Forbidden Bond: A Velthorn Tale

The wind whipped through Mikhail's hair as Bakule's hooves thundered across the plains. His heart raced, matching the frantic rhythm of the elk's gallop. Anora clung tightly to his waist, her small frame pressed against his back. The adrenaline coursing through his veins dulled the pain in his left thigh, allowing him to focus solely on their escape.

"Faster, Bakule!" Mikhail urged, leaning forward in the saddle. The elk snorted in response, somehow finding the strength to increase his already breakneck pace. The tall grass of the plains blurred into a sea of green as they fled, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the slave caravan and all that had happened there.

Mikhail glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit. The fear of capture spurred them onward, each beat of Bakule's hooves carrying them further from danger. Anora's grip tightened, her face buried against Mikhail's back. He could feel her trembling, whether from fear or the exertion of their wild ride, he couldn't tell.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, Bakule's pace began to falter. The elk's breaths came in ragged gasps, his sides heaving with exertion. Mikhail knew they couldn't maintain this speed much longer. His eyes darted across the landscape, searching for a place to hide. He figured that they had ridden for miles as the red elks of his village could do when healthy.

"There," he muttered, spotting a particularly dense patch of tall grass off to their right. He gently guided Bakule towards it, the elk's pace slowing to a trot as they approached.

As they reached the relative safety of the tall grass, Bakule came to a stop, his legs trembling from exhaustion. Mikhail dismounted carefully, his left leg buckling slightly as he hit the ground. A sharp pain shot through his thigh, causing him to inhale sharply. He looked down, noticing for the first time the crossbow bolt protruding from his leg, the shaft sticky with partially dried blood.

"Blast it," he cursed under his breath, the pain finally registering now that the adrenaline was wearing off. But there was no time to tend to his wound yet. He turned back to Anora, who was still perched atop Bakule, her orange eyes wide with concern as she looked about.

"It's alright," Mikhail assured her, reaching up to help her down. "We're safe for now."

Anora nodded, allowing Mikhail to lift her from the saddle. As her feet touched the ground, she looked up at him, her gaze falling to the bolt in his thigh. Her face contorted with worry, and she reached out tentatively towards the wound.

Mikhail shook his head, forcing a smile. "Don't worry about me. We need to make sure Bakule is okay first, then we'll figure out our next move."

Mikhail placed his hands on Bakules' side. It heaved as he was still recovering from their frantic escape. Despite the pain in his leg, he looked over the crossbow bolts. “Those are in deep.” He said as his leg gave out on him and he fell to his knee. Anora jumped and ran forward. Placing her arms behind his back to keep him steady. “Sorry. Leg seems to be weaker than I thought.” he told her, grinning.

Mikhail's concern then turned to Anora. Seeing the blood that covered her face.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice laced with worry. Anora shook her head, but Mikhail wasn't convinced. His gaze settled on her mouth, where dried blood caked her lips and chin. For a moment, his heart raced, fearing she'd been wounded. Then he remembered – she had bitten a chunk out of the arm of the man who'd grabbed her.

"By Aran," he muttered, reaching out to gently wipe some of the blood away with his thumb. "You're quite the fighter, aren't you?"

Anora's orange eyes met his, a mixture of pride and concern swirling in their depths. She reached up, catching his hand in hers. With a determined look, she shook her head and pointed at Mikhail's thigh, then at Bakule's wounds where the crossbow bolts had struck.

Mikhail tried to brush off her concern. "I'm fine, really. It's just a scratch."

But Anora wasn't having it. She frowned, her pointed ears twitching in annoyance. Before Mikhail could protest further, she turned on her heel and strode purposefully into the tall grass surrounding them.

"Anora!" Mikhail called after her, alarm rising in his voice. "Where are you going?"

She paused, looking back at him. Her eyes softened, and she made a gesture that seemed to say, "Stay put." Then she mimicked grinding something between her hands and pointed at his wound.

