Gold Coins for Rabbit Spoons

Raffin's sharp gaze pierced the smoke, and Asdras watched as his companion's attention snapped to the stirring stranger. The man's sleeves shifted slightly, and Asdras noted the faint glint of concealed daggers. His own hand hovered near his blade, muscles taut. Beside him, Brian stood like a coiled spring, mirroring Asdras's readiness. 

'Never lower your guard,' Asdras reminded himself, Joe's gravelly voice echoing in his mind.

The stranger's eyes darted wildly — first to the stewpot, its aroma thick in the air, then to Raffin, Brian, and finally to Asdras himself. Sweat gleamed on the man's brow despite the chill, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

When Raffin spoke. "What shadows follow you, stranger?" The man flinched, his gaze flicking between their weapons.

The man glanced warily at Asdras and Brian, knowing one wrong move could turn into deadly certainty.

Asdras studied him: the frayed edges of his leathers, the tremor in his hands. Even the man's voice cracked like dry kindling when he rasped, "Strain." The word hung heavy, and for a heartbeat, Raffin froze, his pale eyes narrowing.

Then, without warning, Raffin burst into laughter, the sound booming across the camp. Brian shot Asdras a bewildered glance, but the stranger sagged, relief washing over his face like a pardoned criminal.

"Proof, then. Show me," Raffin demanded, voice edged like steel.

"Proof?" the man asked, puzzled.

"You claim to be a merchant?" Raffin flicked a finger at the man's uniform. "Then show your proof."

The man fumbled through his pockets, fingers shaking so badly Asdras wondered how he didn't drop whatever he sought. Leather creaked under his frantic touch, bags jingling at his belt. When he finally produced a token, Raffin snatched it, tilting it toward the firelight. The golden disc glinted, etched with an hourglass and a name: Javier.

Raffin looked up at the man, his fingers holding the token at a diagonal angle, and he asked, "Javier?"

"By the way, sir, it's me, the well-fed man," Javier said, unsure where to look. "A merchant from the guild; it's a pleasure, sir."

Asdras caught the slight dip of Raffin's shoulder — a fractional relaxation as the man returned to stirring the stew. The wooden spoon circled lazily, steam curling around Raffin's scarred knuckles.

A single raised brow flicked toward Brian, who hesitated before grunting and shouldering past to drag a battered stool from the shadows.

'Well-fed merchant? More like a starved who mistook a coin for a crumb,' Asdras mused, watching Javier's threadbare cloak pool around him as he sank onto the seat. The man's knees bounced, fingers picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. The stew's scent — garlic and charred rabbit — thickened the air, and Javier's nostrils flared like a hound catching a trail.

Raffin jabbed the spoon toward him, droplets splattering the fire. "Out here, city boys usually end up as crow's banquet." His grin showed too many teeth. "What's your excuse? Trade routes run drier than a widow's tears these days."

Javier's throat worked silently before the words burst out, "May I have a bowl, sir?" His hand twitched toward the empty stew bowl Brian thrust into his lap. "I've… I've eaten nothing but bark and spite since." A tremor shook his voice as he stared into the pot. "Please. A bowl. Please."

Raffin paused, glanced at the moon, and grinned mischievously. "Careful, merchant. Hunger makes fools of honest men." His pale eyes gleamed. "And liars of the rest. One gold coin per spoon will do."

Javier sprang up like a marionette yanked by its strings, the stool clattering behind him. "One gold? How about a silver?" His voice cracked, hands fluttering like panicked birds. "Even a starving man knows not to haggle with his last crust, saar."

Asdras watched Raffin shake his head, Brian's laughter roaring like a drunkard's anthem. 'Merchants bartering with their own shadows,' he thought, scattering corn for the horse. The animal licked his palm, its breath warm and appraising. 'Feed a horse apples, it follows. Feed a man gold, and he'll follow you off a cliff.' 

"I only have four gold, sir," Javier rasped, clawing at his collar as if the admission choked him. Beads of sweat glistened along his hairline. "As Mama always said…" He trailed off, gulping air. "Every blessing is a curse in disguise."

