The sky darkened for only the briefest of moments. It took the two Wyverian guards the same amount of time to pivot and snap the leather straps that held their weapons on their backs. Sunlight split off the blue of twin Plesioth Crystalswords, drawn in near-perfect unison.

In the distance, red and black stood out clearly against the blue of the morning sky.

“What in the world is that?” Jaruk asked, never taking his eyes off the massive creature making its way towards the carriage that had just begun to roll past them.

It had been a pleasant morning in the fields. Sol, the planet’s closest star and source of light, beamed over a horizon composed of rolling hills and scattered deciduous trees. Long grass, nearly knee-height, danced in winds barely felt by the small caravan as it rolled towards the watchtowers just visible on the western horizon.

The guards had been walking ahead of the carriage, clad in dark armor forged from shells removed from nearly a dozen Black Diablos. Each step crushed a hundred grass blades as easily as the Diablos had crushed so many foolish hunters. No physical features could be discerned beneath the armor except that they were tall, since they were very nearly equal in height with the back of the Apceros that trudged along beside them.

The beast of burden pulled a rather impressive carriage behind it. The hull had been constructed of what were undoubtedly Plesioth scales, making it semi-translucent. Along the edges, fins from the same wyvern had been fashioned into cutting blades meant as a defensive mechanism. As light struck the back of the piscine carriage, a sea made of blue and green light sparkled along the surface. Just barely visible inside was the silhouette of slender young woman.

“I think that’s a Rathalos.” Beneath the armor, a grin spread across lips surrounded by red stubble. “It looks like fun.”

The red wyvern screeched as it dived for the carriage, but the guards were faster. Both hoisted their Crystalswords and swung, connecting with either of the beast’s mighty wings. The tremendous force of the dive pushed the guards back nearly two meters, digging the heels of their boots into the soft dirt before they broke their foe’s momentum. “By the Fata that thing is strong!” Jaruk shouted as they shifted into battle stance.

“He sure is!” Molin charged forward with his blade but was quickly knocked in the opposite direction as the wyvern blasted him with a powerful ball of fire. Forgetting temporarily that standing still meant death, Jaruk stared in awe at the deep red beast which had just produced dragon’s fire. Reality set back in quickly enough when the beast roared. It took all they both could muster to defend against the pure brute force of the impact, and even then their boots dug into the ground again.

They dodged in separate directions, and Jaruk brought his blade up into the wing while Molin swept low for the feet. Jaruk’s blow connected solidly, but so did the Rathalos’ tail against his chest. Molin’s blow was glancing, having misjudged the distance to the foot in the tall grass.

“Great idea going off the road!” Jaruk shouted to his partner as he sprang back to his feet and circled around to look for another opening.

“I know, right?” Molin called back as he thrust his greatsword forwards. The fiery wyvern backwinged and released another fireball straight into Molin’s face. He had never been more glad for the Diablos’ resistance to fire in all of his life. “Son of a bullfango!”

Airborne, the Rathalos was twice the opponent he’d been on the ground. Even if the flaps of its wings were easy to avoid, it sent fireball after fireball down on then that burned through the grass around them, filling the air with smoke. Unable to see, Jaruk and Molin fell prey to sudden charges and dives until they found their way back to the clearing made by the road.

Both popped open mega potion vials and tilted them back through the opening in their helmets with the specially-designed funnels to get it to their mouths. It tasted like grass, dirt, and honey, but there was hardly a better taste when you found yourself in the situation they were in. Up above, the Los was circling around once again.

“Charge ‘em?”

“You really think we can time it?”

“Hell no. We got lucky last time. But I’m betting on our luck holding out for a little bit longer.”

So, Crystalswords back in their hands, they began to push their chakra through their hands. A glow built slowly around the hands, and then burst around the hilts of their blades. The Los began its descent, talons and tail extended this time. “HOLD!” Molin shouted. Their chakra burst up and over their blades, coating them in a harsh yellow glow. “NOW!”

As they swung their blades forwards, they each managed to connect with the Los, just not in the way they’d hoped. Molin’s blade had barely hit a talon when the tail’s massive spike slammed into him, puncturing his chestplate and nearly his heart. Jaruk tore through a small piece of the wing, but it wasn’t nearly enough to stop the beast from shooting backwards and back into the sky. “Looks like our luck has really run out. Who ever thought we’d be taken down by a single wyvern?”