Understanding dawned on Mikhail. "You're looking for herbs? For a poultice?"

Anora nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Without another word, she disappeared into the grass, leaving Mikhail and Bakule alone in their makeshift hiding spot.

Mikhail stood and stepped to be eye to eye with the red elk. He rubbed his neck and pushed downward, causing the animal to lay down just as they had practiced during their training back in Aldernhor. Mikhail then leaned against the elk's stomach and sank to the ground, his back resting against Bakule. He marveled at Anora's resourcefulness and bravery. Despite everything she'd been through, here she was, taking charge and looking out for him. A warm feeling spread through his chest, one that had nothing to do with his injuries. It occurred to him that he still didn’t know very much about her and made a mental note to find a way to learn about her past.

As he waited for Anora to return, Mikhail kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, one hand on his spear. The pain in his leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of their narrow escape. He found himself hoping that Anora would return soon, not just for the herbs she sought, but for the comfort her presence brought him.

In the quiet of the plains, with only Bakule's steady breathing beside him, Mikhail realized just how much he had come to rely on the small, mute goblin woman if only for companionship and as he sat there, waiting and watching, he silently vowed to protect her, no matter what lay ahead.

Anora moved swiftly through the tall grass, her keen eyes scanning the ground for the herbs she needed. Her heart raced, not from exertion, but from worry for Mikhail and Bakule. She had grown fond of them both, more than she cared to admit to herself. After years of isolation and mistreatment, their kindness had awakened something within her she had thought long dead.

As she searched, her mind wandered to Mikhail's touch, gentle and caring. So different from the rough hands she'd known before. A warmth spread through her chest at the memory, quickly followed by a pang of anxiety. 'Don't get too attached,' she warned herself. 'It can't last. They always hurt you.’

Relief washed over her as she spotted the herbs she sought – yarrow for stopping blood flow, and plantain for drawing out infection. She gathered them quickly, along with some smooth, flat stones for grinding. Her orange eyes darted about, alert for any sign of danger as she made her way back to their hiding spot.

Returning, she found Mikhail sitting beside Bakule, carefully examining the elk's wounds. A mixture of exasperation and fondness filled her as she marched over to him, smacking his hand away from the animal's wound. He looked up at her, surprise and amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

Without hesitation, Anora reached for the knife at Mikhail's belt. She could feel him tense slightly as her hands brushed against his side, sending an unexpected shiver through her. Pushing the feeling aside, she focused on the task at hand, using the knife to slice open his breeches near the wound.

The crossbow bolt protruded angrily from his thigh, the flesh around it swollen and angry. Anora took a deep breath, steeling herself for what came next. With a swift, decisive motion, she grasped the bolt and pulled it free.

Mikhail's yelp of pain made her wince, guilt washing over her. But she knew it had to be done. She worked quickly, grinding the herbs between the stones and applying the poultice to both Mikhail's wound.

As she leaned in close to clean Mikhail's injury, she felt his hand brush against her face. Her breath caught in her throat as he gently tucked a stray red curl behind her right ear. The tenderness of the gesture caught her off guard, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks.

Anora froze, her orange eyes meeting Mikhail's blue ones. Time seemed to stand still as they gazed at each other, an unspoken connection passing between them. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of fear and something else – something she dared not name – coursing through her.

In that moment, Anora realized how much she had come to care for this human who had saved her, who treated her with kindness and respect. It terrified her, this growing attachment. She had learned long ago that caring only led to pain. Yet, as Mikhail's hand lingered near her face, she found herself leaning into his touch, yearning for the comfort it brought.

The spell was broken by Bakule's snort, bringing them both back to reality. Anora quickly returned to tending the wounds, her cheeks still burning. As she worked, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. Whether for better or worse, she couldn't say. But for now, she focused on the task at hand, pushing her conflicting emotions aside.

