Nicolo-2

Nicolo led Crecyda to the side of the main road. It trotted slowly, without running, and Crecyda had no intention of urging it to do otherwise. She brought it to a halt, then pondered which direction to take.

To the east, she quickly decided. She didn't know how long she had been dozing on the coastline with Nicolo, added to the half-day spent with Jorgen, perhaps surpassing the time they had initially agreed to meet. Without attendants, she wasn't certain of the exact rendezvous point. Walking back along the riverbank might put them in the sight of castle guards. Perhaps heading east, past the Stromgarde, would allow them to catch up en route. If that failed, continuing east to return to the refuge valley to see Neysa. If she wasn't there or couldn't help, she would just keep going—

That's enough of that, she told herself. It was impossible to ride Nicolo home. But the illusion in her mind made her realize she was starting to long for home. Even without a master, she had looked after the house for a very long time and yearned for it. Her mailbox, her windows, her studio cluttered with half-finished sculptures. Renner, I found Renner. I succeeded. Now I want to go home. Even if I go back first, it's okay because he will catch up with me... No, don't indulge in such fantasies anymore. Anyway, I have to go east first.

She tugged at the reins, but Nicolo didn't turn. Not only that, it seemed unwilling to move any further. Crecyda thought it might be hungry, so she took out some horse feed, but it refused to eat. She exhausted all her knowledge about horses in her mind but couldn't make it budge.

Crecyda squatted in place for a moment, stood up, tied the bag of horse feed back to the saddle, patted Nicolo's mane, and then continued east alone. After about twenty steps, Nicolo followed.

"Don't follow me," she said. "We're not going to the same place."

Crecyda took a few more steps, and Nicolo still followed. She thought perhaps it had changed its mind, so she mounted again and pulled the reins. It moved, but turned west.

"Stop. I'm not going there."

Nicolo continued westward at its slow pace. Crecyda glanced back to the east, where several Stromgarde riders were approaching. She recognized them by the color of their tiny figures.

"As you wish," she said to Nicolo, "just move a little faster."

Crecyda thought maybe Nicolo intended to go home and mistook her for its master. They continued west along the main road. At first, she felt a sense of deviation, thinking she should head east instead of wandering in the opposite direction. But as the journey continued, her anxiety seemed to gradually dissipate with the passing wind. She watched the sunlight reflect off Nicolo's mane and the dust it kicked up with each step, taking a deep breath. The road ahead led to an unknown destination, and for the first time in years, she didn't feel the urgency and worry. A drop of water extinguished the fire temporarily burning on the wood. She still thought of Renner, still wanted to go home, but it seemed like there was an invisible barrier following behind Nicolo's deep brown tail, preventing those unfinished desires from crashing down on her repeatedly, forcing her to limp forward through the mud. A carriage passed by, and there was a brief exchange of glances between the boy inside and Crecyda. He was irrelevant, Crecyda thought; irrelevant to the Stromgarde, irrelevant to the Seventh, irrelevant to the plague lands, irrelevant to war, irrelevant to Renner, irrelevant to me. The last time she saw such a person was a long time ago. Irrelevant wind. Irrelevant mountains. Irrelevant road. Irrelevant reins and saddle. Perhaps even an irrelevant herself.

She unconsciously tapped the reins with her pinkie finger, fully aware that all these feelings were just a momentary escape from reality. Her life wasn't in these irrelevant things; they only seemed pure because they hadn't hurt her yet. She still needed to turn east, sooner or later. But before that, she was tired. The sun was setting.

She had never camped alone in the wild, and she didn't have anything with her, so she just found a relatively secluded spot with two large rocks and sat down.

"Do you want to go home immediately?" she said to Nicolo, while tying it to one of the rocks, feeling somewhat selfish. She lay on the grass, using one hand as a pillow, unable to fall asleep. She hadn't eaten anything since boarding that boat. She glanced at the bag with Nicolo's name stitched on it and closed her eyes. Cold.

It started raining heavily in the middle of the night. Before her consciousness fully awakened, she lifted her hand to shield her face, and the raindrops struck the rest of her body. This woke her up, and she heard the sound of Nicolo's hooves sinking into the wet mud. She still kept her eyes closed, crossing her hands in front of her face as if making a final effort to stop the rain. Just when Crecyda thought about finding a place to take cover from the rain, she felt the raindrops hitting most of her skin suddenly stop, and at the same time, a hand was placed on her back, lifting her up.

