Blood of the Eohim

By J. Fries

"So it is today our blood still calls us back to the light even while keeping us firmly grounded. The blood of the stars, the blood of the earth. The blood of the Eohim."
The Eohim once ruled a great kingdom full of beauty and light, of sentient creatures and natural wonders unseen in other lands. Then the last wars destroyed the land and forced the Eohim into exile, a people feared, hated—and hunted.
Nat Ardon knows the legends surrounding his mysterious homeland. When those legends come to life, he is pulled into a world of talking beasts, people from the stars, and a secret group who have plans for those with Eohim blood.
Mel Rallano experienced their intentions firsthand. Orphaned and tormented by a dangerous killer, she lives in fear, isolated from everyone she meets, even her childhood friend Nat. Despite her misgivings, the two are ordered to work together, and as they hunt for the man who threatens their lives, Nat and Mel realize their search leads back to the very land their ancestors abandoned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Fries
• Release date: Jun 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781732347809

J. Fries

J. Fries is a part-time copy cataloguer and part-time writer. She enjoys reading, leatherworking, drawing, learning languages (or creating them), and dreaming up new ways to challenge her characters. She has always loved mysteries, and her interest in the fantasy genre and language creation started with J.R.R. Tolkien, whom she holds in the highest regard.She loves animals, especially horses, and is loyal servant to her German shepherd and crested gecko. In return, they don’t mind her dry sense of humor or the times she speaks to them in terrible accents.

Book preview

Blood of the Eohim

The High Caernou – Book One

by J. Fries

Lightningflies

2022

Blood of the Eohim

Copyright 2018 J. Fries. All rights reserved.

Excerpt copyright 2022 J. Fries.

Distributed by Smashwords.

Cover by Sara Ferrari of Sparrow Springs Art.

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, places, languages, or persons or animals living or dead is coincidence and unintentional or used fictitiously.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 978-1-7323478-2-3

Table of Contents

Map

Chapter One - Hunted

Chapter Two - Sámaer

Chapter Three - The Second High Caern

Chapter Four - Shadow of the Past

Chapter Five - A High Caern's Report

Chapter Six - Living Legends

Chapter Seven - Swords and Spies

Chapter Eight - A Change of Venue

Chapter Nine - A Friendship Renewed

Chapter Ten - Legends and Lost Men

Chapter Eleven - Silrae ab Eoh

Chapter Twelve - Ilsám

Chapter Thirteen - Blood of the Eohim

Chapter Fourteen - Dark Memories

Chapter Fifteen - Return to Aetol

Chapter Sixteen - Shattered

Chapter Seventeen - Natesám

Chapter Eighteen - Changing the Rules

Chapter Nineteen - Arvirsel

Chapter Twenty - Into Eoharn

Chapter Twenty-One - In the Hands of Modon

Chapter Twenty-Two - Fire and Ice

Chapter Twenty-Three - The City of Starlight

Chapter Twenty-Four - Bloodlines

Chapter Twenty-Five - Homecoming

Chapter Twenty-Six - Calen's Daughter

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Game's End

Chapter Twenty-Eight - May the Sun Warm Your Road...

Glossary and Pronunciation Guide

Excerpt from Echoes of Embers

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

Hunted

Where starflowers bloom, there Elladim have tread. So the legends claimed, though they never mentioned Elladim climbing trees.

Nat pulled a branch down for a closer look, running a fingertip over the silver-veined, deep blue petals. As a boy, he had seen starflowers while exploring the great forest near his hometown. There they grew in a few scattered clearings, clumped together in evenly spaced patches as though someone had planted them in the underbrush. In this unnamed stand of young oak and maple, however, they grew in place of every leaf, crowning the trees with a blue and silver veil. A lovely sight, but troubling, a conclusion his employer would share if Nat lived long enough to report them.

A distant howl echoed through the trees, startling him. He lost his grip and yelped when the branch struck his face, scoring a thin, stinging cut from chin to temple and barely missing his eye. More howls joined the first as Nat gingerly touched the injury. They were closer than they had been yesterday. He couldn't linger any longer.

He hoisted his pack higher onto his back and jogged farther into the wood, following the familiar, faint trail. Lonneí, he hissed, then clicked his tongue. The squirrel came running and jumped from a branch to his shoulder, chattering quietly and clutching starflowers in one paw. Another howl sent her burrowing into Nat's pack with her treasures.

