Dawn cools the forest floor as I slip from my hidden clearing. The ring hums faintly—encouragement or reminder, I can't tell. Today, I take my first deliberate step toward every plan I've laid.
I fill my satchel with the last of Marga's dried roots. Six handfuls—enough to buy my initial supplies and seal a quiet network. With each root-for-silver trade, I gain a coin and a rumor. Today, I need both.
I choose the back path around Crystale Creek. Fallen logs bridge the water's dark pools, and I note each one—moss height, slipperiness, nearby hiding spots. With charcoal, I mark a tiny rune on the underside of the third log: my sign that this crossing is secure. No one else will know its meaning.
By midmorning, I reach the crossroads where a lone peddler waits beside his cart of furs. He recognizes me—last night's root buyer—but he has no greeting. I offer him two handfuls without a word. He counts the roots, glances at my face—now masked in alder wood, inscrutable—and slides three silver coins into my palm. Less than expected, but enough.
Next, I head deeper into Stonefold's outskirts to find the orphan runner I spotted two days ago—a thin boy with a broken smile who slips past guards at dusk. I find him behind a mill, skinny hands empty, eyes flicking between street and shadow. I crouch in the underbrush and wait.
When he pauses to catch his breath, I step forward, mask hiding my features. "You were fast last night," I say quietly, voice rippling with practiced calm. He startles but doesn't run.
"I can pay," I add, revealing a silver coin. "Two more every time you bring me news—no questions asked."
His gaze darts to the coin, then to my mask. After a heartbeat, he nods. "Name's Thane."
"Good," I reply, slipping the coin into his palm. "I'll expect you at this spot tomorrow before dawn."
He tucks the coin away and melts into the alleys.
My first informant.
As dusk falls, I return to my clearing. The sack of silver at my belt glints with promise. I set the coins, the charcoal, and three more carved roots before a fresh rune on my anvil. I trace the symbol with a shaking finger: network established.
Tomorrow, I'll outfit Thane with a better mask, teach him to leave marks only I can read. I'll set snares in the creek beds, map hidden vault entrances under Darnem Hollow's cellars, and trade roots for more instruments of survival.
Tonight, I kneel in silence, ring against cold stone, absorbing the forest's breath. The first threads of my new reality are woven.
And the rival won't know what's coming.