It seemed that more and more people were passing by me the closer I got to Vehrehr. After the vagrant passed me and warned me about the creatures that I now understood were some kind of bears, two more groups passed by without any incident. Both were going from Vehrehr to Frahmtehn, and both were some kind of merchants. The first group consisted of five individuals wearing backpacks, four of which were clearly mercenaries, and the fifth who was the client. Not Steelheart, I thought when I passed by them and exchanged glances. The second group had a wagon that was being pulled by a beast, but were still proceeding at a walking pace, and had six members. Neither group stopped to talk to me, though both of them kept their eyes on me while we were near each other.

Late in the afternoon I came upon a proper river, at least thirty meters across, over which the road continued with a cobblestone bridge. The sight of flowing water made me remember just how thirsty I was from not getting much water the previous few days, so I dipped off of the road and headed down to the bank to drink and wash up. Fruit juice is good, but I should really get a canteen, I thought while cupping liquid into my mouth. After drinking up I removed my armor and pants, then washed them in the river to get the bear's blood out of them. That was probably why those groups were staring at me, I realized.

After crossing the bridge I continued on for another little while, slowing down near sundown to try to find a good tree to hide out in. I'm not eager to repeat that little chase from last night, I thought coldly while chopping my way through some unusually thick brush with my sword. The last few days of usage had improved my opinion of the weapon greatly. I was already quite impressed with the weight and balance, but the fact that it could double as a machete with ease and had a blade that held an edge well-made it far superior to the flimsy longswords I had been using before acquiring it.

I found a good tree around two hundred meters from the road and, after making sure it was climbable and stable, decided to forage for some kind of food to eat. The rations that I had been chewing on for the previous few days weren't bad in the taste department, but I found that they didn't provide the same level of energy as fresh food did. Come to think of it, if the purple bar on my heads-up display is some kind of quantification of my body's sense of its own stamina, the green bars probably follow the same rule, I thought while walking to the side of the river. As I expected, the water’s edge was home to a few groups of the crab creatures I had eaten before. They must stay away from the bridge because of the noise, I noted.

Instead of using cordage, I found a stick, sharpened it, and skewered as many of the crabs as I could before the rest fled for their lives. After repeating this process on three colonies I had seventeen small crabs to cook and eat, which I thought was an acceptable meal. Back at the tree, I picked up some sticks and rocks and made a campfire, using yet more sticks to hold three crab skewers over the fire while they cooked. Could I cook something with only the heat from this... magic? I wondered. Experimentally I pulled one of the crabs off of a stick and held its semi-cooked body in my hand. I reached out with my mind, willing heat into its body, then frowned when its shell popped and its guts flew all over.

With my belly full of crab I climbed the tree and found my preferred spot, leaning back and quickly nodding off into sleep. My dreams were filled with roars and teeth, and in a strange state of semi-consciousness I knew that I was dreaming and was coherent enough to examine the contents and judge them. That roar was louder than gunfire, I thought hazily, how could it have been that loud? Maybe some other kind of- mentally I cringed at the word I was about to use- magic? Just how much of this will I remember anyway?

My eyes opened up to flickering darkness and for a moment I felt a pang of panic from my chest while my ears searched around for the sounds of a bear eating. After the brief state of irrationality passed I took a deep breath, then looked around to identify the light source which was causing the shadows of the tree to dance around me. A fire? I thought from the color, but I put mine out before climbing up here. On the ground, nearby but not quite in the position where I had placed my own fire, was a different campfire.

I slowly got to my feet in the tree and peeked out of the leaves, looking around for the source of the fire. Not a single human was nearby, but I couldn't see very far because of the leaves around me and the lack of light. A quick hop and swing later and my feet met the ground with a soft thump. My last remaining knife was in my left hand, and my sword was in my right as I stood half-crouched and scanned my surroundings. Did they just leave it here? I wondered as I stood up and relaxed.

As if to answer my question the bushes in front of me parted to reveal a man carrying what looked to be a small deer over his shoulder. Unlike most of the people on the island, his hair was a dark brown or black, and his face had many scars on it, though his skin was still pale. We locked eyes, much like how I had done with the bear, and I scanned him over for weapons. That's a bowstring, I thought while looking at his torso, and he's got a knife on his waist.

“You need some food, stranger?” the man asked. His calm demeanor somehow made me aware that I was bearing weapons in both of my hands, while both of his were focused on the deer he was carrying. I sheathed my sword but kept my knife drawn in a reverse grip just in case.

“Could always use more,” I replied. The man laughed and walked closer, dumping the deer down by the side of the fire while I backed up to give him some space. The man drew his own knife, which looked to be a small machete-like blade, and began skinning the deer with practiced ease. He shot it in the head, I noted while looking the animal over for wounds, that bow must have a very high draw weight to get through the skull like that. The killing blow had struck the deer just above the left eye, piercing straight through the thickest part of the brow.

“You can put that away,” the man intoned while he worked. I glanced at the knife in my hand, then at him again. He was average in height for the humans of the island, which meant he was around eight to ten centimeters shorter than me. The sleeves on his brown tunic pulled back a few times while he worked to show heavily muscled forearms, but nothing compared to my own. Well, we're both pretty scrawny by the standards I'm used to, I thought grimly. Reluctantly I put the knife back into its sheath.

“Why did you make your camp here?” I asked bluntly. The man finished yanking the last bit of skin off of the deer, throwing it off into the bush and darkness before looking over at me with an inquisitive gaze. “Did you not see my own fire?” I asked.

