Ch. 25

“Frick”

We ride along the road for what feels like a century, though the horses aren’t even winded, which means it’s only been… well, far too long for my empty stomach. The aroma of the Tavern is in the air, drawing us closer to Faymore, where I might finally get something to eat. Nyx, I’m ravenous. Next time, I’m definitely shifting into a proper carnivorous creature.

At last, we come upon a fork in the road leading west to Faymore. The part northward fades as it skirts the treeline, curving around the mountains. For a moment, I glimpse a white shadow moving within the trees. Even with the late afternoon sun casting shadows beneath the canopy, I can tell it’s my Halfy, trailing us from the forest. He must be just as tired and hungry as I am. I’ll make sure Iamys brings him some meat from the Tavern. Meats, their filling aroma pulls me back out of my thoughts. I can only imagine what the special is today.

At the fork in the road, Sadar leads the way north on his tri-colored mare, and many of the scouts and guards, and all the wagons, keep moving north back toward the forest to set up camp a few miles out from Faymore. Sadar will help set up the camp and will come catch up with us later. Devlyn, Iamys, and even Zanir, at the command of Devlyn, turn west toward Faymore.

I have a feeling Devlyn doesn’t want him out of her sights or anyone’s sights until she gets more information, or at all. A few of the scouts on horseback follow us. Never hurts to have some backup if needed.

Faymore is a major trading spot for many that dares to be close to the Endless Forest. Many of the humans know there are creatures other than them around their village, and the ones too scared or that despised anything not like them left the village many moons ago. Although only the most human looking of us come to Faymore. No need to make a bigger scene than needed, and our power… can be smelt for leagues. But I wouldn’t be surprised to see any other interesting creatures while here.

The entrance to Faymore stands under an ancient stone moon gate, its shape a perfect, weathered circle. It arches over us, wrapped in vines that have grown over years, each twist of greenery thick with age, holding shadows in its recesses. The vines aren’t wild or unruly, instead, they cling to the stone with an elegance that feels intentional like a natural tapestry woven to honor this gateway. A few orange trees line the edges, their leaves an amber hue, some spilling down and collecting in piles that stir with each passing breeze.

The gate is wide enough for two or three horses to pass side by side, but its shadow narrows the space, like the world itself is squeezing us through this one doorway. Devlyn and I are the first to cross under its arch, and as we do, something shifts, subtle but undeniable. It’s as though the air thickens, like stepping into a dense mist, making me feel lighter but more alert. The world behind us feels farther away than just a few paces. I feel it in my chest — crossing this threshold isn’t just entering Faymore, it’s as if a new chapter has opened, inviting me to become the writer on my story.

The stone moon gate feels like an unspoken boundary between two worlds, and as we pass under it, Faymore unfolds before us. I inhale sharply, stuck by how alive the village is — everywhere I look, people and children mingle, laugh, and move freely in every direction. The pounding of children’s feet against the still-wet road and the splashes of horse hooves through lingering puddles fill the air. A faint shriek, sharp and playful, rings out nearby, and it jars something loose in my mind.

For a brief, disorienting second, I’m back to the day… I slipped away. Two moments, the Faymore of my past overlays itself on the present, like two panes of glass catching the same light. I have been here a lifetime ago, and I can feel it.

I feel the gritty, cold mud caking my boots, smeared across my cloak, and the thrill of stepping into the unknown — remember that strange blend of fear and freedom, how I scanned each stall and building like they were pieces of a puzzle I would never seen before, feeling raw and exposed, yet exhilarated. I took in all in with wide, desperate eyes, trying to memorize every detail of this world that always seemed so far away. That same feeling blooms in my chest now, sharp and familiar.

I close my eyes, just for a breath, to hold on to that memory — but then the bustling scents and sounds of the present draw me back. My eyes open to the vibrant market, the stalls lining the river that winds its way through the heart of the village. I can smell fresh bread, roasted meats, and the rich tang of spices that linger in the cool, wet air. The river glistens, a silver thread that ties Faymore to the valley beyond, and the rain-soaked earth mingles with the warmth of cinnamon, pepper, and saffron as we pass a spice stall.

Nyx, my stomach growl, loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I drink in the life around me, letting the present pull back as I try to log every detail in my mind, as if each one might slip away the moment I look away.

Finally, we reach the horse stalls near the Viridain Vale and its adjoining tavern. The smell of hay and horses hangs thick in the air, laced with a cloud of ash and smoke from the blacksmith’s shop just around the corner. I make a mental note to stop there before we leave, but right now, all I focus on is the scent of roasting meats and baked breads drifting from the tavern. Even past the stalls and all the earthy scents of the village, the aroma calls to me, warm and rich. Nyx, I’m starving. We need to move faster.

As soon as we reach the stalls, I’m off my white mare in seconds, tossing the reins to Iamys before he has a chance to say anything. His mouth opens in surprise, then closes in resignation as he motions our horses into an empty stall. I have trained him well.

Before I even realize it, I running, mud squelching beneath my boots. I burst out of the horse stalls, splashing through puddles on the paved road and leaving a trail of muddy tracks behind me. My stomach twists with hunger. I need something more substantial than a few scales of fish and the life force of a buck. I can almost feel my stomach devouring my kidneys at this point. The image of the buck’s blood fills my mind, dripping down my chin…

Before I know it, I am at the door of the tavern. In big letters, Viridian Vale is painted on the solid stone and brick building, a welcoming beacon against the dusk. I glance around, my counterparts are still tying and motioning the horses into free stalls, and the other scouts are flanking the stalls, their laughter blending with the evening air. The sun is beginning its descent, casting long shadows, while the tavern lights flicker to life along the paved road. The aroma of cooked meats and fresh bread remind me of my goal, nearly making me dizzy with hunger.

As I take a step inside, the aroma envelops me like a racing horse, galloping straight into my senses and making my stomach clench in desperation. The tavern is alive with laughter, the clinking of mugs, and the scent of roasted meats filling the air. I push through the door, and my heart skips as I lock eyes with a barmaid, a quite busty blonde-haired woman…

In an instant, I am transported back when I stumbled through those very doors as an unprepared girl desperate for freedom. The lively atmosphere had hit me like a wave, intoxicating and overwhelming. I remember the way the men turned to look at me, their gazes sweep over me as I remove my hood, with a kind of hunger that made my skin prickle. I felt like prey up for grabs that left me both exhilarated and uncomfortable.

The memory sharpens as I piece together the barmaid’s glare, her jealousy palpable as she watched her man try to approach me, drawn to my presence as if by a spell. I was reckless, and still am, fueled by my powers and a thrill for the unknown, unaware of the stir I would cause in such a bustling place.