This wasn’t the first time I’d been in the Great Wild. I’d entered the forest many times, travelling on short, well-known paths to get to the two dungeons that sat on the edge of beast-kin territory. I’d even penetrated quite deeply on griffin-back, flying over miles of deep green to get to Mandel’s workshop.

Even my dungeon was located in the Great Wild, only a little deeper than the two open dungeons. Travelling to that was the closest I’d come to what I was doing now.

Experiencing the forest. Travelling on foot under its branches, wandering its meandering ways. Living in it, instead of passing through. Forced to capitulate to its terms, we were becoming one with nature.

Don’t get me wrong, it was a wondrous experience and all, but I gave it three days before I murdered someone for a bath.

Reynard led us at a brisk pace, leaping from root to root, in that odd manner of movement I’d seen him use before. I’d learned later that it was quite common in high-strength adventurers. Faster and less predictable than running, or so they said. I had my doubts about it in normal terrain, but it was certainly easier to jump over the tangled mess of roots and hillocks that we were travelling through than clamber over them.

With less strength, Felicia and I couldn’t jump nearly as far, so Reynard’s speed was limited to what we could manage. He didn’t show any sign of impatience though, simply pausing between each jump while we made two to catch up.

“Let me know when you’re running low on [Stamina] he said at one point. “We’re on a safe route, but you never want to be at zero.”

Good advice, so that was what we did, resting for fifteen minutes every hour. Jumping really took it out of you. I was looking forward to at least one level of [Stamina Development] before the trip was over. Probably one of [Jump] as well.

Ideally, I would be practising [Shadow Magic]— I could shadowstep further and faster than I could jump— but not only would that mean leaving Felicia behind, it would let Reynard know that I had the skill. It seemed wise to keep it in reserve for now.

Cloridan and Kyle were with us as well of course. Janie had stayed behind. She had joined up with a temporary party in Talnier to keep busy delving.

“Too many bugs in the forest,” she’d complained, “And too many people that complain when you clean the bugs out with fire. Give me the city and a nice non-flammable dungeon.”

I sighed. Cloridan was a city person, but he’d come. As had… Cutter. Against my objections.

This world didn’t really have age limits. Someone who was level five, like Cutter, was ready for anything the world could throw at him. All you needed to drink in taverns was money, and the same was true for… other activities.

Cutter had finally chosen Duellist as a profession, and he’d paid for the twin sabres that hung at his side. He might not have received all of his first-level points, but he was as dangerous as any of us.

Reynard might have been a little bit more dangerous, but he was behaving so far. According to him, we were making pretty good time, and we were on track to get to Mossridge Gather before nightfall.

“Surprised by something?” he asked during one of our breaks.

“You’re just so… professional,” I confessed. “It is surprising.”

He snorted. “I was a ranger for years before I got caught up with the Guild. Escort contracts are bread-and-butter for a level four Ranger.”

“Why did you get sent to Oakway?” I asked.

“Nothing in particular,” he said, shrugging. “Oakway had a jungle level, which called for someone with wilderness skills to manage it. It was more about…”

He scowled, looking at nothing in particular. “Before they let you gain levels, they want to make sure that you’re… sound. That you’ll follow orders, that sort of thing.”

“That seems like a reasonable precaution to me,” I said. “I’m not sure that it works though,” I admitted, thinking back to all the high-level guild members I’d seen running amok. Even the geas hadn’t kept Reynard under control.

“I hadn’t heard that you’d signed up though,” Reynard said. “It's the smarter move if you can get your levels elsewhere. I couldn’t.”

“Until you could,” I said.

“The Countess has been generous,” he agreed. “Shall we get moving again?”

Reynard alerted us to the fact that we’d reached Mossridge Gather when he saw the first stone. Flat-topped, they had been inserted into the forest floor, held fast by tree roots and mostly level. Together they formed a winding path that led into a more deeply shadowed grove.

“Stay on the stones,” he told us. “There are traps on the more direct routes.”

He was the expert, so we followed him, returning to a normal walking pace. The trees grew high here, so the forest canopy was far above us, lit by the fading sun. I imagined I saw movement up there— we were probably being watched.

Reynard led us along the path until we came to a small shelter covered with vines.

“We wait here,” he said, taking a seat. “Someone should be along to bring us into the village.”

“You’ve been here before, then?” I asked.

“Many times,” he said. “It’s the closest village to the border, most of those that travel between here and the Kingdom pass through. I’ve friends here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I guess I have problems thinking of you as anything but a criminal.”

He snorted with amusement. “Get used to it then, girl. I’m liked well enough here, and back home I’ve got the backing of a noble. It's only the Guild that thinks badly of me.”

