A Cold Morning After

The morning came too quickly for Stan's comfort. He ached like he had spent all night running around. In a way, he had. Mira was up before him, stoking the coals.

"It's out." She said apologetically, shrugging. "Shall we just have some cold bread and get on our way?"

"Unh." Stan groaned and rolled over in the blankets he was still wrapped in. "Sure." He coughed the night's phlegm out of his throat.

"I was worried that you wouldn't…" Mira trailed off, her face reddening a bit. Stan's bleary mind wondered if he had seen her blush since the whole dragon thing. "Love me like that. Anymore. If you knew."

"Just because I didn't know before doesn't mean that you're a different person." He said, struggling into a sitting position. He grabbed a pine needle from the ground and spun it in his fingers. "You married me knowing what you were and what I am. Why should I suddenly have a problem now?"

In truth, he had been a bit weirded out by the night before. But he had gotten over it and done an admirable job of finishing the deed.

"You are a very wise man." She said, tearing a chunk of their bread in a most unladylike fashion and handing it to him. He patted the ground next to him.

"Want to sit?" He asked, biting into the cod, stale bread with the strength of a thousand jaws.

She shook her head, unable to speak with the bread like rubber in her mouth. He shrugged, swallowing the chunk mostly whole. He coughed.

"Road life is not fun." He squeaked out, choking a little on the breadcrumbs. She nodded, still struggling to chew. "Where are we going today, exactly? Have you found the children yet?"

"I haven't looked for them yet again." She took another bite of bread, and they were silent for a minute as they each struggled with the tar turned into something supposedly edible. "But if they're not down here, then I haven't a clue where they are."

The sounds of their teeth grating against the bread were interrupted by the sound of voices coming from the south. They froze like rabbits catching a whiff of their impending deaths. With achingly dramatic swallows, they both hissed at each other near simultaneously.

"Did you hear that?" Stan asked to Mira's, "Be quiet!"

They were still, and quiet, and the voices came closer.

"They're close, I think the hounds have a smell of them!" A familiar voice called through the trees. They were close. Stan looked at Mira wide-eyed. She shrugged and spread her hands. She had no idea what to do either.

"Can't you just use the dragon magic or something?" Stan whispered to her. She shook her head derisively.

"It's not like that. Plus, I don't think showing my true nature will endear our fellow villagers to our cause." She pointed out. "Can't we just try to hide?"

"We're mostly packed up." Stan said. He grabbed the sleeping bags, trying to roll them up and shove them in the larger bag as fast as he could. Mira shouldered the other bag, cocking an ear.

"They're getting close." She muttered. "I think they're coming from that direction." She pointed to the north. "Let's head south and find a good, strong tree to spend our morning in."

"If they have hounds…" Stan said worried, "Won't they find us there?"

"We'll figure that out when we get there." She grabbed his hand and nearly dragged him out of the clearing and into the thick brush ahead. Sticks whipped him in the face as they crashed through. There was no way that their exist was half as quiet as it needed to be, but neither the villagers nor the dogs seemed to hear the noise.

"This way." She said confidently. She let go of his hand and they walked with a little more dignity away from the voices that had startled them before. Stan realized he was still gripping his chunk of stale bread. He took a small bite of it as they walked, more careful not to leave broken sticks or obvious signs behind them as they traveled.

She led him through a patch of pines, and the morning sky seemed dark and ominous. Their feet nearly bounced on the inches of detritus and pine needles below. The patch gave way to a bright and sunny shoreline next to a small river.

"Must be the Chesoke river." Stan said. They could still hear the voices, but they were far off. There was no way to tell if they had found the fire yet.  "It leads to where we were headed anyway. Sort of."

"In we go. It's the best way." She said. Mira slipped out of her boots and slung them into her bag, cinching it shut. "This is how you wanted to spend the morning, right? On the run from your own villagers?"

"It's certainly not how I imagined shaman life would turn out to be." He said, slipping his own shoes off and shoving them into the bag with the sleeping sacks. They barely fit. He bent down to roll up his pant legs, although he knew that, inevitably, they would slip down from his knees as he was trudging through the river. Or, if not that, then he would slip and take a swim. By the end of this journey, his clothes would definitely be wet.

