Whydah glanced sidelong at the half-elf and gnome as they sat around the fire, the flickering light constantly shifting across their faces. Her eyes narrowed.

  “So, why exactly are you going to the abbey?”

  The party had just dined on a buffet of shared rations augmented with fresh raspberries, wild turkey, and two trout foraged nearby. Glynfir bought some time by taking a bite of elf bread as he and Lunish shared a look. The gnome shrugged, idly tossing a piece of grass into the fire before answering the wizard’s unasked question.

  “Go ahead. I don’t see any harm in telling them. In fact, I think I’m done with this secrecy bullshit altogether.” The druid waved her hand dismissively.

  Glynfir nodded, popping the last bite of elf bread into his mouth. Brushing the crumbs off his hands while he chewed, he told the group about the Radiant Guardians, their mission to the Luminarium, and the rudimentary magical communication with their employers. As he finished, Segwyn asked,

  “So, they don’t tell you why they want to know or what they plan to do with the information?”

  “Never.”

  “…Or warn us about potential danger,” Lunish added, accusation dripping from her words.

  “It’s possible they didn’t know…” Whydah offered

  Segwyn grunted, “In my experience, people in power always hold something back if it helps them get what they want.”

  Propping himself up on his elbows, feet crossed towards the fire, Bird spoke for the first time.

  “Is it safe to assume the work has never led to combat before?”

  Lunish dropped her gaze, staring into the fire’s embers, nodding.

  “Wasn’t it obvious? Not that I consider myself a hardened warrior, but I can’t even protect my friends in battle…pathetic.”

  The tabby sat up, pulling his legs back from the fire’s edge, but Segwyn spoke first.

  “Just because you didn’t, doesn’t mean you can’t. Don’t equate what you’re capable of with your reaction in one specific moment. I’ve seen many highly trained warriors freeze when things got real, particularly the first time.” He glanced subtly across the fire at Neril, briefly making eye contact before returning to Lunish. “It’s more mental than anything else.”

  “He’s right,” Bird added, now fully engaged in the discussion. “In battle, things happen quickly. Your most powerful weapon is the one between your ears.” The tabby tapped his temple, “Often, when the dust settles, what separates the living from the dead isn’t skill, it’s quick thinking – being able to assess the situation and apply the skills you have for maximum effect.” The druid reflected for a moment before replying.

  “That’s all well and good, but you still need skills. I suck with weapons. All the quick wit in the world can’t overcome that!”

  It was Glynfir’s turn to chime in.

  “Lulu, you’re being too literal. It doesn’t have to be a sword or a bow. Your magic is your greatest weapon. Look at me.”

  The frustration rose in her voice as she turned to the wizard. “But your magic is designed for that. Mine is nature-based – for helping people.”

  Segwyn challenged the gnome. “Is it? Or is that just how you were taught to use it? Nature can be a pretty destructive force…” Lunish lowered her gaze and furrowed her brow as she weighed his remark. The group went silent. Whydah put her hand on the gnome’s shoulder and spoke in a more diplomatic tone.

  “If it helps, a lot of my bardic magic is just like yours. Most of my spells enhance abilities or protect others during combat. You can do that too, if you aren’t comfortable using it to destroy.”

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  “You could be a real badass if you think differently about how you use magic and play to your strengths,” Bird proposed.

  Lunish was puzzled. “How do you figure?”

  “Well…” The tabby stood, brushing the dirt from the back of his pants, “Let me tell you what I saw today.” He extended his outstretched hands towards the warm fire. “When we got to the corner, I saw a three-foot-tall druid, with no armor, standing toe-to-toe with a seven-foot demon.” The cat’s performance instincts took over, his voice rising into a storytelling cadence as he began to act out the scene, adopting a defensive fighting stance. “Not only were you prepared to go there, but you were also willing to do it…” He straightened his posture and held up his open hand, “… with a carpenter’s hammer!”

  Pausing for effect, Bird turned his palm up and extended it to Lunish – silently requesting the hammer. Unsure where this was going, the bewildered gnome retrieved it from her pack, placing the haft into his hand before returning to her seat.

