Morgan and Issa had found their roladii about a half-mile up the valley from where they’d tied their leads. As Issa had predicted, they’d pulled free when their supply of food had run low. Still, they hadn’t wandered far, and they came running when the two adventurers whistled. Issa was hugging and scratching Gopp, and Morgan did the same, running his hand over his mount’s dusty back and scratching between his feathers. “Good boy, Munch!”

“They seem fine—no scratches or cuts, and they’re plenty fat still. Aren’t you, boy?” Issa laughed, slapping her roladii’s thick haunch. Morgan smiled at her, relieved to see she was starting to act like her old self. He hadn’t liked the sadness he saw in her eyes when she looked at him and his missing arm.

“Well, there’s plenty of light; should we start back? I figure we should head home for a while and take stock of things before starting another new adventure.”

“Yes, definitely. We have some goods we can trade, and I think we should see about getting your race evolved as soon as possible. We might need to travel to Tarn’s or even further to one of the bigger cities.”

“Oh man, for a second there, I thought you weren’t going to focus on my arm.” Morgan chuckled to himself, pulling his riding gear out of his pouch. “Though, I guess it’s hard to forget when I need your help constantly. Let me get this tack started, then maybe you can tighten the buckles for me?” Issa didn’t respond, and he knew she was trying to be tactful. He supposed he needed to let her feel how she felt for a while. It’s not like they’d been dealing with his injury for a long time; it had been less than a day, really.

Having an improved body and a massive strength compared to when he’d been on Earth certainly made it easier to cope with the injury. He easily hoisted his saddle up on Munch and managed to get the straps started underneath him. He slipped his halter and reins over Munch’s head, then he stepped back and smiled at Issa. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” She replied, though the laughter she’d had with Gopp wasn’t in her voice. She stepped over and quickly pulled Munch’s straps tight, buckling them. While she was leaning over, Morgan slipped up behind, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her backward, so they both tumbled into the grass. She laughed and feigned a struggle but turned into him, and they both lay side by side in the grass for a moment staring at each other’s faces. Morgan leaned forward to kiss her, savoring the softness of her lips and caressing her hair with his hand.

“I’d give up both my arms for you, you know? It’d make touching you a little harder, but I’d try. I’d use my feet if I had to.”

“Shut up, dummy. You know I feel the same, though.” She kissed him back, and they lay together in the grass for a while, soaking in each other’s presence and listening to the sounds of insects buzzing and birds talking and the roladii quietly munching on grass.

They camped at the top of the old stone road that led down into the box canyon that night. Morgan did his best not to act frustrated with his missing arm—he struggled to do everything from setting up the tent to fixing some food. He was starting to learn a whole new appreciation for people he’d known with missing limbs. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; everyone he’d known who had lost an arm or leg in the war had been fitted with prosthetics pretty quickly. He knew there were people without resources who didn’t get the high-tech prosthetics that had been available to the various militaries and more stable governments, but he hadn’t known any of them. His friend, Mark Alvarez, had lost his leg from the knee down when his transport blew up. Later that year, when Morgan ran into him, he’d been fitted with a prosthetic with nerve attachments. He’d sworn he could feel it when Morgan tapped on his chrome-colored shin.

“Now that’s an idea,” Morgan muttered while he stirred the little pot of stew Issa had started cooking.

“What?” Issa looked up from where she sat, using an awl and some scrap leather to repair a strap on the old saddle that the herders had given Morgan.

“I was thinking about a friend of mine who lost his leg in combat back home. He got something called a prosthetic leg replacement. Basically, it’s an artificial leg that allowed him to walk almost naturally. I was thinking, I mean, there’s actual magic in this world. Shouldn’t it be possible to get an artificial arm while I’m working to improve my race?”

“I’m sure of it, Morgan. We could look into it if we don’t have any luck getting you some racial advancement treasures. You’re getting close, though; aren’t you up to base seven?”

