"Will we be able to fit the wagon inside?" Cyrus asked. He held onto the side as the wagon bounced over a rock. On either side, the trees swept by, their leaves and branches intertwined, leaving only shadowy gaps behind.
"No, we'll have to leave it outside," Berrodin said. "We'll gather pine, and cover the boar in-"
The wagon jerked to a stop, throwing Berrodin forward, and slamming Cyrus into the bench. He scrambled to his feet as the corpse slid towards him, slipping across the wet wood. The worn threads snagged on a loose nail, and the boar's snout slipped through the tear. As the jagged tusks carved through the wood, Cyrus jumped over the side, and landed in the mud.
Berrodin scrambled down, and grabbed Cyrus's arm. "Are you alright?"
Cyrus brushed a bit of the mud from his tunic. "I'll live for now. What happened?"
Berrodin walked around the wagon, and dug some mud away from the wheel. "Here. It looks like we struck a rock. Try lifting it while I have Starvhost pull. Hopefully, we'll be able to break free."
Cyrus pressed his shoulder into the wagon as Berrodin took the donkey's lead. With a bit of coaxing, the beast dug its hooves into the mud. As a rut formed, the wagon creaked forward, its wheels groaning.
Cyrus gritted his teeth as the wagon lifted up, his feet threatening to slip out from beneath him. Then, with a jerk, it broke free, rolling another few feet before Berrodin managed to stop Starvhost.
"Hopefully we won't get stuck again. I don't think I have the strength to lift the wagon twice," Cyrus said, rolling his shoulder. After climbing back into the wagon, he slumped against the back, and eyed the boar. He frowned as a drop of blood dripped from its tusks. "Say, did you get scratched?"
"Hmm? Oh, it seems I did," Berrodin said, rubbing his leg. "Nothing more than a small nick. A dab of hilagren root oil, and I should be fine by morning. It's far from the wound Ferin received."
"If you say so," Cyrus said. He settled back as the wagon rattled forward, keeping an eye on the boar's tusks.
By the end of the hour, the only light guiding them was Berrodin's lantern, and the flickering clouds. As they rounded a bend, the trees fell away, opening to a small grove beneath a circle of swaying pines. Berrodin slowed the wagon, and raised his lantern.
"There it is. Our place for the night," Berrodin said.
The wavering light revealed a small cave, hidden by the shadows of a great elm. The smoothed rocky mouth glistened, calling to them as it had called to countless before. A few crates could be seen stacked inside, along with other belongings people had left behind. Several bushels of a strange root hung around the entrance, their tendrils knotted and covered in bristles.
"What type of plants are those?" Cyrus asked.
"Those are bundles of selavain root. They help keep away wild animals. Something about the way they smell," Berrodin said. He stopped the wagon beneath the elm, and hopped down. "Come on, help me get our stuff inside, and cover the wagon."
Cyrus climbed out of the wagon, and grabbed Berrodin's pack. He wrinkled his nose as he slipped into the cave, his eyes watering from the roots' pungent aroma. The smell reminded him of a room filled with diced onions and garlic.
As he set the pack against the wall, he noticed the crates were filled with sticks and split logs. The forgotten belongings also turned out to be blankets, tools, and dried herbs. Things people might need in a hurry.
"At least we won't have to gather any firewood," Cyrus said. He stepped back outside, and grabbed a few loose branches to throw over the boar's corpse. The needles created a decent cover. As he grabbed a few more, Berrodin tethered the donkey to a low hanging branch beside the cave.
"It's an unwritten rule that we always leave the cave with more than we took. It helps when we're in a situation like this," Berrodin said. He checked the knots, then patted Starvhost, before gesturing towards the wagon. "Did you already finish everything?"
Cyrus glanced at the wet branches. Only threads and small patches could still be seen. "As best as I could. I doubt doing anything else will help much."
"Then that's all we can do," Berrodin said. He grabbed his lantern, and slipped into the cave. As he set it on a cracked stalagmite, Cyrus grabbed a few of the dried sticks, and set them on the floor.
"Hold on. You're putting them in the wrong spot," Berrodin said. He gestured towards a scorched circle on the cave floor, near the entrance. "Set them up here. It's the only place where the smoke won't fill the cave."
Cyrus moved the sticks, then stood back as Berrodin created a small ball of loose bark and twigs. After wedging it into the pile, he flicked an iron rod against a flint stone, spraying out a handful of sparks.
As the clicks echoed through the cave, a few sparks caught hold, and a small flame wavered to life. Berrodin blew into the fire, helping it grow until it danced across the sticks, engulfing the pile.
"You look like you know what you're doing," Cyrus said, dragging over an empty crate for the old man.
"Thanks," Berrodin said, sitting down. "And I should hope so. I used to start a fire everyday, when I was running my forge."
"If you don't mind me asking… What happened?" Cyrus asked. He leaned against a barrel. "Why did you become the village healer?"
"It's- It's a long story," Berrodin said. He pulled an iron pot from his pack, and held it outside. The rain tinged against the metal, filling the silence. Still, neither spoke until Berrodin glanced back at Cyrus, and sighed. "If you'll grab the food out of my pack, I'll tell you."
Cyrus retrieved two potatoes, carrots, and the bundle of smoked brisket. As Berrodin hung the pot over the fire, he diced the food, before dropping it in with a splash. The old man studied him as he sat back down.