Crossroads, Part 4, Wayward (Patreon)

*A/N: Feels nice to be back.*

It was cold when Anson stirred from his sleep.  As he blinked his eyes open, he saw the remains of their campfire from last night in front of him.  He sat up, wincing a bit, and shivered.  His breath misted in front of him and he desperately wished he had maybe picked a better place to camp for the night.  He stretched and groaned, rubbing out the kinks in his neck as he looked around, scratching his curly head of hair absently.

He was alone.

Panic suddenly coursed through him and he shot up to his feet in an instant.  "No, no, no..." he muttered softly, looking everywhere around the campsite where he and Crym had spent the night. There was no sign of the Anthro woman anywhere.  He looked down and noticed the bedroll was still there.  Then he saw the satchel.  He dove onto the ground, peeling it open and breathing a heavy sigh of relief to see the parchment scroll still safely tucked inside.  The tough material crinkled slightly in his hand as he touched it, just to make sure it was real.  He even inspected the broken seal, just to verify it had not been switched out.

With his heart still racing he looked around his surroundings again.  As he was no longer panicking, he allowed his eyes to relax a bit.  He didn't see Crym's stuff; neither sword nor armor was where they had been.  He supposed that he understood.  With how mercurial she had been, would it really surprise him if she had just left like that?

Didn't she give her word? asked a voice in his head.

Sullenly he folded his arms around his knees, satchel left at his side, and looked out across the misty fields before him.  Maybe she had decided her oath wasn't as important to keep to a Human.  Maybe she had woken up, seen it was morning by a technical distinction, and just decided to leave a few minutes ago.  He could check the trail for tracks, but did he really want the crushing weight of reality to settle in atop his shoulders?  If he found them, she really had left.  If he didn't find them, she had made sure she couldn't be followed.

Why was he so upset anyway?  She was an Anthro, he was a Human.  Peace may have been possible but did they really have enough in common for her to want...  He blinked.  Want what?  What sort of thoughts was he projecting onto her?  They'd shared a bed, something so simple that it meant literally nothing more than two people sharing warmth against the chill of night.  Then why did he feel so hurt by that she had left without so much as a word?

Anson sighed and unwrapped his cloak from around himself.  He gathered his things, rolled up the bedroll, and then eyed it.  Should he take it with him?  It was only fair; his coin purse was still in her possession, and who knew how far she had gotten since she had left?

Maybe if you had been more honest with yourself, said the same voice.  You could at least have had a pleasant memory to look back on with her.

Angrily, Anson shouldered the satchel and tucked the bedroll firmly into the roots of the tree.  Let it serve as a reminder to him.  The road was something you shared but ultimately you walked alone in the end.  Everyone's paths led somewhere else.  The most they could do was appreciate the times where one might find themselves sharing their road with another.

With his meager belongings once again securely attached, Anson furiously rubbed at his burning eyes and set his sights firmly on the horizon.  The nearest signs of civilization were a ways away, judging from the smoke plumes barely visible in the wee hours of dawn.  They had to be several hours away at least, and he would have to scout it out to make sure they weren't just another large colony of bandits, rather than the town where he had been instructed to meet with his contact.  He had no money any longer to purchase new supplies, so his fate was rather set on those smokestacks.  If it was a hostile encampment, he would just have to keep going with the little to nothing he had left.

Wasn't all this just his luck, he gloomily wondered?  With a heavy heart, he took his first step away from the tree.  A soft clattering of metal and muted footfalls came from behind him and he whirled around at the sound of a voice, harsh, raspy, but beautiful.

"Leaving already, Handsome?" Crym asked as she stepped out from behind the mighty oak.  She was adjusting the hanging cloth of her outfit underneath the newly-tightened straps of her armor across her large dragon-Anthro body.  Her sword stuck up from above one scaly shoulder.  She rolled her arms several times to make sure she had the maneuverability she needed before she crossed them smugly over her restrained chest again.  "Without even a kiss goodbye?"  Her singular eye twinkled from underneath her dark hair.

Anson stared, dumbstruck, back at her.  The satchel hung limply from his shoulder.  His mouth opened several times but no words came out.  He noticed her own bags were packed.  She even lifted her bedroll back up with her tail and attached it to the small of her back by tying a few cords around it.

"So like a man," she huffed, feigning indignance.  "Share a bed with him and he's ready to scuttle off the first chance he gets."  She winked at him once, showing she wasn't actually upset.

A wall of emotions rose up in him and he smiled shakily back at her.  "W-well..." he finally managed to stutter out.  "Rise with the sun...and all that..."

She grinned, flashing her sharp teeth.  "A good work ethic, but a bit rude for your travel companion to start off without giving her any notice."

His stomach lurched.  "Travel...companion?" he asked.

"We happen to be going in the same direction, so yes.  Maybe I'll decide to take the document back anyway," she stated matter-of-factly.  She began stomping over toward him, easily looming above the Human.  "Or were you hoping to put some distance between us so I'd hunt you down?"  She cocked an armored paw against one of her curved hips and arched her back a bit.  "I might not be so gentle as I was last night if I did.  Might have to tie you down for the next evening's nighttime preparations."  She grinned wider.  "Course, you do look awfully tasty in ropes, as we both know already."

His face flushed.  He didn't even have the energy to muster up a witty retort.  He just stared up at her, amazed.  "I thought you'd..." he murmured softly.

She cocked her head to one side, hair falling all around her shoulders.  "I gave you my word, Anson," she told him.  "Swore on the Spirits.  What kind of warrior would I be if I went back on that?"  Then her grin softened and she lifted a claw to tuck a single curl on top of his head back to lay flat alongside the others of its kind.  "Also, who said I was done with you yet?"

His shocked composure broke and he looked away from her, face flushing more and his brow furrowing.  "I'm sorry I assumed..." he muttered, feeling embarrassed.

