"How is he doing?" Lydia tiptoed into their room at the Stumbling Rat, carefully putting down first Crear's backpack, then her own.

"Dunno. He's got a little fever and the wound looks raw, but it's healing much better than I expected," Thira changed the wet towel on Crear's forehead.

"Let him sleep, then. Where is Roric?"

"Washing up and getting food for us. You can go, too, if you want. I already cleaned myself with water magic. I never knew how handy it is."

With a nod, Lydia grabbed a clean set of clothes, a brick of soap and left.

"She's gone?" mumbled Crear.

"Yes."

"Then let me go. It was a temporary party for one dungeon..."

"No. You're still too weak to walk, you have a fever and your wound hasn't healed yet." Thira had his arm pinned onto the bed with a vice grip. "I'm not letting you leave until you're healthy enough to care for yourself."

"You have a terrible character," sighed Crear feebly.

"And you are a stubborn snark," retorted Thira.

"Huh. I had you figured for the shy and silent type."

"Thank you!" she smiled brilliantly at him. "But I'm not. You are my destiny. I'm not letting go of you."

"Why would I be your destiny, eh?"

"It's written in the scroll I got. Look not far, nor wide. Grab your destiny before it slips away," she recited. "I'm not dumb. I know my deepest desire. I want to be useful to my brother and my childhood friend. I don't want to be a burden to them forever. I want to learn magic! And you know something about magic. Don't think I didn't notice! You said my water ball was inefficient. Said that I should be able to conjure a barrier to ward off traps. And you did something to your leg. Yes, I may not know much about medicine and healing, but I know that a festering hole in your leg doesn't heal in a matter of a few days." Her eyes practically glowed as she looked down into his pale face. "You know about magic. Please teach me!"

Crear stayed silent for a long time. Thira already feared that he had fallen asleep during her fervent explanation.

"You really believe that nonsense the fox wrote on the scrolls?" was his monotone reply, neither acknowledging, nor denying his knowledge about magic.

Thira blushed a little, then snapped: "So what? It doesn't change the fact that you know about magic. Are you a sorcerer yourself? Were you taught at a magic academy?"

"I'm not a sorcerer. I know nothing about magic," was his answer. He slipped out of her vice grip with ease and turned over, his back facing towards her.

"You know magic," said Thira vehemently. "I'm sure of it." But she got no more answers from Crear.

Roric soon returned in a clean set of clothes, wet hair and a tray with four steaming bowls. "Something from the innkeeper to tide us over until dinner. Said it was leftovers from breakfast. It's freaking cold outside, let me tell you. I hope it doesn't last. Where is Lydia?" His eyes caught the two backpacks that hadn't been there when he had left. "And how is our ranger?"

"He's still sleeping. Lydia has been here maybe..." the bell rang outside. "Half a bell ago? She went to wash up and should be back soon. I told her you were getting food for us, too."

Roric nodded, placed the plate on the single table in the room and brought one bowl over to his sister. With a second one in hand, he sat down on the next bed over.

"Thank you," she smiled at him.

"What do we do next? Wait until those fancy-pants leave the Silkhook Dungeon? Or go to the next one and come back later?"

Thira shrugged at the question and slurped at her stew.

"We have 9 gold coins. It should easily last us for a month or two. I would like to stay and wait. But I don't know what Lydia plans. We can always do that fox dungeon again, if we're running out?"

Roric shuddered at the thought. "Anything but that dungeon, please."

"But it would be good practice for the dungeon basics!" grinned Thira, leaping at the opportunity to tease her brother. "I'm sure they will test dungeon basics again, if we want to get to B-rank."

He ground his teeth in frustration, but refused to say the obvious.

We'll never make B-rank. I'll never make B-rank. I don't know enough magic. I'm a liability. The thought left her joy hollow and empty. "Sorry," she mumbled and turned back to eating her stew.

"I'm back~" Lydia stepped through the door, spreading her cloak over a chair and snatching a bowl for herself from the tray. "Huh? Did you two argue again? Or why are you so silent?"

"Uh, nothing," mumbled Thira into her bowl.

Lydia raised her eyes, but didn't say anything about it.

"That's your business, I guess? Anyways. I gave my report to the Guild Master. He'll label the fox dungeon as a training dungeon for F- and E-ranks. We can go there again to test our wits, if not our brawn. But I would prefer if we didn't. Or at least waited a while before challenging it again. Damn, this stew is good. Where did you get it, Roric?"

"The innkeeper gave it to me. Said it was leftovers from breakfast, to tide us over until dinner is ready."

"Delicious," hummed Lydia and took another bite. "Is he still sleeping?" she pointed her empty spoon at Crear.

"Yes," said Thira with a queer smile.

