After an evening spent in intense damage mitigation at the inn, and then a blessedly uneventful night, Darlac's party set out to escort the Nightvale delegation to Varnhold Town. Darlac reorganised the travel formation. She sent Gekkor forward to scout ahead with his elk, and explicitly rejected the offer of the black-haired elf to help with that. Also, she politely confiscated the old map the elf had been scribbling updates on. Trust and alliances were all well and good, but she would not have the Nightvale delegation collect more intel on Varnhold's geography than they absolutely had to. If (or when) one day it came to a clash between the two baronies, Darlac intended to give Kassil a run for his gold.

  The first line of defence consisted of Darlac and the black-haired elf. The baroness followed them in a well-protected position, safely sandwiched between her leopard and Valerie. Next came Tristian and Linzi, while Tehara, the Bruiser and Kassil brought up the rear.

  Darlac was not keen on striking a conversation. As things were, she was glad that the delegation hadn't turned back from Blackstones Ford, what with her frantic measures to fix the situation and her awfully rude remark about lycanthropes, handled by the beast woman with such annoying elegance. In her panic to clean up any trace of what had transpired, it hadn't even occurred to her to bury the corpses of the victims separately from those of the perpetrators. Not to mention the hastened execution of the accomplice. Maegar would not be happy. If he ever read the report she'd written last night at the light of a flickering candle, that was. She could as well have spent that time sleeping. Still, she had to keep things nice and orderly. The baron's chaotic brain couldn't be left to its own devices, and that meant Darlac was in for a long series of disappointments before she would see improvement in his attitude.

  She was still mad at him for appointing Willas Gunderson as state chronicler without even asking for her input. Now their propaganda was in the hands of an unreliable adventurer with a criminal record (yes, the twenty switches she'd doled out to him for disturbing cyclopean tombs qualified as such), who, additionally, turned out to be a voyeur. And Maegar wouldn't understand why that made her feel unsafe. Apparently, a seasoned mercenary had no right to feel unsafe for any reason. Still, she shouldn't have offended him so badly. Or at least she should have apologised before leaving for Blackstones Ford. Should have, would have, could have... Darlac walked with determined steps, trying her best to seem focused and in control, and pointedly avoided eye contact with everyone.

  However, the black-haired elf known by the name Hazel Stormwalker wasn't deterred by her resting bitch face.

  "Let us play a game," they suddenly said, intruding upon her thoughts.

  "Excuse me?" grunted Darlac, her eyes scanning the horizon for any danger. The road led through open country now, with the occasional stand of trees in the distance, but one couldn't be cautious enough when escorting the ruler of another state.

  "Just to get to know each other better. It is a long way to Varnhold Town, and time flies faster in good company. Also, I have nothing to keep myself busy with, because someone took my map... Anyway. Imagine you are a tomato."

  "A... what now?"

  Hazel grinned, happy with their achievement of making Darlac turn towards them.

  "A tomato in a basket, amidst other tomatoes. A servant picks up the basket and carries it towards the kitchen. You know what fate has in store for you. What do you do?"

  "Since I'm a sentient tomato, I must have given some consideration to my purpose in life. Either get eaten while fresh and crisp, or grow old and soft and go to the compost pile to rot. Being a tomato, I cannot do much about my fate, but I do hope for the first option."

  "Being cut to pieces with a blade?"

  "I'm a soldier, so that's a calculated risk."

  "Fair enough, I guess," said Hazel.

  Darlac remained silent, thinking of how she strove to be as different from her late mother as possible in every respect, including death. After seeing her mother leave this world, Darlac was entirely sure that dying of old age was not her preferred way to go out. Being in the military was probably her safest bet to avoid that.

  "Now imagine you are a tree."

  "A tree."

  "Yes. A tree with a hole in it."

  "Sure. Let's suppose I'm ancient and rotting inside. That's rich, coming from an elf."

  Her quip actually made Hazel laugh. How could this annoying person have such a melodious laughter?

  "A pair of squirrels set up their home inside you," they continued. "One day, you notice that they are wildly at each other, mating like crazy. What do you do?"

