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    Early was the morning as they set out. The denizens of the city were just
beginning their daily routines, and as Tibalt saw them each in turn he affixed
their faces within his memories of the day. The fewer he forgot, the more
reasons he'd have for his questing.

    He knew it was silly, but motivation is a private thing, and he made a fair
effort to keep his private. The thought of a single lost soul on his concience
was too much to bear, but he expected he'd have to get used to it. As the
bravest warrior of Redberry Falls, he'd grown accustomed to the responsibility
of leadership. Bravest aside from his brother, Laren, perhaps. Facing down a
wild boar without a blade is one thing, but Laren had stood beside him. They
all told stories of him, Tibalt, the boy warrior, but Laren was always
forgotten. Somehow, I think he likes it better that way, thought the soon-to-be
man.

    The guards stood at their stations, though the light had barely crested the
mountains to the south. He admired them and their steadfast devotion, the look
of majesty they presented. Surely, countless unwashed peasants cowered before
them daily, but he suspected they felt no emnity toward them - what purpose
would they have, if not to protect the fearful, after all? A life without
purpose for warriors such as they would be little more than banditry. None
cherished the bandits.

    As they passed the forest road, the infrastructural achievement of the
14th high king Prestonde, if he recalled correctly, the flow of farmers,
traders, and travellers never abated. Some were still trickling out of the city
from the festivities a week prior - no doubt loathe to return to their menial
lives for the following two months before the next ceremony. Others were
arriving bearing goods for market - a city the size of Sorenthal required a
steady supply of food and commodities to sustain itself, and the surrounding
farms and villages were happy to oblige. Monsters abhored civilization, after
all, and the exchange of exotic goods brought by foreign traders was more than
enough to entice them to part with their meagre life's products.

    "The journey'd go a lot quicker if you two would speak up, once in a while"
Zera interrupted Tibalt's musing, and he turned to her with a feigned curiosity
that she often responded well toward. "What, pray tell, would you have me speak
of, aside from the weather? Or lack of it, as it were."

    "Bah." She kicked a rock and it skittered between the wheels of a wagon
just ahead of them, clattering and bouncing between them before coming to a
rest directly in her path. She began to make a game of kicking the same rock as
they walked, occasionally thwacking the boots of a helpless passerby or darting
off the path to retrieve it as it skittered away. "I dunno, just... Anything.
What were you thinking of just now? I know your head isn't as empty as Laren's.
There has to be something."

    Laren perked up upon hearing his name, but relaxed and continued dreamily
glancing around upon realizing how small of a part he played in their
conversation. "Monsters, mostly." Tibalt lied. He didn't feel like explaining
how he knew the reason why the road was always so crowded, and he doubted she'd
be interested. "Monsters, huh?" she replied, and that seemed to pique her
interest a bit. "What kind of monsters?"

    "Well, not so much of monsters, and more about the lack of them. Do you
know why they avoid the civilized lands of men?"

    "They don't, as far as I can tell. Don't you remember the troll that tore
up the market just a few days ago? I know for sure you remember cleaning up
after it. Remember the dire hawk that stole my meat pie two days ago? And what
of those red eyes we saw?" None of them had spoken of that moment in the days 
following, and Tibalt was a little surprised to hear her discuss it so
casually. As far as he knew, none of them had ever been in as much danger as
they were that night, not even when Laren and he slew the wild boar back home.
No... It wasn't home anymore. Garth was to be their home now, at least for the
next year or so as they finished their Lessons of the Hand.

    "See, there you did it again, drifting off like that. You're just like your
brother.Don't tell me you're scared of a couple eyes in the dark? It didn't
touch us. We're FINE." She spoke with just a little too much finality and
volume for Tibalt to believe her.

    "That hawk was clearly a pigeon, and I remember you yelping in fear when it
alighted away with your precious lunch." Laren spoke up then, and added
"Besides, I gave you half of mine afterwards."

    The three seemed to breath a collective sigh of relief, then, as the shared
trauma so narrowly avoided discussion. Tibalt blinked, because he realized for
once Zera was right. "I have wondered why that Troll was there. I've heard they
are attracted to gold, but I never knew why."

    Her eyes lit up as she found a subject she knew more about than Tibalt.
"They aren't after the gold you know, not really. They're after it because we
are." Tibalt furrowed his brow, and she continued. "Monsters don't see like we
do. Here - " she bent down, picked up the rock she'd been kicking, and lightly
tossed it to Tibalt. "You saw that coming, right? I mean, it's a rock. Of
course you saw it. But monsters don't see like that. It's more like... They can
see how we feel. And they know how we feel about gold, how it gives us power
over others and how we treasure it. So they covet it. And they'll kill for it
even though they don't know how to use it."