What are you waiting for? Nat muttered. These dogs, the so-called demons, could have killed him days ago when the superstitious villagers, the very people who had requested his help, blamed Nat for their troubles and threw him out. Instead, the animals' master—and they did have a master, no matter what the villagers said—had started this wearying game of hunt-the-High-Caern.

A game Nat feared would end in the dogs' fangs. If it did, at least he would join Mel. After all, the houses of the dead were never full, and it would have a certain irony, him dying on the same day eleven years later.

The dogs fell silent, no doubt tracking him. Nat shook off the morbid thought and concentrated on his footing. Now was not the time for revisiting his best friend's murder so long ago. Better he escape his pursuers and return to work. Six people had died in the village behind him and as a High Caern, Nat was duty-bound to find out who had sent the dogs to kill and why.

He heard the river long before the trail reached it. He paused on its bank to catch his breath, ears sensitive to every cracking twig and imagined footfall. Lonneí emerged from his pack and climbed onto his shoulder, where she clung to his black hair with one front paw, the other full of mangled starflowers. She pointed them at the river, chattering. Yes, little one, Nat answered, in we go. Hold on.

Crossing streams hadn't confused the dogs yet, but Nat waded into the river anyway, hoping his pursuers would lose his scent if he walked a few miles in the water. If it worked, he could regain some distance and a bit of time and have a better chance of reaching the town Sámaer.

Water flowed into Nat's boots, cool on his aching feet, and he slogged against the sluggish current until his legs burned. He forced them to carry him another half-mile before he gave in and clambered back up the bank to the trail. Nat had to pause there again, panting, longing for a decent rest and a good meal. He hadn't had either since beginning his flight and it was taking a toll.

Lonneí's whiskers tickled his face. She squeaked and shoved her starflowers under his nose. Their unusual fragrance was oddly refreshing, like a mix of mint, rain, and starlight—if starlight had a scent. Whether caused by the flowers or Lonneí's concern, Nat's weariness eased and he gently pushed her paw away. I'm all right. Thank you.

Underbrush crackled behind them. Nat whirled, searching the dense growth lining the trail, seeing nothing yet feeling eyes on him. If he didn't know better, he might think the dogs' master had sent a scout ahead, a swift runner shadowing Nat until its pack arrived. But strange as it sounded, these dogs seemed intelligent enough to obey such an order. Nat shivered and fled north, wet boots thudding against the earth.

He followed the trail along the river for hours, only turning away from it when the sun went behind a cloud bank. The night would be overcast, too dark for travel unless he wanted to drown or break a leg. Better find that clearing, he muttered. Lonneí abandoned him for the branches overhead and disappeared. She came back a moment later and stared at Nat until he stepped toward her. Then she ran a few paces and looked back, whiskers and tail twitching.

The squirrel led him into a small clearing littered with dead branches left by the recently departed winter. She bounded from branch to branch along the perimeter. At least she used her unusual intelligence to help, not harm. Good work as always, Lonneí, Nat said, locating the stone ring left by other Caernou for fires. No one had used it in some time judging by the green weeds growing between the cracks. As he pulled them up, Nat glanced around the clearing, noting what had changed since he was last here.

One large tree caught his attention. The wooden footholds nailed into its trunk led up to thicker boughs, too high for a dog to jump and sturdy enough to hold a High Caern if he dared. If he weren't terrified by the very idea. Nat's hands grew cold and he shuddered, turning back to his task. The dogs would only trap him up there anyway. He would take his chances on the ground.

Howls and yips started anew as Nat gathered old wood and dry leaves. He listened intently, praying they would give up, but after a few moments their confused noises changed into the excited baying he had heard for two days now. They had found his scent again. So much for the river. All he had now were Eoh's protection, a dagger, a squirrel, and whatever traps he could set before it was too dark, but it could be worse. The villagers could have taken his dagger, too.

Nat built a fire and set one end of a thick green branch into the flames, the scent of new oak mingling with wood smoke. It wasn't a sword, but any dog that came within reach of the smoldering wood would regret its mistake. He made snares and showed them to Lonneí so she wouldn't trap herself, then bent a few saplings and tied them down with the thin rope he kept in his pack. Now to wait.

The dogs fell silent as he forced down the last of his bread and a wild onion Lonneí had found the day before. They would be here soon enough. No sense in starving yet. The fire flickered behind him, forming ever-moving shadows on the ground and tree trunks, soothing in their rhythm…

Lonneí pounced on him, chittering angrily until Nat sat straighter and rubbed his eyes. I'm awake. Barely.

