I had a hard time talking with Nadine after we moved on. The feeling that I was missing something important, and that something was just at the edge of my mind stuck with me for the next few miles. I did my best not to think about the oddity at the shrine, and focus on our surroundings. It wasn't safe on the open road, and I couldn't afford another mistake.

  This time, at least, we weren’t alone on the road. The traffic was heavier than anything we’d seen in the north, with wagons and riders moving steadily in both directions. It made sense. This was a direct route to Valoria, after all.

  The heavier traffic weighed on the road, and despite looking as if it saw regular maintenance, the wagon traffic was well worn into it. Still, the wagons rolled easily enough, and it was a relief to look ahead and see other travelers dotting the distance. If people were on the road and moving normally, that meant that monsters and other trouble weren't in the way.

  It wasn't until Altivo snorted loudly that I realized that might not entirely be the truth. Suddenly more alert, I smelled the same thing that had set him off.

  I kept scanning the sides of the road, but tilted my head toward Nadine. "Keep an eye out. I smell blood. Nothing fresh, but lets be careful."

  “Right,” Nadine said, sounding like I’d dragged her out of a daydream. “You’re sure? Is it an animal? … Or, I guess, can you tell the difference?”

  I raised an eyebrow at her, but she only stared back with honest curiosity, so I answered. “Yes, I can tell the difference. It’s human blood and others. Horses… and something that has to be a monster. The cold helps.”

  As if that reminded her, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself. “That has to be useful,” she said after a moment. “Being able to just know things like that, I mean. Does it work the same way with anything else?”

  I nodded, but before I could say another word, Altivo turned off the road toward a copse of trees, and all the horses followed automatically.

  “Hey there, boy. What’s this?” I asked.

  A nicker answered from ahead.

  As we reached the tree line, two large horses emerged, both heavy-boned and broad-chested, the kind bred to pull weight all day without complaint. Their harnesses were in tatters, leather straps snapped or half-torn free, the remnants twisted around their legs and chests.

  I slid out of my saddle before Altivo had fully stopped and ran to them. One favored its front leg, stepping gingerly, while the other stood stiff and wide-eyed, sides heaving. The broken traces had wrapped low around their fetlocks, biting deep where they’d fought to break free.

  I spoke softly as I worked, hands already moving, checking for open wounds, swollen joints, anywhere the leather had cut too far. It was a small relief to find only fresh scrapes and bruising. Nothing that should have crippled them yet.

  “Easy,” I murmured, easing a strap loose. “You're safe now.”

  Nadine was beside me a moment later. “Careful, Mirela,” she said, sounding more astonished than worried. “They’re just… standing there. How did you do that?”

  Even as she spoke, she was already gathering the loose straps, keeping them from shifting or spooking the horses further.

  "I'm good with animals," I answered. I turned my focus back to the horses, "It's okay. I've got you."

  I reached for the well of light deep in my core, gathering its warmth out and pushing Healing Touch into the horses, one after the other. There were far more injuries than I could see, most minor, but they began to truly relax as the magic took hold.

  “They look like they fled from something in a panic,” Nadine said, glancing around. “Oh… And they weren’t the only ones.”

  I followed her gaze. Three more horses lay farther in among the trees. They hadn’t survived.

  I frowned. “That’s strange.”

  She looked back at me. “What is?”

  “I can’t smell them,” I said. I hesitated, then added, “I should be able to.”

  Nadine didn’t argue or ask for an explanation. She just nodded slowly, as if that was reason enough. “Let’s not get any closer.”

  She pointed off to the side instead, where the undergrowth was crushed flat. “The wagon left the road here. They landed hard. I think the other horses belonged to their guards. They must have tried to hold whatever it was back so the wagon could get away.” She paused, taking in more of the scene. “But… where are the people?”

  “I don’t think they’re here,” I said. I took another breath, then grimaced. “There was blood. A lot of it. But it’s old enough that it’s mostly gone now… A day, maybe.”

  Nadine went quiet at that, focusing on untangling the horses for several seconds.

  "Do you think we should find the cart and check for survivors?"