She guffawed, voice ringing around the isolated moors and grassy hills.  "I just stepped behind the tree to answer a call of nature," she chortled.  "After that, I needed to put on my armor.  You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't have the heart to wake you up."  She leaned down toward him slightly.  "Were you cold without me?" she teased.

Sighing, Anson let a small smile crease his features before he wiped it away to replace it with his usual sternly amused expression.  "Maybe a little," he shot back up at her.  "But I nearly suffocated several times last night.  You're as hot as a forge.  I woke up several times covered in sweat where I was pushed up against your scales."

"Oh please," she scoffed, standing back up to her full height and crossing her burly arms once again.  "I woke up several times too and you were curling yourself into me more than you started!"  She leered then.  "You like sleeping with me."

He glared up at her for several seconds then, dropping all pretenses, shrugged.  "Yeah, I do," he admitted.  No point in denying it.

Crym blinked.  "Wait...what?"

He grinned, for once having put her on the defensive.  "Yes, you were rather hot last night at times, but I have to say I slept very soundly, knowing you were there.  Near execution and scaly skin aside, I doubt I've ever had a softer bed partner to nestle back into."  He turned on his heel then and began walking away, whistling a shanty to himself.  "You seemed to enjoy wrapping around me too~!" he taunted back at her.

There was a clattering of metal and a low growling as she followed behind.  "W-well," she sputtered, sounding indignant, as she came to fall in stride with him, two of his steps matching just one of her clawed and armored tread.  "You were...all..."  She floundered for a bit and he cast her a teasing grin.  She refused to meet his eyes, huffing.  They walked for a while in silence, him relishing his small victory, before she relented as well.  "Yes, I did.  If you want to read into it more, maybe you'd also be correct in assuming that I slept better than I have in a long time."

He smiled to himself.  "So did I," was all he said in return.  He adjusted his grip on his belongings, one hand relaxed but resting on his sword hilt out of habit.

Behind her, he saw her tail wagging back and forth a bit more openly as she sullenly marched alongside him.  Her armor made the occasional clattering sound as they walked.  Otherwise it was just them, the crunch of their boots on the ground, and the occasional sound of nature.  Animals, wind, even the distant rushing of the waves, all of it blended together into a joyous, soft harmony.

Eventually, however, a question that Anson could not contain any longer bubbled up out of him.  "So...what made you decide to...come with me?" he asked, voice hesitant and wary.  Jokes aside, his curiosity could not be abated any longer.

Crym flinched at the question, seemingly lost in her own mental wanderings.  "Can't a woman just decide to walk in the same direction as a guy she previously was hired to waylay, steal from, potentially kill, decide not to, and sleep with, without being interrogated?" she snapped.

Anson blinked up at her and then laughed aloud.  It made Crym growl louder beside him and he quickly cut himself off.  "I suppose I don't own the road," he replied cheekily.  "Where you walk is your own business.  I'm thankful for the company regardless of how complicated the circumstances."

Crym waited only a few minutes after that to finally break her sullen angry silence again.  "I had a dream, last night."

He blinked, looking up at her in surprise.

"I saw Vexa," she explained.  "We were Cubs again, sitting on a high rise overlooking the landscape of Ahn as the suns were beginning to set on Nameday."

"Suns?" he queried.

"We had three.  Vtexia the Radiant, Hrra the Shining, and Aughn the Blaze.  Sometimes we pass those names down through our children to those special Cubs who glow brighter than others.  On Nameday, where we received our adult names, she and I went before the Royals and underwent the test.  There is no failure, we simply wait to see which of the Suns shine on us the most.  After that, we got our names.  We climbed to the highest plateau after and watched them set while everyone else received theirs."

Anson listened with fascination.  "What an amazing tradition...we get our names when we are Baptized."

Crym sniffed.  "I've heard about that.  You get your head immersed in water while one of your holy-men blesses you or something."

Shrugging, he kept walking.  "Close enough.  So what else happened in that dream?"

Flinching, the Anthro continued, although she didn't seem eager to.  Why bring it up then, he wondered.  "We were sitting there, watching the suns go down, and Vexa spoke to me.  She said 'I wonder what's out there'.  I remember I looked at her and she was sitting up, paws folded in her lap, just gazing at the horizon.  'Nothing', I told her.  'The same Ahn that's always been.  We just uplifted the Breeds, peace is established, and we have to think of the future.  The Royals say it won't be here.'  She looked so sad at that for a bit."

"And then she said, 'No, I know that.  I'm not talking about the horizon of our world.  I'm talking about the new world the Royals say we will be going to.  Do you think it has magic too?  People like us?  People who aren't like us?'  I didn't have an answer for her.  I didn't want to leave Ahn but I knew we had to.  If we had stayed, maybe we could have become True Royals, maybe someday grown our wings.  They don't always grow in at birth, you know.  Anthros are children of evolution and change, we evolve ourselves as we grew on our home world; even the Breeds began to do so as well.  Our world was always changing shape, a living thing as much as we were.  Maybe that's why it got so sick."

Their feet ate up the path they walked upon.  The sun rose steadily in the east, sailing through the cloudy sky to hang there, finally lifting the light chill that pervaded the coastline and countryside beyond.

"I remember that conversation so clearly," Crym said, rasping voice softer now.  "Our dreams are more like memories, making it easier to understand the message of the Spirits.  Elders say that the Spirits speak to us through our dreams.  I never believed it.  After that, I woke up and found you were cuddling right into my chest."  She grinned down at him for a second.  "Got your face right in there."  She patted her breast with her armored paw.

Anson flushed and he looked away from her.  "I don't remember that," he replied lamely.

"Probably wouldn't," she teased.  "You looked very pleased at where you were.  Didn't seem right to wake you either so I just went back to sleep.  Did turn your face though.  Wouldn't do well to suffocate yourself in there."  She chuckled.  As his shoulders hunched more, she abruptly slapped him in the small of his back with her tail, light as a mace blow.  He lurched and almost stumbled and she laughed more.  "Sorry, I was kind of looking forward to telling you that bit."

