7 Departure, Part 4

Morne was not about to casually accept such an offer, but he also needed to treat it with the seriousness it demanded.

An Infutim like Morne could still pose a threat to an inattentive Mage. A sleeping Mage or soldier could be stabbed or smothered just like anyone else.

Add the fact that he was a man – a very large man – and she was a woman, and it became even more complicated.

Trusting a stranger in this world was perhaps the most dangerous thing to do.

This was also true for him. Putting his trust in this woman, someone he'd known for less than a day, was practically asking to be stabbed in the back.

He knew she knew all of this; how could she not? She was a mercenary. She had surely faced death before, and seen terrible things.

But that look in her eye. It was the only reason he was entertaining such a thought.

It was devoid of lust and eagerness. The only thing it betrayed was how serious her offer was.

But that only served to baffle him even more.

When had he ever met someone that could so willingly place their life in the hands of a stranger?

Morne lightly shook his head. "I'm fine out here," he replied. "I wouldn't want to keep you up at night with worry."

After all the things he had just gone through, he wasn't yet ready to put his life in the hands of another.

The sincerity in Essenla's gaze was replaced with several emotions, which flashed by too quickly to recognize, before settling on acceptance.

"I understand," was all she said, and she stood and left.

Morne watched her go out of the corner of his eye. He tilted his head to the sky, looking at the stars above, before hauling himself to his feet.

His shoes pressed against the hard ground. The piece of footwear compressed under Morne's considerable weight but the ground didn't give at all, which earned a sigh from Morne.

'This dirt will make for a poor bed,' he thought bitterly.

He laid down and situated himself as best he could, using the log as a headrest, and did his best to fall asleep.

.......

The next morning, the caravan's passengers packed their things and tied the horses to the wagons.

Morne watched all this happen emotionlessly, standing near the three female sellswords he'd shared the ride with. They all shared the same sentiment.

If they weren't getting paid for it, they weren't going to help.

A shout was heard to his right, drawing his attention.

A woman in her late forties, dressed not much better than Morne himself was, was arguing with a woman in the garb of the Crimson Gradle Company.

Morne was too far to hear the full conversation, but the wind carried snippets of the first woman's louder words.

"…issing! We have to… WON'T calm down!"

The Crimson Gradle woman tried to soothe the distraught woman, but she only yelled louder.

"Sounds like someone went missing," Treyflena said with a frown.

Cretaya scowled at this scene. "I don't understand why humans always fail to follow such simple rules. 'Stay with the camp. Be back in time to leave.' We say these two things every single time."

"Maybe he relieved himself in the woods and a pack of wolves got to him," joked Treyflena.

"Or something worse. Whatever it is, he knew the rules," Cretaya said as her fellow mercenary continued to try to calm the frantic woman. "And so does his wife, or sister, or whoever this is. We don't have the manpower to throw away in those accursed woods, nor the responsibility to do so."

"The curse of the Crimson Gradle Company strikes again," muttered Essenla ruefully.

Treyflena scoffed.

"There's no curse," she said. "Just bad luck and worse clients."

"Though I suspect our fellows have some answering to do as well," Cretaya said. "Why didn't the night watch see this man sneak out?

"I've been saying for weeks now that we need to increase the number of guards posted at a time. With this many tents, along with the wagons, it's far too easy for someone to sneak out."

"Their job isn't to stop people that sneak out," Treyflena replied. "It's to stop things from getting in.

"Cut the chat and form up," Morgthon shouted at them from across the camp as he pulled himself into their wagon.

"Duty calls," Treyflena smirked, striding forward. "Let's just hope the rest of the trip isn't as boring as this."

The other two mercenaries walked after her, leaving Morne behind.

Morne glanced between the forest and the irate civilian. With an exhale, he started after the mercenaries.

Crunch.

Morne frowned, looking down. The dirt didn't make that sound.

He lifted his foot, finding a small bit of white powder scattered along the ground, mixed in with the dirt from the camp's previous busy foot traffic to the point it was barely noticeable.

He bent down curiously, brushing the dirt aside with his fingers.

That only served to mix this strange powder in with the dirt more, but the telltale feel of something solid brushing against his fingertips underneath all of the earth spurred him on.

A small white mound of what looked like stone peeked out from the dirt, and Morne started to dig around it.

He soon unearthed a round shard of white material slightly larger than a fingernail, and he held it up to the sky for better lighting as he stood.

'Feels like stone,' he thought when he brushed his thumb against it.

But it was oddly smooth considering it had been under a thin layer of dirt. He couldn't spot where it had been broken to form the powder at his feet, either. He didn't know much about weathering, but this didn't sound possible.

Was it bone?

That would explain the smoothness. But what about the flecks of white at his feet? And that still didn't cover the break-off point.

Truthfully, he didn't even know why he cared. Boredom, perhaps. It wasn't like he was staying busy.

"Oy, big guy!" yelled Treyflena, leaning out of the back of the wagon so her head was parallel to the ground below, which caused her raven hair to drop down like a waterfall. "You coming or not?"

Morne pocketed the interesting object and trudged toward the wagon, not eager to walk the rest of the way.