“We’re not dead yet!” Molin said, but in doing so he coughed and realized his spit was purple. “Not that I’m going to have long. You got any antidotes?”

“I do,” Jaruk said as he kept his eyes on the Los. “But I don’t really think we’ve got time for me to give one to you just now.” As if on cue, the Los dived again, heading for the weakened Molin. “Clever bastard.” Jaruk ran to his partner. “Going up!”

Molin barely had time to turn and cup his hands, but he did just in time to heft and toss his partner skywards. Jaruk flash-charged his chakra into his blade, and brought it down onto the Los’s skull with all the force he could muster. It wasn’t the cleanest of hits, but it was enough for the beast to go careening off course. Of course, his wing clipped Jaruk in passing, but at least Molin wasn’t wyvernfood.

He rolled when he hit the ground, already searching through his pouch for the antidotes he carried. When he found a few he quickly threw them to Molin and took off towards the downed Los. Screw keeping a log for the Guild right now. They could take care of that later.

They pressed the attack while the Los was off its feet, but the moment it was back up Jaruk noticed the flames on the edge of its mouth. They hadn’t been there before. Had they? He had no more time to think the words than the Los roared and shot skywards at dizzying speeds. “I think we made it angry.”

“You mean to tell me that he was happy before?” Molin joked as he kept his eyes on the sky. “Well, we really are gonna die then.”

“Then we need to distract it long-enough for the carriage to get away.” They fought as valiantly as they could muster. Blocking, dodging, and swinging whenever they thought they could manage a hit. But the King of the Skies was breaking down their armor piece by piece, and their strength had all but left them by the time they’d used up the last of the journey’s whetstones. Weeks of travel had left them in short supply, and now their dull blades were hardly better than giant clubs.

Chest heaving, Jaruk watched as the nightmare of a wyvern circled them, ready for another dive. “This is the end, my friend.”

Molin, once enthused about the chance to prove his mettle in battle, had long since given up any chance of victory. Neither had a Guild flare, and both were out of potions on top of everything else. “I’m… afraid so,” he said, doing his best to seem strong despite his wounds. “I hope he chokes on my bones.”

The sky king started his descent, razor sharp claws extended for a killing blow, eyes locked on his prey. Its terrible screech erupted through the air one last time as the men faced their final moments in the world.

A figure in azure armor and a longsword strapped to his back leapt into view and slammed into the beast’s thick skull, sending the creature toppling over itself and the guards while its attacker landed with confident ease on the ground only a few feet away. The Rathalos hit the ground and roared its displeasure as it scrambled to regain footing.

“You two taking care of that carriage I passed on the way here?” Local Hunter asked them, never taking his eyes off the wyvern as it regained its footing.

“Yes… we are,” they panted in unison.

“Then go catch up to it. I’ll finish this guy off for you.” He smirked, finally turning his head towards them. “Unless you think you’ve got a bit more in you?” The hunter tossed them each a few mega potions. The Guild was going to have a field day with the item report.

Molin wasted no time in sharpening his weapon, even before he took in a potion. Jaruk, however, was a bit more cautious and did the opposite. Meanwhile, Local Hunter was walking calmly towards the Los, as though it were a downed Felyne instead of a fire-breathing wyvern.

The man eyed the ruby red Rathalos and grinned. “Los…” he began. The fire wyvern cut him off with a roar tinged in flames as he got back to his feet. He winced at the sound, but nothing more. The wind picked up, and for a moment his armor seemed ready to lift his body into the air. The wind settled; the Los charged.

“I’m hurt. Not even time to talk?” As the wyvern sped towards him, Local Hunter drew a black blade that rang out of its sheathe with immeasurable sharpness. “Oh well…”

Though Molin and Jaruk were quick to get themselves back into something resembling battle-ready, they were slowed a bit by the spectacle before them. Roars of anger and agony filled the skies as the man leapt over and around each attack. He slashed into and through the thick hide that had refused to yield to their Crystalswords. With him as a distraction, it was almost too easy to get themselves into range and unleash a few punishing sweeps to the Los’ legs.

The King of the Skies stood no chance against the power of the three together, but especially not the hunter clad in the scales of the wyvern’s kin. Because the guards had managed to do a fair amount of damage to the wyvern beforehand, the final battle lasted almost no time at all. As the once proud and fearsome creature fell to a decapitating blow from the longsword user, his killer took a knee and said a short prayer.