  Now properly equipped, the feline crouched low, resuming his defensive posture and fireside theatrics.

  “Facing a creature twice your size, staring death in the face, you refused to abandon Grym. You didn’t run, you didn’t even flinch.” He pointed the head of the hammer at the druid. “I don’t know many warriors with that kind of courage and determination.” Shifting the hammer first to Whydah and then to Segwyn and the Verdant Blades, the cat raised his eyebrows.

  “Agree?”

  A chorus of enthusiastic nods and confirmations rose around the fire. Lunish smiled in surprise. Feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, she lowered her head in embarrassment at the unexpected compliment.

  He spun back around to face the druid. “But… if you keep fighting like that…” his voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “…we’ll be burying you next to your dwarven friend.”

  The cat straightened to his full height, holding the hammer aloft. “This is not a weapon.”

  Reaching back, the tabby hurled it over his head towards the water. Twirling end over end, the tool was quickly swallowed by the darkness, a distant splash announcing the end of its flight.

  Surprised by Bird’s impulsiveness, Segwyn let out a deep belly laugh.

  The gnome stood up, scowling. “That’s all I have…” She looked over her shoulder towards the sound of rushing water. “Well… had...”

  Bird held up a finger, begging for her patience, before flicking his wrist, instantly producing a sheathed dagger from his leathers.

  “That’s Grym’s!” Lunish gasped.

  The cat nodded. “And far better than that hammer!”

  He extended the blade, pommel first, towards her. As she reached to accept it, he pulled it back slightly, locking her gaze with his yellow feline stare.

  “Let his memory inspire you to find another solution whenever you’re forced to draw it. You are a warrior of magic – you should attack from behind the main combat. If you’re fighting with this,” he spun the blade on his palm, “It’s a big red flag.” Re-extending his reach, he handed her the blade before withdrawing to his original seat without another word.

  Segwyn looked across the fire at Whydah. “Is he always this dramatic?”

  The halfling rolled her eyes. “You have no idea!”

  The fire’s occasional hiss, signaling its intention to resist being extinguished, announced the arrival of light rain.

  “Thank you all for the suggestions and support. I’m not sure the combat lifestyle is something I could ever get used to.” Lunish raised her head to the sky. “We’re about to get wet. We should find some shelter. It may be a long and uncomfortable night.”

  “Great… This day keeps getting better!” Glynfir muttered sarcastically under his breath.

  “Not to worry,” Whydah said brightly. “I’ve got it covered. If you would all gather around the packs…”

  She gestured towards the pile of gear behind her. Taking their cue from Bird, familiar with the circumstances, Lunish and Glynfir rose and joined the cat next to their packs. The ranger and his team stood but made no move towards the others.

  “Will you join us, Segwyn?” Whydah asked as her hands started to weave patterns in the air, the flashes of white energy competing with the fire to light their surroundings. “I can offer secure accommodations – both warm and dry!”

  The ranger chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but we already set up.” He gestured toward the group of tents across the clearing. “Plus, we’re heading out at first light, before the tracks wash out. So, this may be farewell, at least for now. Good luck on your travels to the abbey tomorrow.”

  Whydah paused for the two groups to exchange handshakes, thank-yous, and goodbyes. While the Verdant Blades retired to the tents, the others resumed their position, and the bard began again. The rain fell harder as she started humming a soft tune, her fingers moving in time to the melody.

  As they waited expectantly, Bird pointed to a white sparkle of energy beginning to spin overhead. Initially forming a circular, umbrella-sized disc, it rapidly expanded around their position. The hollow patter of deflected rain grew louder as the dome’s magical edge spiraled toward the forest floor. When it reached the ground, twenty feet across, the circle of white contracted to enclose the area beneath their feet, ending in a faint pop when it reached the center of the magical floor. Spell completed; Whydah rose. With a snap of her fingers, the interior of the dome was awash in dim light. She turned to the group, her arms spread wide, giving a slight bow.

  “Welcome to my tiny hut!”

  The wizard giggled. “Oh, I like this spell a lot!”

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