"Yeah, sure," he grunted up at her.  "So what happened then?"

"I dreamed again," she continued.  "But this time, it was the two of us overlooking Earth.  She and I had been arguing and I could smell her Aggression.  Stronger than it had ever been.  It was the night before she was to take the Human prisoners back.  I'd asked her so many times to not go, to wait for me to return, but she wouldn't listen.  Your kind had sick and injured who needed help we could not provide.  To wait, she said, would cause more suffering.  We were at an impasse.  But...that was where the dream and memory changed."  She had lost her smile by now.  "In my memory, Vexa turned to me and said 'This is what I must do.  The Spirits call us to be greater than ourselves so that we do not dishonor them.  I do not ask for your understanding, only for your blessing,' and then she went to bed when I wouldn't give it.  In...my dream, she turned and just said, 'This is our world now.  I want to live in it.  And I want the same for you.'"

Crym fell silent.

Anson waited for her to continue speaking but she seemed as if she wasn't going to.  He took a deep breath.  "So...is...that why you're coming with me?"

"Whoever said I was going with you?" she snapped.  Her lips rolled up on that side of her muzzle, baring teeth.

"No one," he answered quickly.  "I was only asking..."  He shook his head.  "Forget I even asked... I won't look a gift horse in the mouth and question your company."  He continued to walk on, trying to hide the small surge of disappointment and the wellspring of confusion as to why he felt that way.

The two of them continued walking for a time, content seemingly to share the silence and observe the landscape around them.  The smoke in the distance was still a ways off and he wasn't sure when they might come into sign of the supposed settlement, village, or hamlet, but it couldn't be much longer.

"What do you intend to do?" Crym asked suddenly.  He turned to look at her, perplexed.  Her entire demeanor had darkened somehow as she stared down at him.  From his obviously confused expression, she growled but elaborated on her question.  "Are you seriously going to hand over that letter?"

"I am," he told her glibly.  "Nothing has changed for me since last night.  If anything, your story about your sister only makes my conviction all the stronger to make sure that her dream of finding peace between our species does not go unrealized.  Because I'd like to believe it is my dream too."

She gave him a look, inscrutable and severe for a second before she shrugged.  "I won't try and deter you then."

"What will you do?" he asked her then.  It was her turn to give him a questioning look.  "Are...you going to...still try and stop me?"

Her gaze hardened.  "My business," Crym rasped.  "Is my business."  She waited a long few seconds before she snapped out, "Maybe I'm undecided yet.  Just because I can see a lot of my sister in you doesn't mean that I forgive my...the Royals for abandoning so many of our people to die in slave camps for so long before finally sounding the call to arms.  It doesn't mean I don't hate Humans still.  Just because everyone finally wants peace doesn't fix all the pain that has been caused by your kind.  Even if the fighting stops, it won't bring her back.  I have nothing left without my sister.  This isn't my world."

"It...could be," he told her softly, gauging his words as carefully as any he had ever spoken.  She fixed him with a fiery, dangerous eye.  "There are a lot of...possibilities for someone of your skill and strength and passion.  You could do so much.  Be whoever you want to be.  Your dreams...maybe they mean something about what you really want out of life.  Maybe...peace is what you want too?"  He didn't dare voice the tiny, quiet hopeful words that bubbled beneath the surface.

The look she gave him dashed them entirely.  She drew herself up as tall as she could, towering over him like a giant.  "I had some weird dreams.  I don't read into them like some soppish Cub does.  Like Humans do, like she did.  I don't assign meaning where there isn't.  Life isn't some magical fairytale where all hurts and pain go away just because the fighting stops and everyone comes together to lick their wounds.  It was a stupid dream.  That's all."  Her eye blazed at him and he could sense she was undergoing another one of her explosive mood shifts.

He adjusted his hold on the satchel, noticing that her gait had changed.  He glanced at her as started to fall behind ever so slightly before she halted completely and kneeled on the side of the road.  He waited for her, about ten feet away, as she inspected some flowers.  She didn't acknowledge him.  Sighing, he turned his gaze forward again.  They were about to round a bend in the road, concealed by the small curve of a hill.  Maybe she just needs some time to herself, he thought, and rounded the hill evenly, keeping his stride the same.  She would catch up when, or if, she wanted to.

Directly ahead, he saw a small campfire trailing smoke up into the air.  Immediately his senses went on alert.  He saw three figures sitting around it, just off the main trail, all wearing faded cloaks and appearing to be smoking some kind of meat on a spit.  As he drew warily nearer, he saw their garb to be close to that of the locals.  He saw no armor at all on any of them.

Not entirely reassured, Anson decided to just put up the hood of his cloak and keep walking.  His sword remained partially uncovered, as did the satchel as he pulled the hem of the green-patterned cloth tighter around himself.  All he had to do was keep walking and hopefully, if they were what they appeared to be, they'd just leave him be.  Onlookers truly did just look on, no matter how strange a lone person traveling a road might be.

He passed them at his speed easily.  His keen ears detected light joking voices.  One of them seemed to notice him.  He waved back at them as he was hailed, keeping the gesture brief and forgettable.  The best trait to avoid arousing suspicion was to do exactly that: avoid anything recognizable.  Appear as mundane as possible.  He kept walking, keeping his pace brisk.

He was on, past them, and away in only a few short seconds.  He glanced back only once.  They had all returned to their meal.  He saw one reach down to his side and lift what looked like a tool to test their meat.  He sighed in relief.  Nothing like the open road to make one's nerves as tight and tense as ever.  Being held at swordpoint and then cuddled by that same bandit also didn't do much to help one relax, no matter how nice the latter was.  Turning his gaze forward again, he saw the village smoke stacks were much closer now.