“Yeah, I am. I just need three more, right? Is that what you and Von-dak meant by an evolution? Moving past base to improved?”

“Yes, each tier is an evolution. I wonder what other changes you might experience! Some Ardeni grow a tail.” Her smile was mischievous, but Morgan couldn’t quite tell if she was joking.

“Seriously?” He raised an eyebrow, and she just smiled some more, not answering. Did he need to be worried about his body evolving into a monkey or something? “No, that would be devolving, right?” Issa giggled as he muttered to himself, and Morgan stirred the stew.

The next day they moved quickly through the box canyon and then through the Orangerock Hills toward the Gresh Woods. They made good time and didn’t encounter any Shadeni raiders or Cadwalli herders. They saw lots of wildlife, though—little rabbit-like creatures, sheep-like holbyis, deer-like huldii, something that looked like a cross between a moose and a buffalo that Issa didn’t have a name for, and even a huge thunderak lizard that hissed and scuttled away at their approach. “There’s a lot of wildlife, but it doesn’t seem very dangerous. Are there no big predator animals around here other than the boyii packs?”

“I’m sure there are. Maybe they were driven off by the Yeksa your people killed or by the Yovashi that used to live near here. Where there’s so much life, there must be predators, though. Maybe they’re avoiding us; most predators are smart enough to avoid other predators. If their bellies are full, they won’t want to risk injury.” Issa spoke like she knew what she was talking about, and Morgan had to remind himself that her people were primarily hunters.

They camped at the edge of the woods that night, content in the knowledge that they’d make it back to the colony the next day. Being near the dark forest and its long shadows brought a sense of danger to the night, and Morgan insisted they take turns keeping watch. Issa didn’t argue, but when it came time for her to sleep, she curled up with a blanket near the fire, resting her head on Morgan’s lap. “Keep watch while I use you as a pillow, then,” she said, smiling to herself. Morgan chuckled, using a stick to push the coals apart and allow the fire to die down; he didn’t want the light in his eyes while he watched, and it wasn’t a cold night.

While he listened and scanned the darkness, his mind wandered, and he found himself performing his cultivation drill, almost by accident. He shook his head, stopping midway through a cycle because he was absolutely unaware of his surroundings or how much time had passed. He looked up at the sky and could just make out the sisters behind the tree canopy, and he realized it was past midnight. As gently as he could, he slipped out from under Issa’s head, bunching a blanket up as a pillow for her. He stood and stretched, silently kicking some blood back into his leg that had fallen asleep.

The night was anything but quiet; hoots of some kind of bird echoed through the trees, wood creaked and cracked in the high branches, the wind sang through leaves, and now and then, an animal would call out in the distance like a cross between a bark and a cough. He peered into the shadows, idly wondering if any animals or monsters were watching them, ready to dismiss the notion, but then a pair of bright eyes reflecting the moonlight caught him by surprise. He stared at the eyes, peering at him from the side of a tree trunk at about the height a person might stand. Morgan didn’t make any threatening movements. Instead, he carefully walked to the edge of the little patch of grass where they’d made camp, holding his hand out to show it was empty.

He didn’t know why he was trying to put the watcher at ease; it would probably have been wiser to draw his sword and shout for Issa to wake. Something about the eyes, and the way they hugged the tree, though, made Morgan think whoever was watching him was frightened or curious, but not dangerous.

Slowly the eyes moved away from the tree, and a shape emerged from the shadow. It looked humanoid, but definitely not human, with long thin limbs that moved stiffly like the joints didn’t match up with where a human’s would be. It stepped out of a dark shadow cast by the canopy of leaves and into a ray of moonlight, and Morgan got a good look. The creature looked to be made of wood and bark, maybe five feet tall with thin limbs and three long digits on each hand. It held a hand up, and Morgan took a step forward. Just then, a shriek sounded from maybe a hundred yards behind the creature, and it shrieked in turn, opening a mouth that split the lower half of its head and revealed rows of sharp, splintery wooden teeth. It screamed again, turned, and ran into the darkness like a rabbit running into a shrub.

