The passage across the sea was
uneventful, and since reaching the mainland for the first time I've been
traveling north around the border of FairaNoran. The rumor of war in those
woods is entirely true, so I was cautious to stay clear, especially of the
South Woods. The going was slow with my heavy packs. My body is unaccustomed to
so much travel, and though I hate myself for it, I've let myself get lazy.
After fighting through swamplands
in the south woods, I found the ground to be more solid the further north I
got. Sooth, it was lovely. The woods on one side and the ocean on the other.
Travel was hard work, but good. I must confess, fables of the Fairy Grounds
tempted my ears, but there's no telling how true they are, or whether it's
worth the risk with a war on.
I reached the northern plains at
last, with a twinge of disappointment that I had seen no merfolk. With my skins
filled at the Shembarrie and my pockets filled with all the fruits and roots I
could find, I set out across the plains. All I needed to do was reach the river
country in the plains. I always kept my bow strung.
By supper time I was exhausted. I
was going slower than ever, and longed for a horse. When I saw smoke coming
from the ground, I knocked my bow and investigated. I found a common earth-home
set into the hill, with a vast, thriving garden in front of it. There was a
huge fence protecting it, with a clay sign hanging over it, on which was
painted the poem,
'Should
travelers be armed with hate,
Woe
to them should they cross this gate.
Should
travelers their Maker fear,
Pray
enter and be welcome here.'
I chose to risk it, and tapped the
knocker on the gate. A bird in the garden went flying into a hole in the wall
of the house with a whirr. A minute later, a young man with curly, ginger beard and hair came out of the
door with a spear in his hand. His legs were goatlike and covered in fur, with
hooves that clacked along the mossy stone path as he approached. A pine green
scarf around his neck complimented his fur color. He stood on the other side of
the gate, eyeing me readily with his sharp eyes, blue as a stormy sea.
"Good day," he said,
polite but guarded.
I nodded. "Greets, respected
sir. Do you live here?"
He hesitated, then gave a quick
nod. "Pray tell me, maiden, what does a human do in these parts?"
"I am simply passing through.
Now pray tell me, do you know of any safe place nearby where I can find lodging
for the night?"
"Pray allow me to ask. I'll be
right back."
I waited until he returned, keeping
my eyes and ears open. He brought with him a tall, lanky creature of the same
race, whose face reminded me of a mouse as much as the younger lad's reminded
me of a tiger. He was old enough that grey hairs lined his beard and hair, but
he retained a sort of handsomeness, not elven, but pleasant. He bore a spear
and a cautious expression, like the boy's.
"How do you do," he
began. "My sons tells me you seek lodging. Would you care to lodge with
fauns?"
He informed me that there were no
lodgings anywhere until I grew near the river. His family had their homestead
here, and took lodgers, if they meant no harm. Their price was cheap, the place
looked and smelled good, and I spotted a child faun's face or two in the
windows. It seemed harmless enough, and I answered his screening questions as
openly as I dared.
So I spent the night with fauns.
Their abode was lovely, and struck me with a strange pang of homesickness. The
worn books on the shelves that lined the walls, the faded mock-gold swirls that
embellished the trim, the hand carved furniture, and the smell of potatoes and
a roasty fire and onions. They killed a pig for me, and supper was a delicious
blend of potato, bacon, herbs, onions, cheese, milk, and salad.
The father, mother, and four children were polite and even
friendly. The oldest son, his spear put away and my weapons stored in a hall
chest, carried most of the conversation, with his younger sister and youngest
little brother joining in. The second youngest son was cheerful but quiet, like
his mother.
Now they are all abed, if not
asleep, and I lie awake in my quilted bed, missing home, longing to push
forward.
