The following day, the caravan finally left the salty coastal air behind, and made its slow way north in the shade of trees. The woods soon grew denser and more familiar to Sylvia. By the time they made camp, she could name almost every plant around them. After setting up her tent, and tending to Natta and Rise, she bought a piece of cloth from Aimo, and sewed it into a small sack. Once she was happy with the seam, she got up, and headed into the woods. Afi followed at her heel. When they left the protection of the Fri lookouts behind, he picked up a thick branch. He kept his eyes focused in the distance, flicking his gaze around the area. Sylvia looked around too, but she focused on the ground near them.

“What are we looking for? Berries?”, Afi wondered.

“Mostly moss”, Sylvia said. “I would not mind some berries, though.”

“Moss?”, Afi asked.

“Yes. Stonemoss. Do you know what it looks like?”

He nodded. “I think so.” Looking around, he pointed into the distance. “Like that, right?”

Sylvia walked into the direction he had indicated, climbing over a stone, and avoiding a gnarly root. Finding dense, bright green moss covering the area, she nodded. “Well spotted.”

Crouching down, she began tearing off pieces, by pinching them between her fingers and twisting to break the plant, without ripping up all the roots. Afi surveyed the area one more time, before crouching down as well to help.

“What do you need this for?”, he asked.

“It is for medical use”, Sylvia said. “Among other things.”

Afi frowned at the moss, and the insects crawling in it. “Medical?”, he questioned.

“Yes. My mother would always lay dry moss on any cuts or injuries.”

“I have never heard of such a thing. Would it not cause blood poisoning, to put a plant on a wound?”

Sylvia shrugged. “She did it for everyone in Nyberg. No one ever had blood poisoning. Father Ryther said there are many plants that can heal, but few know how to tell them apart from the poisonous ones, and fewer still know how to use them. He said that Mother is…was wise to use stonemoss.” Looking up, she added, “And Ryther was a scholar, so I trust him on that.”

“Beats burning it shut, I guess”, Afi jested.

“Yea”, Sylvia agreed. A smile ghosted over her face. She opened the sack she had made and placed the moss inside. “Make sure you only take the tips, the green part.”

Nodding, Afi focused on his hands, working as efficiently as he could manage. Placing a handful of moss in the sack, he shifted and reached for more. A small stone came loose. It was entirely covered in moss. It had grown in big lumps around the stone, creating a curious shape. “Hey, look at this”, he grinned. He held the stone up for Sylvia to see. “It looks like a bear.”

Sylvia laughed. “It really does”, she agreed. Her voice was high-pitched and cheerful.

Afi smiled widely. “I have never heard you laugh before.”

“Really?”

Afi shook his head. “Not like that. Not in a true way.”

Sylvia wrung her hands together, separating dirt from moss. “I guess I have not had a reason to in quite some time.”

“I know what you mean”, Afi agreed. “Still, it is nice to hear”, he offered.

Sylvia smiled, her eyes not leaving her hands as she worked.

It took a long while to pick enough moss to fill the small sack. They picked nearly the entire area clean, leaving behind only stone, roots, and dirt. On their way back, they also found a handful of blueberries, which they shared evenly and snacked on.

Back in camp, they laid out the moss around a firepit near their tent. That, too, was tedious and time consuming work. Sylvia insisted the moss must lie in one thin layer, so it would dry out entirely in just one night.

“What is that song?”, Sylvia asked.

Afi looked up in confusion.

“You were humming”, Sylvia pointed out.

“Sorry.”

“No no, I just wanted to know what song it is. I do not recognise it”, Sylvia encouraged. “Would you sing it for me?”

Nodding, Afi straightened his back. He hummed and tapped his knee twice, before taking a measured breath and setting to song. In old verse, he told of a young woman who fell in love with a wolf. His voice was deep and booming, dominating the soundscape for the time it took to tell the story, for the unlikely pair to fall in love, once, twice, three times, until they found their tragic end at the hand of hunters.

“That was beautiful”, Sylvia cheered.

Afi rubbed a hand over his arm. “You think?”

“Wonderful”, Sylvia nodded. “I have never heard that one before.”

“It is an old tale from the north.”

Looking around, Afi noticed a few people had stopped to listen. A few turned away, pretending they had not, but others offered him a nod in thanks. Turning his attention back to the moss, Afi could not help but smile. A man walked by the fire, and spat at Afi in passing. Sighing, Afi wiped at his face.