Trying to note the details of the surrounding countryside, Anson attempted to remember the name of the town he was slowly approaching.  Lost in contemplation, he paused, wracking his brains for what it could be.  He didn't sense or hear the footsteps coming up behind him until they were barely a few paces away.  The scuffing of a pair of boots jerked him back to the present, as did a strong voice.

"Boy!"

Whirling around, the messenger saw, to his immediate wariness, one of the three trappers from before.  He had his full pack on, tools and gear strapped to side sides and wearing a buckskin cloak over faded cloth tunic and britches.  His boots were heavy and worn, face dirty and beard unkempt.

He was a hair shorter than Anson, gazing at him from underneath a bizarre singular eyebrow on the right side of his face.  The other one had been shorn off by a thick scar above his left eye that trailed all the way to the corresponding temple.  His head was shaven bare save for some balding stubble of a very recessive hairline.  He nodded, seeing that he had Anson's attention, a gesture that he warily returned.

"Listening now, aye?" he asked.

Anson blinked in confusion.  "I beg your pardon?" he asked, thoroughly thrown for a loop.  The accent was thick and he couldn't place it.

"Got your attention now, do I?" the trapper inquired.  Anson nodded.  His new companion grinned.  His teeth were dirty and his grin pulled tight lines around them.  "I were asking you to come join us, invitation like."  He jerked a gloved hand over his shoulder, no doubt back towards the campsite where his friends waited a good score or so yards away.

Despite his nervousness, Anson tried to return the smile.  "Oh, my apologies," he responded.  "I appreciate the gesture."  He didn't take a step to comply however.

The man noticed.  Scarred brow lifted high above his brown orbs, he cracked his jaw.  "Don't got the time?" he asked.  Anson shook his head.  "Where you heading then?"

Nodding down the road, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the township.  "Thataways, to refill my supplies at a nearby tavern,  if there is one, and catch up on local news."  He let his voice trail off to a hopeful inquiry towards the man.  He couldn't shake the feeling he got as the man stared at him so intently.  Where was Crym anyway?  She wouldn't be that far behind him, unless, in her anger, she had decided to just leave him behind.  He had no idea as to her motives at all.

"Aye, a tavern there is," the trapper told him.  "Not from round here?"  Anson shook his head.  "Long road and open country for travelers," the man continued.  "Traveling alone nowadays ain't too safe.  Beasts and bandits, tolls and trouble.  A trapper's a poacher in one county, legal the next."  He chewed on a lipful of something, perhaps adding to his lisping dialect, before he spat a mouthful of brownish liquid off to the side.  "World's gone to the depths."

Frowning at the odd turn of phrase, Anson decided to ignore it for now.  "True, the world has become more chaotic as of late, but it's hard to dwell on the darkness when the weather is so nice."  He gestured around them at the rolling countryside.  A breeze, tinted by the salt of the nearby coastline, whistled past them.  The man shrugged, obviously not one for ambience.  "Would you happen to know the name of the town up ahead?"

Those dark eyed glanced off up the beaten trail carved into the plains, noting the smokestacks and perhaps other details lost to Anson's eyes.  "Lynchwood," he said eventually.  Then he chuckled.  "Odd name for a town with no trees.  Big one in the square though.  Good folk, welcome to trappers."

Anson's stomach jerked and he had to fight hard not to let a small, exhilarated smile cross his features.  The name stuck out to him from his memories of before leaving Wales to meet with the Anthro rulers.  Lynchwood was the town where he was to meet with his contact and finally hand off the message, an unobtrusive location that would draw no real attention.  He had no idea he had been so close already.  Then his stomach sank a bit.  How heartbreaking it would have been to find out such information if Crym had indeed run off with the letter?  He didn't want to dwell on it.

"That is good to know," he told the man.  "Thank you very much!"  He bowed his head respectfully.

"That a no then on the joining us?" the trapper asked, again arching that scarred brow.

"Sadly I must decline," Anson replied, hoping that it wouldn't be considered rude.  His eagerness to be gone must have shown for the man narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion.  "I've been on the road for quite a while and dearly wish to relax with a good drink and a roof over my head," he added.

That made the trapper nod understandingly.  "Fault you, can't," he grumbled, spitting off to the side again.  "World's a more dangerous place now, so I've said a time before too many to count."  His rambling, disjointed method of speech had Anson struggling to keep up.  "Wanting company there?"

Anson was about to finally relent and agree when something stuck out to him.  The entire time he and the trapper had been conversing, he noted that, at the distant campsite, the other two men had never once looked away from their position on the road.  Having trained himself to be as alert and aware as he could while on his dangerous voyages across country, Anson couldn't help but feel those eyes upon him.  He couldn't tell if they were friendly or not, but the intensity and never-wavering attention of their eyes was hardly comforting.  Suspicions were what they were, but something about all of this suddenly had him eager to be gone, rudeness perceived or not.

"I'd hate to pull you away from your companions and meal," he responded, smiling through his teeth down at the man.  "I do appreciate the offer."  He adjusted the strap of his pack meaningfully.  "Best of luck with the trapping.  Gods preserve"

The trapper looked at him thoughtfully, rolling the wad of whatever stuff he had packed into his bottom lip around.  His eyes glanced up and down Anson's frame, taking in every detail about him.  They lingered just a second longer on the satchel and the sword at his waist before looking back to Anson's brilliant green orbs.  "Aye, preserved by god and all that," he responded.  "But I'd really rather not having a young lad wandering by his self.  Dangerous roads, and all."

Anson's hand tightened on the strap of his satchel.  Every instinct was beginning to tighten in preparation to run.  He didn't see an obvious weapon on the man, nor any being adjusted by the men off in the distance, although they had since stood up from around the campfire, facing the pair of them directly.  For all his sharp eyesight, neither he, nor his conversing companion, noted the soft thud of heavy footfalls.

A heavy presence fell across them both.  Anson and the man both sensed it at the same time and turned swiftly to look at who had somehow snuck up on them.  He blinked in surprise before a soft, wary smile graced his handsome, stubbly features.  His trapper friend did not share the same reaction as he looked up at the huge figure looming over them.

