FSE

Furry search engine

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Susurring winds and rustling leaves — those were the ever-present sounds streaming through the Frostscape, the whistling intone accompanying Marek in his march toward North.

Or at least, those are the sounds he could perceive. However acute his senses were, they still fell within the humanly possible, and hence, diminutive details escaped his awareness; the same could not be said about Sigrid, who expressed her concern about a noise only her canine ears picked up.

Something 'potentially dangerous.’

The curious chimera had left his side and scooted beyond the canopy, leaving him in the middle of nature, hearing her pawpads eventually drowned out by the environmental noise.

Marek had been told to wait in the very spot he stood when the owl-wolfess chirped the warning. He had adhered to her instruction, but still slid ax and dirk out of their sheaths. Fingers coiled firm around the handles, wrists tense with anticipation and ready to burst with a lethal motion. An ambush should not be repeated.

The minutes passed, and Marek’s expectancy drew out thin, starting to believe Sigrid had spotted nothing but a skittish critter.

But a scratching roar along with a shriek alerted the man that Sigrid was not only in the vicinity but that she had found her target. Not far from his location, thuds resonated, the hasty sound zooming closer as heartbeats elapsed.

From the bushes, the human witnessed a feline animal sprinting in his direction. Unlike the snow leopards from other regions, this specimen was as sizable as a cougar; bearer of a flexible mass and hook-like claws, a cat that size could easily rake a grown human apart.

Did the pussycat squeeze past Sigrid’s clutches?

Marek bristled at the incoming assailant, both dagger and ax crossed at the level of his chest, ready to slice the furry animal. Nevertheless, when the leopard was five yards away from the cloaked man, it abruptly veered to Marek’s right, avoiding the man’s reach and circling him. The axman’s eyes never flicked away from the feline, but the leopard could not care less about his presence — Marek very well could have been a stump in the snow.

When the steps faded in the distance, he threw aside his defensive posture and turned his head to another noise rising afore. It was his traveling companion.

“Are you fine, Marc? Hope I did not startle you,” Sigrid cheeped.

“I’m fine. Cat avoided me,” Marek responded, sheathing his weapons back. “Curious you didn’t kill that cat. Did it spot you and run away?”

She shook her head. “Did not feel obliged to kill the snowcat. They are easy to frighten. Besides, I do not like their meat. Fibrous and a little juicy.”

“I bet you being half-dog has something to do with that,” the man joked.

The hybrid tilted her head and hummed. “Half-dog? Dogs scare cats, right? I did not see it that way… wait, No! ” She barked. “I am no dog.”

“I said ‘half-dog,’” the fighter commented as he broke from rest, moving past the chimera. “Plus, you behave pretty much like one.”

The girl huffed, then rose to her two feet and trailed behind the cloaked man. “‘Behave like one’? How so? I have only seen wolves, and I do not act like them.”

“You bark, howl, swing your tail when excited… The only thing missing is chasing your own tail.”

Sigrid murmured something intelligible, puffed her cheeks, and shook her fluff. “W-well… we have common mannerisms, that I admit.”

“You also like to chase wild pests,” Marek added, and by saying that, curiosity crept into his mind, lips instinctively tightening. “That is what you were doing during my battle with the orc, right?”

The she-monster suddenly jerked her head and erect ears. “Par-partially, yes.”

The way the question startled Sigrid told the human fighter that there was more to it. Now, his nosiness peaked at teenage levels. “‘Partially’? What other things were you doing? If I may ask.”

Sigrid’s eyes began to meander from Marek, and her claws flexed in the air, “I watched the surroundings and... then found a critter: a big mouse that did not take me much to catch... and then…" She trailed off, struggling to come up with words.

“And then…?” Marek pushed.

“A-and the… er… ladystuff?” She babbled.

“Say what?”

“ Lady stuff! ” She barked.

“‘Lady stuff’...” Marek articulated, eyes wide and blinking. “I see… I get it.” Unbeknownst to him, a new impulse grew within, something that tickled amusement.

“Y-you get it…?” She sheepishly uttered.

“Yeah… you were powdering your beak ,” that impulse was teainge.

“Powdering… my beak?” She said with her head rotated in an ell.

“You know… answer nature’s call, relieve yourself, shake the clinkers out.” Sigrid only blinked, unacquainted with those terms. Her obliviousness forced Marek to be more abrupt. “Defecating, Sigrid.”

A squeal scratched Marek’s ears after ending these words. The not-so-refined words of the adventurer stirred to chimera, her ears now leaning back, and her mane bristled.

