Hattie walked to a corner of the market where carts and wagons were available for hire, and narrowed her eyes at the lot of young drivers. One spat on the ground, and Hattie frowned. She wouldn’t be hiring that particular fellow. Her eyes fell on one of the youngest of the group.

“You,” she pointed to a large eared lad with several nasty pustules across his face.

“Yes, ma’am?” he hurried over to her, eager for some business.

“How much for a trip to Redshire, just myself?” Hattie asked.

“That'd be a fiver,” the young man said, eyes hopeful.

“Let’s be off then,” Hattie said.

“Yes, this way,” the young man led her to his cart, a sturdy thing that was well kept.

He gave Hattie a hand up, and with a short “Upsy daisy!” they were off. They clopped through the streets of Derington, past people and stores.

When they had clopped their way onto the main road, part of a larger system between towns, and out of ear range of all the townsfolk, Hattie called out the lad, “Are they normal pimples or the aftermath of a disease?”

The young man turned a horrid shade of scarlet. “Just pimples,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Hattie called out.

“They’re just pimples!” he shouted, beside himself in an embarrassment.

“That’s the spirit!” Hattie chuckled, “Have you tried milkweed and honey?” Hattie asked, “It’s a smacking good home remedy I used often in my youth. Gets the swelling down and keeps new ones away.”

“Haven’t,” the young man said, his embarrassment keeping him stiff.

“Do. You mash the two into a paste and let it stay on your face overnight. It keeps the skin soft, too.”

“Okay,” the young man kept his eyes on the road.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence. A few carts passed them by, going the opposite direction, towards Derington, and each time they passed, Hattie waved with gusto. Soon, the town receded behind them into blocks of color and buildings, and a lush green area with scattered houses and barns came into view. The young man stopped when he reached the first house. They had arrived, and made good time too. There wasn't much traffic.

“Here’s Redshire,” the young man said, and helped Hattie down.

“Thank you,” Hattie handed him the fiver, and an extra copper, “Buy yourself some milkweed and honey, promise me.”

“I will, ma’am.” The young man took the coins, his face still a bit red, “Thank you,” he said this is a much more quiet manner.

“Good,” Hattie paused, “Do you happen to know which way it is to Fior Smiths’s farmland? He keeps gold wolves.”

The young man shook his head, “Sorry ma’am, I wouldn’t know. I’m from Deerhill.”

“Farewell then, and don’t forget the milkweed and honey.” The boon of old age was that people often expected you to nag.

“I won’t.” The young man tipped his cap. He got back onto his cart and left for Derington.

Redshire was made up of large plots of land owned by farmers, hunters, and the like. The air fresher than Derington’s had been. Hattie breathed in, tasting grass and summer berries, and started her walk to the nearest house to ask for directions.

She knocked once, and clasped her hands while she waited. A heavyset woman in an apron, hands covered in muck, answered, “Yes, Grandmother? What might you be doing in Redshire?”

“I’m looking for Grace Smiths,” Hattie said, “We grew up together, and I wanted to visit her.”

“Old Gracie? She lives with her son past the bridge over there, the yellow house,” the woman pointed towards the house. Hattie could see the hint of yellow in the landscape, but not much detail.

“Thank you,” Hattie said, and continued on.

The bridge was a decent walk away, and Hattie stepped with care, as the paths were rough. Back at Derington Holding, she did much more strenuous work daily, but the back and forth, and up and down, and the talking of the day wore her out in a different manner. Hattie reached the middle of the bridge and stopped to lean over and see what was underneath. Under the bridge a clear stream burbled. The shadows of fat fish flashed by here and there.

Hattie gazed at the wavering shadows, “I’d love some smoked pike,” she said. She continued on, until she reached the yellow house.

“What a cheerful color,” Hattie said, and knocked on the door.

A child answered, and stared up at her, “Hello,” he said.

“I’m here to see your grandmother, Grace.” Hattie said, “We grew up together.”

The boy peered at her for another moment.

“Daaad!” the boy called out, “There’s a lady here to see granny!”

Not long after, the father of the child, Fior, Hattie presumed, arrived. He was a tall man and similar in feature to his brother, Han. His little boy went behind his legs and peered some more at Hattie. Hattie wondered what had him so curious of her. She was a simple old lady, after all. Perhaps, being a small town, they didn't often get visitors.

“You must be Fior,” Hattie cleared her throat, “Your brother Han told me your mother, Grace, lives here. We grew up together and I thought it’d be lovely to come visit.”

“Come on in,” Fior stepped into the house, “My mam’s in the garden.”

Hattie followed Fior and the little boy inside the yellow house. Inside was a cozy hearth and several cushions and chairs, some small tables and one large one for meals. Hattie didn't comment, but it was a lot of furniture.

