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RENXEL
“The village of Muiwe, boys!” the shepherdess calls from under her muff. It’s been a hell of a trudge through the high mountains to the little village of Muiwe. The blistering winds made for a silent trip for Callum and me, all six hours of it.
It’s a good thing I love to compete. No ordinary Kiphian would put himself through a journey like this just for a little tournament. But then, I'm no ordinary competitor.
I’m a winner. Plain and simple.
While I've hit a snag in this truth a time or two, it won't deter the great Renxel Garome on his quest for greatness. After all, what’s a little snow and ice for the taste of glory?
We plow into town seeking shelter from the blizzard that caught us in the last hour of our journey. Our team of chordatas held up better than we did on the trek. Their wide, hairy-legged bodies head directly to the hay barn as soon as it's in sight, hardly giving us the chance to grab our packs.
“Get them while they’re hot, kids!” the shepherdess yells. The brisk Kiphian teenager who led us up the icy cliffs scoffs at Callum and I as we snatch our backpacks from the hungry,fleeing chordatas. She disappears with them into the hay barn, leaving Callum, me, and the fresh fallen snow covering Muiwe alone on the mountain.
The village is calm, with evening just setting in over the town. It’s a sleepy hamlet, hushed into the crook of the mountain. It’s reliably unchanged, Muiwe, and I’m sure I can expect more of the same visiting this year. Lights from every house beckon us to warmth, but only one is welcome to weary competitors like us seeking shelter.
Callum and I are fellow participants in the village’s annual IceFalls climbing competition. Every year when the river freezes, the falls steel over in a massive ice structure. Kiphians have been braving the dangers of the slippery ice wall, nearly 200 stories high, for centuries.
“Which one is it?” Callum asks under his covered face. The snow drops on us like a blanket, nearly covering my words.
“To the left. Little Star Inn.” The sound of our steps mutes into the ground with each stride towards the massive oaken door of our lodgings.
The dull roar of busy patrons greets us long before we manage the doors open. Heat billows from the coals of a massive fireplace. Picking up my steps, I rush to the hearth, removing my gloves and jacket while snow falls around me like powder.
The room is busy with competitors trading tips and showing off their gear in preparation for the big day. Yet despite the din, I catch a clear voice from behind me.
“Excuse me, sir?” she says. I turn on my heels and see a small human woman eyeing me sweetly. The cold sheds from my skin instantly as her face glows warm and bright in my direction. I want to smile back at her until I hear what she says next. “Sir. Can you read?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I’m confused. She must be joking.
She clears her throat and points to a small sign I didn't notice before. Looking closer it says,DO NOT REMOVE WET OUTERWEAR ON THE GORESKIN RUG, THANKS. MGMT.
My eyes shoot down to reveal a large puddle forming under my claws and a massive goreskin rug helplessly receiving the mess at my feet. My head bobs around for Callum, who has dutifully disrobed himself in the prescribed area. He shakes his head at me while heat spreads into my cheeks.
“Well?” With her hands on her hips, her brows drop a hot glare in my direction. The small lady’s sweet smile may have cascaded into something fierce while my back was turned, but having seen it once, I’m determined to have it again.
“Actually, no,” I say playfully. “Can you teach me? You look smart.”
She shakes her head at my ruse. As I take my coat from my shoulders, dripping intently with every step back to the foyer, I can feel her smile on my back.
I can’t help myself. Thirty seconds with this girl, and I feel like a schoolboy looking for a rise out of his teacher. The careful look she gives me while I stamp my claws on the rug could keep me here for hours. For good measure, I stamp again, again, again, and again, waiting for her permission before stepping back into the room.
“Okay, okay.” She smiles, rolling her eyes. She can’t stop her grin, and I cannot stop the catalyst it creates inside me when she does. It feels even better when I've earned it. “You can come in now.”
She chuckles as she walks me towards a large reception desk opposite the fireplace. My eyes follow a large mass of stairs as I walk behind her.
Her cute form weaves back and forth with the steps she takes. Shiny black hair shimmies across her shoulders, sending thoughts jumping into my brain to carry her off here and now.
“So, are we checking in?” she turns and says once we’ve reached the desk. The placard before me saysMirain small silver letters.
“Why, yes, Mira, we are.”
“Name, please?” she asks as a large comm screen lights up her face. From my vantage, I'm nearly speechless as the light renders in her eyes. Hues of green and brown in a mesh of colors I've never seen before capture my focus as my throat turns dry to answer her.
“I, uh.” I clear my throat. “Renxel Garome. I made a reservation weeks ago.”
“Yes, I see.” She types away, securing my check-in. Over my shoulder, Callum rests on the oversized chair at the fire’s edge. Ordinarily, I’d be with him, heating up after such a long journey. But the pretty olive-skinned woman typing feverishly away has piqued my interest far more than anything else could right now.