He yanked off his damp boots and stretched his cold feet, rubbing them for a few seconds before trapping them back inside the stiff, protective leather. He drew his dagger and ran his fingers over the four-point star and runes etched into the blade.

They reminded him of the starflowers. Nat glanced at his pack, where one of his prized possessions rested, a book of legends about days long past when the Elladim walked the earth. But the star-people hadn't shown themselves in these lands since the great wars hundreds of years ago. A shame, really. Nat could use their help now.

As the night wore on, the silence made Nat's stomach uneasy and every muscle tense. His small fire seemed to roar. A cold sweat coated his skin, making his cut face sting.

Something flashed in the firelight. Nat leaped to his feet, dagger in hand, squinting at the dark shapes creeping just outside the ring of light. He flexed his hands one at a time to loosen them and flicked a finger at Lonneí, who scurried up a tree. Twigs snapped. Several pairs of eyes glowed out of the dark.

Go away, he ordered, lowering his voice to a deep growl. I don't want to fight, but be warned, I'm a High Caern, good with a blade and hard to kill. He picked up the smoldering green branch when three large dogs slunk into view. They spread out before him, dark hides and pale fangs gleaming in the firelight. Leave me alone.

He swung the branch when one dog came too near, the impact sending a shock through his arm, the stench of singed fur immediate. The dog leaped back with a snarl, rejoining its pack-mates.

They circled the clearing until Nat dropped the branch and picked up a stone. He threw it at the largest dog, missing its snout by a whisker. It sneezed and bounded into the darkness with the others behind it. The rest of the waiting eyes vanished. Nat waited a few moments, turning his dagger in his hand, afraid they were about to rush him, but they didn't reappear.

Yet. They would be back. They wouldn't give up that easily after hunting him so long, nor would their master.

Nat piled fuel on the fire so it flared brighter and laid the green branch alongside. Come down, Lonneí. She obeyed and huddled into his hand, little paws wrapped around his thumb. Nat knelt with his back to the fire, watching the dark woods beyond the clearing.

We will be all right, he reassured his trembling companion. Eoh will protect us. Have I told you about Wod Natae? This wood must seem large to you, but Wod Natae is so dense and sprawling, no one has entirely explored it. Talking kept him awake and alert, so when he ran out of topics, he began reciting every legend and story he knew. Lonneí drank in every word, eyes glittering.

In the midst of a children's story about a squirrel who filled her master's house with acorns, Lonneí tensed and drew herself up, sniffing and twitching her tail. Nat heard and saw nothing, but she never alerted without cause. He rose and drew his dagger, gripping the hilt hard enough to feel blood pounding in his palm.

Lonneí leaped into a tree just as a dog lunged. It snapped at her out-of-reach tail, then turned its attention to Nat, who seized the branch and brandished it. The animal crouched, snarling, as four others arrived and circled him. Nat clenched his teeth.

The dog sprang at him. Its growl turned into a pained cry when Nat knocked the animal into a tree. The branch snapped and Nat jabbed the broken end into a second dog's side. It retreated, but the third rammed his knees from behind. Nat stumbled and fell, kicking at the dog as it grabbed his ankle. Two more latched on to his feet, attempting to tear his boots off.

Teeth sank into his forearm. Nat screamed, the dog's snarls filling his ears. He tried to stab it, but the animal dodged and clamped its jaws tighter, the pressure threatening to snap bone. Lonneí dropped onto the dog's head and bit its ear with no effect, and the four dogs began dragging Nat through the clearing.

Desperate, Nat slashed the dog's muzzle, freeing his arm when the animal yelped, swiping a paw at its wound. Nat twisted his body forward and stabbed the dog holding his ankle in the throat. It dropped, convulsing, while the others released his feet and withdrew.

The first shook blood from its nose and pounced on Nat, knocking him back. Nat drove his dagger into its heart and it collapsed on top of him with a strangled noise. Nat shoved it off and scrambled to his feet, panting.

The remaining dogs sniffed their dead pack-mates, giving Nat a chance to back away, his hands shaking from shock and sheer exhaustion. Go, he croaked. Go away. I don't want to hurt the rest of you. He lobbed another rock at them for good measure.

They ran from the stone, crashing through the underbrush with barks and yips. Nat threw rocks long after they were gone, angry now that they had attacked.

He knelt by the dead dogs, shaking his head. I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have followed me, he said, wiping his dagger clean on their hides. He remained there until Lonneí approached him with a quiet chitter. He half-smiled at his little friend as she tugged his shirt.