As she finished cleaning Mikhail's wound, her eyes fell on the red sash tied around his left bicep. She remembered him mentioning it was a gift from his mother. Without hesitation, she reached for it, her fingers working to untie the knot. It was just what she needed.

Mikhail's hand shot out, grasping her wrist. "Wait, what are you doing?" he asked, the alarm evident in his voice.

Anora met his gaze, her orange eyes filled with determination. She pointed to the sash, then to his wounded thigh, her meaning clear. Mikhail's brow furrowed, conflict playing across his features.

"But... my mother gave me that. It's important," he protested weakly.

Anora's expression softened, understanding in her eyes. She placed her small green hand over his larger one, giving it a gentle squeeze. Then she fixed him with a look that brooked no argument, her pointed ears twitching slightly as if to emphasize her point.

Mikhail sighed, releasing her wrist. "Alright," he conceded. "I suppose keeping the blood inside my body is more important right now huh?”

A small smile tugged at Anora's lips as she carefully untied the sash. She could feel Mikhail's eyes on her as she worked, watching intently as she wrapped the red fabric tightly around his thigh. The sash, once a symbol of his connection to home, now served as a lifeline. Anora tied it off with practiced ease, her nimble fingers making quick work of the knot.

With Mikhail's wound tended to, Anora turned her attention to Bakule. The elk lay slightly on his right side, his large tongue lapping at the wounds where the crossbow bolts still protruded. He lifted his antlered head as Anora approached, dark eyes regarding her warily.

Anora moved slowly, her hands held out in a non-threatening gesture. She motioned with her hands for him to remain calm. Bakule's ears flicked forward, and he ceased his licking, seeming to understand her intentions.

Carefully, Anora knelt beside the elk and placed one hand gently on his flank, feeling the warmth of his hide and the rapid beating of his heart. With her other hand, she grasped the first crossbow bolt. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it free in one swift motion.

Bakule let out a low bellow of pain, his muscles tensing beneath her touch. Anora stroked his side soothingly, comforting him as she quickly applied the poultice to the wound. She repeated the process with the second bolt, working as swiftly and gently as she could.

As she tended to Bakule, Anora found herself marveling at the strange turn her life had taken. Just a week ago, she had been alone, scraping by in the wilderness. Now here she was, caring for a human and his elk companion, feeling more connected to them than she had to anyone in years.

She glanced back at Mikhail, who watched her work with a mixture of admiration and gratitude in his eyes. A warmth bloomed in her chest again, and for the first time in a long while, Anora felt like she belonged somewhere. The feeling both thrilled and terrified her.

As she finished applying the poultice to Bakule's wounds, Anora allowed herself a small moment of pride at her handiwork.

Then rummaging through the saddlebag on Bakule's back, her fingers finding a soft cloth. She pulled it out and turned to Mikhail, holding it out to him. When he looked at her quizzically, she pointed at his head and face, still caked with dried blood from his encounter with Lark.

Understanding dawned in Mikhail's eyes. "Oh, right," he said, reaching for his waterskin. "I must look terrible."

He poured some water onto the cloth and began wiping away the blood, wincing slightly as he touched the tender spots where Lark had struck him. Anora watched, a mixture of concern and something softer in her gaze.

As Mikhail cleaned himself, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and purple before giving way to the encroaching darkness. The temperature dropped, a chill settling over the plains.

Mikhail tossed the now-soiled cloth aside and looked at Anora. "It's getting late, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to light a fire if those slavers are following us," he said softly. "Come, sit beside me. You should try to get some sleep while I keep watch."

Anora hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was safe to sleep. Her instincts warring between caution and the growing trust she felt for Mikhail. But exhaustion won out, and she nodded, moving to sit next to him.

As she settled in, Mikhail draped his cloak over her shoulders. The warmth of the garment, coupled with Mikhail's proximity, soon lulled Anora into a fitful sleep.

