Child of Wolves

Avira

The trip back to the small border town of Woodward flew by in a flash. Now that Avira actually had a reason to come here she could take in the town. Late as it was, there were only a few militia members patrolling the street as well as a small number of sleepless peasants headed towards night jobs or just embracing the nocturnal lifestyle. Some hybrids, some human. Hybrids were a normal sight around here so nobody gave them any mind. Axiam was, for the most part, lacking much of the discrimination that the other nations fostered. They had to, considering that the tribes of the Wilds were the closest friendly neighbors. They thrived on the trade that the tribes brought, and in return Axiam provided goods, knowledge, anything the rest of the world had that they didn’t.

Avira never cared for the 'civilized' world. Too many arbitrary divisions, lording over others, robbing them of opportunity, and people making a living solely because of who their parent was. Some of that had even started to affect the tribes.

Houses, stalls, and storefronts lined the muck filled streets. Being a small town, the amount of the latter two were limited and most stood empty in the dusk. Not very many of them, but the goods that hybrids brought from the Wilds were worth trading: animal skin, meat, herbs, crafts, shoes, clothes, medicines, and all sorts of other things. The houses here were typical wooden and thatch roofed buildings, all in good condition. The population of Woodward was split approximately halfway between hybrids and humans, the humans originating from all over the world.

Avira spat on the ground and continued on, walking through the muddy street. Her mind went to the scholar from earlier, Mareth. She needed a traveling partner now, and he had already asked her to join him. As long as he didn’t chatter the whole time it would probably be fine. He seemed nice enough, if weird. Avira remembered his scent from earlier, catching traces in the air. He wasn't at the inn, she could sense that. She caught the trail going towards the outskirts of the village, consisting of a mix of herbs, soap, and something hidden under that. She recognized it, but the smell was too faded to identify.

Avira slipped through a deserted alley and noticed tracks in the dirt; the gait, weight, and size told her it was a man's. The trail led to the cemetery. That struck the hybrid as strange. There wasn't much in cemeteries but a lone specter or daemon, and the corpses of course. A few possibilities went through her mind, but there was no use standing around guessing.

She walked past a rusted gate that leaned open and entered the graveyard. Avira never liked these places. For one, graveyards were mostly full of hybrids. Humans simply burnt their dead while hybrids liked to be buried and reclaimed by the earth. Second, ghosts were a whole thing. Usually not a major thing, but in these graveyards you could almost always feel eyes on your back or hear whispering.

Strangely enough, there was nothing tonight. Just an oppressive atmosphere and dead silence. She wasn’t sure if this was any better.

#

Mareth

Mareth watched the wolf girl walk out of the inn and into the night, off to do something. Revenge, maybe? She was badly wounded when he got to her. He was lucky that the villagers had found her washed up on the riverside and gotten him so quickly. There was only so much he could do with a full corpse. He hoped she’d come back to take him up on that offer. An interesting specimen, her.

For now, he had business in this town. Mareth wanted to begin his expedition within the next day or two. He needed to get a backup companion. They’d probably smell in the hot desert, but beggars can’t be choosers and there weren’t exactly many people dying to cross the lamia infested desert of Drima. If anyone, he’d need another hybrid. The stories of lamias kidnapping them were much more rare.

Focusing his attention on the group of hybrids sitting around one of the tables, he listened to their conversation. They were drunk, of course. Their clothes were clean, but their shoes were worn and mud soaked. That and the amount of food they were eating marked them as merchants or wealthy adventurers. Mareth was surprised when he came to this country to see just how integrated hybrids were. Hybrid human marriages, hybrid merchants, employers and the like. Axiam was the place to be if you were a hybrid that wanted to live in civilization. That or the URB, but there was much more prejudice to be seen in the Republics.

He stood up and walked over to the table the drunken hybrids were seated at. Their eyes were glued to him, curious faces meeting the scholar.

“Hello, my dear brethren. Might I buy you an extra round? I’m sure you’re all quite parched.”

