Adersta marked the northernmost point of the river Guldader. Tradesmen unloaded their goods from boats and made the transition onto the Great Rove. The famous road wound all the way from Guldhamn, but few considered the southern end when they spoke of the Great Rove. The quintessential image of the rove, the broad road of cut stone, with numerous encampments and taverns lining it, began in earnest at the gates of Adersta. Where the road followed the river, it lay dusty and dormant. Travelling by boat was much quicker, not to mention safer.

Things were different during the reign of the Crown. Back then, the Great Rove was patrolled by the Royal Army, day and night. Banditry was almost unheard of. It was said the rove always shuddered under a myriad of carts and hooves.

The broad road cut straight through Sev from south to north. It took travellers past all the major cities. It ran from Adersta to the markets of Anderjärn. Then, it continued on to the capital, Storhjärd. It cut through the large markets, curved around the castle, and then came out the other end. From there, you could continue your journey north until you met the river Fiskarns, which eased transport to Nordhamn at the northern sea, as well as the trading harbour of the Crown in Lugnvadn. The Great Rove was a symbol of prosperity. Or it used to be.

When Oskar and the Fri arrived at Adersta, the road was empty. Not a soul was travelling along it. The taverns outside the city walls were closed and abandoned. The clearing which hugged the road on either side had grown slimmer. Nature was reclaiming the lonely land. A never ceasing wind blew along the Great Rove, but all it carried was an eerie silence.

The visit to Adersta was about as successful as anyone could have hoped for. Accustomed to trade with a multitude of foreign forces, the locals were friendly enough, but they were clearly sceptical about the tale of Oskar, heir of Floki. The caravan was asked to remain outside the city walls. Only the inner circle were permitted entry. Under the strict supervision of the city guard, they were invited to visit the market, but Oskar politely declined. Uncomfortable with the cold shoulder and the constant howling of the wind, he insisted they ride on as soon as his talks with the mayor had been concluded. Glad to be out of archery range from the high walls, Thorun led on into the woods.

Unwanted and unwelcome, they made every effort to avoid the mountain folk. The caravan stayed on the eastern side of the river. The roads were less travelled here. The narrow paths and uneven ground slowed their progress. It took the Nordborg soldiers a moment to adjust to being forced to ride out of formation. The Fri were displeased to find branches scraping along the sides of their carts. The makeshift roads were also at a considerable distance to the banks of Guldader, and the convenient supply of water it presented. The mood of the caravan at large was in rapid decline.

Sylvia tried to look on the bright side. At least the forest was much thicker on the eastern side of the river. The wind rustled through the leaves all around them, but as it crashed against every twig and bush, it never picked up the strength to tear the warmth out from under their coats.

One day from Adersta, the caravan made halt amidst the trees. It was hardly a suitable place to make camp, but it had to suffice for a few hours of shut-eye. Leaning against trees or rolling up in blankets, most managed to fall asleep briefly before Bothilder was yelling commands again. Yawning aloud, Sylvia pulled herself onto Natta’s back again. Rise was displeased when Afi nudged her forward. She voiced a complaint, but heeded the order.

The road became a little more tolerable from there on out. It smoothed out and grew wide enough for two riders to share it. Yri used the extra manoeuvring space for her regular routine of riding ahead and dropping back, teasing and joking with the soldiers along the entire caravan. Her laugh was all the more infectious after a sleepless night.

Two tired days from Adersta, they made camp in a small clearing. As soon as she had dismounted, Sylvia pulled her boots off. With a pleased moan, she buried her feet in deep green moss. Wiggling her toes, she giggled.

Afi frowned at his liege. He crouched down and touched the dark moss. “It is all wet.”

“I know!”, Sylvia exclaimed. “Fantastic!”

Afi’s frown only deepened. He failed to see the appeal, but Sylvia was beaming. She began to laugh and ran further into the woods. She stopped quite suddenly and crouched down, digging among the plants.

“Whatever has gotten into her?”, Balder laughed.

“I have no idea”, Afi shrugged.

“Fever?”, Balder suggested playfully.