Crym in turn gazed down at the scar-faced man with an intense, level gaze in her singular, flame-yellow eye beneath her dark, indigo tresses.  Despite all her armor, she could move with incredible speed and stealth when needed, apparently.  She didn't once glance at Anson, keeping her transfixing, unpredictable attention squarely fixed on the dirty-faced man.  He in turn stared up at her in open shock.

Anson tried to gauge the wavering facial reactions he made before, at last, Crym broke the tense silence.  "Not bothering my traveling companion, are we?" she asked him, voice unaggressive and surprisingly polite.  He shook his head swiftly, still saying nothing.  "Sorry it took me so long to catch up," she growled over at Anson but didn't once look at him.  "Some bodyguard I am, right?"

"It's no trouble," he breathed out in relief, although he was a touch confused by her suddenly claiming to be his bodyguard.  He wasn't sure how, but he got the feeling that she had just somehow saved him from possible trouble.  He wasn't the best at reading people, most of the time, but this situation had started to feel very claustrophobic from the mounting tension.  "This kind gentleman let me know the name of the town we are heading to.  Lynchwood, you said was the name?"

The man nodded, eyes glancing once at Anson then back up at the hulking, nine foot tall Lesser Royal Anthro.  He took a step back, quite possibly unsettled by that unwavering, flat intensity of her studious gaze.  Even as grateful as he was to her right then, even the messenger noted her rather out-of-character and sudden taciturn mood.

"How gracious of him," she growled softly.  "Well, sorry to seem rude, but we need to get going."  Her tail waved slowly behind her, armor-plates clattering softly.  The man nodded and began to step back from her.  "I didn't catch your name," she said suddenly, again transfixing the man like a mouse before a snake.  Anson knew very well how that felt, even if Crym had never really looked at him like that specifically.  Her expression was quickly starting to unsettle him even more.

Crym was a being of tempestuous expression, switching from passionate anger to dour moodiness and then right back to lewd jokes and boisterous laughter.  But this flat-eyed, unexpressive look of hers was quite possibly even more uncomfortable than her wrath and sorrowful outpouring the previous night.  It reminded him too much of how she had looked when threatening to kill him the day prior.

"Douben," the man replied at last.

The Dragon woman nodded.  "I'll remember the name and toast you when we get to town for our drinks," she growled softly.  She turned at last from the man and looked down at Anson.  The look on her muzzle did not waver but a tiny bit more light sprang to her eyes, even if it wasn't all that comforting.  She was obviously deep in thought about something, and the subtle smell of her Aggression was notable now.  "Let's get going."

Anson nodded and watched Crym stomp off past him.  He gave Douben another nod and slight bow of his head before he hurried after his giantess friend.  He looked back only once to see the trapper was still looking after him.  His companions had seemingly hurried over in the interim of the conversational lull and stood off a dozen paces from their friend.  Something about their dirty, intense faces made Anson hurry more to catch up with Crym who had quite a lead on him already.

As soon as he came abreast of the Anthro, she actually stepped a bit closer, looming over him more.  Her armored tail brushed his side slightly, making him start and then look up at her horned head so high above him.  Only now did he truly appreciate how big she was, and felt truly grateful for the first time for how intimidating Anthros could be for the sake of bulk alone when compared to even a healthily bodied Human.  It didn't make him see her as somehow monstrous but he had a sinking feeling that if she had not shown up, something might have gone very badly.

"Thank you," he told her, following up on those same feelings of gratefulness to his bizarre traveling companion.

Crym just stomped along silently.  The side that faced him was the one with her blinded eye, gleaming pale white beneath her hanging curtain of dark hair, and thus betrayed nothing of her inner thoughts.  He caught himself staring at the contrast of her bloody-red scales, noting now that in the brightness of the morning sun that along her muzzle, throat, and what was visible of her abdomen beneath the armor was even darker red than the rest of her.  That, coupled with the wavering shimmers of the dark blue notes of her hair, the gleam of her polished armor, and the trembling ripples of her muscular limbs as she walked, combined to make one thing perfectly clear to Anson:  there had never existed a more beautiful woman than her at that given moment.  Or more a complicated and enigmatic one.

Seemingly having noticed his staring, her head turned abruptly, almost bird-like, to look down at him.  His face flushed, half expecting her to make some quip or joke but instead she just snorted.  Her eyes narrowed slightly and then she looked away from him once again.  Her jaw noticeably clenched, making her teeth gleam slightly where they became visible beneath her lips.  She muttered something then in a language he wasn't familiar with.

"Sorry?" he asked.

She snorted again.  "Nothing," she grumbled.  She lengthened her stride, forcing him to speed up slightly to maintain their proximity.

"What's your hurry?" he asked, puffing slightly to keep up.

"I need a drink," the Anthro growled.  "Humans always give me a headache when I have to deal with them for extended periods of time.  You're half my size but twice as prone to attract trouble and attention it seems."

"You mean with Douben?"  She didn't respond but her tail lashed angrily.  Anthro body language was both more open and much more reserved compared to his kind's, if you knew where and how to look for its subtle queues.  "So it wasn't just me?  You felt something off about him too?"

Crym ignored him.

He chanced a look back over his shoulder, half expecting to see the trio of men following them.  They'd already made considerable distance since leaving them behind.  When he glanced ahead, he saw the indistinct shape of Lynchwood steadily growing nearer.  He glanced again at Crym who was still keeping her eyes firmly on the road ahead.

"Well...in regards to a drink," he tried to jokingly begin with.  "I'd offer to buy you a round or two, but I suspect that it would be difficult to do so, what with you having appropriated my coin purse last night.  Guess we can just call it your...fee as my 'bodyguard'."  He chuckled but only heard her give a huffing growl in response.  A second later, something flickered through the air and almost struck him in the nose, making him start.  He barely caught it, almost stumbling.  Lifting it to inspect whatever it was, he blinked in confusion to see the money she had taken from him held in his hand, still in the leather pouch.  He looked up at her confused, having slowed and fallen behind again.

