The First Attempt

The following morning went as such: The boy would keep the small trap door to his room shut tight until his mother left for work, so he wouldn't have to deal with her popping in to talk about last night's argument. The last thing he wanted was to talk. The first part of his plan went down perfectly, as he wasn't even given a single finger on the door. Once the hut was clear, he left his room to fix himself a small breakfast and pulled out one of his books to gander at. He tucked his feet in on the bench of the dining table and propped the book up in a triangle shape, flipping through the pages once again, faster than usual, paying very little attention to them.

The rest of the morning followed a similarly disrupted routine. Instead of wandering out to the fields to avoid people and destroy crops until he got in trouble as he usually did, he walked the mile's distance to the center of town in search of something far more interesting, albeit daunting: quests.

He didn't know how he hadn't thought of it before. Being an adventurer, after all, was all he wanted. There would be no worry about him running around town chasing dangerous beasts. No, it would be encouraged. He'd be paid to protect people everywhere. People would appreciate his skills. He wouldn't be a simple kid with no purpose or thought of as a lost cause, not if he were an adventurer. Nobody would care, better even, nobody would even know that he couldn't... whatever. He shrugged the pestering reminder. If it was to be the bane of his existence, he'd shove it down without mercy. Ignore it until it died.

Alas, as he stepped into the musty town center, he caught sight of a small wooden sign propped up next to one of the only market stalls in town. It was decorated with various papers, perhaps four or five, all of which were wrinkled from the damp air. For a long moment, he simply stood in the open court, staring at the quest board from a few yards away. The realization dawned on him that even if he could defeat the mightiest foes on Carovine, nay, all of Leuther, it wouldn't compare to the worst foe he'd be stuck with for his entire life. What kind of adventurer would he be if he couldn't even take on quests properly? What if he would just come off as a sort of mockery to the real adventurers out there?

He shook his head. 'Nope, don't think of that.' That's right. No matter the cost, he would become the greatest adventurer to ever exist. Nobody would doubt him then. Maybe then he wouldn't have to avoid people or get into trouble for simply breathing.

After a moment of self-encouragement, he finally finished his journey to the quest board. There wasn't much to look at, frankly. There was a fresh wanted poster from the previous morning with a scribbled portrait of some poor fool spotted mid-crime. Wild hair and strange ears. He couldn't go catching any fully-grown criminals quite yet, though, so he'd put that one on hold. There was just one downside, though. Everything else was written.

The boy peeked to his left, then to his right. Nobody seemed to be paying him any mind, thankfully. Still, he suspected the laughs, chuckles, and fingers pointed toward him if he were to casually stand there and attempt to understand the gibberish. Instead, he slowly returned his gaze to the quests on the board. If he could just glance at them, perhaps he could understand the words.

"Mornin', Thistle," a gruff voice came from behind. The boy jumped and whirled around. None other than the tattling Mr. Rotter stood before him, wiping his red-stained hands on an equally red-stained apron hem. The boy avoided a soured expression as much as possible. After all, it was that man's fault for all the chaos yesterday. Rotter examined the boy with a discerning stare for a moment, then gave a small smile.

"Morning."

Oddly enough, the man's rough state gained a hint of nervousness. "You know, if you're not doin' anything this morning, I can show you around my shop."

The boy's face fell flat. Again with working at the butchery. He must have spoken with his mother again. They've clearly been desperate to get him to do something 'productive' with everyone's time. With that brutish man's grip and persistence, he figured it would be hard to avoid a sudden day in the shop, working for non-existent minimum wage. Then again.

"Thanks, Mr. Tattler-- ah, Rotter, but I'm actually gonna help around town." He gestured to the quest sheets behind him. Immediately, he saw the doubt in Rotter's face. It was just barely visible from under his thick beard, but his even thicker brows made it rather obvious. He froze in his suspicion. What, was it really so hard to believe that the town nuisance was trying to do good?

