CHAPTER THREE
The Stray
The week passed in a comfortable rhythm.
Mornings began with Nera's attempts at domesticity—each one a small disaster that Orion quietly corrected while she wasn't looking. She burned toast. She over-watered the garden. She somehow got honey on the ceiling, and neither of them could figure out how.
But the house felt like home now. Their few possessions had found their places: Orion's books on a shelf he'd built from scrap wood, Nera's collection of "interesting rocks" arranged on the windowsill, the magic seed from the sprites planted in a pot by the door, already sprouting with unnatural speed.
They took quests every few days—nothing too strenuous. A lost cat retrieval (the cat had not wanted to be retrieved and had made this known with claws). A minor haunting that turned out to be a confused spirit who just needed directions to the afterlife. A request to gather rare mushrooms that Nera had completed in twenty minutes while Orion napped against a tree.
It was, in short, exactly the kind of life Orion had always wanted.
Which meant, of course, that something was about to complicate it.
* * *
The guild was busy when they arrived that morning, adventurers clustering around the quest board like pigeons around bread crumbs. Orion navigated through the crowd with practiced ease, Nera providing commentary from his pocket about everyone they passed.
"That dwarf has a very impressive beard. Oh! That elf looks grumpy. Do you think she's always grumpy or just today grumpy? The orc over there is wearing mismatched boots. Should we tell him? I feel like someone should tell him."
"Let him discover it on his own," Orion said. "Character building."
"You're so wise."
"I'm so tired."
"Those are the same thing sometimes."
They reached the quest board, and Orion began scanning the postings. Monster extermination, escort mission, another ominous "HELP" posting that seemed to appear weekly, a request for someone to test experimental potions—
"Excuse me!"
The voice came from approximately knee height. Orion looked down.
A young beastkin stood there, barely reaching Orion's chest. Fox variety, judging by the pointed ears that poked through rust-red hair and the fluffy tail that swished nervously behind them. They couldn't have been older than sixteen, with wide amber eyes and a smattering of freckles across their nose.
A bronze badge hung from their worn leather armor, polished to a shine that suggested obsessive maintenance.
"You're him!" the young fox exclaimed. "You're Orion Stargrass! The one who negotiated peace with the sprites! And defeated the shadow beast in the eastern caves! And—"
"I didn't defeat any shadow beast," Orion said.
"But Mister Vex said—"
"Vex says a lot of things."
The young adventurer's ears drooped slightly, but they rallied quickly. "Well, the sprite thing was real! Everyone's talking about it! They say you walked into their territory alone and came out with a treaty and a magical seed and the farmer says her apples are already growing better!"
Orion glanced at Nera, who had emerged from his pocket to observe this interaction with undisguised delight. She gave him a tiny shrug that said: you did do that, technically.
"It wasn't that impressive," he said.
"It was very impressive!" The fox's tail wagged despite their obvious efforts to appear professional. "I'm Pip! Pip Copperfield! Bronze rank! I've been an adventurer for three months and I've completed twelve quests and I only failed two of them and one of those wasn't really my fault because the map was wrong!"
"Nice to meet you, Pip." Orion turned back to the quest board, hoping this would end the conversation.
It did not.
"I was wondering," Pip continued, practically vibrating with nervous energy, "if maybe you might possibly consider potentially letting me come with you on a quest? To learn? I wouldn't get in the way! I'm very good at not being in the way! I can carry things! I have a sword!"
They gestured to the weapon at their hip. It was, charitably, a sword. More accurately, it was a piece of metal that had sword-like aspirations but had been disappointed by life. The blade was nicked, the edge dull, the hilt wrapped in what appeared to be old cloth bandages.
"That's your sword?" Nera asked, flying down to examine it more closely.
"It was my grandfather's!" Pip said proudly. Then, with less pride: "He wasn't an adventurer. He was a fisherman. It's actually a fish-gutting knife, technically, but it's big enough to be a sword if you believe in it."
"That's..." Orion searched for a diplomatic word. "Optimistic."
"I know I need a better one." Pip's ears flattened. "I've been saving up. Steel swords are expensive, though. The cheap ones break and the good ones cost more than I make in a month of quests."
"What about your guild stipend?" Orion asked. Bronze rankers received a small monthly allowance to help them get established.
"I send it home." Pip said this simply, without self-pity. "My family's farm had a bad year. They need it more than I do."
