I came to a profound realization in the last hour, as Nim sat crouched beside the crackling fire, her voice a gentle insistence urging me to rest. Though the wounds on my body had healed, a deep, burning discomfort lingered, signalling that my recovery was still far from complete. The persistent ache in my side, combined with the rhythmic thump of my heartbeat echoing in my temples, served as a stark reminder of the desperate struggle I had narrowly escaped. I had survived against all odds, and the closer I looked at my circumstances, the more I understood how precarious my life had been.
If even a single moment had unfolded differently, I would have crossed paths with the Lady of Loss not just last night, but possibly even sooner. Nim had been my guardian angel, pulling me from the brink of death during that fateful night when my own reckless choices nearly led me to my end. She had also been my saviour the night prior, when I foolishly sought refuge beneath a tree marked by the territorial scent of one of the solitary cougars that roamed the sparse woodland ridges. Each breath I took now was a testament to her vigilance and my own brush with fate.
This unknown woman, whom I had never encountered before, and her peculiar little companion, Pork, had unknowingly saved my life, and I had only met them the day prior. The strange pink-skinned elf looked like a delicate blossoming flower, her posture defiantly expressing her presence in the world as the flickering firelight danced across her form. Despite her insistence that I rest, I found it nearly impossible to tear my gaze away from her. My senses were overwhelmed by the fragrant aroma wafting from the bubbling pot over the fire, a concoction of wild herbs that clashed with the heavy metallic scent of iron hanging in the air. In the brief moments before Nim ordered me to rest again, I had scanned the surroundings, but all I could discern was the lingering odour of blood, except for a patch of stone marred by a red stain that was slightly larger than I was. There were no bodies; there was just a small pile where my armour rested against the heavy box filled with gold I had been carrying, and the new addition of two hand axes sat atop the pile.
If given the choice, I would have lingered in that moment for an eternity. Yet, I knew I had to move eventually. If we hadn’t reached Shineholm yesterday, the delivery would have been due tonight. I couldn't afford to be late; they would surely suspect I was attempting to abscond with the gold, a belief that could lead to far more trouble than I could handle.
Just as I prepared to rise, something peculiar unfolded—something so strange that I became utterly engrossed, forgetting about my plans to move. Nim turned to Pork, waggling her finger at the impish weasel. The softness that usually graced her round, cherubic face transformed into a mask of sternness, her lips curling into a frown as she unleashed a stream of sounds that were not quite words—at least not ones I could comprehend. To my astonishment, Pork seemed to understand her perfectly, and I sat there bemused, watching as they engaged in a spirited back-and-forth. Nim gestured toward me without even glancing in my direction. Pork, on the other hand, fixed his unwavering gaze in my direction. While the emotions swirling in his beady black eyes eluded my understanding, the menacing snarl that curled his lips and revealed his sharp, gleaming teeth communicated a silent but powerful warning. A chill crept through me as I instinctively recoiled, knowing he posed a genuine threat, simply because he could.
Nim, however, didn’t take kindly to the menace directed toward me—whether she believed it was aimed at her or me remained a mystery. Regardless, she escalated the situation. Twisting her fingers in an intricate dance, a vibrant pink spark flickered to life at her fingertips, forming a small but vivid flame the size of a silver coin. I barely caught the soft elven word for fire that slipped from her lips; it was a stark contrast to the primal chirps and hisses that must have constituted the weasel's language. Pork turned and snarled in my direction once more, but the sudden spark of the flame seemed to shift the dynamic; the feisty creature, who had been so proud moments before, scurried away into the shadows, no longer willing to confront the fiery threat.
Nim watched with unwavering intensity as the large, striking black-and-pink weasel retreated from the cave, maintaining her focus on him until he vanished into the brush. The moment she relaxed her fingers, releasing the intricate configuration and extinguishing the pink glow that had danced at her fingertips, our eyes met. In that fleeting instant, I saw a blend of emotions—an anger reminiscent of the loving reprimand a mother imparts to a misbehaving child. It wasn’t just anger; it was the familiar disappointment only a mother could convey. I could almost muster sympathy for Pork if I weren't so unsure of his intentions—whether he sought to convince Nim of his right to devour me. Yet, that stern look dissipated as swiftly as it had appeared, melting into an expression of innocence and warmth, accompanied by a tender smile.
