Azmond enjoyed coming down from the airships. When they dropped anchor, he and Rael were curious. When the Faulk brought out some baskets and started riding them down the lines they’d attached to some trees below, Rael was less curious and Azmond was far more excited. He had so much fun, he convinced Derrol to pull him back up and ride down again!

Sure, it was stinky near the village, and something seemed wrong with the plants that grew everywhere…but it was better than sitting in the captain’s room, talking to the Jarl or Gault all day. Especially since Gault seemed very interested in asking him confusing questions. It was hard for Azmond, but the answers seemed to come from somewhere within him. Sometimes he didn’t even understand the words that came from his mouth, but he was too embarrassed to tell Gault. Especially since the smith seemed so happy!

The only time he’s had any fun this past week was the meals he shared with Rael once they were done climbing all over the ship and tying ropes. Rael would joke and play with Azmond when they ate, and after they would wrestle with him and even sometimes give him piggyback rides as they climbed around the ship. Which is why Azmond was so confused when Rael wanted him to stay on the ship.

“But Rael…” Azmond was nestled in the basket, tried not to whine.

“No buts. It’s dangerous down there.” Rael looked away as Azmond gave them the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster.

“What if we helped keep him safe?” Someone put a gentle hand on his shoulder. A scowl appeared on Rael’s face.

“No. Absolutely not.” Rael insisted, shaking their head violently.

“Why not?” Pequit’s bangles jingled in his hair as he cocked his head. “As a skald, we go where there is danger, where there is adventure so that we can recount the adventures of mighty warriors.” He slammed a fist against his chest proudly, flinching a bit under the force of his own blow.

“And it’s not like he’ll be alone.” Meayetti said as she and Yvon stepped from behind Pequit. “We know how to handle ourselves. A little rambunctious scamp like him needs the distraction anyways. He’s been cooped up in the captain’s quarters, answering Gault’s questions for the past week.”

Azmond nodded and looked up to each of them as they spoke in turn, finally facing Rael again with a quivering lip.

“Please?”

Rael bit their lip for a few seconds. They looked between the expectant gazes of the skalds, some of the eavesdropping crew, and Azmond. They threw their arms in the air in exasperation.

“Fine!” Rael swiftly pulled Pequit by his tunic so that he was close enough to hear them whisper in his ear. “If he gets hurt, I will personally—” The rest was too quiet for Azmond to hear, and Pequit’s face paled. “—unless you want to start singing your tales in a much higher pitch, Azmond’s protection comes first. Understood?”

Pequit frantically nodded.

Rael climbed into the basket behind Azmond, hands gripping tight to the sides. They grit their teeth as they leaned in closer to Azmond.

“When does the basket goOOOOOOO—”

Rael was interrupted by the basket zooming down the line at breakneck speeds, their voice drowned out by Azmond’s squeals of joy. Wind buffeted them in the face and Rael clasped Az closer to themselves as their heart thundered in their chest loud enough for Az to feel it on his back. As quick as it began, they slowed down to a stop right at the edge of the water, where Derrol was waiting.

“Again, again!” Azmond cheered, rocking the basket back in forth in jubilation.

“Sorry, little man.” Derrol said with a wry smile. “We can’t delay any longer. You feeling okay, Rael?”

“Dandy.” Rael clambered out of the basket with shaky knees, stumbling to the ground. Despite that, they beamed. Azmond hopped out and clamored for their attention.

“Wasn’t it fun Rael? Can you get Derrol to let us go again?” The scaled boy hopped about excitedly.

More people came down in baskets, easily hopping out and getting ready for whatever may be ahead. They watched Azmond with a casual contentment or readied their weapons. Despite the stated danger, only those following Edith into the forest moved with care.

“Sorry Az.” The Dragonward shook their head. “Captain Derrol was already pushing it by allowing you to go again.”

