“Why do you keep doing that?” Cassanya asked.

“Doing what?” Feral paused, hands still on the hood of his cloak.

“That’s three riders passed us now. You’ve pulled your hood up every time.”

“Oh…” the young half-race looked abashed, turning his face away. “That. It’s just… well… sometimes people look at me…”

Cassanya’s eyebrows drew together. “So what? People look at me too, and Thor… that’s what happens when strangers pass by.”

“Not the same,” Feral watched the road underfoot, not wanting to look up at her.

“Why? You think they’re gonna prioritise your ears over their problems?” the leonin laughed. “I don’t think so! Trust me,” she added more softly. “The rest of the world isn’t that interested.”

“Some of them are. They don’t like…”

“And some of them don’t like me for being leonin, or Thor for being lupari,” Cassanya cut across him before he could finish. “It’s not what you are that they have a problem with, it’s what you’re not. It’s that you’re not like them. However you’re born, whoever your parents, it’s the same. You’re not an exception, squirt.”

Feral was quiet for a while. The vulpani smith in Westwheat had said much the same thing, he realised, but he also knew first hand that some people reacted badly to those of mixed blood.

Cassanya sighed. “I guess it’s an old mistrust,” she said quietly, apparently guessing his thoughts. “Long ago the peoples of the world would have fought each other, killed each other, for land or wealth, or just because they didn’t want to be around people who weren’t like they were. I wonder if there weren’t nine races once, maybe more...” she paused, looking thoughtful before she continued.

“But things have changed a lot, over time. Most places you go, we’re all there. We’ve all got something to offer that the others haven’t, so we learn to get along, to accept our differences, because then we all gain something. Oh, you’ll always find those who won’t drop the ancient ways, who won’t accept other races as equals. I know my people,” she gave a wry smile, “tend to be a little pushy. We’re a strong race, and we know it, and a lot of us get kinda overconfident sometimes, acting like we can do things best – but we always know when we’ve crossed the line.”

Feral looked a little dubious as he walked beside the tall leonin.

“Yeah, I know,” Cassanya said sadly. “Those guys weren’t good examples, and I’m sorry you ran into them.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I know that some of them came after you, but their friends weren’t happy about what they did. It’s a deep disgrace for a leonin to pick a fight with someone for no reason, or who’s obviously not a match for them. My people may get loud, and talk tough, but they won’t usually hurt someone weaker. Sometimes it happens, but most often they just need a reminder and they’ll admit to being in the wrong. Those three won’t be welcomed back by their friends any time soon.”

Feral still looked sceptical. On Cassanya’s other side, Balthor chuckled. “Don’t worry too much about it, Feral mate. The only people who really understand how a leonin thinks, are other leonin.”

“Hey!” Cassanya punched his arm, but only gently.

“See?” the lupari said, grinning now.

“That’s unfair, we’re not that bad.”

“Not all of you, no,” Balthor admitted. “You’re ok, Cassy.”

“Thanks… I think…”

Feral couldn’t help but smile.

They passed through Cliffward town a little after lunchtime, taking time out for a meal at the Cliff View inn. For some reason that Feral couldn’t explain, Balthor kept laughing each time Cassanya looked at him as they ate. Figuring it couldn’t be anything to worry about, the young half-race simply enjoyed the speciality dish of meat pie and potatoes.

Over the afternoon, Feral couldn’t help but ask Cassanya a multitude of questions about his great-uncle; how had he known that Feral was in trouble, where did he get the pointer charm and had he always planned for just such an emergency, what actually did he do for a living? The answers (being magic, made it, probably, and works for the Order of Magi), left him almost as confused as before he had asked, and Feral soon decided that it would be easier just to wait and see. In the meantime, he settled for thanking his lucky stars for having such a relative – and that he happened to employ people like Cassanya.

That night they made camp at the top of a small hill offering a view of a calm bay along the shore, the sandy beach running in a smooth curve until it suddenly vanished where it swept out of their line of sight. The trees on either side were more than sufficient to provide shelter from the light breeze, and Feral soon found himself drifting off into an easy sleep, with a full stomach and well meaning companions within easy reach.

Thud!

Feral woke with a start, sitting up and blinking.