His sturdy boots had protected his feet and ankle from the dogs' teeth, but blood streaked his injured arm. Nat found the small bottle of alcohol in his pack and pulled its cork stopper with his teeth. He hesitated, holding the bottle upright over the wound. His sister Rima always distracted him with a story or song when she had to do this, but all he could think of was a children's prayer Mel used to say. He shrugged, pushing back a familiar tightness in his chest that always accompanied such memories. Better than nothing.

Eoh, lord of dark and light, guard me through this quiet night. He sucked in a breath as the alcohol burned into his blood. Keep all evil things at bay, bless me at the break of day. He gritted his teeth as he poured the rest of the liquid over his arm, then wrapped the bite with a cloth strip. The rudimentary treatment would serve until he found a healer willing to help him.

Smoothing the bandage, Nat surveyed his snares and the saplings. The dogs hadn't set off a single trap. Disappointing, but not unexpected given the disturbing intelligence they had shown so far. But they hadn't gone after his throat, either. That did surprise him. Five dogs attacked and tried to drag him into the trees, but not one went for a fatal hold. Why? Why, after killing villagers and hunting Nat across the wilderness, would they and their master leave him, a lone and nearly defenseless High Caern, alive?

He spent the rest of the night feeding the fire while he patrolled the clearing and talked or sang to Lonneí, keeping himself awake. When it was light enough, he smothered the flames with dirt, catching a glimpse of a dog among the tree trunks as he worked. Still there.

Weary, hungry, and unnerved by the night's events, he grabbed his pack and started walking back toward the river trail, praying they wouldn't attack him again. He didn't have enough strength left to fight the rest of the pack. Once safe inside Sámaer's walls, Nat could find reinforcements among his fellow Caernou. Provided, of course, their master didn't change his or her mind and send them to kill him before Sámaer.

A light mist stuck to everything, dampening Nat's clothing until he shivered. The wet made his arm ache and he hoped whoever had his cloak was enjoying it, not to mention the other gear the villagers had taken from him. Payment, they claimed, as though his leather jerkin and kingdom-issued weapons would somehow compensate them for his inability to find the one responsible for six deaths. He would have to request new weapons and replace whatever else he could after collecting his pay this month.

He almost fell into the mist-covered river when he slipped in the wet grass. Pay attention, idiot, he growled. As his long-legged stride ate up the miles, the weather continued to worsen. By the time he reached Lake Amsa and left the woods at midmorning, it was raining steadily.

Lightning flashed far off, rumbles of thunder following several seconds later. With no safe shelter near the lakeshore, Nat had no choice but to trudge on, head lowered, water running down his hair into his ears. Lonneí took refuge inside his pack.

After another torturous hour, Nat slipped again, this time landing on his hands and knees in mud. His wounded arm buckled and he squeezed his eyes shut, repeating the children's prayer in his mind until the limb stopped throbbing. I'm fine, he said when Lonneí squeaked.

Soaked and exhausted, he pushed himself up to his knees, breathing in short bursts as he wiped thick, slippery mud off his hands, leaving black smudges on his olive skin. Lights shone to his right, not too far away and crawling along, probably belonging to a merchant caravan headed for town.

Under normal circumstances, he might go meet them, perhaps barter a ride in their sheltered wagons while avoiding any questions, but they wouldn't appreciate the sudden appearance of a bloodstained, dirty, waterlogged High Caern. He squinted ahead through the downpour and smiled, his mood lightening. Torches flickered, outlining a dark, low wall no more than a mile off. Sámaer.

Lonneí's squeaks became short, warning barks. A deeper growl answered the squirrel. Nat looked over his shoulder to see several dogs a few yards behind him. He stared into the eyes of the nearest as it bared its fangs.

Chapter Two

Sámaer

Lightning flashed, blinding Nat and drowning the world in light. When it cleared, the dogs were cowering. A wordless roar sounded behind Nat. A streak of silver passed overhead, flaring brighter when it landed among the pack, forcing Nat's eyes closed. A deafening peal of thunder shook the ground beneath him.

When the noise and light faded, all the dogs had disappeared save one, but the smoking hole in its head told Nat it would never rise again. As he watched, the animal disintegrated into a pile of ash and washed away.

He saw no other creatures, living or dead, and he rose on shaky legs, unable to explain what had happened. St-still with me, Lonneí? She shifted in his pack with a quiet chirp. G-good. Hold on.

