Cyrus stared blankly at the canopy of branches, whose leaves sagged beneath the weight of rain. Despite having traveled most of the day, the storm had persisted, only letting up for a short half hour before returning. Berrodin held the reins limply, staring off into the distance. Neither of them spoke very much, drained of their energy by the rough weather, and the stench of the boar they transported.
'Gods above, I'm starting to wonder if this storm will ever pass,' Cyrus thought. He reached under his tunic and rubbed the tree on his pendant. Sighing, he leaned back, and glanced at Berrodin. "Where do you plan on stopping for the night?"
"There's a cave not far ahead, which most travelers use," Berrodin replied. He studied the darkening sky. "We've made better time than I thought we would. We should reach it within the hour."
"That's good. I worried we would have to sleep outside," Cyrus said. He slumped against the side of the wagon, and surveyed the surrounding mountains. Their high peaks towered above the forest, layered with mossy cliffs, and tipped with white caps. Deer trails were cut through the thick brush, while creeks as cold as ice cascaded over the rocks.
"Say… How far does the mountain range go?" Cyrus asked, craning his neck. "No matter how far I look, I can't tell where it begins, and where it ends."
"I doubt you'd be able to, even if you were to climb to one of the peaks," Berrodin said, shaking the water from his hood. "The Delthren Mountains span the entirety of the upper east continent. I believe it's the longest mountain range in Arkendol, followed by the Arthrell mountains, in the west-"
Berrodin stiffened, trailing off. Ahead, Starvhost flicked his ears back, and the bristles along his neck rose. Cyrus pulled back his hood, and scanned the trees, peering into the shifting shadows beyond.
"What is it? Did you see something?" Cyrus asked. He grabbed an iron spoke from beneath Berrodin's seat, clenching it until his knuckles whitened.
Berrodin held a finger to his lips, and brought the wagon to a stop. Grabbing his lantern from its hook, he raised it to illuminate a path of hoof tracks, cutting across the road.
"Those prints are fresh. Barely an hour old, I'd say," Berrodin said. He climbed down from the wagon, and patted Starvhost's shoulder. The donkey nickered as he knelt over the tracks with a heavy scowl. They were at least twice as large as his palm, and sunk deep into the mud. "Verrel mentioned something about there being more boars out there, didn't he? Hopefully, the rain will cover our scent, but I'm worried the corpse will draw whatever's out there to us."
"What should we do?" Cyrus asked.
"Keep moving, and pray the winds don't change," Berrodin said. The wagon creaked as he returned to his seat, and snapped the reins. "If Osyras has mercy, we'll reach the cave before long, and we can rest there until morning."
"Will we be able to fit the wagon inside?" Cyrus asked. He held onto the side as the wagon bounced over a rock. On either side, the trees swept by, their leaves and branches intertwined, leaving only shadowy gaps behind.
"No, we'll have to leave it outside," Berrodin said. "We'll gather pine, and cover the boar in-"
The wagon jerked to a stop, throwing Berrodin forward, and slamming Cyrus into the bench. He scrambled to his feet as the corpse slid towards him, slipping across the wet wood. The worn threads snagged on a loose nail, and the boar's snout slipped through the tear. As the jagged tusks carved through the wood, Cyrus jumped over the side, and landed in the mud.
Berrodin scrambled down, and helped Cyrus up. "Are you alright?"
Cyrus brushed a bit of the mud from his tunic. "I'll live for now. What happened?"
Berrodin walked around the wagon, and dug some mud away from the wheel. "Here. It looks like we struck a rock. Try lifting it while I have Starvhost pull. We should be able to break free if we go at the same time."
Cyrus pressed his shoulder into the wagon as Berrodin took the donkey's lead. With a bit of coaxing, the beast dug its hooves into the mud. As a rut formed, the wagon creaked forward, its wheels groaning.
