Caught in the Fox’s Teeth

Chapter 15: Taryn

Something about the air smells sweeter when you aren’t being held under an oppressive thumb. I’ve managed to travel through a handful of villages over the past few days. I’m doing all I can to avoid any unwanted attention so I can continue putting distance between me and the Vulpins. I want to be far from these lands before Odin looses his dogs on me. I’m on borrowed time. The fact I haven’t been caught already is a miracle in itself. Perhaps I was wrong about miracles after having experienced two of them in less than a week. Maybe I should thank the gods. Fortune has definitely favored me as of late.

I sold Cudo at the first major town I came to. I needed the money and as it was, he was only costing me. Farro seems to move a little quicker without the large brute holding her back. It feels like an allegory for my life somehow. Men have only ever stifled me. My father encouraged my talents with a bow and horsemanship but that was only entertained until marriage prospects began rolling in. Once I had my first suitors, my bow was replaced with more delicate arts. As if I could forget all that I am so I can display delicate embroidery that I had no interest in. Calligraphy was another “suitable” choice but all I ever did was write curses and vulgarity in hastily written script. I was not popular with the tutors for obvious reasons. “No one wants a cheeky and ill-behaved wife.” Father would say. Bowen found my antics funny, so it turns out that some men do like an ill-behaved wife. I would counter that being a wife was nice but I’ve no desire to do it again. Even if I must, I don’t have to be happy about it. Single women in this world do not make it far.

Don’t get me wrong; I loved Bowen. He was a great man though he did not or would not acknowledge my skills as a hunter. No matter how I begged to accompany him, he thought my place was at home. Then of course there is High Lord Vulpin. I spit off to the side of the road in hopes to ward off any bad omens his image may conjure. I will ride through the Vulpin lands and make it to neutral borders. It’s a race to get there as this country is very much under their powerful thumbs. I cannot risk being caught by their men and that risk grows every day I’m not in a new province. It’s only a matter of time before posters of my likeness make it onto tavern walls. The color of my hair is uncommon in this part of the world. All it would take is for a small clump of hair to fall from my scarf at the right time for me to be recognized. I check the scarf I put in place to disguise myself as a peasant and sigh when I feel all is still tightly bound. This routine quickly becomes a compulsion as I continue on my journey. I’m ever mindful of my hair slipping into view.

Farro continues on in her steady trod. The countryside isn’t much different than my own home in Lochsmi; the place I grew up in, the woods I foraged in. While the path is unfamiliar, little else has changed. I stay away from roads as they tend to have too many eyes watching them and instead stick to waterways. I follow streams and rivers east, only changing course when the river is too wide or deep to forge on horseback. I am a lot of things, but a strong swimmer is not one of them. Even if I think the crossing is questionable, I will take the long way around. It may drag out my escape, but it will save the fisherman downstream from hauling my bloated corpse from the water. I did not risk recapture only to drown. As much as I hate to play it safe, play it safe I shall.

At one such crossing, I turn to head north and ride parallel to the river until I finally come upon a stone bridge. I can make out a large waterwheel just downstream which typically means there is a nearby town. People tend to gather around large bodies of water and industry. I have been wandering in the same direction for days, but I have no clue of my exact whereabouts. My map is nothing more than a basic guide. It has little use as far as towns and bridges are concerned. have a map when I left. As much as I hate to venture towards civilization, I need to get my bearings. There is danger around people but there is also opportunity to find a warm bed and something hot to eat. I look at the dry-aged beef I’ve been gnawing on and tuck what remains into my pack. I’m tired of field rations and sleeping on a bed roll. I will find a tavern and get my bearings. If I should find some luxuries within the village then that will be a little treat.

Farro’s hooves clop along the cobble stone bridge. The sound is familiar but leaves me uneasy after spending so much time on dirt paths in the quiet forests. I’m used to the dampened sounds of her hooves hitting moss or grass. This sound is practically deafening in comparison. I don’t come across any other travelers on my way into town which can be a blessing. Less folks coming and going means word of my escape is less likely to have reached this remote village. I will not dare jinx myself by stating the fewer travelers means my likelihood of detection is slim. The cons of visiting such a small berg will mean I’m easily remembered so I must keep myself scarce and not dawdle. My gold hair stands out amongst many of these people. Black and brown are the norm here. A girl with hazel eyes and blonde hair will stand out for sure. I am the proverbial needle in the haystack. These people will remember me if I’m not careful. I make another compulsory check of my scarf and approach the town gates.

As predicted, many people quit their work for a brief moment to watch as I cross through the square. I raise my hood up over the scarf just to be doubly sure my hair is not visible. I pretend I don’t notice being watched but it’s hard. Children halt their games and whisper to one another. I hear comments on my fair skin and my being a foreigner. It doesn’t help that not all of the whispered words are in the common tongue. My back stiffens at their scrutiny. As the local tavern looms nearer, I take note of the small stable attached. Farro is in luck. She too will have a warm place to sleep this night. Glancing at the sign over the door, I note the name of the establishment, “Two Sticks Tavern.” Peculiar but this will be the best place for me to hunker down for the night. I have grown hopelessly tired in just the last hundred feet or so. The allure of a restful night’s sleep is overwhelming to say the least. At this point, I would pluck out my own eye if it meant a hot meal and a soft bed. I offer Farro to the stable lad and tip him a silver brig. He smiles and makes a show of the kindness my horse will receive. I have little gold, but these people seem to have less than even myself. I will throw as much coin at them as I can afford if it means it will buy their silence.

I enter the tavern next door and take a seat at the bar. A homely girl greets me in Lyrian and I reply back in kind. Bowen spoke the common tongue well enough, so he never felt the need to teach me his language. Those in our employ were taught the common tongue as well so my reasons to learn Lyrian were nonexistent. I’m kicking myself now for not learning the language of these people that were meant to be mine. I am at a severe disadvantage. “Do you speak Felsish?” I ask hopefully.

“Va?” She replies, nose scrunched up. “Ne ya vi. Tolo.” I don’t know exactly what she says but I can suss out the meaning and what I gathered she said was, “No you silly girl. You’ve come as a lady to a country whose language you don’t speak for a man who no longer breaths.” Instead of being discouraged though, I make do. I pantomime eating and rubbing my belly. Then I feign resting my head on my hands. I lay three silver brigs on the bar. She smiles and nods before holding up a single finger then walks off.

When the girl comes back, she rests a plate of steaming hot mashed parsnips. A generous portion of some sort of curried meat, the spices fragrant and cloying. Then a serving of hot fry bread and butter is set beside my entrée. My mouth waters. I could devour this meal in a heartbeat. Right on cue, my stomach growls loudly. The girl giggles behind her hand, her dark eyes creasing at their edges. It is a sweet smile that warms her appearance tenfold. The girl also brings me a frothy pint of cool ale to wash it all down with. She slaps four coppers back on the bar for my change and smiles again. I push the change back to her, suggesting she keep it. This pleases her. Happy people don’t tend to rat out those who have been kind to them. If I treat these villagers well, it’s possible they will forget I was ever here when the Vulpin’s bounty hunters come sniffing around.