"Is this another one of your 'adventure' things? You know it's not good to be runnin' out here causing trouble."

"Me? No! Well, maybe kind of. I mean--" The boy scratched his head with a few fingers, then remembered the quests behind him. Thinking of an escape, he stepped to the side and gestured to the sheets of worn paper. "What do you think of these? Think I can do any of them?"

Ah, yes. Genius.

Almost surprised at his sincerity, Rotter took a few steps forward and glanced at the board. He stooped down a few inches to read them, occasionally grunting. The boy grinned and leaned into view.

"So," he lingered, arms stamped at his sides matter-of-factly. "Which one should I try?"

Rotter lingered on a sheet and stayed silent for a while. Eventually, though, he plucked one off and handed it to him. "This would probably work best for you."

"Ah," the boy said, giving the surest nod he could muster as he took the page and examined its contents. As always, what comprehension he had of his own spoken language betrayed him on the sheet. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure if Rotter knew of this little illiteracy problem. He'd avoided telling people as much as possible given how poorly the school children reacted.

Whether or not Rotter knew, he gave a chuckle at the boy's obvious unease. "You think you could do it? Herd some feemocks?"

Ah, wonderful. Those smelly things.

"Absolutely. Just. Which pasture is it? The directions are a little smudged."

They likely weren't. The noticeably prolonged hesitance in Rotter's voice made the boy shrink.

"Go talk to Mr. Harbur. He has that ranch to the east."

The boy slowly nodded and folded the paper, hiding the contents and ignoring the slight burn in his chest. He must have known. At least Rotter wasn't poking fun at him like the others. "Thanks."

Rotter dropped a hand on the boy's shoulder and walked away. "Stay out of trouble, Thistle."

The boy shot him a glare as Rotter made his way back to the butchery across the pavilion. After a small roll of his eyes, the boy turned away, starting on his journey toward the eastern pasture. His face darkened and he clenched the old paper in his hands. "Don't call me Thistle."

---

The boy wasted no time. With his destination set, he was on his way. There were numerous things on his mind that morning, one being his mother's whereabouts, one being the other kids' whereabouts, and the last being his own appearance. He wasn't about to get into any sort of mess with anyone after the state he'd left things. It'd be a waste of time and energy, for sure. Plus, Mr. Harbur was old and the boy never recalled meeting him. This meant he could start with a fresh slate, and he wasn't in the mood to mess it up. He'd watch every stone, branch, and innocent-looking mud pile to keep his shirt clean. He'd watch every tone, word, and twitch to make sure the old man had nothing to scrutinize him for. He was going to be an entirely new person for one day, for one man, and he would make it count.

Funnily enough, the other people of Kuttle saw this attempt. "Good day," he'd say as he passed on the street, much to their confusion. They'd occasionally reply with the same phrase, and likely whisper something either good or bad about it when he couldn't hear.

The long stretch of road led him past the rot of the barley fields and into the stench of dung and hay dust. It wasn't much farther that he reached the massive pasture designated for old Mr. Harbur's feemock herd. Struggling as it may have been, it had held up through sleet, snow, debt, and starvation rather well throughout the years.

--- Kuttle, The Harbur Ranch

The boy leaned against the old fence for a moment and grazed over the sight of it. On the far end, near one of the abandoned roads that lead to the rest of the world, sat the squarish, slanted house. A little farther rested the barn. It was rather odd, though, how the presence of cattle evaded him. He ducked under the fence to cut through and made his way there with haste.

Once he approached the front of the house, old Harbur was already waiting for him. He was idly humming in one of many rocking chairs and staring into space.

"Hello," the boy called, stepping into better view and waving to the man. He sniffed and peered around.

"Eh?"

He stepped closer and onto the first of a few steps leading onto the madly creaking porch.