Orion looked at the young fox—barely more than a kit, really, carrying a fish knife into danger so they could send money to their family. It was stupid. It was reckless. It was exactly the kind of thing Orion would have done at that age, if he'd had a family worth sending money to.
He sighed.
Nera recognized that sigh. It was the sigh of someone whose defenses were crumbling.
"One quest," Orion said. "You can come on one quest. You follow instructions, stay behind us when there's danger, and if I tell you to run, you run. Understood?"
Pip's face lit up like a sunrise. Their tail wagged so hard their whole body wiggled with it.
"Yes! Yes, absolutely! I'll follow every instruction! I'll be the best follower of instructions you've ever seen! Thank you thank you thank you!"
"Don't thank me yet. We haven't picked the quest."
"I don't care what it is! It could be cleaning sewers! I'd clean sewers with you! That would be an honor!"
"Please don't call cleaning sewers an honor."
"A privilege! A meaningful experience!"
"Let's just... look at the board."
* * *
They settled on a quest that seemed manageable: investigating reports of unusual activity in an abandoned watchtower half a day's travel from the city. The posting mentioned strange lights at night and missing livestock from nearby farms. Probably bandits. Possibly undead. Either way, nothing too dangerous for a Silver rank party with a Bronze tag-along.
Pip chattered the entire way there.
Orion learned that Pip was the youngest of six siblings. That their favorite food was honey cakes. That they'd always dreamed of being an adventurer ever since a traveling hero had passed through their village when they were eight. That they'd practiced sword forms with a stick for years before finally saving enough to make the journey to Silverbrook. That they were terrified of heights but working on it. That they once ate a bug on a dare and it wasn't as bad as expected.
"Do you always talk this much?" Orion asked, not unkindly.
"Only when I'm nervous!" Pip paused. "And excited. And happy. And scared. And—"
"So always."
"...mostly always, yes."
Nera, who had been riding on Pip's head for the past mile—an arrangement the young fox seemed to consider a profound honor—giggled. "I like you, Pip. You have good energy."
"Thank you!" Pip's ears perked up. "I like you too, Miss Nera! You're very pretty for a pixie! Not that other pixies aren't pretty! I'm sure they are! I've just never met one before! Are all pixies as nice as you?"
"No," Orion and Nera said simultaneously.
"Pixies are usually more... chaotic," Nera added. "I'm considered very mellow for my kind."
Orion made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.
"What?" Nera demanded.
"Nothing. You're very mellow."
"I am!"
"The glitter incident was extremely mellow."
"She deserved the glitter!"
"What glitter incident?" Pip asked eagerly. "Is there a story? I love stories!"
"It's not important," Nera said quickly.
"It was a little important," Orion said.
"It was proportional justice!"
"It was definitely something."
Pip looked between them with the expression of someone watching a tennis match, delighted to be included even if they didn't understand all the rules.
* * *
The watchtower rose from a hilltop like a broken tooth, its upper floors collapsed into rubble long ago. Whatever military purpose it had once served was lost to history; now it was just another ruin in a countryside dotted with them.
But someone had been here recently. Orion could see the signs: trampled grass leading to the entrance, fresh ash from a fire, the faint smell of cooking meat.
"Bandits?" Pip whispered, hand on their fish knife.
"Probably." Orion kept his voice low. "Stay behind me. Nera?"
"On it." She zipped from Pip's head, shrinking even smaller as she flew toward the tower. A pixie her size could scout without being noticed—one of the few advantages of the form she'd chosen.
They waited in tense silence. Pip fidgeted with their weapon, clearly trying very hard not to fidget with their weapon. Their ears swiveled constantly, tracking sounds Orion couldn't hear.
"Four," Nera reported, returning to hover by Orion's shoulder. "Three humans, one half-orc. They've got a small camp set up in what's left of the ground floor. Weapons are poor quality—clubs, a rusty axe. The half-orc has a bow."
"Stolen livestock?"
"Sheep pen out back. Six of them, still alive."
"Any magic?"
"None that I could sense."
Orion nodded, already formulating a plan. Four poorly-equipped bandits weren't much of a threat, but the bow was a concern. Take out the archer first, then the others would likely surrender or scatter.
"Here's what we're going to do," he said, and Pip leaned in like a student receiving sacred wisdom.
* * *
The plan was simple: Nera would distract the archer with light tricks while Orion came in through the main entrance. Pip would guard the rear exit in case anyone tried to flee.
"Don't engage unless you have to," Orion told the young fox. "Your job is to watch and learn. If someone runs past you, let them go. We're here for the sheep, not glory."