“D-Do—Do not say that!” She exclaimed, abashed.

Marek snorted back. “Come on. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not ashamed of defec— grr! in doing that. That is something you should not mention in front of a lady!” She yelled, shaming turning into anger.

“Oh, didn’t know you were aware of etiquette rules. Did Imbi tell you about that?” A wolfish smirk gave away Marek’s devilish intent. “Did she teach you how to properly pee and—”

“No! I learned to do that myself!” The owl-wolfess practically shrieked. “She just telled Sigrid not to.. t-to ‘powder my beak’ next to you! Now, silent! You are being roode and unkind again!” the she-monster fussed, her language breaking during her shouts.

Marek needed to exert himself not to wheeze a laugh in front of her. The hybrid entity, who disemboweled monsters and scared oversized cats and dogs, was making a scene like any other woman would.

The human fighter swallowed his hilarity and reverted to his calm self — or close to that standard state since the corners of his lips were slightly twisted into an almost invisible grin.

A last sigh to shake off any latent chuckle, and Marek started to talk again: “Imbi must be really concerned if she tells you something like that.”

Sigrid huffed, her eyes avoiding seeing Marek, clearly irritated.

“No mocking this time. She indeed loves you and, I’m guessing, wants you to behave like a human lady.”

The girl glimpsed at Marek this time. “Yeah, I guess she does. She taught me several things. She plans to teach me several things.”

“Did she teach you how to speak the human language?”

“How to perfect it, at least. Keep working on that. I already knew some words before I met her.”

“Self-taught?”

“N-not quite…” She stuttered. That hesitant response awoke some curiosity in Marek, but before pushing that topic, Sigrid continued. “She also told me to walk on two feet. She says my body is not made to trot on four limbs.”

The sudden theme change was not missed by Marek; it was plain to him that Sigrid wanted to avoid certain subjects. He accepted there were secrets she held to herself; no reason to peer into someone’s life, not to speak of a lady’s life.

“Well, you are a little hunched. Does it hurt walking like that?” He eyed the bipedal chimera. It was not the most feminine posture, one of the reasons he was unable to discern her sex the first time he saw Sigrid. She has ‘potential,’ as Marek would classify it.

“Not really, although I stumble sometimes. But Imbi is not satisfied with that.” She puffed her tuft.

“Is that the straightest you can stand?”

“I can straighten more, but often revert to my ‘awkward’ stance after a while without noticing.”

“Give it a try,” Marek proposed, and Sigrid swiveled her head to his. “When you hunch back, I’ll tell you so. It may be bothersome, but if I don’t do that, Imbi will keep pressuring you.”

Sigrid regarded Marek for a brief moment, blinking, twitching one ear, and issuing low coos. “Alright. Guess I can try.”

Both travelers slowed their pace as Sigrid started to unbend her posture. She grunted, somehow uncomfortable given the time she passed hunched or crouching in four limbs. During her stirring, she got to puff her chest, giving the illusion that her bosom swelled. Marek’s eyes darted down at her pair, but he quickly cut off the glancing.

When Sigrid finally adjusted her stance, she addressed Marek, ”Is this fine?”

Marek slowly nodded, eyes checking Sigrid’s new posture. Without that clumsy posture, the avian entity stood over one head above Marek. Now, he and any other humans could discern Sigrid’s sex. One would be surprised how much the posture influences a woman’s femininity.

“Marc?”

“Eh? Ah, yeah, looking good. Very wo— human.” Marek almost stuttered with that one. This is the second time I’ve let my eyes scrutinize her body. “Just try keeping that posture.”

Sigrid huffed. “I’m taller this way. This pose is not very useful for sneaking around, and I’m easier to spot. Also, I sprint at a lower speed.”

“I take it there are no monsters around this region, right?”

“Besides the unusual stray warg or manticore, the only monsters around are trolls.”

“And those are tardy. None of them will take you by surprise, let alone with me alongside.”

Sigrid’s gaze trailed off, churring, her snow-white fur doing well in hiding her flush. It is not like Marek would have noticed it in any case.

Silence joined both travelers in their stroll once more, although this time, there was no stiffness between the two, without a shadow of awkwardness hovering between the two. Minutes passed, and Marek decided to make a sudden halt.

“ Shss, I heard something,” Marek murmured.

Sigrid hunched instinctively, ears waving in all directions, blue eyes drifting around. “What is it? I heard nothing.”