Nat jogged along the lakeshore, clutching one pack strap in a futile attempt to steady it. His pace quickened until he sprinted the last few yards and fell through Sámaer's open gate. Wheezing from fatigue and nerves, he scrabbled through the mud to hide behind the town wall and peered out, hoping the dogs wouldn't join him inside. Seeing no movement nearby, Nat rested his head against the stone behind him, relieved.

Someone cleared his throat. Name, lad.

Sámaer's gatekeeper loomed over Nat, unbothered by the rain plastering his hair to his scalp and dripping off his thin, pointed nose. Nat smelled beer even through the downpour, though the man didn't appear drunk. Still short of breath, Nat tapped the Caernou insignia stitched on his shirtsleeve, which some gatekeepers accepted as identification, allowing the Caernou to keep their names to themselves.

Unmoved, the man crossed muscular arms. Still need your name, whether or not you claim to work for the king. If you can call it work, wanderin' Locharn as you do.

Nat wiped rainwater and mud off his face with one already filthy sleeve. High Caern Ardon, sir. A dog's howl came from the lakeshore and he shivered in the wet. Have any others passed through today?

The man studied Nat, frowning. Typical. Many people didn't understand why the king employed the Caernou and therefore didn't trust them, but any explanation Nat gave today would sound like the ravings of a madman—a phantom murderer, hunting dogs that attacked but didn't kill, balls of light falling from the sky. Yes, no doubt the man would believe him.

The gatekeeper stepped back into the shelter of his guardhouse and shook water off his cloak. No one but you was dumb enough to walk in this storm.

Nat looked out once more at the far-off lanterns. There are people on the road.

The gatekeeper scowled down at him. I can do my own job, Eohim.

Yes, sir. Sorry. Are there any messengers around?

No. Last one left yesterday and no one will be back 'til tomorrow. Go on, then. Cause problems while you're here and you'll be thrown out. King thinks we need your protection, does he? the man grumbled, reminding Nat of a cranky turtle withdrawing into a shell of ignorant anger. So he allows you people to roam and do as you please, eh, Eohim? Useless, the lot of you, and Locharn would be better off without your kind. Some protection you are.

Nat just nodded and left the gate behind, slipping down a different street when the gatekeeper's attention refocused elsewhere. He had never understood the irrational animosity some people aimed toward his race. Most Eohim were craftsmen and farmers, not wandering Caernou, but after so many years of facing it, the occasional hostility didn't bother him anymore. Besides, most folk were friendly enough, particularly those who sold the Caernou food and shelter. Arguing with this gatekeeper over bloodlines would cause unnecessary trouble and Nat didn't want any more excitement for a few days.

Storms like this one often brought floods in Sámaer, the lake ever eager to expand its shores, leading people to build their homes on elevated platforms with bowl-shaped depressions underneath to collect water. As Nat trudged through town on the muddy street, he sensed people watching from their doors and windows, stuck inside until the rain passed. He kept a wary eye on the dogs barking from their shelters beneath the platforms. Still skittish, he flinched when one dog bounded up to him, but he patted the animal's neck when it wagged its tail and licked his hand.

Beyond the neat rows of homes stood the Lakestone Inn, the only stone structure in town besides the wall, set apart on a low hill and surrounded by fruit trees, a vegetable garden, and a stable. Unless the inn's owners had changed their rules in the last year, Caernou were always welcomed. Nat stopped a few paces away, scanning the doorframe until he spotted a simple four-point star carved near the top, indicating it was indeed still safe.

Nat pushed open the heavy oak door and shook water out of his hair before stepping inside. The few people seated in the smoky, dimly lit common room barely glanced up from their tankards and bowls, and no one stood at the serving counter. Nat wound around empty tables to the hearth and stood near the fire, staring out a window until his eyes burned. He had to find help before the storm destroyed the dogs' trail and they vanished into the wilds, free to continue killing at their master's command.

Trouble was, there were no Caernou assigned to Sámaer's protection right now, and the people here were fishermen and merchants, not hunters. At best, Nat would find one or two other traveling Caernou, but they would be enough.

Sir? A young girl no taller than his elbow offered him a towel, small hands clutching the rough cloth. My mum said she'll be out in a minute, but ya shouldn't be drippin' on her floors.

Nat hadn't noticed the muddy water pooling around his feet. Sorry, miss. He accepted the towel with a smile. If your mum has a bucket, I would be happy to wipe this up.

The child's eyes grew huge. Oh, no, mister, we can't have ya cleanin'! You're a payin' customer an'—

I meant nothing by it, miss. My mum likes a clean house, too. Nat winked at her and scrubbed his head dry as her gaze followed his bandaged arm. And I'm a Caern. I'm used to doing things myself.