Fior and the boy walked Hattie to a door at the back of the room, and outside it.

Lush red and orange flowers sprouted in big bushes, and yet another table, this one painted white, was set among them. An old lady much like Hattie sat at the table, facing the flowers.

“Mam, there’s a lady here to see you,” Fior said.

Grace turned to them, and then stood. “I’ll be! Is that Hattie Miller? Whatever brings you to Redshire?” Grace Smiths had aged with kindness. Her hair retained some of its coppery tone, and though her skin was browned from time under the sun, it gave her a hardy, tropic appearance.

“Hello, Grace. I came to visit you, and,” she gave a side glance to Fior, “Perhaps discuss some business.”

“Hattie dear, come, sit with me. And Min,” Grace said to the boy, “Bring us something to drink please.”

The little boy scampered inside, and Fior pulled out a chair for Hattie.

“Mam,” Fior said, “ I’m going to go help Melanie. Send Min for me if you need me.”

Grace nodded, and turned to Hattie, “I haven’t seen you since you moved up to Derington Holding to be a maid! What have you been doing all these years?”

Hattie laughed, “Exactly that! I’ve worked as a maid for the past fifty years, never married, never left.”

“That’s hard to believe!” Grace’s eyes widened, “We all gossiped back in the day that you’d get the Duke to marry you.”

Hattie smiled, eyes sad, “No. I was engaged at one point, but he called it off.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.” Grace reached for Hattie's hand, and held it for a moment.

“It was a long, long time ago,” Hattie said, and squeezed her friend’s hand. To think Hattie hadn’t met with any of her friends for so long!

Min came out of the house, holding a pitcher and two mugs.

“Thank you, dear,” Grace winked, “And bring out a plate of your mother's cookies--I know you know where she hides them.”

“Can I have one too?” Min asked, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Yes,” Grace said, “But don’t tell your mam unless she asks.”

Min grinned again, and went back to the house.

Grace shook her head, and poured each of them a drink, “That little rascal, he gets into everything, I tell you.”

“I believe it,” Hattie sipped her drink, “Wow!”

The drink was sweet and flavored, “This is delicious!" Hattie said, "Han should add this to his stall.”

“You’ve met both my boys, then,” Grace said, “Han decided to open a food cart when he was a youth, and you’d be surprised at how well he does.”

“That’s how I found you, actually,” Hattie said, “He looks quite like you and I mentioned your name in passing. He was quite polite,” Hattie said, keeping her word from a few chapters ago to relay the good manners Han possessed to his mother. She also refrained from mentioning his initial rudeness.

“That’s impressive,” Grace said, “That boy always had a mouth. ‘Mam, I don’t have to listen to you forever, I’m going to move out one day!’ he’d tell me when we fought.”

“Ha ha!” Hattie sipped again at the fruity, floral drink, “I left the Duke’s employ today, if you can believe that.”

“Really?” Grace asked, “Whyever so?”

Hattie sagged, “Ah, I felt I wasted my youth working there, and it was time I saw a bit of the world, tasted some adventure--speaking of which,” Hatties touched her copper wolf pin, “I joined the Adventurer’s Guild.”

Grace stared at the pin, in amazed silence. Min came out the door with a plate of cookies, which snapped Grace out of her surprise.

“Min, come take a look at this. Hattie’s a member of the Adventurer’s Guild!” Grace said.

Min set the plate of cookies down next to Hattie.

“Here,” Hattie touched the pin. MIn stood on his tippy toes to see.

“Wow! Have you killed a lot of monsters?” Min picked up a cookie and took a bite.

“I’ve slayed many a sticky floor, and put naughty children to bed by the dozen,” Hattie said, “And I saved a man’s life once, too.”

“No monsters?” Min drooped, crumbs at his mouth.

“Sorry, lad, I only just joined the Guild,” Hattie reached for the boy and put him in her lap. She slid the metal backing of the pin out her collar, snapped it’s back shut so he wouldn’t stick himself with it, and handed it to Min.

“That’s part of the reason I came today,” Hattie watched as Min felt the edges of the pin’s wolf’s mane, impressed, “I need a mount to keep up with those younger adventures. Han told me that Fior has been breeding gold wolves to be even tempered.”

“That could work,” Grace picked up a cookie, “You’ll have to ask Fior to be sure. We can ask him at dinner--you will stay tonight, won’t you?”

“That would be lovely,” Hattie said, glad she wouldn’t have to figure out a way to get back to Derington after the long day she’d had.

“Good, now that that’s settled, let’s play a game. I’m partial to Stone Memory, myself,” Grace said, a twinkle in her eye.

“I can never beat granny,” Min whispered to Hattie, “She’s brilliant.”

Hattie patted the little boy's copper hair, and smiled, “Let’s have a game, shall we, ey?”