The water was icy cold. The rocks beneath his feet were sharp. The voices came back into focus, again, and he realized they must have found the fire. There was indiscriminate yelling and the baying of a hound or two.

"Must be Marty's hounds, the traitor." Stan grumbled.

"If they've got our scent, they'll be coming real soon. We need to get out of sight." Mira ordered. They waded as fast as they could up the current. There was a fork in the river up ahead, with an island -- Stan hoped it was an island -- in the center. He didn't have a map of the area in his book or in his head, so he wasn't sure where either fork led.

"The island might be a good spot." He pointed, panting laboriously as he trailed behind her. She nodded her head. He watched her hips swing rhythmically in front of him. It felt like she never took a misstep, but he was full of them. Her steps were smaller, but somehow, she moved faster, and with more grace, than he ever had while running away from his neighbors up a creek. Oh, wait. That's right. This was a new experience for him.

"Why aren't we explaining ourselves to them, again?" He asked as he panted along behind her. "Maybe they'll see reason?"

"They have hounds. I think they're past reason."

"Oh, those hounds wouldn't hurt me." He scoffed. It was more of a wheeze really. The voices were fading again, but more because they were moving at an angle to the mob. "I've known them for ages."

"The hounds might not, but I damn sure well bet that Brenda would."

"How do you know she's with them?" He asked, and she peered back at him, still managing to move forward with the grace of an angel.

"That bitch is the source of this headache." She said. "No way she'd miss the mob. She's probably directing their every move. Think about it. For once in that old hen's life, she has a purpose. And it's not, unfortunately, to die miserable in a fire."

"It will be by the time I'm done with her." Stan muttered.

Mira laughed. "Not if I get to her first."

They had just faded into the trees of the island when they spotted the hounds at the creekside where they had entered. Rusty, the younger bloodhound, bayed furiously at the water, bowing his front half and wagging his tail. His owner followed soon after. Krac was a middle-aged man who used the hounds mostly for hunting deer, but always gave them a try when someone went missing in the village -- or in nearby places. The money he received for finding loss children was usually a generous sum, which meant that he was able to buy a little more and work a little less than most.

"Look!" He pointed as they scrambled deeper into the scrub for cover. "There!"

"Yes, I see them." She agreed. "Here, maybe we should climb? No one ever looks up." She pointed up the peeling bark of the crooked tree they stood behind. It was an easy, angled climb, with elderly branches and a thick trunk.

"Sure." He cupped his hand together for her to get a foot up. She looked at him confused. "Ladies first." He insisted. "Leave the bags. I'll hand them up to you when you're safe."

"Okay." She agreed and put her foot unsteadily into his hands, using it as her first foothold. "But just so you know, I am no lady."

"If you say so." He said quietly. He realized their voices might carry. The people did not seem to notice.

"Here." She called to him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Throw up the bags."

Stan hauled one of the bags from the ground and swung it once, twice, three times before launching it gently into the air to her. The straps flung wildly ahead of the bulk of the thing, but she managed to grab hold of one and lift it up to her. She tucked it into a place where branch met trunk and looked around, as if searching for another spot. "Here, throw the second." She said finally, eyes on the prize above her. He repeated the process somewhat less successfully, as she had to lean desperately low to catch the bag. She managed, and hung it on a branch above her.

"Can you get up?" She asked as she looked above her. "Should I climb higher?"

"Yes, and yes." He said. He heard splashing and peered around the base of the trunk. Several men were wading into the river. Stan squinted to see them. It didn't appear that they had any weapons on them -- but he couldn't be certain. The dogs could certainly be weapons. His dagger didn't hold much defensive value, and the one good weapon they had -- Tulith -- they didn't really want to use. In fact, Stan wasn't even sure if she could turn at will in this realm. Maybe that dream realm where she had dragged him was all she could do on short notice.

"Well, come on then." She huffed above him. She had climbed another few feet and was now resting on a branch, legs dangling idly towards him.

"Coming." He agreed and reached for the tree, yanking himself upwards. He had never been one for excessive strength, but the angle made it easier, and soon he was just below her, with a bird's eye view of the men.

