Forbidden Bond: A Velthorn Tale

The first rays of dawn crept through the dense fog that blanketed the ruins of Aur'Thala. Anora's eyes fluttered open, her goblin senses attuned to the subtle shift in the air that signaled the arrival of morning. She was the first to stir among their small group, the others still lost in the realm of dreams.

Slowly, Anora pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her muscles protested slightly, stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. She raised her arms high above her head, arching her back as she stretched. A soft yawn escaped her lips, her pointed teeth barely visible in the dim light.

As the fog swirled around her, Anora rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from her vision. The world around her was a hazy, dreamlike landscape. The crumbling stone structures of Aur'Thala loomed like ghostly sentinels in the mist, their edges softened and blurred.

Anora's pointed ears twitched, straining to catch any sound that might indicate danger. Her orange eyes darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement. The ruins were eerily quiet, the fog seeming to muffle even the soft rustling of leaves in the gentle morning breeze.

Despite the peaceful atmosphere, Anora couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in her stomach. She remembered all too well how quickly tranquility could shatter into chaos. It had been just two days ago that a similar peaceful morning had erupted into violence, leaving Mikhail wounded and her hands stained with an attacker's blood.

The memory of that moment flooded back, vivid and visceral. Anora could almost feel the weight of the knife in her hand, the hot rush of anger that had surged through her veins as she plunged the blade into Rawl's flesh. The intensity of her rage had frightened her, leaving her shaken in its aftermath. It was a side of herself she hadn't known existed, a darkness she wasn't sure she wanted to explore further.

Seeking solace from these troubling thoughts, Anora turned her gaze to Mikhail's sleeping form. His chest rose and fell with steady, peaceful breaths, his face relaxed and untroubled. As she watched him, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, chasing away the shadows of her darker musings.

In its place, a warmer memory bloomed. She recalled the feel of Mikhail's lips on hers the night before, the tenderness in his touch as he had held her. His words of understanding and acceptance echoed in her mind, a balm to the raw wounds of her past. Anora's heart swelled with a mixture of love and gratitude as she remembered how he had listened to her story without judgment, offering only support and compassion.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper green as she thought of how close they had come to making love. The passion between them had been palpable, electric. Yet when the moment came, fear had gripped her heart. Old memories had threatened to overshadow the present, and she had pulled back, unable to fully give herself to the moment.

A pang of regret shot through her as she recalled the look of confusion and concern on Mikhail's face. She had hated herself in that moment for denying him, for allowing the ghosts of her past to intrude on their intimacy. It had felt too similar to her previous experiences - rushed, out of her control. Despite Mikhail's gentle nature, the familiarity of the situation had triggered her old defenses.

Anora sighed softly, her breath visible in the cool morning air. She knew Mikhail understood, that he didn't hold her reluctance against her. Still, a part of her wished she could have pushed past her fears, could have shared that moment of complete connection with him. She hoped that in time, with Mikhail's patience and love, she would be able to overcome the shadows of her past and fully embrace the future they were building together. The thought of a future with someone else was something alien to her and something that she never thought that she would have.

Anora rose to her feet, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she moved quietly through the misty ruins. Her bare feet barely made a sound on the damp stone as she made her way past the sleeping forms of her companions. As she approached Bakule, the massive elk raised his head, his large brown eyes regarding her with quiet intelligence.

She paused, reaching out to pet his velvety muzzle. The elk leaned into her touch, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in her scent. The force of his exhale sent her red curls flying, tickling her face and ears. A soft giggle escaped Anora's lips, the sound barely audible in the stillness of the morning. She pressed a finger to her lips, as if sharing a secret with the animal, before continuing on her way.

After attending to her needs, Anora made her way to a nearby spring. The water was cool and refreshing as she splashed it on her face, following the cleaning routine Calista had taught her. She scrubbed her hands thoroughly, watching as the clear water ran over her green skin.

On her return, Anora's steps slowed as she passed by Kaelith and Calista. The couple lay peacefully entwined, their faces relaxed in sleep. Between them, nestled safely in the protective circle of Calista's arms, lay baby Malric. The infant's chest rose and fell with tiny, silent breaths, his tiny fingers curled into fists.

Anora found herself transfixed by the scene. Without conscious thought, her hand drifted to her own belly, resting there as a strange ache filled her heart. The longing that washed over her was both familiar and new, a desire she had never allowed herself to fully acknowledge before.

At that moment, Anora realized how much she yearned to have a child of her own someday. The thought of cradling a small life, of nurturing and protecting it, filled her with a bittersweet mixture of hope and determination. She wanted to prove - to herself more than anyone - that she could be a better mother than her own had been. That she could give a child the love and security she had never known growing up.

Her gaze drifted towards where Mikhail lay, though he was hidden from view behind Bakule's bulk. The elk's massive form rose and fell with each breath, a living barrier between Anora and the man she loved. Yet even without seeing him, Anora felt a warmth spread through her at the thought of Mikhail. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future where they might have a family together.

The fog swirled around her ankles as she stood there, lost in her thoughts. The ruins of Aur'Thala seemed to fade away, replaced by visions of a life she had never dared to dream of before. A new thought did occur to her though. Could they have children? She shook her head, not allowing the negative thought to take root.

Anora moved quietly towards the wagon, her bare feet padding softly on the damp ground. The horses tethered to a nearby tree shifted slightly at her approach, their ears flicking in her direction. One of them snorted softly, but they quickly returned to their dozing, unbothered by her presence.

She reached up towards the wagon bed, her fingers stretching towards a cast iron frying pan and a woven basket filled with cooking supplies. The scent of smoky lard wafted down to her, making her stomach growl softly. Despite her best efforts, her arms were just too short to reach the items she sought. Anora's brow furrowed in frustration as she strained, rising up on her tiptoes.

After a few fruitless attempts, Anora stepped back, her orange eyes scanning the area for something to give her a boost. Her gaze landed on an empty wooden bucket lying on its side near the wagon wheel. A small smile of triumph played across her lips as she moved to retrieve it.

Anora flipped the bucket over, positioning it carefully next to the wagon. She tested it with one foot, feeling it wobble slightly under her weight. Taking a deep breath, she stepped fully onto her makeshift platform, her arms windmilling slightly as she sought to maintain her balance.

The bucket creaked and shifted beneath her, threatening to topple at any moment. Anora's pointed ears twitched nervously as she reached up once more, her fingers finally brushing against the handle of the frying pan. With painstaking care, she maneuvered the pan off its hook, clutching it tightly to her chest as the bucket swayed precariously.

Next, she reached for the basket, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. The woven handle slipped through her fingers on the first attempt, causing her heart to skip a beat as she nearly lost her balance. On the second try, she managed to hook her fingers securely around the handle, slowly pulling the basket towards her.