As the night deepened, Mikhail sat motionless, his senses alert to every sound and movement in the surrounding darkness. The plains stretched out before him, a sea of tall grass swaying gently in the cool night breeze. Beside him, Anora had drifted off to sleep, her small form pressed against his side, warm beneath the cloak he had draped over her.

Bakule lay nearby, his massive form rising and falling with each soft breath, antlers silhouetted against the starry sky. The elk's presence was a comfort in the vast emptiness of the plains.

Mikhail's eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, scanned their surroundings periodically. But his attention kept returning to Anora. In sleep, her face had softened, the wariness that usually marked her features melting away. Yet even in slumber, she found no peace.

Every so often, a small whimper escaped her lips, barely audible above the whisper of the wind through the grass. Her body would tremble, as if reliving some unseen terror. Mikhail's heart ached at the sight. What horrors had she endured to cause such reactions even in her sleep?

He thought back to the scar on her neck, the mark of cruelty that had stolen her voice. He wondered what had led to such an action being taken against her. He thought back to the fear in her eyes when they had first met, the distrust that had slowly given way to tentative companionship. There was so much about her past that he didn't know, so many questions left unasked and unanswered.

As Anora shuddered once more in her sleep, Mikhail instinctively tightened his arm around her, offering what comfort he could. To his surprise, she seemed to relax at his touch, her trembling subsiding.

The night wore on, and Mikhail found his gaze drawn upward to the vast expanse of stars overhead. Occasionally, a streak of light would arc across the sky – a shooting star, fleeting and brilliant. He remembered the stories his mother used to tell, about wishes granted to those who saw such celestial travelers.

Mikhail's eyelids grew heavy as he watched the cosmic display. He shook his head, trying to stay alert, but exhaustion was quickly overtaking him. His thoughts began to blur, mixing with the gentle sounds of the night – the rustle of grass, Bakule's soft breathing, Anora's occasional murmurs.

Hours passed, and Anora's eyes fluttered open. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft silver glow over the plains. She sat up, noticing Mikhail's tired eyes struggling to stay open as he leaned his head against the bakule.

She tapped his shoulder gently, pointing to herself and then gesturing around them. Mikhail looked at her, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"You want to take watch?" he asked, stifling a yawn. Anora nodded firmly.

"Alright," Mikhail conceded, "but wake me if anything happens."

As Mikhail drifted off to sleep, Anora's keen eyes scanned their surroundings. Her night vision, far superior to a human's, allowed her to see clearly in the darkness.

She watched as nocturnal creatures went about their business. An owl swooped silently overhead, and in the distance, she could make out the shapes of deer grazing in the moonlight. The howl of a wolf far off caused the deer to look up from their drawing, their ears twitching to and fro as they looked around for any immediate danger. Returning to grazing when none was found. It was peaceful, almost beautiful, but Anora remained alert.

Another number of hours passed as she walked around quietly. Investigating the night life of the plains. It was much the same as those nights in the mountains yet at the same time it was wholly different. Here the animals didn't seem to scurry or scamper in fear as much as they did in the mountains. Anora wondered to herself why that was. Could it be because here you could see for miles without obstruction or was it because here food for the various animals seemed to be plentiful.

Anora watched the night sky pass by as Mikhail snored lightly behind her, the elk, bakule, blowing softly Behind him. She thought back on the day's events, on how Mikhail had risked his life to save her from the slavers. She looked at him. ‘Why is he different?’ she thought. ‘Why hasn't he tried to hurt me?’ She contemplated these thoughts for a time as she watched the quiet happenings of the night. They were thoughts that she wanted an answer for but didn't know how she would get them across to him. She blew a strand of hair from her face and turned her attention to the south, focusing instead on other thoughts.

Just as she was beginning to relax and let her guard down, movement caught her eye. A figure was approaching through the tall grass, moving with purpose. Anora's heart began to race. She quickly shook Mikhail awake, her eyes never leaving the approaching stranger.

