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Due to increased demand, food prices are sky-high, but I’m more than happy to pay after witnessing so much hardship. Grains, which are mostly grown in the Withered areas, are scarce, but tubers are readily available.

I skip those, knowing we can forage them from the woods as we travel. Considering the town’s full of displaced farmers who work all day, doing their best, I want to give them all the resources they require. Too many times, I hear them mutter, “It’s going to be a lean winter.”

The town also has a leatherworker with a disturbing amount of excess material, so Agnar and I purchase travel bags. During pauses to check out other vendors, we ask around about Rook and the tournament. This is a relatively small development on the edge of the foothills, so it’s no surprise they know nothing about a pastime mostly reserved for mercenaries and the rich.

Still, we leave town better off than we were. With the consequences of failure made clear, we pick up the pace, covering as much distance as possible.

That same afternoon, in a meadow full of wildflowers, we wander into a wall of cold.

One moment, insects buzz while the sun warms my face, and everything is normal. The next moment, chilled air snakes around my left side.

Half the world goes silent. Everything on the north side of the road stills. Then the field erupts. Birds, pikas, rats, and meadow mice race across the road, fleeing the unnatural drop in temperature.

I halt in my tracks, and Agnar reaches for his sword’s hilt.

Once all the animals vanish, nothing else moves. Despite staring into the sunlit field, I see nothing. The chill drifts past us, and life returns in the small, questioning chirps and calls of animals.

Only then does Agnar relax. We don’t speak about it. We just keep walking, albeit at a faster pace.

At each stop, we add to our supplies and camping gear but hear nothing relevant to our goal, so we continue heading southwest, toward the larger villages and cities situated along Meridia’s coast.

On the third day, Agnar points out a ridiculous pair of boots with small bells that ring and rattle even while sitting on the wooden display shelf. “Well, that’s one way to make sure you never step on a teeny beastie. Perfect for Wardens?”

I snort, then I roll my eyes before heading to the dried fruit stall.

Later, he hands me an oilcloth wrapped package without looking at me, already angling toward the next stall. “You need a change of socks. Walking in wet ones will give you blisters. Always carry a spare pair so one set is always dry.”

I stare at the bundle as emotion thickens my throat. “I… I could have…”

Agnar shrugs it off. “You could have gotten them yourself, yeah, but I saw them first. And we’re a team now.” He says it like we didn’t start off holding each other hostage for days on end. “Teams take care of each other.”

The word tumbles around in my head. Team. I’ve never been on a team before. I can’t remember a time when someone noticed my discomfort and acted to fix it without being asked. I watch Agnar’s back as he stalks off while clutching the socks to my chest, warmth suffusing my stomach.

We reach the second full-sized town in the evening. This one has stone buildings instead of wood. A crowd of people enters and exits the gates, but tents don’t populate every last bit of available land like last time.

Agnar insists we go in. “Where there’s people, there’s information.”

Only if you know how to get it.

I follow his lead, anxiety spiking in me every time he greets a random stranger, and we end up at a proper tavern with a painted sign showing a sleeping cat. The interior smells like ale, onions, and too many bodies pressed into too small a space. I hunch my shoulders reflexively, making myself tinier to avoid touching anyone. Large groups have always stressed me out, but after spending so long in the wilderness with only Agnar for company, my discomfort over the amount of people at the inn reaches an all-time high.

Weaving through the chaos with a laugh and random shoulder slaps for men he’s never met, Agnar finds us a corner table. Once we’re seated, he orders food and drinks from a barmaid who smiles at him with all her teeth showing. Jealousy definitely doesn’t spear through me like a spike.

Not knowing what to do, I watch him work.

Agnar doesn’t ask about Rook directly or mention the artifact, Wardens, or anything that might draw more attention. Instead, he complains about the roads and trouble with bandits up north, then wonders aloud if anyone has heard about strange happenings in the area.

The barmaid brings our food and lingers. “Strange happenings? Like what?”

“Oh, you know.” Agnar shrugs and cuts into his meat pie. “Missing livestock. People acting odd. The usual warning signs to look out for while traveling.”

She laughs. “You want odd, go to Millford. Half the town packed up and left last week. Just walked out without saying why. Abandoned their homes and everything.”

I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth, intrigued. Agnar catches my eye from across the table while keeping his expression neutral and chewing his food. “That is odd. Wonder what spooked them.”

I remember to chew my food too.

“Who knows?” The barmaid wipes down the table next to ours. “My cousin used to live there. Says the ones who stayed won’t talk. They get this look on their faces like they’ve forgotten what words are.”