Percival was having a hard time wrapping his mind around what had just occurred. Faute was looking at the group with a mix of anger and disgust on her face, which Percival felt was rather undeserved, especially given that she didn’t know how close she had come to death.

Where did she get that pink choker? He wondered, trying not to appear to be watching her. I would have sworn she hadn’t had it just a second ago… Articles of clothing appearing on her only made him more suspicious of her.

Finos was practically dancing around her bubbling over about how wonderful it was that the charm spell had been broken. His pudgy body jiggled eagerly as he tried to convince himself that everything was over.

Percival had been trying to stay out of it, but Faute had just murdered his friend and was even now showing no remorse, and so, he found himself snapping, “Try at least looking sorry for killing Stroz, Faute.”

She jerked her head as if she had been slapped. “I—“ she cut herself off. With visible effort she replaced her anger with her usual self righteous arrogance. “What happened with Strozazand was regrettable.” She brushed her arms off, as if she were flicking off Halfling germs, and stood up. “Should we move along? Aren’t we in the middle of a quest or something?”

Kegar looked at Faute and blinked slowly. “Well… it’s been a weird day…” He looked up at the sky. Twilight was coming fast. “No, it’s almost night. We’ll set up camp here.”

There was an awkward shifting as the group looked at the place Stroz had been beaten to death. The blood still stained the ground. The circle of protection that Shandra had cast sizzled on the ground.

With unspoken consent they moved the camp down the road until they were out of sight of the blood stain before setting up camp. Uncomfortable silences stretched as the party fractured and split around separate campfires.

Percival watched Ellen pull Stroz aside and speak to him in fervent, hushed tones. I wish I knew what they were talking about. The sad thought crept through his mind. He felt such confused feelings around his friends from Pode.

On the road, his father strongly discouraged him from building any friendships with anyone from the caravan. It had been that way as long as Percival could remember. Anytime he had begun to befriend a guard, he would find that that guard was let go at the next stop. His father had even sold any horses or mules he became attached to.

Somehow, Pode was different. Maybe it was because his father regarded Pode with such contempt that the man simply could not believe Percival would form any attachments to the town. Or perhaps, it was that his father couldn’t do anything about the situation. They were, forcibly, under contract from the king of the Northern Kingdom to collect taxes every year from Pode. A situation his father had not resisted because it gave him two primary benefits. Firstly, it gave him the benefit of being paid by the king to journey to Pode, a place where he could sell all his excess worthless crap to the backwater idiots who didn’t know or understand how useless what he sold was. Secondly, it gave him a token from the king. Should anyone try to claim they were being swindled… well that cleared things up quickly.

Just before Breeding Season, Percival and his father would journey to Pode without the escort they kept during the trade season. They always made certain to come before the start of Breeding Season, if they were late, then it wouldn’t matter how many guards they had, they would be killed. Breeding Season was dangerous anywhere in Eyjan, but Pode’s Breeding Season made the rest of Eyjan seem like a holiday.

No one would ever be so strapped for coppers that they would be willing to spend Breeding Season there. Excluding Percival’s father, who missed his vocation as a priest of the god of wealth.

It was the only time the whole year that Percival was allowed to play. His father’s eyes weren’t constantly watching him. This, Percival supposed, was ironic given that Pode was actually the most dangerous place they went to.

The Southern Plains in the Northern Kingdom had bands of orcs and lizardmen, but the basic fauna of Pode was both far harder to kill and better suited to kill humans. It was a wonder the people of Pode lived to their majority.

It was also why Percival had paid buckets of coins into the hands of masters around the Eyjan for martial training. He had realized quickly that every single person in that backwater town was super human, for him to keep up with his fellow youths in any form, he would need special training.

He felt like he was constantly struggling to keep up with the Podians. They were always bigger, stronger, faster and more magically gifted than he was. Finos never studied locks, he just began unlocking them when he was a tiny, chubby baby. Percival had spent years under the heavy hand of his father learning all the different kinds of locks and traps in Eyjan. He had to, if he was going to be keeping his strong boxes safe, he needed to know how thieves would get into them.

Percival stretched his arms and shoulders, loosening them and bringing him back to the present. Thinking about how deficient he was compared to his companions tensed him up. After all, how was he supposed to defend Lizzy if he was the weakest person there? No point dwelling on it! Be vigilant!

His eyes flicked around the camp, taking in how everyone had broken into small groups. Distrusting whispers clung to the area like a miserable fog. Percival rarely felt like an outsider, but he did now. He would give anything to have a reason to leave the awkwardness of the camp.

