the light of the lantern in her hand, the turf appeared disturbed, but the prints could've been made by the hired hands who had painted the shed.

Yet thoughts slipped back to the whisperings among the dancers and rumors of recent thievery. Irse laid down the lantern. Fingertip at the edge, she pulled the door towards herself and cupped an ear by the narrow opening, hoping to catch a faint echo of another's breathing. Nothing.

Left hand slid down to the bokken at her side. Surely something or someone already waited inside, likely ready to spring upon any intruder.

Perhaps it would be wiser to return to the others, inform the village watch of her suspicions, get them to come over and inspect for themselves. She turned her sight back to the manor. Then again, did she truly wish to face Mistress Jocey without the precious all-important rope and stakes? A vision of the biscuits shimmered in the mind's eye… and the dreaded leather switch hovering above them.

Irse breathed in and steeled herself. No sense anymore in sneaking in, for whoever lay in wait within would've already seen the light from the open door. Instead, she grasped the side of the door and its handle.

If you have not the advantage then seek to remove that of the enemy, her Teacher's words resounded in her mind as she tugged with deliberate and controlled force until the hinge gave out. Irse pulled the door off its frame and leaned the board against the shed wall. There, this should prevent her from getting trapped within while depriving the thief of the cover of darkness. Bokken drawn in defensive chudan, she stepped partway in and waited for the eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Inside, broken furniture lay piled everywhere with some space to stand.

Like the musty air surrounding her, Irse remained still. Waiting.

Movement gusted from the side. She pivoted and struck with the bokken, feeling wood connect with something firm. It grunted, deep and in anger. Somewhat a head above the elf, draped in a raggedy shroud. A glimpse of veiny knuckles and fingernails like small talons. Likely not human.

Quickly the practice sword swung back, landing on a hunched shoulder. But instead of retreating, the enemy continued to advance and claw at her. The elf skirted from each strike, countering with the bokken. With a pitched frustrated roar, the creature bull-charged at her. Irse sidestepped but it reached out with arms long enough to grab at the elf.

Irse felt herself nearly lifted from the earth, sharp nails digging into shoulder as it pushed and crashed her against a large wardrobe. Termite-chewed wood broke into slivers and dust on impact. She crumpled inside the cabinet, coughing. The creature bent down to reach for her once more, but the elf instinctively curled up both legs and kicked out, feet hitting it squarely in the chest. It sent the enemy staggering backwards and Irse used the opening to scramble out. The door. If she could make it through, get in the clearing to better face the creature…

And then it threw a chair.

It hit the elf in squarely in the back, throwing her off balance. Irse tripped face-forward, glancing at the catapulted armchair as it tumbled beside her. Rotten luck that it got her with one of the better-made hardwood antique types. Groaning, she hauled herself to her feet. The enemy lurked in the shadows, dithering. Why isn't it attacking? Is it waiting for her to curtsy and waltz away?

Then the creature charged once more. She reached down for the bokken, but instead her hands found one of the chair legs. Will have to do. The elf swung the chair at the monster. It broke apart, but the backrest had surely hit the enemy at the side of its head. It reeled in a daze, hitting a pile of broken furniture and fell to the ground, heaving in obvious pain. Irse looked down, a chair leg still in her hand, the torn end jagged and splintered. She flipped it, switching to a dagger grip. Now, while it's still hurt. The elf approached, pulling back for a stab.

A mewling wail broke out from a far corner. Both combatants froze at the sound.

The creature tried to rise, but the elf swung a foot right at its stomach. It doubled over and shuddered. With strength fueled by rage, Irse dragged and slammed it against a heap of jumbled wood.

"A human baby! Did you steal it from here? And you're about to eat it, huh?" she spat, stepping hard on one of the creature's hands, her arm against its throat and the chair leg trained at the face.

"N-no… not a man kid," the creature mumbled in a voice deep, rumbling. And female.

"Mine… mine," it added, choked. The monster looked up, shaking her head to loosen the cowl from her face.

Irse gasped at the sight, sure at having seen such features from somewhere. Drawn on the pages of an old and battered copy of the Bestiaries bought from a book stall. Rust red skin, wide pointed ears, sloping forehead, flat and broad nose, upturned jaw, fangs jutting through leathery lips.

A hobgoblin woman.

"I know you have tribes, so where's the rest of your kin? Are you planning an attack on the village?" the elf questioned.

"No… no attack on humans. Only me, my kid. I yield. I yield. Let me go," the hobgoblin pleaded, if the gnarly tone could be deemed as such. "Elf. Let me go. My kid and I hungry for days. Not lot of food."

