Sonhu pulled the drawstring back. Holding the bow steady, he aimed at the tree stump. He took a breath in. Then out. He did his best to still the bow. In. Out. He paused his breathing, steadying the bow until it was just right, and then. Release.

  The arrow soared through the air and struck the stump with a satisfying thwap. It had landed just off center.

  "Well done," Cole said from under the shadow of a nearby tree. He looked up towards the sky. "We'll call it there for the day." He stood up, "Take the rest of the day to rest up. We will set off a little after daybreak tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow? I thought we had another day."

  "We did, but Johan told me he would have the huntswear done today. It is better if we leave early."

  "Johan's almost done?"

  "Yes, he worked on it all throughout the night." Cole explained, "The man sure likes to bitch, but he always manages to exceed expectations. So be prepared for tomorrow."

  Sonhu nodded. Then, he followed the man back to the commune. Cole parted from Sonhu and headed towards the crusaeder lodge. Sonhu walked down the dirt path towards his tent.

  When he arrived at the tent, it was empty. It was still early in the day, so the Communers were probably trying to have Ketra do some work. Sonhu chuckled to himself, imagining how difficult it must be to try to get Ketra to do some mundane tasks.

  Sonhu laid down on the bedding and closed his eyes. Sonhu rested for a while with his eyes closed, but he never drifted off to sleep.

  His stomach growled loudly. He tried to ignore the creeping hunger, but it soon became unbearable, and so Sonhu got up and left his tent to head to the commissary.

  The commissary was a wooden storehouse where Mykel managed the rations. A small goblin woman with yellow skin, blue hair, pointy ears… the basic goblin build. However, every time Sonhu saw her, his mind would wander to thoughts of Gyl'dr, and worry would cloud his heart.

  When Sonhu arrived at the commissary, he was given a bowl of cold stew. It was leftovers from this morning's breakfast. Sonhu gave a forced smile to the goblin woman before heading to the slab tables that surrounded the fire pit.

  Sonhu sat at a table by himself and began to eat his stew. There were only three others at the tables. A goblin and a human chatted while they ate their stew, and sitting alone at another table was that satyr woman, Mrs. Dycello.

  As Sonhu recalled, Ruffus had called her husband Mr. Dycello. Was that a second name? Second names were mainly a human noble thing, with their last names and such, and some beastfolk races had tribe or clan names as second names, but as far as Sonhu was aware, Satyrs had no such practice.

  Mrs. Dycello turned her head back, and Sonhu's eyes returned to his stew. Sonhu heard her footsteps as she approached cautiously. Had he frightened the woman?

  She sat down at the table across from Sonhu. He looked up and met the woman's gaze.

  "What kind'a beastfolk are yah?" The woman asked, her voice strained.

  "Talmari," Sonhu answered apprehensively.

  "You're like a cat folk, ain't ya?"

  "If that is what you'd like to call it, sure."

  "Would yah mind coming with me for a moment?" She asked. She then noticed Sonhu's half-finished stew and added, "Once yer done with your meal, of course."

  Sonhu looked back at the cold stew,

  "I can come now." He said, pouring the stew out, and walking back to the commissary to return the utensils. The goblin woman was glaring at him as he arrived. When Sonhu returned, Mrs. Dycello led him to a tent similar in size to his own, but much closer to the church.

  She lifted the flap at the tent's mouth, and Sonhu entered. The room felt tighter than his and Ketra's because of all the things within. Two stacks of books near the front of the entrance. Clothes were folded neatly and resting on a small wooden crate. Various knick-knacks carved out of wood lined the floor. Talisman, toys, half-made crates, a wagon wheel. Sonhu concluded Mr. Dycello had to be the carpenter for the commune.

  At the center of the room, wrapped in bedding and with a damp rag on his head, rested a Nalbi man with a large mane, golden fur, big, powerful shoulders, and a large snout. His breathing was sharp and labored. Next to him lay bowls of half-eaten stews and vegetables.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Sonhu did his best not to show surprise at Mr. Dycello's species, but this would explain the name. A pride name.

  "What seems to be the cause of his condition?" Sonhu asked.

  "I'm not sure, an no one else can figure it out either." Mrs. Dycello said her voice strained, "I was hopin' since your two races might be similar, you may have seen some kind of affliction like this? Ya might even have a cure."

  Sonhu bent down to get a close look at the man.

  "Have you asked him yourself?" Sonhu asked, not sure what she expected him to conclude.

  "He hasn't been conscious for nearly a month. I've been strugglin just to feed him." She told him.