“Morning, squirt,” Cassanya said, glancing at him as she stretched her shoulders. On the ground in front of her lay the carcass of a deer, its sleek hide undamaged, but the head hanging at a strange angle relative to the body. “Ready for breakfast?” the leonin asked, rummaging in her pack and producing a large knife, which glinted in the sunlight.

“Uh...” Feral eyed the dead doe dubiously.

Balthor chuckled.

“That’s breakfast?” Feral asked, and both his friends nodded.

Cassanya gestured to the left foreleg of the carcass. “She’d been walking on a broken leg for who knows how long,” she told him, nudging the swollen joint with the toe of her boot. “Poor girl would have been in pain for the rest of her life, not that would have been long. If we hadn’t taken her down, one of the local predators would, and probably a lot more slowly and painfully.”

“Ah...” the half-race commented, eyeing Cassanya’s knife. “Ok. Uh... how about I... go find some wood... for a fire?” he said, standing and backing away towards a clump of thick bushes.

Cassanya watched him disappear into the leaves, then looked at Balthor. “Why do I always get the squeamish ones?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “Feral by name, tame by nature from the looks of it!” she added, but there was a softness in her voice that belied the cut of her words.

 “That’s nearly as big as he is, Cassy,” Balthor laughed, he nodding at the carcass. “It’s probably a matter of perspective.” Cassanya looked dubiously at him, then shrugged and knelt down to begin preparing the meat.

By the time Feral returned, his arms full of as much dry wood as he had been able to gather from the surrounding area, he was relieved to find the dead deer didn’t look much like a deer any more. He was even more relieved when nobody showed any desire for his assistance in cooking. It wasn’t, he reflected, that he was ungrateful for his friends’ hunting prowess, it was just... such a large animal.

He was forced to admit however, that when Balthor handed him a slice of cooked meat an hour later, it was exceedingly well prepared. When he asked the secret of the lupari’s cooking, Balthor simply tapped the side of his muzzle and winked as Cassanya chuckled behind him.

“I’ve asked him that as long as I’ve known him,” she confessed. “And no matter how carefully I watch him, I never figure it out.”

“Guess you’ll just have to stick around then,” the lupari grinned, stirring the fire under the spit with a long stick.

“Last time I looked,” Cassanya rapped the back of his head with her knuckles, making him wince. “You were following me.”

“Only because you’d starve without me,” the lupari winked.

“Not at all,” the leonin sniffed. “But I admit your services are appreciated,” she smiled, her expression softening. “Finish up, eh?” she prompted. “We could do with getting moving, it’s past noon already.”

The road ran for several miles across open grassland. To the north, the ocean was ever visible, a darker smudge under the clear blue sky, casting a faint salt smell upon the air. To the south, gentle hills undulated under the waving grass and heather, occasional trees standing up like lonely sentries.

As the trio continued their walk, the trees slowly grew more numerous until after about two hours they passed into thick woodland. Small birds twittered in the branches overhead, scolding the intruders for encroaching on their territory. A carpet of bluebells dispersed their soft fragrance from the shadows among the trees. Ahead, they could see a junction where another road joined theirs.

The main route continued straight onwards, while a new track joined it from the southwest. Apart from the junction, there was nothing to be seen of the new road, hidden behind a thick screen of trees and undergrowth. There must be something on it however, Cassanya realised, sighing internally as she glanced down at Feral and realising that they could use his hearing as an early warning system for anyone approaching.

They arrived at the junction just as a sciurel arrived from the other path. Around four and a half feet in height – about average for his kind – with another three feet of thick tail, he was dressed in a worn green vest and pants, the legs of which ended rather raggedly about halfway down his shins. He wore no boots, instead having bound much of his feet and ankles with strong but weathered strips of cloth, allowing the bare pads of his feet to rest on the ground. He was rather slim in build, and his thick fur was a rich russet, except for the white of his chin and throat, and the paler underside to his bushy tail. Over his shoulder, he carried a huntsman’s bow, with a quiver of arrows upon his back.

The sciurel glanced at the trio, nodded, and continued down the road ahead, whistling jauntily and evidently unbothered by their presence. Cassanya shrugged. It was a free road, after all.