Just as she grasped the basket firmly, the bucket gave an ominous groan. Anora quickly stepped off, landing lightly on the ground with her prizes held securely in her arms. She let out a small sigh of relief, a sense of accomplishment warming her chest as she looked down at the cooking supplies she had managed to retrieve.

Anora made her way carefully to the fire pit, her arms laden with the cooking supplies. The pan and basket felt awkward and unwieldy in her short arms, threatening to slip from her grasp with each step. Just as she reached the fire, the basket tilted dangerously. With a quick, graceful movement, Anora managed to catch it before it fell, sighing in relief as she set everything down on the ground beside the smoldering embers.

Kneeling by the fire pit, Anora grabbed a handful of dry kindling and tossed it onto the hot coals. She leaned in close, her cheeks puffing out as she blew gently on the embers, just as she had seen others do. The kindling caught quickly, small flames licking up from the coals. Encouraged, Anora added a few more sticks, watching with satisfaction as the fire grew stronger, casting a warm glow across her green skin.

Once the fire was blazing steadily, Anora carefully positioned a metal frame made to hold pans over the small flames. She lifted the heavy cast iron pan, her muscles straining slightly with the effort, and set it on the frame. Reaching into the basket, she retrieved a chunk of lard, unwrapping it, then she dropped it into the pan. The fat sizzled as it melted, filling the air with a rich, savory aroma.

As the lard liquefied, Anora picked up an egg from the basket. With careful concentration, she tapped it against the edge of the pan, just as she had seen Calista do. The shell cracked, and Anora managed to separate it, allowing the contents to slide into the hot pan. The egg white spread out, its edges immediately beginning to crisp and bubble.

Pleased with her success, Anora reached for another egg, but then paused, realizing she had forgotten a crucial tool. She looked around frantically before remembering she needed a spatula to flip the eggs. Without hesitation, she darted back to the wagon, her eyes scanning quickly for the needed utensil.

As Anora rummaged through the wagon's supplies, the enticing smell of frying eggs wafted through the camp. Kaelith stirred first, his nose twitching at the scent. He gently nudged Calista awake, and together they rose, curiosity piqued by the unexpected breakfast preparations.

They approached the fire, surprise evident on their faces as they saw Anora busily cooking. Calista cradled baby Malric in her arms, the infant still peacefully asleep despite the morning activity.

"Good morning, Anora," Kaelith greeted, his voice still rough with sleep. "This is quite a surprise."

Calista nodded in agreement, a warm smile spreading across her face. "It smells wonderful. Do you need any help with anything?"

Anora turned to them, a spatula clutched triumphantly in her hand. Her orange eyes sparkled with pride and determination as she shook her head vigorously. "Good morning!" she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "No, thank you. I can do it myself."

She turned back to the fire, focusing intently on the task at hand, leaving Kaelith and Calista to exchange amused and impressed glances as they settled down to watch Anora's culinary efforts unfold.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky by the time Mikhail finally stirred. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head as he blinked away the last vestiges of sleep. The enticing aroma of fried eggs drew him towards the others, who were already gathered around the fire.

As he approached, Mikhail's eyes locked onto Anora on her beautiful orange eyes. Without hesitation, he strode up to her and planted a soft kiss on her lips. The gesture felt both natural and slightly awkward, knowing Kaelith and Calista were watching. As if on cue, the couple let out a collective "Aww," causing Mikhail's cheeks to flush slightly and look about nervously.

Settling down beside Anora, Mikhail turned to her with a warm smile. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice still a bit husky from sleep.

Anora nodded, her orange eyes bright. "I did, thank you," she replied, her voice soft but filled with contentment.

As Anora handed him a wooden plate laden with perfectly fried eggs, Mikhail turned his attention to Kaelith. "Are we planning to stay here much longer?" he inquired, his fork poised over the steaming food.

Kaelith shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of egg before responding. "No, we'll be heading back to our homestead soon. There's much work to be done, and we've been away longer than we intended."

He fixed Mikhail with a curious gaze. "What about you two? What are your plans?"

Mikhail chewed thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "I was thinking we might explore the ruins a bit before moving on. It seems a shame to leave without seeing more of this ancient place."

A knowing smile spread across Kaelith's face as his eyes darted between Mikhail and Anora. "Ah, 'explore,'" he said, emphasizing the word and making exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Mikhail felt his face grow hot, and he noticed Anora's cheeks darkening to a deeper shade of green beside him. They exchanged a bashful glance, both at a loss for words.

The awkward moment was broken by the sound of Calista's fist connecting with Kaelith's upper arm. "Stop teasing them," she admonished, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

Kaelith rubbed his arm in mock pain, grinning unrepentantly. "What?" he protested. "You know it's exactly what I would do if we were young and alone in these romantic ruins."

This declaration broke the tension, and Mikhail found himself laughing along with the others. Even Anora joined in, her giggles like music to his ears.

As the sun reached its zenith, Kaelith and Calista began preparations for their departure. The air was filled with a bittersweet energy as they packed up their belongings and readied the wagon. Baby Malric dozed peacefully in a sling across Calista's chest, oblivious to the bustling activity around him. As they prepared to part ways, Kaelith pulled Mikhail aside, his expression serious. The women were busy packing the last of their supplies, giving them a moment of privacy.

"Mikhail," Kaelith said, his voice low, "I have something for you." He reached into his pack and pulled out a large knife, its blade gleaming in the sunlight. Mikhail recognized it immediately as Rawl's weapon.

Kaelith held it out, handle first. "I think you should have this."

Mikhail hesitated, his eyes fixed on the knife. He could still see Rawl's face, contorted with rage, as the man had tried to kill him. The memory sent a chill down his spine.

"I... I don't know, Kaelith," Mikhail said, rubbing the back of his neck and his voice uncertain. "That knife... it brings back some unpleasant memories."

Kaelith nodded understanding. "I know. But it's a good weapon, and you might need it. The road ahead isn't going to be easy and maybe she can use it.” Kaelith said, pointing to Anora.

Mikhail swallowed hard, then slowly reached out and took the knife. Its weight felt strange in his hand, a mix of potential protection and lingering unease.

"You're right," Mikhail admitted, turning the blade over in his hands. “It might come in handy."

Kaelith clapped him on the shoulder. "Use it well, and stay safe out there."

As Mikhail tucked the knife into his belt, he couldn't shake a feeling of apprehension. He looked over at Anora, who was watching him curiously. With a small smile, he walked over to join her, the weight of the new weapon a constant reminder of both the dangers they'd faced and those that might still be to come.

