The sheriff’s expression did not change. It rarely did. But his wings settled, which I had learned to read as the equivalent of a sigh of contentment. He stood aside to let us in.
The office smelled of the old paper and lamp oil. Maps covered one full wall, pinned and annotated in Stoneclaw’s cramped, precise handwriting. Sammy’s gaze went straight to them.
“The eastern route,” she said. Not a question.
“Mm.” The sheriff moved to his desk and opened a flat drawer. He withdrew a rolled map, the edges slightly worn, and spread it on the surface between us. It was hand-drawn in the detailed, unhurried style of someone who had walked every line on it personally. “This covers the trail from here to the highland ridge.” He pressed one claw to a point on the eastern side, then motioned toward me. “Though, I’m sure, the guardian there knows the way well enough.”
I preened at the mention of my title. Most of the time, the villagers knew me as a simple farmer and lumberjack, and well, a bit of a “handy-orc” as Sammy dubbed me. Yet, I’d been given the appointment of Guardian of the Sacred Beasts by the council last year, and the thrill of it never wore off. I loved working with the animals as did my little human.
“I do, indeed.”
Sammy tilted her head to meet my gaze. “I have no doubt about it,” she crooned. Then, she spun to the map once more, tapping its eastern trails. “But I wasn’t prepared when I first came here. And I won’t be caught unaware again.”
The slight lilt at the end of her statement betrayed her feelings. At least it did to me, who was attuned to my mate. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “Then, the map comes with us.” I eyed the sheriff, daring him to argue.
His thick nostrils flared, but he offered no argument.
Sammy smiled up at me. “Thank you.”
I tugged her closer, wishing we were alone. Then, Berry chittered at my shoulder. “Right.” I glanced at the sheriff. “Baxter mentioned something about travelers.”
Stoneclaw met my gaze. Then he looked to Berry, who had left my shoulder to examine the corner of the desk with deep interest. “The florins have been restless.” He said it like a fact he had already filed and cross-referenced. “Two travelers, yes. Merchants out of the low valley. They didn't approach the falls—said the light was enough to give them pause.” He paused himself as if deep in thought. After a breath he continued, “Amethyst. They said amethyst light.”
The word landed in the room quietly. Sammy had gone still beside me.
I rested my hand on the small of her back.
“I know that color,” she said.
Stoneclaw didn’t respond, but he began making careful markings on the map. He noted two points: the location of the reported lights and a rest point I recognized—a clearing near the base of the highland ridge, sheltered and well-watered. It was the kind of stopping point that made a three-day walk considerably more manageable. He pushed the map across the desk. “I cannot go with you. The village is short-handed, and I cannot leave it. But I want a status message morning and evening time.”
“How?” Sammy asked.
Stoneclaw’s gaze moved to Berry, who had abandoned the corner of the desk and now sat upright, attentive and luminous-eyed.
“The florin network,” I provided. Our inter-dimensional friends passed through space as we did through doorways.
Berry chittered once, as if to say, obviously, and returned to examining the desk.
Stoneclaw almost smiled. I was fairly sure. “You leave when you're ready,” he said. “The trail is safe. What you'll find at the end of it is,” he chose his next word with the care of a creature who rarely misspoke, “unclear.”
Sammy reached out and took the map. She folded it with the reverence she gave to all written things, carefully, along the existing creases. She tucked it into her pack.
“Unclear is fine,” she said. “I've played enough games to know unclear just means the map hasn't been filled in yet.”
Stoneclaw looked at me over her head.
I stared back.
We had, over the years of our acquaintance, developed a conversational shorthand that required no words. The type of communication only those with a protective streak running in their veins could understand. This one said: watch over her. Mine said: always.
We stepped backinto the morning light, the map safe in Sammy’s bag and the rest of the rolls already eaten. She was quiet for a moment, standing at the edge of the square where the cobblestones gave way to the eastern path. Just visible beyond the last row of buildings, the road stretched outward. It was a simple, unpaved dirt path, dappled with shade from the trees, curving gently away from everything familiar.
I watched her as she stared at the path. Her face took on that look she sometimes got when discovering something new in our world. It was a particular expression: not fear, exactly. More the charged, anticipatory breath before something begins. Excitement and the awe of the unknown.
“Are you ready?” She turned her face to me, a glint in her beautiful brown eyes.
I took her hand in mine, letting her feel the warmth of my palm. With conviction, I answered, “Always.”