Hearing that, a grin spread on their collective faces.

“Sure!” a rabbit hybrid declared, raising his cup. “Waitress, another round, on the kind stranger!”

“Have a seat.” A large bear hybrid pat an empty stool. She was much more composed than the others, who had clearly already indulged in many drinks. Mareth complied, seating himself on the wooden stool.

The last one, a short and stocky cat hybrid, eyed him, cheeks red and head swaying. “What’s the interior motive, human?”

“Ulterior. And no motive. I was just alone and decided to spend some money making others happy.”

“That’s good enough reason for me,” the rabbit hybrid said, a grin plastered onto his face.

The bear focused on the cat. “Stop giving him the evil eye, you're gonna bore a hole through his head.”

The cat didn’t seem to hear, glaring still. Thankfully as soon as the waitress walked over and placed their drinks in front of them, he lost focus and switched to downing his ale.

“Sorry about him. He doesn’t trust humans. Doesn’t help that one of our friends was recently killed by human bandits.” The bear drank from her cup.

“Fucking civvies.” the rabbit man muttered. “Uh, no offense.”

“None taken.” Mareth waved the slur off. “I understand. Life’s not easy for a hybrid, even here.”

“That’s the truth,” the bear spoke beneath her breath.

“So did you pay them back?”

“Yeah, with interest. They won’t be robbing innocent tribe mates again.” Something about her inflection was off. Mareth wasn't sure if she was being completely honest.

“Ah, good thing you recovered his body. I hear hybrids don’t like leaving them to rot without ceremony.”

“That’s true. Return the body to the Spirits and all that. Not like the Spirits accept people who stop living in the forest.” She shrugged.

“Yeah. Still, I hope there's less trouble with bandits in the future. Axiam needs to stay unified, lest it fall to all the forces moving in the world.”

“We’ve heard that kind of story a million times,” The cat hybrid spoke up before burping loudly, “Axiam has always stood here and always will. Drima is too pussy to invade with the tribes at its side.”

“Well I hope that’s true. But for now, I should get going. See you another time, I suppose.” Mareth counted out a few coins and placed them on the table.

“Thanks for the drinks. Stay safe, the night is dangerous for a civvie.” The bear woman looked out the window to the darkness beyond.

“I’m plenty dangerous too,” Mareth joked, leaving the group to their own devices. First, he had to fetch a book from his room.

He made his way back down the hall to the room he'd rented, opening the door with a creak. In the corner was an older, white haired man. Dressed in a suit, he stared at Mareth with eyes bereft of emotion. His companion, Witness.

“Hey. Found a lead,” Mareth told him, “Head to the cemetery, find the freshest grave. Should be a good specimen.”

The white haired man simply nodded, slipping out the window with ease.

Mareth found his grimoire laying open on the end table in the corner of the room. The tome was thick, dark purple leather binding covering yellowed paper. The inside was filled with ancient and forgotten information buried in layers of complexity and arcane sigils. He’d read through it many times already, but every time he went through it again he felt like he was learning more and more.

Mareth made sure his skull pendant was still around his neck. He passed the group he'd talked to on the way out and saw that the cat hybrid had fallen asleep. Mareth silently waved and entered the night.

A soft wind breezed through the small village street, the bright multicolored moon illuminating the way for him. The ground was still muddy from a mix of rain, horse urine, and other fluids he didn’t want to think about. It took skill to avoid all the muck and walk through town with shoes unblemished.

He avoided eye contact with the watchmen and various hybrids he passed, some heading to bed, some off to hunt, some just nocturnal. The less attention he attracted, the better. Didn’t want anyone remembering or following him. Just to be safe, he found an alley that cut a shortcut to the graveyard and slipped down there.