“Los you fought this battle well, but I could not let these men die. Rest now and forever, and let what soul you have take flight.” He took care as he carved a few scales and slices of webbing off the creature, while Jaruk and Molin did the same.

“That was an impressive display,” Jaruk said.

“It was bloody awesome is what it was. You were a monster!” Molin could barely contain himself, and slapped Local Hunter on the shoulder, which made his own arm remember how much pain it was in. Potions were miracles in a bottle, but they still didn’t heal you the way a good night’s sleep did.

“Thanks,” Local Hunter said, distracted by something else. “Didn’t you two come here with a carriage?”

“Right!” They shouted in unison before they ran off to catch up with the now-distant vehicle. Local Hunter watched them go, and then looked back at the Los. He pulled a flare from his pocket, tossed it up and down a few times, and then put it away. The Guild could wait to hear about this one. Then he set off after the others at a slow, steady walk.

When he came to the carriage it had stopped and a blue-haired woman was arguing with the red-headed guard. “I don’t care if it’s not your duty to sit in the carriage, Confident Twin, you’re hurt.” She had a pleasant and polished voice that was thrown into sharp contrast by the thickness of Molin’s own. She was young, barely twenty by her looks, and clothed in a long white dress, trimmed with gold that had been stained here and there with blood from the guards she was helping into her carriage. Her thin blue hair hung down freely to her hips, and she smiled when the injured men finally agreed with her urgings. Noticing their guest, she turned and politely hurried to him.

“You are the hunter who saved my guardsmen from that beast, yes?” She smiled at him and took his gloved hand. “Thank you so much, please let me know if there is anything at all we can do to repay your kindness.”

With his free hand, Local Hunter removed his helmet. Tanned skin, a gentle smile, blue eyes tinged with hazel, and finally a thick head of black hair emerged. The woman’s sapphire eyes caught his gaze and they stared at each other for a long moment. “My name is Tyr, milady, and the only thing I could ever ask for is your name.”

She forgot to speak for just a moment. In his eyes she saw the lush oases from her homeland, now so very far away from the endless prairie in which they stood. “I… am Gentle Wind,” she said, regaining herself.

“Not your title,” Tyr said with a shake of his head. “Your name.”

Gentle Wind wasn’t quite certain what to say. No one just gave out their names to strangers, and especially not someone in her position. She’d offered him anything at all, but had bitten off more than she had bargained for. Still, her word was her word. “My name is Sarah.” It sounded strange coming from her own mouth. When was the last time she’d actually given it out?

“Well, Sarah, allow me to guard your carriage until you arrive in the city.” His smooth tenor tone made Sarah smile. “I doubt that they’ll be up for much after that. I know I wasn’t after my first Los.”

Even though she wanted to say something about how he’d already done more than enough for them, she could not refuse such an offer, especially with her proper guards incapable of much until they received medical attention. “Lead the way,” she told him, her voice soft and small now that she wasn’t giving orders. Although there was much to talk about, they both seemed content to steal glances in silence at each other for the first few minutes of their walk.

“You know, we’ve got some rare creatures here, from what the traders tell me.” Tyr did his best to sound conversational. Although it probably wasn’t the sort of thing someone who rode in a carriage cared about, hunting was what he knew.

“Oh? Really?” Despite her lack of real interest in the subject, Sarah had been raised to put interest behind courtesy.

“Yes. Apparently the large, felyne-like pelagii we have in the region aren’t common elsewhere, and the Xiloukana isn’t technically a wyvern, although it looks to be one at first. I’ve been fighting against them ever since I mustered up the courage and the strength to kill something bigger than a Velocidrome.” He laughed at himself, and Sarah echoed him with a giggle. “So, you think the dromes are funny too?”

“Oh, no!” She flushed. “You just have such an infectious laugh is all; I respect hunters, all of them. Without men and women like you the rest of us could not live the lives we do.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but I only keep the village safe.”

“But as a member of the Guild, you help keep the world supplied with materials and valuable data.”

“No, I don’t. I’m registered with them because I have to be, but I’ve never accepted a Guild quest, and I don’t plan to start anytime soon. I hunt for Nifila, not for them.”

This was much more interesting news. “But, you still report back your kills so they can keep accurate records, don’t you? And there are surely other things all hunters need to do, yes? I know this is far from where I grew up, but I had thought there were standards practiced around the world.”

Tyr smirked, mostly to himself. “I practice them if there’s no one else around to do it for me.” His smile faded as he stared out at the approaching city. “I love Nifila, but the Guild is often more of a burden than it is useful.”