“So, lunch isn’t quite ready yet. How long have you been awake? How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos.
Even I understood that answering that question with total honesty would almost certainly land me in hot water—a reality that had long since lost its novelty. What truly startled me was the depth of my reluctance, the way the words lodged like a stubborn stone in my throat. Throughout my life, seeking out and sharing the truth had become an instinctive drive, a necessity woven into the fabric of my being, broken only by those few precarious moments when concealing it was essential for my safety. I knew that Nim had no intention of causing me harm, yet the thought of disappointing her weighed heavily on my heart. In that moment, it felt far more daunting than my own lingering injuries. The fear of letting her down felt like a greater wound, one that echoed deeper than the scars I would surely bear from last night's encounter.
"No, I haven't been awake long," I said, my voice betraying a hint of nervousness as the lie slipped from my lips. A heavy, uneasy weight clenched at my heart, twisting with guilt. "Pork was being quite loud; his raucous noises jolted me from slumber. I'm..." My words faltered, caught in the turmoil of my thoughts. What was I doing? Nim had saved my life not once, but twice, and here I was lying to her about something so trivial. "I'm feeling better, Nim. I’m sure I’ll be sore for a while, but I’ll survive."
Nim listened intently, an eyebrow raised as she pondered my response. Her doe-like eyes, wide and expressive, roamed over me, scanning the bandages that wrapped around my wounds as if seeking to uncover the truth beneath them. I felt a rush of warmth spread across my cheeks, unable to hold her gaze. “Wait, I didn’t actually get any more sleep,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I do feel better, though. I can’t thank you enough for that.”
As I finally dared to meet her gaze, I noticed a flicker of confusion in her soft brown eyes. For a moment, I feared I had angered her, but then her lips curved into a gentle smile, and a soft jingle of laughter escaped her—a sound that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds, lifting the heaviness that had settled in my chest.
"Well, I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Vartin," she said, her voice carrying a blend of warmth and concern. "Not sure why you would lie about sleeping, though, especially since I caught you staring at me." She paused, her gaze drifting toward the cave's entrance, where the harsh midday sun poured in, illuminating the space with sharp, bright beams that contrasted sharply with the cave’s warm but dimly flickering light.
"So, I assume you witnessed everything that transpired between Pork and me?" Her expression shifted to one of sympathy. "I’m sorry about Pork; despite being the smartest animal I’ve encountered beyond the Vale, he is still bound by his instincts. It wasn't right for him to suggest leaving you here while we pressed on. It was even worse when he offered to... put you out of your misery, as if freeing me from the burden of your care would somehow justify his actions."
As she spoke, the Elven woman sank gracefully into a crouch, and for the first time, I noticed the unusual ease with which she settled. While crouching was a common position, for her, it seemed as natural as standing. My own attempts at such a stance would often leave me awkwardly teetering, the weight of my body pressing heavily on my ankles and knees. Yet Nim exuded a mesmerizing fluidity; the heels of her delicate sandals rested flat against the cool stone floor, perfectly balanced.
With fluid motion, she reached into her intricately woven bag and drew out a small, ornate box, setting it beside her with care. Her fingers danced with an elegance I could hardly comprehend as she twisted them together and whispered a word in Elvish, a soft melody carrying in the air. As she focused, a pair of droplets began to materialize, floating gracefully from the bubbling pot that still simmered away on the fire. Releasing the twisted shapes in one of her hands with a gentle flick of her wrist, the two orbs of faintly green liquid hovered in midair, shimmering like tiny jewels.
Nim then pulled two small cups from the woven box, her movements fluid and assured. As she relaxed her fingers, the Elvish word for "release" filtered through the air, prompting the orbs to fall softly into the waiting clay cups below. Holding out one of the cups towards me, she took a deep breath, then blew gently over the other, the warm, fragrant steam rising delicately. Lifting it to her lips, she glanced at me with a reassuring smile.