"He sure can sleep. Then again, it's no wonder with that kind of wound. Too bad. I wanted to ask him something. Will have to wait until he's awake again." Lydia shrugged, ate another spoonful of the stew, then continued: "We have enough money to last at least two months. If you're fine with it, I would like to wait until those Watervale guys have left the Silkhook Dungeon and tackle it. Sure, we could go for the next one, but then we would have to backtrack and it would cost us even more time. And it's the only dungeon we know of where the Whispering Fern grows."

"I'm in favor of this plan," exclaimed Thira immediately, a bright smile on her face. "Besides, we can't leave Crear like this. We have to make sure he gets well again."

Lydia raised an eyebrow at her. Thira just smiled back.

"Then I'll go and clean my armor. I don't want to run around with more blood smears than necessary. Damn. Back into the cold, it is."

===

It was a quite afternoon, spent with cleaning, mending and taking stock of their gear.

Since Crear hadn't moved and they couldn't wake him up, they opted to eat dinner in the large room downstairs. They had roasted meat, a slice of hard bread and mashed potatoes.

"The most delicious meal I've ever had," burped Roric and picked at his teeth.

"It always tastes so much better after a dungeon dive," sighed Lydia contentedly.

Thira fidgeted.

"What? Worried about something?" asked Lydia.

"No... I'm just... tired. Could one of you bring me back to the room?" asked Thira shyly.

"Sure. I'll be back in a minute, Roric." Lydia picked up the petite girl and carried her up the stairs.

"Worried about our ranger, hmm?" she asked in a low voice.

"No!" exclaimed Thira.

"Ah, youth. Don't worry, I won't say anything to Roric. I can imagine that he will act as overprotective as a mother bear," giggled Lydia and halted in front of their room. Thira turned the handle and they pushed the door open. It was freezing cold. The window was open, letting in the cold light of the moon.

"He's gone," she stated simply.

"It's cold! Wait, where is Crear?" asked Lydia, setting Thira down on a bed and closing the window.

"Gone," repeated Thira.

"With that wound in his leg? Damn!" Lydia pulled the window open again and leaned out, looking around for a crumbled form. But she found nothing. "There are no tracks in the alley below. Nor on the roof next to us. Where did he go? You stay here, I'll go out and search for him!"

Lydia grabbed her cloak and Roric's and ran out of the room.

"No tracks? But how?" mumbled Thira.

Crear kept his breath even and his body still, as he waited for his most recent - and temporary - party to finish up their afternoon tasks and head for dinner. The door closed behind them and still he waited.

Several breaths later, when he could hear them leave the creaking stairs, he sat up on the bed and took stock. His leg still hurt worse than in the dungeon, but it had calmed down from the infuriating pounding he had felt as they had boarded the cart. He still felt feverish, but it wasn't too bad. Putting his feet onto the ground, he stood up.

A bit wobbly, but workable, if he moved slowly. His backpack leaned against the wall, between two others. A quick check showed him that his stuff had been left untouched. Even his bow was there.

Shouldering it and pulling his boots on, he walked over to the window. A low, snow-covered roof was right across from this room. Or he could climb down to the alley and walk through the mud. Both options would leave easily visible tracks behind.

Using a rope and a grappling hook, he swung it upwards. It took hold on something on the roof of the inn. A strong pull didn't budge it.

"This should work."

Swinging out of the window, he pulled himself up on the rope and climbed over the ledge of the roof. His hook was wedged into the chimney.

"Lucky me. Any other side and it wouldn't have worked as well..." Aside from the chimney, the roof was empty. Coiling his rope up, he walked to the other side of the roof.

"A high drop. But the next roof is close enough." A short sprint carried him over the gap between houses and onto the next roof - and jarred his bad leg. He gasped from the pain and quickly stuffed a fist into his mouth to stifle any scream. Blood trickled into the bandage once more, coloring it a deep red.

"Where to next? Auld Elma? Or the sewers? Not the old man. He would rat me out faster than I could blink. And Neorth can wait till I had time to heal my leg properly." Speaking helped to distract him from the pain. "The sewers won't do. Too much chance to get an infection. Auld Elma it is. On the other side of town." He jumped to a lower roof with a little more care for his bad leg, hobbled to the far side and climbed down using the pile of crates in the alley behind it.

Using darker back alleys, with his bow strung and ready for trouble, he made his slow trek to the other side of town. The people who saw him kept their distance after taking a good look at his bow and the daggers lurking on his belt.

Partway, he changed his cloak for an old one and wrapped his backpack into a patched cloth. His bow was unstrung and used as a cane to test the street in front of him. His shoulders hunched forward and he turned into just another blind beggar.

You didn't walk into the slums while looking like you had money. Not after dark.