Facing the stranger, Garrick squared off. "Hail."
I leaned around his shoulder with my brightest smile. The crimson eyed man's companions sit around the fire: a veiled woman carved in stillness; a young lady maybe twenty dark hair sheathing a face frozen half between frost and thaw; and behind them, a litter on hazel poles.
Upon it, a horned woman twisted in fever dreams skin the color of moon washed ash, sweat silvering her brow. I'd never seen a changeling adopt that form, but her sister matched it. With dark crimson horns curved like a ram's, a second woman stood over the first, tail flicking with small defensive snaps.
Garrick introduced us first: "Garrick War Hail, veteran. Lady Annalise Kane, healer." He pushed the title onto me like a shield;
"Ran Zephyr," the man replied. The name hisses like frigid air racing down a chimney. He nodded to the veiled woman and the girl "my wife, and my daughter, Sylvia" then gestured at the litter. "The patient is Dalia; her sister, Nox, stands guard."
The man, seemingly having finished judging us, walked over to the fire pit. Mist rolled aside to clear two perfect seats.
I walked over to Nox and stuck out a hand, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
She stared at me with wary eyes that flicked between me and my hand. Without taking it, "Do you need something?"
"I may have a chance to help your sister. I practice magic by utilizing music." I brushed past her outburst, "I may be able to heal her."
Nox's eyes narrowed. "For what in return?"
"Can it simply be because I'm kind?" I offered hopefully.
"Nobody is like that." She uttered.
"Then you have to help me with one minor task that you have the ability to refuse."
She hesitated, mulling over my offer, "Deal."
I pulled my violin over my shoulder and strummed the soft chord that matches a body's pulse major third lifted by a , sweet and expecting dawn. Hum first, then let words drift:
"Rest, traveler, rest, Day will bloom when night is done…"
Magic wasn't always showy. It doesn't always crackle or bind. Good magic hummed like a lullaby's second verse, weaving between blood beats until bodies listen. The note settled into Dalia's skin, and her brow smoothed. Her breathing evened. A small but undeniable victory; I beamed.
Zephyr knelt by the coals, cupped his hands, and coaxed the kettle into a gentle hiss. "The needles here carry citrus on the back note," he noted, half to himself. "They are good for health, while tasting sweet. A rare combination."
A swirl of fragrant steam rose as he filled two wooden cups. He handed the first to Garrick. The orc's bandaged forearms fumbled; the cup nearly tipped before I slid a palm beneath.
"Steady," I murmured.
Garrick grunted, embarrassed. "Still learning new grips." He raised the cup in salute toward Zephyr. "My thanks."
Zephyr inclined his head. "A soldier deserves warmth more the most." He met my eyes next. "And a bard deserves a voice." He offered the second cup. I accepted; the brew tasted like winter pine warmed by hidden honey.
A rough cough drew my gaze. Nox stood over her sister, fingertips brushing Dalia's cooling forehead. "Your song helped," she said voice rough, unpolished, seemingly surprised at the kindness it was expressing, "Thank you."
I smiled. "Kindness is practice. I try to practice a lot."
Garrick cleared his throat. "Travelers we heard names. What about stories to fill the air." Garrick took a deep sip from the cup. "We fled the Great Tifan Wall seven days ago. The siege…" He looked down blankly for a moment as if relieving it. "No wall left to stand."
Zephyr lifted a carved eyebrow. "You were on the wall?"
"Sixty hours in the thick," Garrick answered. "Lost these " He raised the stumps, "saving a good friend."
I set my cup down. "My father was still fighting as the runes slagged. He'll be fine though. If anyone can carve their way clear, it's him. He is the greatest swordsman on Duskmere."
A silence settled over the camp for a moment before Ran Zephyr broke it. "Then may the wind carry him the rest of the distance."
He tapped two fingers against the kettle, as if measuring his words. "For my part, I come from Caelanth beyond the Azure Reach, east of every chart I've seen here."