“Halt!”

It should have been a free road, Cassanya amended a few minutes later. A small stream cut a ditch across their path, disappearing into the trees on either side. A wooden bridge all of three yards long spanned it. The sun shone through a gap in the canopy to the south, brightening the road where the stream crossed it, glittering upon the water, dancing among the slowly waving plants under the surface. Birds sang softly from the trees. Overall, it was a remarkably pleasant spot, apart from the barrier across the road.

“’Alt?” the sciurel just ahead of them stopped as the bridge guard challenged him. “Why?”

“Toll!” the muscai guard demanded in a squeaky voice, pointing a short spear up at the approaching sciurel, who, short as he was, still topped the diminutive guard by six inches.

“You have to be kidding me…” Cassanya said softly as she arrived beside the sciurel.

“Toll!” the muscai demanded again, apparently undaunted by the leonin’s frown, his ears somewhere around the level of her naval. “Three copper. Each.”

“Toll for what?” Feral asked, looking around at the trees, half expecting some form of entertainment or refreshments to be on offer.

“Using the bridge,” the muscai gestured, and Feral looked at it.

“You built it?” the sciurel eyed the structure dubiously. It seemed rather poorly made, and quite old to boot. The wood looked slightly rotten, and was largely covered in moss. He glanced back at Feral, Balthor, and Cassanya as if checking they were just as confused as he was.

“Don’t matter. I’m guarding it.” The muscai shifted his helmet back on his head as it slipped down below his eyes. Feral stifled an urge to laugh. How effective could a three foot six guard expect to be?

“Chief, I could jump over that stream if I wanted to,” the sciurel pointed out, quite politely Feral thought, given the apparent ludicrousness of the situation.

The muscai looked thoughtful. “You could,” he said, at length. Feral tried harder not to laugh. “But then you would have to die.”

That changed Feral’s smile into a frown, one that was mirrored on the sciurel’s furry face.

“That ain’t a friendly attitude,” he said to the guard. “An’ it ain’t nice to threaten travellers.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” the muscai said quickly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not threatening you.”

“Well, that’s more like…”

“Frakk!” the muscai shouted.

“Pardon?”

“Frakk!”

“That’s wot I thought you said…” the sciurel looked as confused as Feral felt, leaning on his bow and scratching an ear.

“Frakk! Wake up!”

There was a noise off to one side of the road as what Feral had assumed to be a large boulder suddenly rolled over. It blinked at the group from the shadows of the bushes it was almost hidden in, then stood up.

Like all ursai, this one was tall, easily topping seven feet high, and about half that in width. With sloping shoulders and very little neck to speak of, he looked rather like an ambling furry mountain, only wearing thick leather armour across his torso. Somewhat bloodshot eyes peered down at them as the ursai shambled over to stand in front of the muscai.

“Toll,” he rumbled.

“Now I know you’re kidding me,” Cassanya looked around the ursai to his small companion, who seemed to be the brains of the pair. “Come on,” she gestured to Feral and Balthor, making a move to walk around the ursai.

“Toll!” the giant demanded, shoving her hard in the chest with one hand, knocking her backwards.

“Back off!” Balthor’s sword flashed in the sunlight.

“Fight?” the ursai rumbled, looking at the sword. The other huge hand swung with remarkable speed, hitting the lupari’s sword to one side with a clang. Astonished, Balthor stepped back, looking at a sword that was now bent in the middle. The ursai smiled and raised his hand. He was wearing a thick steel gauntlet, spiked and weighted, and quite lethal if applied with force - which the ursai didn’t appear to lack.

“I don’t think a fight’d be a good thing right now…” the sciurel suggested as the ursai lumbered forwards.

“Not sure you’ve got a choice,” Balthor said, blocking another swing of the gauntlet and gaining another dint in his sword.

“Frakk! Wait! They might want to pay the toll!” the muscai shouted.

“Fight!” the ursai seemed rather pleased at the prospect, smiling broadly, and completely ignoring his companion.

“Frakk!”

“Fight! Fight!” Two more dents. Balthor’s sword was rapidly taking on a new shape.

“Stop it!” Cassanya tried to grab the ursai’s left arm.