Old Harbur reacted quite readily for his age, popping up from his seat with his cane in hand. "I'm over here. I saw you needed help with--"

"Hua! Get off my porch! Intruder!" His welcome wasn't all too pleasant, however, as he proceeded to try whacking everything in reach with it.

The boy leaned away from the attack, wide-eyed and taken rather aback. The man continued to speak nonsense about intruders and hooligans, doing a number on the poor old log holding up his portico. He didn't seem to see the person in front of him.

"Um, Sir?"

"What? Haven't I made myself clear?" he said to the pillar. "You best not be the one spookin' my herd. My wife'll teach you a darn good lesson for messin' up our property!"

The boy rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, choosing not to bring up the fact that he'd been widowed for over a decade. Instead, he reached for the folded paper, avoiding another swing of the cane as he readied it. He held it up, though also had to move it out of shot a few times.

"Sir, can you stop swinging? I'm actually here because of this. Your notice? You pinned it to the quest marker."

The old man slowly calmed and lowered his cane. "I did?"

"You're Mr. Harbur, right? Did you need help with your feemocks?"

The old man twitched his nose, and a thick mustache along with it, and scratched his chin. Then he leaned in to look at the paper. And he stared. And stared a while longer. The boy's brow creased and he crept it closer until the page nearly touched his nose.

"Ah, yes!" Old Harbur swung a hand up and pointed upward. "I forgot about that. Yes, yes, I'm glad you're here."

He led the boy off the porch and toward a gate opening to the rest of the field, where the barn sat not too far ahead. In the meantime, he rambled on about either the job or things entirely unrelated. The boy listened, but found himself paying more attention to the empty fields. There was nothing but grass and sand as far as the eye could see. Perhaps they were over the hill.

"I had hired a young fella with good legs and a strong back. By Myths, that was ages ago. I can't remember the last time he's been here to help take care of the grazers." They reached the entrance and the old man pushed open the door. The boy scrunched his face and wafted clouds of dust away, then opened them to see the blackness from inside.

"All you gotta do is git 'em within line of sight with the barn. They're smart girls, they'll do the rest."

"Where are they?"

"Oh, they're out there. Curious little things have been wanderin' towards the woods, lately. Something out there's been makin' a ruckus."

"What is it? Wolves?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm hopin' it's just some kids playin' tricks. But nevermind that. I don't want them out there where I can't see 'em. Ye know, in case it'll kill 'em."

"So, um, how exactly do I get them over here?"

"Just herd 'em."

"But how?"

The old man shifted his feet apart and squatted a few inches.

"You get yer legs movin' and you herd 'em."

"But... Okay."

"Go on! Be done by sundown, boy!"

Old Harbur flicked his bony hands at the boy to shoo him off and hobbled back to his perch in the rocking chair. The boy watched him for a moment or two, then examined the empty barn.

"Just herd them," he repeated, turning to face the large field. "As soon as I find them, I guess."

Quest: Herd Feemocks

The boy wandered south, where the bend in the earth peaked and where he assumed he'd be able to spot his target. The field was rather large, so he'd spent a decent amount of time walking to this peak. He'd noted everything in the field by the time he'd arrived - from snapskink burrows to pestering spring insects, from runoff streams to unfortunately-placed dung piles. The boy dodged and lurched over each whenever he managed to catch sight of them, though the leftover snow certainly didn't help. His boots got snatched by one or more rancid piles and weathered holes.

Once he reached the bend, he swept a hand over his eyes and smiled. The herd was grazing peacefully in the distance, basking in spring sunlight. They were indeed very close to the edge of the woods, though. How they didn't return for their grain was beyond his understanding.

"Okay," he sighed, and continued walking.

The distance was shorter and considerably cleaner, that time, cutting the journey considerably. Soon enough, he stood close by with his arms stamped at his sides, examining the half-dozen of furry creatures. They mooed and grunted whilst grazing on the early year's grass, paying no heed to the boy aside from the occasional flick of an ear in his direction. Bells fastened loosely around their necks rang periodically with every shift and step they took.