Crym had also shortened her long-legged stride, looking back at him over her scaly shoulder.  Her face made his stomach tighten abruptly.  "There you go then," she barked out.

He stared at her, feet grinding to a halt, still holding up the purse.  She paused as well, half turning to face him.  His eyes searched her inhuman face for any sort of explanation for her behavior.  Would he ever understand her?  Nothing about her seemed to remain consistent; joyously joking and flirtatious one second, sullen and snarling the next.

"Did...I say something to upset you?" he asked, voice hesitant.

Her lip rolled slightly up at the corner.  "I'd have clobbered you if you had," she snapped.

"Then...can I ask why you're suddenly acting this way?"

"I act how I please," growled the Dragoness.  "I don't have time or patience to play falsehoods and false faces like Humans seem to enjoy doing so often.  Your whole species seems to enjoy duplicity as if it's second nature to you; mistrust and intrigue as natural to you as breathing and eating."

He glanced to the side, unsure how to respond for a minute.  "Humans...just distrust one another easily," he admitted.  "We are all so set on accomplishing our personal goals and motives that it's hard to not assume everyone we meet is out for the same thing, and may or may not be willing to do more than we are in order to achieve that.  Even if it means harming someone else."

"Liars, opportunists, and manipulators..." she grumbled.  "The lot of you.  Like a disease that spreads from your species.  Making liars and thieves out of everyone you meet.  It's all I can do to stomach dealing with it most of the time until I can drown it all in drink."

It was finally his turn to narrow his eyes at her and he gripped the satchel a bit tighter.  "Do you think I'm lying to you then?" he demanded.

Crym went stock-still, even her tail hovering in place as if she had been frozen in ice.  She didn't respond so he pushed harder.

"Am I attempting to deceive you?"  He took a step toward her.  "Have I lied to you in any way since we met?"

Her singular, flat yellow eye stared down at him.  Her face creased and once again took on that unexpressive mask of seeming indifference.

He glared up at the Anthro woman, emotionally exhausted in how to deal with or talk to her.  "I can put up with a lot, Crym," he actually managed to growl out.  "But someone calling me a liar crosses a line."  He lowered his burning eyes.  "I'm sorry about your sister.  There is nothing I can do to bring her back or any of the lives lost in this pointless war.  But at least I'm trying to do something to change things for the better, and believing that it is even possible.   Your hatred will bring you nothing but more suffering."  He looked back up to her.  "I don't understand you, Crym, but I at least respect you."  He held out the purse.  "If all you think of me in return is just another liar, if all you truly care about is coin and getting drunk to run away, then take this back.  I'll find my way on my own, with or without your approval."

Her eye went wide down at him.  He half expected her to swing at him as he watched her armored, scaly fist clench so hard that her knuckles cracked.  "Are you calling me a coward, Human?" she hissed softly.

"Yes.  I am," he growled.  "Because only a coward blames everyone but themselves when they have the power to change things and refuse to, hiding away and justifying what they do behind blatant short-sightedness and hate.  Your leaders believed differently until recently.  Your sister believed differently."

Crym visibly rattled her scales before him.  Her muscles tightened beneath her scaly skin and armor plating.  He thought he even saw her paw flex as if wishing she had her sword in hand.  Not that she would need it to dispatch him.  Even so, he felt no fear of her.  He wanted nothing more than to believe.  But it seemed some things truly were impossible.  Or maybe that was just the hurt talking.

"Wake up, Crym and decide.  Are you going to hide in your dreams of the past, wallowing in your pain I won't tell you how to live your life or what choices to make, but I won't let the pain and fear of the past determine how I live mine," he continued since she seemed nearly frozen in indecision.  "Hide from the world if you want, believing that everyone else is evil and that you are powerless to change anything.  I choose a different path."

And with that, he dropped the coin purse on the ground and turned his back to her.  He started walking, eyes burning and tight.  He didn't look back, blinding himself to anything but the path forward.  He thought he heard her call his name, or maybe that was just the wind on his damp cheeks, playing tricks on him as products of his hopeful imagination.  She didn't follow him.  That told him enough.

His feet ate up the trail between him and Lynchwood.  As he walked, he saw the houses and buildings of the village steadily growing more distinct against the surroundings.  Nestled between two hills on otherwise completely flat ground, it was a cozy hamlet to say the least.  Most likely a stopping point for rest for travelers, traders, merchants, and other sorts like himself.  A completely forgettable and unremarkable place.  He put aside his feelings, eyes hardened and set on completing this task to give any of this purpose or reason.

He spotted the obvious tavern easily enough, one of the largest buildings in the square, where stood a lone dark tree with reaching black branches, and walked straight through the crowd of villagers toward it.  A placard bearing some depiction of the same tree and lettering he couldn't read greeted his eyes before he shoved the doors open and stalked in on long-legged strides.

The interior of the tavern was packed with scores of people, none of which gave him even a second glance.  He ignored them, meeting any lingering eyes with a hard stare of his own until they looked away, and proceeded to wind his way through the tables and chairs to approach the bar.  He tapped on the rough surface to get the currently chattering barkeep's attention.

The man approached, wiping his hands on a cloth apron tied around his waist.  He was a solidly built and hefty man, with greying hair, sunken but friendly eyes, and a heavy corpulent look to him that spoke of a healthy appetite and good health.  He had a large, protruding nose that was a shade or two darker in color than the rest of his face for some reason.  He gave Anson a friendly smile and gestured to the rest of the tavern.

"Hello there, young sir!" he barked cheerily.  Ordinarily Anson would have found himself immediately smiling back at such a personable fellow, but his sour mood kept him from finding much cheer.  "Welcome to Lynchwood tavern!  What's your pleasure?"