Stan was glad that they seemed as clueless as villagers usually were. A few had taken a dog in the opposite direction -- up the stream. A few were staring downstream in their general direction. But most were just standing on the shoreline, having some sort of heated discussion.

"Can you hear?" Stan asked. "With your super dragon ears?"

"That's so not a thing." She said. He peered up at her, mostly seeing the soles of her boots and the torn ankles of her pants. "But yes, Mira -- I -- have exceptional hearing. Let me focus."

"Okay." They passed a moment in silence when she nearly kicked him from above.

"Quit breathing so loud." She growled. It was a strange request, but he tried to exist quieter. He held his breath as long as he gracefully could, and then let it out slow and low. He wasn't sure if it had worked, but she hadn't complained again.

The voices were getting louder, and he could make out words here and there. Mostly names, but a few insults too.

"They're badmouthing Brenda." She said from above, almost with glee in her voice. "Something about a stupid goose chase, and how you would never do anything to hurt the village."

"So I take it Brenda's not with them, then?" Stan asked, and she shrugged.

"I doubt it. They've called her all sorts of delicious names."

"Are they after us or the children?" He asked, and she shushed him.

"Shh. Let me listen."

"The one couple -- is that Grein and Struf? They're coming closer."

"It'll be okay." She said confidently. "Now hush."

They passed another few moments in silence, straining to listen. Stan couldn't really make anything out, but he did watch as Grein and Struf just… gave up… halfway to the island where they sat in a tree. They turned around and returned to the group.

"Good." Mira muttered above him. "We've lost them for now. That means we can go back to our quest at hand and deal with these village idiots later."

"Come now, have you no love for our little flock?" Stan asked her as the group ahead regathered and started dispersing back from whence they came.

"They are idiots, and traitors, and you are a far better shaman than they deserve. They should have that little Kreev horse, not you."

"Your compliments are so lovely." He announced. "Shall we get along our way? Walk down this land until we see where it goes?"

"May as well. They danger has passed for now." She said. "Grab the bags and toss them down. There's nothing fragile."

"Yes ma'am." He said. He leaned forward to grab one of the bags when he heard the distinctive baying of the bloodhounds. They were closer than before. Much closer. He froze.

"Shit." Mira whispered. "Not. Good."

"Oy, I think Bud's got the trail again!" Stan heard a familiar voice call out from the trees just on the other side of the split river. A group that they hadn't seen must have traveled further downstream by land. How could they have been so stupid?

"Goddamn traitors." Stan growled. "What do we do?"

"Just sit tight." Mira said. "We'll have to talk our way out of it. After all, we've got the high grounds and they're fresh out of pitchforks."

"You noticed that too, then?" He asked. He swung his feet, ignoring the feeling as though he was a caged bird waiting to die. "No weapons on any of them, but they're sounding and acting like a mob."

"These are strange times." Mira whispered. "And my guess is that their hearts are not into seeing their shaman trussed up like a dead pig for Brenda's pleasure."

"But why come at all then?" He asked. His mind was swirling. "To find us first?"

"Likely." Mira said. "Don't worry. I'll play the part of battered shaman's wife driven from the village nicely."

"Ran in fear, did we?"

"Oh, yes. The village must be under a great, dark spell. The dragon…" She winced at that. "God, it makes me sick to say this. The dragon…" She waggled her fingers, making fun of the villagers as she did, "It just put a spell on the whole village, because the shaman is the only one who can protect it from the dragon's wrath."

"Ah, yes." He agreed. "Though I feel bad lying to them."

"They are like sheep without a shepherd." She replied. "They just don't know how to be alone. Now, put your scared face on. They're coming."

The men crashed through the woods, like cows on a stampeding run from a wolf in their pasture. Seriously. If Stan didn't know the village, he would've guessed that twenty men were coming. But he only counted a couple of voices, along with that dastardly hound that Marty had used to find them. Stan was going to have a long talk with Marty about using his hounds for witch hunts when all was said and done.

And just like that, there they were. The hound, pulling Marty along behind his long rope. Marty, wiping sweat from his brow. And Kutak, the village idiot turned manly by Stan's falling off a mountain. And Yim, the trusty blacksmith, who Stan hoped beyond hope would listen to reason.

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