The morning dawned subtly in the forest; the sun peeking through the trees, filtering in thick shafts of light that illuminated the light fog that clung to the forest floor.

  Mercedes stood in the silent morning, feeling oddly disconnected. No birds twittered, no small animals scurried in the underbrush, everything seemed to be holding their collective breaths. For some reason she was dressed simply, a linen blouse and loose skirt that brushed the ground as she walked. Her armor was in a pile at her feet, black-laquered steel gleaming dimly in the low light.

  The campfire wavered in the ethereal light, strangely insubstantial. She glanced at it; for a moment it was crackling, flames licking greedily at the wood, the next it was coals smoking in a stone ring, a moment later the firepit wasn't there at all.

  A somewhat loud, atonal hum droned by her ear; a nostalgic sound that resonated both familiarly and strange in this dreamlike silence.

  She turned, and for a moment she was at the pond that was behind the church in Degan where she'd grown up. Dragonflies hummed in the air, skimming the water.

  She raised her hand, held out a finger. A dragonfly, jeweled in shimmering iridescence, landed on her finger briefly.

  “What do you wish for, Mercedes?” the dragonfly asked in a tiny, feminine voice that reminded her of her mother.

  Mercedes blinked. Dragonflies didn't speak. Further, she wasn't in Degan. She'd boarded a ship, spent months on its creaky wooden decks, traveled an impossible distance across a seemingly limitless ocean to a strange land.

  Without warning, the pond melted away, and she was in the church in New Degan. Above the stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Churches’ history, saints negotiating treaties, soldiers striking down foes, men and women standing in stained-glass fields of green and yellow, arms laden with produce.

  A single jeweled dragonfly rested at the lectern, wings slowly flapping.

  “What do you wish for, Mercedes?” it asked her again.

  The disconnected, dreamlike feeling slipped; she suddenly remembered that she was somewhere in the forests to the northwest of New Degan, hunting monstrous, magically enhanced animals.

  Just like that, she was back at the campsite, standing next to the strange spear with the intricately carved shaft. The campfire smouldered, Simone was a small brown ball wrapped in simple clothes dyed in barbaric patterns, face relaxed in sleep.

  “What do you wish for, Mercedes?” the dragonfly asked again from its perch on the spear.

  “This is a dream.” Mercedes realized suddenly.

  She opened her eyes; her body was filled with the aches that came from sleeping in plate armor. The sunlight peeked through the branches of the trees; the thin ground fog was dissolving away.

  Simone was up, stretching like a cat. The smaller elf got up and shook her arms like she was limbering them up, and then went through what looked to be stretching exercises, reaching down to touch her toes, leaning back as far as she could, twisting at the waist. If nothing else, the lithe elf was incredibly flexible.

  The barbarian was very thin and limber, with nut-brown skin and long white hair that flowed uninterrupted to her slim waist. She wore a sleeveless shirt that was dyed in interlocking triangles; a spiral dominated the chest. Below her taut midriff was a long fringed skirt that was likewise decorated in interlocked triangles, squares, and rows of spirals.

  The thin elf claimed to be one of the People of the Plains, a nomadic band of elven barbarians that wandered the plains far to the south. There were mysteries locked behind Simone’s blue eyes, mysteries and secrets.

  As Mercedes thought this, Simone turned and spotted Mercedes awake. The pale crosses that flickered in Simone’s eyes seemed to catch the light.

  “Awake?” She asked, her voice dry and light.

  Mercedes moved to stand, and her sore muscles protested. “I am.” She replied.

  Simone eyed the elven knight critically. The woman was taller than the diminutive shaman, with long blonde hair and bewitching blue eyes. She wasn’t just tall either, she was proportionally larger than Simone was, her body robust and athletic.

  For some reason beyond Simone’s comprehension, the paladin had decided to sleep in her plate armor- a decision that, upon observing how Mercedes climbed to her feet, wincing in pain all the way, looked painful.

  The two elves eyed each other warily, each sizing up the other. Mercedes broke the silence first.

  “Good morning, Simone.”

  Simone gave her an irritated look. “You sound like a human.” She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t make sense to me.” She glanced around at the forest, at the cliff, and then up at the sky. She muttered something Mercedes couldn’t catch, and then knelt and began prodding the fire, adding tinder and blowing on the coals to coax it back to life.

  “What do you mean, I sound like a human?” Mercedes asked.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Always greeting.” Simone replied, not taking her eyes off the fire. She added twigs and small branches as small flames flickered up. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. You see me, I see you. I know your name, you know mine. We both know it’s morning... so why say anything at all?” She asked, her bafflement genuine.

  Mercedes hadn’t expected that, and shook her head. “It’s a greeting, Simone.” She replied, but that didn’t seem to satisfy Simone’s confusion, as the smaller elf just shook her head.

  After the fire was built up, Simone took up the pan that Mercedes had provided the night before, scrubbed it out, then took out some dried meat and vegetables from her pack and tossed them in, along with a handful of herbs and a splash of water from her waterbag, then set it in the fire to cook.

  “What’s that?” Mercedes asked, and Simone gave her an exasperated look. Wasn’t it obvious?

  “Breakfast.” She explained testily.