A shiver went up Percival’s spine as he felt the wind change. The wind had been blowing their scent west. The wind had turned and was blowing their scent east now. With the change came another scent on the wind. It was the cloyingly sweet smell that the creatures of the Southern Plains exuded in the breeding season.

Percival made sure a bolt was in his hand crossbow as he crept out of the camp. He slinked through the tall grass coming up behind a male tor-cat. The beast’s tail, which was as wide as his chest, twitched in excitement. The creature, even crouched, towered over the grass it was trying to blend in with.

The tor-cat, in spite of its great size, was normally benign. They hunted the plentiful bison and pronghorn deer, occasionally stealing cows or horses from pens, picking one or two up in their huge maws and carrying them off. However, this was a rare occurrence because they seemed to be supernaturally terrified of humans. At least, anytime but Breeding Season they were.

During Breeding Season they became remorseless killers. They slaughtered everything they came across; attempting to fatten themselves up before they caught a mate and exhausted themselves in their mating. If they didn’t have enough fat stored up they would die of starvation before the breeding was finished.

The tor-cat had blood soaking its maw and front paws. Clearly, it had recently been successful in hunting. Judging from the strip of blue cloth caught in its teeth, it had caught some refugees fleeing one of the burnt out towns the orcs had sacked.

That sealed it for Percival. Any hope he had of chasing off the tor-cat ended there. As a human killer, he couldn’t let it live. He, quietly, placed a second bolt between his teeth before taking aim carefully with his crossbow and shooting. The pronged barb took the tor-cat in the eye, but it must have caught his scent because it turned slightly just before he fired.

Instead of piercing the eye and striking the brain, the bolt struck the orbital bone and lodged itself there. The cat roared its pain and leapt toward him; swiping a paw, easily bigger than his head, at his chest.

Percival dove to the right, evading the mighty paw, before springing up and in a quick motion loaded the bolt he had gripped between his teeth. He had to dodge multiple times before he found another good shot to take the beast down, but even as he fired, he knew this one would hit the orbital bone as well. He could have drawn his knives and cut the big cat to ribbons, of course, but that would have been a waste. Tor-cat pelts were very valuable, especially when hunted in Breeding Season since they were more lush and full at that time. During the Breeding Season there were bioluminescents in their fur that glowed especially bright under the light of the full moon. Anyone who was anyone wanted a pelt.

Percival’s father’s blood was too strong in him to let that money slip through his fingers. Anyway, the tor-cat was nothing compared to the beasts around Pode. He could afford to wait for the cat to give him the right shot.

Although all that roaring will probably draw someone’s attention. He didn’t want that. He wanted the prize for himself.

The tor-cat lunged at him again. This time, instead of dodging the mighty paw, he ducked under the swipe, bending backwards. As the paw passed over him, he grabbed the long fur and pulled himself on top of the cat’s leg, running up the leg onto the cat’s shoulders.

The tor-cat was momentarily confused. It was so full of Breeding Season’s nonsense that it was difficult for the tor-cat to process this type of absurd maneuver. Percival capitalized on the cat’s confusion by drawing a long blade from his boot and stuffing it through the tor-cat’s good eye and into its brain.

The tor-cat shuddered and collapsed to the ground. Percival gave his blade a hard twist to the left and then to the right before dismounting. It pays to be careful. He thought to himself, remembering how one of his father’s guards had his back broken by a tor-cat’s death throws.

His right arm was covered in brain matter up past his elbow. He muttered to himself, flicking some fluids away, “It’s going to take forever to clean my crossbow…” The bow would definitely not fire correctly with bits of flesh stuck in it.

He cleaned his knife off in the tall grass before starting the tedious task of skinning the tor-cat. The sun would be long gone before he finished. It was irresponsible of him to leave Lizzy so long. Yes, killing the tor-cat was needful, but skinning it? That was being derelict of his duties.

But… he couldn’t leave the pelt.

Ellen stepped into the clearing the flailing cat had made. The tor-cat’s guts had been spilled onto the dirt. She wrinkled her nose. “I smelled the blood and thought I’d take a look.”

“You didn’t hear the roar?”

She shook her head, “Of course I did, but it’s Breeding Season. Tor-cat’s attack anything that moves and sometimes things that don’t. I figured it was just trying to take down a herd of bison or something.” She pulled a thin skinning knife out of a sheath she had on her thigh and handed it to Percival. “When I smelled the blood I realized you weren’t in camp and decided to take a look.”