    "Seems a little suspicious to me. Why would they want something if they
didn't know how to use it? Did you make that up?" Tibalt pressed, with a hint
of playful sarcasm that flew directly over her head.

    "I did not! I wouldn't. Zendalke told me."

    "Really, Zendalke? Why was she talking to you? Isn't she... Y'know, better
than all of us combined?"

    Zera blushed, and mumbled "Because both our names start with Z. I thought
we'd have more in common... but we don't. Not really. She does know a lot about
monsters though, and she did say she didn't mind telling me because I was new."

    Tibalt shrugged. "I suppose if you spend as much time killing them as she
does, you're bound to pick up something interesting once in a while."

    Zera shook her head. "That's not why." She stepped closer to avoid a
clearly overladen mule as its rider flashed a whip, which apparently
fascinated Laren because he stared at the implement long after the poor beast
had passed. "She knows because she's a trollkin. Trollkin are half monster."

    Tibalt didn't know that. He had never seen one before they arrived in the
city, and solely based on their name it... Made sense, but how could that be?
"What kind of person would... Y'know, with a troll?" Zera made a face at that,
and kicked her rock at Tibalt as hard as she could. It bounced off his hip and
ricocheted off the path, where it'd rest for the rest of their journey. "You
know it's not like that! What's wrong with you?"

    Tibalt shrugged. She regained her composure, and stared at her feet,
seemingly longing for her plaything. "Trolls aren't like that. And Trollkin
aren't either. They're not animals, like you and me. They're a fungus, I
think. Or maybe a mold. They grow in caves or on trees, and sometimes they grow
into animal bones. Maybe it's magic, I don't know, but when they find an ogre
it's a regular troll, and when they find orc bones it's a trollkin. They're
generally nice - the kin, not the troll, but when it's anything but an orc it's
evil. Nobody knows why. Oh and I know the blue ones are from caves, and the
green ones are from moss in forests."

    "Do you think there's blue trolls in the sea as well?" asked Laren.

    "Of course you'd think of that, you stupid boy. What good is it to think of
the ocean when it's so far away?" Zera was _clearly_ in a foul mood, but Laren
was _clearly_ oblivious as always. "I was just curious. Besides, there's
traders from the ocean in Sorenthal, right? Someone told me that, but I can't
recall who it was."

    "They're not from the ocean, they're from places beyond the ocean." Even
Tibalt knew that, but Laren was playing the part of the fool quite nicely. In
fact just as the thought had crossed his mind, Laren winked at him. "Really?
Are you sure they don't just live on their boats, and eat fish all day with the
wind in their hair and the sun on their faces? Sounds pretty nice to me!"

    The two boys laughed in unison as she stormed off ahead, and while Tibalt
kept his eye on her from afar, she walked apart from them the rest of the day.

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    The night time approached as it usually did, and the three companions made
camp on the road. The rest of the travelers followed suit, leaving a narrow
causeway in the center of the road partly to facilitate any midnight wanderers
but also to create another separation between the camps as they set themselves
up directly on the cobblestones. Finding a spot away from the thoroughfare was
usually a better option, but considering the massive amount of people presently
attempting to travel on a single highway, it simply made more sense to seek
safety in numbers rather than concealement.

    A man from the camp next to theirs shared his dinner of smoked sardines and
salted asparagus, and they traded him three spiced rolls in return. Across the
way a singer was shamelessly belting out a song of Springtime, her homeland.
The lilting upbeat melody filled everyone present with a sense of harmony and
aspiration. As the night fell, the many campfires that stretched eternally into
the distance to the north and south winked out one by one, and the smell of
smoking embers slowly drifted away to meld with the previous background scent
of sweat, straw, and animal manure.

    Laren sat next to the remains of their campfire, turning the small dagger
they'd been given over and over in his hands. He would occasionally unsheath
it, gaze at the ripples in the iron, and then return it to its haven. His eyes
were drawn to the subtle banding that held the wooden and leather scabbard
together, and though it was far from ornate he found beauty in the way it
earnestly presented itself with no attempts to conceal its simplistic nature.
Surely, the path of the humble is frought with beauty such as this, and beyond
beauty there is a tendency toward reliability and dependability. This scabbard
wouldn't fail him, he knew. It'd keep his blade safe from the rain, and prevent
himself from accidently nicking himself on the sharpened edge. What more could
you ask from something as simple as this?