Irse tightened her grip on the chair leg, biting her lip. Unarmed and with a starving child, it seemed. What if this one merely feigned surrender, seeking for an opening? Yet she knew, had it been her Teacher or her foster father in her stead, they would let this one go free.

Still keeping the chair leg trained at the other woman's face, Irse pulled back. Immediately, the hobgoblin scrambled for where her child lay hidden. From behind a crate, the mother lifted a swaddled babe. The elf tossed the chair leg away, fetched the lantern and found her bokken, then approached them. She observed the mother as the latter cooed, more like grunted, to calm the little thing.

"May I see?" Irse requested gently.

The mother grinned with pride, lips stretching to reveal a row of pointed teeth before gently kissing the top of the baby's head. "Aye, my kid. Born during the snow melt. Small now, but someday a warchief strong and tough."

Hers without a doubt, for the child sported reddish-pink skin, triangular ears, a button nose and chubby cheeks. The hobgoblin baby yawned like a newborn puppy, small gums empty except for one tiny fang poking through. Irse beamed. Indeed, an adorable wee little terror.

"Hey there, li'l fella'," the elf whispered and wiggled her fingers.

The child looked up, beady yellow eyes wide. Irse crossed her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and pinched her cheeks. The little goblinoid stared at her for a moment before its face scrunched as it started to cry.

Irse quickly covered half of her face. "Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed. It shouldn't come as a surprise that their kind would find elves downright ugly and horrifying.

Mother hushed the child, cradling the little one closer to herself as she tugged up at her cloak and tunic to feed him. Eagerly, the baby latched at the teat, but not long it turned away and whimpered. Too hungry and weak to caterwaul like the nine hells as babies should. Sighing, the hobgoblin pulled down her shirt and resumed rocking the baby.

"No milk if no food to eat."

Irse blinked, a realization alighting upon her. Hobgoblins are known for their strength, ferocity, and endurance. That this mother had been weakened by starvation for an entire winter might be the only reason why the elf still sat there breathing and in one not-too-battered piece, making funny faces for a hobgoblin baby.

It would appear she had been separated from her clan, one among the handful often spotted in the Reaching Woods. Inadvertently crossing the stretch of the Dusk Road between Berdusk and Asbravan right at the onset of winter, hiding from the worst of the cold in the burrows of the sparser woodland bordering Dearg. With the snow melting, she could try and make her way back to her tribe, but with a child to care for, food and safety from the elements now occupied her priorities.

"Nothing but rabbit and rat I find in hiding holes," the mother murmured. "Got here to your village. Take chicken or two one night. Wait a day. Do it again, take kid goat. Tried to take pig but them's squeal too loud, almost caught by human."

"You're the thief who's been going around, breaking down barn doors and tearing up chicken coops," Irse concluded.

"Yes. But never hurt any human here. Don't want to make them angry."

"The village watch are patrolling at all hours now," Irse disclosed. Round-the-dial surveillance must have kept the hobgoblin from making another attempt in the past couple of days.

"They'll catch you for sure if you stay here any longer. You must leave right away."

"How, elf? I hunt, I make trap. But not many big game in woods near this place. Maybe I try one more human house before we go."

"No. Don't gamble with your life. If they capture you, they won't be as forgiving," Irse warned, grasping the other woman's arm. "I can't give you anything right now since this isn't my house. But if you come to the smithy, I'll be sure to pack you something for the journey, even if just for half a tenday's worth."

"Where is smithy?"

Irse paused for a second, considering how best to give directions to someone who couldn't take the village road.

"From here, do you know of the creek behind this barn? Follow it northwards, stay away from any of the houses along the bank. Walk until you come upon two cottages with red shingles, joined to each other. Wait past moondark. I'll leave food and anything else you might need among the stones of the stream."

The hobgoblin woman clutched the babe to her chest, a puzzled expression on her face. "Why you do this, elf? Our people are enemies."

Irse leaned back, surprised at the specific charge. "Oh, we are? I suppose I didn't catch that."

She might have missed the entry under the section on racial enemies for hobgoblins in the Bestiaries - more interested in what they ate. Elves didn't figure in the list, anyhow. Perhaps because they don't taste like chicken.

Indeed, why help them at all? Why not pretend to promise aid and then alert the village watch, have the men lie in wait by the smithy? The little one napping in her arm will one day grow to become a warrior of their tribe. How many innocent folk he might slay in a raid – and will the fallen be counted as blood on Irse's hands because she allowed them to leave in peace? Are they nothing more than monsters, savage creatures?