The walk had nothing of incident. As far as Mareth could tell, nobody noticed him as he headed towards the outskirts on the way to the graveyard. He could already hear it from here. Whispers, laughing, crying. To most people they’d barely hear it, but Mareth was always more sensitive. After the Ethereal Tear, many souls had no place to go after death of the body. As a result, specters, wraiths, haunts, ghosts, and more were becoming a common sight around these places. There were several generations of spirits unable to move on. It was quite sad, in a sense. Most of them were simply bound to their corpse, only able to live an echo of their past over and over. Some of them were smarter, more aware. It was part of the reason the grave keeper profession grew out of style long ago, and any funerals were quick and sloppy. Humans had taken to cremation as an attempt at solving this, but all it really did was free the souls to wander the world.

Most of the time they were only nuisances, and mages loved to use them as fuel. They also provided a means of employment for many mages who took jobs exterminating rowdy ghosts or daemons. Derelicts, those without powers, were generally helpless against a malevolent spirit. Of course, most mages and elementals didn't care.

Mareth pushed the rusted gate open and trudged over the uneven ground, the plot of land vacant of the living. He could see ghosts. Sitting around, standing in front of their graves, reenacting their deaths over and over, or just dimly looking around while barely aware of their surroundings. Not many here had gone through peaceful deaths, Mareth could tell. He glanced at one as he passed, a young wolf girl being gored by some unseen beast’s tusk over and over. A yell of battle, a cry of surprise, then whimpering in pain. Repeat.

He was used to that sort of sight, having been exposed to these spirits from a young age. Very few of his type could see them at all, but there were ways to sense or detect them even if you couldn't.

“It’s ready.” A voice rang out from near a freshly dug grave. Witness was standing there, arms behind his back. The grave was completely dug out, revealing a fresh corpse. A deer man, antlers sawed off. Stabbed in the gut multiple times. He wondered if the bandits had taken his antlers before being killed, or the hybrids from earlier. Neither would surprise him.

His soul hadn’t emerged from his body yet. Good, it was more malleable this way. Even if it had, he could still manage, but the easier the better.

Before he started the ritual, Mareth grasped the amulet at his neck. Pulling it off his head, he held it aloft. The amulet hung by its chain, swaying in the breeze. Mareth gave the spirits in the area one last look and sent some energy into the amulet. It glowed a purple light, and immediately the lost souls faded away. Their ethereal bodies became wisps, sucked into the amulet like water to a sponge.

Mareth put it back around his neck. “I’m starting,” he said to Witness, “lend me some power.”

Witness complied, not afforded a choice in the matter. Mareth could feel the extra energy flowing through him, fueling his spellcasting.

Mareth held his purple bound book in front of him. As he focused, the book opened itself, the page he wanted right in front of him: sigils, normal text, and texts in arcane, ancient languages were displayed in black ink. He spoke the incantation listed in the Immortal's language, the actual meaning of the words vanishing from his mind the moment he finished speaking them. His skull amulet shook on his neck, the enchanted item keeping his soul stabilized as he grew the magical energy within himself. It channeled through the sigil written on the book, which glowed bright. The energy was transformed into a proper spell through the arcane symbol, after which Mareth needed to focus hard to send it into the body of the corpse in front of him. He’d have a traveling partner, one way or another.

#

Avira

There was noise, alright. An incantation, she recognized. Magic incantations to a derelict, elemental, or even mages who weren’t familiar, just sounded like… noise. A sound your ears weren’t willing to hear, your brain wasn't able to comprehend, and seemed to drain your spirit if you tried to focus on it. Avira wasn’t sure if even the people saying the incantations were aware of what they were chanting.

Avira saw Mareth in front of an open grave. It was definitely him speaking judging by him being out here by himself, and the book in his hand. A mage. She hated mages. Incantations made her skin crawl to hear, and she knew how they treated lost souls. Not to mention that they were almost all cowards. Even still, Avira owed him a favor.

She wasn’t sure she could speak up right now. Her feet remained planted to the spot. Her heart went cold. She clenched her fists to stop the slight tremble, eyes glued to Mareth's back all the while.