“Yes, definitely is something,” Marek raised his hand and laid it right above his groin. “My bladder just stirred.”

“Your… bladder?” She spat up, incredulous.

“That’s right,” he smirked, “it is my turn to powder my nose.”

“—?!” Whether there had been a question about Sigrid’s owlish face grimacing, it got answered.

“Now wait here. I have to take a whizz. By the way, that means—”

“I care not about what it means!” Sigrid shrieked back.

In this instance, Marek failed to contain a chortle, and a genuine laugh arose from his belly.

————————————————————————————————————————————————

The duo marched, and when the pinewoods turned less dense, the Icing Bounday’s looming presence became more prominent. With statuesque trees becoming more and more scarce, Marek assumed that, by tomorrow, finding an appropriate shelter would become a more demanding task.

Sigrid informed Marek about a river near their location, and her developed canine ears caught the trickling vibration of liquid against rock and ice. In the meantime, both spent the time conversing.

“So he basically freezes every time he sees you?” Marek tried to confirm Sigrid’s last words, sniggering at that knowledge.

“That is right. Spokesman An carl cannot stand in my presence without falling quiet and shivering,” Sigrid affirmed. “Sometimes babbles come from him, and Imbi needs to slap him with her staff so he can stiffen his lips.”

Marek elicited a snort. “So the mouthsman has cold feet. Perhaps that’s why he held animosity towards me: he could not stand a foreigner like me standing your aura.”

“Oh, no. He is quite brave, actually,” Sigrid interceded, “normally, most people who take a glimpse at my form flee frightened.”

“Do you know why that is?”

“No… I have no clue. I have always been like that.”

Marek rubbed his chin, intrigued. “You know. Your ability is quite similar to a dragon’s.”

Sigrid inaudibly eeked at the mention of the winged calamity, throwing her ears behind and flinching her wings. Crap! I forgot about that. For his fortune, Sigrid unwound.

“Y-yes… Imbi has mentioned that. But I do not turn animals into ferocious and witless savages. I just… scare them off.”

“That power of yours comes up handy here of all places,” the human lightly commented.

“But it comes up unhandy everywhere else…” Sigrid stared momentarily at her feet, wings tightening at her shoulders. She let out a heavy whistle and continued with the chatter. “In any case, it is not as handy as you believe. It does not work with certain beasts.”

“I guess ‘certain beasts’ are Gruhulla and his dogsbodies.”

“Wargs, manticores, trolls. All but afraid of me. If any, they tend to turn hostile, only refraining from attacking because they recognize my strength.”

“So monsters are immune,” Marek concluded.

“Monster is such a weird word,” the she-chimera said to herself, tilting her head and staring at the soon-to-be dusk sky. She then shot a look at Marek, “What makes a warg different from a bear or raptor?”

“Every creature terrifying enough can be considered a ‘monster,’” the man answered. “But for the bookworms, monsters are creatures whose physiology has been altered through supernatural means at some point in history.”

“Ooh…” the owl creature hooted in intrigue. “And are those ‘bookworms’ monsters as well? Are their words important for the hoomans in the South?”

Marek chuckled, “Nah, they aren’t monsters, but a few bookworms like to study them. Couple of them even make great contributions to society.”

The girl was silent for a bit, then spoke: “For the bookworms… I am a monster?”

Marek cast a glance at Sigrid, lips pressed together. “Maybe? You clearly are no animal, that’s for sure.” Marek avoided a straight-up response lest he offend Sigrid. Weird… since when have I been this considerate with people?

“So a monster.” Marek’s indirect response was not enough to suppress the impact of the truth.

The fighter sighed. “Don’t take it personally, Sig. That is a mere taxonomical term, whatever that means. That doesn’t convey that you are a monster in the bad sense. You are more human than many people I know… or knew.”

The man felt the owl-wolfess was about to retort, to say what he said was not cheery enough. Instead, Sigrid cocked her head and blinked, then twisted her head ninety degrees toward him. “‘Sig’?”

Was that the only thing she heard from me?

“Well…,” he scratched his cheek, “you keep calling me ‘Marc,’ so… why not come up with a nickname of my own making?” Sigrid’s ears twitched. “I can drop it if you wish.”

The she-monster jiggled her head, issuing birdlike sounds; it came to Marek that the placid twirp was a giggle. “I like it. I never had a nickname before. Not counting Howling Talon.”

“I'm glad you liked it.” Well, look at that. What happened to that mousy white shadow?