Silence crept back between them. Sarah wanted to say something about how well the Guild had done with filling requests by everyone. She wanted to, but realized that she knew nothing of isolated villages like Nifila and the Guild presence there. Perhaps it was more trouble than it was worth if they restricted certain hunts while they did research and counted populations. And the hefty fees which they taxed on every monster slain certainly wouldn’t ease the troubles of families in need of a certain material.

“Is there anything I should know about Nifila before we arrive?” she asked, not wanting their conversation to end on such a dire note.

“That depends on what you’re here for. If you’re only passing through, then there’s not much you’d need to know besides the location of the Guild Hall and Nevvy’s house. If you plan on staying though, we have certain customs that people say are… unique, even for those who come to us more than once a year.” His smile had returned, and it eased the tension in Sarah’s stomach and chest significantly.

“I plan to stay for nearly a month.”

One of Tyr’s eyebrows went up. “An entire month? What could you ever want from Nifila that would take a month?”

“I’m here to… live cut off from my home. For a time, at least. I’ve lived my entire life in one place, and even when I traveled it was under supervision. But I need to see the world outside for my own, with my own eyes. Feel it with my own hands. I need to live my life before… before I grow too set in my ways.” If Tyr noticed the final pause, he didn’t mention it. She’d been afraid that he might and call her on it, but when Sarah realized how eagerly she’d been speaking otherwise, her face colored. “So, any information at all would be appreciated.”

“Well then, I’ll do my best to summarize. If I miss anything though, I’ll show you the way to my home when we arrive, and you can ask me for anything you need.” Tyr went on to explain the various Nifilan habits and traditions. He went over the upcoming holiday, the importance of both the wall and the location of the city in defending from monster attacks, and the afternoon resting period. Sarah listened with interest, almost forgetting that she’d just met this easygoing and friendly hunter mere minutes ago. Before she knew it, the carriage had stopped and Tyr looked up from the conversation to the top of the towering obsidian wall in front of them. Sol had just begun to dip beneath the western horizon.

“Tyr! You’re back already? Guess they don’t make wyverns like they used to, eh?” A friendly laugh followed the light-hearted voice that came from atop the wall.

“I suppose not, Erhin. But small talk will have to wait. I’ve a lady and two injured men that need looking after.” However colloquial he might have been with the gateman, there was no mistaking the sense of urgency in every word. “They didn’t fare too well against the Los.”

“Say no more!” Erhin chimed as the gate rose up slowly, ropes and pulleys moving automatically thanks to a coal-powered machine. The moment the gate was high enough to be passed under, the Apceros lumbered into the village.

The wall itself was nearly two yards thick, and Sarah wondered how they could ever move that much rock so far from the volcanic region Tyr had described to the south. The village seemed so tiny in comparison to the wall. There were various buildings and stalls made of dark wood and decorated with brightly colored paints. She quickly spotted the weapon and armor smiths, as well as several different item shops. To the right was a small farm, full of dozens of plant species. She recognized herbs, which grew nearly anywhere, but most of the others she’d never seen before. Further in she could make out residential areas and some sort of wide expanse with a platform in the middle. “Hunter Tyr?”

Tyr was busy talking to a man inside the gate in Steel armor. He gave the man several instructions and then Tyr handed him his helmet. “I’d much prefer it if you just call me Tyr. I know it’s a bit personal, but everyone does it.”

Sarah managed to hide her unease again. She felt nervous about being so informal, but it would be worse to insult him by not obliging his request. “Very well. Tyr, what is that area for over there?” She pointed out the large platform and Tyr laughed.

“Do you not have dances where you come from, Sarah?”

“It’s not that, we just have them inside. I do come from a desert, after all.”

“I see. Well, that’s the town’s Performance Square. We hold dances, plays, and other public events there.” He grinned as images of men and women twirling in celebratory purples and reds flashed in the distance in his mind’s eye, and he longed for the sweet scent of Honeyed Aptonoth Eggs. “It’s quite an experience. But, that’ll have to wait. For now, I’ll escort you to the Guild Hall, since I know they’ll want to know you’re here. Then to the Chief, your guards, and finally to wherever it is you’ll be staying.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Back in the realm of things she knew, Sarah threw on her manners and took the proffered arm. “But my guards are already here.”

“I thought you might not see it my way,” Tyr said as the man he’d been speaking with led the carriage away with his free hand.

