FSE

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Marek found himself back in the embrace of masonry walls and linen blankets.

Little did he know about his whereabouts: His body rested over a notably uncomfortable bed, too stiff for his liking, but definitely not one of the bunks from the guild, whose rigidness competed with the military discipline of their owners. He reasoned he was in one of his favorite brothels, most likely Maison Belladonna, whose proprietors choked in stinginess to the point they did not bother to invest in minimally decent mattresses.

Although the bedframe left too much to be desired, the sheets might as well be clouds as far as Marek was concerned. They had some feathery pattern, which the warrior regarded as odd, but it carried some exoticness, one that seeped through his gloves, making the act of trailing the hand over the plumed hem pleasant.

Then, there was that velvet-like pillow pressed against his forehead, the furs of its pillowcase leaking into his nostrils. Marek shook his head and tried to adjust his head so the pelt no longer tickled him, but by doing that, he noticed a pair of smaller cushions, whose cottonness matched the sheet set — they, along with the ‘pillow,’ also jolted with his facial touch.

Experience told Marek those cushions were a bosom — a woman was sleeping beside him.

Even drowsy, Marek skimmed through his memories to decipher the mystery of the woman at his side. Was she a dancer seen last night? It did not take much examination from Marek to determine that he must have been drinking last night, and one exotic dancer allured him to the bed — again.

Regardless, complaints were unwarranted; the morning snuggle was welcomed, and his body felt too heavy to pick himself up from the bed, poor-quality bed considered — clearly, the sequels of last dusk’s boozing and the posterior roll in the sheets had drained his energies.

Hovering between wake and sleep, Marek could discern that his company was a tall woman, with her face extending past the top of his head, the soft breeze caused by her breathing warming his hair. The dancer seemed to be wearing furs — they made it out while clothed? Is that why he had the gloves on? The heat of the moment, Marek reasoned. She also emanated a moss-like scent, like fir or pine, with a dash of… dog? It was not a street dog’s fragrance: he could identify it as mostly earth mixed with natural oils, which made the array of scents spicier. Perhaps she brought her refined pet to work.

Having considered all the foreign attributes, Marek came to the conclusion that the dancer he was cuddling with had to be a woman from the northern lands — she was lofty, wrapped in animal pelts, had modest yet firm breasts, and brought her wintry-smelling cologne. No wonder his body refused to lift a leg: whatever night they had must have numbed his limbs and shaken his brains out.

But the throbbing ache, compared to the sense of ease, was a mere nuance. So great was the comfort that he could stay in bed until evening, until Aurelio himself busted through the door of the quarter, all while chewing out, threatening to send him into a hole outside the city.

Would something like that be worth the cuddle? So much was the lethargy that chained Marek to the bed that he did not want to put his mind to the consequences of oversleeping. He was cozy, warm, and accompanied by an enticing maiden. Aurelio and Il Compasso could choke with their ire because he had no intentions of leaving this bedroom anytime soon.

…

Hold on. I went to no brothel. I didn't get drunk. And most certainly, I had sex with no dancer. I had no sex in over five years! I was traveling north to slay a bloody dragon, met an owl lady with dog legs, fought a pretentious vampire, and now… Where am I now?

With his mind unfogging and the lethargicness fading away, Marek began to stir awake, his body fighting against the state of motionlessness. His eyes cranked open enough to peek at the wakeful world, but he could see nothing but a bleached pattern of fur.

Right. I slept next to Sigrid, not with a dancer, you dork. But wait, I sat against the wall. Why am I lying flat on the rock? Marek shifted his eyes past his forehead, where a sleeping individual was quietly puffing over his coal-like hair. And there he saw her: Sigrid, his eyes witnessing the owl-wolfess in her sleep for the first time, ears slightly leaning backward, and occasionally issuing a quiet peep from time to time.

Too much for a nocturnal predator. Marek stifled a chuckle, which ended up transforming into jiggles. Now, what time of the day is it? Trying to turn toward the entrance, Marek realized that his movement suffered a considerable impediment: both stretched wings, one on and the other below his body, crossed on his back and pushed him toward Sigrid’s chest. Likewise, both avian arms coiled around his torso, locking his upper arms in a hug. And to make the situation more awkward, the she-chimera had her leg over Marek’s thigh.

Marek tutted, aware of his inconvenient situation. What to do to slip out from the monstress’ embrace without waking her up? He tested his hands to loosen the hug; however, the second he pressed his palms against the chimera’s abdomen, a piping groan came out from Sigrid’s beak. Marek frowned at first, but as soon as he remembered what remained hidden on her belly, he stopped at once and withdrew his hands.

Crap. Well, no use. I’ll just wake her up; after all, we’re behind schedule considering the illumination of the cave — There was a thud from outside. “Eh? What was that?” He murmured, and then a second thud, harsher than the previous one, followed. No good. “Sig, wake up.” The she-chimera shook her head and pressed the underside of her beak on Marek’s head, chirping incoherencies.

There was a third smack, and Marek could have sworn he felt a vibration rippling across the rock. He did not want to scream lest he could give their position away to whatever was stomping out of the grotto, but given the gradually noisier steps, the fighter saw no other alternative. “Sig, get up!”

There was a twit, and Sigrid’s ears jerked forwards, and her eyes changed from closed to half-lidded, sleepiness still plastered on her strigine face. “Mm~ so noisy~.”

“Something is outside and slowly approaching,” Marek pressed, hoping he did not have to elaborate further.

Sigrid showed no reaction toward the human’s urgency; notwithstanding, she waved her lupine lugs toward the entrance. A crunching thump echoed with graveness, and, with no delay, the lupine owlette’s eyes snapped completely open, her upper body lifting from the ground, ears erect.

“Oh no,” she muttered. “Spirits. Let’s get out of here,” Sigrid detached herself from Marek, having no problem in retrieving her wing below the man’s frame, which made Marek overturn, the fighter almost squealing because of the abrupt jounce. He recovered his footing in no time, nevertheless, and bolted toward his belongings, which lay deep into the abode.