“Don’t wanna,” the ursai informed her, landing a heavy backhanded punch across the leonin’s cheek, sending her crashing backwards.

“Hey! You’ll fight me, not her!” Balthor’s sword hit the dirt, buckled and useless, a knife in the his hand. Darting forward, he narrowly dodged the metal fist that came at him, twisting to the side, getting under the ursai’s defence. Feral could see the plan, a crippling strike across the forearm above the metal that would end the fight quickly, cutting tendon and muscle.

“Thor, don’t!” Cassanya called out from where she had fallen in the dirt, one hand reaching out to him.

“Dammit!” instead of stopping, the lupari kept his momentum going, rolling his back across the ursai’s armour, ducking out under the outstretched arm and out of range. “You want to give me another option?” he snapped as the ursai ponderously turned to face him.

“Back off, guv!” the sciurel had notched an arrow to his bow and aimed it at the ursai, running round to get back in the giant’s line of sight. “Ain’t polite to ‘it a lady, an’ so ‘elp me I will put this through you!” Despite his words, Feral could see that the bowstring was not pulled back tightly – it seemed the sciurel was unwilling to fire on someone who was clearly dim witted.

“Hit me with little stick?” the ursai rumbled, clearly confused by the long sentence.

“Arrow,” the sciurel corrected.

“Not afraid of stick…” Frakk reached forwards. The bow twanged, and the arrow lodged in his thick armour, failing to penetrate more than half an inch.

“Ow!” the ursai yelled as the tip of the arrow pricked him through the leather, several birds taking flight from their perch in a nearby tree. He pulled the arrow out of his armour and tossed it to one side. “Stop that!”

“I will if you will…” the sciurel backed up slightly, fitting another arrow to his bow, but still looking reluctant to fire at full force.

“Fight!”

Feral had no idea what to do.

Balthor and the sciurel both stood before the ursai, weapons raised. In striking Cassanya, it seemed the ursai had touched a nerve and Balthor was clearly losing his patience. Feral could see the lupari’s eyes studying his opponent, gauging every hint of weakness, every moment of hesitation in his movement. If nothing were done, one of them was clearly going to get hurt very soon, and Feral wasn’t quite sure whether training or brute force would be the victor.

Cassanya was still on the ground, one cheek bloodied, and the muscai was watching with his mouth open and his spear held loosely in one hand, obviously as flustered as Feral.

“Hey!” Feral demanded, striding towards the muscai and grabbing his spear near the point. “Stop him!” he pointed at the ursai as Balthor and the sciurel backed up, the bearlike form advancing on them with regular, deadly swings of the gauntlet that fortunately connected with nothing more than air.

“How?” the muscai asked.

“You tell me, he’s your friend!” Feral gave the spear a tug and was surprised when the muscai let it go without objection.

“Have you tried to stop an ursai?” the muscai looked up at him, looking slightly plaintive.

“Fight!”

A heavy thud and a yelp.

Turning, Feral found that the ursai now had the front of the sciurel’s vest in one hand, lifting him easily off the ground, the flailing gauntlet forcing Balthor to keep his distance. The ursai was laughing, not callously or cruelly, but simply amused at swinging the sciurel around, and seemingly quite unaware that his playmate was struggling to breathe with the huge fist pressed to his throat.

Feral did the only thing he could think of. Running forwards, he swung the spear, slamming the side of against the ursai’s leg, just above the large sandal-shod foot.

“Ow!”

The wood split, sending splinters flying, but the ursai had stopped.

“Owwww!”

To Feral’s great surprise, the giant sat down in the middle of the road, clutching his ankle and dropping the sciurel into the dust.

“Owwww!”

“Um…” Feral wasn’t sure what to do, holding the shattered shaft of the spear in both hands as he looked down at the howling ursai. Balthor and the sciurel looked at him, apparently seeking some form of guidance, but Feral could only shrug in bafflement.

“Why boy do?” the ursai demanded.

Feral blinked. “Because I didn’t want you to hurt my friends…”

“Fight fun…”

“No. When you fight, they hurt. Just like you hurt,” Feral explained simply.

“Hurt like this?” the ursai looked up at him, eyes watering.