Sylvia sprung to her feet and shouted in anger. “Hey!”

Afi stood as well, placing a hand on her arm. “Do not bother.”

The man who had passed them turned around. Sylvia’s frown deepened. It was the same rude sworn who had accompanied her and Aimo when they visited Boa. He wrinkled his nose at her. “What?”

“What do you think you are doing?!”, Sylvia demanded.

“You should be ashamed to drag in such filth”, the sworn stated.

“I should be ashamed?!”, Sylvia asked affronted. “You spat at my sworn!”

The man huffed. “A little girl who cannot tell the difference between a rat and a man! That is brilliant! Run along and let the adults take out the trash, hm?”

Drawn by the commotion, more people appeared among the nearby tents.

Sylvia glared at the rude sworn. “Say that again!”, she dared.

The man grinned widely. He spoke slowly and clearly, like he was explaining something to a distracted child. “Look now, Little Girl. I am sworn to a Fri. I am a sworn”, he said, placing a palm over his chest. Balling his hand and sticking out one finger, he pointed at Afi. “That on the other hand is a fucking rat.”

Sylvia glowered at the man. She felt her anger bubbling to the surface. The sworn shied back a step. He clenched his jaw. Sylvia kept her eyes locked on his, while she imagined a terrible death for him. Suddenly, the sworn drew his sword and slid forward on swift feet. Afi threw himself between the two, pushing Sylvia to the ground. Unarmed, he parried the sword with his arm. Gripping the blade, he wrung it out of the man’s hand, and flung it a good distance away. The man drew a knife from his belt instead, eyes fixed on Afi now.

“That is quite enough”, Yri determined.

She walked toward them in a calm stride. At her side followed Aimo, steadying himself on his walking cane. The sworn glowered at the two approaching figures, but he stilled.

Stopping a good two strides from the trio, Yri said, “You have made your point.”

“Since when do we mingle with filth like him, huh?!”, the sworn asked.

“Since one of us decided to take him”, Yri answered calmly. “Now lay down your weapon, Sworn”, she ordered.

“I answer only to my liege”, he retorted sourly.

Yri sighed. “I swear, a stray dog is more obedient than you.”

The man scowled anew and lunged at her. Before he could come in striking distance of Yri, Aimo threw his heavy cane into the air, caught the foot of it, and brought the round handle down on the sworn’s head with a dull thud. The man collapsed face first onto the ground.

Stepping onto and over the man, Yri offered Sylvia a hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Not a bad intimidation. Try to be more careful with it in the future. Some animals snap when cornered.”

“I will keep it in mind”, Sylvia nodded.

“Who taught you?”, Yri wondered.

“No one. My mother used to do it.”

Yri turned her attention to Afi. “Hurt?”, she wondered curtly.

He held out his right arm. A deep cut ran across his forearm. Blood also dripped from between his fingers, where he had grabbed the edge.

“You will survive. Let Aimo help you clean it”, Yri determined.

She leaned close to Sylvia. “At least he has proven his loyalty. I hate to admit when I am wrong, but it seems he does heed his oath. If he ever misbehaves, however, I am going to cut his fingers off one by one.” She spoke softly, but not nearly quiet enough for Afi to miss what she said.

She turned to leave, but Aimo caught her attention and motioned toward the unconscious sworn. Yri clicked her tongue and he nodded, before raising his cane high over his head, and slamming it back down, cracking the man’s head wide open. Aimo turned the bloodied end of the stick downward and held it away from his clothes, so it would not stain.

Sylvia looked at the blood rapidly pooling out of the dead man’s head. Holding a hand over her chest, she was surprised to find her breathing was perfectly even. The was no tension building inside her. There was no pain. Not for her at least. Looking over at Aimo, she observed the way he walked. He swayed a little more with each step, now that he did not rely on his cane to steady his gait, but he was as calm as ever.

Motioning them along, Aimo led Sylvia and Afi to his wagon. He opened a barrel of water, and put the wooden lid down on his stool, so it would not touch the ground. First, he took a ladle of water to clean his walking cane. Leaning it against his wagon, he drenched a piece of cloth next, and began cleaning the sworn’s wounds with little dabbing motions.

“Say, what is your name, Sworn?”, he wondered.

“Afi.”

“Afi”, Aimo repeated politely. “I am Aimo PetraStig.”

“Aimo”, Afi responded.