“Let the kid have a bit of fun. Maybe if there were two red flags, or even a black one, but one red flag is rarely as big an emergency as it seems. Maybe someone went missing without a trace, or some bandits got uppity.” Derrol slammed a fist into his palm. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“I hope you’re right.” Rael sighed, eyeing the skalds coming down in the last basket. They turned around, squinting at the wooden tower covered in greenery looming over the canopy of the forest below. A red flag flapped, ragged and dirty, flapped listlessly in a forlorn breeze.

To call the trek through the forest a quiet march would have been technically correct. As they walked deeper in the forest, the mangroves grew sparser, the light footfalls of the trained Faulk warriors turned swifter, lighter. The rambunctious laughter and loud boasts faded into tepid speech and nervous dialogue, then hushed whispers that eventually sank into silence. Azmond clutched Rael’s hand tightly, hiding behind their arm.

“It’s wrong.” He whispered. Azmond remembered being in forests before, though none as silent. Even near a city, birds would chirp, insects would drone and buzz, and there would always be something rustling in the underbrush. But here, nothing moved. Every now and then, autumn’s dying gasp would break against the canopy in a rustling croon, causing a few people to tense up.

When they cleared the tree line, they came upon a little village. Azmond thought it was a little small to be called a village, though. In the center of the clearing was a Faulk longhouse, flanked by six smaller houses made of stacked stone and wood, with dried frond roofs. Like the forest, there was no movement. Except for the flag at the top of the tower that was built atop the longhouse, the red cloth beckoning them closer. The doors were all shut closed. But the window shutters were cracked open, the glint of something moving in the darkness behind them.

Azmond’s horns prickled as he leaned closer to Rael, their Tome manifesting itself in their other hand. They whispered something under their breath, their eyes glowing blue for a moment. Rael pulled Azmond forwards, tapping Shieldmaiden Edith on the shoulder. Azmond leaned forwards to listen.

“There’s over a dozen people in the longhouse. Another two-dozen spread throughout the houses. They’re pulling at something, probably bows.”

Edith nodded. Azmond liked it better when they were like this. It seemed like every other day, Edith would pull Rael from their spot on the boat for a public spar. No matter what Rael did, it always ended the same way. With Edith sitting on Rael they bit their own hand hard enough to draw blood. When Azmond asked Rael why they bit their hand, Rael told him they were preventing the ‘naughty words’ from escaping. From how red their face became and how much their cheeks puffed, Azmond guessed that there were a lot of naughty words that wanted to escape. Edith always had a bored look on her face during the fights. Except when she stared down at Rael, when the glimmer of a sardonic smile would dance on her lips.

Edith always knew exactly what she wanted to do and did exactly what she needed to do. At least, that was Azmond’s impression. He wasn’t as surprised as Rael when Edith stepped forwards, shield still on her back and hand waving high in the air.

“Hail!” She called into the quiet hamlet. “Your red flag is up, so we came to help.”

Nobody responded. Yet Azmond could hear the faintest of murmurs from the longhouse.

“Why aren’t they answering?” Azmond tugged at Rael’s hand.

“…They’re scared.” Rael said, their gaze hopping between each of the houses. “There’s enough space in these homes for more people, but…” Rael shifted to keep themselves between the longhouse and Azmond. “Just get behind me.”

Only the flag above dared to speak; a gentle fluttering, twisting whisper as it reached for the warriors below in some desperate plea. Finally, a voice rang out from the largest window of the longhouse.

“Who are you to bring armed warriors into our village?”

“I am Shieldmaiden Edith of Feldon, accompanied by Captains Derrol and Kip. We were headed to the Althing when we saw your flag.”

“The Althing?”

Edith crossed her arms and frowned.

“You should know about this. Where is your shaman?” The Shieldmaiden’s voice was icy.

The pause was shorter this time, and although the tension began to diffuse, the voice trembled before the upcoming storm.

“Disappeared, for over a fortnight. Th…this is Aspirant Greem, by the way.”

There were some scattered groans from the surrounding warriors.

“Is anybody else missing?” Edith ignored the groans, speaking in a voice as cold and as sharp as a dagger.

“All of our capricorn herds, twenty-eight hunters, the blacksmith, five farmers, a child, and my blood-brother.”