“Quick, Marc!” Came out a dire cheep.

“I need to retake my rifle,” Marek responded, his fingertips already grazing the fabrics that enveloped his device. But upon taking a solid grasp on the mocha-colored textiles, the light bathing the cave drained away, and the abode turned dimmer.

Both chimera and human set their sights on the entrance, witnessing a vaguely humanoid silhouette. Its body was disproportionate, with dumpy legs and long, thick arms; its form, although hunched, grazed a height of nine feet. The gravel-like color, so reminiscent of permafrost soil, predominated on that brawny and stout frame, with horns protruding from distinct joins of its body.

Blue eyes, diminutive and uncannily human, were stuck on its horned head, with a lower jaw pushing forward and embellished with sizable icicle-like tusks. For Marek, the creature looked like some hairless ape.

Since the instant the brute had stepped in, Sigrid and Marek stared at the monster still, reminiscent of two deer that had spotted a bear; the creature returned a similar gesture, eyes scanning the cave and its dwellers, all while heavily puffing through its nostrils and emitting a rumble.

So that must be— “Troll!” Marek’s mental sentence was filled with a bird-like yell, followed by a roar that shook the innards of the grotto. The troll charged toward the duo.

“Crap!” Hurried, Marek adjusted the device on his back and plucked his ax up. “Hold him down or he’ll crush us both!”

“No need to say the obvious!” Sigrid greeted the hulking monster with a tackle of her own, sharp talons sinking into the gravel-like skin of the brute. In response, the troll swung his broad benders; given the narrowness of the cave, dodging such slams required Sigrid to gather all her focus to jump backward or flatten herself to the ground.

Marek joined the pandemonium of growls and shrieks, the gleaming ax lashing out against the towering creature. If evading the creature’s ample attacks was not demanding enough, every missing attack from the troll shook the cavern, causing fist-sized rocks to come off the ceiling.

“Push him to the exit! We’re running out of space!” Marek bawled.

“You say that as if it were easy!” Sigrid screeched back, talons tearing into the monster’s arm and chest, but its hardened skin, whose robustness compared to Marek’s cloak, prevented the advent of impairing wounds.

“Crap!” The situation was worsening: the troll might not be the fastest monster on the Frostscape, but its hulky frame and wide swipes pressed the duo deeper into the cavern, turning evasion into an ineffective method of defense. And to add fuel to the fire, the troll’s wound closed as soon as a claw, beak, or blade split the flesh apart.

It was a deplorable state of affairs doomed to worsen every second.

A rumble generated by another stray attack broke off another piece of roof, foot-sized this time, causing it to fall and land on Marek’s shoulder. “Arg!”

“Marc!” Sigrid noticed the pain-filled sound coming from Marek, which caused her to growl and increase the intensity of her counterassault.

“It’s useless! We cannot win this way! This brute will bring down the entire hill over our heads!” He cried, pulling out his inner reserves of willpower to ignore the pain in his left shoulder. “We need to slip past his body!”

“It’s too big! How to—” An impact made Sigrid recoil, but she sprang back and drew red lines on the troll, who responded with more roars and violence.

“Distract him for a moment! I’ll try to scurry through his guard! Then I’ll help you from the other side!” Sigrid did not get to nod, but Marek took the barks as a sign of her getting his plan through.

Without hesitation, Sigrid seized one arm and, with all her strength, pinned it against the raw wall. The troll growled but still refused to use the other arm, which was busy putting the human at bay. The owl-wolfess enhanced her insistence, swooping one wing toward the monster’s tusky face and biting one of its sturdy fingers.

The troll bellowed and shifted its right arm to smack the avian entity who gnawed its arm and fingers.

That was Marek’s sign — he strode half-crouched toward the undefended side of the troll. He caught how Sigrid barely dodged that side punch; however, as soon as the smack failed, the troll retrieved his arm to elbow the man parallel to its side. The hit was true, and Marek was sent brushing across the stone that later changed into snow; nevertheless, the damage was minimal, and the fighter now lay outside the hole.

“Marc!” Sigrid screamed from inside the cave; now that she stood alone, her probabilities of getting out plunged significantly. Without even taking a fleeting break to catch air, Marek picked himself out and rose Iousterard above his head. The troll did not check whether the human was around, so it must have disregarded Marek as a threat as soon as he vanished from the cave.

The monster’s illusion gave him the relief to aim with his silvery ax. Sigrid and troll interchanged one last monstrous holler, and the ax departed Marek’s hand, spinning at incredible speed, buzzing through the air. The missile traced an upward trajectory that sliced the brute’s hunch and nicked the top of its head, the weapon ending up impaled on the ceiling.

The growls of the troll quavered, and its movement turned sluggish and unstable; Marek must have cut some pivotal region of the brain.

“Sig, escape now!” Sigrid did not have to think twice; she raided the dazed creature, who opposed little resistance, and both legs shakily crumbled to the point that the troll had to use one arm not to collapse face-first to the floor. It tried to use the remaining arm to grab the rushing monstress, but it was simply too mindblown to do anything meaningful.

Promptly, Sigrid approached Marek, fast breathing through her nostrils. “You good, Sig?”

“Y-yes. What about you—” There was another rumble, and the duo turned back to observe how the troll stood to its feet, the rift on its head gradually closing and its coordination returning to its body. It boomed with a bloodshot yowl.

“Run!” Marek loudly recommended, and Sigrid complied. Both raced past the cave; the shortness of the troll’s legs was comparable to its velocity, and as much as the brute’s hate had gained over the human and the chimera, it could never hope to catch up with the speed of an owl-wolfess and a skilled human warrior.

When the twosome broke the mark of one minute and a half running, the thunderous cries of the troll could no longer be heard. However, the lack of roars failed to appease the agitation of both runners, who continued sprinting for another ten minutes.