Sarah was torn between a frown and a smile. On the one hand it had been a clever trick, and on the other she had fallen for it. There was also the lingering distaste for someone else having control of something that was hers, but she had to dismiss those thoughts now. She wasn’t supposed to be anyone special here. “Lead on, Tyr.” Though it was only the second time she had addressed him in such a manner, Sarah found that doing so felt much less inappropriate than she had expected. She had often called family and some servants by their first name, but never a hunter. The ease of it lifted a burden she had feared would drag her down, and so she took in the town to ease her mind further.

Even in the twilight of day, this village was far from sleepy. Tanned people, straw-roofed houses, and the smells of dung, honey, and various grasses seemed to be everywhere. Children played and women laughed, one man guided several Aptonoth through town while another smoked his pipe with a few attentive felynes. Her wandering senses focused when she noticed the imposing face of Nifila’s Guild Hall.

The skull of a Rathalos, fangs bared and illuminated by torchlight, had been mounted over the entrance. Though void of any life or sound, Sarah recalled the chill she had felt the first moonless, cloudless night that she’d ever heard the angry roar of a Tigrex. She instinctively moved herself a half-step closer to Tyr as they neared, and refused to look up as they went in.

Pipes and gentle drums greeted them, as well as a chorus of cheers from a group of drinking men halfway across the hall. Hearty conversations and courageous tales echoed throughout the building, and Sarah couldn’t help but forget the terror of the wyvern skull outside. Although Bug Beer and long-dried blood were hardly pleasant smells, at least they were something familiar in a room full of strangers.

An exceptionally large Wyverian man stood behind the counter with his arms crossed. His stature alone would’ve explained the size of the doors they’d come through. He wore a thick garb crafted from the furs of the Nargacuga, along with a harsh expression. His eyes were closed, his thick lips curled downwards, and lines of heavy frustration cut across his forehead. Without missing a beat, Tyr brought Sarah before the imposing Wyverian and coughed once. “Halcon.” The large man acknowledged him with a grunt. “I killed another Rathalos.”

This brought a deeper scowl, but no eye movement. “And who exactly told you to do that, Hero of Nifila?” His voice was gentle considering his size, but was by no means friendly. The title was what concerned Sarah far more. A hero?

“No one. I took it upon myself while I was out gathering some herbs.” Sarah could feel the tension of Tyr’s arm as he spoke, though his voice betrayed nothing.

“And why, exactly, would you take such an act into your own hands without first consulting the Guild?”

“To save lives.” Again, Halcon’s expression remained unaffected. “One of them is here with me, her name is Sarah.”

Halcon turned his head, eyes never opening, yet somehow managing to pinpoint Tyr’s companion. When he spoke, his voice was lower, softer. “You are the Young Princess?”

Her secret revealed, Sarah’s heart sank. “I am,” she said. His face finally eased, however slightly.

“Very well. I shall send a report to your father that you have arrived safely. Now, if that is all, Hero of Nifila, I have other business to attend to.” He snapped his fingers and a speckled felyne emerged from a hole behind the counter.

“Yes, nya? What is it?”

“Hero of Nifila has slain a Rathalos. Reason: Protection of Royalty. Note it in the records. Send a message to the king of Fahrenn. His daughter has arrived and she is well. That will be all.”

“Roger that, nya!” The felyne disappeared once more into the hole as quickly as he’d come.

Tyr led Sarah out of the hall while several pairs of eyes followed them, but no one said a word about them that either could hear. Outside, Tyr took a deep breath and all the anxiety in him seemed to melt away. “I apologize for Halcon. He’s not the friendliest Wyverian you’ll ever encounter, but he’s good at his job. I’ll give him that.”

“That’s quite alright.” Although she would’ve liked to ask him about the tension she’d noticed, her mind was more focused on her secret being out so soon. He hadn’t mentioned it yet, hadn’t even reacted at all, but maybe, she hoped, his mind had been too busy with his personal business. “Are we to see the Chief now?”

Tyr took the opportunity as an invitation to get as far from the Guild Hall as he could manage. Along the way, Sarah pointed out a group of kids who were dancing through the streets. “Is that sort of thing normal? For children to dance in the streets at this time of day?” Night had already fallen, and lanterns filled with novacrystals had been placed along the streets.

Tyr noted a few of the faces. “They do if they know what’s good for them. They’re going to be performing in a week.”

“Is there something to be celebrated on that day?”

