I woke up to the gentle sway of the carriage, the rhythmic creaking of the wheels against the rough forest path soothing in its own way. A beam of sunlight peeked through the canopy above, casting a warm glow inside the carriage and signaling the end of the forest's deep shadows. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, feeling the stiffness in my limbs from a restless night on the blanket-covered floor.
"Will, you're awake now. Good morning." Chris's cheerful voice broke the silence. She was already sitting up, her eyes bright and alert as she looked at me.
"Yeah, good morning," I replied, stretching out with a yawn. My voice was still groggy from sleep, and I tried to shake off the remnants of the dream that clung to the edges of my consciousness.
Father turned his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on the path ahead. His eyes had a tired but vigilant glint, the kind that only comes from a long night of keeping watch. "Will, grab some bread and jerky from the supplies for breakfast," he instructed. His tone was steady, but there was an underlying warmth in his words—a hint of the care he always showed us, even in the smallest things.
"Okay," I nodded, moving toward the small sack of provisions we had stashed in the corner of the carriage. The bread was harder than it had been yesterday, and the jerky was tough and salty, but it was enough to fill my stomach and give me a bit of energy. As I chewed, I glanced out of the carriage window, watching the forest slowly fall away behind us, replaced by the open landscape of rolling hills bathed in sunlight.
"We're out of the forest now," Father announced, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction that made me feel a little more at ease. "Just another hour, and we'll reach Craud City."
"We'll have our lunch there, so just hold on for a bit longer," he added, glancing back at us briefly before returning his attention to the road.
"Okay," Chris and I answered in unison. The thought of a proper meal and the chance to stretch our legs lifted our spirits. The food we had been surviving on was getting tiresome, and the idea of something freshly cooked made my stomach growl in anticipation.
The carriage rolled on, and true to Father's word, an hour later, the city gates of Craud City loomed into view. They were tall and imposing, made of thick, sturdy wood reinforced with iron bands. Guards flanked the entrance, their armor gleaming in the midday sun. They were alert, scrutinizing everyone who passed through. As we approached, one of them raised a hand to halt us.
"Halt! State your business," one of the guards commanded. His tone was not unkind, but it held the authority of someone who took his job seriously.
Father exchanged a few words with him, explaining our journey and the purpose of our visit. The guard listened intently, his eyes flicking toward Chris and me in the carriage. After a brief inspection and a nod of approval, he stepped aside and waved us through.
"Welcome to Craud City. Enjoy your stay," he said, his voice losing some of its edge, replaced by a more welcoming tone.
As we passed through the gates, the city opened up before us like a world of its own. Craud City was nothing like our village. It was alive, bustling with energy and filled with people of all kinds. The houses were packed closely together, their stone and wooden structures standing shoulder to shoulder. Narrow streets wound between them, crowded with merchants shouting their wares, children darting through the throngs, and people going about their daily business. The air was thick with a mix of scents—freshly baked bread, roasting meat, and the faintest hint of something sweet and floral that I couldn't quite place.
Amidst the crowd, a figure caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but then I realized what I was seeing—someone with dog-like ears perched atop their head and a bushy tail swaying behind them. I blinked, trying to process it.
"Father, is that a beastkin?" I asked, my voice betraying my awe and curiosity. I pointed towards the figure, half-expecting it to vanish into the crowd like a mirage.
Father glanced in the direction I indicated, his expression calm and composed. "Yes, that's a beastkin," he confirmed, then turned back to me with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Why do you ask? Are you interested in them?"
I shook my head, feeling a bit foolish for my amazement. "No, it's just… it's the first time I've seen a beastkin in person," I admitted. My voice had a hint of awe, despite my attempt to sound casual.
Father gave a small nod of understanding. "I suppose it is, isn't it?" He mused, his tone softening a bit. "Beastkin aren't common in our village. It's different here in the city; you'll see many things you haven't before."
"Yeah," I replied, my gaze lingering on the beastkin for a moment longer. They moved with a grace and confidence that set them apart from the other city dwellers. It was both fascinating and humbling to realize how small my world had been until now.