"But what if—"
"No glory. Sheep."
"...yes, sir."
Pip looked slightly crestfallen, but they took their position without further argument. Orion waited until they were in place, then counted to thirty and walked through the front door.
The bandits were exactly where Nera had described. Three of them sat around a fire, gnawing on what was probably stolen mutton. The fourth—the half-orc archer—leaned against the far wall, bow resting across his knees.
They all looked up when Orion entered.
"Afternoon," Orion said. "You're under arrest for livestock theft. Surrender peacefully and the guild will recommend leniency."
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then the largest of the humans—a heavyset man with a scar across his nose—burst out laughing.
"Arrest? You and what army, pretty boy?"
"No army. Just me."
"He's alone," one of the other bandits said. "Just one guy."
"I can see he's alone, Dern. I have eyes."
"Just saying."
"Well, stop saying." The leader stood, cracking his knuckles. "Look, friend. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to turn around and walk away, and we're going to pretend this never happened. Otherwise—"
The half-orc archer raised his bow.
A flash of light exploded directly in front of his face.
The arrow went wide, thunking into the ceiling. The archer stumbled back, cursing and rubbing his eyes. By the time the other bandits turned to see what had happened, Orion had already moved.
He wasn't fast—not by adventurer standards. He wasn't particularly strong. But he was efficient, and he knew exactly how much force was needed to disable without killing.
The first bandit went down to a strike to the solar plexus. The second caught an elbow to the jaw that sent him spinning. The leader managed to raise his club before Orion's palm connected with his chest, and something happened—a pulse of energy, barely visible, that sent the man flying backward into the wall.
Orion blinked.
He hadn't meant to do that. He'd been aiming for a simple push, not... whatever that was. But there was no time to think about it, because the half-orc had recovered and was reaching for another arrow.
Another flash of light. This time, Nera followed it up by flying directly into the archer's face, wings buzzing like an angry hornet.
"Gah! Get it off! Get it off!"
"I'm not an 'it,' you rude person!"
Orion crossed the room in three strides and relieved the archer of his bow. A quick strike to the back of the knees brought him down, and a moment later, all four bandits were groaning on the floor.
The fight had taken less than a minute.
"Clear," Orion called out. "Pip, you can come in."
The young fox appeared at the rear entrance, eyes wide as dinner plates.
"That was... you were... they didn't even..." Pip struggled to form a complete sentence. "You're amazing!"
"I'm adequate." Orion was already pulling rope from his pack to bind the bandits. "Help me tie them up. We'll leave them for the local guard to collect."
"Yes! Right! Tying!" Pip scrambled to help, practically tripping over their own tail in their eagerness.
Nera landed on Orion's shoulder, slightly out of breath from her harassment campaign.
"That last one," she whispered. "The push that sent him flying. Was that...?"
"I don't know," Orion murmured back. "It just happened."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "It's happening more often."
He didn't answer, because he didn't have an answer. Strange things had always happened around him—lucky breaks, impossible shots, moments where the world seemed to bend just slightly in his favor. He'd always attributed it to coincidence. But lately, the coincidences were getting harder to ignore.
"Later," he said. "We'll talk about it later."
"Okay." She squeezed his earlobe gently. "I'm here."
"I know."
* * *
The sheep were returned to their grateful owners, the bandits were delivered to the guard station, and by late afternoon, Orion found himself sitting in the guild tavern while Pip recounted the battle to anyone who would listen.
"—and then he just walked in, alone, and told them they were under arrest! And they laughed! But then he moved so fast I couldn't even see it, and boom, boom, boom, they were all on the ground!"
"It wasn't that fast," Orion said.
"It was incredibly fast!"
"It was normal speed."
"Normal for a legendary hero, maybe!"
Denna, who had been nursing a drink at a nearby table, snorted. "Legendary hero? The man who takes apple-picking quests?"
"He negotiated with sprites!" Pip protested. "And today he defeated four bandits single-handedly!"
"Four whole bandits." Denna's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Alert the bards."
"Where's Vex?" Orion asked, partly to change the subject and partly out of genuine curiosity. He'd grown used to the half-elf's presence—or at least, used to avoiding it.
"Recovering." Denna took a long drink. "He decided to arm-wrestle a minotaur last night. For 'honor.'"
"Who won?"
"The minotaur. Obviously." She paused. "Vex did last longer than expected, though. Almost three seconds."