“No; nothing like that. It’s just for entertainment. People need distractions from the black walls around Nifila, and the children here are eager to put on plays, dancing routines, and even choral events for the wearier folks.”

“Do no adults take a part in the performances?” she asked, her interest at its peak.

“None at all. The older children teach the younger children while the adults labor to keep the village running.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper, placing his lips inches from her ear. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but without the children I think Nifila would have been lost long ago.”

“To what?” she asked while inching her head away from his. His respect for personal space was lacking, it seemed, but she reasoned that he had needed to be that close in order for her to hear without others doing to same. People still chatted along the streets and Sarah could make out some of the villagers eating and laughing inside their homes.

“To grief.”

The house of the Village Chief was far-less intimidating than the Guild Hall. It was a simple building with a wooden door that anyone could’ve easily mistaken for any other home in the village. There were no identifying features to set it apart, and yet Tyr knocked as politely as possible at the door. “Nevvy?” Some shuffling sounds came from inside before a tall, thin Wyverian woman opened the door and smiled kindly at them.

“Tyr, how nice to see you. And I see you’ve brought a guest with you.” She examined them both in a moment and shook her head. “And you’ve bloodied her nice clothes as well.” Before either could say a word she headed back into the house to fetch something.

Tyr smiled to Sarah. “Go in, she’ll insist we do in a moment either way.”

As though she’d heard him, Nevvy called out to them over the noise of bottles being moved. “And do come in. I’d hate for you to add dust to the blood already there.”

The Village Chief’s house was something of an organized disaster area. Books, open to random pages and all face down, lay scattered across the floor and all but two chairs in the main room. Through an ajar door on the other side of the room there sat shelves of colorful liquids in glass containers that their hostess rifled through. There wasn’t, however, a speck of dust in sight. As Sarah looked around, Tyr watched her wandering eyes with a silent smirk.

“Here it is!” the exclamation cut into whatever thoughts either of them might’ve been in the middle of. Nevvy was holding up a small vial of white liquid. “This is an ancient recipe for removing blood from clothes. You may take it for your beautiful dress. Might I ask why you’re wearing such a thing so close to a hunter like Tyr? Surely you know that’s a bad idea, even if he is the Hero of Nifila. Not that he’s a mess or anything, mind you, but.” The Nifila Chief stopped, her chime-like voice silenced as her eyes studied the Young Princess’s face. She seemed puzzled. “You’re… not from this village.” Her head snapped like a whip. “Tyr, who is this girl?”

Tyr held back his laughter as he spoke. “She is the Princess from Fahrenn.” Sarah felt her heart sink again. He had noticed after all. “I assumed you knew she was coming.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. Young Princess, wasn’t it? How nice it is to finally meet you. I’m Nifila Chief, or Village Chief, but many of the villagers call me Nevvy, short for my actual name, which I suppose you’ll eventually find out is Nevyra. I’m quite fond of the alias myself, so feel free to address me as such if you prefer, though my title works just as well. It must’ve been a terribly long trip, but I do hope you didn’t go through too many hardships. The wyverns have been rather antsy as of late, and I would feel just awful if you had trouble with them on your way here. I did offer to send out two our own hunters to meet you and guide you, but I was told that your guards would be more than enough to handle the duties. I’ve not informed anyone else of your coming, as per your request, and so everyone will treat you just as they would any newcomer, unless you point out your nobility yourself. I imagine that you won’t though, since you made it clear you were to ‘be here as a normal citizen.’ Whatever ‘normal’ means in a place like Nifila. Which reminds me, please don’t tell anyone else that bit of information, Tyr. I know you won’t, of course, but we’ve been given strict instructions not to let her royal reputation of out the bag. As if anyone kept anything in bags that was worth all that much. Well, farmers do, I suppose, and we have a few of those. Hunters too, now that I come to think of. Perhaps I should rephrase to say ‘As if anyone kept anything out of bags that was worth all that much.’ Though I guess hunters use pouches more than bags, don’t they? Well, no matter. Don’t tell anyone I said any of that either. Of course, even if you don’t go spreading gossip about the Village Chief, having been seen with Tyr will give you quite the reputation anyways, since he’s such a well-known man. I dare say some villagers might even think that you two are lovers already.”

