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With the end of the festivities, ample rest follows, and the sunrise signals a new morning. H’aanit tries to recall the details, but among questionable dancing and copious ale, some details are better left forgotten. She sifts through her belongings once more, talking to herself and checking that all items are her bag. After a final glance around the luxurious guest room, she reconvenes with the others. Her master awaits.
Outside Marsalim’s main gates, Eliza steps forward with her arms open. H'aanit accepts the embrace, this rare display of affection in front of her fellow troops.
"Take care, H'aanit. Maybe I'll run into you out there."
"I looketh forward to the day. Over drinks, mayhaps."
"Your treat."
"Nay, thy treat."
Eliza chuckles. "Let's both have our leaves ready."
" 'Tis a deal."
They pull back, and King Khalim addresses the group with a warm voice.
"Comrades-in-arms, friends of Marsalim. Know that you all are always welcome here, for we are ever grateful. On behalf of the city, we wish you the safest travels." Cheers erupt as the king concludes, and the travelers bow and exchange words, in return.
"Thanken thee, Highness, and fare thee well."
Gathered crowds wave as the travelers pass the main gates. H’aanit looks back at the joyful and nods of reassurance, as if they are saying, “We are here for you all.”
Leaving the heat of the desert, The Highlands’ chilling, whistling winds permeate H’aanit’s senses. High, rocky cliffs strike the sky, the very tops enshrouded in mist. The air is crisp, and the ground is solid, unshifting. Steady footsteps crunch against gravel and dry grass, slowing down as they prepare to rest.
“I needeth a walk. I shall be back,” H’aanit says over her shoulder toward the group.
A familiar chorus of “Want some company?” assures her. She respectfully declines this time and heads out, inhaling crisp mountain air.
She often walks alongside Linde to survey the lands, as well as clear her mind. Master is close, she tells herself. Another rest, and they shall reach Stonegard and the forests beyond. Almost there. Linde understands through H’aanit’s demeanor alone and ambles toward her friend’s side.
“Eageren to see Master? I know, Linde, I know.”
She reaches down to scratch behind a purring Linde’s ears. A growl cuts through the silence. Linde assumes a defensive stance as H’aanit reaches back, her hand clutching the bow with a huntress’ instinct. A wild tiger leaps past the distant trees in a flash of orange. It leaps, runs, runs away from them. It climbs up cliffs, higher and higher, and H’aanit loosens her grip. Not prey, for today. She spots a pair of travelers in the distance.
“Oh, heavens!” a woman greets. “A close one, wasn’t it, dear?”
The man beside her huffs, crouched with hands against his knees. “Too close.” He straightens upon noticing company. “Hail, traveler! Careful of the wild beast ‘round these parts! Nearly scared the spirits out of me.”
“I hath seen the one,” H’aanit remarks, reaching down to soothe a provoked Linde. “There, there, friend. As for the beast, it hath escaped up the cliffs. Art thou hurt? I know one skilled with medicine, shouldst thou needeth it.”
“That is mighty kind of you, but, it is nothing to worry over. Simply a scuff or two, we need not trouble you.”
The woman nods, adding her thanks. “We were in a hurry when the beast caught us off-guard, is all. There was another man who helped run it off.”
“Another man?” H’aanit asks.
“Indeed! Ah but, we’ve taken enough of your time.”
“Nay, ‘twas no bother. I shall leaven thee both to thy travels.”
“Good day to you, then.”
She bids the pair farewell, then looks down at Linde. “I thinketh ‘tis time to headest back. What sayest thou?”
Linde sniffs the air once, twice. Her tail swishes, then stills. It lifts up, and she starts moving. Forward, faster.
“Hm? What hath gotten– ?”
A flash of grey collides with white, and the familiar wolf wags his tail quickly, full of joy. Linde responds in kind, circling around him, clambering on top of him. They play and tussle like siblings never separated, like the moons never passed. If Hägen is here, then–
“What ho, H’aanit!”
She gasps. “Mas– !” Her feet leave the ground, and boisterous laughter fills her ears, her heart, resonating.
“Art thou blushing, hm? Oh, my girl, thou hath grown so tall and – oof!”
H’aanit escapes his grasps with a huff of victory. She dusts off her garments and brushes strands of hair aside, then takes in the sight. There’s no stone in sight, no chill leaving hardened skin. Z’aanta in the flesh, so to speak. She knows those hastily-scrawled words by heart, written by the very fool in front of her.