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

Upon noticing that no monster or beast loomed within sight and that the only noises around belonged to birds and the breeze, Marek and Sigrid halted their escape. Marek, whose stamina could not rival a wolfish chimera’s, stood under the shadow of a pine, one arm leaning against the bark and head hanging low, haggardly breathing.

Sigrid squatted down nearby, not showing a minor hint of exhaustion. She stared watchfully at his human compeer to verify his constitution would not decline further.

Gradually, Marek’s panting steadied, and his heart rate descended to normal levels, whereupon he exasperatedly moaned, bent his back, and tilted his head backward.

“Can’t even have a remotely decent rest in this forlorn of a place?!” At the vocal display of dissatisfaction, Sigrid twitched both ears. Marek turned his face to Sigrid. “I thought trolls fancied caves that could contain their absurd frame. Wasn’t that hole a little too small for that fellow?”

“Yeah, um, male trolls like large caves, but the one who attacked us was female, ” Sigrid informed.

“What the— that thing was a she?! ” Marek yelled, incredulity rushing over his face.

Lupine ears adjusted backward as the human’s cries were jarring their innards. “And going by their bad temper, she was in heat,” Sigrid continued. “Male trolls often don’t bother looking for a mate, preferring to loaf inside their lairs, so it is common for their females to seek them.”

A groan resounded, and sarcasm kicked in. “Poor lonely maiden. Imagine her surprise at peeking into a cave and finding a human and an overgrown bird instead of her other half,” he spat. A ray of sunlight leaked through the tree’s branches and struck Marek’s face, making his thoughts shift their focus. “Wait, what time is it?” His gaze shifted up to the sky, painted with clean blue and packed layers of thin clouds, with beams of light bathing some regions, whereas others hid in dimness. “We’re way past morning.”

Sigrid followed his gaze and surveyed the skies. “I think… I think we must be a quarter on the way to dusk,” as the monstress gave her estimations, Marek grimaced. “Perhaps even one-third.”

“We overslept… by over two hours?!” Sigrid skipped backward under the human’s bawl, issuing a shocked peep. “I’ve not overslept in years, and now, of all places, of all the damnable places I got to lay my body on, I hit the sack in the most dangerous place in the North!” Marek swiped his face and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index fingers, muttering quietly the whole time.

“I-I— I don’t know what happened either,” Sigrid added with a sheepish undertone, “I’m a light sleeper, but I failed to detect the troll’s clompy steps,” a whimper escaped from her beak. “I… I’m sorry, Marc,” the man stopped his stung demeanor and removed his fingers from his eyes, the latter landing on the owl-wolfess. “The watch was my responsibility, but my senses failed me and I fell asleep…” She averted her eyes and lowered her gaze to the snow, taloned hand flexing in the air. “Forgive me…”

With knitted eyebrows, Marek observed Sigrid in silence, her shame apparent on all her features. Passed some five seconds with neither of them saying a thing; ultimately, the calmness crumbled because of a fleeting snort. “ Prrfff. No reason to hold the bag and be upset, Sig.”

An owlhead jerked back due to the chuckling human, her mask twisted in bafflement despite the lack of human features. “A-are not you angry?”

“And why would I be?” He responded, his mouth curled into a diminutive grin.

“Because… because guarding through the night was my responsibility and I f—”

More puffing cut Sigrid from her self-reproaching, and a hand waved in her direction. “Forgot I was also sleeping like a log? I’m as guilty as charged, lady.”

“B-b-but I’m the nocturnal apex predator! I was not supposed to—” Another interruption, this time in the form of a shush, interrupted her. In that instance, Sigrid showed a clue of annoyance by issuing a low hiss.

“Hey, it’s up to me to puff the chest and raise the chin,” Sigrid tilted her head, slightly confused at that last sentence. “Pride is simply not your forte. I know you want to make sure I’m safe, but abstain from doing so at the detriment of your health.”

“But—” Another shush. “Stop shushing me!”

“I’ll stop doing so as soon as you stop whimpering. ”

“ I do not whimper! ” A bark echoed.

“Shush!”

“Marc, if you keep peeling my feathers off, I’m going to fan your head!” she growled.

“I’ll take the risk, but first, hear what I got to say, alright?” Sigrid squinted her eyes, the growl she generated living on the air with no hint of decreasing; however, as she met Marek’s no-nonsense face and folded arms, Sigrid reluctantly complied and rested her arms on her thighs, after which she nodded. “Good… Tell me, Sig. You have been tired since you found me, right? After you sought Madakai and watched over my sleep… You haven’t gotten too much sleep since then, have you?”

Disgruntledness vanished from Sigrid’s mask, and a faint whistle came out of her nostrils. “Even during the first days of traveling together, not once did I see you taking a rest. People die more quickly without rest than without food, or so you said, or am I mistaken?” Steely, blue eyes lowered to the ground, tail slowly snaking low on the ground, brushing the snow aside. “You’ve sacrificed your sleep and given your energy to make sure I’m safe, Sig. Don’t overexert yourself or look down on yourself, especially because of such a petty mistake like that one. I mean, look at me,” he opened his arms, and Sigrid’s eyes landed on his form again, “I’m fine. You are fine. It was just a blunder.”

The owl-wolfess regarded the man in front for a couple of seconds, her head slightly cocked to her right. Marek urged her to muster a response by widening his eyes and lifting his brows, so she riposted with a whistly sigh. “I believe you are right… We both whimper a lot.”

Marek huffed satisfactorily. “That’s what you get by traveling along with rude people. And that’s what I get by traveling along with a half-dog lady.”

“You’re within the reach of my wing, Marc,” she pouted.

“After my last sleep, I’ll personally ask you to knock me out with those flappers. They feel indeed nice.”

She widened her eyes. “Do you think… my feathers feel nice?”

“They are basically a feathery sheet, Sig. No wonder I hibernated in that cave.”

“So… am I cozy?” She asked, a blush passing unnoticed under her facial fluff.