"A personal best," Nera said solemnly.
"It was, actually." Denna almost smiled. Almost.
Pip had been listening to this exchange with the intense focus of someone trying to memorize every word. "Are you Miss Denna? The mage who fought two wyverns? Mister Vex told me about that!"
"Did he mention that he almost got us killed because he didn't read the quest details?"
"He said there were... extenuating circumstances."
"The circumstances were that he's an idiot."
"He seems nice, though!"
"He is." Denna sighed, the sigh of someone who had accepted their lot in life. "He's a nice idiot. The worst kind. You can't even stay properly angry at him."
Orion found himself nodding in agreement. Vex was exhausting, but there was something genuine about his enthusiasm that made it hard to truly dislike him. He was like a golden retriever that had learned to swing a sword—technically dangerous, but too earnest to be threatening.
"Mister Orion," Pip said, turning back with that earnest expression that Orion was beginning to dread, "can I come on another quest with you? I learned so much today! I learned about scouting and planning and how to tie knots and—"
"You need a better weapon first."
Pip's ears drooped. "I know. I'm saving up. It's just slow."
"How much do you have?"
"Three silver." Pip pulled out a small pouch and counted the coins inside. "And... twelve copper. A decent steel sword costs at least five silver, and that's for a used one."
Orion considered just buying the sword himself. He had the money. But something stopped him—maybe the memory of his own early days, when he'd learned that gifts could be heavier than they appeared. A sword you earned meant something different than a sword you were given.
"Keep saving," he said. "When you have enough, I'll help you pick a good one."
"Really?" Pip's tail started wagging again. "You'll help me? That's—that's so—"
"Don't make it weird."
"I'm not making it weird! You're making it weird by saying don't make it weird!"
"That logic doesn't follow."
"It follows perfectly!"
Nera laughed, bright and clear, and even Denna cracked a small smile. Orion just shook his head and took a drink from his cup, wondering how his quiet life had suddenly gotten so crowded.
* * *
They left the guild as evening settled over Silverbrook, the crystal lamps flickering to life along the streets. Pip walked with them part of the way—their rented room was in the same direction—still chattering about the day's adventure.
"—and the way Miss Nera distracted the archer was so clever! I didn't even know pixies could make light like that! Can all pixies do that? Is it a common ability? My grandmother used to tell stories about pixies but she never mentioned—"
"Pip." Orion stopped walking.
"Yes?"
"Breathe."
"Oh." Pip took a deep breath, held it, let it out. Their tail slowed its frantic wagging. "Sorry. I get excited."
"I noticed."
"It's a problem. My sisters always said I talk too much. They said I should learn to be quiet sometimes. I'm working on it. It's hard."
Orion studied the young fox for a moment. Sixteen years old, sending money home to a struggling farm, carrying a fish knife into battle because they couldn't afford a real sword. Still somehow optimistic despite it all.
"Talking isn't a problem," he said. "Just learn when to be quiet. Mostly when there might be enemies nearby."
Pip nodded vigorously. "Right. Quiet for enemies. Talking for friends. Got it."
"And I'm not your friend," Orion added, though even as he said it, he knew it sounded weak.
"Of course not!" Pip agreed quickly. "You're my mentor! That's completely different!"
"I'm not your—"
"Thank you again for today!" Pip bowed quickly, nearly overbalancing. "I'm going to practice everything you taught me! The knots especially! I'll have the best knots!"
They scampered off down a side street before Orion could protest further, their tail bouncing behind them.
Nera emerged from his pocket, grinning. "You have a student."
"I do not."
"You definitely do. You should have seen your face during the fight, when they were watching you. You were being very careful to demonstrate proper form."
"I was fighting efficiently."
"You were teaching."
"I was—" Orion stopped, because she was right, and they both knew it. "It doesn't matter. They'll find a better mentor eventually. Someone who actually wants the job."
"Mm-hmm." Nera's tone suggested she didn't believe this for a second.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the city settling around them like a blanket. Merchants closing their shops, families calling children in for dinner, the distant music of a street performer. Orion found himself thinking about Pip—about the fish knife and the bronze badge and the earnest determination in those amber eyes.
A better sword would help. But Pip needed to earn it themselves. That was important, somehow.
"We should check the market tomorrow," he said. "See what's available. So when Pip does have enough money—"
"So you can just happen to know where to find a good deal?"
"Exactly."
"You're a softie."
"I'm practical."
"A practical softie."
He didn't argue. There wasn't much point.