The moment’s victory is short-lived, by her own action. She opens her arms, and Z’aanta greets her a second time. Properly.
“...Thou art a fool, Master.”
“Hah. I deserven that.”
She embraces Z’aanta for a long time. The wind softens into a light breeze. The nearby tussles slow and stop. All is calm. All is content.
H’aanit pulls back, and a calloused, gentle thumb brushes beneath her eye.
“Sheddeth a tear? ‘Tis all right, H’aanit. To showeth emotion is a sign of strength, though… I canst not imaginen the last thou letten them falleth freely. As a youngling, mayhaps.”
“Aye,” H’aanit sniffs, wiping the last remnants with her hand. “I hath learned a lot since we last spoketh.”
“Oh? Pray, I wouldst loven to hearen it. All of it.”
Linde sniffs the air, growls, and turns the opposite way. A flash of blue rises from the slope of the cliff.
“Ah! You were gone for some time, we were– ” Olberic stops, bringing his hand against the hilt of his blade. “Who are you?”
“Thou needest not worry,” H’aanit motions with her hands. “This is Master.”
Realization dawns, and he loosens his grip. “The very one?”
“Aye.”
The hand drops, and he steps forward. “Well, then we arrived just in time.”
“A comrade of yours?” Z’aanta looks up at Olberic. “And a most towering one, at that!”
“So I have heard,” Olberic laughs.
“Not any simpleton, mindeth thee. Thou meetest mine friend Olberic, the Unbending Blade himself.”
“Ho! Thou wouldst be a fool to not reacteth in awe! Most thoughteth of thee as a myth! Er, if that is not presumptuous of me. The truest honor, it is.”
“The honor is mine. The greatest hunter of our era, before my eyes. It is thanks to H’aanit’s courage that we can meet like this.”
“Thy courage?” Z’aanta addresses H’aanit. “That meaneth thou heedest my call, that the beast– !”
“– hath been slain. As for the steps taken to reacheth that point…” She waves toward Olberic. “Gathereth the others, if thou mayst. ‘Tis best to explaineth in the city, I wouldst thinken.”
“As you wish.” Olberic nods and heads back to the group.
“Dear Hägen, I hath missed thee,” H’aanit crouches down to kiss his forehead. “Art thou well? Thou hast been through much.” She dotes and checks for signs of what he endured throughout his journey. No signs of harm, thank the heavens.
“Shouldst we waiteth for thy friends? No matter thy answer, Hägen here seekest thine affections.”
“I canst sparen the time.”
If H’aanit wishes, she can regale her adventures, letting words flow and fly. Before that, however, Master should know about the eclectic travelers she’s come to know, her dearest treasures. In search of family, she found another.
They reconvene, surprise and elation abound. Together, they return to Natalia’s home in Stonegard’s lower district. Nearby merchants discuss wares and prices as they settle around the dining table. H’aanit watches Z’aanta’s expression as the others introduce themselves. Lips turn upward into a smile as he hears about their titles and impressive backgrounds. They are all her friends. It’s a pleasant word upon her tongue, of which she’ll never tire.
“...Then I foundeth mineself in the forest, and here I hath returned, resting mine young bones, hoho! They aren a bit stiff, but ‘tis nothing I canst not overcomen.”
“Sure caused me a fright, ya did,” Natalia adds, sipping the mead purchased from a local vendor. “Wanderin’ in like ya never left.”
“Ah! Mine apologies, truly. I thanken thee for thy hospitality, as always.”
She waves off the comment. “No need. I owe ya lots.”
Like idle chatter beside the campfire’s heat, H’aanit feels at ease here. Her shoulders lower, and she breathes steadily. Z’aanta regales hunting stories to eager listeners, while the rest appreciate the tales from a comfortable distance. All seems well to them, yet H’aanit awaits a certain conversation. Surely, Master feels a similar way.
After they clear the dining table, H’aanit waves off her friends as they spend free time in various parts of town. Primrose and Ophilia accompany an eager Cyrus to the renowned bindery. Olberic joins the group to carry him out, lest Cyrus miss a meal among the books. Therion, Tressa, and Alfyn replenish supplies and seek bargains. It would not surprise H’aanit if they allow her this space to clear the air.
“Thou hast a look in thine eye,” Z’aanta says. “I giveth thee the choice of where we canst putten matters at ease.”