A smirk manifested in Marek’s mien. “The coziest. There is no other bed in the vast Arctic, natural or man-made, more comfortable than you.” Sigrid digested that compliment for a twinkling; then she took her gaze off Marek, giggling and chirping.

“Ooh~. Flattery~. I’m not that cozy~,” she hooted, both delighted and embarrassed, the tuft of her neck ruffling and her tail swirling upward.

It seemed that her titter was contagious since Marek joined her silly laughter with a series of chuckles before continuing with his comments. “Oh, yes, you are. No mattress weaved in the capital may there to challenge your softness, and no ember cover your warm embrace—”

“Ho-ooh~. Just stop~.” Too busy was Marek in his sweet talk that he missed the moment Sigrid rose to her feet and playfully pushed his frame against the pine, the man shouting a surprised yelp. “You say silly things~.”

Marek took hold of the tree and got his footing, sparing a ridiculous trip. Despite everything, his smile did not drain from his face.

Both human and beast shared a couple of more chuckles, the event of the savage troll left in the past. With the time for laughter concluding, Marek surveyed the surroundings, analyzing the state of the weather, the vegetation, and the mountains. “I hope our last jaunt did not pull us off the main route.”

Sigrid tagged with Marek’s scrutiny, adding the scent factor by snuffling around. “Lucky us, we scrambled up North. Our current location is unknown to me, but as long as we keep the mountain range to our right, we cannot get lost. But we need to hurry up: another blizzard is coming.”

“Good to know,” Marek nodded. “Well, let’s move out. We already lost precious daylight because of our slumber. And we haven’t even had breakfast!”

Sigrid issued an eager chirp, and both human and monster began marching. Notwithstanding, within two minutes of resuming their trip, a concern crossed Marek’s thoughts. “Wait! I have to check something.” Sigrid gyrated her head directly at the man and saw him rummaging inside his garments. A sigh signaled he found what he was looking for. “Uff, for a second I thought it never returned to me.”

It was the silvery ax, radiating a dim and magical gleam. “With all the fuss of our race, I never noticed Iousterard appearing on my belt. Never tested its maximum range, and the thought of going back to recover it scared me for a second.”

“Iousterard,” Sigrid echoed quietly, a flicker of curiosity growing inside. “I know about the nasty sword, but you hardly mention your other weapons. Could you tell me about them?”

Marek unsheathed the ax and then shifted his eyes to Sigrid. “Sure, but how about we hunt our breakfast, I mean, lunch first? If my stomach growls now, I’m afraid it may attract another troll in heat.”

Sigrid tittered at Marek’s cheap joke, and then she spoke. “Will you cook this time?”

Marek flashed a smile, “For my favorite plumaged bed? With pleasure.”

“I’m no bed!” Sigrid emitted a piping bark, but the flapping sound of her wagging tail betrayed her true emotions.

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

Both pair and blazing sphere got around the Everfrozen Land, their advances orthogonal to each other; one element moved North, whereas the other traveled East.

The arctic air transited into haze, and its presence blurred the sight of wanderers, hiding the flora and fauna thirty yards away from marching onlookers and beyond. The winds, albeit gentle and carting whirling flecks, were chilly and stung the exposed skin — particularly the earlobes — and eyes.

“They’re often slender, with hair usually smooth and long, whose colors vary from silver to blonde.” However, unlike most animals, which showed their respect for nature by not shattering the chant of the wind, a human and his chimeric companion infused the atmosphere with another background chime of their own. “Their eye color is not static; it changes depending on the angle at which someone sees them, so two individuals located in different spots may perceive two different eyes, or even four.”

“Fascinating~,” Sigrid hooted, enthralled by his portrayal of the elves. She was side-to-side with the human, although given her free-spirited behavior, she often hopped back and forth, from right to left, even holding a conversation when ahead, her head gyrated all the way behind, a gesture previously considered uncanny by Marek, although because of their time together, he had begun to regard the strigine sign as darling.

After hunting a reindeer, cooking its meat, and nourishing themself, Marek started to tell about what he knew about Iousterard. One thing had led to the other, and upon mentioning who forged the enchanted ax, Sigrid could not help but inquire about those peculiar elves.

“Hair and eyes apart, they sound like Ankarl, actually,” she added.

Marek snorted at that remark. “Yeah, perhaps the mouthsman has elven blood.”

“Elven blood,” echoed the owl-wolfess. “That means… Ankarl’s parents were elves?”

“Or one of his parents’ parents was an elf.”

Sigrid cooed, and her eyes wandered off for an instant; she then went back to Marek. “Can elves and hoomans spawn offspring with each other? Aren’t they from different species?”

The man hummed briefly, two fingers rubbing his chin. “Yes? No? Isn’t something that occurs often. The bookworms say we all stem from a prime species, but when the Gods crashed on our planet, they influenced our bodies and gradually changed our attributes. Now, a bunch of humanoid species swarm the continent.”

“Hm! That sounds to be against nature,” she pouted.

“The part about humans and elves having babies, or the Gods treating our ancestors like a witch’s bottled frog?”

“The latter more than the former, I guess,” she clarified, despite not being quite sure what he meant with that last sentence. “Your ancestors saw how your homeland was invaded, yet decided to do nothing?”

“Pff, Hah!” Marek let out a laugh that puzzled Sigrid. “And what were they supposed to do? They are Gods, Sig. They create and destroy kingdoms as easily as we stomp over ant nests. That’s why groups of people, human and whatnot, worship them.”

There was a bark, and Marek noted how Sigrid flinched and tightened her posture. “That sounds terrible! Why do people worship those monsters? ”

“They aren’t monsters… Well, at least not all of them. Some of them embody a virtue.”

Sigrid dropped her semi-shrunk stance and spoke. “Virtue like something good, right?” Marek nodded, and then Sigrid stopped to meditate, scratching one elbow. “This Seolvor you have mentioned, is it a god you worship? Does he embody something good?”