  Darlac shrugged.

  "Well, I'm not sure what a tree can do to protect its inhabitants, but I would try my best to keep them safe. The world needs more cute little fluffballs. Perhaps I would even get a fancy to bring forth flowers myself."

  "You are already in full blossom. I am struggling to imagine how you could increase that beauty even further."

  Darlac gave them a flat look. Her heart was raw and bleeding, and another person fiddling with it didn't exactly help.

  "Stop that," she said. "I'm not open to that sort of conversation. You probably know I'm taken, and also by whom."

  "I apologise, my lady."

  "Stick with General, if you don't mind. Or simply Darlac."

  Hazel ignored her remark.

  "I only wished to acknowledge your beauty. Shelyn commands us to admire beauty wherever we encounter it, and also to voice our admiration."

  "Are you a Shelynite?" asked Darlac, surprised. An androgynous-looking forestwalker surrounded by a weird scent of lightning, Hazel seemed to be a textbook follower of Gozreh, the two-faced, bigender deity of weather and pristine nature. What did they have to do with the goddess of art, love and beauty?

  "No, I am not," said Hazel. "Just whenever I want to tease Valerie."

  "Are perhaps your unwanted compliments the reason why she is hiding her face behind a veil?"

  Hazel snickered.

  "Your tongue is as sharp as your sword, General."

  "Rest assured, my sword is a lot sharper than my tongue."

  Or my wit, she added in her head. Despite not wanting to chat, now she was neck-deep in. She might as well roll with it.

  "Who is your deity, then?" she asked.

  "To be honest, as yet none of them has convinced me that they are the perfect fit for me."

  "That's not how it works. Your deity, regardless if you pray to them every day or just mention them when you stub your toe, embodies your set of values. Your prayers help you focus on these values, activate them, tap into their power. That's what prayers are for. You need them to find and harness what is already inside you, not to make your deity perform a miracle whenever your skin needs to be saved."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "You amuse me, General. You are as close to being an atheistic paladin as anyone can get."

  "What? No!"

  "Then list me the three deities that best describe your core set of values."

  "Obviously, Iomedae comes first. Valour, loyalty, justice, hard work. Then... I think I could add Pharasma. Respect for the eternal cycle of life and death. Acceptance of death when the time comes. And perhaps Sarenrae."

  "Sarenrae?" Hazel laughed. "Based on what I saw at Blackstones Ford, you are not exactly a paragon of mercy."

  That stung. Darlac turned away to conceal her irritation. How dare they think they know me after less than one day?

  "Just teasing you," said Hazel in a low voice. "I saw you hold your little companion while he was struggling with the aftermath of wolfsbane. Also, you mentioned cute little fluffballs a few minutes ago. You dare to be vulnerable, and I am honoured to have seen this side of you. However, you did not list any deities related to love. Is there a reason?"

  Darlac deployed her most withering glance.

  "My private life is just that. Private. Gods have no business there, and neither do you. How do we always end up here?"

  "Indeed, we somehow gravitate towards this topic," said Hazel, grinning sheepishly.

  "Not we," snapped Darlac. "You do. And in fact, I'm getting tired of it."

  "Let's switch topic, then. Hard work. One of your core values. You made your way to the top of a state's military organisation by the age of, like, seventeen? How did you accomplish that?"

  Darlac closed her eyes and thought of Varnhold. She wasn't supposed to punch the Treasurer of Nightvale on their way to sign an official treaty with her baron. She'd committed enough mistakes already.

  "Twenty-five, Hazel. Not seventeen. I forgive you because, being an elf, you must be terrible at judging ephemeral people's ages. On a different note, would you mind swapping places with Valerie? She and myself can protect the baroness's safe position more efficiently if we constitute a single block in front of you. You can be our archery support."