“Letten us walk, then.”
Leaving Natalia’s home, they descend the stone stairs nearby. To her left lies the town’s cathedral and an adjacent bench – a suitable place, she thinks. Quiet, shielded from wandering eyes. The stone stairs cast a shadow over them as they sit. The air fills with slight tension of unanswered questions, waiting like a hunter at rest. Calm, anticipating, prepared for any direction. Is she prepared enough?
“I sensen the questions. Asketh away.”
“I couldst tellen, in the house. Thou holdest back thy feelings.”
“Always astute with thine observations.”
“Sharp as an arrow. I have thee to thanken.”
Z’aanta hums. “I suppose thou dost.”
H’aanit lowers her shoulders, running her fingers against her braid. “Much time hath passed since we hath spoken.”
“Indeed, my girl.”
H’aanit watches Linde and Hägen play nearby, as if such harrowing events never occurred. Linde always takes care of others, and now she may prance and pester her elder brother. It’s how things should be.
In her mind, H’aanit tempers past scoldings toward Z’aanta. Thou art a fool, thou travelen alone… she understands the latter, of course. Z’aanta’s skill surpasses all, and even the best hunters impede his path. Beneath her words lay worries as the moons drifted across the sky.
“Thou putten aside thy feelings back there. Tellen me, how didst thou truly reacteth in the forest?” She waits patiently. She’s accustomed to waiting.
“...I rememberen clearly, despite mine frozen state,” Z’aanta says, shaking his head. “When I hath woken up, dearest Hägen hath raised his head. He hath wept in relief, and I hath remained there, stroking his fur and expressing mine apologies. The toll of mine actions hath striketh deep.” He turns to H’aanit. “Hast thou read mine letter?”
“Aye,” H’aanit answers. “And thine apology.”
“Well, I shall giveth one again, for worrying thee. I couldst not keepeth mine promise.”
H’aanit places a hand over his own. “But thou aren here now, in mostly fair health. ‘Tis enough.”
“No jests?”
She chuckles lightly. “For now, nay. Mine travels hath affected me… for the better, I hopen.”
“Hopen, thou needest not. I canst feelen it.”
Z’aanta tells his tale, and H’aanit listens. Back and forth, back and forth. Their conversation feels seamless, smooth. H’aanit has grown a lot since leaving home.
“Mine limbs were flesh and bone once more, yet it tooketh time to regaineth sensation. Hägen hath stayed, blesseth his heart.”
Hearing his name, Hägen pauses play time and reaches Z’aanta, nuzzling his leg with his snout. Z’aanta laughs, doting on him with affection. Linde mimics her brother’s actions and seeks pets from H’aanit. She also smiles, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Passing townsfolk watch the greatest hunters of the era kissing and cooing over their animal companions.
“And how about thee, my girl? Thy friends - most charming they aren - they speaketh over one another once, twice, and thrice! I couldst barely catcheth the words!”
“Liketh how thou spinneth thy tales?”
“ ‘Twas certainly a jest!” he feigns offense, hand upon his chest. “Please, do tellen me about thy travels. I shall believen every word, H’aanit.”
“Every word?”
“Every word.”
Indeed, he is always there. From rambunctious youth to long-sought reunion, it’s one promise he keeps.
H’aanit recounts a winding summary of her adventures: Hägen’s harrowing arrival, Z’aanta in the forest, Susanna’s sharp wits, and the catalyst of her journey. She speaks directly, more straightforward than Z’aanta’s exaggerations. Occasionally she stumbles, words traveling astray, nearly flying off. However, thoughts of the others’ encouragement bring her back. They catch her when she falls, no matter the physical distance, and H’aanit is ever grateful.
“...And to endeth, thou needest apologizen to Natalia, Susanna, Eliza, our village headman, the children waiting for thee back home-”
“Stayeth, my girl! That is a long list.”
“And I shall keepeth going.”
Z’aanta brings a hand to his forehead and shakes his head. “I canst do that. ‘Til then, thou hast found me here, mostly unscathed. What aren thy next steps?"
"There aren more marks to striken - none too harrowing, I hopen. We seeketh the city of Grandport next for an important event. It comen each summer."
"Grandport, thou sayeth?" Z'aanta ponders. "A grand city most befitting of the name. Where hunters thriven in humble S'warkii, merchants flocketh there, eager for pickings."