Morgan felt Issa’s presence before she spoke, “What was that?” Her hand came to rest on his lower back, and she stood at his side, naked rapier facing the darkness.

“Some kind of tree or bark person. It didn’t attack me or anything; I think it got scared.” Issa laughed at his words.

“Morgan, I love how you think; you’re always so willing to give the benefit of the doubt. It sounds like you met a Striksa. They’re not really dangerous to people unless they find you wounded. They mainly eat carrion, but Morgan, sweetie, if a few of them came upon you lying hurt in the forest, they would eat you alive, completely oblivious to your screams. They aren’t nice.”

“Not a pleasant image. Well, there go my dreams of making allies of the little tree people. Are you ready to keep watch for a while?” He turned back to the camp and stooped to pick up the blanket, shaking it out. “I’m ready for some shut-eye.”

“Hmm, sure. I’ll wake you at dawn, and we can hurry back to First Landing and have breakfast or lunch there.” She sat by the still orange coals and patted her lap. Morgan smiled and lay down, resting his head on her lap and quickly falling asleep as she caressed his brow.

Later that morning, they made good time riding their roladii through the forest toward First Landing. Morgan used his Guardian’s Senses ability to make sure they were on the right path, focusing on Arthur Ballard as a guide. At first, he’d tried to concentrate on Bronwyn but had been alarmed to find his sense of her so distant as to almost not register. It was like she was on the other side of the world somehow. He took some comfort that he could feel her at all; she wasn’t dead, but she was definitely somewhere out of his reach. When he told Issa, she looked concerned also but tried to sound hopeful, saying that it could be that she’d found a way to teleport somewhere.

They rode into First Landing just before noon. The guards at the gate waved them in warmly, expressing concern about Morgan when they saw his arm. He shrugged, trying to make light of it but inwardly dreading how he’d have to explain it to everyone he knew in town; it wasn’t something like a scar that he could cover with some clothing. They were coming in through the southern gate, and the houses had really multiplied in the area while they were gone. The cobbled road had branch streets now, leading down rows of little homes. There were wagons on the road, and Morgan was surprised to see quite a few people that weren’t human walking around conducting business.

They passed by not one but two new taverns when they got near the central hill, and Morgan almost stopped by one of the new establishments to eat but decided he wanted to check in with Alec Green at the original tavern first to see what was new in town. When they came around the hill, he saw a new sign hanging in front of the big wooden building, “Green’s Tavern and Brewery.”

“I guess when you aren’t the only game in town, you can’t just call your place ‘the tavern.’” Issa smiled, and they tied their roladii to a post near the wooden deck and then walked into the building. People moved out of Morgan’s way when he walked in, and he realized he towered over pretty much everyone. He certainly had a jump on them in terms of racial levels. He wondered if anyone in town had gotten any ranks other than Bronwyn. Even Issa was taller than many of the humans, which put things into perspective for him; Morgan had gotten used to thinking of her as small and quick, but she wasn’t really so small anymore.

“Morgan? Is that you? Come on up to the bar!” Alec’s familiar voice cut through the din in the room, and Morgan turned to see him leaning over his bar, a grin on his ruddy face. “Jesus, man, what happened?” He asked when he saw Morgan’s missing appendage.

“Ancestors! It’s rude to ask questions like that, you know! Maybe he’s tired of explaining to everyone!” Issa’s vehemence caught Morgan by surprise, and he realized it wasn’t just him that was tired of talking and thinking about his injury. He put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.

“It’s alright, Issa,” he said quietly and then continued, more loudly, “We had a lot of success, but I didn’t escape unscathed. Good news is, I’ll probably find a way to recover in this world of magic. I am tired of dwelling on it, though. How about some brunch?” The wince that Alec had affected when Issa snapped at him faded, and he thumped the counter.

“Coming right up! Sit down and take a load off, friends!”