Azmond watched in amazement as Shieldmaiden Edith’s nostrils flared and she clenched her teeth. It looked like naughty words were trying to escape from her, too!

“Aspirant Greem.” She spoke slowly, almost rolling the ‘r’ in a furious growl. “So many disappearances merits flying the second red flag.”

“By the time I wanted to use it I, um…misplaced it?”

Edith’s mouth opened and closed her mouth a few times as her eye twitched. After taking a few deep breaths, she recomposed herself.

“Greem.” The tone of her voice made it clear he was no longer an Aspirant in her eyes. “May we come in?”

Despite the bags under his eyes, Greem was young for a man trying to become Jarl. He had long, red hair woven in a single braid, and a goatee that may have once been neatly trimmed. He was quiet as he made food for the Captains, Azmond, Rael, and Edith. He insisted on cooking for them, especially when he saw Azmond. When he and a few of his servants set down the plates and served the food, he broke the silence. He explained that they finished building the village about two months ago, which is when Greem invited people interested in populating it, including his old blood-brother, Byron, who was serving as a Captain under Jarl Erikar.

It started innocently enough around then. Before, hunters would lose track of prey more than usual and maybe a capricorn would go missing now and then. But as Greem settled into his position in Jarl-aspirant, things began to go wrong. A hunter went missing. Then a few more. Then they found the forge unattended, the fire lit but the blacksmith missing. Against his better judgement, Greem didn’t fly the red flag, believing it to be the work of a particularly vicious fey. Yet when he and his shaman went looking for signs of it, they found nothing. Hunters went out in bigger groups, even as they found less and less food in a forest that grew more silent with each passing day. Soon, entire groups vanished. Farmers were plucked from their homes, meals still warm. Hunters gone in the moments of a turned head. When the shaman disappeared, Greem tried to fly both red flags, yet he found neither. Greem went out with a large group to collect red fruits and flowers to dye their white flag red. It was on the same eve that the flag was flown that Byron, his strongest warrior and supporter, went missing as well.

Azmond was too busy to pay attention to more of the discussion. Something about losing the title of Aspirant, punishment, a lot of angry whispers. Azmond was more focused on making his eyes as wide as possible and tentatively reaching for Rael’s leftovers. Looking cute did help get him bigger meals. After finishing his meal (and half of Rael’s) Azmond was patting his belly as he sat atop one of the roofs, kicking his legs over the edge. He watched everybody walk around, looking for clues and talking to the locals.

“Hello!” The voice was young, trembling nervously. Azmond found a young girl, leaning on the chimney behind him. She froze for a second when she saw his face but perked up and crawled closer to him. “Wow! It is true, you are a Dragonborn.” She poked at his horns curiously, causing an uncomfortable tingling sensation.

“Dragonborn?” A flood of information threatened to burst into his mind, but Azmond had been getting better at beating them back. “I think so.”

“I’m Bleffy!” The girl giggled. “Who’re you?”

“Azmond.” Bleffy was taken aback by his sharp-toothed smile before she leaned in close.

“Woooaaah…You’ve got teeth like a warg’s!”

“Cool!...What’s a warg?”

Bleffy smiled and led him off the roof and into her home. When she led him through the door, her mother’s eyes widened and pretended to focus on crushing grain in her massive mortar, each rigorous motion accompanied by an earthy, sweet smell and a grinding ‘thunk’. Bleffy pointed at the skull that hung over the mantle. It reminded Azmond of a dog’s skull he had seen a in the slums where he spent his earliest years. Except it was nearly five times as big, with sharper teeth, and a cranium that seemed almost grotesquely large.

“Scary….” Azmond shivered.

“Da said it fought like a demon.” Bleffy’s smile fell. “He always said that if the Faulk got our own Meta, we’d be able to make our own wargs. Maybe one would have protected him.” Bleffy’s voice cracked and she shook herself from the sorrow. Azmond grabbed her hand, eager to help her feel better. Wasn’t Rael a Mata, too? He opened his mouth to say something to cheer her up.