Indeed, it had been only two days — three if one counts the day he had faced Gruhulla — since he met Sigrid, and she already regarded him like a friend. The most interesting was that he likewise considers her a winsome partner. Marek could not remember the last time he had an endearing discussion with someone, not to speak with a member of the opposite sex.

During his pondering, Sigrid’s ear jerked forward, her avian head imitating the movement in brief. “Babbles…” she softly vocalized. “We arrived at the river.”

“Great,” Marek said quite enthusiastically, considering his usual mindset. “Some real water and not some ice cubes. My mouth feels like cotton after taking that long piss.”

“Krr— Marc!” Sigrid once again cringed at his crudeness.

“Ay, Sig. You sure are oversensitive,” the fighter mutely chortled.

The party of two hit the river’s shore, the prevalent windy song now overwhelmed by the babbling and trickling buzz of the flowing water. The stream surged steadfastly, but it was far from rampaging. About forty yards separated the two opposite shores.

It came as a surprise when Marek found something not frozen solid in the desolate land that was the Frostscape.

The man started to pull the device from his back. “Are there dangerous creatures underneath the waters I should be wary of?”

“Well, sometimes I find fierce, big fishes…” Sigrid said, head twirled and parallel to her shoulders, humming while staring at the sky. She was teasing the human.

“Sigrid…” Marek remonstrated, although his tone carried no real seriousness.

The she-chimera childishly giggled. “The waters are fine.”

Marek groaned and untied his cloak, removing his longcoat afterward, exposing his leather vest and undershirt for the first time to the frigid air.

“Oh, going to take a dip in the river?” Sigrid sang, appearing thrilled to Marek, as if she were about to hop from foot to foot.

“Yeah, I’m hot to trot into a fluid ready to give me a stroke,” Marek deadpanned, causing Sigrid to respond with a disgruntled huff, her enthusiasm cut short. “Just going to refill my canteen and clear my face. That last rumble left me… slightly icky.” Dry blood stained Marek’s face, and so was his coal-colored hair.

“True… perhaps I should have commented to you about that. As well as that funny smell.”

“‘Funny’?” Marek frowned.

“Grey’s blood is not precisely sweet. But since I did not want to be roode, I said nothing.”

“Until now,” the man unnecessarily filled the rest of the sentence. “Appreciate the honesty, nevertheless.”

Marek moved to the edge of the river, leaving his belongings leaning against a rock minus his bladed weapons and bottle; with only five yards apart, if any threat emerged, one stride and he could retake his protective hide.

Once at the border, Marek knelt, removed his gloves, folded his sleeves, and finally washed his hands in the glacial water, the biting sensation making him hiss. “Crap.” No, darn it! Don’t say that in front of Sig.

The fighter glanced back to ensure Sigrid had not heard his minor swearing, but when he turned his head back, he saw no female. “Where did she go? Did she find another pest to c—”

A splash clapped, and a mass of gelid liquid landed on his face and chest, generating a burning whiz across his cheeks, his face going rigid because of the low temperatures.

“What th—!” He choked in frustration before yelling a curse, turning at the river expecting to see the fish that had the delighted idea to drench him, but no gilled animal appeared. He was about to let the event slip by as there was no use in getting frustrated by some fish, but the moment something white emerged from the depths of the river, all his doubts were cleared.

It was Sigrid. She dove into the streaming water and spouted liquid ice all over him.

Marek was about to admonish her: one could run the risk of roaming wet in these lands, but while watching the back of the swimmer, a pair of feathery limbs emerged from the water like graceful dolphins. Shortly after, the wings and tuft started to shake and cast droplets in all directions.

She then began to emit occasional twits and chirps.

Heh. Of course she bathes like a bird.

The plumy appendages raised water and poured the liquid over her slim body. As the water cascaded down her form and the water forked off because of her coat’s patterns, her scaly arms rubbed each other as well as her midsection with deliberate gentleness, clawed fingers deep into the soaked fur, and her wings edged closer to her mask, near enough for her beak to preen her feathers. She often would bend forward, making the crystalline fluid drip down her back until it ended where the tail lay sunken.

Marek failed to notice it at first, but as soon as his eyes pointed at his female partner, he got enthralled by her immersed silhouette. His mind lapsed into deep observation, even forgetting what he was supposed to do at the river’s edge.