He watched the wagoner clean his cuts, making sure there was not a grain of dirt anywhere near them, before washing the cloth out, and tying it over Afi’s arm to stave off any new contamination. He then produced another piece of cloth, and tied Afi’s arm tightly to his chest.

“Keep still and it may heal well enough that you can move normally.”

“Thank you”, Afi said, bowing his head lightly.

“Always”, Aimo smiled. “Just do not make a habit out of it. You will not have much arm left soon.”

Afi chuckled. “I suppose you are right.”

“Make sure you eat right and drink enough now. Speak with Frida. She will make sure your stomach is filled”, Aimo encouraged, making a shooing motion.

Getting up, Afi made to walk toward the baker’s tent, but stopped when he noticed Sylvia was not coming. She nodded a little, repeating the same dismissive motion with her hand, and he left.

“He is a good one. Certainly loyal, and capable too. A good choice”, Aimo commented.

Sylvia nodded absent-mindedly. Her eyes were drawn to the heavy walking cane, the round head once more resting in Aimo’s hand. “I was not aware that you could fight.”

“I was not aware you could not”, Aimo jested. Sylvia blushed a little, but he merely laughed. “How else would I protect the goods?”, he asked.

“I thought the cane was for walking”, Sylvia apologised.

“It is. A thing can have more than one use”, Aimo responded easily.

“True”, Sylvia agreed. Looking at the cane again, she wondered, “Why kill him?”

Aimo raised an eyebrow. “Because he attacked Yri”, he stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “No one attacks Yri. Where would we be without the sisters? The Wolves would be gnawing on our bones. No no, you do not disrespect Yri Fri. A man like that is of no use.”

“Who was he?”, Sylvia asked.

Aimo shrugged. “I think he was an Anjas. I doubt she will have an opinion on his death after what happened.” He met Sylvia's eyes and offered his soft reassuring smile again. “He knew the rules and he disobeyed. It serves him right. He was no better than a Wolf or a Bear. Rats, all the same. No dignity. No shame. Do not mourn him.”

Sylvia shook her head. She was not upset about his death. That was the part which bewildered her the most. She did not feel much at all about the incident. She did not want to consider what that might mean. Sitting down beside Aimo, she let her eyes wander over the wagons, searching for some other topic to fill her head and push out the uncomfortable cold running through her veins.

“How does this work, anyway?”, she asked.

“How does what work?”

“This”, Sylvia said, motioning at the load. “How do you have all this stuff and where is it going? Do you pay for everything that is looted? Do you bring things along that the Fri might need?”

“A curious one, are you?”, Aimo teased.

Sylvia merely nodded, completely unashamed of her nosy behaviour.

Aimo huffed a laugh. “Home, no, and yes. I bring food and equipment that is needed on the road, but also things that I can sell, like salt, crystal, silverwood, metal, or cloth. I also gather what is looted and note it down.” He tapped his shoulder bag. “When I sell something from the loot, I also note it down.” He tapped the bag again. “When we return home, I split the coin between the city of Fristad, the Fri sisters, and myself. What remains of the goods, I sell locally, or put in storage. Then, I fill the wagons with goods for the next trip.”

“Is it lucrative?”, Sylvia wondered.

“Quite”, Aimo confirmed. “But you have to get it right, or it will cost you more than you are willing to give.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to be precise. It does not matter if you travel with lords, bandits, or Fri. If you loose their trust, if you miscalculate, or loose something…” He held up a finger between them as he spoke, shaking it in a lecturing motion. Then, he shook his head, his face grim.

“What would happen?”, Sylvia insisted.

“Oh no. No, I do not speak it aloud. You do not want to call upon these things”, Aimo said, shaking his head again. Leaning in as thought trying to keep a secret, he jested, “Tell you what. You learn how to fight, I teach you how to count, and then we go into business together, yea?”

Sylvia chuckled. “I already know how to count.”

Surprise ghosted over Aimo’s face. “Is that so?”, he asked. “How many carts would I have if I had five more, but a wheel broke?”

Sylvia looked around. “Twenty-one.”

Aimo smirked and shook his head. “Twenty-two. I do not leave a wagon for a broken wheel. You have to know how to fix such things.” Tapping his cane against his wagon, he called her attention to a wheel. One spoke was made out of a wood which was significantly darker than the rest.

Sylvia laughed. “Fair enough.”

After a while, Afi returned with a bread, filled with meat and leafy greens. Handing it to Sylvia, he insisted she eat as well before they retire for the night.