  "Hm." Sonhu thought, observing the Nalbi. He wasn't really that familiar with sickness or diseases of any sort. Sonhu picked up a small toy beside Mr. Dycello.

  "Do you two have a kid?" He asked.

  "No, not yet." Mrs. Dycello replied solemnly.

  "If there is one thing I know about Nalbi, they're resilient bastards. I'm sure he'll recover."

  Mrs. Dycello suddenly broke out in tears,

  "No, no, he won't." She sobbed, "Not even Ilgen Pander knows what to do."

  Sonhu rose to comfort the woman. He opened his mouth to say some comforting words, but he felt guilt well in his throat. How could he lie to her about this? Then an idea occurred to him that sent a shiver down his spine.

  "There might be something you can do…" He said quietly.

  Mrs. Dycello did her best to calm herself, "You do know of a way to cure this?" She said between sobs.

  "It's not a guaranteed thing, but maybe…"

  "What is it?" Mrs. Dycello said, desperately clinging to Sonhu's tunic.

  "You should ask Ketra to help heal Mr. Dycello."

  "Why? Does she know this type of sickness?" Mrs. Dycello asked, confused.

  "Probably not…" Sonhu held his tongue for a moment before saying, "But she is strange and can help in her own… unique way."

  "And you think you can get her to help me?" Mrs. Dycello asked.

  "I'm not sure, but I think you should ask." Sonhu said, "She is strange, but if you can convince her, I think she could help you."

  Sonhu and Mrs. Dycello waited outside his tent. It was later in the day. The evening sun was setting, and in the distance, Sonhu could see Ketra's outline making its way towards them. She was returning from the commune's fields.

  When Ketra arrived at the entrance of the tent, she stopped and looked between the two with a questioning glare.

  "Mrs. Ketra… My husband has been very ill, an I was told you might be able to help him."

  "I cannot," Ketra replied flatly, "I don't know where you would have heard that."

  "Please… I'm begging you…" Mrs. Dycello began to choke on her words, "I'm desperate."

  "That is not my concern," Ketra replied.

  "Wha-What?" Mrs. Dycello said in disbelief

  "It is none of my concern," Ketra repeated.

  Sonhu's heart dropped. He could not help but feel responsible for causing the poor woman more heartache.

  "How can you be so heartless?"

  "Why do you care so much?" Ketra said, furrowing her brow.

  "Be-Because he's my husband." She replied exasperated, "Do I need any other reason than that?"

  "I must not understand," Ketra replied with an arrogant tone.

  "What?" Mrs. Dycello said, "You mu- of course you do! If Sonhu were dying, you would feel exactly the same."

  A sudden gust of wind cracked, and Ketra's glare became sharp as knives,

  "Do not compare you and your husband to Sonhu and me," Ketra said the word husband with a particular vitriol.

  "Calm down," Sonhu said, getting between the two. "Ketra… why don't you head inside? I will be right after you."

  Ketra glared at the satyr for a few moments before she entered the tent.

  Sonhu turned back to Mrs. Dycello, but she was already storming off. Sonhu's heart was in his stomach. As he turned back to the entrance of the tent. Dread weighed heavily on him.

  When he entered the tent, Ketra sat on the bedding facing the entrance. Her expression seethed with anger.

  "That insolent creature." She said.

  "Do not be too harsh on her. She is scared for her husband." Sonhu explained.

  "She is the one who does not understand."

  "Maybe so." Sonhu sat down on the bedding next to her. He paused before telling Ketra, "I leave for the hunt tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow? What happened to the three days?" Ketra's anger now transitioned to frustration.

  "Apparently, Johan finished the gear early."

  "That is not fair." Ketra said, "They said three days."

  "Can I ask you a favor?" Sonhu asked her.

  "What is it, my Kitty?" Ketra pricked up slightly.

  "While I'm gone, don't kill Mrs. Dycello." Ketra's expression betrayed her disappointment at the request.

  "Fret not, having her live through her husband's death is punishment enough for the cretin."

  "Is that really how you feel?"

  "Of course it is. She is an arrogant woman. To ask me to do something so trivial, and then compare herself to us."

  Sonhu let out a sigh. Ketra gave a confused reaction to his response.

  "Let's get some rest," Sonhu said, lying down on the bedding. Ketra layed down close to him.

  As Sonhu drifted off to sleep, concerns about leaving Ketra alone in the commune resurfaced and refused to leave his mind, even in his dream that night. He imagined what could go wrong.