When Murmur first left his village, he had no idea what to expect from the world beyond the trees. Looking back, the only thing he can really remember is being utterly terrified. But here he was. The first major hurdle to clear after arriving on the mainland, other than the terror, of course, was the language barrier between him and the Village-Folk. Thankfully, expecting this, Murmur had brought along an enchanted device that allowed 2 individuals touching opposite ends to share thoughts. After only about 2 weeks, he had the basics of their language and could communicate without it. This led to the greatest shock he had experienced since arriving.

  The humans he had been so terrified of hadn't been seen for roughly 10 years or more. The only references he had discovered were about the occasional wizard secluded in a tower usually being human. From what he could tell, there was some big plague that wiped most of them out. Then, over the last 50-70 years, a group had been hunting down the remaining humans, doing their best to wipe them off the face of the land. Not that he was complaining, it certainly makes things a lot less nerve-wracking for him. To his understanding, though, there were still humans out there somewhere, but none of the Village-Folk he had talked to had seen any recently.

  After that, the next big shock was the guards. Massive constructs of stone, metal, glass, soil, and several other materials he wouldn't have expected. At first, he thought the material determined the quality of protection, but then he saw one made of dirt fully encase, fill it's mouth with dirt, then pop an undead from both inside and out. He quickly revised that theory. Each just had their own way of dealing with problems. The one in the current town was a masterwork of segmented iron sections that could expand and retract in a moment. A 12-foot-tall giant whose arms could extend at least 20 feet, and still lift a person into the air at that distance. Most villages had one or two, but Murmur had heard of a city farther into the continent that had 5 different guards.

  Coming to think of it, he had come to love this place. These people. This land. Even if he felt no closer to his goal than when he arrived, he had been enjoying the journey. He learned that he actually loved being a traveling merchant! Moving from town to town, buying, selling, finding the best deal. All of it was exhilarating! The love it all had snuck up on him, it seemed. And now here he was, writing in his journal, all while a bird-woman-whatever was lying on a cot in the corner of the room.

  He had convinced the cleric to let him watch over her. He wasn't exactly sure why he decided he would do that, but something about them intrigued him. They might say that curiosity killed the cat, but he didn't much care for that old saying. Seemed a bit racist by his estimation.

  After he had the cleric looking at her, he went and investigated the fallen thing in the distance. Turns out it was a large bag with a curious design. It had large fin-like projections from the sides, like solid bird wings that were always outstretched, albeit smooth, without any feathers. Inside, the contents were rather... crushed. From what he could salvage, he found fish, berries, rocks, and a knife. That was an oversimplification, of course. The Fish had articulated wings, like a cross between the fins of fish and the wings of birds. The berries made his mouth feel cold after he tried one, like some of the pleasant-smelling herbs some of the Village-folk sold in one of the towns he passed. And the rocks had the texture of resin or amber, and glowed bright enough to work as an actual light source, as well as a few various other kinds of gems; his theory was that they were some kind of currency. As for the knife, he'd never been all that experienced with knives, so he couldn't tell exactly what this kind of knife it was in terms of function, but the blade edge was made of a very interesting gemstone, it was an intruiging shade of pink, and it didn't feel as heavy as he thought it should. All of these things were wonderful! Curious! Fascinating, even.

  Since then, he'd made a project of trying to get the berry seeds to grow. Unfortunately, no luck. They didn't seem to grow in the soil he had planted them in. He figured it was the soil at least. This time, he was trying to grow them with some Primarium-infused soil, a trick from his homeland, but the seeds hadn't had enough time to take root yet, so he was watching them eagerly.

  Learning that the Village-folk had no idea about Primarium or any of the other substances made from it was another great shock to him now that he thought of it.

  Just as he was watering the seeds, giving each patch a different amount to see what amount worked best for each, he heard a shuffling noise from behind him. She was stirring. He quickly stood up and sent for the cleric.

  But before the cleric had arrived, she had made a soft groaning sound, and her eyes fluttered open. He stood up and approached her, then sat on the bed a few feet away from the cot.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked her. Her head groggily looked over at him, and once she saw him, she seemed to panic for a moment and felt at her back, though, she relaxed visibly after she grabbed her wings. It almost seemed like she was checking to see if they were still there. Curious.

  "Would they have gotten off and run away?" He asked jokingly, and she looked at him again, squinted, then seemed to have her fear decrease visibly.

  "Hvar er ek?" She said in a questioning tone as she looked around the room, sitting up at the same time.