It was quick. The incantations stopped suddenly, and the book was shut and tucked under the mage’s arm before Avira noticed. The chilly wind blowing on her caused Avira to blink, and she calmed down with a deep breath. Then another noise rang out in the silent night. A groan. Out of the open grave climbed the pale body of a deer hybrid. It got to its feet and stood there, milky eyes staring ahead blankly.

“Ah, perfect,” Mareth said, examining it, “a good reanimation, an ample body… you should do perfectly.”

“What the fuck,” Avira spoke up, “a fucking necromancer?”

Mareth looked over. He saw Avira standing there, and didn’t even seem surprised. Instead he met her gaze with a smile, the same not entirely genuine one from earlier. “Ah, hello there. You’re the wolf hybrid from earlier. I don’t believe I caught your name last time.”

“I… uh, what?” Avira looked around, then focused on him with raised eyebrows and questioning eyes. Wasn’t necromancy a huge taboo, even among mages? He was awfully calm about it, for a man breaking both natural and actual law.

“Your name. If you came back, I assume you want to travel together? All the better, with three in our group we won’t have to fear any lamias, eh? So what’s your name?”

“I… Avira. Traveling with three, you’re saying you expect to take that thing with you to the desert?”

“I know, I know, it’ll probably smell, but it’s worth the safety.”

Smell. Now she realized. That’s what she smelled on him. Death. “I’m not asking about the smell, I’m asking about the fucking corpse!”

“Oh, does that bother you? Should have guessed. Well, let’s just say I like to study alternative magics.”

“Alternative, or evil?”

“Don’t be like that. Is your knife evil? Is a house? Is flux evil? A book? Nay, I say, it all depends on what you do with them that matters.”

“Do with them? What you’re doing is desecration!”

“In the days when mages use fragmented souls as fuel, I hardly view this as any worse.” Mareth gestured to the still corpse for emphasis. “At least this way the souls get to retain their sense of self after I’m done with them.”

“I don’t think saying that you’re better than most mages is proving much.”

He laughed, “Maybe so. Maybe I'm the worst of the worst. But nobody else wants to trek across the desert, not even another hybrid.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Why was she even fighting him on this? Not like she cared about his morality, as long as he wasn't going to stab her in the back. “You know what, fine. Just no fucking with my soul.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my dear Avira,” he said, grin still plastered on his face.

“Alright. And no acting creepy. I already dislike mages, don’t give me another reason to.”

“I’ll see what I can do. See you tomorrow. I’ll lend you some money if you need supplies. Meet you at the inn.”

Avira left without another word. A necromancer, eh? Well, that was more interesting than most mages anyways. And she honestly didn’t care enough about the morals argument to continue it. She could get some interesting information out of him at the very least.

There could be worse companions.

Avira looked up as she walked back to the inn. The moon still hung high in the sky, covering much of it. The purple, green, and blue strips of color across the lunar surface was a pleasing sight as always, and a number of less colorful and much smaller moons also dotted the sky. It was a beautiful sight, even if sometimes the moon shone bright enough to block out the stars. She remembered a story from her father about how important the Great Moon was, giving energy to and blessing the Wolf tribe. She wondered if it blessed all people. Did it even shine on tribal exiles?

The walk back to the inn was short. It was probably still paid off from earlier, so the wolf girl just went to her previous room. Once she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, Avira took stock of her equipment. Her clawed gloves were tied to her side, ready for her to slip on at any time. They had thick hardened leather sleeves that gave her forearms some rudimentary protection, the leather dyed a dark blue. The gloves themselves were black hide and the palms had thin metal plates that helped her catch blades. She found a desk and placed them down.

A small leather bag containing some thread and a needle as well as basic medical supplies, sparking rocks for lighting fires, and a length of homemade rope. There was also a water skin, empty. Avira patted the side her knife was supposed to be and frowned as she realized it was no longer there. There was no getting that back, she'd have to get a new one.