"Soundeth suspicious," H'aanit says.
"It canst be. I have metten swindlers aplenty in mine youth!"
And at his current age, to which his gambling habits can attest. H'aanit holds her tongue.
"I canst assuren you, the finest merchant and friend I have comen to know is none of the sort. Tressa travelen on a journey, and we supporten her endeavors. 'Tis simple."
Z'aanta gives her an inquisitive look. "Thou hast grown, indeed. Thy past self oft worried the moons away beneath thy stoic image, worried about all options. An arrow unsure of its path."
Sometimes, an arrow veers from its planned course, meeting other arrows along its path. Winds of fortune guide them along. Eventually, the winds calm, and the arrows must set new courses.
"I realizen something, Master."
"Oh? Do tellen."
"After this trip, the urgent matters of mine friends shall be complete. We all have had goals, and, for the most part… they shall be finished. I wonderen what willst occuren after this."
It takes little time for Z'aanta to answer. "Mm, 'tis up to thee. Thy destination is a distance away, and shouldst thou returneth to Stonegard, I willst likely be on mine way to S’warkii, if not already there. Taketh thy time - more stories to tellen me, hoho!"
"Stories, hm? I have one.” H'aanit smiles proudly. “A slayer of dragons, I am."
"Dragons, my girl!? They aren myths!"
" 'I shall believen every word’, thou sayest!"
"Yes, but–!"
"Dragons," she repeats.
"Oho! Tellen me more!"
And she does, regaling her master with tales of her exploits, from the grandiose to the daunting. She finds herself stumbling less, the projection of her voice sailing through like an arrow on course. She can enjoy this.
As they prepare for Grandport, Z’aanta approaches with news of his departure.
“In good health to travelen, Master?”
“I am fifty summers young!” Z’aanta jests, and he shrugs a leather bag over his shoulder. “Jesting aside, aye. Mine muscles worketh well enough, and I am eager to hearen the sounds of mine home.”
Hägen whines softly as he nuzzles Linde’s face. Linde returns the gesture, including several pats with her front paw.
“I know, dear Hägen. Soon, we shall meeten them again!” He waits for Linde to finish, then leans down to kiss the top of Hägen’s head. He makes a content sound.
“Fare thee well, for now. ‘Twas an honor, and shouldst thou reacheth our humble village in the future, we shall welcomen thee with open arms.” Z’aanta looks toward H’aanit, and he grins when she accepts his embrace. “I shall see thee soon, my girl. Savoren the sights. I expecteth great tales!”
“As if thou canst not hearen them from others.”
“And a most proud man I am because of it!”
H’aanit pats him firmly on the back, smirking at the resulting oof! She wanted to do that, for some time. Beside her, Hägen stands on his hind legs and paws at H’aanits arms, seeking hugs and affection. She obliges tenfold.
“Taketh care of Master. Watcheth his spending, and shouldst thou findeth his behavior odd, thou–”
Z’aanta waves her off. “Best we be off, Hägen, lest I enduren more of this slander!”
“Thou shall hearen more, when I comen back!”
“Oho, bringeth thy best!”
Great tales and words – H’aanit looks forward to meeting this challenge in the future.
Rugged cliffs shift into the Coastlands’ glimmering seas. They travel along a narrow strip of land, bound by ocean on both sides, and reach the city of Grandport. They are among travelers from all corners of the land, converging to exchange wares and treasures. A formidable structure overlooks the city’s main market, where buyers and vendors alike negotiate prices. The bustling activity rivals Marsalim’s street markets, if not surpasses it through numbers alone.
From handcrafted weapons to lightweight cloaks, H’aanit identifies wares that appeal to her friends. She passes magical tomes, gem-encrusted jewelry, richly-dyed fabrics, even animal hides from S’warkii. Fellow friends look with equal intrigue as they pass each other, eager to take in the sights.
She pieces together the whirlwind of events that shortly follow: Tressa’s stolen journal, an auction of prized treasures, an adventure through murky sewers, and now the auction house again. Its scope is vast, and its audience rich. Standing there among the crowds, H’aanit listens to Tressa’s speech. Gradually, her words radiate confidence, and H’aanit hears what her dear friend truly values above all leaves.
“What’s truly precious to me… is this journey,” Tressa starts, holding up her recovered journal, worn with use. H’aanit is familiar with the outside, having stitched and repaired its bindings many times. Tressa is familiar with the inside, her words mingling with words of the first traveler. It’s as if they speak to one another in hushed voices. I am listening. I am here.