Feral nodded. “Yes, Frakk. Everyone hurts, just like you.”

The ursai looked thoughtful. “Fight not fun.”

“No,” Feral shook his head, realising he seemed to have gained control of the situation, but not quite sure how.

The ursai sniffed. “Not want fight.”

Feral smiled, and put the spear down. “Then we won’t,” he said quietly, gesturing for the others to lower their weapons.

“Oi!” the muscai trotted up. “I’ll say whether he fights or not!”

“Not fight!” the ursai roared loud enough to make the muscai’s fur stand on end. “Not want hurt.”

The muscai didn’t seem to know what to do about this pronouncement.

“Going home,” Frakk announced suddenly, standing up. “Bye,” he waved vaguely at Feral as he shambled down the road, passing Balthor and the sciurel who moved aside quickly to let him pass, both looking quite astonished.

“Frakk!” the muscai squeaked. “Come back!”

“Not fun any more… going home…”

“Frakk…?”

Balthor looked at the muscai and glowered. “Five seconds.”

The muscai escaped in three, disappearing into the trees at the side of the road. Standing and looking after him, Balthor’s fists tightened, the muscles of his arms visibly tensing.

“Thor?”

Turning at the hand on his shoulder, the lupari’s posture relaxed. “Cassy?” One hand lifted to touch her cheek lightly and she winced. “You’re hurt. Damn, I’m sorry, I...”

“I’m fine,” she told him, dabbing her face with the back of her hand and motioning him to quiet.

“We should clean that,” Balthor insisted, leading her over to the bridge, sitting her down on the bank of the stream while he dipped a handkerchief into the water.

“Nicely done, guv,” Feral found the sciurel looking up at him.

“Uh, thanks,” he said.

“Blue,” the sciurel said, sticking out his hand.

“Hmm?”

“My name.”

“Oh. Feral. Feral Foxwood,” he took the sciurel’s offered hand and shook it. “Just Blue?”

“Just Blue,” the sciurel nodded. “I like your ears. Father or mother?”

Feral suddenly realised his hood had slipped in the fight, and blushed. “Father.”

“Lucky then,” the sciurel said. “Me, people say I got my mother’s ears. Mother’s everything, really. Pity, from what I know, my dad was quite the looker, could ‘ave used a bit o’ that meself.”

“Um…” Feral wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

“Which way were you headin’?”

Feral gestured along the road, over the tiny bridge.

“Stonewell? Thought so, nowt else on this road. Same for me,” Blue informed him. “We should team up, I like your style.”

“My style?”

“Straight in for the weak spot, no messin’, but you could’ve stabbed him an’ you didn’t.”

“Uh, yeah…” Feral wondered whether he should mention that the result had been entirely unexpected.

“What’s your business in Stonewell then?” the sciurel picked up the arrow that had failed to stop the ursai and examined it closely.

“I’m… not quite sure,” Feral admitted. “Cassanya,” he indicated the leonin. “Knows more than I do. How about you?”

“Lawbringers. Gonna go join up.”

Feral had heard of the Lawbringers, or the Lawbringer Knights, to give them their full title. They guarded the border around the Freelands, a peacekeeping force who had taken it upon themselves to keep the great powers at a distance from each other. Patrolling between the kingdom of Lordenor, the Highlands, the Freelands, the Southern Desert, and the Eastern Kingdoms, they maintained law and order in lands that would otherwise oscillate between judicial systems and most likely end up beyond the reach of all. Despite their self-assigned roles, they were well respected, known for their strict code of honour and loyalty.

They were also known for being highly exclusive. Firm to their traditions, their ranks contained only those whose bloodline came from the founding knights. Those with the aspiration but not the family history were politely but firmly refused.

Looking at the sciurel’s somewhat tatty clothing and well-worn bow, Feral couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t have the sort of background the knights were looking for at all.

Blue grinned. “Trust me, I’ll manage,” he said cheerfully, sliding the arrow back into his quiver. “Always wanted to join, ever since I was a kid,” he confided. “Now… well, circumstances kinda offered me the chance, know what I mean?”

Feral didn’t, but nodded anyway. He looked up as Cassanya walked towards him.