Anson slung his arm down onto the bar and leaned on it more towards the man.  "I'm in town looking for friends," he replied.  He had been told to do exactly this, struggling hard to remember the specific pass phrase to give the man as he had been instructed to.  His mind was a fog.

"Friends are easy enough to come by," the man chortled.  "A few drinks here and there and any of Lynchwood might call you a distant relation!"  He grinned.  "You seem new here, but so is true of most who visit these parts."

He nodded.  "I am new."  Wracking his brains, he rubbed at his tightened temples with a hand.  Something...about a bird.  A bird was the phrase.  Then he finally remembered and met the tavern keeper's eyes pointedly.  "I'm in town for a falconer who specializes in hawks."

The glittering eyes of the innkeeper blinked several times before they visibly widened.  His friendly smile lessened somewhat and he suddenly cast a look around the interior of the tavern, fixing on somewhere over Anson's shoulder for but a second.  When Anson turned to look, no one stuck out to him at all, and when he looked back, the man was once again meeting his green-eyed gaze.

"You sure you do not seek a pigeon instead?  They carry light loads," the man replied.

Anson nodded.  "A hawk is what I see for my burden is heavy."

The man let out a deep breath before he nodded.  "Yes," was all he said, before he let go of his apron and began worming his way out from behind the bar.  "Follow me then."  Anson did so, giving the common room one final look before he followed the man out a back door.  He had the sinking feeling that someone was watching them leave but could not confirm the suspicon.

Out the back entrance to the tavern he and the innkeeper exited, down an unoccupied back alley that wound between the buildings immediately adjacent to the establishment.  The owner was a sprightly man for his considerable girth, flat shoes slapping lightly on the dirt as he circled around to the other side of his place of work.  Anson kept close behind him, eyes alert and wary.

Arriving at a double-set of cellar doors, the man leaned down and knocked three times on the wooden frame.  A long pause came, followed by two swift knocks in return and then a third slower one a second later.  The tavernkeeper nodded and turned back to look at Anson.  "Afraid I have to ask you to hand me your blade for now," he said, speaking very softly.  "Instructions were clear."

Narrowing his eyes, Anson hesitated.  "They didn't say anything of the sort to me."

Raising his big hands, the tavern keeper looked noticeably uncomfortable.  "I don't deal in these sort of issues much," he replied.  "Otto is a simple man, I say, but I follow the letter of men greater than myself without much query."  He held out his palm, trying to give a reassuring smile.

Sighing and just eager to be done with this business, Anson undid the straps of his sword from his belt and handed it over.  Nodding, Otto turned and opened the cellar doors for him then stood out of the way for him to descend the darkened stairs.

"You are to wait in the backroom until dusk," the man said quickly, now casting furtive eyes around the alley as well.  "I'll pass along your arrival to those who set this all up.  Keep that package of yours safe, whatever it is," he counseled.

Anson hurriedly stepped down into the cellar and nodded back at the tavern keeper as he reached the bottom of the stairs just as the man reclosed the doors.  Just like that, all lights were cut off save for the dim line where he could see cracks in the entrance.  When he turned back around, nothing but darkness greeted his eyes at first.  Then he heard a different man's voice say, "You took your time in getting here."  He didn't recognize it.

"I was waylaid," he replied softly.

"The letter?" the unseen man asked.

"Safe with me."

He heard a grunt and deep sigh.  "Keep a hold of it for now.  You'll probably be debriefed by the contact when they arrive.  Follow me."  Muffled footsteps began to trail away into the dark.

"I can't see," he grumbled, feeling his way forward cautiously.

"You'll adjust," replied the man gruffly.  "It isn't very far."  A sudden strong grip latched onto his outstretched hand and Anson was tugged along swiftly.  They wound their way through barely visible wracks of what had to be barrels of drink before they entered a back room of sorts.  He was just barely beginning to make things out in the gloom, hearing the door they had entered being locked behind them, before a strike of tinder and flint brought forth sparks and light once again.  A lantern was lit and lifted up onto an iron hook.

Anson turned to look across the cramped room at his contact and blinked in surprise.  The man was an Anthro, a male Feline with a dark pelt that blended easily into the shadows.  He was shirtless save for a dark, half-body length cloak of faded black and britches on his lower half.  His paws were uncovered and very decently muscled, and a single long knife hung at his waist.  Scars decorated the short muzzle from what he could tell.  Wordlessly, the man held out a paw toward him.  He dutifully pulled out the letter and handed it over.

Those yellow eyes narrowed as they both took a seat at a small table and chairs of what had to be a closet or storage room.  They inspected the obviously broken seal and then flickered back up to Anson's face, expression distrustful.  "You opened this?" he demanded.

Anson shook his head.  "I did not.  That was the waylaid issue I mentioned.  Someone ambushed me and took me captive for a while, read the letter, but ultimately let me go."

"A Human did this?" he asked harshly.

"No," Anson replied.  "Another Anthro."

The Feline grumbled and growled underneath his breath as he studied the scroll.  "I have no reason to disbelieve you, but I'll need to make sure the letter hasn't been switched in that case.  It was supposed to be delivered unopened."  Taking a shaking breath, the dark-furred Male unrolled the letter and read it.  Those yellow-green eyes widened a touch before he hurriedly rerolled it and met Anson's gaze again.  "This is..."

"Eventful news," replied the Human courier.

"You are aware of the meaning of this letter's contents?"

Shaking his head, he looked down at the table.  "No.  I cannot read, but the Anthro who accosted me told me of what it says.  I only hope it brings some good after so much strife and anguish."

"It will," growled the Anthro.  He saw the man take a shaky breath, disturbing that stoic sternness for once, before the nearly glowing eyes closed slowly and reopened in a heavy, feline blink.  "You've done a great service to my people in carrying this safely so far.  You should be proud, Human.  I am Bex, and let me be the first of the Children of Ahn to thank you for everything you've done to bring our conflict of one hundred years finally to an end."