“Yes, he’s a God; although I wouldn’t say I worship it in the strict sense, he is by far my favorite God.” As soon as Marek started to speak about Seolvol, a glimmer of admiration grew across his mien. “The Purity of Combat, He Who Rides The Radiance Of Luster Weapons, the Forger of the Silver… and I can go on and on, but I’m afraid I’ll end up boring you.”

“A justified concern,” she chirped, the ends where her rigid beak met the flesh curled into a smile. “But those monikers sound like violence… and that doesn’t sound virtue-ish.”

“His domain is combat, not as a cause or consequence of violence, but as an art. For the young Marek ?aska, the God’s path opposed the senseless brawls the boy’s uncle cast him into. I would no longer fight because of forced servitude and instead choose to hone my combat prowess and stand against the titans that threaten to crush us.”

“Titans?” Sigrid slanted her head into an ell.

“ Monsters, ” said the man, dramatism riding his words; Sigrid blinked in response. “Fighting my kind for so long made me realize I desired to fight true monsters. A dragon, elementals, demons, otherw— what’s so funny?” Marek had to cut his own babble as growling giggles compromised his voice.

“You should hear yourself~. So childish~,” a wing moved to her beak to mask her titters, to no avail. “Like a cub eager to partake in his first hunt~.”

Marek grimaced, fake contempt printed on his face. “Yeah, forgive my young self for being a dreamer, but for his age, slaying monsters was considered a major deed.”

Sigrid removed her wing from her mask, but a dust of hilarity prevailed in the form of a grin. “And did you get to fight those ‘titans’?”

“Weeell…” Marek made funny faces as he tried to force his thoughts out. “Not as much as I desired. Against Aurelio’s half-hearted promises and to my disappointment, I spend more time fighting my own kind than monsters. Only when the war began to heat up did I have the opportunity to face a couple of elementals and a few imps, but that’s about it.”

“Ooh~. And now that you have fought wargs, greys, cold ones, and trolls, is fighting my kind up to your likes?”

“No,” he answered with the least of hesitations. “So far, this ten-day layoff of mine has brought nothing but pain in my kidneys and shivers. In the end, young me was a mere dreamer and a fool.”

“Hoh~, don’t be so hard with puppy Marc~,” Sigrid cooed, buoyantly leaning against Marek and giving him a wing pat on his shoulder. “I may not agree with your God’s teachings, but he helped you endure your awful past, gave you strength, and preserved part of your innocence.”

Marek puffed his chest. “And that’s why he is the greatest. ”

“He makes cold ones angry, so your admiration is well placed,” Sigrid added.

Marek’s face glowed in enlightenment. “Oh, yeah. Seolvor was the one that kicked their rotten arses four centuries ago. He, along with the Argentum Army, swiped through undead forces and smote their leaders.” Marek’s face turned grim, and his sight went astray. “Madakai must have survived his divine purge. And now he wants Dalavut back to turn the continent into a land flooded with unlife.”

Sigrid noticed the humor shift, and knowing that thinking in the free vampire would bring only uneasiness, she decided to change the topic, not without showing off with a forward bounce. “Hey. Hey. But enough of Gods and cold ones,” Sigrid chimed, head twirled back at Marek, whose eyes focused again on the jolly monstress. “Why don’t you tell me about these elementals and imps? I’m curious!”

Marek blinked at Sigrid with pursed lips. The chimera’s true intentions did not fly over his head; nonetheless, he scoffed, and his serious face warped into a smirk. “Very well; let me indulge my favorite songbird,” Sigrid tittered. I persuaded him again. I got him tamed~, she thought. “I remember my first encounter with monsters; they were fire elementals, with a lava-like pattern across their skin, with flames sprouting on their head and shoulders,” as he described their appearance, Marek waved his hands right above his body surface, as if to imitate the creatures’ attributes.

“What’s lava?”

“I— right, there’s no way you know what lava looks like,” he tapped his lip with a finger. “Lava is essentially rock heated up t-to the p-poin-nt—” As he kept up with his explanation, Marek’s voice broke.

“Marc?” Sigrid twirled the rest of her body toward the human. “Are you—” A crunching noise answered her question — Marek just collapsed to the snow. “Marc!”

His chest contracted and expanded erratically, the man struggling to take every puff of vital air as his rapid breath only gave him a break to cough madly. Marek’s head pressed against the rigid soil, both kneeling and bent, gritting his teeth and curling both hands into fists, calling upon his energies not to pass out. As before, the surrounding sounds faded away, and despite cutting out his sight behind his eyelids, glittering specks invaded his shadowed view, more blue than they had been in any other fit.

All other Marek’s senses were locked out from the outside world — hearing, taste, touch, and smell — all reduced to inutility. Only agony rippled across his being. He thought he might simply stop battling, to pass out and spare himself the pain, but deep inside his mind, Marek feared that if that got to happen, many cycles might transpire after his unconsciousness, his ability to move gone.

A new sound arose, and his auditory perception returned to life. The noise presented itself as a muffled hum, but as the seconds ticked by — if they were seconds since Marek’s perception was all over the place — the sound grew in melody. His touch sparked next, and although he felt cold at first, the chilliness was quickly replaced by tender warmth.

Gradually, every sense reappeared, and so did a set of comfortable sensations. Likewise, the affliction, alongside spasmodic bursts on his trunk region, dwindled, coughs transforming into pants, and the only force that throbbed in his chest was his own heart — the organ smacked his ribcage with irregular rate, but hints of reverting to normal levels were present.

Marek finally got to lift his eyes open and raise his head. He saw a sheet of feathers spreading on his sides, with a dulcet tune singing on his back. Sigrid rested her head near his shoulder with closed eyes — he could not see her, but there was no doubt about that, both of her hands grasping his upper arms. Her purr, so much like a lullaby, produced vibrations across the human’s body that aided him to relax.

The fit was gone, and only the tenderness of a strigine lupin lingered, reminiscent of a gentle breeze after a storm.