Kaelith helped Calista onto the wagon with gentle care, ensuring she and Malric were comfortably settled before turning to Mikhail. He extended his hand, which Mikhail grasped firmly. "We've left some supplies for you two," Kaelith said, his voice warm with genuine concern. "It should be enough to get you to Cedarcrest if you leave by tomorrow."

Mikhail nodded gratefully, touched by their thoughtfulness. Kaelith continued, his tone becoming more serious, "And remember, if you ever need help, our homestead is always open to you. Don't hesitate to stop by."

"Thank you," Mikhail replied, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything. And for not... for accepting Anora." His eyes flickered to the goblin woman, who stood nearby. A small smile on her face.

Kaelith smiled, understanding the unspoken gratitude in Mikhail's words. He climbed up onto the wagon, settling beside Calista. As he gathered the reins, he turned back to Mikhail and Anora. "Oh, and there's a festival coming up soon in Cedarcrest," he mentioned, a twinkle in his eye. "You should take Anora. I think she'd love it."

With final waves and calls of farewell, the wagon began to roll away. Mikhail and Anora stood side by side, watching as their friends disappeared into the distance. The creaking of wagon wheels and the soft clip-clop of horse hooves gradually faded, leaving them alone in the ancient ruins.

As the wagon vanished from sight, Mikhail turned to Anora, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. Anora caught his look and, without a word, took off running through the ruins. Her laughter rang out, echoing off the crumbling stone walls as Mikhail gave chase.

They darted between toppled columns and overgrown pathways, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust. Anora's agility and smaller size gave her a clear advantage, allowing her to slip through narrow gaps and make sharp turns that Mikhail struggled to match. Her red curls bounced wildly as she ran, catching the sunlight like flickering flames.

"You can't catch me!" Anora called over her shoulder, her voice filled with playful challenge.

Mikhail laughed, pushing himself to run faster. "We'll see about that!" he shouted back, his longer strides allowing him to slowly gain ground.

They weaved through the ruins, their joyful shouts and laughter bringing life to the ancient stones. Anora would occasionally pause, letting Mikhail get tantalizingly close before darting away at the last second, her orange eyes sparkling with mirth.

As they ran, the weight of their recent trials seemed to lift. In this moment, they were simply two young people in love, reveling in each other's company and the freedom of their surroundings. The ruins of Aur'Thala, which had seemed so ominous the night before, now felt like a magical playground created just for them.

Their laughter faded abruptly as they rounded a corner and came face to face with an ancient mural stretching across a partially collapsed wall. The once-vibrant colors had faded with time, but the images remained clear and unsettling. Anora and Mikhail stood side by side, their earlier playfulness forgotten as they gazed at the ominous scenes before them.

"What does it mean?" Anora asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her orange eyes were wide as they traced the intricate details of the mural.

Mikhail shook his head slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't know exactly," he replied, his voice tight with tension. "But I can tell it's not good. It looks like some kind of warning."

The mural depicted a scene of chaos and destruction. At its center loomed a massive, evil-looking dragon, its scales seeming to shimmer with an otherworldly malevolence even in the static image. Battles raged across the landscape, with armies clashing against monstrous creatures that could only be described as demonic. The sky above was dark and roiling, as if nature itself was in turmoil.

Mikhail's eyes were drawn to a tower rising above the fray just before the dragon. Atop it stood two figures - one tall and clearly male, the other smaller and feminine. Above them, rendered in gleaming gold that had somehow retained its luster through the ages, floated a winged figure, its presence both beautiful and terrifying.

A chill ran down Mikhail's spine as he took in the entirety of the mural. There was something deeply unsettling about it, a sense of foreboding that seemed to seep from the very stone. It stirred a memory within him, fragments of his fever dream in the Moonwell flashing through his mind.

"Dragons have been extinct for ages," Mikhail said, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears as he pointed at the central figure. The words felt inadequate in the face of the mural's grim prophecy.

The playful mood of their chase faded as they turned away from the mural, replaced by a thoughtful silence. They made their way back to their campsite, the journey feeling longer as they each pondered what they had seen.

As they walked, Mikhail found his mind wandering back to the images on the wall. The dragon, the battles, the figures on the tower - they mingled in his thoughts, intertwining with fragments of his fever dreams from the Moonwell. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had stumbled upon something significant, though its meaning eluded him.

They reached their camp, the sight of Bakule and their supplies a welcome familiarity after the strange mural. Mikhail sat down on a fallen log, his brow furrowed in thought. The carefree spirit of the morning had given way to a quiet curiosity about the ancient warnings they'd discovered.

"What do you make of all that?" he asked Anora, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the mural.

Anora shrugged, her orange eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and confusion. "I'm not sure," she replied softly. "But it was beautiful, in a strange way."

Mikhail nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. The mural had been unsettling, certainly, but also fascinating. As he began to unpack their supplies for a late lunch, he found his mind already shifting to their next steps, the mysterious images becoming just another intriguing part of their journey to Cedarcrest

After their late lunch and seeing that the sun had begun its descent towards the western horizon, Mikhail and Anora decided it was time to leave the ruins of Aur'Thala behind. With practiced efficiency, Mikhail resaddled Bakule, securing their supplies and ensuring everything was in order for the journey ahead. Together, they set off down the road, both eager to put some distance between themselves and the unsettling mural that had cast a shadow over their morning.

As they passed between the towering guardian statues that marked the entrance to the ancient city, Anora couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She turned in the saddle, her orange eyes locked on the stone figures. For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn she saw their eyes move, following their departure. A shiver ran down her spine, and she quickly faced forward again, pressing herself closer to Mikhail.

Once the statues were out of sight, hidden by the dense forest, Mikhail urged Bakule into a trot. The steady rhythm of the elk's hooves on the packed earth was comforting, each step taking them further from the mysteries and dangers of Aur'Thala. Mikhail kept Bakule at this moderate pace, remembering all too well Anora's discomfort when he had pushed the elk to a full gallop all those days ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then, their relationship having deepened and evolved in ways he could never have or would have imagined.

As they rode, Mikhail found his thoughts drifting to the events of the previous night. Anora's confession, the tender moments they had shared, the trust that had grown between them - it all swirled in his mind, bringing a warmth to his chest despite the cool forest air. He noticed how Anora leaned against him now, her body relaxed and trusting as she sat before him on the saddle. It was a stark contrast to the tense, wary goblin woman he had first encountered.

The scent of Anora's hair wafted up to him, an intoxicating mixture of wildflowers and something uniquely her. Unable to resist, Mikhail wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her even closer. Anora looked up at him, surprise flickering across her face for a moment before melting into a warm smile. She turned slightly, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before settling back against his chest, her small green hands holding onto the arm that encircled her.

Over the next three days, Mikhail and Anora fell into a comfortable rhythm. They would travel during the daylight hours, Bakule's steady gait eating up the miles between them and Cedarcrest. As night fell, they would make camp in the cutouts along the road, sheltered spots created for travelers to rest safely.

