Getting to Haversdale, their one and only lead, proved significantly easy once Wiesse relinquished the role of steering them away from potential danger. Yerin took up the mantle of team guide once again and they followed the road to the town. It was a pleasant enough day, the mild drizzle of the night had left a slight dew on the grass, but in doing so the green blades were vibrant, their colour emboldened by the small water droplets. The air was fresh, the scent of the foliage familiar yet competing with the moistened sod and dirt which filled their nostrils with earthy rich smells.

Lichter even did them all the favour of concealing his butthole.

At this point their good luck for the day hit a sudden and unprompted brick wall.

-

“Now what?” Yerin asked as the group of misfits sat in the Town centre. A bustling market was occurring around them as the inhabitants of the small town ventured from their small wooden houses to the brightly coloured stalls, set up in an expanding circle around the water fountain of the town centre, a standard feature for the local area, and into the alleyways and streets. The group was eyed suspiciously, a good portion of people trying their best to conceal their intrigue through sidewise glances, others outright gawping at them, albeit mostly at the Crocodile man who, for the second time that morning was relieving himself by defecating in the fountain.

“Hey, you try and stop him then!” Ross shouted after an elderly lady that was throwing rude hand signs and even more offensive phrases at the troupe. Ross and Wiesse sat at the base of the fountain, a similar mockery off the previous towns feature, though this one actually worked. They had lost Troit during the walk into the town centre, enamoured by the bright coloured tapestries of the market he had run off to find the food stalls with a childish skip in his step. Lichter sat in the shallow water basin of the fountain clapping his jaws over the spurting water jet at its centre now he was done loudly going about his toilet business. As for Yerin the small framed rogue was pacing back and forth in front of the wanted pair.

“Well?” he reiterated, arms thrown tothe air in despair.

“So, I guess we just…” Wiesse trailed off staring around him for some kind of prompt “look for the lass?”

“That is your grand plan is it?” Yerin asked, his face was turning red as his frustration grew. It was not a good look for him

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that hard. I find nice young ladies in almost every place we visit” Ross said, he tried a cheeky wink to express this but it turned into a toothy yawn half way which would only serve to interest young ladies of a particular persuasion, if that persuasion was towards gophers or idiots.

Yerin slapped his face into his palm, with a little more force than intended “Do we at least have a name or description to start us off?” he asked, the hope in his voice fading with each word.

Wiesse sat up, arms resting on his knees in as casual a pose as he could manage “About that...”

A pause followed

“Anything else?” Yerin spat

“Yea, yea calm down” Wiesse fished the scroll from his jacket “No description, just ‘Farmers Daughter’. Have a name though”

“Is it a pretty name?” Ross asked, and Wiesse playfully smacked his shoulder and called him a pervert.

“According to this her name is… Fell City, how do you pronounce that?” he showed it to Ross

“Felicity”

“Ok so we have a name.” Yerin sighed “Why do I feel I need to remind you all that we need this job to you know eat!?”

“I’m painfully aware” Lichter added and almost on que his stomach made a startingly loud gurgle.

“So we ask around, can’t be too many people called Felicity around here” Ross said, and reclined back into a relaxed position, Wiesse followed suit and settled in for a nap.

Yerin and Lichter shared a knowing glance and the crocodile man stood up to his full height in the fountain “FELICTY!” he shouted.

Almost everyone present turned at once to look at the monstrosity that was a naked Kkyrunnig standing above the assembled crowd of the market. Most faces portrayed fear, the old lady from earlier was still scowling and throwing up rude hand gestures.

“Aethers sake Lichter!” Wiesse said, fumbling around to face the Croc-man.

“Great now she’s probably running away in fear” Ross added trying not to look up at the Croc-man now that the Kkyrunnig had turned around and shouted the name again Ross had a clear view straight at his rear end.

“What in the name of the seven spectres are you all doing” came a disgruntled voice and the assembled troupe turned to see Troit standing with an old farm hand.

The elderly gentleman sported a long straggly white chin strap of a beard and a wide brimmed straw hat. Aside from the hat, a long piece of straw in his wrinkled mouth and a torn-up pair of baggy work trousers he wore nothing else. He crossed his saggy arms across his dark tanned leathery chest, sweat dripping from the curly white chest hairs there to drip on his forearm.

Everyone stared. No one said anything.

Troit crunched through the skin of an apple loudly.

The old man leaned into the barbarian “You sure these nincompoops can help me?”

“Want to fill us in on what is happening Troit?” Ross asked.

The barbarian beamed and took another bite of his apple, straight through the core “This man has information about the lady” he said, juices from his snack flying out from his gob with each syllable.

“you do?” Ross and Wiesse asked

“You do?!” Yerin asked substantially more aghast and sceptically

“A farmer man knowns a farmers daughter” the old wrinkle said matter-of-factly

Faces turned from the old spectacle to their barbarian friend “Troit, care to elaborate?” Wiesse asked.

“Well she probably needed food coming through the town, so I asked the man selling food” Troit said with confidence. Everyone ran the mental calculations as to how Troit had managed to come up with a sensible avenue of inquiry and came up short.

“Now maybe I know the lady you’re lookin fer, an maybe I knows where she’s headed” the old man said, checking at his fingernails as he did so. “An just maybe I can tell you if you do me a favour.”

-

The midday sun was high in the sky and uncontested by clouds, the dew of the morning had gone, and the lack of breeze gave no respite from the harsh rays of sunshine. Around them the smell of wheat was strong and pervasive, so too were the giant brushes of the crop which surrounded them.

“I’m fairly confident in saying this is beneath us” Wiesse said, swatting away flies that buzzed around the heads of the crop and descended on the group in testing manoeuvres, checking the invaders for hostility.

“nothing is beneath you” Yerin grumbled

“I know, if we need food then by any means necessary but still.”