* * *
The detour through the market district was supposed to be brief—just a quick look at the weapon stalls to get a sense of prices. But as they rounded a corner into the main square, Orion stopped.
There was a cart there that hadn't been there yesterday. He was sure of it—he'd walked this exact route three times this week, and he would have noticed.
It was an odd cart, painted in faded colors that might once have been bright. Symbols decorated its sides, but they seemed to shift when Orion tried to focus on them, sliding away from direct observation. A canvas awning provided shade for the wares displayed on fold-out tables: bottles of strange liquids, bundles of dried herbs, crystals that glowed faintly, jewelry that seemed too ornate for a street vendor, and—
Weapons. A small selection, but high quality from what Orion could see.
And sitting behind the cart, smoking a pipe that produced purple smoke, was the oldest man Orion had ever seen.
"Old" didn't quite capture it. This man looked like time itself had gotten tired of waiting for him and had simply given up. His skin was weathered to the texture of ancient parchment, his beard a cascade of white that pooled in his lap, his eyes hidden beneath eyebrows so bushy they could have housed a family of sparrows.
But those eyes—when they opened and fixed on Orion—were sharp. Bright. Aware.
"Evening, travelers," the old man said, his voice like rustling leaves. "Looking for something specific, or just browsing?"
"Just looking," Orion said, though he found himself drifting toward the weapons display almost involuntarily.
"Everyone's just looking until they find what they need." The old man puffed his pipe. "That's the nature of searching."
Nera had gone very still in his pocket. Orion could feel her tension, her sudden alertness. He didn't know why, but he trusted her instincts.
The weapons on display were varied: a pair of elegant daggers, a mace with a crystal head, a bow that seemed to be made of living wood. And there, nestled between a short spear and a hand axe, was a sword.
It was small—sized for someone shorter than average, or perhaps someone young. The blade was steel, unadorned but well-crafted, with a simple crossguard and a leather-wrapped hilt. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't magical. It was just a good, solid weapon, the kind that would serve its wielder well for years if properly maintained.
It was exactly what Pip needed.
"Ah," the old man said, following Orion's gaze. "You've spotted the steel blade. Good eye. That one's been waiting for someone."
"Waiting?"
"Items find their owners, young man. We merchants just facilitate the introduction." He took another puff. "You're not in the market for a sword yourself, though. You carry your weapons differently. This one's for someone else."
Orion didn't ask how the old man knew that. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"How much?"
"For you?" The old man considered. "Three silver, fifteen copper."
That was absurdly cheap. A blade of that quality should cost five silver at minimum. Orion had checked the prices just this morning.
"That's too low," he said, because something about this situation demanded honesty.
"Is it?" The old man smiled, revealing teeth that were surprisingly white and complete for someone his age. "Perhaps I've had it too long. Perhaps I'm tired of it waiting. Perhaps the right price is whatever gets it to where it needs to be."
"And where does it need to be?"
"You tell me." Those sharp eyes crinkled with amusement. "You're the one who stopped to look, aren't you?"
Orion thought about Pip. Three silver and twelve copper in a small pouch, saved coin by coin while sending the rest home. Just short of what a used blade would cost, nowhere near enough for something new.
Three silver and fifteen copper.
Almost exactly what Pip had, plus their share from today's quest.
"Coincidence," he muttered.
"If you like." The old man's smile didn't waver. "People often prefer that explanation."
Orion was about to respond when he noticed the old man's gaze shift—just slightly, just for a moment—toward his shirt pocket. Toward Nera.
It wasn't the casual glance of someone noticing a pixie. It was something else. Something knowing.
The look lasted less than a second. Then the old man was focused on Orion again, expression perfectly innocent.
"I'll take it," Orion said. "But I'm not buying it. I'm going to tell someone else where to find it."
"Even better." The old man inclined his head. "I'll hold it until tomorrow evening. After that, I may be elsewhere."
"Where?"
"Wherever I'm needed, young man. That's the nature of my work."
Orion hesitated. "I didn't catch your name."
"Didn't give it." Another puff of purple smoke. "But you can call me Thistle. Most do, when they call me anything at all."
"Thistle."
"Like the plant. Prickly on the outside, but useful if you know how to handle it." He winked—actually winked, which should have looked ridiculous on someone his age but somehow didn't. "Take care of yourself, Orion Stargrass. And your little companion."
Orion hadn't given his name.