I'd only ever heard of it. A land of humans, elves, and dwarves that comprised a massive empire. I'd heard from my father they were fighting a long war against beast people. Much like us in a way.
"Caelanth? They call it the Empire of Radiance, don't they? Streets of gilded marble, wheat oceans that could feed a continent "
His smile was thin,
My cup paused halfway to my mouth. "Oh." Curiosity dimmed, empathy kindling in its place. "Is that why you left?"
His reply was gentle. "Not quite. I was born there. Raised there. I wanted more than anyone for the Empire to regain its old glory, to prevent its fall. I tried my hardest with every trick I had and lost everything in the end."
His voice gained a slightly sorrowful edge, the air around us stilling. "I left because there are things one loves more than power. And sometimes the price of keeping both is … untenable."
Another silence drifted over the camp, before Zephyr broke the frozen atmosphere, "Where does your journey take you now."
"An old friend promised me sanctuary in . I promised to pay in sweat and steel." Garrick said, "She and I spent our youth together adventuring. But after she came back from the expedition our paths separated."
The embers swirled in the fire pit, odd for there was no wind. Zephyr spoke, "My road leads there as well. I have… business with Helena." He turned the phrase like a blade examining its own edge. "An old hunter told me that River Serpent Trail will halve our travel to seven days, if we keep the pace."
Garrick nodded, more comfortable now in his profession, "The hunter told you well. I know this area. The South bank's firmer ground; north floods this time of year."
"South then. If you can guide us, I will shepherd the wind to keep the worst rain and beasts from us." Zephyr's crimson eyes held no boast, just fact.
Garrick's lips twitched the closest he had come to a smile in the last week. "Wind cover is welcome."
Across the fire the daughter, Sylvia moved for the first time, as if she had worked up the courage. She produced a parcel of dense rye. "Bread?"
Her voice was like smooth silk, almost a lilting melody. If she were to be a singer she would be welcomed in any court.
I tore a chunk and passed it on. "Ballad fuel. Thank you, Sylvia"
Zephyr's wife still veiled, silent grabbed a pot hidden among the embers and poured stew into traveling bowls and set them before each of us. The aroma of earth root and onion enveloped the clearing.
I ate quickly, then tugged Garrick toward the lantern's edge. "Herbs first, lecture later." He sat while I unwound the old bandage. The flesh around the rough stitches looked angry.
"Comfrey again?" he asked.
"Comfrey, honey, and willow bark." I smoothed the poultice. My father used to make this to put on my scrapes when I was younger and was one of the few concoctions I knew. Garrick let out a sharp hiss as the poultice hit the wound. "Better than rotting off," I muttered.
"Better than rotting off," he echoed, nodding his gratitude.
When bowls were empty, Zephyr lifted two fingers. The surrounding fog began to compress over us like a dome, muffling the world. The owl cries and crickets grew distant. Soft blue lights floated overhead like tame fireflies.
I eased the violin into the crest of my neck. "Lullaby, or legend?" I asked the circle.
"Legend," Sylvia whispered, then darted a glance at her mother.
I winked at her, strumming gently. This time Cloudbreaker padded, not charged wolf song hosted for sleeping hearts. Garrick's big shoulders sagged; his breaths synced with the slow pulse of sound. Sylvia curled against the veiled woman; Nox settled cross legged, ever watchful, but her eyelids betrayed her, dropping. Zephyr sat apart, eyes half lidded, lips moving as if counting each drifting spark of mist light.
The last chord hung, a suspended note fading into silence. I let it breathe, then folded over the violin, cheek against smooth pine. The ground was a soft moss, the mist a cool blanket.
Somewhere beyond the ring a wind prowled, but it carried no howl tonight almost as though a house high wolf paced the perimeter, keeping lesser fears at bay.
Sleep found me, pine needle tea still sweet on my tongue, humming a tune for a new dawn.