  "Hverr ert tú?" She said, looking at him, again with that tone of a question. Judging from context clues, he could assume she was asking where she was and... who he was? Murmur wasn't completely certain. He wasn't sure if she could understand him or not, but he knew that he didn't understand her.

  "...Hvat ert tú?" She said, eyeing him up and down, an odd look on her face. He wasn't exactly sure how to interpret it, maybe curiosity?

  "Well, I don't exactly know what you are saying, but I'm going to assume you are asking where you are. Can you understand what I am saying?" He asked. In response, she gave him an incredibly awkward smile, eyebrows tenting. Looking at her teeth, he could see that she had oddly sharp ones. There was what appeared to be 3 really large teeth, one in the middle facing upwards, and two on the sides, facing down, about where his own fangs were. If he had been less experienced with other cultures, he likely would have taken it as a sign of aggression. But he had learned over the last year that other cultures didn't view showing one's teeth as aggressive.

  "Ek skil eigi hvae tú segir." She spoke again. This one wasn't a question, but it sounded almost apologetic. That was enough, he was grabbing the mind sharing rod. He held up a finger, then opened both hands as if to say "one moment, stay here", and stepped over to his bag in the corner of the room, digging around, looking for the rod.

  At that exact moment, the cleric arrived, opening the door and stepping in. Before Murmur knew what was happening, the stranger had stood up, yelled "Innrásarmaer!", and was diving at the cleric with a knife she had pulled from underneath the hem of her pant leg. They had obviously searched her when they were patching her up, but they had tried to respect her dignity, so didn't remove any clothing that wasn't masking any wounds.

  The cleric just calmly stepped to the side, hands never leaving their sleeves. In the next moment, a massive iron hand shot through the doorway and grabbed her by the face, then pulled her out the door. It seemed that the guard was, thankfully, accompanying the cleric today. Murmur ran to the door and looked out, standing beside the cleric as they watched the exchange outside.

  "Brynjaer skrímsli! Settu mig nieur svo ae ég geti skorie tig eins og eela!" She yelled as she began flailing at the guard. At one point, she even threw the knife directly into one of its eyes. Of course, it couldn't care less. Murmur wasn't actually sure how the creature saw, but from what he could tell, they didn't need to look at you to see you. In response, the guard just calmly reached up with its other hand and pulled the knife out, tossing it to the ground.

  Seeing that the knife had done nothing, she just slumped, going limp in the immovable grasp.

  "Come now, Jeremy, the girl was simply frightened by my sudden entrance. Put her down so that we can talk to her." Said the cleric in the incredibly nasally voice that seemed natural to the Village-Folk. In response, the Guard made some odd growling sounds, akin to that of groaning metal, followed by a clicking noise that reminded Murmur of gears, or the ticking of a clock.

  "Well, if she tries to attack me again, just grab her again. She hasn't hurt anyone this far, so there really isn't any harm in letting her down." Murmur didn't quite trust that, but the clerics of the villages were all some of the most trustworthy individuals he knew. They were each also incredibly skilled in holy magic, which was formidable against the undead.

  The moment she had been put down, she immediately tried sweep its leg out from underneath it. Unfortunately for her, the guard was around 12ft tall and roughly 30 tons of nearly solid iron. She cried out in pain, then immediately tried to tackle it. The hundred-something-pound girl was trying to shove this iron giant to the ground.

  "She's not really the most intelligent, is she?" Murmur asked, chuckling. When he looked over at the cleric, they were curiously examining her. Unlike Murmur, they weren't laughing, instead just smiling softly.

  "Perhaps, but she could also just be very confident in her abilities. Personally though? She seems desperate more than anything." The cleric responded after a moment, and Murmur took another look at her. She did genuinely seem desperate. Despite her injuries, despite having basically just kicked a wall, she still gritted her teeth and pushed with all her might, even when it was clear that it wouldn't get her anywhere.

  "Hmmm... Actually, I think I have a theory... Jeremy, please gently grab her and turn her to face me. Be careful of her injuries." The cleric continued, calmly giving commands to the guard. Upon hearing them, the guard, without looking up, made another deep groaning noise. Calmly, it grabbed her by the back of her head and spun her around to look at the cleric.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Upon seeing them, her eyes filled with fear, anger, and hatred, but as she stared at him for a few moments longer, she seemed to examine them again, her eyes narrowing.

  "Bíea, ert tú eigi innrásarmaer?" She said to herself, her tone was questioning, yet feeling like a realization. With her calming down, the cleric smiled a bit wider, their gentle eyes crinkling at the corners under their heavy brow.