He opened his mouth to ask how the old man knew it, but Thistle had already turned away, fussing with something on the far side of his cart, clearly done with the conversation.
Orion walked away faster than strictly necessary.
* * *
"He saw me."
They were home now, the door closed and locked behind them, the evening quiet settling over their small house. Nera sat on the kitchen table in her human form, her expression troubled.
"Saw you how?"
"Not just as a pixie. He looked at me like..." She struggled for words. "Like he knew. Like he could see what I really am."
Orion sat down across from her. "Is that possible? I thought your disguise was—"
"It is. It should be." She hugged her knees to her chest. "Even powerful mages can't usually see through it. Only about ten percent of people can, and they usually just see 'something strange,' not the full truth."
"But he did."
"I think so." She looked at him, her ancient eyes young with worry. "Who is he, Orion? He's not normal. The way he spoke, the way his cart just appeared, the way he knew exactly what we were looking for—"
"I don't know." Orion reached across and took her hand, small and warm in his. "But he didn't seem hostile. He helped us, actually. The sword is perfect for Pip."
"That's what worries me." Nera's fingers tightened around his. "Things don't just happen like that. Perfect solutions don't just appear when you need them."
"Sometimes they do."
"Not in my experience." She was quiet for a moment. "What if he's connected to... to my kingdom? What if he's looking for me?"
"Then why help us? Why sell us a sword instead of turning you in?"
"I don't know. I don't like not knowing."
Orion squeezed her hand. "We'll be careful. If we see him again, we'll be cautious. But right now, all we know is that an old man sold us a good deal on a sword and looked at you funny. That's not a crisis."
"It's not nothing, either."
"No," he agreed. "It's not nothing. But it's tomorrow's problem. Tonight, we're home, we're safe, and we're together."
Nera looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiled—not her usual bright grin, but something softer. Warmer.
"When did you get so good at this?"
"At what?"
"Knowing what to say."
"I learned from someone." He stood, pulling her up with him. "Come on. Let's make dinner. Something simple that you can't set on fire."
"That's a very short list."
"I know. That's why I'm doing the cooking."
She laughed—not quite her usual brightness, but close—and followed him to the kitchen. The evening passed in quiet domesticity: dinner prepared, dishes washed, the comfortable routine of two people who had built a life together.
But later, as they lay in bed with the moonlight streaming through the window, Orion felt Nera press closer than usual. Her breathing was steady, but he knew she wasn't asleep.
"I won't let anyone take you," he said quietly. "I don't care who they are or what they want. You're my wife. That means something."
"You don't know what you're promising," she whispered back. "You don't know what I am. What kind of enemies I might have."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"Probably." He kissed the top of her head. "But I've never been good at doing what I should. Too lazy."
She laughed softly, and some of the tension left her body. "I love you, you know."
"I know."
"You're supposed to say it back."
"I love you too."
"Better."
They fell asleep tangled together, and if Orion dreamed of an old man with knowing eyes and a cart full of wonders, he didn't remember it come morning.
* * *
The next evening, Pip held the steel sword in their hands like it was a holy relic.
They'd found the cart exactly where Orion had said it would be. The old merchant had smiled and named the exact price—three silver, fifteen copper—as if he'd been expecting them. The transaction had taken less than a minute.
Now Pip stood in the guild yard, swinging the blade through basic forms, tears streaming down their face.
"I can't believe it," they said, for perhaps the twentieth time. "It's perfect. It's actually perfect. The balance is exactly right and the grip fits my hand and it's real steel—"
"Don't cry on it," Orion said. "You'll rust the blade."
"I'm not crying! I'm experiencing moisture!"
"Of course you are."
Nera hovered nearby, watching the young fox with undisguised fondness. Whatever worries she'd had about Thistle, she'd set them aside for this moment. Some things were more important than mysteries.
"How did you know?" Pip asked, finally lowering the sword. "How did you know about the merchant?"
"Coincidence," Orion said. "Right place, right time."
"That's amazing luck!"
"Something like that."
Pip didn't question it further. They were too busy admiring their new weapon, turning it to catch the fading light, marveling at the craftsmanship. A proper sword for a proper adventurer. The beginning of something.
Orion watched, and wondered, and said nothing.
Somewhere in the city, a painted cart was already gone—moved on to wherever it was needed next, carrying its mysterious cargo and its even more mysterious owner.
But that was a problem for another day.
Tonight, there was a young fox with a new sword and a future full of possibility.
Tonight, that was enough.
— End of Chapter Three —