He stared at them for a while and occasionally peered back in the direction of the hidden barn. He just had to get them within line of sight, right? Well, that was as long as he figured out how to move them. Some advice from the old rancher would have been most helpful. No matter. He'd seen herders at work from a distance once or twice. Maybe if he mimicked them, it would work. It couldn't be that hard.

"Okay, misses, let's go," he called, then circled around the back of the group. He fanned out his arms and started whooping. The nearest few spooked at the commotion momentarily, but nothing more. The attempt dragged on for a minute or two before he realized his attempt was futile. Perhaps something different, then.

He tried clapping, next. He also tried shouting any sort of command he guessed they might know, running frantically around in an attempt to spook them toward the barn, and even flat out pushing the heavy beasts in its direction. They remained unphased.

"Please move," he groaned. Pleading, of course, also proved to be an ineffective solution. The boy ran a hand through his hair and squatted for a moment of rest, having spent a hefty amount of time simply trying to figure out how to move them. His first quest sure was going swimmingly well.

If herding them as he'd seen others do wouldn't work, perhaps he could just lead them in one by one. The only problem was how. His eyes flicked to the bells around their necks. He groaned and dangled his head. If there's a will, there's a way, he supposed.

The boy regained his energy after another minute and approached the first of six targets. At his presence, the feemock lifted her head and sniffed. The boy reached a hand to pat the little swirl of fur on her head.

"Help me out, here, okay?" Then he reached his hand down farther back and grabbed the rope. Slowly, carefully, he started tugging. The feemock, who was at work chewing on a mouthful of froth and grass, didn't budge. Granted, a creature four times the boy's size and several times his weight probably wouldn't have noticed.

"Come on, ma'am," he struggled, pulling harder. Finally, she took the first step. Then another. Slowly, and ever so lazily, she parted from the herd. One down, five to go...

---

Old Harbur rocked on his squeaky chair, staring into the bright field. He looked at nothing in particular and moved not a bit, except for when bugs started insisting on buzzing around his face. He sneezed at a rather uncomfortable encounter with one, then wiggled his nose. The longer he sat, the louder the buzzes seemed to grow - and more human?

"Y'all are some noisy mosquitos," he scowled, finally breaking his solid pose to swat at the bugs with a wrinkly hand. The noises persisted, evolving into rather desperate pleas and grunts. He sighed and stood up, in search of the source.

He neared the barn and slapped a hand on the railing. Three feemocks stood at the entrance of the barn, and another two were on their way down the hill. The young boy was visibly struggling and frankly risking being torn in half by the two feemocks. He had one bell tie clutched in each hand and he was skirting left and right as the beasts shifted directions in search of the next morsel of grass. Once they hit the dirt, however, he gained better control of them. He approached the barn, dripping with sweat, and let them go.

"One--" he wheezed. He lifted a finger and appeared as if he were to continue, but dropped onto his knees.

Old Harbur chuckled. "Myths be, kid, you haven' been draggin' these girls in one by one, have you?"

"Yes," the boy groaned.

"Why didn't ye herd them like normal?"

The boy laughed and wiped his damp forehead with an equally damp sleeve. "I tried. They didn't listen."

Old Harbur peered over the hill. "Sun's goin' down, soon. You might wanna hurry up with the last one."

"Right," the boy sighed. He turned to face the hill, too.

"Come see me when yer finished. I've got somethin' to thank ye."

The boy perked up. "Really?" The old man had already started walking away, however. He waved a hand once as some sort of acknowledgment and grunted. The boy smiled and straightened, tugging at the hem of his vest. After a handful of hours gone, what was one more?

He started walking back toward the spot where the last feemock remained.