Sarah’s face turned bright scarlet at the suggestion, and Nevyra smiled sympathetically. “There, there. Any rumors of that nature will quickly be dismissed, I’m sure. Rumors are always easy to die out if you don’t feed the fires. A strange saying too, don’t you think? Feeding fire, as though it were alive, or at least hungry. Can things which aren’t alive be hungry? I suppose the Nakarkos might answer that, but is it really not alive? I don’t know. Now, you will be staying in a newly constructed home not far from here, not that anywhere in the village is far from here. I’m sure that Tyr can show you the way and get you settled in as soon as you’re ready. It’s the one next to Silver Stitcher’s house, Tyr. Lovely family. They make such nice clothes. That reminds me, I’ll have to talk to them about the next performance. We’ll be needing more orange. But that’s my own business, so no need to worry the two of you with it. Is there anything else I can do for either of you?” She pressed the vial into Sarah’s hands, silent for the first time in minutes.

Still dazed from the whirlwind of words, it took Sarah a few seconds to formulate a reply. “No, I’m quite fine. Thank you, Village Chief. Do you need anything else here, Tyr? I would like to check on the status of my guardsmen as soon as possible.”

“Your guardsmen were injured? Oh, the poor things! Well, not things, obviously, but ‘the poor people’ has a whole other connotation, doesn’t it? Oh, I just knew that I should have sent the Naru Sisters. They are such dependable hunters for things like that. There are such vicious creatures in this portion of the world. Nasty things, really. What hurt them, if you don’t mind my asking? No, nevermind, of course you’d mind. You just said you wanted to get to them as soon as possible and it’s none of my business anyways. I’ll keep you no longer. Tyr, if you need something you’ll have to find me later.” With a speed that Tyr and the rest of Nifila had grown accustomed to, and which Sarah was finding herself swept up in, Nevyra nudged the two outside with a quick goodbye and a polite, but firm, door closing.

Tyr laughed, and Sarah joined in without meaning to. “Does she always act in that particular manner?”

“If by manner you mean speed then I’m afraid the answer is yes,” he said. “You’ll grow used to it with time. So, to the medical center?”

“If we can, please. And I believe you also offered to show me where it is you live, yes?” She didn’t want to seem forward, but knew that she would need all the help she could get when it came to acculturating herself.

“Of course. I’m a man of my word.” He offered his arm to her once more. “Shall we?”

Sarah hesitated a moment. The Village Chief’s comment about them being lovers, however far from the truth it might have been, was a quite embarrassing notion. She flushed at the thought, but made sure Tyr couldn’t see. “Lead on, Tyr.”

They traveled without incident, but in silence to the infirmary, where Sarah hurried to the side of the bandaged men. Sarah stood between them and smiled, gently squeezing a hand of each man, even though their hands were easily twice the size of her own. “Thank you both so much. I’m sure I could not have made it without you.”

Molin spoke first. “Nor would we have without the help of this Local Hunter.”

“Speaking of which, what should we call you, sir?” Jaruk asked, less adventurous with his movements than his partner.

“My name is Tyr. And, before you ask, I don’t sign autographs, and Sarah has already repaid me for saving your hides.” The men exchanged glances with Young Princess.

“I only told him my name, nothing more. Please don’t fret on my account.” They both did as commanded, relieved all-the-more now that their duties were officially over. “And I’m sorry not to stay but, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve my new home to settle into.” She needed no reason to dismiss herself, but both men smiled at her in acknowledgment before she and her escort left.

“Your guards worry about you, even in their condition. That’s a level of dedication I wasn’t expecting.”

“And why not, exactly?” While Sarah was sure that Tyr had meant no harm in what he had said, she felt compelled to ask on behalf of the men who had given so much just to protect her. Just in case.

“In my experience with guards, their concern for their masters ends once given time off.” His tone was harsher than she’d expected. “They must truly adore you to worry about your personal affairs.”

“If you say it is so, then undoubtedly it is so out here,” Sarah said with a bit of a sour taste in her mouth. “I, myself, have known only guards like the two inside.” In fact, guards represented over half the people in her life, and yet, Sarah realized, she knew so few by their name. Not even the two inside. That was almost as distasteful as Tyr’s assessment. “Today has been rather full of excitement, and I’m not yet used to such things. Perhaps we can go straight to my new quarters now?” The addition of an accidental yawn only emphasized her point.