Marek would have stayed listening to Sigrid’s warble indefinitely — the collection of all Sigrid’s charms eradicated every form of torment and replaced them with suavitude. Nonetheless, she needed to know he was no longer suffering. “Sig,” he softly said.

The bird-like chant ceased on the spot. “Marc!” Forgetting that she placed her head close to Marek's ear, Sigrid’s surprised yelp stung the man’s eardrums. “Are you alright? You aren’t dying, are you? Can you hear, feel, and see me?” She sputtered, worry taking over her mind and speech.

“Hey, hey! I’m fine,” Marek had to yell to stop his partner’s barking. “Look, it’s alright.” Sigrid heaved detached from the human, allowing him to finally lean his back upward and turn to see Sigrid, whose face showed distress. “This happens sometimes. It strikes me quickly, and just as quickly, it leaves me alone. Have been that way for the last five years.”

“Oh, Marc… I th-thought you were leaving for good,” she whimpered, practically sobbing, even hardening her grip on Marek’s biceps.

“I’m too stubborn to die like this,” a gloved hand reached one avian claw, “it’ll take more than a fleeting fit to take me down… now, if I may…”

“Ohh, yeah. Let me…” Sigrid backwardly shuffled on her knees, giving Marek space to rise straight; after he stood on his feet, the she-chimera followed and adopted her human stance.

“Marc…” she vocalized, and Marek shifted his gaze to her, hands busy shaking off the snow from his clothes and forehead. “Could I… could I know what illness you have?”

Mare did not answer at first, still clearing himself. When he finished removing the frost and dirt from his body, he spoke: “It is called Arcane Infection. It happens when one gets exposed to dangerous levels of pure magical energies,” he sighed. “During my last skirmish back in that old kingdom, I shattered an enchanted weapon, and then the magic contained inside broke free in the most booming way possible.”

Sigrid took both talons and motioned to her chest. “That… that’s what you tried to warn me back when I tried to destroy the nasty sword?”

He nodded. “In part, yes. Magic used in spells is transmuted and canalized by wizards into a more ‘stable’ form, but the magic stored in items is purer to the point that it comes out hazardous. When a magical sword snapped, the blast that preceded it conveniently reached a shipment stocked with other enchanted devices. A chain reaction happened, and the burst evolved into an eruption… if it weren’t for Aurelio giving me his cloak,” Marek paused to grab the monstrous garment, showing it to Sigrid, “I wouldn’t have survived that night.”

“So… that is how your master-father died?”

Marek parted his lips, then closed them to gulp before continuing. “Not exactly… he died during the battle, but he was practically dead before the discharge appeared.”

She did not want to let the discussion end like that; she wanted to keep digging up Marek’s past — in that way, perhaps she could connect more with him and help him in the future. But when a shadow of sorrow invaded Marek’s features, Sigrid inferred that if the questions kept flowing, she might harm him.

The pair of steely, blue eyes left Marek to scan the surroundings, noticing a familiar narrow peak in front that split their path. The weather worsened, and before the sun got to hide below the vast white, another blizzard would show itself and batter the region with freezing waves and hail. Sigrid whistled for a twinkling and then addressed Marek.

“There’s a town nearby.” Marek adjusted his brown eyes on Sigrid. “It is abandoned… destroyed long ago by Hissing Wing and located between this growing peak and the range to the east, and we should be there before the blazing sphere vanishes from the sky.”

Marek watched Sigrid with an impassive expression; a dust of apprehension leaked with her words, which tipped off Marek and gave him the feeling that this abandoned village hid something obscure.

“It does seem that town ticks off something in you, Sig,” he commented. “Look, if it’s another ghost hamlet, then drop it. We can’t afford to wake up another ancient evil.”

“No, it is not that. Is just…” she let out a dull whistle. “It brings bad memories.” Sigrid’s shiny eyes went stray, and her wings squeezed her sides, a mannerism Marek learned to be a form of showing distress.

“Sig… if it hurts you so, we could just round—”

“No!” She snapped back at Marek, which made his brows flinch. “That route is safer, and with shacks, albeit wrecked, they could shelter us. I will risk your health no more, not after witnessing the effects of your sickness twice.” Marek shot an unconvinced look at Sigrid. “Don’t give me that face. I’m in charge, or did you forget? I can handle it.”

Marek hummed quietly but offered no protest. “Well, as you wish. But at the first clue of undead, I’m taking the leg,” avian eyes blinked. “That means we’re taking our leave as fast as possible.”

A faint twit escaped from Sigrid’s beak. “If that happens, I will snatch and take you to soar the winds…”

“Heh. Yes, ma’am,” Marek expelled a half-hearted laugh, and without any more things to discuss, both travelers took the left route.

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

The winds approached their crescendo, and the delicate flow that cooled exposed skin ascended into a whirr that slapped with the force of a dove’s wing slap. The breeze, although not to the point of roaring and threatening to knock down the smallest critters, tugged loose garments along with their bearers and turned flight, a trivial task for animal fliers, into an unstable deed.

But the wind did not sing alone: a croaking noise blended with the tune, the unmistakable groan of swaying wood, evidence of a tragedy that had stormed in cycles ago. The instrument of that sorrowful music belonged to a hamlet that, just as Sigrid detailed, loomed wrecked, indistinguishable from Tysai, the last village the duo had stepped in. Chunks of glaciers engulfed and crushed what used to be abodes stacked with human families, and the debris lay buried by layers and layers of snow.

Sigrid halted her walk once she moved past what used to be the entrance of the village; Marek continued moving onward, cautious and with eyes scrutinizing the surroundings — as far as he was concerned, there could be a cat, troll, or undead hiding behind a shack or even beneath the snow.

“I’ll go ahead and check around,” he said without looking behind, but whether Sigrid heard him, she did not show it — not even her ears reacted to the vocalization.

