"I didn't kill him!" Fyn blurted, his voice raw. He coughed slightly as he sucked in spit, and tried to clear his throat, all without moving. The edge of the knife was far too close to his neck for comfort.
"He was already dead when I found him," Fyn tried to keep his voice level, praying Grace would believe the tremor in his voice was due to the knife's proximity to his pulse. Which, to be fair, was a major concern. "I needed the knife… and the firestick… so I took them, but he was already dead."
"He speaks!" The knife hilt shifted in Grace's hand, and she ran the back of the blade against Fyn's shoulder. "Relax, kid, I know there's no way you could have killed the man you took this knife from. Scrawny little thing like you? Not hardly."
"That doesn't explain what you are doing in these woods," Grace continued, her face moving closer to Fyn's, "Care to explain how you got here?"
Fyn had had lots of time to come up with a background story in case the very questions Grace was asking ever came up. He had tried and discarded several stories over the past seven days. All of them had their good points, but his knowledge of the world left Fyn uncertain how plausible his lies were.
"I was going for… help," Fyn started slowly, swallowing, "bandits burned our farm… my village…"
Fyn wished Grace would butt in, question the details, let him know where he was failing. But the woman seemed content to let him speak, appraising him coolly.
"After the bandits, monsters came. I saw… everyone was dead," Fyn tried to summon tears, but his eyes were as dry as his mouth, "I just wanted to make it to town, but I got lost, ran the wrong direction…"
"Alright, Grace, that's enough," A rumbling voice came from behind Fyn. If Grace spoke in light, smooth tones that drifted over his skin, the new voice was deep, pushing through Fyn. He could feel its vibrations in his chest.
"You're scaring the lad," Bram's heavy footsteps sounded on the earth as he drew near. A hand wearing a gauntlet clapped Fyn on his left shoulder as the large man came into view.
"Don't hold it against her, boy," Bram removed his helmet, and tucked it under his arm. The cleft in his chin deepened as Bram smiled and winked, "You have to admit, it's strange, you being out this far. What's your name?"
"Fyn," It was awkward replying to the man who towered over him. Bram was obviously trying to put on a friendly face, and he was good-looking enough to pull it off. However, if Grace made Fyn feel short, he felt like a bug next to Bram. An easily squashed bug.
"Fyn what? Fyn…" Grace had backed up a pace, twirling Fyn's knife in her hand. She stepped forward quick as she pressed him for information again.
"Fyn Shaw," Fyn practically shouted. He hadn't wanted to give himself a surname until he knew more about the local customs. Before Grace could hang something horrible on him, Fyn spit out the first name that came to mind.
"Fyn… Shaw," Bram's brow crinkled, "Strange name, never heard one like it before."
"It's the only one I have," Fyn tried not to sound petulant, but it was hard, especially after being told the name he didn't want would make him stand out.
"Not saying it's a bad name, lad. Just never head it before," Bram extended his hand and instinctively, Fyn reached out as well. Bram grasped him by the wrist, the large man's hand enveloping Fyn's forearm halfway to his elbow, "Well met, Fyn Shaw! My name is Bram Aslet, and my friend here is Grace Flowers."
"Pleasure," Fyn said, his teeth clacking as Bram pumped his arm and threatened to shake him to pieces.
"Fyn was just telling me about how his village was attacked by bandits, Bram," Grace gave the knife another twirl, "he was about to explain how after that he came to be deep in the Blood Woods, two weeks travel from any road."
The suspicion was thick in Grace's voice. Fyn heard it but could not defend himself. Besides, he heard her say something that was much more concerning than her distrust.
"Two weeks from the road?" Fyn rubbed at his sore wrist when Bram released it, not quite believing his ears, "I thought… I thought I was just a few days from a town."
"No," Bram said, drawing the word out, "no towns out this far. I wouldn't have thought there was a village nearby, either."
"Crenset Crossing," a new voice offered. A pale, black-haired girl stepped around a tree and moved to join the group.
Carrying a crossbow at her hip, Sophie was the smallest of the group, just a smidgen taller than Fyn. She appeared even smaller when compared to the massive crossbow which she carried as if it weighed nothing.
"Crenset!" Bram snapped his fingers, the doubt clearing from his face to be replaced by a rueful smile, "I forgot about Crenset, but it will still take more than a handful of days to reach the crossing, Fyn. I suppose if you follow the river, running night and day, you could get there in… Five days?"
"Not likely," Grace scoffed, "Rough terrain, beasts, and monster tribes every step of the way? No one is running to Crenset from here."
"Fyn made it this far. He might be able to do it," Bram said, with a snort, "He made it this deep into the Blood Wood after all. Can't help but wonder how he did that."
The last sentence should have been directed at Fyn, but it was Sophie that Bram and Grace looked too.
"Twelve years old. Gatherer. Level Two," Sophie reported in a flat voice, "Sense of Direction. Freshly Picked."
Fyn's blood ran cold as Sophie announced the secrets of his status. Bram and Grace's faces had lost all suspicion as they shifted their attention back to him. Now they looked incredulous, Fyn hunched his shoulders under their gazes.
"Gatherer, huh?" Bram said, breaking an uncomfortable silence, "must have been your only choice. Tough luck there."
"I could have chosen Scout or Explorer," Fyn said, feeling a need to explain himself, "but I was hungry, and I didn't have any tools or…."