Savage creatures capable of thought and making a choice – just like her.

Irse grinned and rubbed her nose. "Sure doesn't change my mind about helping you."

The woman nodded thoughtfully. "You have honor, elf. I knows all think we don't have it, but we know honor, respect too in our tribe. You defeat me today in fair fight. You could kill me and my kid but you did not."

"Aww, who would want to hurt a wee one like him, anyway?" Irse teased. She rose to her feet. "I must return to my folk now. Do as I say and I promise all will be well."

The elf looked around, seeking anything which might pass for marking stakes and a ribbon. She settled for the lengthier pieces of the broken armchair, stepping on the jointed parts and prying off the coil-carved armrests, the legs, and whatever remained of the backrest. Now for a rope. None could be found, but she chanced on a dusty lace cloth rolled up in a corner. Delicate enough to be ripped up with bare hands. Irse tore the fabric into several lateral strips. With everything gathered and bundled, she waved at the hobgoblin mother and turned to leave.

Once outside, Irse teetered for a moment and leaned against the wall. With the rush of battle fading down, each ache and scrape made itself felt. The elf chuckled. Three years of getting smacked around with a bokken and starting this year with the unsharpened edge of an iaito, a practice steel sword, and now she'd dare complain of getting walloped with a mere chair and a cabinet.

Irse closed her eyes and breathed in, stretching and kneading where she could reach at her back. She checked her clothes, frowning with distaste at the dust and smudges. Nothing to be done about them for now. The elf shrugged her shoulders, allowing herself to loosen and relax, then walked back to the courtyard.

"Swamp rats?" Mistress Jocey shrieked.

Irse grinned awkwardly, scratching the back of her ear. "Lots of them in there, Ma'am. The size of cats. On account of the creek behind your shed. Chased them around a bit, tried to get them out from under the stuff. Nasty things with mighty teeth. You should see what they did to the door. Chewed right through the jamb and ruined the wood where the hinges are. I took it down to make sure it doesn't fall on anyone."

"Disgusting creatures! And those incompetent laborers should have thought to check for holes in the wall," the woman hissed. "Where are the wooden stakes and the rope I require for the position markers?"

"I gave them to Elman. He said he'd know where to put them," Irse replied, pointing to one of the participants, a young man going around and driving the wooden pieces into the ground at marked distances between the cluster of dancers, meticulously looping the torn lengths of the flimsy fabric around each stake.

Mistress Jocey huffed and waved her off dismissively. With glee Irse rushed for the refreshments table. And just in time for the newly replenished trays of biscuits! And now with dinner rolls! Eyes kept trained on the participants and Mistress Jocey from afar, the elf's hands feverishly worked at pinching off rolls and scones.

"Chauntea! What happened to you?" Kerda gasped, approaching from the side of the table. Thadd accompanied her, his own eyes wide at the sight of the disheveled elf

Irse twitched in surprise and violently shushed her friend. "Got tangled with swamp rats in the shed," she fibbed, hands resuming their task. "Hey, lend me your apron, will you? I'll wash and bring it around your house tomorrow."

Unquestioningly, Kerda hastily untied her apron, handing it over to the other girl. Irse gathered the corners into a makeshift sack and tossed in the filched buns she had piled on the side.

"You're not staying?" Thadd said, eyebrow raised at the now empty trays.

"I just remembered we took in new commissions today, all rushed. I should've left earlier. Addled of me to tell Teacher not to make supper anymore since I thought I'd be eating dinner here."

Thadd opened his mouth, clearly itching to say something about all the food the elf had already devoured earlier but Kerda elbowed him in the ribs. The young man snickered and winked down at the human girl. Irse noted the blush on her friend's face and smiled to herself, stuffing more of the bread into her own pockets.

"This should last me until dawn or-," Irse declared but her voice was cut off by an unholy shriek.

"The stakes! Are those pieces of my Aunt Jorla's antique Marsembian armchair? And this? This is no rope! This is my Grandmother's priceless Cormyrian lace tablecloth!" Mistress Jocey screamed, wrangling her hands over the markers.

Irse grimaced and tapped her friends' shoulders. "I must be off! See you 'round… whenever!" she blurted out, casting a mock salute at Kerda and Thadd's astonished faces. The elf slung the makeshift sack on the shoulder, dashed for the fence and leapt over, disappearing into the darkness like a hungry thief in the feastnight.

