Vasha walked beside the Ee’dornil as they followed Kaelen towards her camp. The large elf still carried Suraia in his arms, while the half-elven woman bore her dead campmate across her shoulders. She shifted the weight higher with the ease of someone accustomed to carrying weight that way. It was late in the afternoon when they finally reached the camp, tucked among the trees.
There were two tents and some bedrolls, with gear stacked neatly and a low fire prepared. Faces turned the moment they arrived, the tension breaking into relief when they saw the returning campmate.
Two members of the group hurried forwards to help her lower the dead man’s body. He was laid down with quiet heaviness. Then, without delay, his belongings were sorted with practised pragmatism.
“Damn it,” a dwarf muttered. He crouched and pulled a satchel from the dead man’s belt with the efficiency of someone who could not afford sentiment. Then he stepped forwards, broad and solid, with a braided beard and sharp eyes. He exchanged a few softly spoken words with the half-elven woman before looking up. The dwarf’s gaze did not linger on the druid. It landed on the human woman in his arms.
“You’re the healer,” he said, blunt and certain, as if he had already decided it. His dwarven accent sat heavily upon the words. “You’re the one who patched the lass up.”
He gestured towards Kaelen before turning back to the trio.
“The name’s Garrick.” The dwarf grunted.
“Our healer is dead,” he went on bluntly, jerking his chin towards the fallen man’s kit. “The poor sod’s not going to need this anymore.”
He lifted the satchel. “Bandages. Syringe. Alcohol. One red lookin’ potion. So listen close, lass. If you are worth your hands, I would rather have you and your com’rades in my camp than bleeding out alone in the trees. What say you?”
A small bundle of items was put aside while a young-looking elven woman knelt beside the body. She did not look up. Her pale fingers traced a small, precise pattern over the dead man’s brow and throat, and she spoke softly and with great care. Her expression remained composed, cool and focused as she wove patterns of clear but unfamiliar magic.
The healer’s pack offered to the curly redhead contained more than the healing satchel alone. A wooden mug, a waterskin and a couple of belt pouches were also added to the pile.
“Think about it, Lass, while we say goodbye to our... friend.” The broad dwarf said. “We’ll join you at the fire when we are done. We have food a plenty, eat!”
The bearded man gestured towards the campfire, then joined the others gathered around their dead healer’s body.
Thorn walked over and took a place at the fire, still holding the human woman in his arms. Vasha joined them but kept her attention upon the others. They watched in silence as the group paid a simple farewell to their fallen campmate. It was short and practical. When they had finished, Garrick joined the trio by the fire.
The elven woman stayed with the dead healer and continued her spell work. The others left her alone and went about their business.
“Aye, eat!” Garrick said, offering them bread and roasted meat from the spit above the fire. His gaze flicked briefly towards the large elf and the fox-eared woman as though taking their measure, then returned to the curly redhead. “Names come after I know why you are here.”
“We were just passing through Lyonne forest.” The druid answered, entirely unbothered that the dwarf did not seem to be addressing him. “You may call me master Thornwing, this is my apprentice Vasha and this is Miss Silverbell, our healer.”
His tone remained neutral but not unkind, although the last two words were slightly more pronounced. “We heard screaming and rushed in to aid your companions.”
“Aye, that’ll do it most of the time.” Garrick grinned before taking a mouthful of meat and chewing it.
“What about all of you then?” Vasha asked, accepting a drink the dwarf offered her. “What brings you to... Lyonne Forest was it?” She glanced at her mentor, who gave a slight nod.
“The promise of wealth in the form of treasure, Lass” Garrick answered. “I put together this... fine team of hunters m’self. Each with their own... specialty.”
He nodded. “Kaelen you have met,” he said, indicating the half-elven woman. “And that there is ‘er twin brother, Rendall.”
The man at her side did not bother with a proper greeting, offering only a vague hand gesture before his attention snapped back to his sister. He fussed over the torn and half-ripped side of her tunic.
The bearded hunter shifted his hand towards the gear pile, where a halfling sat with a book open upon his knees, lantern-light catching the edges of the pages. “The fellow over there be Malrik.”
The halfling did not look up for more than a heartbeat. His eyes flicked across the newcomers, quick and assessing, then dropped back to the book.
The broad dwarf hooked a thumb towards a human archer standing near the fire. “This lad is Darron.”
At that, the archer pushed away from his easy lean and stepped forwards properly. He was neither overfamiliar nor stiff, but polite in a way that suggested he had been raised well enough to introduce himself. His gaze, however, found the ebony-skinned woman immediately and stayed there for a bit.