I was spared from replying by the approach of one of the villagers. He was a… deer-kin, I guessed. The antlers were a bit of a giveaway. They weren’t as large as the ones I would expect to see on a stag, but they were just as elaborately branched, and I thought they might be just a bit more pointy. They would probably be awkward to use as weapons, but I wouldn’t want to be impaled by them.

“Greetings,” Reynard said, bowing. To us, he said, “This is Urnmor, chief of this village.”

He then introduced us all by name, leaving off any titles. Well, my titles. The others didn’t have any posts or positions to speak of. I wondered if I should change that.

“Greetings to you all, travellers,” Urnmor said with a deep and resonant voice. “What brings you to our village?”

“We’re travelling to meet with the Council,” I said. Mentioning our actual destination was apparently a bit of a faux pas.

“I see. Then you have a ways to travel yet. For tonight, will you rest in our village?”

“If you can spare the food, Cheif. We have our own supplies…”

“Nonsense, you shall not eat dried rations tonight. We shall host you, and you shall repay our hospitality with news and stories of the outside world.”

“If you wish, Chief,” I said bowing. Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. The ritual had gone just as Reynard had said it would. Not that they were going to kill us if we got the wording wrong. But following custom made the process go more smoothly and reassured them that we were the sort of people who respected their customs. Or at least, that we were the sort of people who listened to our guide.

Urnmor led us into the village proper along a flower-lined path. The forest floor was quite dark by now, and the flowers had closed up, but I thought I could make out a faint glow from them that helped keep us on the path.

“Behold our humble village,” Urnmor said as we came around the final bend. Despite his words, there was a lot of pride in his voice.

[Charm] kept a smile on my face as I saw where we would be spending the night.

Oh good. A treehouse.

It was… about how I’d expected, really. The tribes’ affinity for nature, and living close to the land wasn’t exactly a state secret.

The trees rose even higher here, comparable in size to the giant mountain ash trees that you get down in Victoria. There were about twenty of them that I could see from this vantage point. Each tree that I could see sprouted platforms about halfway up. Some of the trees just had one platform that went all around the trunk, others had multiple platforms that jutted out like enormous bracket fungi.

Villagers were climbing down, or in some cases gliding down, to meet us. There were three types of beast-kin in this village. Deer, like the chief, Squirrels and Owls.

The owls were new to me. They had wings… sort of. Much like a bat, there was a feathered structure extending back from their arms. Exactly how their arms bent the way they did was a mystery, but I doubt their joints were anything like either owls or humans. They couldn’t fly on their own, but [Air Magic] was pretty common for them.

I learned this at the feast that was quickly put together in our honour. On ground level, fortunately. We did make a quick trip up to our assigned tree house, managed by a Squirrel-kin called Cerine, to drop off our packs of supplies. They did have a basket that could haul up the infirm, but our [Climb] skills were up to the challenge.

Whether that would still be true after the feast remained to be seen.

The toasting started after everyone had been given a chance to take the edge off their hunger. [Identify] could tell me the name of the meats we were eating, but since I’d never heard of the animals, it didn’t tell me much. They were tasty, though.

The chief toasted to our health, and we toasted him right back. We were drinking a slightly fermented berry juice. It tasted like a really fruity wine. Hopefully, it wasn’t too strong.

Storytelling duty seemed to fall to me. Reynard was off talking with his hunting buddies, Cloridan was drinking, and Felicia and Kyle seemed to get tongue-tied. That was fine though, I had stories to tell.

I told the village about what we were trying to do in Talnier. They would have heard of us of course, but through rumour and second-hand accounts. I felt better knowing that they had the details from me.

Then I moved on to more exciting stories. I told them about Shadthe’s attack on Dorsay and Duke Victor’s attack on his own vassal. I left out the details of my involvement in those stories, much to Reynard’s amusement. I caught him grinning at me from the other side of the feasting table. Hopefully, he wasn’t blowing my cover with his drinking buddies.

The really popular story turned out to be the one about Kaito fighting her way into Duke Finley’s dungeon. No one questioned how I knew about it enough to describe all the battles. They loved it, especially the final desperate battle against the giants. Just when all hope was lost, the dungeon break ended, saving them all.

In fairness, they probably would have loved a story about how Kaito went to the pub just as much. She was super popular here, and probably in the rest of the Wild.

Telling stories all night meant that I was able to avoid drinking too heavily, so I was easily the least drunk of all my companions when we retired for the night. Cloridan and Cutter managed to climb up on their own, but Felicia and Kyle needed help. Reynard was sleeping elsewhere, which was all for the good as far as I was concerned.

Despite my fears, the beds turned out to be soft, and the blankets warm. The primitive treehouse managed to be not at all drafty. It was all, in fact, remarkably comfortable. The last thought that passed through my mind before I drifted off to sleep was that these tribals might know what they were doing after all.