He trailed off. Each word he spoke caused the expressions the three gave him to twist. Grace started to look at him like he was the stupidest man on the planet. Bram had pity in his cheeks and lips, but his eyes were wide with disbelief. Sophie just shook her head, face as flat as her voice.
Suddenly, Fyn's careful justifications didn't seem as considered. He could hardly tell them, "Don't worry. I have a cheat." So he shut his mouth instead.
"You were hungry, so you chose a class that could feed you," Bram tried to sound sympathetic, "I suppose growing up on a farm, that was the only class that you met the requirements for. As long as you didn't waste any improvement points on prerequisites, no harm done. You can always reset your class at the guild when you reach level 5."
Fyn's ears perked up at the end, eager to learn it was possible to reset your class, but by that point his lips were already clamped firmly shut, unlikely to be pried open.
"Sense of Direction is an Explorer's first skill," Grace's eye narrowed, "You'd have to get that from the general skill list, for two yellow improvement points. How and why did you do that?"
It was incredibly helpful to have people around. One short conversation and Fyn was learning so much. Reset was possible. Skills from the general skills tab were pricier than class skills. And oh yeah, anyone who saw his status was going to think he was an idiot.
"I'm lost," Fyn forced his lips apart, "Sense of Direction felt like a good why to fix that. I had to crack a couple of skulls to get the points for it. There are animals around here that leave the crystals behind."
Grace was rubbing her forehead as Fyn spoke. Sophie looked to the side as if she couldn't stand the sight of him. Bram was looking sick as he tried to maintain his smile.
That all changed when Fyn mentioned an animal leaving crystals behind.
Bram's hand shot out, grabbing Fyn by the shoulder, and both women stepped closer, eyes wide.
"An animal that doesn't take the improvement points?" Bram's voice was ragged, fingers digging into Fyn's skin, nearly driving him to his knees, "Have you seen it? Where?"
Fyn grunted as Bram's grip tightened, and the man released him, patting him on the shoulder instead.
"Sorry, Fyn," Bram's voice was no less intense, "but you have to understand. We've been out here for weeks hunting a unique. The man who you found dead? That was our guide. He was supposed to lead us to the creature's den, but blood wolves got him. If you have seen anything, you have to tell us."
Fyn carefully didn't look at Sophie or her crossbow as Bram claimed blood wolves killed Lucas.
"A unique? What's that?" Fyn massaged his shoulder, certain it would bruise.
"A monster," Grace slipped behind Fyn and returned his knife to its sheath. She spoke with her lips next to Fyn's ear, "it would stand out. Unusual markings or eye color. Strange behaviors. Unique are difficult to predict, but they are always solitary. The closer you get to their den, the less predators you will find."
"We know we're close," Bram added, his hand falling back on Fyn's shoulder as if Bram were afraid he might run, "The clearing you've been staying in is the center. Out from there, it is nearly two miles before you begin to run into blood wolves. You must have seen something. We can't spot the den, but you wouldn't spook it. The unique probably thinks of you the same way it does a rabbit or a squirrel."
Fyn's back straightened. They knew he had been staying in the clearing? How long had they been watching him?
"I…" Fyn cleared his throat. With Bram holding him and Grace standing behind, there was nowhere to run, "I haven't seen any strange animals."
"Lie," the same monotone voice, yet the way Sophie glared at him gave Fyn the most pressure.
They were talking about Ricky. They could only be describing the weasel-rabbit. Strange behavior, weird markings or colors, that was Ricky alright.
Fyn concentrated on the feel of Grace as she pressed up behind him. Her body was tense, her skin where her armor didn't cover was warm against his. Of the three, Grace, for all her tough talk, was the least threatening, yet, he couldn't overpower her.
There was no escaping and no reason not to talk. Fyn had known from the beginning. Ricky tolerated him. They had a mutually beneficial relationship. He and the beast were not friends. There was every reason to talk and none to keep quiet.
But…
Ricky had never hurt him. Ricky had never threatened him. He had never seen Ricky murder a companion over a disagreement. A fish sure, Ricky would kill a fish in a hot second and gulp it down while it quivered. However, Ricky had left his roommate alone. Fyn owed the weasel-rabbit courtesy at least.
"There's a cliff at the north end of the clearing," Fyn furrowed his brow as if he were thinking, "I haven't been to the top. Maybe there's a monster den up there?"
"Not good enough, little man. Not good enough by half," Grace's breath tickled Fyn's cheek, "You've seen a track, or a piece of fur. You've heard it moving at night, smelt it on the wind. You must have. Tell us!"
"Listen to the lady, Fyn," Bram wasn't cordial any longer, his voice was cold steel that he sharpened by quieting a touch, "Tell us, and we can take you out of here. Once we finish our task, we can get you to the road. We can take you to Crenset or you can come with us back to South Mallasory. You've survived this long on luck. How long will that hold out?"
"I haven't seen it," Fyn gritted his teeth, eyes rolling as he looked for a way out.
"Friend," Sophie said suddenly. She stroked the bolt that was already in place on her crossbow, her eyes lighting up as her lips curled.
Bram laughed, a singular short noise, "I think you're right, Sophie. The lost boy made a friend. It would be tough to… convince… him to talk. Well, not tough, but messy."
Stooping down, Bram grabbed a weaver's vine off the ground and tossed it to Grace, "Before we get our hands dirty, let's see if the unique feels the same way about the lost boy."