“Ok, kid?”

He nodded, then introduced her to Blue.

“I ‘ear we’re goin’ the same way,” the sciurel said. “Might as well stick together, wot?”

Cassanya frowned. Blue kept smiling in a friendly manner as she turned Feral around, leaning down to whisper to him. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Feral whispered back. “If nothing else, it’d make night-watch easier.”

“You’d trust him to do that?”

“He could have run and left Balthor facing that ursai on his own. He didn’t. I think he’s ok.”

The leonin straightened and looked back at Blue, whose smile was as solid as ever.

“You look like a hobo,” she said bluntly, and Feral winced. “I don’t trust hobos.”

“I ain’t a hobo,” Blue told her politely. “I’m on me way to join the Lawbringers, like my old man. An’ you look like an ‘ousecat in a skirt,” he added.

Feral tried not to laugh.

“Housecat! All right, tree-rat, that’s it, on your way!” Cassanya snapped and pointed back up the road.

“Can’t do that,” the sciurel shook his head. “I figure I kinda owe Red ‘ere a favour,” he nodded at Feral. “Was my neck on the line when he jumped in, not your friend’s,” he indicated Balthor. “I can’t let that one slide.”

“That’s ok,” Feral said. “I don’t mind if you want to…”

“I mind, guv,” Blue cut him off. “And seein’ as we’re ‘eading the same way anyway, I intend to join you, see if there ain’t something I can help you out with. Right? Good,” he concluded, without giving anyone chance to interject. “Now,” he stood beside Feral, pulling a map out of a pouch on his belt. “I reckon we need to…”

“Wait a minute!” Cassanya objected.

“Wot?” Blue glanced up.

“Don’t I get a say in whether you join us?”

“No. I told you, tis Red I need to stick with. You don’t like me, shove off.”

Feral felt lost. He looked over to Balthor, who simply shrugged and resumed trying to straighten his sword against the bridge’s handrail.

“It’s ok,” he said to Cassanya, as she looked like she was preparing to punch the sciurel in the face. “We can at least go as far as Stonewell…”

“Not with this mangy object!”

“Oi!” Blue pointed a finger up at her. “Now you listen, missus. I’ve been more polite than you deserve. I’ve helped your friend when ‘e needed it, and I’ve done the decent thing and offered to repay Red for helping me. If you’ve a reason for not trusting me, say so and we’ll clear it.”

“I don’t need a reason not to trust you,” Cassanya retorted. “I need a reason to trust you. You say you owe Feral a favour, well good for you, I’m glad he could help, but it’s my job to see he stays safe, and I don’t intend to be fired because of you.”

“I’ve no intention of hurtin’ the lad! Wot do you take me for?” Blue snapped back.

“I know what you look like. You look like a…”

“He can come!” Feral said loudly, frowning at Cassanya, his patience snapping. “At least to Stonewell, that makes sense as we’re all going that way,” he looked at Blue. “Although if you’d rather change your mind, that’s fine by me. I don’t hold you in any debt. What happened was… not quite what I expected, to be honest.”

The sciurel nodded. “Don’t matter, you took a gamble that could’ve gone very badly for you, but it worked, and it saved my arse in the process. I’ll see you right, if I can guv.”

“All right,” Feral smiled. “Thank you. Cassanya, I like you a lot, and I respect your judgement, but you work for uncle Fellirion, and you’re here to help me, right?”

The leonin nodded, surprised into silence by the outburst.

“Right, then Blue’s coming with us, and I’d like you to help me with that by being a little nicer to him, please.” So saying, the half-race strode off along the road, followed by Blue who held his map up and pointed to something on it, apparently continuing their earlier exchange.

Balthor walked up to Cassanya.

“He pulled rank on me…” she murmured, shocked.

Balthor nodded. “Yep.”

“Rotten little…”

The lupari chuckled, grinning broadly.

“No, I know,” Cassanya sighed. “He’s a good kid really, just so damn trusting!”

“Well, he trusts you. He can’t be that bad a judge.”

“Thank you,” the leonin felt herself blush. “But come on, we better follow them. I hope he’s right about this ‘Blue’ guy…”

“I think he seems ok, Cassy,” Balthor smiled. “He did stick with me back there, after all.”

