The last of the water is warm, but still relieving. Having reached the edge of the farmlands that bordered Chevreau-Sur-Roche, Jari is sure he can soon refill his large waterskin.

  The sun is at its highest. His fur is warm and his nose dry. His right shoulder aches, the crossbody strap of his bag brands him without mercy. This even through boiled leather armour, its quilted textile backing, hauberk (chainmail shirt) and a heavy linen shirt. This close there is no point in swapping it over with the waterskin's strap.

  His new nose picks up all the aromas of the farmland he just entered. Compost, tilled soil and manure taking front of stage. Jari takes one more moment of respite before trudging onward. A female farmhand, hoe and basket of tubers in respective hands, raises her head as they near each other. With a sharp intake, her gaze snapping downward, she marches into the field. Jari sympathises, he'd also want to avoid someone in as shitstate as he was in.

  Through hazy, dust and pollen filled air, Jari begins to make out the town's half-arsed defences. Chevreau-Sur-Roche had been neutral during the war. A halfway town, but halfway along the scenic route. It also serves as a gateway town of sorts, being the closest town to Capra Plateau. Found south west west of Chevreau-Sur-Roche, the village of Capra Plateau is the first or final stage of the mountain trail known as Le Chemin' Désespéré. A once perilous "shortcut" through the mountains, now more tamed. There is also a small mining settlement somewhere to the south east.

  Maaa, maaaaaa, maa...

  A flood of goats. With them, a flood of goat smells. Jari puts his hand over his nose. It's among the first times he had touched his new face, Jari lowers his hand.

  Instinct causes the rush of goats to curve before him as though hitting an invisible shield some two steps ahead. This forced pause is not welcome, he just found the strength to carry on, stopping brought to the fore all the aches and pains of his journey. He'd woken at the crack of dawn, setting off while it was cooler, now he is tired, tired and hot.

  Jari winches at the discordant metallic sound of jangling bells drawing closer, louder. His ears twitch, he rotates them away. The passing goat herder gawps, his unwelcome gaze lingering too long. The gormless manner in which he turns away, suggests no apology or shame. Jari can't help but growl at the back of the thicko herder's head, wanting to snatch the irritating bell adorned staff to smack him with it.

  His ears lower, as does his anger, why had the jangling unnerved him so? The final stragglers meandered past... Onward!

  'Chevreau-Sur-Roche' the sign bears a picture of a white kid goat standing on an almond shaped rock. Pre war it had been called a cruel tosser's name, with him obliterated, it gained this more pleasant name from a painting. There is perhaps irony in the fact that the town's famous masterpiece had been created by one of the despot's much too beautiful wives.

  A foul odour of stagnant water interrupts Jari's thoughts of a beguiling woman painting a wholesome scene.

  "Stop righ'there!" The taller of two guards approaches, halberd lowered. Jari is so close, just two steps from the bridge into town.

  With his free hand jari swats away midges from the lacklustre moat, his ears shudder and jerk at the nasty critters bites.

  Standing behind this, a barely over man height wall made up of crudely pointed logs, watched over by rickety stands, some blessing archers with verandas.

  The bridge is just that, a bridge, it can't not be drawn up; there is no portcullis, only heavy wooden gates, always open. All these 'easy on the coinpurse' deterrents were thrown up post-war, not during, as some might presume.

  Two guards wearing, what Jari knew are meant to be, burgundy gambeson coats, are posted to the gate. The archer appears away with the fairies.

  "Hold on" The other guard, more stout of figure, calls out to his colleague. He leans into his polearm, squinting at Jari.

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  "I fink thats Jari."

  "Aye fink yer right, only bastard I knows with that shabby get-up" The closest guard stops, far too close, polearms tip pointed at Jari's heart. His mouth falls open as he blinks.

  "We's should err.. Check him!" The slack jawed moment gives way to earnest professionalism.

  Gripping his polearm tighter, standing straighter, and putting on a dour expression, the guard starts looking Jari over. His colleague trudges forward to join in. They are now both so close Jari could think of many ways to dispatch them, he might have to advise an old friend to shore up training.

  Grrr.

  Jari leans forward, considers plowing through.

  He could feel the guards eye's looking him over. There's shuffling above them, the dozing archer snaps to attention, another set of eyes. Both guards in almost perfect unison cock their heads, inspecting either side of Jari's.