  Unlike Hazel, Valerie didn't want to spend the entire journey yapping. Darlac took the fighter's cold disdain a hundred times over the advances of the silver-tongued elf. Now Hazel was happily chatting away with Guelder on their lilting native language, leaving Darlac alone with her disturbed thoughts. She hadn't been flirted with for years, ever since she'd hooked up with her captain, and she felt she was better off without it. She didn't care for skirmishes, unless she planned to fight a full battle.

  They set up camp late in the afternoon in the shade of a group of three pancake rocks. (Baroness Guelder explained that they were called tors, but Linzi's terminology had already stuck in everyone's minds.) With Darlac's permission, Hazel and Gekkor set out to hunt and forage for dinner, and soon returned with five hares and some wild vegetables. Linzi started a stew, and all in all, the two teams had a good time together.

  While the others gathered around the campfire, Hazel fixed a rope on top of the highest tor, transforming it into a guard post. For reasons unknown even to herself, Darlac decided to do a safety check. She climbed up the rope, using her arms to heave herself up and her feet to stabilise herself against the rock. Unafraid of heights (a trait of her angelic heritage, even though she had no wings), she stood tall on top of the tor, using it as a vantage point, and let her gaze roam over the land, until it found the small, developing settlement of Varnhold Town on the horizon, about four hours away. It was their land, Maegar's and hers, the fruit of their love. Nothing tied her to another country anymore. She'd sold everything she'd had in Brevoy, and as per her mother's last wish, she was not supposed to ever set foot in Mendev. Varnhold was the only place she could still call home, and she wouldn't have it otherwise.

  The last thing she expected was Hazel tackling her by the shoulders and yanking her down beside them.

  "Never skyline yourself, General," they hissed, lying prone on top of the tor and holding her down. "It only takes a single arrow for Varnhold to lose its hope."

  The two of them hardly had enough space up here. Darlac glanced at them over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

  "Lesson learnt," she said. "Now, did you just do that to save my life from an imaginary foe, or so that you can lie on top of me?"

  "Maybe both. I definitely like lying on top of you, and perhaps one day my little lesson will save your skin."

  Darlac suppressed a groan of frustration. She should have sent Tehara up here. Due to her history as a pirate, the tiefling was much better with knots and ropes, and she could probably handle unwanted courtship better, too.

  "All right, Hazel. Now that I have found the rope safe and fulfilled your secret wish, it's time for me to leave."

  Hazel held her for a little longer, but they let go at the first slight tension in her muscles. Just as well they did. It would only take a slight push for Nightvale to lose its Treasurer, and for Varnhold to lose an alliance.

  Darlac let herself down by the rope, queued up for a bowl of stew, then settled down under the second highest tor, folding her cloak to cushion her back against the layered rock. She wasn't even surprised when she saw Hazel sit down beside her with their own dinner. Darlac focused on her food, relishing the warmth of the bowl in her hands, and pretended not to notice the elf. It worked for a while, until it didn't.

  "What?"

  "Nothing," said Hazel. "I have just been testing how it feels to sit with you in silence."

  "Okay," sighed Darlac. "Now that the magical moment of silence is over, you could as well tell me about yourself."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Your name. Is Hazel Stormwalker your real name?"

  A shadow seemed to pass over Hazel's face.

  "It is my chosen name, which means it is my real name. More real than what a random pair of elves saw fit to stick on me before they even saw my face."

  Darlac could sense that she was walking on dangerous terrain, so she didn't push it. She tried to find a safer topic, but all her creativity left her.

  "How would you handle the tomato situation?"

  Hazel grinned and remained silent for a long moment, studying Darlac's face. She found herself smiling back.

  "I would come up with a daring escape plan. I would wiggle and wiggle, until I drop out of the basket and roll away to freedom. But not before I convince you to come with me."

  Darlac playfully narrowed her eyes.

  "And why would you do that?"

  "Because we, sentient tomatoes, deserve better."

  They remained so for a long time, looking into each other's eyes, their faces getting closer and closer. Then Darlac tore her gaze away.

  "Eat your stew, Hazel, while it's hot."

  She stood up and went to start the preparations for the night, feeling lightheaded. It was a good thing she hadn't asked the squirrel question. Every possible answer filled her with dread.