H’aanit smiles fondly as Tressa describes the people she’s met and those she befriended along the way. She uses descriptions to convey how her friends shine: just, driven, kind hearts in an often unkind world. The praise continues and H’aanit allows the words to sink in, to meld within her lest she forget them.
“My friends are so brave and strong, and they always look out for me. I’m still so young, still learning, yet they’ve taught me things that I wouldn’t have figured out on my own! Sometimes, you’re so focused on reaching a goal that you forget about how you got there. I remembered though. I got here. Here I am.”
There she is, and here they are. Oh, how far they have come.
The auction ends, and spectators exit the premises in lively conversation. All the shining treasures pale against the treasure of this journey, of friendship.
With adequate rest comes a new day. H’aanit checks her belongings twice as Tressa’s voice travels across the air.
“Oh, by the way! I got you all gifts!”
Tressa unveils a satchel from behind her back, from which she retrieves a stack of leather journals. Deep dyes color the journal covers, and a connected tassel rests between its sturdy pages.
“This man named Ing came up to me as I was finishing a purchase. He makes journals for a living, including the one that helped me meet all of you.” Her smile is warm as she speaks. “He said that if you ever feel lost, remembering who you were before can help you figure out who you are now, and who you want to be. Anyway, hope you like it!”
H’aanit accepts her gift with equal gratitude as the others, who share joy with the nearest person. Her journal is a rich brown, strong and sturdy. An engraving of a leaping leopard adorns the front cover. She hears excitement and flurries of words, noticing Therion observing his own gift.
“Oho, thy journal looketh most lovely.”
Therion turns his journal over and back. He holds a dark purple journal adorned with a wide-winged bird, for freedom and flight. A lighter purple tassel marks the inner pages, reminiscent of his scarf.
“Feels like it was made for me. It’s nice. Really nice.”
They have all grown over the course of this journey. With such growth comes diverging paths at journey’s end. Different goals, different aspirations.
“So, it’s come to this, huh? I mean, I knew it would at some point, but ya know.”
"I do know,” Olberic answers. “I think… I shall pay a visit to Erhardt in the Sunlands. It's been some time after everything, and, well, we have some catching up to do. I look forward to it, in a way.”
"Guess I'm headin' that way, too,'' Alfyn says. "Kinda left things hangin', even if Zeph told me to take my time. I'll stop by, see if I can cover in case he wants to take his own journey."
"How considerate of you, friend.”
“Ah, it’s nothin’.”
"...I think I'll join you, too," Primrose says, approaching.
"Oh yeah?" Alfyn turns toward her. "We'd love to have ya, but does that mean…?"
"Noblecourt?" With a nod from Alfyn, she continues. "My childhood home no longer feels like home. When we traveled there, I felt nothing but shadows and burdens. Though, it helped when you were all there when… when I greeted my father."
Olberic places a steady hand upon her shoulder, and Primrose welcomes the touch.
“Maybe he’s at peace now. As for me? I’m still figuring it out. Remember back in Marsalim, during the celebrations? I admit, I had a good time.”
“I cannot forget,” Olberic answers, lowering his hand. “I recall seeing you dance in the town square. You gathered crowds upon crowds.”
Primrose smiles. “They saw me for me – not for service, not what I could offer. I just… was. And I enjoyed it. They offered space, and I reclaimed it.”
“Ya did, Prim, and we love to see that. Marsalim, then?”
“Yes. I’ll try it,” Primrose states, as if to reassure herself. “Performing is what I know best, and the people there seem more than receptive. I’m used to the heat, I should be all right.”
“The King is an honorable man, as well. I support your decision wholeheartedly. If change beckons you again, know that Cobbleston is always welcome for you.”
“Clearbrook, too.”
“And Rippletide!” Tressa joins in. “Aww but, hearing all this talk makes me remember that we’ve gotta do it in the first place. Guess it’s the grown-up way, chasing our goals, self-exploration, all of that.”
“You are a grown-up, are you not?” Cyrus’ voice sounds from behind.
“Just barely.”
“Still grown. And you have grown an impressive amount since the start of our journey. Take pride in that.”
“Everything’s a teaching moment, huh, Professor?”
