Mythril hoped that they might catch up with his group, but there had been no sign of them since they left him behind at the cabin. He and his ostrich had traversed through the forest, sending gnolls and sprites, even an unsuspecting woodland creature flying through the air should it be in their path.

There had been more critters and unusual enemies on his way back through the woodlands, or at least in this area since Mythril couldn’t tell one area of the woodland from another, than when they first entered. Unsure of whether he traced back over old ground, he wasn’t sure if the enemies were the doing of the Noxiri Knights.

Despite his attempt at a calm attitude, the entire situation was a blur in his head. He knew the basics of these types of games, he understood guilds and parties. But he didn’t recall anything called Guild Ambition, only that your own choices could change your path, not that entire groups of people could change a path for everyone else. He hoped, still, that there would be information about this somewhere. He found himself hoping for a library, one of the huge ones, perhaps inside a cathedral, where he could pull away a dusty tome and all of this would be made clear to him.

His mind flicked between home and here, now and then. Between his desire to be in this world, a world where lore meant something, and the real world, where love did.

It was probably the wrong answer, but he wished that his fiancée could be there with him. Together they could ride ostriches through the woodland, or, as he noted, over a dusty path and into an area that although still overshadowed by trees, ahead he could see vast plainlands.

The woodland may as well have opened up into an entirely different world. Behind him, was darkness and creatures belonging to the night. Ahead of him rabbits scattered from his path, birds sat atop light grey rocks that were stacked in formations. The sun beamed from above, causing him to avoid looking down as his own mail trousers were suddenly a weapon against his eyes.

Through the blue and white dots that clustered in front of him, he could see that a cross roads was coming up. He halted his ostrich, pulling his scroll back from his satchel.

The tiny dot that represented Selrah was nearby, up ahead slightly but still he knew he was going in the right direction. He read the sign and saw that one pointed onwards to the Lowlands, the other to Buckberry Farm. An idea tempted him from the moment it entered his brain though it was the kind of idea he needed at the forefront of his mind.

“I should go to that farm.”

He rounded Audreg, turning her to the left, and driving her forwards. Farmland, in an area like this, surely it would be a place where he could practice. At least for a few minutes, that couldn’t do any harm. Should he find himself in trouble, he at least knew how to use his potions and, as long as his ostrich was nearby, she could just kick anything that was getting a bit too difficult.

Just as he imagined it would, a few raked fields came in to view, and not too far from them a barn could be seen. There were scarecrows in the fields, but little good they did as crows pecked at the land. Land that Mythril noticed, although raked, had nothing planted in the dry dirt.

“Easy, girl,” he said, as he brought Audreg gradually to a slower pace.

He had expected someone outside. Bandits maybe, or farmers, or undead bandit farmers. Something for him to swing his blade at. But nothing seemed to be moving other than more crows.

They sat atop the sun dial, they lined up across the rooftop, perched upon the wooden gate. He knew farms, and he knew crows, and the two often had a way of finding each other. This, though, this seemed to be something he had found without intending to.

Once at the gate of the farm, he dropped down from Audreg. To Mythril’s gratitude, she stayed beside him, eyeing the crows as they eyed her. The ostrich, with a drawn out stretch of its wings showing who the bigger bird was.

“That’s right,” Mythril said, backing up his mount. “Don’t come for her bow or she’ll mess you up!”

He realized how ridiculous this sounded, but a bit of bravado to make himself feel better was needed. He walked back from the barn a little, and then around it. Ah, he thought, that’s what he was looking for. A farm house.

It was built behind the barn, positioned so it wasn’t visible if you entered the barn from across the fields as Mythril did. Unlike the barn, crows weren’t surrounding the farmhouse like they were intended to be decoration. Instead, they were hopping in and out of the windows, sprigs of berries in their mouths as they went in, empty twigs when they hopped out.

“There’s our possible undead bandit farmer then,” he said to his mount.

He was glad of her company, even if she did hiss intermittently, and with no one else around at this point and the crows atop the barn minding their own business he was beginning to think these were just for him.

He pulled his scroll out to see if his MAP held any information about places that he’d missed, but first he flicked across to STABLE. A heart sat neatly beside Audreg’s name, its mass three quarters of the way full.

“You’ll love me yet,” he said with a decisive nod of his head.

The ostrich hissed.

“I’m glad we agree,” Mythril replied.

His attention back on the map, he clicked on the area where he stood. It expanded and he could see himself as a white dot, beside him another white dot he presumed was Audreg. A blue line that slithered through the map like a vein told him a stream was nearby, and close to that a town. Where he stood though, were the grey rectangular shapes that symbolized the Buckberry Farm. He tapped on it again, hoping some information would come up.

For a second, with the appearance of a thin strip beside the map, Mythril’s heart leapt. It settled quickly though when he realized that in the space where there could have been text it was empty below the word LORE.

“Really? In all that I’ve probably done in this game, I never came here?” He shook his head at Audreg, who let out a low and hollow whooping sound in reply.

“Well, if birds are hopping in and out of the windows with berries, I can’t imagine the inhabitant is anyone evil,” he started to walk around the side of the barn, Audreg followed behind at a safe distance. “Birds bring gifts to fairy tale princesses,” he continued, stepping over a rake that had been left on the ground. “They sing songs, and help hem dresses and,” he tripped over an arm.

Mythril took another look at what caused him to stumble. Part of a forearm was uncovered, the blue shirt ragged and torn up to the elbow, the rest of the arm down to the wrist splodged with the odd bit of dirt. Mythril’s throat felt suddenly thick and swallowing became difficult.

“Or not.”

He bent down to inspect the arm, pushing soil from the hand and uncovering what he could. He’d reached up the shoulder when he became aware of something gripping onto his leg.