During these evenings, Mikhail began teaching Anora how to fight. He started with his spear, showing her the proper stance and basic thrusts. However, it quickly became apparent that the weapon was too unwieldy for her small frame. Remembering the knife Kaelith had given him - Rawl's blade, cleaned and repurposed - Mikhail presented it to Anora.

The large knife fit her perfectly, its size more akin to a short sword in her hands. Anora took to it naturally, her movements becoming more fluid and confident with each practice session. Mikhail couldn't help but admire her determination and growing skill.

"You're a natural with that blade," he complimented her one evening as they finished their training. Anora beamed at him, her orange eyes shining with pride. She had never had anyone that would spend time with her and it was a feeling that she was enjoying immensely.

Their nights were filled with quiet conversations as they lay side by side, gazing up at the star-filled sky. They spoke of their hopes and dreams, sharing pieces of themselves that they had never revealed to anyone else.

"What do you want most in the world?" Mikhail asked one night, his fingers intertwined with Anora's.

She was quiet for a moment before answering, her voice soft but sure. "A home. A place where I belong, where I'm accepted." She paused, then added hesitantly, "And... a child."

Mikhail felt his heart skip a beat, a mixture of warmth and nervousness flooding through him. The idea of fatherhood was both thrilling and terrifying, especially given their current circumstances. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he replied.

"You'll have that, Anora. I promise," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She smiled.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Anora turned her head to look at him. "What about you, Mikhail? What do you want most in the world?"

Mikhail was quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I... I don't know. I've never really given it much thought before."

He turned to meet Anora's gaze, her orange eyes reflecting the starlight above. "I guess... I just want you to be happy. When you laugh, it makes me happy. When you smile, it lights up my whole world."

Mikhail sighed, a touch of frustration creeping into his voice. "Beyond that, I'm not sure. I know I'm supposed to learn blacksmithing, but it's just work to me, nothing more. I don't have any grand ambitions or dreams. I’m just…here.” He said with a flourish of his hand toward the darkened sky.

He looked back up at the stars, his expression a mixture of confusion and vulnerability. "Is that strange? To not know what you want out of life?"

Anora squeezed his hand reassuringly, her voice soft as she replied, "No, it's not strange. Sometimes it takes time to figure out what you want. And sometimes, what you want changes as you go through life. It has for me at least."

Mikhail nodded, feeling comforted by her words. They lay there in silence for a while, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the vast expanse above them. As Mikhail felt himself drifting towards sleep, Anora's words echoed in his mind, offering both comfort and a new perspective to consider.

The next morning, as they continued their journey, Mikhail found himself in lighter spirits. During the long hours of riding, he would often try to make Anora laugh, pulling faces or telling outrageous stories. Her giggles would ring out through the forest, the sound more beautiful to Mikhail than any music.

One afternoon, he regaled her with a tale of his first attempt at riding an elk, complete with exaggerated gestures and sound effects. "And then," he said, barely containing his own laughter, "I went flying off backwards, landing right in a pile of elk droppings!"

Anora's laughter was so intense she nearly fell off Bakule, Mikhail's quick reflexes the only thing keeping her in the saddle. As her giggles subsided, she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mirth and affection. "You're ridiculous," she said fondly.

"But you love it," Mikhail replied with a grin.

"I do," Anora admitted, snuggling back against him. "I really do."

As they neared Cedarcrest, both Mikhail and Anora felt the change in their relationship. The trust, the laughter, the shared moments of vulnerability - it had all woven together to create a bond stronger than either of them had ever known.

As the carriage came to a stop, Selene gracefully stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Cedarcrest. The early morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and fresh sawdust. She took a moment to survey her surroundings, her keen eyes taking in every detail of the bustling town.

All around her, the citizens of Cedarcrest were busily preparing for the upcoming Timber Festival. Colorful banners were being strung between buildings, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the weathered wooden and stone structures. Merchants were setting up stalls, their wares ranging from intricately carved wooden figurines to sturdy axes and saws. The excited chatter of townspeople filled the air, mixing with the rhythmic sound of hammering and sawing.

Selene reached into a hidden pocket sewn into the lining of her cloak, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of several gold coins. With a fluid motion, she withdrew the coins and pressed them into the waiting palm of the carriage driver. The man's eyes widened slightly at the generous sum, but his face remained haggard and drawn from the grueling journey.

"For your discretion and haste," Selene murmured, her voice low and smooth.

The driver nodded wearily, pocketing the coins with a gruff "Thanks." His horses stood in place, their heads hanging low, sides heaving from exhaustion. The poor beasts had been pushed to their limits, running through the night for two days with only the briefest of rests.

Selene's lips curved into a satisfied smile. Her plan to arrive in Cedarcrest before the elk rider seemed to have succeeded or at least she had hoped. In her years traversing Velthorn, she had encountered several of these riders and had learned that they rarely rushed their journeys. The elk's steady, loping gait was ill-suited for prolonged speed, and their riders typically preferred a more leisurely pace being that they had seven years to fill.

As the carriage driver gathered his reins, preparing to seek out a much-needed rest for himself and his horses, Selene turned her attention back to the town. She had work to do, preparations to make before her quarry arrived. The Timber Festival would provide the perfect cover for her activities, the influx of visitors making it easier for her to blend in and gather information.

The carriage pulled away, leaving Selene standing alone on the bustling street. The driver's grumbles faded into the general noise of the town, his fatigue and discomfort already forgotten by the assassin. Selene's mind was focused solely on her mission now. She melted into the crowd, just another face among the many visitors arriving for the festival, ready to begin laying the groundwork for her trap.

As Selene navigated the bustling streets of Cedarcrest, her mind revisited the careful planning she had undertaken during the long carriage ride. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and creaking of wheels had provided a steady backdrop for her strategic musings.

She had considered several approaches to fulfill Lady Veldrin's request. One option had been to openly confront the elk rider and his goblin companion, using threats or blackmail to force their compliance. However, Selene had quickly dismissed this idea, recognizing that such direct methods could backfire, potentially driving them into hiding or spurring them to seek help from local authorities.

Another plan she had contemplated involved creating a false trail of clues, leading the pair to believe they were following a lead related to the elk rider's pilgrimage. But this approach carried too many variables, too many possibilities for the ruse to be discovered.

In the end, Selene had settled on a more subtle, insidious strategy. She would manipulate the environment around the elk rider and his goblin companion, making Cedarcrest increasingly inhospitable for them. By exploiting the underlying prejudices of the Northern Kingdom and the tension surrounding the Timber Festival, she could create a situation where leaving for Greland would seem like the most appealing option.