Percival nodded his thanks as he took the knife. The skinning knife was able to separate the skin from the flesh much faster and cleaner than his knife. Which made sense; it was designed to do that.

“That was nicely done, killing it without damaging the hide.” She watched him a little longer before adding, “You know, those organs are worth money.”

Percival paused and looked up, “Really?” I’ve never heard of anyone using tor-cat organs. A frown crinkled his brow, I know the meat is prized for its rarity and strong flavor, but we can’t preserve this much meat, can we?

Ellen came over and crouched next to him, pointing out what was worth what. “See those glands at the base of his tail? They release a powerful stench, much like a skunk, but if you can cut those off without damaging them an alchemist would pay a gold for one, two for both of them.” She paused and glanced at him, “Shandra would certainly owe you a favor if you gave them to her.

She pointed at the stomach that was laying in the dirt, “Again, an alchemist would pay coins for the stomach acid and a tailor would pay for the stomach. They could make a water flask out of the stomach, or use it to hold certain potions.”

Percival was shocked by how much money could be made from the internal organs. As he counted up each organ she listed, he realized the insides of the tor-cat were actually worth more than the pelt.

“It’s a pity you had to ruin the eyes. Tor-cat eyes are worth more than everything else combined.”

Percival barked out a laugh, “What? No they aren’t, you’re pulling my purse strings.”

Ellen shook her head, “No, seriously. Tor-cat eyes are one of the ingredients in a potion that temporarily grants you the powers of an oracle for the god closest to you.” She began listing the ingredients on her fingers, “You need the eyes of a plains tor-cat, the tongue of a southern forest owl, and the ears of the eastern desert fox. The potion is hard to make because the ingredients are rare and temperamental.” She shrugged in his direction, “As you know, rare means expensive.”

Percival’s jaw dropped. “How in the hells do you kill it without ruining the eyes or the pelt or the organs?”

Ellen raised an eyebrow, “Uh, I always stuff a dagger through the roof of its mouth into the brain that way.”

Percival felt his eyes bug out, “How do you do that?” Then added, “You’ve done that?”

Ellen nodded, “Well, sure. Twice for my mother and a few other times…” she trailed off, “Anyway, sure, yeah. You just grab the beard on its chin, pull its mouth open and stuff the dagger up. When it tries to bite on your arm, it will push the blade into its brain. Oh, and make sure you use a blade at least a foot and a half long, otherwise you’ll just piss it off.”

“You sound like you are speaking from experience.”

She shrugged, “One time I grabbed the wrong knife, rookie mistake. I looked like an idiot with its jaw clamped around my arm. It tried to shake me and break my arm; you know how cats shake their prey to break their spine or neck? Like that. If I hadn’t been wearing sheef clothes, it would have been a bad day for me. As it was, it was just embarrassing.”

Percival sat back on his heels, “Sheef clothes? Sheef wool isn’t that tough. Sure, you can make it water resistant, or super absorbent, but that’s what it’s good for.”

She patted him on the head, “You have a lot to learn.” She chuckled, “I discovered that if you process sheef wool with cowbra piss, it has to be wild cowbra piss, it does something to the fabric so that the cloth is stronger than even crocalyal hide armor.”

He glanced at her crocalyal hide armor, “Why wear the armor then?”

“It’s simple really. Sheef wool is great, but crocalyal is still better for repelling arrows. In sheef wool, if I got hit with an arrow it would be like being punched by Broden. A punch that powerful could still break a rib. In crocalyal armor, getting hit with an arrow is more like getting a stern glare from Faute, it might make you feel bad, but that’s about it.”

Percival knew the people that lived in Pode were something special, but this was insane to him. What she described would be certain death to a normal human. But I guess the people of Pode are far from normal. “Well, as much as it pains me to leave all this money on the ground, I don’t have anything that could stop this stuff from rotting before we go back to Capita.”

Ellen stood up, “Let me ask Stroz if he has something. I’d bet one of those tor-cat claws that he does.”

If she is betting, it’s because she already knows he has something. Percival smiled, “No deal. But… I tell you what. I’ve heard about some of the things you’ve crafted. If you make a cloak out of the tor-cat pelt, I’ll split the profits with you, thirty-seventy.”

She laughed, “Fifty-fifty and you have a deal.”

His grin stretched wider, “Deal. But I want you to make me something special out of the teeth.” He didn’t know what she would make, but everything she crafted seemed to have some kind of magic effect. It would be worth it.

She considered his offer for half a second, before stretching out a clean hand to his blood soaked one, “You have yourself a deal.”