Surprisingly, Zephyr emerged from the forest relatively unscathed and without encountering any additional obstacles within the brief span of time between Naexi leaving him. Nothing tried to attack him, yet the whispering, haunting melodies of a soul-sucking woman's singing and giggling children— or pixies, as Naexi put it—persisted, trailing him until he reached the wall. His hand traced the surface, following the wall until he found a gate.
A gate he came across after walking for another two hours. This was why the Draegorths hopped over it and tossed him over the structure in the process. It was a shorter trip.
Zephyr's hands rested on the daggers protruding out from his belt. There was no sheath, so the sharp ends would occasionally dig into his thigh. At some point, they would prick him, and after facing death multiple times the day before, he didn't fancy dealing with more pain. After greeting some dwarves and stating his business, he ventured into the closest village. It looked familiar, but all the villages looked identical in Iron Hold.
The Slinktail knew all he had to do was follow the wall back to their camp, but he'd prefer to spend a little more time by himself. Those Draegorths left him to die. He briefly thought about remaining 'dead' and fleeing. The problem was he'd have to find another gang to join while he lacked the skills and navigation of this world.
First, he would go to a blacksmith for a scabbard. These daggers may have been Fig's first, but they were his now. Then, he would grab something to eat and rest.
The good thing about Iron Hold, where the population mainly consisted of dwarves, was that many blacksmiths existed. Around every bend in this village, there was a blacksmith. Did they really need so many? Zephyr had been turned away by four blacksmiths in a row. The last two weren't even busy and could probably use the coin.
Yet one look at the Slinktail and they didn't want his business. Alright. Fuck them. Why would he bother spending what little coin he had anyway?
Turning back to the last workshop, Zephyr hid, observing the dwarf that refused him. He really had nothing else to do, yet behind him, there were a few premade scabbards hanging on the wall, small parchment stating who it belonged to. Some were for swords, but a few were for daggers.
Zephyr could only guess which ones to take from this distance and with the short time he would have. Creeping forward, he retrieved a few stones from the ground and tossed them through the dwarf's forge at the opposite end, where it was open. The rocks kept hitting some armour on the other side. Fortunately, some kids were playing nearby, and the dwarf cursed at them, chasing after them about vandalising his prized artwork.
In under a minute, Zephyr snuck in, snatched the scabbards, tossed the parchment to the side and sprinted in the opposite location, all the while keeping his features hidden under his cloak. The tail was a dead giveaway away, though, if anyone did see him. He was sure Zephyrion used to fuss over hiding it, tucking it in at awkward angles, but Zephyr paid no mind to it—he was merely passing through.
After stealing a freshly made loaf of bread and eating it crouched over, hiding behind another building, Zephyr had truly taken on his role as a thief properly. But Zephyrion was good at stealing. If it wasn't for the villager's utter hatred towards the Slinktail, he might have considered paying.
Perhaps this lifestyle chose Zephyrion and not the other way around.
"Hey! Scram!" A broom smacked the top of Zephyr's head. His sharp teeth sliced through his tongue, and he winced at the taste of blood in his mouth. The last bit of his bread almost fell into the dirt, enraging Zephyr further.
He just wanted to be left alone!
The broom swung down towards him again, but he caught it and turned on the man whose large belly probably caused him back pain. From the apron and hat, Zephyr assumed he was a chef, one whose eyes widened at the Slinktail glowering at him.
The fat man stepped backwards, eyes flicking to the broom. "Leave before I shove this up your…" Zephyr tossed it aside. The man was already waddling away, trying to flee from the violent Slinktail.
Time to flee. He will probably alert the guards. Zephyr looked down at his bread- at least the bread didn't get dirty.
Zephyr was panting so harshly after only running less than a mile from the village. How did Zephyrion escape all those times with such poor stamina? Instead of walking back, he decided to jog the rest of the way back to camp. Within minutes, he realised what a poor idea it was. He was immediately gasping, leaning over, hands resting on his knees, and staring at the grass. Some dwarves nearby, patrolling the wall, snickered at him.
Their laughter made something snap in him, and he pushed himself forward. It was brutal. The Slinktail stopped every ten minutes to catch his breath, but he prevailed, using his resentment and brewing anger at some of those in this world to motivate him. By the time the camp came into view, he began to walk the rest of the way, composing himself.
Dain was first to spot him, he'd been skinning the remaining rabbits the Draegorths caught the day before. "Zephyr?!" He dropped the animal and knife, starting towards the Slinktail, his eyes wide, lips pulling back into a shocked grin.
"The fuck? Who is Zephyr?" Bull stomped out of his tent and followed the Slinktail's gaze. He, too, looked shocked.
Stepping out of the other tent, Fig and Garzon paused. The Draegorth was doing up his belt, his satisfied smile dropping from his skull head as he turned to see Zephyr alive and well.
Glaring at Fig and Garzon, Zephyr then grinned wickedly. "Guess you didn't expect me to survive. Surprise fuckers."