Upon entering the tent, Paliborn unburdened himself of his pack and surveyed the scene before him. A single, unadorned candlestick cast flickering shadows upon the modest interior, which was punctuated by a gilded globe, intricately illustrated tarot cards, and a smattering of scrolls and weeds that were arranged upon a round table occupying the center of the six-foot radius space. Wooden shelves, affixed to the periphery of the table, supported a plethora of jars filled with an array of liquids and herbs, tomes of knowledge, and a scattering of garments. Amidst this collection of oddities sat a sleek, black cat. Paliborn, nervously, brought his thumb to his mouth and bit it.
"Is that black cat yours?" he asked, struggling to conceal his apprehension.
"No," replied the little girl, "it belongs to my aunt, Belize. Fear not, it is harmless and won't attack. It's not fond of strangers, but it won't do you any harm."
Paliborn and the cat held a mutual disdain for each other. He felt a deep-seated unease in the presence of felines, especially the black ones. As he eyed the cat, he could see its hairs beginning to stand on end, and he heard the tell-tale rumblings emanating from its belly.
"Black cats have never taken kindly to me," he confessed, "and I must admit, I harbor some resentment towards them. For some reason, they seem to view me as their adversary in the environments we share."
"I have noticed," said the little girl, suppressing a giggle. "Beliza, leave us be!" she called out.
With one eye fixed upon Paliborn, the black cat sauntered out of the tent with a regal air.
"Innome dehe pahatre, des una de manstar," muttered trhe halfling.
"Allendra translated, "Stay away from me, be close to demonic beasts."
"Once again, you astound me, Eli. Your command of the language of Ancient Light is remarkable."
"It's all thanks to the Orion temples," replied Allendra. "The Collection of Sayings and Proverbs, volume two, page thirteen. Though I must confess, I cannot recall the specific passage at present."
Paliborn perused the tomes lining the shelves, his pointed ears keenly attuned to the sounds outside. He strained to discern the voices and movements beyond the walls, all while masking his vigilant scrutiny from the little girl at his side.
"Your ears, Pal, are akin to those of the elves," observed Allendra, "though a bit more diminutive. And I wager your feet are not shaggy and large like theirs. You are not like other halflings."
"Indeed," agreed Paliborn. "I am a mix of the best traits, plucked from here and there."
Curious, Allendra inquired about his place of origin. "Where were you born, Pal?"
But the halfling deflected the question, as he so often did. "I cannot recall."
"Then you are not from Half-Town?" pressed Allendra.
"The common misconception is that all halflings hail from Half-Town," replied Paliborn, his eyes glinting with knowledge. "In truth, halflings also abound in the far north and east. There are even fair-skinned halflings who dwell in the Blackened Continent of Ankhyra, beyond the Wastelands, in the Black Desert and the Mist Lands. Though they are not the finest example of our kind, as they possess a sadistic streak and relish ambushes."
Paliborn gestured animatedly, shaping his tale with vivid details. Allendra chuckled at the halfling's antics, but their mirth was cut short by Lena's entrance, her countenance ashen.
"What ails you, that you should laugh?" the witch-woman snapped at the little girl, her voice grating and sharp.
Allendra cowered beneath the folds of her hooded robes, sensing the darkness that emanated from Lena's aura. Paliborn, too, felt the oppressive weight of the witch woman's disrturbing presence, sensing the girl's pessimistic inner world and lack of spirit.
"Well, what have you brought us, then?" Lena demanded, without so much as glancing at the halfling's face. "A purse of gold, and some instructions from your wizard, no doubt."
"Nay, lady," replied Paliborn, reaching into his bundle and drawing forth a handful of dusty tomes, which he carefully wiped clean before presenting to the little girl. "These books are a gift for Allendra, from my friend Sarcastic The Wise. He recommended them highly, for the study of the arts and lore."
Lena narrowed her eyes, scanning the titles with disdain. "The Stage World, Introduction to World History, The First Act of Magic... what use have I for such trifles? You expect me to teach magic to a mere child?"
Paliborn shrugged, unaffected by her scorn. "I cannot say, lady. But here is a letter from my old friend, sealed and closed, that may answer your questions."
"And what of payment?" Lena demanded, her tone growing harsher.
"Master Sandman, aka Sarcastic believes you have adapted well to your new life," Paliborn replied, his voice calm and even.
The woman regarded him with a withering look before turning on her heel. "Well then," she sighed, her dark aura expanding until Paliborn felt it almost tangibly. The halfling flapped his hand as though swatting away flies, struggling against the memories evoked by the unsettling sensation.
'If you permit, milady," Paliborn ventured, "I would be honored to join you for dinner tonight, and offer to prepare a delicious dish with my secret recipe of sauces and spices. Being a road-loving adventurer, I'm quite skilled with the pot and the pan."
The woman did not reply at once, instead stooping to retrieve a few scattered trinkets from the ground.
Allendra's face lit up at the prospect of a decent meal. Her aunt, on the other hand, was less impressed.
"On one condition, halfling," she spoke at last, pausing to look up at him. "I need to step out for some fresh air tonight. If you'd see to Elia while I'm gone, I might consider not only your company for supper but also lodging for the night. You'll have to make do with the corner, I'm afraid. We have no extra bedding."
"Of course, my lady," Paliborn agreed amiably, bowing low. "Wherever I lay my head is home."
"Whatever. Just keep your distance," she muttered, pulling the sheet that served as a makeshift curtain separating the tent's interior, and disappearing behind it to change her attire.
"And if you allow, my lady," Paliborn ventured, "I'd be delighted to take Allendra with me on a hunt for rabbits in the woods south of town, before the light fades."
The woman shot Paliborn a frosty glare over the curtain, then disappeared behind the screen. 'Just go,' she muttered in a voice that belied uncertainty.
Without further delay, Paliborn took Allendra by the hand and led her away from the tent, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that lingered there.
As the sun sank lower on the horizon, the once-thriving festival grounds now lay empty, save for a few flickering, vermilion lights.
"WIDOW BLACK OF HAROVA – FORTUNE TELLER AND HEALER - WE ARE CLOSED." Paliborn chuckled as he glanced at the sign on the door of the tent.
"Do you know where Harova lies, Eli?" he inquired as they strolled through the streets.
The girl shook her head.
"Then let us speak of geography. Do you enjoy geography?"
"I prefer history."
"In the central north of the Ankhyra Continent, there is a city-state known as Xaurus, where the heavens are shrouded in perpetual darkness. Each city in the Dark Continent is a sovereign state unto itself. Harova is named after the lake beside it, and the largest river flowing into said lake is known as the Harova River. This river flows from the mountain waters that cascade down from the Pharapol Mountains to the Alhazar in the northwest, from Mistral to Mistrake in the southeast, and from there into Lake Xaurus. Legend has it that those who drank from its waters would either attain immortality or suffer an agonizing and protracted demise, for the water was said to have been boiled in the sacred fire of Phyros, infused with the magical mists of Mistral, and flavored with the ancient sandstorms of Pharapol."
"The water of life?" Allendra inquired.
"It may also be deemed the water of death," Paliborn responded.
"A double-edged blade, then," remarked Allendra.
The halfling furrowed his brow at her reply. This aphorism was one of the fundamental tenets of Anchyran assassins, death-dealers, and practitioners of the dark arts. He jotted it down in his notes for the wizard to interpret at a later time. For now, he was merely an observer on this journey.