THREE DAYS OF walking brought them into the deeper, darker wilds of the Northern Territories. Trees towered above them, gnarled and twisted from the strong winds that came off of the distant mountains they traveled towards. Once camp was set up, Doom, Tiwaz and Tracker went out to hunt, leaving Gareth and Simpkins alone.

Gareth dumped another armload of wood in a pile as Simpkins got the fire started. Neither spoke to the other, even after they had both settled on their sleeping mats near the chill-banishing flames. After some time listening to Gareth quietly strumming his lute, the ogre asked, “Is Tiwaz always so bad tempered? I don’t think she’s spoken more than two words since we left Bralden. I thought she would have relaxed once we settled into rhythm of the journey.”

Gareth shrugged one shoulder, not looking up from his playing. “Couldn’t tell you. I haven’t known her very long.”

Simpkins snorted. “Really? I thought the reason she was snappish towards you was because you were having a lover’s spat.” He blinked when Gareth nearly broke a string in reaction to the comment.

The bard looked around in a half-panic, then sighed gustily in relief before turning an annoyed glare on the ogre. “Don’t ever say that again, unless you want to get one of those damned blades of yours stuck somewhere the sun doesn’t shine. And it won’t be me doing it. She would.” Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said in a low voice, “We are not, nor have we ever been, lovers. I might have entertained the idea when I had first met her, but…” He sighed. “She is very…withdrawn. She’s only just started trusting humans again. I’m lucky she’s accepted me on any level at all.”

The ogre arched an eyebrow in mild surprise. “Why would she hate her own kind?” He looked into the forest, musing. “Though it would explain her closeness to a gromek and a wolflen.”

“The fact Doom and Tracker aren’t human has nothing to do with her friendship with them. Tiwaz honestly doesn’t hate any race, just magic users. She does not trust anyone easily beyond the rare individual.” He sighed softly. “The cruelty she suffered at the hands of Alimar the Black doesn’t bear repeating. The worst was discovering she’s a shape-shif—” Gareth bit his words off, but he got the magic user’s attention with the slip.

“Shape-shifter?” Simpkins looked at the fire thoughtfully as he poked the wood with a stick. “That makes sense. I’d wondered how a normal human came out of the Southern Wildlands. She did mention she and Doom were from there.” He glanced up. “Do you know what her other form is?”

“You know about shape-shifters?”

Simpkins gave a withering look to the bard as he straightened. “Of course I know about them. Every properly trained magic user learns about the worst transgressions caused by our arts and lycanthropy is one of the worst ones.” He looked back to the fire, expression grim. “I also know exactly how the blights were created, but those were created from the shape-shifting races from the northern continent. The southern continent was home to a wider variety.” He looked up again. “What is her other form?”

“Black panther.”

“Ah.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Heard of them. Traveled the Southern Wildlands and managed to ferret a few groups out. The black panther was all but a legend even to them.”

Gareth looked dismayed, glancing upwards when the wind gusted and the trees creaked ominously. “There aren’t any left? Alimar killed them all?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. I was still a journeyman when I traveled with my master through the Southern Wildlands. Met a shape-shifter whose bestial form was a tiger. More of a loner, like normal tigers. He told us about Alimar’s ‘safaris’ through the Wildlands. Many populations and settlements of any native race were devastated, not simply shape-shifters. Unfortunately, he never specified which ones. He was not inclined to tell my master or I more than vague details because we were magic users from the north.”

“Do me a favor, then,” Gareth said in a low voice. Simpkins arched an eyebrow and the bard said impatiently, “Keep my share of the payment and whatever treasure we find. Just…find out if Tiwaz is the last of her people. If there is any chance she might be able to go home someday, she should know.”

Simpkins scratched his chin thoughtfully, then rubbed Mya’s back with his little finger, the tiny wind sprite looking as though she were cooing in pleasure. “I don’t think she would be at home anywhere else than where she is right now, Tavarius. Not many places where an entire population, especially of mixed races, would jump to defend anyone against someone like me.”

“You noticed that, did you? And you stayed despite the fact you were risking an arrow, spear, knife, or sword to the kidney?”

He grinned, looking sideways at Gareth. “I knew quite well the intention of next to every individual in Bralden the moment I showed up, but I needed Doom and Tiwaz for my quest to succeed. If I’d not lost my temper with that child, maybe we’d have started out on better terms. But once I didn’t need to worry about being attacked, I was quite impressed with the loyalty they have inspired.” His smile faded. “But if I do learn anything, I will send word.”