A Kind of Magic

Ten

They progressed fast across  the land that despite having a distinct mountainous feel looked in some aspects similar to Elvenshire, in others to Dwarfland-- wide stretches of lush forest gave way to meadows and fields interspersed with villages-- until late afternoon, when Peregrine agreed to stop for a meal in a copse of trees growing on the shore of a great lake.

"From here, we will tread carefully, I want you two ride close behind me. As we approach Goon Brenn, the ground becomes increasingly waterlogged. I have no intention of pulling you out of the peat bog, elf," Peregrine admonished.

"It doesn't look all that dangerous to me, dragon," Leodhais muttered, observing the sandy path leading from the copse towards the lake where long grasses whispered, shivering in the cold wind that substituted the mild breeze which had followed them across Goblinica. 

"You are welcome to try, of course," Peregrine said, standing up, nodding towards the place where the path, leaving the lake's shallows, grew darker, the sand turning into damp soil, before it vanished in a grove of young trees. "I'm simply saying that I might not notice your disappearance in time to rescue you."

In reply, Leodhais muttered a couple of words under his breath in a voice so low that not even Gilderoy caught them. The dwarf sighed as he followed Peregrine's example, got to his feet, and mounted his pony, wishing that the two would behave more civilly to each other. He had tried to defend and explain both of them to the other; he had tried to sow the seeds of friendship between them. But it had been to no avail, and now he gave up; the elf and the dragon shifter seemed to find each other instinctively disagreeable.

"How far is The Gate Inn?" Gilderoy asked after a long while of silence filled with the eolian tones descending like rain from above their heads to entwine with the sucking sounds of their horses' hooves disappearing in the thick, sticky mud as they progressed along the path at a walking pace.

"It's not too far, but we won't reach it before nightfall, considering our velocity."

Gilderoy nodded, then let his horse fall back in his place between Peregrine and Leodhais, who allowed his steed to follow the other two without his interference and dozed off in the saddle.

The wind grew stronger as the travellers rode through the grove, which morphed into forest only to reverse into another lake's treacherous shore; thick, squishy mud never entirely disappearing from beneath their horses' hooves. 

Feeling the gelid wind running through his clothes and skin to his very bones, and seeing all the murky water without ever meeting another living soul, made Gilderoy feel dismal and cold, and he dropped off his horse with chattering teeth when they finally arrived at the walled courtyard of The Gate many hours later, the large inn being the only human settlement they found along their way that day. 

Loud music and bright lights spilt through the small windows of the vast stone house, banishing the night into the shadowy corners of the cobbled courtyard. 

"We'll take the horses into the stables and look after them before we go in," Peregrine instructed, observing Leodhais who just let himself slip off his horse and stood watching him, shivering, with his moss green eyes still unfocused by sleep.

"Why do we have to do this ourselves? Won't the innkeeper send someone to look after the animals?" the elf asked.

Taking Shadow by the bridle, Peregrine approached the elf and stood very close, frowning down at him. 

"This is my family you are talking about, elf, and they are not your servants; you are their guest."

"Oh?" Leodhais muttered, intrigued, as he and Gilderoy led their horses towards the stables. "Family, you say? Now you must tell us more, of course."