She knew that no danger lurked around the deserted territory, at least not one that could be heard or smelled by her, and so far, she could count only one individual who possessed such ability. She clutched her arms, and her wings formed an open cocoon around her upper body, her look off, eyes shifting from one destroyed hut to another.

Her grip stiffened as the memories invaded her mind. The remembrance manifested as insubstantial sound: human drone at first, with a woodman’s chop in one corner and children’s laughs in another. But as the daydream evolved more livid, the speech deformed into tumult, the chops into booming snaps, and the chuckles into cries. The calmness of that settlement of old twisted into a pandemonium that threatened to break Sigrid’s nerves.

This revolting scent… it permeates the air.

Sigrid’s waking nightmare faded away as soon as a crunching noise traveled with the wind directly to her dog-like ears. She got to twirl her ears and adjusted her sight toward the source. A swash, quickly approaching, rushed to where she stood.

It was a nervous fox, which released a yelp as soon as it spotted the chimera, rapidly veering and changing course, its furred form distancing away from Sigrid in no time and losing itself in the nigh-omnipresent white.

“Bloody pests,” groaned a human voice, and the owl-wolfess shifted her gaze toward the cloaked silhouette. “Almost took a jump out of me. Moving on, this place looks safe, and I just found a shack whole enough to—” The man stopped once he noticed the unsettled expression of a certain avian monster. “Is everything fine, Sig?”

“I…” Sigrid stared at the frowning man with an unsteady gaze. “This place is just terrible, that’s it.”

Marek pressed his lips tight, calling upon his wits to read that facial disc. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Silence. Sigrid only stood there, half-hunched and wrapped by her four upper limbs.

Marek exhaled through his nostrils. “It’s alright, no need to tell me,” he turned back, “not much to do with this weather, and the daylight is already gone. I’ll be in the shack if you need me,” he pointed at the location of the mentioned abode. “Shriek if you need me.”

Knowing that Sigrid would give him no response, Marek advanced toward the shack. For the next few seconds, the owl-wolfess restricted herself to staring at the man’s wavering cloak, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Rinkai…” A whisper pierced through the uncertainty. “This hamlet was Rinkai.” Marek turned to Sigrid, his face unreadable; he saw the chimera glancing at her surroundings before she started to move in his direction.

Marek had been fairly open toward the monstress, and after all his revelations about his mercenary life, Sigrid felt she owed him a fraction of her past for how painful that feat might turn out. “Võshla was not the first settlement I approached… My first contact with hoomans took place here.”

She caught up with Marek but continued with her dawdle; the fighter, instead of saying something, followed suit.

“Back then,” Sigrid went on, undertone somehow feeble, “I had no voice nor name, and since your kind feared me, and the monsters despised me, I soared from one place to another. I was like… four winters of age back at that time.”

Surprise almost caused Marek to gasp loudly. Four years? Is she really that young, or perhaps she’s simply not versed enough in tracking time?

“During my many flights, I landed in this valley. Another hooman settlement, I thought, they will see my form, alert others, and I’ll be forced to leave the territory… However, during a careless chase, someone got to see me…”

Sigrid made a sudden pause the moment she witnessed a wasted shack, which appeared split in half as if a humongous tree had collapsed on it. Marek cocked his head, and his eyes shifted between the building and the chimera’s face, whose irises trembled inside their ocular containers.

“Sig?”

Sigrid blinked and jerked her ears, breaking through her brief trance. “Y-yes… sorry, is just th-that— is this the shack you told me about?”

A hand raised to rub Marek’s nape; perhaps this house was associated with the person she was talking about. “It is… but I can look for another one—”

“That used to be his home,” Sigrid disregarded Marek’s suggestion and continued. “There he lived along with his father… a lumberjack.”

“His father…” Marek whispered. “The person who saw you here was a—”

“Youngling, yes. Eight, perhaps nine winters… wait, was t-that by current season or b-before the-e…” As Sigrid tried to remember the boy’s age, seemingly significant and daring for her, the usually birdlike voice stammered and wheezed. “Oh no… I’m a-already forgetting how older-er he used to be before— before—” A glove landed on her bicep, making her wince; Sigrid turned to her right and observed Marek, his face enveloped by sympathy.

“Pay no mind to numbers, Sig. They don’t measure your love for others.” He caressed the furry arm, to which Sigrid responded by placing her scaly hands on Marek’s hand.

“R-right… just numbers…” She sniffed and returned to survey the old home. “This boy, Saku, glanced at me. So far, all other hoomans that caught me with their eyes ran off, scared of my presence, of this… weird aura of mine. But Saku… he was different.

“He did not escape from me nor cried back, or even froze in place… his blue eyes shone with innocence and stretched his hand to me, as if to pet me,” Sigrid issued a sad titter. “I may forget numbers, but I will never forget that day… he was so thrilled to see someone like me. ‘A big birb, a big birb with doggy ears,’ despite my surprise, he sounded so coote… For the first time ever, after all my violent encounters, someone did not show me their teeth or claws, or blasted my ears with frightened yelps.”

“So, before Imbi, Ankarl, and me, this kid showed no negative reaction toward you,” Marek analyzed, more to himself than Sigrid. “And… Did you stay around? Was he the one who taught you the human language?”

An owlhead nodded. “After our first encounter, I could not prevent my curiosity from usurping my mind. It was difficult to approach a settlement where several dozen hoomans lived, but because his father, the lumberjack, brought him to chop wood regularly, I seized that chance to meet him, and he did likewise... Several were instances when his father almost caught us.

“During the next two seasons, we had several escapades: we played with the snow, chased each other, and even taught me the human language…” Sigrid turned to Marek. “You know, after you chatter about your enthusiasm for monsters, I cannot help but see him in you. He also liked the tales of adventures and their deeds; his father, whose name I never knew, used to be an adventurer once before getting sick and retiring.”

Marek offered a soft smile. “The kid had good taste.”