---

After yet another trip across the field, the boy caught sight of the lone feemock. She was much closer, quite possibly finally realizing that her herd was gone. The boy smiled and approached. "Hey, whatcha doing?" He reached his hand out to ruffle the creature's forehead, then casually slipped his hand back to grab the bell tie. He tugged, less hesitant than he was a few trips ago. "Come on," he motioned. The last feemock grunted and obeyed.

Once the two started moving, the boy whisked a hand above his eyes and peered toward the sun. It was getting rather late in the day. He didn't realize he'd been out for so long. It was rather nice. Why, he didn't have to worry about people in town. No brats to avoid, no discerning glances to endure. He could just be himself. He and the cattle. Even if the air was rancid and stained his clothes.

For a moment, a smile curled on the boy's lips. But it soon receeded. In the distance, just below the dark haze of the field against the sun, rested a familiar face. The goat beast watched him carefully from a distance, unblinking and still. Why was it bothering him, now?

The boy frowned at the beast and dropped his hand. It slapped against his thigh, seemly spooking the beast beside him. Then the boy was dragged to the side.

"Agh!" He stumbled and dragged his feet, held upright only by the wrist snagged in the bell tie. He pushed and skirted to the side, catching himself briefly enough, but only had enough time to glance at the feemock before she veered again. They were headed directly back, then. She walked with a stomp and with her ears pointed toward the woods. The boy gasped, unable to free his hand from a tightening loop. The beast dragged him as he fought to keep himself out from under her hooves. "What the heck! Stop!"

He barely managed to regain his footing and keep himself upright, though he was still tossed about by the sway of the beast's stride. He yanked at the rope until the burning loop loosened, then he ripped his hand free.

The boy distanced from the feemock and watched her walk away. She continued on with hardly any change to her stride, paying no attention to the lack of child being dragged at her side. Then the pain hit. He lifted his wrist and stared at a new set of fleshy, red streaks on his skin. With an aggressive grip and sour face, he tightened his other hand around the burn. Once he looked up again, the feemock had stopped.

The boy neared the feemock again and stared at her. Fluffy ears pointed steadily toward the trees and a soggy nose wiggled at the various smells in the air. The boy followed her gaze, meeting the edge of the woods. The edge of Kuttle.

"What?" he muttered to no one. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the trees. The feemock waved her head toward its direction briefly. It seemed she could hear something. Perhaps Old Harbur was right. The boy closed his eyes, cupped his hands around the backs of his ears, and hushed... hushed...

Garbled thuds, hardly loud enough to hear, reached far enough to lick at the air around him. It sounded like the weight of hooves as they trampled solid ground, only they were much farther apart, and ever so sporadic. They were incredibly soft with the distance, to the point where he wasn't entirely sure if his mind was playing tricks or not. Whatever was causing it, if something even were, must have been large. Heavy, too.

The boy opened his eyes and lowered his hands. He continued staring at the trees for a long while, not an emotion smeared across his face. His mind, however, buzzed with a hint of interest. If Old Harbur was right, then something was out there. Something interesting. Exciting, even. What if he just... for one moment just... explored?

The boy frowned and forced his eyes away, catching himself before making an indeed rather reckless decision. The sun had all but set. There was no longer the golden-green glow of the bright day hung in front of him. Now there existed a growing darkness, accompanied only by silent conversations between the bitter nightly wind. It made for a rather unsettling atmosphere, one which would leave any normal one feel more vulnerable. He did not, but he knew he should. His gaze flicked to his right, where the feemock still stood. Besides, he was on a quest, his first one, and he'd hate to mess up now.

"Come on," he muttered, reaching for the bell tie again in a more mindfully-placed grip. He urged the feemock back into a walk and looped her around, lingering on the sight of the forest for only a moment longer.

---

By the time the two had reached the peak of the hill and the barn had come into view, the last of the feemocks started up a faster pace to reach the barn. The boy had let go of the bell tie by then. He spent the majority of his focus on the burn around his wrist, examening the now rather painless mark. In what little light there was, at least. The boy sighed and dropped his hand again, just as the last of the feemocks hobbled into the decrepit shelter. It seemed Old Harbur was right about them being drawn to the sight of the barn... when it came to the last darn one.