The rest of her outfit consisted of black dyed leather, hide, and fur. Usually baggy, non-restrictive, and as light as thick gambeson. When it wasn't too cold she liked to leave one of her muscular arms bare, just out of preference. Her waist was bare, though sometimes she extended the wrappings under her top to cover her whole torso. It looked cool. She had a green sash around her neck and another tied as a belt for her pants, a sign of her status as a sentry for the Wilds. Overall, some things didn't provide that much protection, but she thought she looked cool and preferred to avoid injury anyways.

As much as she liked it, Avira decided on changing up her wardrobe in preparation for the desert of Drima. Warm clothing like this wouldn't do, and her top needed to be sewn together better after that scout nearly cut it. She'd need something light and baggy to keep the cool air in and the sun out, but that was a task for tomorrow. For now, she wanted to double check the wounds she'd gotten in that battle, as the only time she checked was when she'd just woken up.

She found a mirror and quickly undressed. There was a very hard to notice scar where she'd been recently stabbed in addition to all the other scars, souvenirs from battles long past that marked her wiry musculature. That was weird. Sure, Mareth was a mage, but for her to heal that quickly... That explained why she had been so sore at least. Lastly, she laid her clothes out and crawled under the covers to get some well earned rest.

A rooster's call woke her at the break of dawn. The sunrise lit the sky a warm orange. The few hours of sleep were all she needed. Avira had grown accustomed to a life of vigilance, ready to fight at a moment's notice. It was useful for someone who lived alone in the woods.

First up, her hair. She was blonde, though the front of some of her hair tended to gray for some reason. Even as a child, her hair would end up gray-tipped. The wavy hair took a bit to wrangle down, thick as it was. It took a lot of combing, oiling, and dressing with products like shea butter. The most annoying part was the loose ponytail, which was hard to brush by herself.

After that she applied dark eyeliner with the help of a hand mirror, the black outline of her eye looking good and making her appear more intimidating. Avira stared at her reflection, meeting her blue-green cat eyes. She smirked at herself. She was rocking this.

Avira threw on her clothes and was back at the tavern momentarily. She saw Mareth at the same table he sat at last night and strolled over. “Hey. You said you'd provide some money? Don't exactly have desert wear.”

“Yeah.” He fished out a surprisingly large bag of coins, dropping it on the table in front of her.

“Thanks,” Avira said, scooping it up before anyone else had the time to see and get greedy.

“No problem. Try not to tarry.”

“Right. By the way, where's your, er, other companion?”

“He's waiting outside of town.”

“Didn't return him to his grave?”

“Shh. No, I already went through the trouble of reanimating him,” Mareth whispered as he said this, leaning in.

“Right. Well, unless the lamias are aggravated, we shouldn't have any trouble if there's three of us.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

She nodded. “Right, well, I'll be on my way.”

With that, Avira stood and walked out the door. A busy street greeted her: hybrids, humans, and livestock walking to who knows where. The smell of manure and sweat, the sound of peasants haggling with merchants and talking among themselves, and the feel of the muggy air all hit her at once. The wolf girl had to stand there for a moment while she prepared herself, taking a deep breath. She hated crowds. She'd been in much bigger than this, but any concentration of people irritated her to walk through. Too many people, too many noises, too many smells, too many opportunities to get attacked. Avira would usually wait a few hours for the crowds to clear up, but they were on a strict timer today. It was better to head into the desert early in the morning so you didn't get caught in the open at night. The lamias were active then, sure, but they were better than dealing with the dunetrappers at night.

Avira squeezed her way through the crowd, wanting to be through it as fast as possible. Not afraid to push and get in people's way, she ignored a few cries from surprised or angry peasants mad at her. Some of them were even hybrids. Not that she cared. Any hybrid who decided to live outside the tribes weren't true hybrids. Not that civilization didn't have its pros and cons, but something was lost in the hybrids and even humans who lived in these cities. A loss of purpose, one could say.

There were signs hanging above some of the storefronts. They had text but also easily recognizable images for the laymen who couldn't read. Of course, she doubted that most of these merchants could read either. They probably just learned the name of their trade in the written word. Avira looked for a blacksmith first, then she'd be off to a tailor and a general goods store for food. Some jerky would be nice.