Mikhail woke groggily, looking at Anora as he returned to consciousness he started to ask how long he'd been asleep but noticing the alarm in her movements as she continued to shake him he jumped up, spear in hand and pointed towards the intruder who's outline he saw. "Who goes there?" he called out, his voice steady despite having just awoken.

The figure stopped, slowly raising their hands. "Easy now," a deep voice responded. "I mean you no harm."

Anora tensed, ready to fight or flee as necessary. She watched the stranger carefully, her orange eyes gleaming in the moonlight, as Mikhail kept his spear trained on the unexpected visitor. The night air crackled with tension as they waited to see what the man would do.

Mikhail shifted his stance, moving Anora behind him protectively. His muscles tensed, ready for action as he kept his spear pointed at the stranger. The moonlight glinted off the spear's tip, a silent warning to the intruder.

"I'll ask you again," Mikhail said, his voice firm and unwavering. "Who are you? And what business do you have wandering about in the dead of night?"

Anora peered around Mikhail's form, her orange eyes fixed on the stranger. Her small hand gripped the back of Mikhail's tunic, ready to pull him back if needed.

The stranger lowered his hands slowly, keeping them visible. In the pale moonlight, they could make out a tall, lean figure with a wild mane of gray hair and a beard to match. He wore robes of deep blue, adorned with intricate silver patterns that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

"Peace, young ones," the man said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement despite the tense situation. "I am Thaddeus Alderbrook, Lore Master of Whisperwood."

Mikhail's grip on the spear loosened slightly, but he didn't lower it. "Lore Master? I've never heard of such a title. And what's Whisperwood?"

Thaddeus chuckled softly. "Ah, you must be from quite far afield then. Whisperwood is a hidden grove, a place of great knowledge and even greater secrets. As for why I'm out at this hour..." He paused, his eyes twinkling. "Let's just say that wisdom often reveals itself under the cover of darkness."

Anora tugged at Mikhail's tunic, her brow furrowed. When he glanced back at her, she shook her head slightly, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution. She wasn't sure what to make of this strange man, but he didn't feel threatening.

Mikhail turned back to Thaddeus, his spear still raised but no longer pointed directly at the man's chest. "That doesn't explain why you've approached our camp," he said, suspicion still evident in his voice.

Thaddeus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "No, I suppose it doesn't," he mused. "Truth be told, I sensed a disturbance in the magical energies of the plains. Something... unusual. I followed that feeling, and it led me here, to you two."

His gaze shifted between Mikhail and Anora, lingering on the goblin woman with interest. "And now that I'm here, I can see why. You two are quite the unusual pair, aren't you?"

Mikhail and Anora exchanged a glance, uncertainty written across their faces. They had escaped one danger only to find themselves face to face with a mysterious stranger who spoke of hidden groves and magical energies.

Thaddeus gestured to the ground after a silent moment between the three, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "Mind if I sit? These old bones aren't what they used to be."

Mikhail hesitated for a moment, then lowered his spear. He nodded, curiosity beginning to overcome his caution. "Alright, but no sudden moves."

The three of them settled onto the grass, forming a small circle. Anora stayed close to Mikhail, her orange eyes never leaving the stranger. “May I ask you two your names?”

Mikhail glanced at Anora who nodded her answer. “My name is Mikhail Bjornson.” The young man said. “And this is Anora. She doesn't have a last name that I'm aware of.”

“Well I'm pleased to meet you Mikhail and Anora. Now then," Thaddeus said, a hint of mischief in his voice, "How about some light?"

Before Mikhail or Anora could respond, Thaddeus snapped his fingers. Instantly, a small blue flame sprang to life in his open palm, casting a soft, ethereal glow over their faces.

Mikhail jerked back in surprise, his hand instinctively reaching for his spear. Anora's eyes widened, a mix of fear and wonder on her face as she stared at the dancing blue flame.

"By Aran's beard," Mikhail exclaimed, his voice a mix of awe and suspicion. "Are you a witch?"

