The old man who lay before my feet a second ago was up and cleaning his face with the limited clean water the woman had gathered. With an attitude as if he were entitled to the water we had gathered, he made disgruntled sounds, yet no words left his mouth.

  "So. Who are you, old man?" I asked. My voice relaxed and possessed an upward inflection. My curiosity was clearly audible. Still, he continued murmuring to himself, not paying any mind to my words.

  I looked around. The firewood that used to be damp was now soaked. The mud had solidified back into soil and the woman looked like she was tired. Her lips, moist a second ago, were now as dry as a desert. Dark, sunken circles made camp under her eyes. Her movements were sudden yet unending. As if her attention was constantly shifting from one place to the next. She was at one instance working on the fire and at the other up and searching for firewood. Perhaps that lack of determination was also why she didn't confront the old man. Her previously composed self was nowhere to be found.

  I shifted my glance back at the old man. He had taken off his vest and was washing himself. I decided to approach him. Maybe he hadn't heard my previous question. Upon moving closer, I saw that his right arm was covered in henna. Orange markings depicting the dragons and stars. A tradition of the Southern Beyliks. As I moved closer, I noticed the brown in his beard was paint. The henna on his arms was also paint, not mud as I had first thought.

  "You must be curious as to where this one is from." Said the old man.

  "I have a guess or two," I replied.

  He chuckled and explained: "As you might have predicted, this one is of the Southern Beyliks. An envoy, to be more accurate. The mercenaries this one had hired at the border were attacked by wyverns, and this humble one ended up here."

  The woman, hearing our conversation, remarked: "The boy there was one of your mercenaries as well. What was he here for again? Ah. To find the corpses of his comrades."

  The old man chuckled and added: "Sadly for him, this one is not yet dead. Thanks to a beautiful woman such as yourself saving me. You appear to be a bit dehydrated, though." He said, forgetting that he was indeed the one hoarding our water.

  After continuing to clean himself for a while, he offered up the rest of the water to the woman. She refused and went to find a new source, likely as it was now muddy. The old man decided to strike up conversation once more:

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  "What say you about escorting this one to the imperial capital?" In all honesty such a mission would not be difficult. So long as we escaped the forest without a second wyvern attack the rest of the road would be safe. With all this in mind I don't know why I was unable to come to a decision.

  "Ah, you must be concerned about your comrades. They likely went back believing their employer was dead. Nothing we can do although it is a shame." He said.

  It was an intriguing dilemma for me. I wasn't strong enough to act if something happened. But the imperial capital was the only place to sell this stone at a fair price. The Eastern Khaganate was also a candidate, but its capital was far away and the vast deserts leading to it were unpleasant. At last, I agreed to his offer but added a condition:

  "I don't think the two of us would be strong enough alone. I believe you should employ the mage as well."

  He replied: "It had been a while since this old one had received wisdom from anyone. Well, I suppose with ones growing age it is only normal for people to disregard me. Alas, sure. We may bring Easterner with us."

  I questioned what he meant by "Easterner" and he replied:

  "This one has seen a lot. "Knowledge, like your background from the Northern Confederate or her roots in the Eastern Khaganate, is easy for these eyes to see.""

  I wondered if with his knowledge he would also know what the stone in my pocket was supposed to be nevertheless I did not want anyone to know of it. I was about to move my hand to my pocket in order to check if the stone was still there when the old man made a remark:

  "What you possess is much more fragile than you think."

  I was afraid. I believed that not only he had noticed the stone but also appeared to know of its value. I reached for the knife in the same pocket instead of the rock I was reaching for. I had a solid grip on it when he continued:

  "Peace is a fragile thing. The sun will set and turmoil will fill the dark nights soon enough. Perhaps then the dragons will come to save us once more."

  Upon realising that he wasn't talking about the rock I calmed down and let go of the knife I was holding on to in my pocket.

  When he was done talking the woman returned with two waterskins of fresh water. "There is a river nearby." She explained. Her lips were now closer to the bright red I had first seen and her eyes were almost back to sparkling like jewels once more.

  "What were the two of you talking about?" She asked.

  "Nothing grand. I just asked the young man if he wanted to escort me to the Imperial Capital." He replied. The woman, visibly curious with her eyes growing larger asked in response:

  "And what did he say?"

  "He said he will only accept if you are with us." The old man replied. The atmosphere felt more like a dialogue between parents more than comrades despite the woman being just a few years older than me. The woman replied with a clear voice filled with pride:

  "I'm headed there as well so I can accompany you. However, I cannot use the main roads to the Imperial Capital." For some reason the old man did not question this and simply agreed only asking one simple question:

  "I suppose this old man was rude and did not ask for your names. This one is called Mubarak. Might you two grace this one with your names?"

  "Ureltu" I replied. "Amrak." Followed the woman.