  "What appen'd to yer head man?"

  Jari again growls in a manner not aggressive, but rather grumbling, before proceeding to raise his right hand, palm almost horizontal, and wiggle his fingers. The taller of two guards looks from the raised hand into the Jari's fur surrounded, steel grey eyes. Seeing indifference and feeling sure this was indeed who he thought he was, the taller guard steps back while halfway raising his halberd.

  "You wait 'ere! Don't yer move!... Go get Craddock Seb."

  After a minor squabble over who should go get their boss, the taller guard, Piers, jogs off. Seb, leaning on the end post of the bridge's right rope barrier, sneers at Jari.

  "Dunno why you came here looking like that... If I were cursed like that I wouldn't have bothered... go off int'te woods and off me self... Who the hecks gonna wanna have any'fin to do with a freak like you now? Hm?"

  Jari stands leaning forward, unwavering, head held forward, staring through the gates into the town beyond. Seb returns not long after, reporting he got a trainee to go.

  A lad jogs onto the bridge. Befitting a trainee, he has a too large, patch repaired, hand-me-down gambeson coat. After a double take at Jari, the boy reports Craddock would soon be there.

  Craddock arrives alone a quarter hour later. With a mix of chainmail and plate armour, under a burgundy surcoat, Craddock stands apart from foot soldiers.

  Chief Guard and right hand man of the baron, Craddock is... the polite term might be, "senior". With good posture he stands as tall as slouching Jari. Craddock has narrower eyes and a hint of eastern skin tone, however being of mixed heritage his shoulders are broad and appearance overall thickset, common for men of Gaelic descent.

  "Vansmedt, Vansmedt, Vansmedt... What trouble have you brought to this town?"

  Jari dislikes being referred to by his surname, but coming from the earnest, prim and proper Craddock, it sounds... fitting. Craddock clears his throat whilst giving an unimpressed inspection to Jari.

  "Is this affliction of yours contagious?"

  Jari shakes his head. Jari isn't sure how much longer Craddock can retain his position, his wisdom and level head will only carry him so far. His left leg dragged. It is evident from ever more loose armour that his muscles are diminishing.

  "Do you become dangerous somehow, say for example, during the full moon or at the sight or sound of something specific? Maybe a smell?" Craddock gestures toward Jari's nose.

  Jari shrugs then shakes his head. Injuries never properly healed mean the little and ring fingers of Craddock's right hand are stuck curled.

  Craddock's war battered body is succumbing to the incurable (at least by "good" magic), old age.

  "Hmmm, knowing you. You would not come near this town if you thought you were a threat."

  A saving grace however, something that makes him the envy of similar aged men, is his full head of dark hair.

  "You got a room indefinitely at Le Renard Blanc, correct? And you have done good for this town, though paid, I feel it still owes you some thanks... Hmph... Can't well turn you away from your home now can I? Plus I personally owe you.

  Consider this, the favour repaid."

  With a sway of his head, Craddock steps aside. The guards, dejected, return to their posts.

  Jari remains in place, when Craddock looks at him, he shakes his head. Favours have become a long standing joke between the two men, while their worth is disputable and never earth shattering, to Jari this thing between them has meaning. He responds to Craddock's questioning look by pointing down, then flattening his palm to push down something invisible. Craddock nods.

  "Down? Low? Low... A low blow? Yes... I suppose I was being rather uncouth. Kicking a man whilst down, my apologies."

  Jari points at Craddock with his index finger then pulls his hand back, retracting his finger to smoothly switch to pointing his thumb toward himself. Craddock rolls his eyes, repeating the sway of his head toward the town, but this time with annoyance.

  "Get in before I change my mind"

  Jari shakes his head while repeating the you and me gesture. Craddock looks at Jari's face, wide eyes and perked up ears; it's harder to tell, but he's sure Jari is smiling. Reluctant, he returns the smile, stepping to Jari's side to give him a light push forward.

  "Yes! I still owe you, dogged fool."

  Thunk, thunk, thunk...

  Jari's polehammer cum walking staff has reached the wooden bridge. The metal cap that preserves the shafts end, good for temple smashing too, doesn't half make a racket on harder surfaces.

  The taller of the two guards looks up at Jari, their eyes briefly meet. Jari, half a head taller, while slouching, glances away. He prefers Seb's look of disdain, to the mix of apology and pity he sees in Piers's eyes.