Children ran along the streets, some of them swinging sticks and battling as they went, shouting and laughing. One of them skidded to a stop when she recognized Tyr and ran up to him. She was a girl no more than eight years old, but she had eyes like the Sea of Sand. “You’re Master Hunter Tyr, aren’t you? The Nifilan Guardian? Hero of Nifila? Azure Flame?” Her tiny voice was filled with respect and awe, but was surprisingly controlled for her age. “I’m Natalie. You’ve been helping my momma with her herbal gathering. She says you’re the only hunter in all of Nifila that actually gives a dragon’s dung.”

Tyr knelt down in front of the girl. “I’m not the only one who cares, little Natalie, just the only one willing to do what’s needed, even if the Guild disagrees.”

“I’m going to too the moment I can hunt,” she replied, lifting the long stick she was holding into the air proudly. “I’ll become just as great a hunter as you.” Her eyes turned away, and her voice turned with them. “You’ll teach me how, right?”

“Of course I will.”

The girl beamed and looked directly into Tyr’s blue and hazel eyes. “I’ll teach anyone willing to learn. But, I require something of all my trainees first.”

“Anything you ask of me, Master Hunter Tyr.” Even in the face of her hero, the Griin child was resolute.

“You shall accompany Sarah and me to her new home.” Tyr made sure to use his most official tone, though he was mentally smiling at the girl. Sarah caught herself smiling, partially for their interaction, but also because Tyr hadn’t mentioned her royalty.

“Yes, Master Hunter Tyr.”

“Oh, and you have to call me Tyr, little Natalie. I’m terrible when it comes to formalities.” He stood up as he spoke this time, once again giving his arm to Sarah, who took it automatically. It didn’t take long after the trio took off before Tyr stopped the group and pointed to a rather small building, set between two houses that dwarfed it in size. “That’s my home. Natalie, once you get permission from your parents, you can come there for your lessons. And Sarah, if you need anything from me, I spend most of my time there, since it’s where people know to find me.”

Sarah was surprised that he had such a tiny home. No doubt a hunter whom the people and the Village Chief all seemed so fond of would’ve been offered a larger building than the one he had pointed out. It wasn’t even nearly half as large as Nevyra’s house, which Sarah had already considered small compared to many of the others they’d passed. She wondered if there was some tradition in Nifila which required more important people to take smaller dwellings and she found herself thinking some of this aloud. “It’s smaller than I had imagined.” When she’d finished, she was glad the dark of night hid the heat in her face.

“I don’t need anything larger yet. So, I won’t allow myself to take up space which the other villagers could use more effectively, even though they’ve offered it multiple times.” Only a few houses down the street, the three of them arrived at Natalie’s house and then Sarah’s new home. When Tyr stopped, Natalie was a bit surprised.

Natalie looked up at Sarah. “I didn’t know my new neighbor would be a friend of my favorite hunter! Momma will be pleased to know.”

Tyr chuckled. “Go home now, little Natalie, and make sure to tell her everything. Mothers like to know everything.” The girl grinned, bowed, and then took off like a wyvern.

“You’re quite admired, even by children,” Sarah said. Their eyes locked and a night breeze tickled the back of Tyr’s neck.

“Yeah, I guess so. Well, since you’re safely here, I’ll leave you to get some sleep. Unless you need anything else?”

“No, nothing. You’ve done far too much for me as it is, Tyr.” She felt a familiar tightness in her stomach as he bowed and turned to go. It was the same tightness she felt whenever her brothers left on hunts. “You know,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear, “you’re not that different from them.”

“Different from whom?” he asked, turning back to face her and temporarily relieving the feeling in her stomach.

“My guards. You’ve taken care of me far past the scope of what duty would entail.” Sarah clung to those parting moments as best she could. Though they must, inevitably, come to an end, she couldn’t help but not want them to, and, more importantly, she wanted to know why she didn’t want them to.

Tyr smiled at her, bowed again, and then caught her gaze one final time. “I assure you.” His eyes flashed in the glow of a light lamp. “I would never pass up the opportunity to spend the evening with such a beautiful woman.” Sarah’s eyes widened and her face turned the color of firestone. She’d been called beautiful a thousand times, met over a hundred suitors with personalities of every kind, and yet there was something about Tyr that caught her off guard. “Goodnight, Sarah.”

Almost a full minute after he had disappeared, Sarah made herself enter her own home. Her packs had been brought in from the carriage, as Tyr had no-doubt arranged, and on her bed was his helmet, framed in moonlight. She smiled to herself in the darkness, knowing that she would have to return it to him, and as she picked it up and held it to her chest she whispered to the night air, “Goodnight, Tyr.”