The girl offered a shy smile, tugging one of her brown pigtails. All right, mister. You've missed dinner, but if ya need food, we can find somethin' in the kitchen.

Nat considered the offer, but chewing seemed like too much effort at present. Just some milk, please, if you have any. It would fill his stomach enough to keep him on his feet and he could eat supper later.

Yessir, we do. The little maid scurried into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the smooth oak floor. She came out again before Nat finished drying his face and handed him a large tankard.

Thank you, miss. Nat gulped a mouthful, aware she was still watching him. Her solemn blue eyes never left him while he emptied the tankard.

I'll take it, she said, holding out her hands. Most folk want ale or wine. Mum almost dropped her spoon when I told her.

Nat shifted his feet, guessing the girl would stand there until he answered her, but he was too tired for making up excuses. I don't drink.

She raised a brow. You're strange, you are. But nice. Most of 'em wouldn't say thanks even if ya took their boots off. Maybe the drink's what does it. Anyway, Mum's fixin' a couple chickens for supper, an' potatoes an' baked apples, an' later—

Raveha, a woman interrupted, emerging from the kitchen, don't be talkin' the young man's ears off. Go wash the tankard, please, an' eat your dinner. I'll be but a moment.

Raveha. Of course. Nat hadn't seen her when he last passed through, and his overtired mind hadn't absorbed Raveha's use of Mum. Her mother he recognized—Clere, his cousin Amré's wife, who ran the inn while her husband was chasing schemes in the eastern cities. By Amré's strict decree, Nat never shared their familial connection, but he couldn't resist checking on Clere and Raveha whenever he was in the area.

Raveha skipped into the kitchen as Clere brushed back strands of brown hair, studying Nat. You've been here before, haven't you? She spoke in a softer version of her daughter's central accent. We see plenty of the Low and Middling Caernou, but you High Caernou don't wander in very often.

Impressed that she knew the three tiers and recognized the subtle difference in his insignia, Nat nodded. Yes, ma'am, I was here last year.

Thought so. What can I do for you?

Are there any other Caernou staying here or elsewhere in town?

She shook her head. I'm sorry, the last Caern left days ago.

So much for his plans. No messengers, no Caernou. Defeated, Nat rubbed his eyes, wincing when the cut on his face objected. He didn't like waiting until morning to find help—or at least a new sword—but he couldn't go another night without good food or sleep.

Are you all right?

Yes, ma'am. Nat pulled a silver and two coppers from his belt pouch, unsure how much she charged now. May I have a room for the night and supper, please, if you have them?

Of course. What's your name?

Ardon. I must also ask a favor. He lifted the top flap of his pack. Lonneí's small head rose, her nose twitching. If it weren't raining, I would leave her outside. She is friendly and well-behaved, and she won't cause any damage.

Clere extended a hand toward Lonneí, who grabbed her finger in her paws and examined it intently. Clere smiled. It's only for one night, I suppose, but she can't come down from your room. As for you, my rules are simple: no women, no gambling, no thievery. It'll be crowded for supper, so I'll send Raveha up with your plate if you want. When Nat nodded, she chuckled. Probably safer for everyone. Some in town don't like seein' Caernou here, but anyone who starts a fight with one usually ends up sprawled on the floor. She refused the coppers, slid the silver into her pocket, and held out a key. Up the stair, a good quiet room in the left corner.

Nat thanked her and took the key. He found his room easily and unlocked the door, revealing a small space with a bed in one corner and a washstand on the opposite side. Grey light filtered through a single window, allowing Nat to examine the straw-filled mattress.

Impressed as always by Clere's cleanliness, he set his pack on the floor and tapped it. Come on out.

Lonneí crawled into view, stretching her limbs while Nat unwrapped his arm at the washstand. The bleeding had stopped, though the teeth marks remained an angry red. He washed the wound as best he could, removing dirt and dried blood, and covered it with a clean cloth strip. He would find the town healer in the morning and buy a poultice.

After cleaning the cut on his face, Nat kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the bed, his eyes already closed. Lonneí curled up beside him. Careful if I move, Lonneí, he murmured.

~~†~~

Knocking woke him. Judging by the lighting, a few hours had passed. Nat pulled on his boots and stumbled to the door, dagger in hand. Yes?

Supper, sir, a muffled voice called. An' it's heavy, so… Nat sheathed his dagger and unlocked the door. He accepted his plate from Raveha with a grin and the girl beamed back at him. "Mum said I should wait for the plate if ya didn't