“Oh I saw it,” the man replied, “I just thought whoever made it had moved on. Were you up in the tree?” His answer, as well as his question, sounded honest. Honest or he's experienced at lying, I thought.

“Yes, two-thirds of the way up,” I replied, “I wanted to ensure my body was hidden by leaves.” The man grunted and turned back to the deer, pulling out the guts with his hands and spilling them into a pile beside us. Using his knife he expertly clipped out the attachment points of the organs, spilling as little blood as possible.

“If you do that, make sure to mark the tree next time,” he advised me without looking over. “Tie a rope around it or something, or cut a fresh wound into it.” But that defeats the purpose somewhat, I thought, I also wanted to hide from any potential hostile humans.

“Understood,” I replied, “I'm not used to the customs here. I am-”

“I know what you are, foreigner, and it is not a problem to me,” the man replied, cutting me off. “Just make sure you do it next time or else somebody might take your spot.” The man cut the throat of the deer, then held it up by its back legs. “See the rope on my waist? Take it and tie up these legs so we can drain this corpse,” he instructed. I looked and saw a spool of thin rope on his hip, which I took and then did as he instructed with. A few minutes later the deer's corpse was swinging from one of the tree branches, dripping blood into a pool on the ground.

“I don't usually do that,” I commented, gesturing to the deer. The man looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Do you not mind the taste of it?” the man asked. He walked over to the fire and sat down, putting it between him and myself.

“No,” I replied, walking to the opposite side of the fire, “does it take long to drain the blood?” Does it even taste different if the blood is removed? I wondered.

“To get it all out, sure,” the man shrugged, “I just drain the bulk of it. Takes about an hour for a deer that size.” The word he used for the animal was aengahtz, which was a term I didn’t recognize. The Suwlahtk villagers called the deer jhoyp, which made me wonder which one was correct.

“Won't we attract bears, being out like this?” I asked. The man looked at me, then smiled and chuckled to himself. Is there something I don't know? I wondered.

“We'll be fine,” the man said. “So, stranger, what brings you to this part of the world?”

“I'm going to Vehrehr,” I replied.

“No,” the man responded immediately, “I mean, what is your purpose here? In Uwriy?” I guess I could just tell him, I considered, he might know something useful.

“I'm looking for a... large black triangular structure,” I said. “It's supposed to be somewhere on the mainland from what I've heard. I think it's called a...”

“A noypeyyoyjh,” the man responded with a knowing tone. “How interesting, meeting someone who is looking for it all the way out here.” I tried to read the man's face, but he was either hiding his emotions deliberately or felt nothing but a strange amusement.

“So you know of it?” I asked. The man smiled again.

“I am a follower of Rehv,” the man said softly. “The noypeyyoyjh, or if you prefer the term of our people the verteyzeyr’rehv, are sacred sites to us.” I pulled apart the new term in my mind, trying to figure out what it meant. “It means, 'place where Rehv touched the world',” the man offered, clearly reading my thoughts from my lack of response.

“I see,” I replied, “so you know the location of the site then?”

“Which one?” the man asked in his same friendly tone.

“It's in a forest, or perhaps a jungle,” I answered. “I heard from some others that it's on the east end of the mainland, but I have no idea if they were being truthful with me.” The man grunted, then stroked his short beard.

“That site is north of Awrehrehzha,” he answered. I immediately committed the name of the landmark he mentioned to memory. “If you wish to go on a pilgrimage there you will need permission from our leaders in Zihzehshehsk. May I ask the purpose of your trip? Forgive me, but you do not strike me as a man who follows Rehv's teachings.”

“I'd prefer not to say,” I replied.

“You don't intend to cause trouble for us, do you?” the man asked. For just a moment, his eyes narrowed and I saw a flash of impending violence. I was right to be cautious, I thought, he would have no problem attacking me.

“No, I have no such intent,” I assured him. “To my knowledge, my goal would not harm the site in any way. In fact, it may be beneficial to it.” The tension evaporated from the man instantly, and he broke into another wide smile.

“'All are the tools of the creator, even those who seek to defy him cannot escape his machinations. In truth, they are often more zealous in their obedience than the faithful.',” the man recited happily. “From the book of Rehv, third chapter, eighty-seventh verse,” he added when he saw my intentionally skeptical look. “Perhaps a parable would be appropriate,” the man mused, “I believe the parable of the mite would be enlightening.” When I didn’t reply, he took it as a cue to continue.

“When Rehv created the world, he dictated the destiny of all living things,” the man recited with a soft smile, looking to the sky, “When telling each mite of its life, and its destiny, there was a mite who did not wish to obey. When told it would die by poison laid out by a man, it refused to accept its fate, but quietly waited and gave the appearance of fidelity. When the appointed day came, instead of blundering into the poison the mite leaped over it and died when it became stuck in the eye of a passing ztkayeyv. The startled ztkayeyv bolted, surprising the man’s wife, who tripped and fell to the ground, spilling a bottle of oil. The man descended from the upper level of his home quickly, and his footsteps knocked the bottom floor’s lantern from the ceiling, starting a blaze. Both humans died, as did the ztkayeyv, and the man, who was a heretic, could transgress the world no longer.”

“The mite, now dead, asked Rehv why he did not simply tell him of his real destiny. Rehv replied, ‘It was your nature to disobey, and so I ensured that even in disobedience you would serve me,’” As the man finished his story, I found myself with a large number of pending questions.

“If you believe that, why would you be worried about me causing trouble?” I asked.

“Because, stranger,” the man smiled, “I must act according to my nature, just as you do.”