Cyrus gritted his teeth as the wagon lifted up, his feet threatening to slip out from beneath him. Then, with a jerk, it broke free, rolling another few feet before Berrodin managed to stop Starvhost.
"Hopefully we won't get stuck again. I don't think I have the strength to lift the wagon twice," Cyrus said, rolling his shoulder. After climbing back into the wagon, he let out a shuddering breath, and eyed the boar. He frowned as a drop of blood dripped from its tusks. "Say, did you get scratched?"
"Hmm? Oh, it seems I did," Berrodin said, rubbing his leg. "Nothing more than a small nick. A dab of hilagren root oil, and I should be fine by morning. It's far from the wound Ferin received."
"If you say so," Cyrus said. He settled back as the wagon rattled forward, keeping an eye on the boar's tusks.
By the end of the hour, the only light guiding them was Berrodin's lantern, and the flickering clouds. As they rounded a bend, the trees fell away, opening to a small grove beneath a circle of swaying pines. Berrodin slowed the wagon, and raised his lantern.
"There it is. Our place for the night," Berrodin said.
The wavering light revealed a small cave, hidden by the shadows of a great elm. The smoothed rocky mouth glistened, calling to them as it had called to countless before. A few crates could be seen stacked inside, along with other belongings people had left behind. Several bushels of a strange root swung above the entrance, their tendrils knotted and covered in bristles.
"What type of plants are those?" Cyrus asked.
"Those are bundles of selavain root. They help keep away wild animals. Something about the way they smell," Berrodin said. He stopped the wagon beneath the elm, and hopped down. "Come on, help me get our stuff inside, and cover the wagon."
Cyrus climbed out of the wagon, and grabbed Berrodin's pack. He wrinkled his nose as he slipped into the cave, his eyes watering from the roots' pungent aroma. The smell reminded him of a room filled with diced onions and garlic.
As he set their packs against the wall, he noticed the crates were filled with sticks and split logs. The forgotten belongings also turned out to be blankets, tools, and dried herbs. Things people might need in a hurry.
"At least we won't have to gather any firewood," Cyrus said. He stepped back outside, and grabbed a few loose branches to throw over the boar's corpse. The needles helped mask the boar's stench. As he grabbed a few more, Berrodin tethered the donkey to a low hanging branch beside the cave.
"It's an unwritten rule that we always leave the cave with more than we took. It helps when we're in a situation like this," Berrodin said. He checked the knots, then patted Starvhost, before gesturing towards the wagon. "Did you already finish everything?"
Cyrus glanced at the wet branches. Only threads and small patches could still be seen. "As best as I could. I doubt doing anything else will help much."
"Then that's all we can do," Berrodin said. He grabbed his lantern, and slipped into the cave. As he set it on a cracked stalagmite, Cyrus grabbed a few of the dried sticks, and set them on the floor.
"Hold on. You're putting them in the wrong spot," Berrodin said. He gestured towards a scorched circle on the cave floor, near the entrance. "Set them up here. It's the only place where the smoke won't fill the cave."
Cyrus moved the sticks, then stood back as Berrodin rolled together a ball of stripped twigs and bark. After wedging it into the pile, he flicked an iron rod against a flint stone, spraying out a handful of sparks.
As the clicks echoed through the cave, a few sparks caught hold, and a small flame wavered to life. Berrodin blew into the fire, helping it grow until it danced across the sticks, engulfing the pile.
"You look like you know what you're doing," Cyrus said, dragging over an empty crate for the old man.
"Thanks," Berrodin said, sitting down. "And I should hope so. I used to start a fire everyday, when I was running my forge."
"If you don't mind me asking… What happened?" Cyrus asked. He leaned against a barrel. "Why did you become the village healer?"
"It's- It's a long story," Berrodin said. He pulled an iron pot from his pack, and held it outside. The rain tinged against the metal, filling the silence. Still, neither spoke until Berrodin glanced back at Cyrus, and sighed. "If you'll grab the food out of my pack, I'll tell you."