Just as well she had told him not wait up and make dinner for her. With Okami retiring earlier than usual, it left the kitchen dark and empty – the perfect stage for Irse to execute her plan. She crept up to the larder to pinch a piece of salted beef, two dried kippers, three small turnips; tossing everything with the filched bread into an old wicker basket.

The elf spied a crock pot on the stove. So he did make supper! She still felt hungry – doing the dance mistress' bidding proved to be no walk in the shed. Irse lifted the cover, excitement replaced with confusion at the unfamiliar contents. Poked a finger into the mush and tasted, frowning. Unable to contain her curiosity, she lit a lamp and peered into the pot. Oat grains soaking in water? Why didn't her Teacher cook it right away?

Shrugging, the elf ladled a bowl for herself, sampled once more but nearly spat a mouthful. Just as one would expect raw oats in water to taste like. Odd that he would make something and leave it unfinished. Irse returned to the larder, rooting among the condiments until she found the honey jar. Three spoonfuls did the trick. As the last scoop left the bowl, inspiration hit her.

Finding a sizable empty biscuit tin, Irse stirred in a bit more of the honey into the porridge, if it could be called as such, and poured everything into the container. She sealed the tin as tight as possible and tucked it in the basket. Everything set!

Irse then sat in her room, watching the candle, waiting until moondark. At the appointed hour, she sneaked out, walked to the stream and sought among the stones at the bank a good place to lay the food. On top of the basket she added an old blanket for the wee one, a roll of bandages and a small pouch of bloodstaunch. The elf stood at the bank for a while, squinting into the dark of the woods across the waters. Soon she imagined catching a glint, perhaps a pair of eyes peering through the shrubs. Irse waved her hands, turned around, and walked back to the cottage.

Out of bed she bounded, eager to check if the mother had truly taken the supplies. Unfortunately, someone else had been eager to check something at the kitchen.

Irse found her Teacher by the stove, contemplating the empty crock pot.

"Thanks for leaving out some supper," she said.

He looked up at her. "I had intended them to be our breakfast today."

The elf scowled, disbelieving. "That was breakfast? Who makes breakfast at night instead of in the morning? And why was it still raw?"

"And you ate them even though you knew them to be raw."

She twiddled her fingers. "I know I said we were having dinner at Mistress Jocey's, but I was still hungry."

"You could have woken me, and I would have prepared a true meal."

"I didn't want to bother you," Irse said as she sat at the table and tapped at the bowls. "Say, why were you soaking raw oats at night? Couldn't you have simply cooked them in the morning?"

"I thought this method would save time and effort. Rather than expend an hour boiling and stirring the oats, they recommended soaking the grains through the course of the night. In the morning, they will have softened sufficiently for immediate consumption with milk or honey," Okami justified.

Irse sighed. He must have stumbled into another those weird culinary pamphlets at the books stalls.

"Time spent preparing the oats could have been time spent working on Mister Kagain's commissions which a messenger gave only this morning," Okami mused. "As I anticipated."

The elf groaned. Apparently, last night's fib about having much work to do turned out to be a jinx. Not entirely a surprise. The crusty rock crab's rushed spring orders were a habit of his. Warming weather meant merchant caravans taking to the road again and mercenary escorts needing new or repaired gear. Old pinchpenny could have tasked them to work all winter so that everything would be ready by spring. But no, he just had to send his orders right at the start of the season and demand them within the tenday. In other words, another round of relentless laboring without rest throughout the day and well into the night.

"Teacher! Why are we dallying at making breakfast? Start the fire, I'll wash the pot at the stream," Irse volunteered, springing from her seat to snatch the pot from Okami's hands and run outside and straight for the brook.

Quickly she scrubbed and rinsed the pot, casting watchful glances around, rushing to the spot where she left food for the hobgoblin mother. Gone, she sighed with relief. Then blinked.

In their place lay a bundle of wildflowers, tied loosely with sweetgrass. A thank-you offering.

Irse smiled as she bent down and picked them up from the stone slab. She returned to the cottage, bearing the flowers in her hand with care, as if they were a finely crafted sword.

While waiting for breakfast, the elf went to the smithy's window and examined the biscuit tin upon the sill. It had been empty for a few days since the bouquet from Thadd had finally wilted. Gently the new blooms were set into the tin, arranged to let each bud and petal stand out, sweetgrass divided into varying lengths and inserted to fill in the spaces.

Irse flicked at one of the petals. Satisfied, she breathed in the faint sweetness and watched as sunlight and breeze danced with the wildflowers at the windowsill.

Springy Scribblings:

And there, the failed experiment of Okami's Overnight Oats. XD