Her plan involved several key components:

Gather intelligence: Selene would spend the first day or two learning the layout of Cedarcrest, identifying key figures of authority, and understanding the social dynamics at play. This knowledge would be crucial for the next phases of her plan.

Sow discord: Using her skills in disguise and manipulation, Selene would spread rumors about a goblin thief in town, playing on the existing prejudices of the townsfolk. She would ensure these whispers reached the ears of merchants, town guards, and influential citizens.

Create incidents: Selene would stage a series of minor crimes - a stolen purse here, a vandalized stall there - always leaving subtle clues that could be traced back to a goblin perpetrator. Nothing too serious, but enough to raise tensions in the town.

Target the elk rider: While focusing suspicion on the goblin, Selene would also work to make the elk rider feel unwelcome. She would arrange for him to overhear conversations questioning the motives of pilgrims, suggesting they might be spies or troublemakers.

Provide an escape route: As the situation in Cedarcrest grew more tense, Selene would ensure that rumors of better opportunities in Greland began to circulate. She would plant stories of a master blacksmith seeking apprentices, or tales of a more tolerant society where humans and goblins could coexist peacefully.

Monitor and adapt: Throughout the process, Selene would keep a close eye on the elk rider and the goblin, ready to adjust her tactics as needed. If they showed signs of wanting to leave in a different direction, she would need to be prepared to subtly redirect them.

This plan, Selene believed, offered the best chance of success while adhering to Lady Veldrin's instruction not to harm the targets. It played on human nature, using fear, prejudice, and hope to manipulate not just the elk rider and his companion, but the entire town of Cedarcrest.

As Selene immersed herself in the festival preparations, her keen eyes and ears already gathering valuable information, she felt a sense of anticipation. The pieces were in place, the stage was set. Now, she just needed her targets to arrive, unknowingly stepping into the web she had begun to weave.

Selene made her way through the bustling streets of Cedarcrest, her steps purposeful as she headed towards the eastern side of town. The cobblestone streets were lined with an array of two-story buildings, their facades a mix of weathered wood and sturdy stone. Shops and stores of all kinds filled the ground floors, their windows displaying everything from finely crafted furniture to intricate clockwork mechanisms.

As she passed a blacksmith's shop, the rhythmic clanging of hammer on anvil rang out, accompanied by the hiss of hot metal meeting cool water.

After weaving through the crowded streets, Selene finally spotted her destination: The Whispering Willow Inn. Its weathered sign creaked gently in the breeze, depicting a graceful willow tree with leaves that seemed to rustle even in the painted image. Selene nodded to herself, satisfied. This tavern, situated close to the eastern gate, would be the perfect spot for information gathering. Any newcomers to Cedarcrest would likely stop here first, making it an ideal location to listen for news of her quarry.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Selene stepped into the dimly lit interior of the tavern. The smell of ale, roasted meat, and wood smoke filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation. Her keen eyes quickly scanned the room, noting exits, potential threats, and optimal seating locations.

She made her way to a dark corner that offered a clear view of the entrance, settling into a chair that allowed her to observe the entire room while remaining relatively inconspicuous. A serving girl approached, and Selene ordered a mug of ale with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

As the frothy drink was placed before her, Selene leaned back in her chair, the picture of relaxed indifference. But beneath this casual exterior, her senses were on high alert, her mind processing every snippet of conversation, every newcomer who entered the tavern.

She was a spider in her web, patient and still, waiting for the telltale vibrations that would signal the approach of her prey. The chatter of the patrons washed over her - gossip about the upcoming Timber Festival, complaints about taxes, speculation about trade prospects. Selene absorbed it all, filing away potentially useful information for later use.

Hours passed, the tavern's clientele shifting as the day wore on. Selene remained, nursing her ale, her patience unwavering. She knew that sooner or later, word of an elk rider and his unusual companion would reach her ears. And when it did, she would be ready to spring into action, setting in motion the intricate plan she had crafted.

As the afternoon sun began to slant through the tavern's windows, casting long shadows across the room, Selene allowed herself a small, predatory smile. The hunt had begun, and she was determined to emerge victorious, no matter how long it took.

As the sun began its descent towards the western horizon, Mikhail and Anora approached the eastern gate of Cedarcrest. The familiar spruce trees that had lined their journey gradually gave way to towering cedars, their distinctive aroma filling the air. The change in scenery signaled their proximity to their destination, and a mixture of excitement and apprehension filled them both.

Just outside the city gate, Mikhail brought Bakule to a halt. He reached into his pack and pulled out the cloak Thaddeus had given them, its fabric a muted green that seemed to shift and blend with the surrounding foliage. With a sigh, he turned to Anora.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, regret evident in his voice, "but you need to put this on. We don't know how people here will react to you, and I don't want a repeat of what happened in Sablewood. Maybe you can take it off after we see how the people are in this town.”

Anora nodded, understanding the necessity despite her reluctance. As Mikhail dismounted and helped her down, she removed the gray half-cloak she had grown so fond of. As she did so, Mikhail couldn't help but notice the way her movement accentuated her cleavage, the sight causing his breath to catch in his throat. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and quickly averted his gaze, though not before Anora caught his reaction. A knowing smile played across her lips, a mixture of amusement and flattery at his response.

Mikhail took the gray cloak from her gently, his fingers lingering on the fabric as he remembered the day he had torn it from the dead bandit to cover Anora's exposed form. So much had changed since that moment. He carefully folded and stowed it away, using the task to regain his composure.

After helping Anora don the new cloak, Mikhail's eyes were drawn to the large knife hanging at her hip - Rawl's blade, now repurposed as her own weapon. The sight of it filled him with a mixture of pride at her growing skill and a twinge of concern for the dangers that might still lie ahead.

As he assisted her back onto Bakule before mounting behind her, Mikhail noticed how naturally Anora's hand rested on the knife's hilt. It was a subtle reminder of how much she had changed and grown stronger since they first met.

With a gentle nudge, they urged the elk forward towards the gate. As they passed through the entrance to Cedarcrest, the guards gave them a cursory glance but made no move to stop them. The sun's last rays painted the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets.

Mikhail couldn't help but notice the similarities to Sablewood, though the presence of massive cedar and spruce trees scattered throughout the town gave Cedarcrest a unique, almost magical atmosphere. The streets were alive with activity as townspeople prepared for the upcoming Timber Festival. Colorful banners fluttered in the evening breeze, and the air was filled with the sounds of hammering and excited chatter.

As they made their way deeper into town, Mikhail pointed out various sights to Anora, his voice low and close to her ear. Ahead, he spotted an inn, its sign depicting a whispering willow tree. "The Whispering Willow Inn," he read aloud. "That looks like a good place to stop for the night."