The water level reached her hip, and her wings obstructed any sight coming from Marek’s spot, but not even those nuances prevented the human’s eyes from lingering around her body. With her soaked back and fur flattened against her shape, the human could discern her well-defined muscles — Sigrid might be rather slender, but that chiseled back was that of an athlete; Marek considered the build logical given her ability to fly. Her trim back rocked with her cleaning, and whenever she leaned back, Marek could notice a hint of her silky, lumpy as—

Do I really find myself ogling a nonhuman?! Marek's brain squalled, starting to feel dazed by his scrutiny. This is the third time. What’s this? Haven’t romantically interacted with a member of the opposite sex in so long that a humanoid monster appears alluring? His mind was a mess, his cold professionalism gone, but his face remained glued to the bathing chimera, even if he was no longer checking her out in the strict sense.

Sigrid stopped her scrubbing session and began to swim back to the edge, at Marek’s location. Marek averted his eyes, and to shake off those indecent thoughts out of his mind, he decided to cool his head — literally. He plunged his skull into the lake and rubbed his hair harshly underneath. Bitter cold my arse. I need to pull myself together.

His face tightened, teeth and forehead aching because of coldness. But it was better this way, or that is what Marek contemplated.

“Oh, such an enjoyable dipping~,” she chirpingly moaned after rising from the transparent fluid, a mere five feet away from the human. “Back then, when the wargs were biting at my tail, I thought I would never be able to bathe—” Sigrid noticed Marek’s head wholly submerged in the water, bubbles babbling around and spurting water by the chaotic movement of his arms. “Troubles clearing the grey’s smell, Marc?” The man’s head sprang out of the river, his entire head dripping galore.

He sighed and relaxed despite his numb head and arms. “That’s… better.”

“I can tell that. Your smell of orc has diminished.” Marek raised his gaze to his companion. He wanted to withdraw his latest words in the act — Sigrid was dripping wet! The coating fur squeezed her shape around the chest, revealing the true form of her modest yet perky bosom. He lowered his gaze in a hasty attempt to stop ogling her further, his eyes now meeting her flat abdomen.

The curves were emphasized even more by her drenched state, and the view was not helping his case. His sight lingered enough to discern that she lacked a navel and had a couple of lumps in her midsection, six protrusions that disrupted an otherwise even white plain. Scars? What kind of weapon, natural or otherwise, would cause that symmetric pattern? Marek thought, but the pale pink color in one of them revealed their identity.

It was a teat. Several teats.

Sigrid had two rows of teats, three nipples each, below her ‘main’ pair.

This shouldn’t have any effect on me; those are only animal teats, yet… Marek groaned, bringing his eyes back to the water and wiping his face with two hands. I shouldn’t have told her to straighten, to begin with. What an annoyance.

Hearing the man’s guttural whine made Sigrid tilt her head in puzzlement. “Er, did I do something, Marc?”

“I-I er— is just—” Come on! Wasn’t the tight-arsed water enough to cool you down? “Water splashed on my shirt, that’s all.”

“Oh… ehm, it was not me, right? Sometimes I cannot control myself when—”

“No, no, no. It’s fine. It was my fault,” the man said, fighting for his voice not to crack or stutter.

“If only you had taken a dip as I suggested, you would not have worried about wetting yourself,” she criticized, walking to the man’s left. Given Marek's last inadequate thought, he opted to avert his sight from the female readying to leave the river. Who knows what other secrets the mischievous water might expose?

Sigrid arched over the river's edge, and in one single jump, she popped out of the chilly waters, momentarily crawling on four legs close to ten feet from the border. Next, and without warning, she began to shake the water off her body, generating a volley of droplets that poured over the luckless, thrown man. However, he decided not to stare back nor yell at her — he was too played out of the water's shenanigans.

Bathe like a bird, dry like a dog… I should have known better.

When Sigrid finished her dry-up procedure, she once again stood to her bipedal stance, a trifling grunt telling Marek she made sure to avoid her hunched posture. “Ups… mm… sorry about that.”

Marek merely waved his hand at her, trivializing her wet blunder. He then grasped his bottle and submerged it in the water, only to draw it to his face and take a sip. The man continued doing the dip-and-out-the-bottle routine for a minute or two, Sigrid now staring at the stream, trying to spot and catch an unaware fish that leaned toward the border.

“Do you like fish, Marc?” She broke the comfortable silence.

“Not as much as I like meat. Spines are uncomfortable to chew and swallow. A real nuance if you ask me.”

“I see… so, you would not like to eat one if I catch it?”

“If that is what you bring to the table, then it’s fair and square. Can’t be nitpicky in this frozen cube.”