  I stopped, looking at her, and then along the tracks where they rounded the woods before disappearing into the trees.

  "If the horses are here…" I began, but stopped when I saw the look on her face. "We can check. If these horses found their way back to the others in this condition, the cart can't be far."

  The horses stayed close behind us as we walked further into the trees. We had no trouble following the wagon's trail. The churned earth was easy to read even where the light breeze had blown fallen leaves to cover the tracks. Its path veered hard, crashing through brush and saplings in a testament to their desperation.

  We found it only a few minutes later, not far from where we'd started. It was more of a wagon than a cart, wooden walls supporting a canvas roof. It sat at an angle in a shallow clearing, one wheel splintered clean through, the axle wrenched out of alignment but not torn free. The canvas had been ripped open along one side, the fabric hanging loose and darkened in places that left little doubt to the fate of its riders.

  Nadine stepped toward the rear gate, but I put a hand on her shoulder. "Let me."

  She looked like she might argue for a moment, but we both knew what we might find, and eventually she just nodded.

  I drew my sword and carefully closed in on the wagon. The drivers seat was empty and I made my way around to the back. The rear had a wooden door sitting cracked open, but not far enough to see within. I listened for a moment, but I heard nothing, not even a sign of breathing, and I reached forward with the tip of my blade to push the door open.

  I jumped at the loud creak that broke the silence, but then… nothing. It was empty.

  "No one is here," I called to Nadine as she moved to join me. "They must have fled when the wheel broke."

  She looked inside as well, then to the canvas roof. "Yes. I can see why…" She began, then stopped short beside me.

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  I followed her gaze to the edge of the clearing, and saw the bones. They were scattered across the ground. A forearm here, a rib cage half-buried under leaves, a skull cracked open like something had struck it with purpose. The marrow had been pulled clean, the breaks jagged and ugly.

  I approached the area and crouched, careful where I put my hands. There was no blood left to speak of, not on the ground or near any of the bones. What little had spilled here had already dried or been taken by insects. The bones still told us everything we needed to know.

  “This was recent,” I said. “But not rushed.”

  She risked a step closer. "You can tell that from the bones?"

  I nodded. "They still look moist where the marrow was removed. And the coloring—"

  She coughed, interrupting me, then swallowed. “So… no survivors.”

  “No,” I agreed. “If there were, they wouldn’t have left the horses.”

  We stood there for a moment, the woods too quiet around us.

  Then Nadine straightened, her attention shifting, practical as ever. “The damage isn’t fatal,” she said, circling the wagon. “The wheel’s gone, but the frame held. That axle could be braced. The rest…” She trailed off, glancing at the torn canvas.

  “It’s fixable,” I said. "If they had materials for repair on hand, at least. What are you thinking?"

  She knelt next to the wheel. "I think this is a full merchant wagon, and we need supplies and funds."

  I glanced back toward the trees, the way the tracks disappeared deeper into the woods. “Whatever did this isn’t here anymore… But it might come back.”

  Nadine froze for half a beat, but then gave a single, curt nod. “Then we shouldn’t stay long.”

  “No,” I agreed. "Let's see what we can find. This can't be too hard."

  We worked quickly after that, our conversation limited to the task at hand.

  Nadine found a narrow storage compartment beneath the wagon bed, half-hidden by a warped plank. Inside was a compact repair kit, the sort that would keep you prepared for exactly these kinds of issues even while you hoped to never need them. Iron bands, wooden wedges, spare fittings wrapped carefully in oilcloth, and the tools to make use of them worn smooth from prior hands. Not a replacement wheel, but enough to brace one, argue it back into place, and keep moving.

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  “That helps,” she said, sounding relieved.

  I set to unhitching what remained of the broken harness, freeing the wagon from what little restraint it still had. The draft horses we’d found earlier stood close, uneasy but willing, their ears flicking toward every sound in the trees. The others stayed farther back, Altivo watching the woods as if he’d decided they’d already lingered long enough.

  The broken wheel came off with effort and no small amount of stubbornness. The hub was cracked, the spokes splintered, but the axle itself had shifted under the strain rather than breaking. We braced it with iron bands and wedged the damaged wood tight enough that it no longer wobbled freely.