As they approached the inn, Mikhail felt a mix of hope and trepidation. He desperately wanted this to be a new beginning for them, a chance to find peace and acceptance. The memory of their hasty departure from Sablewood lingered in his mind, a stark reminder of the challenges they had faced.

Mikhail guided Bakule towards the front of the Whispering Willow Inn, the elk's hooves clopping softly on the cobblestone street. As they came to a stop, Mikhail let out a quiet sigh. "Well, here we are," he said softly to Anora. "With any luck, we'll find a warmer welcome here than we did in Sablewood." He dismounted with practiced ease, then turned to Anora, extending his arms to help her down. Once she was safely on the ground, he wrapped Bakule's reins around a sturdy wooden post meant for tethering horses.

"Stay close," Mikhail murmured to Anora, who responded with a slight nod, her orange eyes barely visible beneath the hood of her cloak.

Taking a deep breath, Mikhail ascended the worn wooden steps to the inn's entrance, Anora following closely behind. He pushed open the heavy spruce door, and they stepped into the warmth and noise of the tavern.

The interior of the Whispering Willow Inn was a testament to the town's woodworking heritage. Intricately carved wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, their surfaces adorned with delicate leaf patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering light of the oil lamps. The walls were lined with polished cedar panels, giving off a warm, inviting glow. Round tables of various sizes dotted the room, most occupied by patrons engaged in lively conversation. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, its crackling flames casting long shadows across the room.

The atmosphere was lively but not overwhelming, the hum of conversation punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or the clink of tankards. The air was thick with the scent of ale, roasted meat, and woodsmoke.

Mikhail and Anora made their way to a long wooden counter near the back of the room, behind which stood a balding man with a neatly trimmed beard. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle from years of work.

"Good evening," Mikhail greeted the man, who nodded in return.

"Welcome to the Whispering Willow," the innkeeper replied courteously. "What can I do for you?"

As Mikhail began to inquire about a room, Anora's attention wandered. Her orange eyes, wide with wonder, took in every detail of the inn's interior. She marveled at the craftsmanship of the wooden furnishings, the play of light and shadow on the carved surfaces. In her amazement, she tilted her head back to study the ceiling beams, inadvertently causing her hood to slip off.

The innkeeper's words trailed off as his gaze fell on Anora. His friendly demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold, hard look. The tavern seemed to grow quieter, the tension palpable.

"I'm sorry," the innkeeper said, his voice now clipped and unfriendly, "but her kind isn't welcome here."

Mikhail felt his heart sink, the hope for a peaceful stay evaporating in an instant. He glanced at Anora, saw the hurt and resignation in her eyes, and knew that once again, they would have to face prejudice and rejection. The warmth of the inn suddenly felt stifling, the welcoming atmosphere turned hostile in the blink of an eye.

Mikhail's face flushed with anger at the innkeeper's words. "You have goblins serving drinks and food right here," he argued, gesturing to the tavern floor where several green-skinned figures moved between tables.

The innkeeper's lip curled into a sneer. "Aye, those are my goblins boy, my slaves. And I say they can be here while they work." He paused, folding his arms across his chest. His next words came out slow and deliberate, dripping with malice. "I'll tell ya what. She can stay if'n you sell her to me. She is a might pretty, and I have some clients that don't mind what she is."

Rage exploded within Mikhail. In a flash, he reached across the counter, grabbing the innkeeper's shirt in his fist. His other hand whipped out his knife, pressing the blade against the man's throat. "You disgusting piece of—"

The sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor cut through the tension. Mikhail's peripheral vision caught the movement of several men standing up, hands moving to weapons. The innkeeper's eyes glinted with cruel triumph.

"Yeah, that's right," he hissed, seemingly unperturbed by the knife at his throat. "You may get me, but them boys will definitely get you and your pretty little goblin wench."

Mikhail's grip tightened, his knuckles white with fury. He was seriously considering the consequences of slitting the man's throat when he felt a small hand tugging at his tunic.

"Mikhail," Anora's voice was barely above a whisper, filled with fear and urgency. "Please, I want to leave. Now."

The sound of her voice cut through his rage. Mikhail released the innkeeper, shoving him back as he sheathed his knife. Without a word, he turned, placing a protective arm around Anora and guiding her towards the exit. He kept her in front of him, shielding her from the hostile gazes of the tavern's patrons.

As they made their way to the door, a chorus of jeers and slurs erupted behind them. Cruel laughter mixed with vicious words, each one feeling like a physical blow.

"Go on, take your goblin harlot elsewhere!"

"Knife-ears ain't welcome here!"

"Traitor to your own kind!"

The insults continued as they stepped out into the cool night air. Mikhail's jaw was clenched so tight it hurt, his hand on Anora's shoulder trembling with suppressed rage. They hurried down the steps and away from the Whispering Willow Inn, the sound of raucous laughter following them into the darkening streets of Cedarcrest.

As they retreated, Mikhail's mind raced. Once again, they found themselves unwelcome, facing hostility and danger. As they stepped away from the Whispering Willow Inn, Anora's voice trembled with remorse. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes downcast. "The hood... I didn't mean to cause trouble."

Mikhail's anger dissipated a good bit at the sound of her voice. He knelt down in front of her, reminiscent of their moment before entering Arendale, what felt like a lifetime ago. Gently, he placed his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing over the fading bruise from their earlier misadventure.

Anora leaned into his touch, seeking comfort in the familiar gesture. Mikhail's blue eyes met her orange ones, his gaze filled with warmth and determination. "It's not your fault," he said firmly. "Those men... they're the ones who are wrong. You did nothing to deserve their cruelty."

With careful movements, he pulled the hood back over her head, adjusting it to ensure her features were hidden. Anora offered him a weak smile as he stood up, her heart swelling with gratitude for his unwavering support.

"Come on," Mikhail said, his voice gentle but resolute. "We'll find another inn. There has to be a place in this town where we can rest."

They mounted Bakule once more, riding through the darkening streets of Cedarcrest. The elk's hooves echoed on the cobblestones as they made their way to a seedier part of town. Eventually, they came upon a weathered building with a sign swinging in the evening breeze: The Axe and Fiddle.

Mikhail brought Bakule to a stop, helping Anora dismount before securing the elk. Together, they approached the entrance, the sounds of revelry spilling out into the night.

As Mikhail and Anora stepped inside, they were assaulted by a cacophony of noise and a thick mixture of ale, sweat, and wood smoke. The tavern was alive with activity, packed with large, boisterous men drinking and carousing. Serving girls weaved through the crowd, deftly avoiding wandering hands and occasionally delivering sharp slaps to those who dared to pinch or grab.

Anora instinctively covered her ears, her sensitive hearing overwhelmed by the din. Careful not to knock the hood from her head, she pressed closer to Mikhail, feeling small and vulnerable amidst the towering humans. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders as they navigated through the throng towards the counter at the far end of the room.