  "Ah, so that is it, is it? I understand, little one. Jeremy, please put her down; she shouldn't be a threat any longer." The cleric requested, with a comforting tone of understanding. Murmur was confused; he tried to give the cleric a questioning look, but they just continued staring down at the girl on the ground.

  "Hverjir eru tér allir? Hvar er ek? Hvar er ek? Hvar ER EK?" She said. Now that the danger had passed, and with what had happened, it seemed that she was beginning to spiral a bit, repeating that last phrase a few more times. She huddled onto the ground and brought her knees to her chest and buried her face in them, both arms and right wing wrapping around her. She couldn't move the left one, with it being in a large splint.

  "Now now, little one." Said the cleric, crouching down, finally removing their hands from their sleeves to extend one down to her.

  "Let us get you inside and get some tea in you. It will help." They continued, very gently placing a hand on her uninjured shoulder.

  Something about their demeanor managed to break through her spiral and catch her attention. She jumped visibly, but after only a moment, she took the offered hand. As they were walking back into the building, Murmur finally caught the cleric's eyes. Realizing his confusion, the cleric spoke one chilling word in explanation.

  "Vindilla."

  Murmur understood. The Vindilla. Grey-skinned cousins to the Village-Folk, or "Villiffa" as they were technically called. The Vindilla were twisted. They pillaged and raided villages, killing or kidnapping all they found. They were like the stories of the humans he had heard growing up. Now that he thought about it a bit more, it made sense. The crossbow bolt head lodged in her side, and the way she reacted to the cleric, as if they were hostile.

  They walked back into the building. The cleric guided her into a seat, then began making some tea. The girl, for her part, sat there, staring off into space. She seemed like all the spirit had drained from her. Murmur felt awful for her. He had only had one interaction with the Vindilla raiders before. In one of the other towns he had visited.

  The bells rang, and a small army of grey-skinned people came charging into town, some wielding crossbows, others wielding large battleaxes, others riding on massive twisted beasts. That attack didn't contain any spellcasters, thankfully, but he had heard of other raids with casters and alchemists. It was honestly terrifying. Thankfully, that town had 2 guards, One of wood, and one of glass. The wood one acted a lot like the iron one from this village, but instead of expanding mechanically, the limbs grew rapidly and speared them with splintered wood, but the glass one was unique from all he had seen.

  If It held still, it was a perfect glass statue of a giant Village-folk, but to move, the glass would fracture at the points of deformation and re-solidify into the new pose when it stopped moving, looking as if it had always been that way. So if it bent its arm, the glass of the elbow would gain a massive spider-web of cracks, shattering all throughout it, then, once it stopped, those cracks would seal. If the arm twisted, every little muscle movement would require a million little cracks. In terms of combat, it was brutally efficient, and it could break off pieces of itself and control them freely, making little clouds of glass shards or particles that could float around in the air. Murmur looked out of the window once during the raid, only to see what appeared to be a cloud of shimmering dust go into the nose and mouth of a raider. They dropped moments later, and glass shards the size of fingers cut their way out of the raider's chest. He had been told that the guards were threats when he first arrived, but every time he saw their strength, it just reminded him how terrifying they really were.

  Regardless, the Vindilla were not to be trifled with. While guards kept the villages mostly safe, running into a group of them outside was incredibly dangerous, especially if they had a spellcaster with them. They often would kidnap a Villager and ransom them back to the village for supplies or Rulads. If the village couldn't pay, or if the Vindilla decided to, they would take the Villager away. Nobody knew what happened to them after that. They assumed that they'd be killed or used as some sort of slave.

  By the time that Murmur was done reminiscing, the cleric had already finished the tea and offered a cup to both the girl and Murmur, taking one for themself. They both sat and watched her for a time. She occasionally sipped at the hot drink and stared at the floor. After it was finished, she placed her arms on the table and rested her face against them, her eyes poking over the top and staring at the table in front of her. Eventually, Murmur broke the silence, whispering to the cleric sitting next to him.

  "She seems... troubled..." Murmur said. In response, the cleric looked over at him, raised part of their brow, and looked mildly amused, as if to sarcastically say 'Oh, you think so?', the cheeky old fart. Though he supposed that he was just stating the obvious.

  "Do you think I should get the rod?" Murmur followed up with, referring to the rod that he could use to transfer thoughts between people.

  "Hmmm... I would suggest it normally, and were she not like this, I would suggest it here. But with her current state of mind, I think the best thing to do would be to let her process everything. But if she stays like this the rest of the night, you should at least try tomorrow, even if her mental state doesn't seem to change." The cleric said, looking back towards her.