“Most of them,” Cyrus shrugs. “Speaking of which, I must return to Atlasdam. Certain actions of higher administration left a bureaucratic mess, after all. It would be careless to leave without discussing such matters, as well as others with my colleagues.”
“In that case, will you take their place?” Ophilia joins.
“Heavens, no! My passion lies in studying, and in teaching rather than administration. The higher you climb, the more you lose sight of what you leave. You forget yourself. I wish not to forget, to harden my heart for profit or power.”
“You won’t, I promise. There’s too much light in you to forget.”
“You are too kind, Ophilia,” he says, heart warm. “Yet who knows? Perhaps I shall take time off and venture forth.”
“Traveling again? Things would be better, I hope!”
“I think so! Ah, like waves against the coast, we yearn for one thing, then later yearn for another. A push and pull. It shall be temporary, and we shall find ourselves crossing paths again – with intention!”
“Yeah!” Tressa lights up at the prospect. “We’ll find a way, we always do! ‘Til then, I’ll send a bunch of letters! We’re never too far away.”
“A home, no matter the distance,” Ophilia says, holding a hand against her chest. “I’ll head back to Flamesgrace and take care of Lianna, but we’ll all still be here, won’t we?”
“You’re gonna make me cry, Phili.”
“I have handkerchiefs!”
“Oh, no no – all right, maybe one.”
Olberic sniffs. “I humbly ask for the other.”
In the midst of their emotions, they don’t notice Therion’s long silence. H’aanit does, and Therion sees her.
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me, back in Duskbarrow. Too far back?”
She hums to herself. “Nay, I rememberen.” She holds the intimate talk close to her heart, from the next steps to a new start. Some follow where the arrow flies true, and H’aanit wonders where he shall go.
“The others were telling me about their homes — if they had one. Some feel too busy, too much activity. It’s not what I need now.” Therion huffs. “Saying what I need out loud… it takes some getting used to.”
“Taketh thy time,” H’aanit assures.
Therion nods and continues. “There’s friendly but clingy, too cold, too high up, and then there’s just wandering. I’ve always been on the run.”
“Not what thou needest,” H’aanit says, recollections coming back to her.
“Yeah,” Therion confirms. “All that said… mind if I tag along with you? You can say no, it’s —”
“Of course, Therion.”
“Oh.” He fidgets beneath his shawl. He lets one arm out and plays with the frayed ends. “That’s good. Really good. I…” He breathes in, then out. “Thanks.”
“I hath promised to welcomen thee to the village, if thou wisheth for a home. We wouldst loven thy company. But, thou hast more words upon thy tongue?”
“Nothing gets past you.”
“Correct.”
Therion pulls at the frayed ends. “I don’t expect special treatment. I could never ask for that, and I don’t want to impose. It’s all sudden but not, ‘cause we talked, and yet it’s —” He pauses and breathes again. “It’s a lot. But it’s different.”
“How so?”
“Well… I know myself better now, what works for me and what doesn’t. I don’t have to pretend, you know?”
“ ‘Tis all right to putten thy needs first, for thine state of mind.”
“Yeah,” Therion says, his voice resolute. “It is.”
After wiped tears and final, firm hugs, the groups depart from Stonegard. Olberic, Alfyn, and Primrose wave one more time and travel south from the city’s outskirts. The remaining group travels north, and idle conversations quiet down as another friend departs. They stay overnight in the port town of Rippletide, and Tressa embraces each person tightly before they leave. In bustling Atlasdam, Cyrus repeats the gesture with promises of keeping contact. The air becomes cooler, and they huddle beside crackling flames. From sand and stone comes blue and snow, and Ophilia leaves a trail of footprints in her departure. It’s quieter, a moment filled with more hope than melancholy.
Snow shifts into green grass and dappled sunlight as H’aanit and Therion traverse the Woodlands. Birds chirp and flutter. Leaves rustle in the breeze.
“It’s really happening, huh?” Therion eyes the wooden signpost in front of him, where arrows guide travelers like them. Etched into one arrow is “S’warkii”.
“Aye, I supposen so. Art thou ready?”
Therion inhales crisp forest air. “Better late than never. You said it was a quiet home?”
“Aye, mine quiet forest home. And thine home, too. ‘Tis a good place for healing thy spirit.”
He hums. “I believe you.”
“I thanken thee for that,” H’aanit says with a smile. “Now, letten us go.”
He’s made it so far. One foot in front of the other, then again, and again. Here they are.