“No I just mean generally, nothing is beneath you two” Yerin re-iterated.

“Ouch” Ross said “I think we finally broke Yerin” he said to Wiesse who shrugged with a smile.

Troit crunched through a fresh apple and effortlessly pushed aside some of the surrounding crop, despite this vantage he gave a poor attempt to look around the space before returning his attention to his snack.

“Who keeps giving you apples Gods damned it” Yerin demanded from Troit, rounding on the barbarian with an accusatory finger.

“Farmers wife” Troit said, chewing through the rest of his food “She says I’m a charming growing boy and need my fruit”

“Growing!? Aether please no. You’re big enough” Wiesse said and kicked at Lichter who lay on the ground in front of them, sniffing around “any luck down there Lich’”

“It would be easier to pick up a scent if it smelt like something other than wheat and bullshit around here” Lichter said, eyes narrowed and the closest attempt to concentration any of them had ever seen in his expression.

“Bull shit? You reckon there is a Bull in this field?” Ross asked suddenly worrying

“Nah we should be ok; it seems to all be coming from your mouth” the crocodile man said and chuckled to himself despite the boot he got in his backside.

“Just keep looking for the old man’s dog” Yerin said, bored with the constant bickering.

They had only made it a few yards into the wheat field before the crop hindered movement. They gently made progress whenever Troit would hold aside a few bundles and they carefully shuffled into small open patches that had likely been the result of birds eating the seeds when the crop had just been planted.

It transpired that the task the farmer needed help with, if he was to cough up any information on the whereabouts of the lady, was to locate his beloved pet dog. Having some hired hands make a mess of planting his wheat crop the field was an untraversable mess which he himself could not breach. The dog on the other hand had bolted in chasing a bird and was yet to return. That was two days before and now the old man was getting worried. In his own words the dog likely would'nt survive another spin of the third wheel and if they wanted information then he wanted his beloved “Dusty”.

“Oi oi” Lichter said in a low tone “something ahead”

Everyone stopped and crouched low, peering through the base of the crop in a bid to see what Lichter had picked up. They kept low, close to the ground.

That is when Lichter farted.

It was loud trumpeting sound with a characteristic squeak at the end and directly next to Ross’s head. He and Wiesse began laughing uncontrollably while Ross gagged and wafted it back towards the Crocodile man. Yerin cursed everyone out for their lack of professionalism and Troit continued staring, oblivious to the fact Lichter was pulling a prank on the acting pair the whole time.

“Wait what’s that” Lichter started, sniffing the air in exaggerated motions

“Nice fucking try you overgrown lizard” Ross said, kicking his friend for the umpteenth time that day “as if I’m getting my face down to your level ever again”

“No seriously this time” The crocodile man tried to say convincingly but he couldn’t supress another chuckle as he was reminded of his antics.

“All of you shut up, I can hear it” Yerin said, shushing them all with a venomous stare.

Troit continued to look vacantly into the middle distance.

All of a sudden, a bounding ball of white and black fur careened through the field, yapping and barking as it did so, directly at the troupe. Like an arrow at its target. A very aggressive, loud, furry arrow.

“Shit!” Yerin was able to shout as it latched onto his leg and began growling. He rolled onto the floor and discovered in that instant that both Ross and Wiesse were about as helpful in a panic situation as a wet flannel at a butchers. The actor pair began some strange hopping on the spot maneuverer putting their hands out to grab at the flailing furball, never quite catching it and making a series of noises which may have been construed as “hold it still” or “How do I get this thing” but to Yerin sounded more along the vein of “awah, what, ahhh” and “Oooh, ahh, no, no” though it was hard for him to hear anything other than the excessive growling of the dog currently mistaking his leg for a cutlet of beef.

In his excessive rolling he battered into Lichter and took out the legs of both Ross and Wiesse, both of them joined him and the crocodile man on the floor. There was some commotion, a lot of limbs going about the place, some screaming but eventually everyone brought themselves to a standing position with the optimal number of canines attached to extremities. That being zero.

“Got it!” Lichter shouted gleefully.

Everyone panted, franticly trying to get their breath back and looked up at the Kkyrunnig.

“Good man, where is it?” Wiesse asked, proffering his hands to take the dog from him and retracting as he recalled Yerin’s ordeal.

Lichter beamed his toothy smile and patted his belly, he licked his lips as the other three looked on, wide eyed and concerned. “Now come on let’s keep looking for this mutt” he said, then took in the mortified expressions of the other three. “What?”

“Oh Fuck sake Lichter” Ross said slowly shaking his head.

“What?” Lichter asked again, both hands curled up over his belly like a chastised child retreating in on themselves.

“Have you never seen a dog before?” Wiesse asked, he made sure he said it slowly.

“You mean…” Lichter looked between the accusatory eyes of Wiesse and Yerin, Ross was staring at the floor “That was a dog?”

At this point Troit finally returned to the world of the living and pulled his eyes away from where he had been vacantly staring “What did you see Lichter friend?”

There was a very long silence.

“I think I can spit it back out” Lichter said eventually, quietly.

“Do you think that would help?” Yerin asked, he wasn’t even sure if he was being genuine at that point, in his mind there was just defeat.

“Well…” Lichter began “I did swallow it whole if that counts?”

Yerin and Wiesse dropped to the floor where Ross was now sitting, staring up at the sky resignedly.

Over the gentle swaying of the crop, which sounded like a hundred individual brushes calmly pulled against a dry wood floor and the chirping of small insects around them the farmers voice broke from the porch of his small farmhouse “How’s ya’ll getting on? Mah wife made some drinks for yous.”

No one dared reply.

“Best go give him back his regurgitated dog” Wiesse at last said and the quiet that followed was broken by Troit crunching into another apple.