Thaddeus let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "A witch? Oh my, no. Nothing so dramatic, I assure you."

The flame in his hand flickered and swayed, reflecting in his eyes as he spoke. "I'm simply a man who's picked up a trick or two in his travels. Magic, you see, is all around us. One merely needs to learn how to tap into it."

Anora leaned forward slightly, captivated by the blue flame. She looked up at Thaddeus, then at Mikhail, her expression one of wonder and curiosity.

Mikhail's brow furrowed. "But magic... it's not something just anyone can do, is it? I've heard tales of sorcerers and wizards, but they're rare and often..."

"Dangerous?" Thaddeus finished for him, raising an eyebrow. "Indeed, many who wield great power are. In the right hands, it can heal and protect. In the wrong hands..." He trailed off, his expression growing serious for a moment.

Anora reached out tentatively towards the flame, then pulled her hand back, looking at Thaddeus questioningly.

The old man smiled kindly at her. "It won't burn you, little one. Go ahead, feel its warmth."

As Anora cautiously extended her hand again, feeling the gentle heat of the magical flame, Mikhail watched in amazement. The blue light danced across their faces, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.

"So," Thaddeus said, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "now that we've gotten the introductions and surprises out of the way, perhaps you two could tell me what brings a young man and his goblin companion to this remote part of the plains? And why do you look as though you've just escaped a battle?"

Mikhail and Anora exchanged a glance once again, silently debating how much to reveal to this mysterious stranger. Mikhail took a deep breath and began recounting their tale. He spoke of finding Anora in the pass, their brief stay in Arendale, and the harrowing encounter with the slavers. Anora listened intently, her eyes flickering between Mikhail and Thaddeus as the story unfolded.

"...and now we're on our way to Rivertown," Mikhail concluded. "I'm on my seven-year pilgrimage from my village, you see. I aim to learn blacksmithing there."

Thaddeus stroked his beard thoughtfully, his blue flame casting dancing shadows across his face. "A remarkable tale indeed," he mused. After a moment of silence, he looked at Mikhail with concern in his eyes. "Rivertown, you say? I must warn you, young man, it's a dangerous place these days. You'd do well to be cautious."

Mikhail nodded, grateful for the advice. "Thank you. We'll be careful."

Curiosity got the better of Mikhail, and he found himself asking, "Earlier, you mentioned magic. Could you tell us more about it?"

Thaddeus's eyes lit up at the question. "Ah, magic! It's a fascinating subject. But I must warn you. It can be a dangerous subject as its creation is one darkness.”

Mikhail's brow furrowed in confusion. “That flame doesn’t look evil.”

Thaddeus grinned. “Looks can be deceiving my young friend.” He cleared his throat and continued. “This flame, like the other magics, pulls energy from a source. That source can be your own life force or from others. Surely those tales you have heard of those sorcerers mentioned something like that?”

Mikhail thought for a moment. He remembered that some of those tales did mention that the sorcerers had started out learning the magics of the world only to become corrupted over time. “Then will conjuring that flame corrupt you?” he asked Thaddeus.

“Perhaps in time, though fortunately for my sake it is all that I have learned in all my years and it only draws from my life force. I can only use it for a limited amount of time before it uses up to much of my energy.” Thaddeus studied the blue flame for a moment. “It has been very useful though, in helping me write late at night or exploring a dark area. So the use of it outweighs the risks.”

Mikhail thought to himself for a silent moment, the chirping of crickets filled the void. “Could this magic be used to heal someone? As in to heal an injury sustained long ago?”

Anora looked up at Mikhail, her ears perking in curiosity. She felt that he was speaking of her. Mikhail could feel her eyes upon him.

“It can.” Thaddeus replied, “But as I said before. This magic has a price. You need to be sure that you can pay it.”

Mikhail went silent. “If you are looking to heal the voice of your friend there then i may know someone that can help in Sablewood.”