“Evening,” he said, and the word held a quiet warmth. “You look like you have had a day of it.”
Vasha’s grin came quickly. “You have no idea.”
Garrick made a low sound, half warning and half dismissal. Then he pointed towards the edge of the firelight and said, “And the lass, making sure that dead weight does not get up and kill us tonight, is Elira.”
The young elven woman did not pause her work. She remained kneeling beside the dead man, her hands calm and precise and her expression composed as she finished tracing runes over his chest with her fingers. Only then did she briefly lift her gaze, give a hasty smile and return to her task without a word.
The large elf simply listened, cutting the meat into smaller pieces with his knife and offering them to Suraia to make sure she ate something. After taking a bite himself, the man with bark-brown skin nodded politely to the treasure hunter.
“We used to have a guide as well.” The group’s leader continued. “But the lad got himself killed on the second day. And now that good for nothing healer.”
He gestured between the apprentice and her mentor. “You two look like you can hold your own.” The dwarf grunted before finally addressing the Ee’dornil directly. “We have room for a couple more. Whatever treasure we manage to dig up, will be equally split between all.”
Garrick faced the curly redhead again, suddenly all business. “Now. What do you say, Lass, stay a while? Help us out?”
Suraia looked uncertainly at him, her cheeks flushed, before her tired eyes turned towards Thorn.
“We will consider it, but miss Silverbell needs to eat first, and rest.” He said, shifted Suraia slightly in his arms and offered her some bread.
She took it and nibbled, though her eyes could barely remain open. The redheaded woman blinked a couple of times and eased a little farther into his embrace.
Vasha ate her bread while making light conversation with the archer.
The blue moon became visible in the sky as evening turned into night.
Kaelen and her twin rose and gathered two shovels. Rendall threw one of them to Darron. “Oi, let’s get this bloke under the ground before he starts to stink more then he usually did.”
The human man inclined his head and gave a slight nod to the fox-eared woman before joining Rendall to bury the dead man, while the half-elven woman watched and provided vocal encouragement.
The Ee’dornil looked down at Suraia and discovered that she had fallen asleep in his arms. He adjusted her cloak slightly to keep her warm.
Garrick glanced at the sleeping human woman in the large elf’s arms, then turned his attention to the druid again. “Rest with us for the night then Lad. Give us your answer in the morrow.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Thorn said and gave the treasure hunter a slight nod before rising. The Oakhai looked up at him and followed his example.
The large elf moved a short distance from the camp to a small clearing. He knelt where the forest floor was thick with moss and living root and placed the palm of his free hand against the ground. With his other arm, he continued cradling the curly redhead against his chest as if she weighed nothing, holding the sleeping woman close.
Branches rose in a slow, controlled arc, not ripped from the trees but coaxed into motion by his touch. They wove together overhead, meeting and crossing until a low dome formed, tight enough to hold warmth and thick enough to dim the campfire’s light into a muted glow. Leaves layered over the frame like shingles. Moss gathered inside, swelling into two resting places, one upon the left and the other upon the right. A narrow space remained between them, just wide enough to move through without stepping over anyone.
A curtain of ivy unfurled at the entrance, glossy dark leaves draping down in a living veil. It could be pushed aside from within, but from the outside it resembled a closed door.
“There,” Thorn said quietly.
The man with bark-brown skin rose and nodded approvingly at his handiwork. He gently laid the sleeping woman upon the slightly larger of the two moss beds and removed her bag from her shoulder. At the far end, where their heads would rest, he tucked away his pack and Suraia’s bag.
Vasha placed her bow and quiver beside them in a neat line, close enough to reach without sitting up. “A private hut.” She said and her ears flicked with amusement. “That’s something new.”
Thorn looked up at her, his expression serious. “I do not know them.”
He sat beside the sleeping woman upon the moss bed and looked at Suraia.
“So what do you think of Garrick’s proposal?” the ebony-skinned woman asked. “A treasure hunt sounds exciting!”
“We will see.” The Ee’dornil answered. “If the coin is honest, I see no harm in staying.”
Thorn took his black cloak and carefully draped it over the sleeping woman before lying down behind her and carefully folding one arm around her waist. Vasha lay down in the moss bed opposite them, her tail hanging lazily over its edge as she yawned.
“I Shall take first watch.” the Ee’dornil said. “You look like you could use some rest as well.”
“Sounds like a plan, Master Thornwing.” The Oakhai said, placing teasing emphasis upon the last two words. “Wake me up when it’s my turn.”