    He'd receive no answer, for as the smoke faded and the starlight began to
once more peer through the leaves above, he found himself drawn to gazing at
them as a dandelion flower gazes at the clouds. Are they terrified of the dark?
Do they fight it at every turn? Or are the stars but visions of a merciless
void of light that the movement of the sun portends?

    His musing held him fast until his eyes drifted closed of their own accord.

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    The next day, the pair was awoken by the sound of Zera conversing with a
fellow traveler. He'd made this road his home, and his life consisted of
wandering the breadth of it from Garth on one end, to Sorenthal on the other.
Every morning, he'd offer a breakfast of cooked eggs to any that'd give him a
copper, and during the day he'd walk. "What do you do with your coppers?" asked
Zera, and he'd say "Same thing anyone does. Put 'em in my pocket, and later
find they'd migrated through the hole at the bottom onto the road!"

    "But why use that pocket if it had a hole in it?" asked Tibalt, clearly
confused by the sheer illogical nature of the man's actions. "'Cause if I
didn't, then I'd have too much to carry. Gotta walk all day, after all. You'll
never know who you'll meet at the end of your journey, and a skinny fella like
me's gotta stay light on their feet!" He jumped up at that, and danced a little
jig with this hands on his thin leather belt as the children laughed in spite
of themselves. Tibalt caught himself, and realized he had grown a lot since the
last time he'd laughed like that.

    "What about your chickens?" Zera pointed to the birds that seemed to flock
around him as he spoke, and he replied: "Oh these lovely ladies aren't mine,
lass. They're denizens of the road, same as me!" His hat was off then, and he
placed it on the ground and emptied a small pouch of corn from his belt into
the pockmarked cloth. Laren understood, then, why his clothes had so many oddly
spaced holes in them. "But don't people eat them?" she asked, standing up and
stepping after him as he paced. He quickly plucked one of the hens off the
ground with a squack, and hurriedly covered her ears before glancing around
conspiratorily. "Don't let them hear you say that, they're delicate souls
y'know. Besides, sometime's I'm the one doing the eating! I've eaten nothin'
but chicken for the past hundred moons."

    Tibalt couldn't believe that, "A hundred moons? Really? Nothing but
chicken?" "Aye, yup, a hundred moons. Trick is lad, you can add an egg to
anything as you fry it and it'll still be chicken. Chicken on bread? Sure!
Chicken with cheese? Yep! Heck once I even ate chicken in pie, hoooo boy that
was delicious. Say, wanna buy some chicken? I can cook y'up somethin' mighty
fancy, just for the three wee travelers I found all alone. You are alone,
aren't ya?" He leaned a little closer, and his eyes seemed to twinkle.

    Zera nodded before Tibalt could stop her, and Laren spoke up. "Alone we may
be, but we have coin and blade to protect ourselves. We bear the protection of
the Guild of Adventurers, so should you or your friends lay a hand on us we'll
be avenged if nothing else." The man feigned surprise at Laren's prickly
rebuttal, and shook his head. "Alas, I'm not the wily bandit ya think I am, I'm
just a poor wanderer makin' his way in the world I love. The offer still stands
if y'er hungry, though." Exchanging a look, the children complied and handed
over six featureless round copper ingots, one for each egg.

    Later, as they were once again walking down the long forest road, Zera
asked Laren a question. "Why did you think he was going to rob us? He seemed so
nice." The response was spoken softly, though the pointed nature of the words
could not be entirely dulled by the tone. "You told me yourself to be
suspicious of strangers. You're always going on about how empty my head is, but
if you looked a little closer maybe you'd find something within it that you
recognize."

    She was taken aback, and shook her head. "I never said that. Those aren't
my words, true as they are."

    "When we first met, you told me not to mention the fact that I was new.
That people would steal from me if they knew I was vulnerable."

    Once again, she shook her head. "Strangers have never hurt me. Only people
who care about you can hurt you. I told you to beware the other adventurers
because they respect versatility, and if all they remember about you is how
long it took for you to adjust, they'll view you as less than worthless. We're
nothing if not pragmatic - its common courtesy to strip a friend's corpse of
anything useful, lest it fall into the hands of the monsters. What makes you
think any of them'd want to join a party with you if you're worthless?"

    Laren didn't want to be a pack mule, and so he focused on walking.

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