We continued down the bustling streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. Everywhere I looked, there was something new to see—shops filled with colorful fabrics and trinkets, street vendors selling skewers of grilled meat, and groups of people chatting animatedly with different topics. It was overwhelming and exhilarating all at once.
After weaving through the crowded streets for a while, Father brought the carriage to a halt in front of a modest-looking inn. The sign above the door read 'The Traveler's Rest,' swaying gently in the breeze. The building itself was unassuming but sturdy, made of weathered stone with wooden beams running across its facade.
"Wait here," Father instructed as he climbed down from the carriage. "I'll take Pride and the carriage to the stable around back."
Chris and I stepped out of the carriage, the cobblestones uneven beneath our feet as we waited. I stretched my legs, grateful for the chance to move around after hours of travel. Father soon returned, having seen to Pride's care, and we followed him inside the inn.
The innkeeper, a stout woman with a welcoming smile, greeted us as we entered. Her eyes crinkled warmly at the edges, and her voice was cheerful as she exchanged words with Father. After a brief discussion, he paid for our rooms and the lodging for Pride. He booked two rooms—one for himself and another for Chris and me—since there was only room for two or one person in each.
Father also arranged for lunch to be brought up to our room, much to our relief. We settled into our accommodations, grateful for the comfort of the warm, clean space after the long journey. It wasn't long before a knock at the door announced the arrival of our meal.
The innkeeper's assistant entered, carrying a tray laden with steaming bowls of stew, fresh bread, and a pitcher of water. The smell of the rich, savory broth filled the room, making my stomach growl in anticipation. It was a far cry from the dried jerky and stale bread we had been surviving on for the past days.
We gathered around the small table in our room, the three of us sitting close as we shared the meal. The stew was hot and flavorful, each spoonful a comforting reminder of what a proper meal should be. I savored every bite, letting the warmth spread through me as we ate in companionable silence.
As I glanced around the room, at the simple but sturdy furniture and the flickering light from the small lamp on the table, I felt a wave of gratitude. Despite the challenges of our journey, moments like this made it all worthwhile.
***
After finishing our lunch, Father leaned back in his chair, regarding us with a thoughtful expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small silver coins, placing them on the table in front of us.
"Here," he said, sliding the coins toward us. "Take these and go out to enjoy the city. We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning, and it's going to be another four days cooped up in the carriage. So, make the most of today."
I glanced at the coins, then back up at Father. He was giving us the rare chance to explore without his watchful eye, and I could see in his gaze that he meant it as a small gift, an allowance to be free for a bit. Chris's eyes lit up as she reached for the coins, a broad smile spreading across her face.
"Thank you, Uncle!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. I nodded in agreement, my own eagerness rising at the prospect of exploring the city.
Father simply nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched us get up from our seats. "Be careful out there," he added, his tone carrying a hint of the usual warning, but there was warmth in his eyes. "Don't stray too far."
"We'll be careful," I assured him, and with that, Chris and I made our way out of the inn, the bustling city waiting to be explored.
As we stepped into the busy streets, the noise and energy of Craud City enveloped us. People hurried past in every direction, their faces a blur of motion and purpose. The air was thick with the mingling scents of street food, freshly baked goods, and the occasional whiff of something spicy and exotic. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.
"So, what should we do first?" I asked, turning to Chris, who was already scanning the scene with wide, eager eyes.
"Let's do some sightseeing first," she suggested, her gaze lingering on a group of street performers juggling near the market entrance. "And then we can just try anything that catches our eye."
"Okay," I agreed, my curiosity piqued. The city was a canvas of possibilities, and I was eager to see what it had to offer.
We started walking, our pace leisurely as we soaked in the sights. The streets seemed alive, each corner revealing something new and unexpected. We wandered through alleys lined with shops selling everything from colorful fabrics to intricate trinkets, the air buzzing with the sound of haggling and the clinking of coins.
Soon, we found ourselves at the city market. The sheer size and energy of the place reminded me of the bustling markets in my old world—loud, vibrant, and full of life. Stall vendors shouted to draw attention to their goods, their voices rising above the din of the crowd. The air was thick with the smell of roasting meats, spiced vegetables, and freshly baked bread.