He leaned against the large, sliding door and peeked inside at the herd. Grain had been dispersed into a few troughs while he was gone, it seemed. The others looked to have gotten their fill and dozed off, but the last girl wasn't quite so lucky.

Taking a courtesy glance outside, he slipped into the barn to inspect a few fenced-off barrels. One was half-filled with grain and an old wooden scoop. He filled it once and delivered it to the final girl. She about trampled him to reach it.

With the minor struggle against the hungry beast completed, he left the barn and slid the heavy door shut.

"Mr. Harbur?" He made his way to the rancher's house, swiping off as much dust and clumps of dirt as he could on the way. Once he reached the steps, however, he realized that he was alone. Windows were vacant of candlelight and not a sound came from the building. The rocking chair was empty, too. He hung his head and softly groaned. It was well past sundown; of course he was too late.

He turned back. But before he could step off the porch, something caught his eye. On the railing rested a small lump tied in a scrappy linen cloth, weighing down a small note, which he knew for certain wasn't there before. He prodded it curiously with a finger, grabbed the paper, and leaned in close. Gibberish. Though the dark certainly didn't help. Poking further, the cloth unraveled to reveal a fist-sized loaf of sweet bread and three pentos. The boy smiled wide. His first pay.

Quest: Herd Feemocks

Complete

---

The boy walked on the dreary road back to his hut. He stuffed his face with the sweet bread and marveled in its taste, one greedy bite at a time. Faint hints of sugar, a luxury good rather hard to come by in Kuttle, pulsated in his mouth. He could hardly imagine how much better it would have been if it were fresh, perhaps with warm milk. The thought alone was enough to warm himself in the cold night.

However, the aloof boy was soon drawn away from his fantasies, pulled back to his senses by the murmurs of a few hidden townsfolk. He shoved the last bite into his mouth and wiped the crumbs off his hands, then sped up to spot the source. He'd wandered the streets long enough to sense when rumors and gossip were afoot, and whoever was out there most definitely fit the signs.

The boy faltered behind a dead shrub and paused, losing the source momentarily. He glanced left and right, then ducked into cover at the sudden whoosh of torchlight appearing from a corner.

"You-- You're from Horrus, aren't you? Oh, you lot always come here if it means trouble!"

"Keep it down. You're going to cause a panic."

Whispers, breathy and fast, reached the boy's ears. Someone from Horrus? In Kuttle? That was certainly a rarity. Such guests from the capital only arrived on official business, and he was too young to remember the last time such a time came.

"There's no need to be alarmed. Just let us know if you've seen anything and we'll take care of it."

"You haven't told us what it is."

The boy slowly, carefully, slipped out of his hiding spot behind the shrub and approached. The voices continued, but they grew far more hushed than before. He didn't understand a word. But, he could make out a few people. There were two whom he recognized, and a third whom he didn't. The shadows gave way more than three, however. He examined the figures as they contorted and shifted. The muttering grew even more silent. He stepped closer. Closer...

Then a hand shot out and grabbed his face.

"Mph! Mph!" The boy slapped his hands on the one that grabbed him and tried to pry off the fingers one by one. He was dragged forward and around, then quickly released. "Agh," he spat, then rubbed his squished nose.

"It's just a kid." A figure not a foot taller than him backed away and lowered his hand. His skin was dark and warm, his hair and dirty beard even more so, and his face was long since torn and healed by inflictions of unknown causes. He scowled at the boy and retreated, revealing the rest. The two familiar voices were revealed, but they scuttled away and into the shadows. Of the remaining figures, two stood. One young, lightly shaven, skinny man. Another tall, muscular woman with wild red hair pulled to the back of her head. They all had worn, torn sets of leather and metal armor. Mud-caked boots, daggers on each hip, swords, scars, heavy bags...

