Darin would admit to a yelp of panic as the horse started moving a way that was unfamiliar. Ridahne's explanation did nothing to make her feel better. She could feel her heart racing as the Elf calmed the horse down. The human wanted to be off of it. She didn’t want to ride anymore. She tried to resign herself to the fact that she would probably have to. It wasn’t easy.

Darin felt obligated to point out, “I didn’t kill him. I just stabbed him. I suppose he could be dead because of me.” She shrugged. “But I wouldn’t know. He was breathing when I left.”

She watched Ridahne sharpen the knife. The butcher made sure that she knew how to do that. She had done it every time she actually used it. It didn’t seem to want to hold an edge. She was probably not taking care of it properly. She didn’t know how to check if she knew how to take care of it.

Darin shrugged, “I don’t know what you mean. How can one blade suit me better than this one? If you send a plow horse into battle it’s still a plow horse. I don’t know how to use a knife for anymore than cutting things like rope and vegetables. So, a better knife would be pointless. I can use a sickle, but I was told that wasn’t a practical defense for a trip in the wilds of Astra. Not that the person who told me that would know.” Suddenly she had to ask, “Can I use a sickle for defense in the wild?”

She hoped her hope wasn’t apparent in her voice. She knew how to tell if a sickle was in good condition. She knew how to properly swing one as well. Darin had to admit that it probably wasn’t practical. She was hoping the answer was maybe. It would be nice to use a weapon she was used to. She might have to make some adjustments, but it would be better than learning a whole new skill set. Though she probably wouldn’t be able to buy one. Sickles were too important to farm work. It wasn’t like a farmer would just sell her his for the meager amount of coins she had.

She found herself thinking about her farm. Technically it was her mother’s farm, but everyone in the village knew it was actually Darin’s farm. It wasn’t the most impressive farm in the village. There was only one field, and for the most part Darin grew the things that would get her and her mother from one harvest to the next. There were a few chickens, goats, and ducks. There had been one lone pig before it got fat enough to eat. It was a simple life. She hoped Thomas and Milla were keeping up the farm. They had promised that they would. Darin hoped she saw it again. She didn’t think she would. She didn’t even know what direction home was in. That was how lost she was. For all she knew she could have been traveling in circles for who knew how long. She really needed a map.

She found herself asking, “Have you ever heard of a town called Lively? If so, can you tell me how far we are from it and what direction it is?”

Lively was the closet town to the nameless village where Darin had grown up. It was the village where the lord that wanted to marry Milla lived. It was where the market was held. She didn’t have much hope that Ridahne had heard of it. There was still a better chance of her having heard of it than Darin’s home. If the Elf had heard of Lively at least Darin would be able to figure out where home was. Right now, that was all she wanted.

Suddenly Darin thought she saw something in the trees. She was overcome with a feeling a dread. It was the same feeling that she got when the bandits had surround her. She had to give it to Ridahne. The Elf may have been a traitor, but at least Darin didn’t feel a strong urge to run away from her.

Quietly, as not to draw attention to herself, the human asked, “How far to Greyrock?” She knew her eyes were supper wide, “We need to get out of here. Soon.”