"Let's check it out," Chris said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Without waiting for my reply, she grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the nearest food stall.
We wandered through the maze of stalls, trying almost everything that caught our attention. There were skewers of grilled meat, dripping with sauce; delicate pastries filled with sweet cream; and cups of spiced tea that warmed us from the inside out. The market was a feast for the senses, each stall offering a new taste or smell that demanded to be sampled.
Our money ran out faster than I expected, each silver coin disappearing in exchange for another delightful morsel. It didn't matter, though. The experience was worth every coin, and by the time we had to stop, I felt more content than I had in days.
"We should head back to the inn now," I suggested, feeling the weight of our spending in my now-empty pocket.
"Yeah, let's go," Chris agreed, though her voice carried a hint of reluctance. I could tell she wanted to stay longer, to keep exploring the market's hidden corners, but we had to be practical.
We made our way toward the market's exit, the crowd thicker now than it had been when we first arrived. People jostled past us, their voices merging into a cacophony of noise. It was then, amidst the bustling sounds of the market, that we heard it—a small, hiccupping cry coming from somewhere near the side of the road.
Chris and I exchanged a glance before pushing through the crowd toward the sound. There, huddled against a building, was a young girl no older than five, her face streaked with tears. Her tiny hands clutched at her dress as she sobbed quietly, lost and frightened.
"Why are you crying?" Chris asked gently, kneeling down to the girl's level.
The little girl looked up at us, her eyes wide and brimming with fresh tears. "Because... because Mama is not here," she managed between sobs, her voice trembling with fear.
I frowned, glancing around at the throngs of people still passing by. "Maybe she got separated from her mother because of the crowd," I suggested.
Chris turned to me, her eyes pleading silently for us to help the girl. I knew what she was thinking without her having to say a word, but I also knew we had agreed to return to the inn. Still, leaving a lost child alone in a place this chaotic didn't sit right with me.
"It won't take us much time," I reasoned aloud, feeling the weight of the decision. "So maybe we can help her find her mother. Are you okay with that, Chris?"
She nodded immediately, relief washing over her features. "Yeah, thank you, Will," she said, giving me a grateful smile.
With that, we took the girl's hands—Chris on her right, me on her left—and began weaving through the market once more, our eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of a frantic mother. The girl clung to us tightly, her grip small but desperate. It was slow going with so many people around, but eventually, a figure came running toward us, her face a mask of worry and fear.
"Mama!" the girl cried out, breaking away from us to run into the woman's arms.
"Rena!" the woman exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion as she swept her daughter into a tight embrace. Relief flooded her face, and tears welled up in her eyes as she held the girl close.
I felt a swell of relief too, a sense of satisfaction that we had managed to reunite them. But as the woman looked at us, her expression shifted to one of confusion, her eyes silently asking who we were.
"Who are you?" she asked cautiously, still clutching her daughter protectively.
"Mama, this big sister and big brother are so nice," Rena piped up before we could answer, her voice full of innocent admiration. "They helped me find you."
The woman's eyes softened as understanding dawned. "Oh, is that so?" She gave us a slightly embarrassed smile, bowing her head in gratitude. "I'm sorry for my rudeness. Thank you for helping my daughter."
"You don't need to bow," I said quickly, taken aback by the gesture. "We just did what anyone would do."
She straightened, her eyes shining with gratitude as she gave us a small, appreciative nod. After a few more words of thanks, we said our goodbyes and watched them walk away, Rena's hand firmly grasped in her mother's.
Chris and I exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between us. We had done a good thing, even if it had taken a bit of our time.
"Let's head back," I suggested, and Chris nodded in agreement.
By the time we made it back to the inn, the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. As we entered, Father looked up from where he was seated, his eyes questioning.
"Did you enjoy the city?" he asked, his gaze flicking between us.
Chris and I shared a look, a smile tugging at our lips. "Yes," we answered in unison, our voices filled with the contentment of a day well spent.