“Yes. Yes, Saku did have the dreamer’s likes. And creative at that. In the end, he was the one who came up with my first name: Cotton Flower. ”

“That’s how Imbi called you,” Marek realized. “Does she call you that way because of him?”

“It was to ‘honor his memory,’” she confirmed with a dim chirp.

Honor his memory. Yes, Marek got how that picture would be painted, and going by Sigrid’s latest emotional display, he wanted her to stop and spare the pain. Notwithstanding, he evaluated that she needed to close that chronicle of her life, this time with a friend close to hear and soothe her.

Marek licked his lips and forced the question out of his guts. “What happened here? To him?”

Upon exposing his inquiry, Sigrid flattened her ears against her skull. “It was a day like any other. Saku’s father, whose sickness had worsened, stayed at home along with his son; as for me, I lurked in the outside forest, as was my habit.”

Sigrid’s look went off while she evoked the memory. “A big shadow swallowed me. I thought it was a cloud at first and that snow was about to pour over the land… but the sound of broken air proved me wrong, and a roar, stronger than any blizzard, thunderous enough to cause mountains to crumble, boomed.

“I didn’t know what it was… even my very instincts warned me that I should stay away from whatever caused that roar… But Saku and his people were there, and I could not leave them on their own; hoomans are so vulnerable when only a few stand together…”

An erratic shiver rushed across Sigrid’s silky fur, and her nasal breathing accelerated to the extent that she whistled unwillingly. “But I was naive… naive and s-stoopid. When I arrived at Rinkai, I froze. My beak fell agape. M-my eyes got ensnared by that scaly silhouette, similar to a raptor yet so different. The p-pattern of its external hide might as well be another icy landscape. I-it— it-t was so big, Marc…”

Her already shaky legs could not withstand her inner tumult, and Sigrid collapsed to the snow. Marek squatted down, alarmed and crying her name, one arm clutching her arm and the other resting on her back.

Sigrid’s usually harmonic inflection guttered and began to hitch with whimpers. “I-I could do n-nothing, Marc. That t-thing-g was there, two strides away fr-from me, seeing how it spat up winter itself, and h-h-how its gargantuan limbs crushed the poor hoomans.”

“Be easy, Sig. Calm down,” Marek gently stroked her and rubbed the space between her wings; soothing people was not his forte, but whatever he had to say would have to work to drown out her sorrow. “A dragon induces terror by its presence. You couldn’t have done anything more.”

“I-is jus-just— I was—” she sobbed and whistled, crystalline liquid cascading down her face. Marek never considered that shredding tears was possible for someone with avian features and physiology. “I desired-d to charge and take Saku with m-my ar-arms, b-but my legs did not hee-eed. I cou— I could-d only stand back and cower-er into the w-woo-ods.”

“Easy there…” Marek offered a clunky hug, awkward because giving kind gestures was not a common practice of his; notwithstanding, it carried its own unique tenderness, and as the seconds passed, Sigrid’s wails dwindled.

Upon venting her sadness and wiping off her tears, Sigrid continued with her tale. “The m-monster… Hissing Wing, as the other intelligent monster called it, spoke in human language during its onslaught… as its destruction spread, it snuffled in the air, as if… as if it were looking for something…”

Marek took off his forehead from Sigrid’s wing and cast a puzzled and grieved look. “I did not know the human language well back then, but it commented about a nasty smell…” Marek knitted his brows. “You think… i-it was looking for me? Every monster considers me a pest and an abomination, so maybe… maybe it loathed me too… so much to the point...” Sigrid turned her head to Marek, her eyes all watery. “Y-you think… yo-ou think h-he went there be-because—”

“Don’t dare to take the slightest speck of responsibility for that tragedy, Sig.” Marek admonished. “That beast has been spreading death across the Frostscape for six years. That’s its nature; that’s what it chose to be.”

Sigrid shut her eyes tight, squeezing out the leftovers of her weeping. “I returned… but it was too late: Rinkai was dead silent. Most of its settlers died or escaped, and whether the survivors found shelter or the jaws of the wilderness, it’s something I may never know… or wish to know.” Finally, Sigrid adjusted her eyes on the old house. “I tried to search for Saku; flipped over every shard of rock and wood and, eventually, found him buried under his own house… lifeless. ”

“I’m so sorry, Sig…”

Sigrid issued a feeble whimper and rubbed one eye with her left radiale. “Even dead, his skin looked so smooth, pale, and soft, and his dirty yellow hair was just as messy as the days we played… no wound was present across his body, and it frustrated me he perished despite his healthy appearance… so cute he looked that I could not bear the idea of a predator feeding upon his body, so I soared high into the peak, found a small cave, and set him there, blocking the entrance with rocks…”

Marek went back to embrace Sigrid in a comforting hug, and in this instance, Sigrid returned the touch, extending a wing over Marek’s back and pressing him onto her. Given his position in relation to Sigrid, he had to let go of the comforting squeeze for her to relocate her flying limb for a second.

“I don’t want you to die, Marc…” She murmured.

“Me neither… that’s why I do this.”

“I don’t want to cage your body with stones…”

“You will not. I’ll get out of this alive.”

“Can you promise it? please…”

“I promise I’ll kill that monster, and when that happens, you, along with all the Frostscape, will sleep soundly from that moment on.”

Sigrid set her head over Marek’s, the top of his head moisturized by another series of droplets pouring from the owlette’s eyes. “Can… Can I cuddle with you tonight?” She asked.

“Tonight, next dusk… as long as we are together, you sleep by my side. We can share guards, so no monster, alive or dead, will threaten us.”

“Thank-k you... I’m glad…” She nuzzled Marek’s charcoal hairs as if willing to sleep on that very spot — and that would have been the case if it were not for the increasing storm that approached.

After their emotional exchange, both individuals moved toward the old lumberjack’s shack, ate the remains of the reindeer, and, without saying more words, curled into a corner of the hut and nestled together, unconcerned about the falling temperatures, knowing they had each other’s company to give them warmth.