  Mercedes rolled her eyes at that. “I meant, what’s in it?” She corrected.

  “Dried meat, vegetables. Some herbs for seasoning.” She replied. “I used up the last of my salt already, but there’s salt in the meat, so it should be okay.”

  “What kind of meat?” Mercedes asked.

  “Plains deer.” Simone replied with a smile. “I hunted it myself.”

  Mercedes didn’t have any idea what a ‘plains deer’ was, but she nodded. “You said last night that we need to head north?” she prompted. Simone nodded at the question, retrieved a length of wood and her belt knife, and began carving on it.

  She peeled away the bark with some expert flips of her knife, and then split the wood lengthwise. On the flat plane she’d created, she scratched a symbol into it. She stared at it, frowned, and tried again.

  As the impromptu stew cooked, Simone tried over and over again, eventually making a disgusted face and stuffing the piece of wood into the fire.

  “Something on your mind?” Mercedes urged, having watched from start to finish.

  Simone stirred the soup, and then produced her bowl and dumped some of the food in it, then looked up at Mercedes. “It’s just practice.”

  Mercedes tilted her head to the side, so Simone pulled out her spirit stick and held it out to Mercedes.

  Mercedes took the length of wood; the top part was intricately carved in interconnected designs that looked familiar to her, familiar beyond just the simple rows of spirals, triangles, and sinuous lines that also adorned Simone’s clothes. A hole had been drilled through the wood, and a leather thong threaded through. At the end of the thong were three beads that looked to have been carved from bits of polished stone.

  “This is well carved.” she appraised. “You did this?” She asked.

  Simone nodded. “It’s a spirit stick.” She explained. “The more you learn, the more you carve. I learned something, and so I was practicing what I needed to carve.” She shrugged.

  “This is wonderfully done, Simone. Is it just carvings, or does it serve a purpose?”

  Simone blinked. What a question.

  “It serves a purpose.” She allowed. “It’s used when addressing the spirits.” Mercedes offered the spirit stick back; Simone took it and tucked it behind her belt in the small of her back. As she did, Mercedes saw the handle of a knife there as well, in the spot that a lot of pit fighters, thugs, and thieves would typically conceal a blade.

  “Is it magic?” Mercedes asked, and Simone gave her a confused look. “What’s ‘magic’?” She asked.

  Mercedes opened her mouth, and then closed it.

  “Nevermind.” She offered, and poured the reminder of the soup into her own bowl and took a bite. It wasn’t particularly inspired, it was just dried meat and sliced vegetables cooked with herbs in water, but it was hot and filling and was better than the food Mercedes had been eating before she’d run into the smaller elf.

  The short meal passed in silence; after the food was eaten, Simone picked up the camp with an efficiency that impressed Mercedes.

  The smaller elf glanced at Mercedes and hefted the spear that had stood upright all night. Resting the carved shaft across her shoulders, she headed into the forest.

  Mercedes raised an eyebrow, but shouldered her own packs and buckled on her sword, then followed after the smaller elf.

  *****

  The sun was out, and the skies were clear. This close to the mountains, a thin breeze kept most of the heat at bay.

  The forest they were passing through was thin, with excellent visibility in every direction. However, the forest was thin because the footing was rocky, chunks of boulders and rocky outcrops punching their way through the thin topsoil, leaving few free purchases for trees to sink their roots deep.

  Simone walked quietly, her head up, eyes alert. Mercedes watched as Simone, without breaking stride most times, casually plucked a plant from the ground, examined it, and, depending on whatever criteria the young elf had, stuffed the plant into her belt pouch, or tossed it away.

  In comparison, Mercedes was noisy. Every footstep seemed to break a branch, dislodge a stone, or scare some unwary animal into dashing through the underbrush. Her leathers creaked, her plate armor clinked, and the chainmail pieces that guarded the vulnerable joints rattled. Her sword sheath occasionally banged against her armored thigh.

  Simone set an aggressive pace as they hiked across this place; Mercedes was able to keep up, but she could feel the beginnings of her uncomfortable sweat between her leathers and skin. If she wasn’t careful, the sweat would accumulate, irritating her skin, causing a painful rash.

  “Hold on, Simone.” She called ahead, and the smaller elf paused, one foot up on a somewhat large rock.

  “I need a drink.” Mercedes offered lamely, expecting judgement, but Simone just glanced at the sky, sniffed the air like an animal, and then nodded. There was a certain tension in Simone’s posture; Mercedes puzzled on it as she took a drink from her waterbag.

  She’d been watching Simone since the night previous, trying to understand the smaller elf. Simone knew herbs, communed with ‘spirits’, and carried herself with a wisdom that seemed to belie her youth.

  “What are you, Simone?” She asked, more to herself than to the other elf.

  Simone gave her a confused look, but simply spread her arms and tapped her chest.

  Mercedes gave the smaller elf a baffled look, and shook her head. Suddenly, her mind registered something she’d noticed for some time, the realization made her glance around with renewed interest.

  “I smell something.” She muttered, and Simone nodded.

  “Do you know what it is?” the smaller elf asked.

  Mercedes nodded. There were only two places she knew of where such a smell could be.

  “I smell sulphur.” She informed Simone.