Behind the bar stood a large woman, her muscular arms folded across her ample chest as she surveyed the room with a stern gaze. Her graying hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and a scar ran down her right cheek, giving her a formidable appearance. As Mikhail and Anora approached, her sharp eyes fell upon them, lingering on Anora's cloaked form before returning to Mikhail. Unlike the previous innkeeper, her expression remained neutral, neither welcoming nor hostile.

Mikhail took a deep breath, steeling himself for another potential confrontation. But as they reached the counter, he couldn't help but hope that perhaps here, in this rough-and-tumble establishment, they might finally find a place to rest without judgment or fear.

"Excuse me," Mikhail called out, his voice raised to be heard over the din.

Before she could respond, a commotion erupted near the far wall. A patron, red-faced and swaying on his feet, had just hurled his mug across the room. The pewter vessel sailed through the air, narrowly missing a serving girl's head before clattering to the floor.

The woman's head snapped towards the disturbance, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Hey!" she bellowed, her voice cutting through the noise like a knife. "No throwing mugs, you lout! You break it, you buy it!"

The offending patron mumbled an apology, shrinking back under her fierce glare. Satisfied that order had been restored, at least momentarily, she turned back to Mikhail and Anora.

"What do you want?" she asked gruffly, her tone suggesting she had little patience for nonsense.

Mikhail opened his mouth to respond, but his attention was suddenly drawn to a scuffle breaking out behind them. Two burly men, their faces flushed with drink and anger, had locked themselves in a wrestling match. They tumbled to the floor, grappling and cursing as a circle of onlookers quickly formed around them, cheering and placing bets.

Anora pressed closer to Mikhail, her eyes wide as she watched the brawl unfold. Her small frame tensed, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Mikhail placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder before turning back to the woman behind the bar.

"I'd like to rent a room," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the growing excitement of the impromptu wrestling match.

The woman's gaze flickered between Mikhail and the fight, clearly torn between addressing the potential customers and breaking up the brawl. After a moment's hesitation, she seemed to decide that the wrestlers weren't doing any real damage – yet.

"One gold piece for three nights," she stated matter-of-factly, her tone suggesting this was a take-it-or-leave-it offer.

Mikhail nodded, reaching into the coin pouch at his belt. He produced two gold coins, the metal glinting in the tavern's dim light. The woman's eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of the gold. She picked up one of the coins, turning it over in her calloused hands before biting it, testing its authenticity.

Satisfied that the coin was genuine, she pocketed both pieces with a quick, practiced motion. Just as she was about to speak again, a particularly loud cheer rose from the crowd around the wrestlers. The woman's patience finally snapped.

"Oi!" she bellowed, her voice easily carrying over the noise. "Break it up, you two!"

The effect was instantaneous. The brawlers froze mid-grapple, their heads snapping up to look at the woman. The crowd fell silent, all eyes turning to the bar.

"Yes, Momma," the wrestlers replied in unison, their voices sheepish. They disentangled themselves and rose to their feet, brushing off their clothes and avoiding eye contact with the formidable woman.

As the men slunk back to their seats, jeers of "mama's boys" rippled through the crowd. The woman ignored the taunts, her stern gaze sweeping the room as if daring anyone else to cause trouble.

Satisfied that order had been restored, she turned back to Mikhail and Anora. "Follow me," she said, her tone brooking no argument. She reached beneath the counter and retrieved a large iron key, its weight substantial in her hand.

She led them towards a narrow staircase at the back of the tavern, weaving between tables with the ease of long practice. As they climbed the creaky wooden steps, the noise from the tavern below gradually muffled, though the occasional burst of laughter or shout still penetrated the thin walls.

The second floor was dimly lit, a single oil lamp casting long shadows in the narrow hallway. As they walked, the woman began to speak, her voice gruff but not unkind.

"Name's Marta," she said, glancing back at them. "This Inn's been in my family for generations. Inherited it from my father, who got it from his father before him."

As they made their way down the hall, Marta continued to share snippets of the inn's history. She spoke of the original construction, pointing out a particularly old beam that she claimed was part of the original structure. Her pride in the establishment was evident in every word.

"I make breakfast every morning," Marta added as they neared the end of the hall. "Don't be late, or you'll be fending for yourselves. The kitchen closes promptly at mid-morning as I ain’t got the time to be feeding ya all day."

They reached a door, unremarkable save for the number '7' carved into its surface. Marta turned to face them directly, her expression serious.

"Do you have a stable?" Mikhail inquired, thinking of Bakule waiting outside.

"Out back," Marta replied with a nod. "And remember, breakfast is important. Looks like that little goblin there could use it."

Mikhail and Anora exchanged shocked glances, caught off guard by Marta's casual revelation. Slowly, hesitantly, Anora lowered her hood, revealing her green skin, pointed ears and fiery red hair.

"How did you know?" Mikhail asked, bewildered by Marta's perceptiveness.

Marta's lips curled into a knowing smile, the expression softening her stern features. "Hard to get things past me," she said simply. "I've seen all sorts come through here over the years. You learn to notice things."

With that, she pressed the key into Mikhail's hand and turned to leave. As she walked away, her voice drifted back to them. "Oh, and keep the noise down. These walls are thinner than they look."

Mikhail and Anora shared another look of surprise before shrugging and turning to the door. The key turned smoothly in the lock, and they stepped into their room for the next six nights.

The space was simple but clean. A single bed dominated one wall, its blankets worn but freshly laundered. A small table with two chairs stood beneath a window that overlooked the street below. A washbasin rested on a stand in the corner, a slightly cloudy mirror hanging above it.

Anora's eyes lit up as she took in the room. Without hesitation, she flopped onto the bed, her small form sinking into the mattress. A look of pure bliss spread across her face as she reveled in its softness.

Mikhail couldn't help but chuckle, remembering how not long ago she had been sleeping on the hard ground or leaning against him for rest. The sight of her joy warmed his heart, a reminder of how far they had come and how much she had endured.

"What do you think?" he asked, watching her with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Anora looked at him, her bright orange eyes filled with simple, unrestrained happiness. "It's wonderful!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine delight. She bounced slightly on the bed, giggling at the novel sensation.

Mikhail felt a warmth spread through his chest at her excitement. Despite the challenges they had faced – the rejection at the Whispering Willow, the constant fear of discovery in places that didn’t seem to like goblins – moments like these made it all worthwhile. As he watched Anora's unbridled happiness, he allowed himself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they had found a temporary sanctuary in this rough-edged corner of Cedarcrest.

Mikhail smiled warmly at Anora. "Come on, let's take care of Bakule," he said, gesturing towards the door.