She briefly wagged her tail. “We eat fish, then,” Sigrid turned to the water, azure eyes piercing through the watery liquid. “Oh! A daydreaming one is approaching. Try not to disturb the water.” Marek nodded and saw how Sigrid raised her talon, ready to snap at the lost fish the second it swam into her range.

However, before stretching her knives at the prey, her ears perked up, her eyes blinking wide. Her beaky face rose, and Sigrid stared at the other side of the river. Her pupils shrank, and her mane bristled. “Go back,” the chimera quietly growled, at which Marek wrinkled his brows. “To the woods. Now. ” She urged, tone dire.

Marek did not think twice: clock-smooth, he crawled to his feet and rushed back to his leathers, snatching his belongings from the rock in one go, hardly slowing. In no time, he took cover behind a pine and unsheathed his ax with one hand as he knotted his cloak with the other; Sigrid trailed behind, taking refuge behind another tree nearby.

Passed some stressful seconds, Marek felt like asking what was going on. However, his question died in his throat as he witnessed a quadrupedal beast breaking from the woods on the other side of the stream. Marek could not tell the details of the beast besides that it was coated with some white and blue furs and was heftier than a warg. But when the entity lowered its head to take a gulp of water, its monstrous traits came to light.

The monster had two heads — one head, the feline one, hydrated upon the river, whereas the canine one surveyed the region.

It was a manticore.

“No…” Sigrid issued lowly. “Why are they this far in the South?”

Marek turned to her, about to say the monster was likely a stray manticore, but her second phrase tinked in his mind like the trigger of a crossbow. “‘They’?”

Indeed — They. One minute did not go by after the first manticore revealed itself when another similar one appeared, this time right in front of where Marek and Sigrid used to lie. The newcomer monster started to sniff at the air, teeth baring in a sentiment Marek could not tell.

Did they detect us?

“They can’t swim, right?” Marek murmured.

“They can. And they are very good at that,” she blankly stated.

“Well, cr— curses. Perhaps I should have risked it with the freezing bath,” he stated sardonically. The two creatures interchanged some barks, the incomprehensibility of their ‘words’ tightening the duo’s situation. “Any recommendation, Sig?”

“These two are not alone…” she said, not particularly at Marek. “We could move East, but it will take time to find a ford for you to pass through. No mention that I don’t know how much their hunting grounds stretch.”

Marek clicked his tongue. He then stared at the West: the river snaked toward a prominent forest, denser than the typical woods he had crossed so far. “What about going West? Does anything dangerous lurk in there?”

Sigrid’s ear sprang straight, and she snapped at Marek. “We can’t go there. No beast approaches that place.”

“Sounds like a paradise.”

“N-no!” She increased her volume and, in response, raised a claw to cover her beak. For the fortune of both companions, that last yell passed unnoticed to manticores’ ears. “That place is nasty. ”

Is there something this girl doesn’t consider nasty? “Imbi or any other citizen never told me about it.”

“Because it is nasty for beasts. Hoomans and greys care not about that place. And the few that cared, well…” Sigrid’s words petered off when she noticed Marek sneaking in her direction.

“We don't have much of a choice, do we? I’m splitting a breeze here.” Marek walked past Sigrid, both device and longcoat hanging on his shoulders.

“B-but… your friends most likely did not traverse those woods.” Ah, right. Imbi’s lie. Now that I know Sigrid better, I feel kind of guilty. “We could lose their track.”

“Knowing them—” I don’t, “—they are taking secure measures to elude the manticores or any other monster, and the party slowed down their pace.”

Sigrid churred, troubled by the choice of moving East.

“Don’t tell me that the apex predator fears some macabre forest?” Marek taunted, already several feet ahead of Sigrid.

Sigrid hissed, turned her sight at the monsters growling at the shore, and then slipped directly at Marek. “I do not enjoy being mocked, Marc. You are being roode again.”

Marek playfully scoffed, but he abstained from throwing a rebuke.

“You worry too much, Sig. We defeated a pack of wargs, remember? With no greys or wild creatures you know lurking ahead, why eat your claws off?”

Sigrid hummed. “G-guess we can be the first one to go and see the forest… never saw whatever lies in there in any case.”

An assertive hum from Marek indicated his approval of Sigrid’s agreement. With the hasty detour, both travelers left the pair of monsters behind, hoping the chimeras would not track and bite them in their calves.

But there were worse, latent perils across the Frostscape, unknown to humanoid races and monsters alike. And if Marek had taken the moment to stand still in silence, he would have listened to that faint and wispy heartbeat.

An omen signaling an evil of old.