She spied a sign hanging above one of the stores, a blade, hammer, and anvil with the word 'blacksmith' underneath in black. Here she was. Slipping past a man who had paused and was leaning over to cough out his lungs, she went into the building to see a bear hybrid towering over her with the arms of tree trunks. His face was black with soot, though he had a dark complexion like her. Drima ancestry, maybe. He spied her and gave a wide grin, white teeth shining through his dark beard.

“Ah, a fellow hybrid! Always happy to help a tribe mate.” His voice was gruff, throat and lungs likely caked with soot and smoke.

They weren't in the same tribe, him being a bear and her a wolf, but hybrids shared a certain kinship outside of the Wilds, despite her reservations about hybrids living outside the tribal lands. They might as well be from the same tribes. He eyed her green sashes, tied around her neck and waist. The sign of her status.

“And a sentry, too.” That part came with some reservation. “Well, what do you need? Heavy weaponry? I know how wiry you wolves are.”

“No, just a knife. For hunting and fighting. Don't like anything longer.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Fighting at anything less than a knife's length doesn't do it for me.”

“Ah, one of those types... I'll see what I can find. Anything else?”

“Well, mind looking at my gloves? Could use a sharpening.” Avira untied her clawed gloves from her side and set them on the counter. They had gotten a little dull lately. There was only so much she could do with a whetstone.

“Huh.” He lifted the gloves up to inspect them, testing the sharpness. “Interesting weapons you have here. Not very good for armor, but must hurt like the dickens when you get a slash in.”

“Going by everyone's reaction whenever I use it, probably.” She smirked.

He chuckled. “Alright, I can sharpen these. Sure you don't want me to work on them more? A little more metal might be good, make it a proper gauntlet!”

“Tempting. But I'm in a hurry. I trust you'll have it ready soon?”

“Shouldn't take longer than ten minutes. If you're in a hurry, leave it here and come back when you're free. It'll be ten coppers.”

“That's cheap.”

“I'm feeling generous today. And I know sentries aren't the most richest.”

“I appreciate it.” She smiled, dropping the copper coins on his counter then leaving.

#

Valisa

Valisa changed out her bandages, cleaning the claw wound on her face as best she could in the shallow water. Thankfully they'd brought some medicine or else she'd probably succumb to illness. She doubted that wolf girl cleaned her weapons much past getting the blood off. Her face was a deep purple and her eye was blackened, souvenirs from the fight. Valisa cursed the hybrid who'd done this to her. She had a bruise on her gut from that punch, likely would have a scar on her face too. Thankfully she never relied on her looks.

They were close to the border of Drima now. Moren was going to get their mounts, so he'd left her to her business. He hadn't spoken much ever since the incident. Likely felt guilty about not being there when the sentry attacked. She just hoped that the major would be okay with their performance. They had gotten a ways into the border and back before being detected. Or maybe she'd been stalking them for a while and they hadn't noticed. Either way, he'd know what to make of it. The major did just say to head half a day in and come back, after all.

She watched her reflection in the stream, the last one they'd find on their trip. The bandages covered half of her face. She hoped that her eye would be alright. Those claws didn't seem too long, but they were certainly designed to do a lot of damage. Damned wounds still stung. Once she got back to the outpost she'd definitely head right to the medic's tent.

A crack in the brush. Her heart jumped and she grabbed her sword, turning back to see Moren. Valisa gave a breath of relief and stood up, starting to get her equipment back on. “Maybe say something before you get so close,” she spat.

“Sorry.” He muttered, usual cocksure grin gone from his face. He rubbed his bald head nervously. “You ready to go?”

“By Argos himself... Don't treat me like a wounded kitten, okay? I'm a soldier. You are too. We get injured. The only person to blame for it is me.”

Moren took his hand from his head and straightened up. “Alright. Sorry for being so gentle with you. Now kindly get your ass moving.”

She smirked. “That's more like it.”