They made their way back through the tavern, now even more raucous than before. Two men were engaged in a bare-knuckle brawl, surrounded by cheering patrons, while Marta's voice rose above the din, demanding they break it up.

Once outside, Mikhail couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head at the chaotic scene they'd left behind. Together, they led Bakule around the building to the stables in the back.

In the quiet of the stable, Mikhail began to unsaddle Bakule. He paused, turning to Anora with a gentle smile. "Want to learn how to do this?" he asked.

Anora nodded eagerly, her orange eyes bright with curiosity. Mikhail guided her through the process, showing her how to undo the straps and remove the saddle. Then he handed her a brush, demonstrating the proper technique for grooming Bakule's coat.

As Anora stood on a bucket to reach Bakule's back, Mikhail stood close, his hand guiding hers as she held the brush. The moment felt intimate, their bodies close in the dim light of the stable. The rhythmic sound of the brush against Bakule's coat and their soft breathing filled the air.

Their eyes met, and without a word, they leaned in towards each other. Their lips met in a tender kiss that quickly deepened, becoming more passionate as they lost themselves in the moment.

Suddenly, a deep, amused voice broke through their reverie. "I'd prefer if'n ya two would do that in the room," chuckled a large man with thick, muscled arms, broad shoulders, and a substantial gut. He leaned against a stable post, a knowing smile on his face. "Marta doesn't allow that lovey stuff in the stables since the last ones got caught with candles and nearly burnt it down."

Mikhail and Anora sprang apart, both blushing deeply. They shared an embarrassed glance before Mikhail cleared his throat. "We'll, uh, keep that in mind. Thanks for the warning," he managed to say.

Mikhail turned to the large man, extending his hand. "I'm Mikhail, and this is Anora," he said, gesturing to his companion.

The man's grip was firm as he shook Mikhail's hand, his calloused palm speaking of years of hard work. "Name's Grug. Marta's husband and co-owner of the Axe and Fiddle," he replied, his eyes moving between Mikhail and Anora with open curiosity.

As Grug opened his mouth, likely to inquire about their relationship, Mikhail quickly interjected, "Where's the feed for the animals?"

"Near the back wall," Grug answered, gesturing behind him. Then, undeterred, he asked, "So, what's your story? Don't often see a pair like you two around here."

Mikhail hesitated, then reluctantly shared their tale – how they met, their journey, and the challenges they'd faced. He watched Grug carefully, unsure how the man would react to their unconventional relationship.

Seeking to change the subject, Mikhail asked about the Timber Festival. Grug's face lit up, a spark of excitement entering his eyes.

"Ah, the Timber Festival!" Grug exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "It's the pride of Cedarcrest, you know. Been going on for generations."

He leaned against a stable post, settling in for what was clearly a favorite topic. "You see, the festival marks the beginning of the tree harvesting season. It's when we celebrate the bounty of the forest and give thanks for another year of prosperity."

Anora listened intently, her orange eyes wide with curiosity as Grug continued.

"But it's more than just about timber," he explained. "It's a time when the whole town comes alive after the long, stuffy winter. People from all over come to Cedarcrest for the festivities."

Grug's face softened into a nostalgic smile. "It's a special time for young folk especially. Many a love story has started at the Timber Festival. There's something about the music, the dancing, the excitement in the air... it just brings people together."

He went on to describe the various events - log rolling competitions, axe throwing contests, elaborate wood carving displays. "And the food!" Grug added with a hearty laugh, patting his substantial belly. "Best you'll ever taste. Every household brings out their secret recipes."

As Grug continued his enthusiastic description of the Timber Festival, Mikhail couldn't help but notice Anora's growing excitement. Her orange eyes lit up at the mention of dances and feasts, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Mikhail felt a warmth spread through his chest, realizing how much he was looking forward to experiencing these festivities with her.

"It all sounds incredible," Mikhail said, his curiosity piqued. "When does the festival begin?"

Grug grinned broadly. "Just a few days from now. You two couldn't have picked a better time to come to Cedarcrest. You'll see our town in all its glory."

With a hearty chuckle, Grug bid them goodnight and ambled off, leaving Mikhail and Anora alone in the stable. Mikhail turned to their packs, retrieving his spear and rummaging for some food. He frowned slightly, noting how light the food sack had become. They'd need to restock soon.

"Let's spend a little more time with Bakule before heading up," Mikhail suggested, running a hand along the elk's flank. Anora nodded, her fingers gently combing through Bakule's coat.

As they tended to their faithful companion, Mikhail's mind wandered to the upcoming festival and the new experiences that awaited them in Cedarcrest.

Back in their quarters, Mikhail poured out their remaining gold coins onto the table, counting only seven left. He sighed, looking at Anora. "I may need to find a job," he said.

Anora tilted her head, confusion evident in her expression. "What's a job?" she asked.

Mikhail explained the concept, watching as understanding dawned on her face. He detailed how people work to earn money, which they then use to buy necessities and sometimes luxuries. Anora listened attentively, asking questions and slowly grasping this new aspect of human society.

After the explanation, Mikhail moved to secure their room. He dragged a chair across the floor, the legs scraping against the wood, and wedged it under the door handle. Anora watched him curiously.

"To keep us safe," Mikhail explained before she could ask, offering a reassuring smile.

As they prepared for bed, Mikhail placed his spear near his side of the bed while Anora carefully set her large knife on the table. He helped her remove the green cloak, his fingers lingering for a moment on the fabric, remembering its significance.

They lay down together after blowing out the candle, the noise from downstairs still seeping through the floor and walls. The unfamiliar sounds of the inn - creaking floorboards, muffled voices, distant laughter - created a strange yet oddly comforting ambiance.

As they lay in the darkness, Mikhail murmured, "Tomorrow, I'm going to take you to get a new dress. A blue one for the Timber Festival." He waited for a response, but quickly realized Anora had already fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder.

Mikhail smiled to himself, gently stroking Anora's red curls. He was sure that the challenges they faced were far from over, but in this moment, with Anora sleeping peacefully beside him, he felt a sense of contentment wash over him. The noise from the tavern below faded into the background as Mikhail's eyelids grew heavy.

As sleep began to claim him, Mikhail's last thoughts were of hope – hope for their future, hope for acceptance, and hope for the new experiences that awaited them in Cedarcrest. With Anora by his side, he felt ready to face whatever tomorrow might bring. The Timber Festival loomed on the horizon, promising new adventures and perhaps, just perhaps, a chance for them to find their place in this world.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Mikhail drifted off to sleep, his arm protectively wrapped around Anora. The first day of their new life in Cedarcrest had come to an end, but their journey was far from over. As the night deepened and the tavern finally grew quiet, the young couple slept peacefully, unaware of the challenges and joys that awaited them in the days to come.