“True… and you! You looked like you’d have cut that gauntlet off with his hand still in it if I hadn’t spoken up! What were you thinking?”

Balthor looked at her for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head, his gaze falling. “I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time. We’d better follow,” he said, nodding along the road and walking after their companions, leaving the leonin to catch up.

Despite Cassanya’s misgivings, Blue seemed to be as trustworthy as his word, though by evening he had held them up three times by regaling Feral with stories so funny that the young half-race had to pause for breath by the side of the road. Although watched carefully by Cassanya all afternoon, the sciurel had as yet failed to arouse any suspicions beyond his scruffy appearance, and since he was obviously making Feral laugh, she felt that his company was probably tolerable.

By the time they made camp at sunset, the sciurel had also proven his worth at foraging, easily climbing among the branches of a clump of crab apple trees, throwing down several pounds worth of fruit. As if to underline his point, he produced a small jar of cinnamon from one of the pouches on his belt, and proceeded to bake the small apples over their campfire, forcing even Cassanya to admit that keeping him around wasn’t such a bad plan.

“So where are you lot ‘eading, anyway?” Blue asked, munching on a warm apple as he reclined against the base of a tree, his fluffy tail a convenient cushion.

“Past Stonewell, we need to get across the Skystones,” Cassanya told him.

“Devils’ Pass,” Blue gave a wry smile, nodding.

“Devils’ Pass?” Feral asked.

“Just local legend, guv. Folks used to say there was demons living in the mountains.” the sciurel shrugged. “I was gonna go that way meself, need to ‘ead north.”

“To the Lawbringers?”

“Yeah, their main HQ’s near the Northline. Figure I should start there.”

Balthor whistled. “That’s a long walk.”

“Aye, it is,” Blue scratched and ear and looked rueful. “But needs must, eh, guv?”

“Why do you want to be a Lawbringer?” Feral asked, curious.

“Family tradition, I guess you could say,” the sciurel shrugged. “My old man was one, maybe still is. Dunno for sure. Know I got a right to join, though, even if they are a bit snooty about who they take on... So what you three got on the other side of the mountains then?” he changed the subject abruptly.

“Taking Feral home,” Cassanya said simply.

Feral tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. Home. He’d never even seen the place, and only once seen the man… but it was as close to home as he was going to get. At least Cassanya would be there. Over the short time he had known the big leonin, he had come to trust her a lot, and the thought that she would still be around was comforting.

“Aye?” Blue raised an eyebrow. “Guess I should’ve asked what got you out this way, then. Red?”

“It’s… a long story,” Feral looked at the grass under his boots. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“What got me out here,” Cassanya said, as Blue looked curious. “Was my boss, mister Forester. He tends to send me whenever he needs someone to pull escort duty. Guess he thinks I can take good care of people.”

The sciurel chuckled, looking up at her. Even sitting on the grass, the leonin’s ears were a good four feet from the ground. “I’d wager he’s right, missus.”

“Either that or I don’t have anything else useful to offer,” Cassanya rubbed the back of her neck and looked a little uncomfortable. “I owe him big time, but I’m not really someone he’d pick for an assistant otherwise.”

“I’m glad you work for him,” Feral put in quietly, looking up at her.

The leonin smiled and rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment.

“How about you?” Blue looked at Balthor.

“Me? I’m… well… I guess I’m…”

“He’s with me,” Cassanya said simply, and the lupari gave a slightly apologetic smile and shrug of his eyebrows. “Why don’t you guys get some sleep?” the leonin continued. “I’d like to be up early enough to make the next town before tomorrow night.”

“Want me to take watch?” Blue offered.

Cassanya eyed him. “Can I trust you to?”

“Depends. Do you sleep naked?”

“What? No!” Cassanya drew back at the intrusive question.

“Then yes,” the sciurel smirked. Balthor cast a glance at him, raising an eyebrow, and he spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Seriously, I ain’t out to rob you while you sleep, all right? Get some shuteye for gawd’s sake. Red? Did I tell you the one about the organist, the pianist, and the monkey?”

Cassanya decided to just let him take the watch.