  “It won’t like turning,” Nadine said, tightening the last clamp.

  “It doesn’t have to like it,” I replied. “It just has to hold.”

  She gave me a look, then nodded.

  When the physical work was done, she paused, hands resting on her knees, and glanced at the wheel again. “This would be a lot safer with reinforcement.”

  “That's a good idea,” I said. “I can manage the basics if you take care of the rest?”

  She hesitated only a moment before agreeing. We worked together then, quiet and focused. I traced the binding runes where the wood met iron, careful to keep them subtle enough to be missed by would be thieves but complete enough to strengthen the structure. Nadine layered her own work over mine, smoothing the strain points, spreading the stress so no single part would bear it all.

  When she finished, she exhaled slowly. “That should keep it from tearing itself apart.”

  “For a while,” I said. "Long enough to get to the next town."

  “That’s all I’m promising, and all we'll need.”

  We harnessed the two draft horses we'd had from the beginning, leaving the newcomers to rest and follow. The wagon creaked when it rolled, complaining loudly about being asked to move again, but it moved. I watched it for a long moment, listening to the sound it made. Uneven, but nothing broke. It was a good start.

  “I guess we're not so bad at this!” Nadine said, a little pride in her voice. “Now, so long as we take it slow, it'll get us back to the road."

  “Slow is fine,” I replied, watching the shadows behind every tree. "So long as we're moving."

  We didn’t linger. I took one last look at the trees, then climbed up to guide the wagon as we eased it forward, back toward the road it had fled from. There wasn't enough space to turn around, but we made a new path through, staying far wide of where the other horses had died.

  The moment we were back on the road, the horses picked up speed without being told. The further we got from that place, the easier it was to relax. After a mile, even the horses seemed to calm and I could practically see the tension flowing out of Nadine.

  "Tonight we should make camp early," She said, looking at the flapping canvas meaningfully. "We can get a few more repairs done and see about cleaning the wagon out some."

  I nodded, "The interior is in surprisingly good condition. It shouldn't take long."

  "We'll also need to catalogue everything inside. See if there is anything we don't want to sell."

  I hummed. "You don't think we could sell the entire cart with everything inside?"

  A bark of laughter escaped her. "I'm sure we could, but with far less profit. We may have to, I have no idea how large the next town will be. But if we can itemize everything and sell things at market value, it will go a lot further."

  "How long do you think that will take?" I asked, a little concerned.

  She gave a small shrug. "I don't know. But I think any time lost would be made up for by having proper supplies again. It's only getting colder. We're going to need to start carrying more supplies for the horses, or find a new home for them."

  "That's a good point," I said. "I just want to get back to Ebonhold as soon as we can. The sooner we get there, the sooner we'll be able to find a solution to the curse."

  Nadine was quiet for a moment after that.

  “When we do,” she said finally, “how exactly is your father—your adoptive father, I mean—going to take me showing up?”

  "What?" I asked, confused for a moment. "It won't be a problem. He has guests from time to time. Some of the others do as well. I don't see why he'd pay any special attention to you visiting with me."

  She gave me a strange look. "They…do? Like who? I was getting the impression this was a quiet place where the two of you lived. What others? And who is visiting?"

  “Oh.” I shook my head. “I may have given the wrong impression. It’s not common. Father had a guest once when I was a child, and again when I was a young teen. The others in the coven, other vampires, sometimes travel with companions or host visitors. I think I’ve met three over the years." I paused for a moment, thinking about them. “One of them was an elven lich. That was… memorable.”

  "Mirela, I'm a human," she said, exasperated, before giving me a look over. "Well, the non-vampire kind of human, anyway. Were any of the others human? Will I be safe?"

  I turned to face her, and studied her expression. She didn't look afraid. She looked cautious if anything, but more than that, curious. Slowly, I nodded.

  "You will be safe. You'll be with me. You'll be a guest." We rode in silence for a moment while I thought about her other question. "I don't think we've had any human guests… I know once one of the adventurers in the forest asked to be turned rather than killed. She was like a guest for a few days, but the ritual failed."

