Chapter 3. Trails of the Next Path

Rain was sprawled on the shore, panting and occassional bouts of coughing out sea water, he'd barely made out alive.

His plan was to head to a nearest village before nightfall- it would take a while before the city guards realise that he has left the city- he would be far off then... out of their reach.

The close village he knew was just past the grove infront of him.

There he would seek shelter for the night and provisions for his long journey, lingering would bring suspicion and eventually the guards would barge in and apprehend him.

Rain stood up, salt water dripping down his body, dusted sand off his body, secured his rustic knives and the satchel around his waist and off he went- destination; through the grove and to the village.

The forest groaned with secrets.

Duskgrove was no ordinary woodland. Gnarled oak trees curled upward like blackened ribs clawing at the sky, and the underbrush reeked of rot and rain. Even in daylight-if the sun ever pierced its choking canopy- there was no warmth. Just the unrelenting whisper of leaves and the quiet crush of damp soil underfoot. This was where things that shouldn't live, lived. And where those who weren't meant to survive came to die.

His steps sunk into the mulch underneath, his boots were now covered with remains of rotting leaves and tiny vines.

His limbs were heavy, stitched together by pain.

It had been hours

The world swam before him in dull, gray tones; blood loss, hunger, and exhaustion still tugging aganist his senses. Something rough and itchy was tucked beneath his neck, and his fingers twitched reflexively around the dull wooden hilt of one of his knives.

He doubted that they coulf deal any significant wounds on any beasts.

Hopefully he wouldn't have to.

The trees were now thinning- he was close.

A few minutes of walking and the village unveiled in front of his eyes- it was bustling with activity- children shouting at each other, the sound of goats being driven back to their shelters, people going about their business, embracing the evening sunlight, sighing at a day's work well done.

Rain paused for a moment, adjusting his clothes- they had dried during the walk, crystals of salt clinging on them- wiped dead leaves off his boots.

A quick check on his body, he was now a bit clean, the grime and blood washed away by the fury of the way- his wounds had started scabbing already- perks of awakening.

He walked through the gates, nobody paying him much attention apart from the occassional casual glance.

The village was not that developed, a few stone buildings while the rest being of wood.

He went past the butcher, stopped at the baker for a block of bread to sate his hunger.

The bread was warm, had a sweet smell of honey and freshly milled wheat, its golden crust crackling gently as he broke pieces swallowing them in large chunks.

At a distance was the willowing oak tavern- noices of cheers and merry emerging from them.

Hopefully he would find a room to rent for the night.

He arrived soon after; his destination was not that far.

He entered the tavern blended with the crowd.

This place- willowing oak- was Loud. Warm. Reeking of ale, roasted meat, and spilled stories. The kind of place where mercenaries blurred into merchants, and hired blades drank beside city guards.

Rain's eyes scanned the room quickly, naturally.

The place was almost full.

There- three tables down and to the right was empty, He went for it, sat hunched around a table worn smooth by years of spilled drink and thudding fists.

A moment later, the barkeep came to him-

"How can I help ye' young man?"

"I need food, what do you have?" Rain replied, his eyes on her.

The barkeep was a middle aged woman, with a busty bossom, a corset worn around her midsection, brown and worn out by time.

"We have bread and boiled goat stew with cheese."

Rain nodded, the barkeep rushed to prepare his order.

Voices carried from all over the tavern.

As he was waiting, he evesdropped on conversations in the nearby tables.

Most were engaged in good 'ol banter, letting steam off after a day's hard work.

But the conversation to his far right, in front of him, piqued his interest....

"...I'm telling you, it's the easiest pay we'll get all season," a deep voice said, amused. "No beasts on the southern trail for weeks now. Just three wagons and some jumpy merchants."

Another voice — sharper, younger. "Still don't like it. Risenberg's too quiet lately. That's usually when something goes wrong."

Rain edged forward slightly. The speakers came into view — four figures, clearly adventurers. The telltale mix of hardened leather, steel buckles, and worn gear marked them clearly. They sat around a table gulping mugs of rum.

The third speaker, a woman with a crooked nose and a wicked-looking crossbow strapped to her back, laughed. "You scared of silence now, Thom? What happened to the brave Awakened- Expert who fought a troll with a broken spear?"

The younger man, Thom, scowled.

"Trolls don't slit your throat in your sleep."

The first voice cut in again — the leader, by tone. "Relax. We roll out at dawn. Meet the merchant lot by the forked oak just before sunrise. Get to Risenberg in four, maybe six days tops. Get paid. Hit the inn. Easy."

Rain's ears perked up.

Dawn. Forked oak. Risenberg.

He hadn't planned to go that far north- the city he had in mind was smaller, quieter. Less watched. But a covered wagon with a caravan? That was an opportunity he couldn't allow to pass him.

He could catch a ride away, vanish in the movement, disappear from Bouville's shadow.

Or adapt.

The adventurers were packing up now, laughter softening into tired murmurs.

He hadn't even noticed, his food had been delivered and had turned cold already.

He ate quickly, now that his hunger had resurged in full force.

He was done after a few minutes of eating- while deep in thought weighing his options.

Then

He glanced at the barkeep, their eyes meeting- Rain gave a silent nod and walked towards the counter.

"Can I also get a room for the night? The cheapest there is."

Rain said when he arrived at the counter.

The barkeep, smiled after a pause, taking a key from under the counter.

"Yes of course, it will all be three coppers, the room plus the food."

Rain sneakily reached for his waist- it was obscured by the counter, felt some coins, pulled his hand out holding three coppers and gave them to the barkeep.

He was then guided to his rented room on the upper floor- the room was plain and unassuming, a single bed and a desk at the corner- good enough for him.

Before getting into the bed he unstrung the satchel, counting its contents- Ten silvers and four more coppers remaining.

That would keep him afloat for a while more longer- he re tied the satchel back on his waist and lay down on the bed.

He was asleep the moment his head hit the straw bed- fatigue finally catching up to him.