"Woah," the boy whispered, completely bewildered.

The woman approached. "What are you doin' out here, boy? It's dark out. Go home."

"You're--" The boy stumbled on his words, not believing he was about to say them. He never thought he'd get the chance. "You're adventures."

The short man scoffed.

"What are you here for? Some sort of monster?"

"Go home."

The three shifted the weight of their packs and started moving. They brushed past the boy, but he trailed close behind them. They spoke like he'd imagined, looked like he'd imagined, even walked like he'd imagined. The very sight of them standing there felt like some sort of dream, and he couldn't help but flutter around them like a moth drawn to a candle.

"You look so cool," he grinned, hopping forward and back around to get different perspectives. "Oh! I want to ask you questions!"

The woman swept a hand in his general direction. "No. Scram." The boy ignored them.

"I've never met real adventurers up close before," he gawked, unable to take his eyes off the sight of the three. "What's it like out there? I heard there are monsters everywhere. Like, really everywhere. Do you kill a lot of them? Do you get paid really well?"

"Hey, we're trying to stay quiet, here."

"Oh, sorry. I just-- I never-- I've always wanted to--"

"Good grief," the thin man muttered. The shorter, more muscular man spoke next.

"Run along, boy. Unless you've seen something, there's no point in you talking to us. And get inside, for Myth's sake! Can't you see the ice on your breath?"

"But I have so many questions. I want to be just like you!" The man groaned and rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers. "What's it like in Horrus? I hear it's the worst. Are broadswords expensive? I really want one when I grow up. What's the biggest reward you've ever gotten for a hunt? Do you ever meet adventurers after the same quest? What do you do when that happens? Who gets the pay? What monster was the hardest for you to kill?"

"Okay!" The woman sighed and turned abruptly on her heel, stopping the boy in his tracks. She squatted a bit to get closer to his height. "You want to be an adventurer?"

"More than anything."

"You sure, kid? It's nothing to joke about, now. It's dangerous. It's unforgiving."

The boy grinned. Dangerous and unforgiving sounded exciting. "More than anything."

The woman's brows twitched, then she took a deep breath. "Fine. Then listen up. Real adventurers follow their own code, got it? If you want to run around Carovine, even all of Leuther, busting baddies and mauling monsters, don't let anyone take you up at a lead like some mild cattle. You do your own thing no matter the cost. Don't get stuck under someone else's knife, or else you'll stay there."

The boy went quiet, as did the two men. What strange, specific, perhaps threatening advice. The woman straightened and walked away, motioning the two others to follow. After some confusion from the woman's statement, the boy shook his head and jogged to catch up.

"Is that part of your code? So all adventurers have their own? Wait, but you're traveling together."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Now go."

"Wait, can I come with you?" He was greeted with a few silent side-glances. "What you said to Mr. and Mrs. Parker, there's something out there. Are you hunting it now? I can help. W--Well, if not that, then I can follow you and just watch, you won't even notice!"

That time, the short man intervened again, lost of all remaining patience. He grabbed the boy's shirt and tugged him back. The two stopped and the boy was met with a dirty finger inches from his face. "Why don't you go home and bug someone else, boy?"

"Geralt," the woman scolded. "Stop. He's just a kid."

"I am not just a kid. I'm an adventurer, like you. Please! I just want to get out of he--"

"You know nothing of the trade, boy. Shut your mouth."

"My name is not Boy!"

"I could care less who or what you are. If you're not our hunt or you have no information, then get out of our way."

"You're rude for an adventurer."

"Rude for an-- So help me. Scram." The man's dirty finger retracted, dipped downward, then thrust against the boy's chest to force him back a few steps. On cue, they continued walking, in pursuit of their hunt, or information at the very least. He felt nearly defeated. Nearly.

"I know where your monster is," he said, and it enticed them, indeed.