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“What is it, Serra?” Hendrix urged, concern in his eyes.
“She had a bruise. On the side of her face. Kaston had asked me to meet him in the Ebony Woods. I fear. . . I fear he may have harmed her when I ignored his request.” The weight of it finally released itself off my shoulders as the words settled around us. Hendrix hesitated, watching me with weary eyes.
“Do you think. . . do you think he could be the one behind it? I should have said something, I should have spoken up when I had the chance. This is my fault.” I whispered, my voice had gotten quiet. I was afraid Kaston would be near, overhearing everything I said.
He did not immediately answer.
I had no idea if he knew the Conwell’s or if he knew their sons. Or if he even knew anything for that matter. But her disappearance had not been a coincidence.It weighed far too heavily on my shoulders, knowing what Kaston was capable of- having been a victim myself. When he started walking again- he took my hand. The action had finally stopped them from fidgeting, before tucking it into the crook of his arm. Only now had I noticed how good he smelled.
Good Gods. . . did he smell good!
Like sea salt and leather, with hints of crisp winter snow. I did not recall him smelling as such back in Rothnia. But being around the smells of the tavern, it was hard enough to disconcert ale from vomit. Or sweat from stew. Let alone how he had smelled amongst the other patrons. His voice echoed as my mind committed his smell to memory.
“Serra, you had nothing to do with her disappearance. You hear me? Absolutely nothing.” He sounded so sure, but I could not help as his words soothed my worry, my concerns. Maybe I was overthinking it, maybe my first initial thoughts were right, she was safe and had indeed run off with someone.
For some reason though, I believed him.
We walked in silence for a while, the words said between us hung around refusing to be let go. But neither of us spoke of it again, instead allowing the sounds and noises of the critters close by to infiltrate and drown out the conversation entirely.
When the sun had reached high noon, Hendrix had urged that we stop. Taking a moment to rest before continuing. The dialogue never lingered long between us as we lounged in the grass, not as we talked about his short time in Rothnia. Hendrix's curiosity about the mortal world only seemed to grow. He asked about the strange quirks and rituals of the people in Rothnia, the bustling harbor with its comings and goings of sailors, and the stark division between the rich and the poor. I shared what I knew, recounting what I had seen and heard over the years. But it wasn't just about the world around us. He also asked me about myself, what I was like as a child, and what it was like growing up in Rothnia.
I hesitated when it came to sharing about the Goblin King and Kaston. I wasn't sure if I could trust Hendrix, but something in the way he listened to me made me feel safe. So I told him about Nona and all the little wonders she had shown me. I shared stories of the animals in the forest, the flowers that bloomed in the spring, and the stars that lit up the night sky. Through it all, he listened with rapt attention, as if every word was a treasure to be cherished.
But when it came to talking about the Caves and how he had escaped the rock trolls, Hendrix was tight-lipped. Even when I asked if he had encountered the Goblin King, he managed to redirect the conversation to other topics. I couldn't help but wonder why he was so reluctant to talk about it. Was he ashamed of needing to be saved? Or was there something more to the story that he didn't want to reveal?
Despite my best efforts to get him to open up, Hendrix remained elusive. It was as if he had mastered the art of redirection, skillfully moving the conversation away from anything he didn't want to talk about. It made sense now why he had landed a job at the Rusty Goat. His ability to steer the conversation in any direction he wanted was truly impressive. Though. . . it wasn’t until I had brought up the creature I ran into after the caves that his attention peaked, his face an unreadable expression. His words tumbled out in a wave of disbelief.
“Wait, you saw a hippogriff?”
“I think so? I’m unsure, I’ve never seen one before. But I have heard stories.” The wind blew a gust across the plains, the bundle of grasses we had decided to rest in moving in it. The sound was a soft hum.
“You’re sure that’s what you saw?”
He placed a hand on my shoulder, as if I would sprint away in trepidation. I would not be running anywhere, not unless I had to.
“Yes?” I hesitated, was he finally losing it? Was the sun too much for him? Was all the talk about the caves catching up to him now?
“I need you to be sure, Serra.”
“Large creature with massive wings, half eagle, half horse? I would believe it to be so, why?” I wasn’t sure why he was so insistent, why he was pushy as to what exactly I had seen. He considered for a moment, before answering my question. One of few that he had deigned to.
“They disappeared eighteen years ago. For it to be here now would be. . .” He paused. His eyes grew as he looked at me.
“What?” Oh, I did not like that look. “What is it, Hendrix?”
“I have to go.” He stood abruptly, his eyes had lost their luster. “Keep going. But I really have to go.”
“Go where?” I yelled after him. “Hendrix!”
I’d gotten to my feet to chase after him but he had changed back to his fox form. His tail swished back and forth before he disappeared between the tall grass. I huffed in exasperation, he’d left behind me yet again.
* * *
Despite Hendrix's abrupt departure, I trudged along for another couple of hours on my own, hoping to make some progress before the sun set completely. I was grateful for the temporary respite from trouble, or perhaps trouble simply hadn't found me yet. The prairie stretched on as far as the eye could see, with the grass swaying gently in the dry, scratchy wind that provided little relief out in the open. The wind picked up bits of dirt and dust, whipping them into my face.
As I approached the distant castle, it felt like I had barely covered any ground at all, despite my best efforts. My legs were starting to feel like lead, my feet ached, and I desperately longed for some sleep. It reminded me of the harvest season before last, when I worked alongside Nona. We had planted an excess of crops to help a family who had lost everything in a tragic event, barely escaping with their lives. As they slowly rebuilt their lives, Nona provided them with the nourishment they needed. It was just one example of the many selfless acts she performed for others.
She did that a lot.