Nodding glumly, he would normally have felt great pride and accomplishment in such praise.  Now, however, all he could feel was...something else.  Some things would be different after today.  But others it seemed were doomed to never stray from the path they had chosen.

"This...Anthro," continued Bex.  Anson looked warily back up to those glowing eyes.  "May I ask who they were?"

"A female," he responded.  He didn't feel like getting into it.  "A lost, wayward soul.  She originally intended to take the letter for herself but decided not to."

The man growled fiercely.  "Such are many of the Forsaken who abandon our Rulers in these trying times," he grated out, voice harsh but subdued.  "I am thankful only that she stayed her paws, lest she might have doomed our peoples to yet more bloodshed.  Spirits damn those like her who abandon their allegiances we have long held dearest to us."

Something in Bex's voice made Anson abruptly glare up at the Feline.  "It's not always that simple," he snapped.  The Anthro blinked in surprise at his tone.  "Blind allegiance does no one any good.  She lost much in this war and thus lost her way.  I tried to help her find it..."  He looked back down, face hot and tight again.

Bex sighed.  "I apologize, you two must have...been close?"

"I never met her before yesterday," he admitted.  "But she was a strong, independent woman just trying to find her way in life after everything she cared about was taken.  I wouldn't have blamed her if she had killed me.  She nearly did."  He unconsciously rubbed at the back of his neck.

"You are interesting, Human," Bex said, voice softer now and tinged with something close to respect.  "To be so open-minded when working as a simple messenger.  There is something...very Anthro-like in your speech.  It does your people great pride that we are not quite so different after all.  This letter alone proves that peace is possible.  Not just for the higher powers who move the masses like mountains parting a river's flow, but even more especially when it is the lesser workers, such as you or I, that can find common ground.  The blades of grass that move against the breeze."  He blinked slowly, solemnly again.

Anson returned the gesture with a bow of his own head.  "Thank you, Bex," he sighed.  "What will you do after this?"

The Feline stroked his furry chin contemplatively.  "After peace is finalized?  It will take time to root out the weeds and creepers of dissent and lingering hatred after so long, but all Anthros will see the truth once the Royals proclaim it as so.  I?  I will most likely give up the spy game and settle in a place like this.  It is a quaint place and reminds me of my ancient home on Ahn, near the crystalline seas of Agginor.  The cliffs especially are..."

The sound of footsteps approaching cut Bex's words and the Feline looked up abruptly.  His ears perked fully straight and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.  Anson looked around, his own keen senses now alerted to the approaching, slowly shuffling sounds.  He glanced again at Bex.  "I thought we were going to be here alone till evening," he whispered.

"We were," hissed back the Anthro.  Now they could hear more than a single pair of boots approaching.  His paws snatched up the letter off the table and shoved it underneath the cloak, hiding it there.  He leaned forward and before Anson could stop him, made to blow out the lantern, the only source of light in the room.

"Wait!" Anson said hurriedly.  "Don't!  I won't be able to see."

Bex glared over at him, the smell of Aggression beginning to rise as panic set into them both.  "I will.  I am sorry, Human, but this letter is above either of us.  It must be protected."  And then he snuffed out the light.

All became darkness again.  Anson's heart thundered in his chest as the footsteps paused before suddenly speeding up towards where the light had no doubt been shining from underneath the doorframe.  New lights shone as the incoming mysterious intruders to the meeting place bore their own sources of illumination.  The door thudded heavily under a furious impact, lock rattling.  Another blow came, splintering the wood and rusted hinges before a third impact knocked it wide open.  Light spilled into the room from another lantern, held aloft by someone in the rear of the apparent group.

Bex made to dash out past their attackers before there came a twanging sound.  The Anthro jerked and stumbled back, hissing and coughing before he collapsed to the floor.  Anson stared in horror at the crossbow bolt sticking out from the Feline's shoulder, bloody tip emerging from the back.  He tried to jerk out his sword in response to defend the man but his hand slapped his naked side.  No weapon.

He could only watch, helplessly, as a gruff voice said, "Kill the cat.  Take the boy."  A suspiciously familiar voice.  Tinged by a lisping accent.  Something wet spattered the ground, followed by the muted sound of someone spitting.  The shadowy silhouette of a bald-headed, one-eyebrow faced man loomed out of the darkness.

Another man lurched forward, drawing a knife of his own from a belt and stowing the short, hand crossbow he had been carrying in his other hand.  Anson whirled forward without thinking and thundered into the side of the man before he could reach the wounded Bex.  "No!" he shouted, voice ringing violently around the darkened room.  The man swore as the collided and turned.

Sharp, stabbing pain pierced through his side.  Anson gasped out in shock before he looked down.  The knife was sticking out of his stomach, nearly buried to the hilt.  Blood oozed out from around it before the blade jerked back out.  He gave a strangled cry before he collapsed onto the ground, hand immediately clamping onto his wound.

The trio of trappers laughed.  Trappers.  An apt and ironic disguise for just the name alone.  "All right then, the boy wants to stand for the beast?" Douben's thick voice grated out.  "Take em both."

Strong hands hauled Anson to his feet and began to drag him out of the cellar.  He looked blearily, mind stricken with agony and fear, back toward Bex who was similarly being strong-armed out.  "Human..." the Feline groaned.  There was something there in his eyes.

One of the men struck the Anthro hard.  "Quiet, animal," the man snapped harshly.  "Beasts don't talk."

They were dragged through the cellar, which felt much colder now than it had when Anson first came here.  Or was that just him?  The only thought in his mind, as the open cellar doors came in sight, was not of his impending death by either probably torture or bleeding out of his wound gained in defense of an Anthro.  It was not even on his evident failure, for he had done everything asked of him up till this point.  Only one thing lingered in his mind as he was dragged up out into the alleyway once again.

Crym...

*TBC! Stay tuned to Part 5 and the Finale of Crossroads.*