Asdras glanced over his shoulder. Raffin's fingers raked through his greasy hair, his grin sharp enough to flay hide. "Four spoons, then, my good merchant!" He flourished the ladle. "See? Nearly a full bowl. Practically charity."

Javier's hands vanished into a hidden pouch, emerging with coins polished bright by desperate friction. Raffin palmed them with a nod, his smile widening — a wolf savoring the crunch of bone.

Asdras drifted toward the fire, its light painting the stew in molten hues — crimson-tinged meat swimming with golden fat, herbs clinging to potatoes like emerald moss. For a heartbeat, the steam reminded him of his something on winter mornings, fogging the window of his thoughts.

A bowl nudged his hand. Raffin's knuckles glistened with broth as he jerked his chin toward the log beside Javier. Asdras sank down, the first bite flooding his tongue with smoke and sage. Across the flames, Javier moaned around a mouthful, grease glazing his chin. "This food's heaven! Or near enough — doubt the real thing's got bones in it." His chuckle died as Raffin's stare softened. "S-saar."

Raffin tapped his spoon against the stewpot's rim, the clang cutting through Javier's slurping. "Savor, don't swamp yourself," he growled, though amusement lurked in the tilt of his head. The spoon jabbed toward the merchant like a blade. "Now — what drags a city man this far into the rot? Selling dreams to the damned?"

Javier's words tangled with stew. "Bandits, I—gods, this thyme—they took the silks, left the mules—" Steam fogged his spectacles as he leaned closer to the pot, his voice dissolving into a rapturous mumble. "...cinnamon undertones? No, smoked paprika—"

Asdras smirked, tearing a crust of bread. Raffin flicked a dismissive hand. "Chew your words first. Swallow 'em after."

Brian belched, licking his bowl clean. "Tastiest grub since that tavern wench in Kael's Hollow!" He winked at Raffin. "Give me the recipe, and I'll woo a lady with it. Heard women marry for seasonings."

Javier leaned back, patting his rounded stomach. "A feast, truly — though my purse weeps." He chuckled weakly. "Mama warned me gold buys comfort, but never contentment."

Firelight carved hollows into Javier's face as he tilted his head skyward, where clouds smothered the stars. His throat bobbed, a whisper escaping: "Should've stayed… should've listened…"

Asdras studied him — the way his fingers worried a loose button on his coat, the vacant stare into the void above. 'What cracks a man until he trades safety for silver?' The question coiled, venomous. Merchants peddled hope in pretty vials, but Asdras knew the truth: hope was just despair wearing perfume.

Javier dabbed his greasy lips with a sleeve, the firelight carving shadows beneath his eyes. "You see, gentlemen, fortune's wheel has spun me into misadventure." He raised a quivering finger, its nail blackened with grime. "I am, alas, a well-fed man cursed with rotten luck."

Brian snorted. "Well-fed? Mate, you look like a scarecrow who lost an argument with a thresher."

Ignoring him, Javier leaned forward, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "My grand expedition — western realms to northern lands! A venture of legends. Until…" He shuddered, the stew bowl trembling in his grip. "A beast. A monstrosity. Scales black as a widow's heart, jaws that could swallow a barn. It took my mercenaries like a child snatching sweets. Crunch. Just… crunch." His knuckles whitened. "I ran. Didn't stop till I found that caravan. Used their Jumper to flee—only for the thrice-damned thing to spit me into this frozen hell."

Raffin's spoon paused mid-stir. "Rank two, then. Nasty, but not clever." His gaze sharpened. "And Martimus? Wrong side, merchant. You're knee-deep in Baurous."

"Then… may I journey with you? Just till the outpost?" Javier's plea hung like a noose.

"Tonight," Raffin grunted. "Dawn decides the rest."

Brian shoved Asdras's shoulder, grinning. "Hear that? A proper monster! We'll carve it up, sell the hide, buy a castle. Maybe two brides — one to cook, one to nag you instead of me."

Asdras arched a brow. "You'd trip over your own spear before it drew blood."

"Oi! I ain't no milk-fed calf." Brian flexed a wiry arm, smirk twisting. "Got enough beasts in my pa's fields. Wolves count, no?"

Javier's stool screeched as he suddenly stood, pointing past Asdras's shoulder. His voice cracked. "Saar — what is that?"