"I can tell you have questions, and believe me, so do I. But first, let this tea soothe your nerves and ease your pain. Just be careful with that teacup; it belonged to my mother."
I took the small clay teacup, an artifact unlike any I had ever encountered. The teacups of nobles were always delicate and ornate, their handles so slender and intricately designed that I felt an ominous apprehension whenever I reached for them, fearing I might shatter the fragile elegance with a single misstep. Even the simpler cups my mother had cherished bore a similar frailty, their delicate handles creating a sense of unease as I held them. But Nim’s cups were a revelation; they resembled small clay bowls more than traditional teacups, devoid of handles and embellishments. Their surfaces were smooth and polished, bearing the gentle imprints of countless hands, each one telling the story of a well-loved vessel.
“It doesn’t surprise me that he was offering to end me for being an inconvenience. Not with the way he was staring at me before you summoned fire at your fingertips.” The words tumbled out, a mix of incredulity and fascination. It must have been magic, yet I had never encountered such wonders firsthand, leaving me uncertain. That had to be magic, right? Like the mysterious Dome that had held me when I woke for the past two days? Like the enchanting gesture she had just performed with the tea? Like her astonishing ability to communicate with Pork? A whirlwind of questions flooded my mind, but I knew that barraging Nim with my curiosity wouldn’t yield answers; I needed to focus, to sift through the chaos in search of clarity. “So, you’re a magic user, Nim?” I ventured, my voice laced with both awe and skepticism. “Not that I’m not grateful for your help, but why are you taking care of me? Wouldn’t it be easier—and safer—for you to leave me behind?”
The joyful Pink elf shook her head gently, laughter bubbling up like a spring breeze, her soft brown eyes dancing with a light that seemed to penetrate the depths of my mind, teasing out the questions that whirled chaotically within. "Right, I forget that not everyone knows how to speak to animals as I do. But you're probably fortunate you didn’t hear him—he really was as prickly as his namesake." She gestured encouragingly toward the steaming cup cradled in my hands, her eyes rolling playfully, as if to say it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Drink the tea, Vartin, before you go crazy from all the questions you're not going to ask me."
I took the hint, lifting the warm clay cup to my lips. As the warm liquid flowed into me, I discovered that the tea was not only a comforting warmth against my skin; its delicate flavours embraced my senses like a gentle hug from the inside out, their harmony soothing the thoughts spiralling through my mind and washing away the fatigue that weighed heavily on my muscles. Gradually, the tension slipped away, and only after a look of ease must have crossed my face did Nim continue, her voice smooth and lyrical.
"So yes, I can do magic, but not in the way you’re imagining, Vartin. I'm not a walking catastrophe like the Wizards or Sorcerers of the tales, nor do I dabble with runes like witches do. My magic flows from my deep connection to the world around me—nature, animals, plants... It’s all intertwined. Mostly it’s small gifts, like coaxing flames to dance or encouraging water to swirl. I made a plant grow really quickly once."
I couldn't quite grasp the depth of her feelings about this power; the soft smile that graced her lips radiated an innate joy, one that seemed almost too pure to be real. Yet, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone could sustain such happiness at all times. Perhaps it was her elven heritage that lent her demeanour an air of mystique, enabling her to remain blissfully cheerful even in the face of life’s challenges. She maintained that bright smile even as she spoke of the weightier matter at hand.
"As for taking care of you," she continued, her tone shifting slightly, "well, you got hurt trying to protect us. What kind of person leaves someone who tried to guard them in danger? Sure, it might have been safer to leave you behind, and Pork would have been happier about that, but that’s no way to show gratitude." She leaned in slightly, the mischief returning to her eyes. "Besides, if I didn’t have you, how else am I going to sneak into the city?" With that, she tapped her temple lightly, as if the notion were so evident it barely needed saying, her laughter ringing like a melody.
Ah, the City. Nim had asked me to help her slip past its gates. If I were dead, her chances of finding any other means of assistance would diminish drastically. In that moment, a realization danced through my thoughts, bringing a soft laugh to my lips; of course, she needed me alive to serve as her ticket into the city. It was a simple explanation, yet it stung with unexpected sharpness. Why did it hurt? Had I hoped for something deeper than this? Perhaps I was asking too much, wanting a connection that was too soon to develop. The plain truth was straightforward, yet somewhere inside me, I had wished for something more intricate and profound.