She opened her eyes and saw a face she both knew and didn't recognize. She put her hand on his face, stroking his cheek to remove the dust from his face as quickly as possible, from his cheek to his neck.

"Renner," she hugged his neck, pressing against his back.

"You slept here," he said.

"Renner." Crecyda wanted to call out this name several times, but she found that only the broken breath caused by the cold came out of her mouth. She realized that she must have been freezing long before it started raining. She didn't want to ask him why he found her, but instead turned her gaze to Nicolo. For whatever reason, she felt she should thank Nicolo, but she found another person standing next to it. It was too dark, and she couldn't see who it was, but from the silhouette, it was clearly not Jorgen.

"Brother Renner, I told you there would be a harvest following those strange footprints." He said. "Luckily, we found someone just as it started raining, hehe."

One day.

"I need some comfort. Let me lie on your thigh for a while," Elin said.

"No," Glocara replied.

"Oh, I forgot you don't like the wilderness."

"I don't like you being blind in one eye. But I dislike even more that you think you can act more foolish just because you got injured."

"Have some sympathy, Glocara."

Elin looked at her; Glocara's eyes were half-closed due to the swift mountain wind, a small piece of gauze stuck to the skin near her eye. She brushed away a small piece of grass from the end of her long hair, as if to emphasize that she hadn't heard Elin's words. Elin didn't quite understand why she found another reason to be angry, but upon further thought, perhaps it was because she didn't want to revisit what happened that night. It was when she started to lay him on her thigh.

Nordved was at the foot of the mountain, but they naturally rested on the slope, as if it was just a stopover in their wilderness journey. This was probably because both of them were unsure of what they would face next. They chatted for a while, such as the possibility of Jorgen providing a fifty-gold piece eye patch once they returned to Stormwind, then Elin finally felt it was time.

"I just saw a horse over there."

"What?" Glocara stood up from the grass. "Where?"

"It's probably already gone down the mountain."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? It might be—"

"I know." He turned to look at her. "Are you ready?"

"What's there to prepare?" After saying this, she walked past him towards the mountain.

"Alright."

They descended the mountain and reached the edge of the village. An old man carrying a bucket walked by, glanced at them, then quickened his pace.

"Wait, wait." Elin walked up to the old man and stopped him.

"I have no money. And there's none at home."

"Don't misunderstand, I'm not—" Elin began, but the old man interrupted, staring at the dagger at Elin's waist.

"Strangers don't usually come here. I don't know what you're up to."

"Hello," Glocara walked up beside Elin, pushing him slightly with her shoulder. "We're just here to find someone."

"There are no outsiders living here."

"Is there any family... that raises horses? Or more than one family?" Glocara asked, then looked at Elin. "Yeah, we're primarily looking for a horse."

The old man looked up, glanced at both of them, and muttered an indistinct syllable.

"What did you say?" Glocara said.

"Nicolo," the old man said. "It's Nicolo."

"Um... Anyway, we just saw a horse up on the mountain," Elin said, "It had a long scar on its side. We don't know—"

"It's Nicolo. There's only him here."

"Are you saying there's only one horse named Nicolo in this village?"

The old man nodded, then attempted to walk past Glocara. She grabbed his arm.

"Please wait. We're looking for the family that owns this horse. Can you tell me where they live?"

The old man stared at Glocara for a while. His gray-white eyeballs surfaced from deep wrinkles, like crab shells on the ocean floor. He raised his left hand and pointed straight ahead. Elin and Glocara followed his finger.

"Which one?" Glocara asked.

The old man's hand straightened a bit more.

"The... farthest, the innermost house?"

His finger lowered. The old man left in silence.

"I think it's that one," Glocara said to Elin.

"Then let's go."

They proceeded forward. Glocara glanced around as she walked. These houses would look ugly even in the Booty Bay, she thought. The house the old man had directed them to was no exception, although its pile of stones and wood didn't seem to have been weathered for too long. They stopped about ten paces in front of the house. There was a wooden door but no windows.

"Well, we need to figure this out."

After Elin finished speaking, he walked towards the door, but Glocara grabbed his hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Wait."

Glocara took a deep breath, let go of his hand, and walked slowly to the west side of the house. There was a window open there. After a moment, she quickened her pace back to Elin, her left hand covering her mouth, her right hand clutching his collar.

"It's her," Glocara looked past Elin's shoulder. "It's really her. She's inside. She's inside."