#

Avira

Avira changed into some desert wear and found her way back to Mareth. She had on white, baggy, light clothes, and a hood she could pull up to get the sun off her head. She had a new knife as well, a long one fit for stabbing through gaps in armor. That would come in handy. The rest of her equipment was in a large bag she had bought. Dried food, extra water, medical supplies, and various other things that'd help the desert trek. She also packed an extra pair of shoes.

Mareth was still in the tavern. He had a bag next to him. It seemed to be filled with books, and not magic books, either. Avira noticed that he didn't seem to have much in the way of survival supplies. His clothes should be fine as long as he didn't mind them getting dirty, but she wondered how he was going to fare in the desert itself.

“You all ready?” Mareth asked Avira, putting down the book he was reading and lifting his bag.

“Yeah. We walking?”

“Oh, no, Immortals forbid. I have enough coin left to purchase some waterbirds for us and our other companion.”

“Ah, good. Always make for a comfortable trip, those birds. Usually I prefer walking, but fuck that desert sand.”

“Exactly. Now, let's go fetch the other fellow and start our journey.”

Their 'companion' was silent as they traveled to a tent outside of town. The stables set up around it had all kinds of animals inside. A maned trunkhog was staring at them, trunk curled up and eyes blank. Some horses were eating feed and releasing gas. And of course, there were a few waterbirds standing around, proboscises in their watering trough. These birds were a unique sort, only found in the Drima desert and very rarely at that. They had massive eyes tinted a deep green, long proboscises used to suck moisture, and a gelatinous sack of water on their back that made for comfortable seating. They were large creatures, as tall as a horse but not as long. Thankfully they were docile. They mainly lived off the water in cacti, and their mouths were good for picking out bugs and small creatures to suck the juices from.

Speaking of juices, a lone chiron stood outside the tent, keeping watch over the place. Waterbirds loved these things, and they didn't seem to mind their slime being sucked up too much. These chirons were human shaped in adolescence, fairly smart, and usually silent. They didn't exactly understand common speech, so they communicated through motions and body language, as well as a strange bubbling sound. It was watching them as they walked over.

“Hello there, my good man. Or woman?” Mareth wondered.

The chiron just stared at him, a few drops of slime spilling out from between the chitinous plates that served as armor. Avira watched the slime drop jiggle and squirm back to the chiron, slipping in between two plates at its foot. That slime was strangely captivating to watch. So much so that when she looked up she found that she missed another person approaching. A rabbit hybrid. She had a cheerful look on her face as she discussed prices with Mareth. These bunny hybrids were all over the world, though there weren't many in the Wilds. They bred fast and were really only good for running. Though this one seemed to be the animal handler.

“So, ten gold for three?” Mareth fished the coins out of his now deflated pouch.

“That's good. Thanks for the business.” She grinned, showing her noticeable larger front teeth. “Go get them their waterbirds, Sam.”

She glanced at the chiron, who headed off, leaving a purple trail of slime droplets behind him. The drops made to follow, but were intercepted by the long mouths of their soon to be mounts. Sticking their heads through the fence, they sucked up any wayward slime globules that came close. The chiron didn't seem to mind, opening the gate and grabbing a few by the thin but long necks. He dragged them out, the birds flapping their small wings and resisting for a moment before giving in and walking out into the road. You only really needed some reins to ride a waterbird, so after placing some onto each bird's heads and draping Mareth and Avira's bags onto its back they were all ready.

The chiron, Sam, held them as Avira and the others walked over and hoisted themselves onto their backs. The gelatinous hump on its back made for very comfortable seating, and Avira sank right in with ease. She noticed that Mareth needed a boost from the chiron to get on. It was hard not to chuckle at that. The undead companion seemed to be fine, and simply hoisted itself up and settled down on the hump.

Mareth got onto his seat after some help and grasped his reins. “That was easy enough,” he muttered, then looked to Avira, “shall we ride?”

Avira grinned. “I thought you'd never ask.” She looked forward and gave a crack of the reins, gripping onto the bird with her legs. “Go!”