"Right, the City. I promised to get you into Shineholm, and I will do everything I can to make that a reality," I said, determination lacing my words. I took a moment to reflect, realizing she was right about it being a good thing, but I couldn’t decipher Pork’s intentions. Who knew that pigs could possess such a prickly disposition? The knowledge that her magic was intertwined with the very essence of nature, and didn’t wield the same dangerous edge as some of the sorcerers in the tales I’d heard, was oddly reassuring.
But curiosity gnawed at me. “I do have to ask, how did you manage to disappear last night? One moment you were there, and then—poof—you were gone, while Pork leaped at the bandit with such ferocity."
“Oh, that!” she continued, dismissing my bewilderment with a wave of her hand. “Vartin, don’t be silly. I’ve already told you I can transform into animals. I merely turned into a mouse and hid beneath the blanket until the bandits were preoccupied.”
Her nonchalance about such a remarkable ability left me momentarily speechless. My mouth hung agape in surprise, and it didn’t escape her notice. “What? It’s not like you haven’t done your share of crazy stuff, mister! Speaking of which, what was with the rope? There was a flash, and then it did exactly what you wanted. You’ve got magic too!”
She gestured animatedly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Pork took down his two bandits much quicker than you dealt with yours, and he emerged with far fewer injuries. But not everyone can finish a fight the way you did, Vartin. To fight on after suffering a wound like that? It was foolish and reckless, sure, but also incredibly brave. It says a lot about who you are, Vartin.”
As she spoke, a warmth blossomed in my chest, spreading like sunlight breaking through the clouds. I had never received such genuine compliments before, or been chastised in such a thoughtful manner. The praise felt sweeter than anything I’d ever experienced from my peers or even my father. It reminded me of the words Lord Verinson had once used to convince me that I was uniquely suited for the task of escorting his gold to Lord Farvin. At that time, I had sensed the insincerity cloaked in flattery, hoping against hope that the mission would reveal its true importance.
But with Nim, there was no hint of trickery; her words felt authentic, untainted by hidden agendas. A rush of warmth flooded my cheeks as pride and embarrassment wrestled for dominance in my heart, each vying to claim my emotions as the conversation lingered in the air between us.
"Right, I suppose that makes sense now; you can transform into animals, which is how we plan to sneak you into the city. The rope, however, was merely a manifestation—an enchantment allowing me to manipulate it with my thoughts. It may seem remarkable, but it's mainly just playful tricks, like binding two objects together with a tight embrace. Be it two wooden boards, a box secured to a branch, or, in last night's unsettling circumstance, a pair of legs. I was just too stubborn to give in to despair until you were safe, Nim. I had to trust that Pork could handle the chaos of the others and vanish to wherever you had gone. I fought tooth and nail against that woman, and I'm grateful I managed to hold on just long enough."
A nervous chuckle escaped my lips as I stared down into my cup of steaming tea, feeling more open to sharing my thoughts as the words flowed freely from me, rather than remaining trapped in my mind.
Nim’s gentle laughter filled the air, her soft gaze lingering on the bandage that wrapped around my chest, a testament to my struggles. "You were more than enough, Vartin." Her voice drifted from her lips, softer than her usual vibrant laughter, as if, for once, her thoughts weighed heavily on her mind. I swore I could see the rosy hue of her round cheeks deepen slightly, but she shook off the moment and turned her gaze back to me, steady and reassuring. "Lunch will be ready soon, Vartin. After that, we’ll set off for Shineholm. When is your delivery supposed to arrive at its destination?"
"Tonight. After we eat, we should be on our way quickly. The line at the gate is likely already growing longer, and from what I know of Lord Farvain, he has little patience for delays. It won’t matter how beat up I am if I'm late; I’d probably rather take my chances with Pork instead." I laughed heartily at that thought; it was only half a jest, but Nim caught the humour too, her lively laughter returning as we settled in to wait for lunch before continuing on our journey to Shineholm.