“Afi! Get a container!”, Sylvia shouted.

“Fetch, Doggie”, Balder teased.

Sighing, Afi found a jute bag in Natta’s saddle bags. He picked up the boots Sylvia had thrown aside and followed her into the thicket.

“Look!”, Sylvia said excitedly, holding up a handful of mushrooms.

Opening the bag, Afi accepted the bunch. “Are those for medicine as well?”

Sylvia shook her head. “They are for eating.”

Still crouching, she moved sideways like a crab. Amused, Afi watched while she threaded her fingers through the moss, tilting her head this way and that. Finding more mushrooms, she plucked them and added them to the bag. They had a bright yellow colour.

“Are you sure these are edible?”, Afi questioned.

“Quite. They are a delicacy”, Sylvia nodded. “Help me look.”, she urged.

Crouching down as well, Afi let himself be instructed. The search was complicated by small yellow leaves, which at a distance looked much like the mushrooms they were after, but for every deceptive leaf, there were two genuine mushrooms. An hour later, they emerged from the woods with an overflowing bag of yellow mushrooms. Sylvia was still smiling over both ears, and still barefoot. Afi was truly bewildered by the erratic behaviour, but he enjoyed seeing her smile. Her happiness wrapped itself firmly around his waist. Afi followed Sylvia to the baker’s tent, where she proudly presented their findings.

Frida gaped at the mushrooms. “Where did you find this many chanterelles?”

“Right here in the woods. There were a whole bunch in the shade”, Sylvia bragged. “I do not suppose there are many left, though”, she added conspiratorially.

Frida crossed her arms over her chest. “I will prepare them for you, with plenty of butter and salt, but I will need to take a share as fee for my services.”

“I think that is only fair”, Sylvia agreed.

Frida smiled and came closer. She hooked a strand of Sylvia's hair behind her ear. Her fingers stroked over the tawny skin and she leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sylvia's lips. Pulling back, Frida took the bag from Sylvia's arms and winked at her before turning to the fires.

Afi went to set up the tent while the women bantered over their past mushroom hunts. He wondered if their mushrooms increased in size for every time, just the way fish became heavier for every retelling of a fishermen’s tale. When he returned, the firm yellow mushrooms had become brown and slack in Frida’s frying pan. They looked dubious before, but now they definitely did not appear edible any more. The taste, however, he had no complaints about. It was unique, but quite delightful. The intensity of the flavour did well with plenty of bread and roots. Afi licked his fingers for any residue of butter and salt. While they ate, the sun had nestled among the trees. Afi smiled to himself.

“Palatable after all?”, Frida teased.

Afi nodded. “Good meal. Lush land. This is nice.”

Sylvia hummed in agreement. “It reminds me of home.”

“There are many mushrooms near Nyberg?”, Frida asked. She lay down and rested her head in Sylvia’s lap. Instinctively, Sylvia began to pet her head.

“There used to be, before the drought”, Sylvia nodded. “Every spring, plenty of water would run down from the mountain. The woods soaked it up like a sponge. All throughout summer, the river would flow with wild strength. By autumn, it would settle down, but water would keep seeping into the fields from the woods, and the wells were filled to the brim all throughout the winter. In the wet moss, there were mushrooms every couple metres. They help keep the woods healthy. Some of them grew to the size of chickens.”

“Liar”, Frida laughed.

“No, it is true. Big as chickens”, Sylvia insisted. She held her hands out to indicate the size.

“As if.”

“Mushroom chickens or not, it sounds beautiful”, Afi said.

“It was”, Sylvia agreed.

Frida placed a hand on Sylvia’s ankle, inspecting her feet. Sylvia looked down at her feet as well. They were all dirty and sore. A small cut stood out in bright red. Sylvia made a mental note to clean it before she went to bed. It had been a long time since she got to walk barefoot on soft ground. She was not used to it any more. Her skin had gotten softer, and more sensitive.

“Hiiau! A Wolf!”, a lookout called.

Frida sat up with a start. “Go. Go”, she urged.

Sylvia jumped to her feet.

“Always something”, Afi grumbled, hurrying after her.