  "Alright then. Thank you for your wisdom." Murmur said, bowing his head towards the cleric.

  "It's just my job. That being said, I should probably get back to the chapel. I had a few potions brewing, and I should go make sure they haven't over-stewed." The cleric responded as they stood and made their way to the door.

  "Thank you for staying behind to care for the girl. I know you are eager to move on to the next town."

  "No no, it's my pleasure. I appreciate you all for having me despite my extended stay." Responded Murmur, standing and giving the proper show of respect, left hand over the right forearm, and right hand under the left forearm, palms inward, then bowing gently forward, back straight.

  The cleric returned the gesture, arms in sleeves, then made their way out of the building, being careful to be quiet.

  Eventually, the sun began to make its way down to the horizon, the sky becoming a shade of orange and red, eventually fading into a deep shade of purple. Once the girl saw this, she quickly stood, surprising Murmur. He saw her move to the window and look outside, shock and fear in her eyes and she watched in the direction of the sunset.

  "Hvar er Fagra-Hvel farie?" She said questioningly to him, fear in her eyes. Seems she was scared of the night—a valid worry considering that the undead roamed the night. Or maybe she was worried about how much time had passed?

  "Hví hefir gue yfirgefie oss?" Wow, she was really scared. He stepped up to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, attempting to comfort her.

  "It will be okay. The guard will protect us from the monsters." He said, as comfortingly as he could manage. Something about his demeanor seemed to calm her immediate panic, but she still seemed very scared. For a moment, he thought it would be a good opportunity to get the rod and talk to her, but after calming slightly, she just walked over to the cot and laid down, eyes still open and staring at the side of his bed a few feet in front of her.

  It seemed that she still wasn't fully settled in. So, to give her more time, he walked over to his desk and began to dig through the books on it. He found the one he had been reading, about the humans of ancient times. He was looking for references to the wings that the humans used to have in the tales of his people, and he had found a few mentions of them. The earliest mention was that the wings were "A gift from the heavens", which he found a bit odd. He eventually just decided that maybe she was from those "heavens" mentioned, whatever they were.

  Eventually, he headed to bed, stretching and yawning. He looked over at her, and she was still staring into space, though she had curled into a ball, wrapping her uninjured wing around herself. Once again feeling bad for her, he crouched by her cot in front of her and gave her a gentle smile and nodded at her in an attempt to comfort her. He then laid down in his own bed and did his best to fall asleep.

  He found falling asleep to be difficult. Long after lying down and staying still, his mind was still racing, trying to sort through everything, as well as thinking of his own home, far away across the sea. He missed it, more than he was willing to admit aloud. But he had a mission to complete-

  A sound behind him. His focus crispened. The sound of the cot creaking, then light feet pattering across the wooden floor towards him. He lay perfectly still, doing his best to keep his breathing even. He didn't feel any malice coming from her, and from what he could tell, she was just standing there, looking at him. But if he heard her try anything, he would roll out of bed, or try defend-

  She whispered something under her breath, so quiet that not even his keen sense of hearing could pick up, not that he would understand it anyway. Her footsteps retreated to the cot, and she laid back down, the cot creaking again.

  Silence.

  What was that? Did his tired brain just imagine it? Or wait, no, he thought he could hear something...

  She was breathing heavily? Yes. It was uneven, too. What was happening? Was she having trouble breathing? He thought about it. He couldn't see what would cause that. Maybe she was having some sort of panic attack? After a few moments, the sound got slightly more distinct, then suddenly:

  "Hic" She hiccuped. The exhalations were sharp and distinct... And it finally clicked for him what was happening.

  She was crying.

  It was quiet at first, but gradually it got louder and louder. Shakey breathing became sobs. Sobs became weeping. Eventually, he even heard some muffled wails into her pillow. It sounded like she was going through agony. He even heard a muffled muttering of "Móeir", "Faeir", "óeinn", or "Fagra-Hvel" between the sobs. It sounded almost like "Mother" and "Father", but as for the others, he had no idea what they could mean... Though he guessed they were family members as well? But hadn't he heard that last one earlier? He was confused.

  Eventually, the sobs began to die down, and her breathing evened out. Slowly and carefully, he carefully turned in bed to face her. She had fallen asleep and was breathing softly. Dried tear trails streaming down her face. His sorrow for her deepened. He, too, was separated from his people. His family. But unlike her, he left willingly. If he imagined being where he was against his will... the thought of it tore at his heart. It was at that moment that he decided he would do what he could to help her if he could.

  With that decision, his mind finally found some kind of peace, and sleep began to take its hold over him, and unconsciousness claimed him.