Mikhail’s face lit up at the mention. “Who?” he asked.

“Her name is Lorna. She is a healer of sorts. Normally she uses herbs and the like but she has a talent for using the magical energies to heal those with more grievous wounds. But be warned. She may ask a price that you will not wish to pay.”

Mikhail looked down at Anora then back to Thaddeus. “I would at least like to try.”

“Very well.” Thaddeus replied. “You can find her in the back alleys of the market district in Sablewood. Once there, tell her that I sent you. She will be more inclined to help you.”

For the next hour, they talked about various subjects – the lands beyond the plains, and the challenges that might lie ahead. Thaddeus shared snippets of wisdom and cryptic advice, leaving Mikhail and Anora with more questions than answers.

As the night wore on though, Thaddeus finally stood, stretching his back. "Well, my young friends, it's time I took my leave. The night still holds many secrets to uncover."

Mikhail and Anora rose as well, both feeling a strange mix of gratitude and reluctance to see the enigmatic old man go. Thaddeus reached into a pack that he carried and pulled out a leather bound book. “Can you read?” He asked Mikhail.

“Some.” Mikhail answered. “My mother taught me what she knew.”

Thaddeus nodded and then handed the leather book to him. Mikhail looked down at it, reading the title out loud. "Velthorn Unveiled: Myths, Magics, and Millennia."

That book is of my own research. It will help explain more of this world to you. Including the creation of it. I have spent many years hunting down the information in that book. I hope that it serves you well.” he told him, sticking his hand out. The blue flame now floating just above his head.

Mikhail shook it firmly. "Take care of each other," Thaddeus said, his eyes twinkling. "Your paths are intertwined in ways you've yet to understand."

With that, Thaddeus turned and walked into the tall grass. The blue flame above his head following behind him. He paused, as if remembering something important. Reaching into his pack he pulled out a small hooded cloak, its fabric a muted green.

"Before I go," he said, holding out the cloak to Mikhail, "take this. Make sure Anora wears it when you reach Sablewood."

Mikhail accepted the garment, running his fingers over the soft material. He looked up at Thaddeus, confusion evident in his eyes. "Why? What's wrong with Sablewood?"

Thaddeus's expression grew serious, his voice lowering as he spoke. "The people in this kingdom... they don't take kindly to goblins. Even one as unique as your companion here." He glanced at Anora, who was watching the exchange with keen interest.

"But she's with me," Mikhail protested. "Surely that will keep her safe?"

Thaddeus shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, my boy. Your presence may offer some protection, but it won't be enough to shield her from all harm or prejudice."

He placed a hand on Mikhail's shoulder, his eyes intense. "Keep her close, Mikhail. If you value her life. That cloak will help her blend in, but it's your vigilance that will truly keep her safe."

Anora looked between them, sensing the gravity of the conversation even if she couldn't fully understand the words. She reached out, touching the cloak in Mikhail's hands, her orange eyes questioning.

Mikhail swallowed hard, nodding at Thaddeus. "I understand. Thank you for the warning... and the cloak."

Thaddeus smiled, a mix of approval and concern on his weathered face. "Good lad. Now, remember what I've told you. The road ahead is fraught with dangers, both seen and unseen. Trust in each other, and in the knowledge you'll gain." He tapped the book in Mikhail's other hand.

With those final words of caution, Thaddeus turned and melted into the darkness of the plains, leaving Mikhail and Anora to ponder this new development.

Mikhail looked down at Anora, holding up the cloak. "Looks like we'll need to be extra careful in Sablewood," he said softly. Anora nodded, her expression serious as she reached out to touch the cloak again.

As they settled back down for the night, the weight of Thaddeus's warning hung heavy in the air. Mikhail pulled Anora closer, a protective arm around her shoulders. He realized that their journey was becoming more complex and dangerous with each passing day. But as he felt Anora's warmth beside him, he silently renewed his vow to keep her safe, no matter what dangers lay ahead.