  Nadine was quiet for a while after that, her gaze fixed on the road ahead. The wagon creaked softly beneath us, a steady, almost comforting sound now that it had settled into the road.

  “So,” she said eventually, as if picking up a thread she’d set down rather than starting a new one. “You said she asked for it, rather than being killed. Is that common?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not at all.”

  Nadine glanced at me, waiting.

  “It doesn’t occur to most people,” I said. “I don’t think they spend much time wondering where vampires come from. The ones who do, they think of us as monsters. When they’re faced with death, that’s still what they see.” I hesitated, then added, “And maybe they aren’t wrong. The ritual fails often enough that it isn’t something anyone should reach for lightly.”

  “But it’s possible,” she said carefully.

  “Sometimes,” I allowed. “And when it fails, there isn’t a way back.”

  “I see," She said, pausing again to process before asking, "And that’s something any of your people can do?”

  I shook my head. “No. I wasn’t taught how. None of us are, not until we're strong enough to do it correctly. And even then…” I shrugged. “My father doesn’t allow it.”

  “Doesn’t allow it,” she repeated. “Because it’s dangerous?”

  “It is, but that isn’t the only reason.” I thought for a moment, then continued. “He doesn’t see a need for it. He would have the highest chance of success himself, and anyone turned by his progeny would be weaker than the rest of the coven. They’d never truly belong.”

  She frowned. “And that would cause problems.”

  “Yes,” I said simply. “For everyone. It turns into a hierarchy, and there is more to it. If the bloodline thinned too far, eventually it would create real monsters."

  She considered that. “So, you’ve never seen it happen?”

  "Someone being turned?" I asked, and she nodded. “No. I've only heard about it from others in the coven."

  "Wait," she said, a little confused. "What about you? Didn't you go through it yourself?"

  "Me? Oh. No, I was born this way. It is why Father adopted me, so I wouldn't be alone. That is why I call him father while the others call him Master."

  She watched me, searching to make sure I was being serious. "That doesn't sound normal."

  "It's not. It's also a secret, so don't tell anyone."

  She nodded slowly. "Alright. I won't. Well, what about the others? What do they say?”

  I knew what she was really asking. As usual, she wanted to know everything. So, I thought about that, and it took longer than I expected it to.

  “That it’s overwhelming at first. Painful and confusing. The hunger drowns out everything else. Their emotions leave them for a time, and never truly return. It's not that they don't feel, but everything is dull compared to what they remember from their lives before.”

  “That sounds awful,” Nadine said quietly.

  “It is something they adjust to,” I said. “Eventually. I think it is a little different for everyone. Father didn't like me talking to humans at all because my emotions were so strong. It took me a long time to understand why that mattered.”

  She nodded, then asked, carefully, “Do you think you could do it? If you had to.”

  The question caught me off guard.

  “Turn someone? I don’t know,” I said, a little uneasy. “I’ve never considered it.”

  But the idea lingered in an uncomfortable way. It wasn't any kind of plan or desire, but more like recognizing something waiting in the shadows of my memory. Something that I'd felt lingering there since my evolution but never focused on.

  “…I think,” I added slowly, “that if I focused on it long enough, I might understand how. Even without being taught.”

  Nadine glanced at me, eyebrows lifting slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

  “I don’t like thinking about it,” I said. “There’s no reason to. And my father would never approve. I don't even want him to know I might be able to.”

  I saw the questions in her eyes. She wanted to ask why, or what would happen if he knew, but she didn't. I appreciated that.

  Instead, she said, “So it isn’t about whether you can. It’s about whether you’re allowed.”

  I exhaled. “Yes.”

  We rode on for a while after that.

  “You were born this way,” Nadine said eventually. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.”

  “So none of this was a choice for you.”

  “No,” I said. “This is just who I've always been, and always will be.”

  She nodded, absorbing that, then surprised me by smiling faintly. “That’s more honest than most of the stories.”

  “What stories? About vampires?”

  “About… anything. Life. The ones that pretend power always comes with intent,” she said. “Or that there has to be a moment where you chose to be different.”

  I didn’t respond right away. My gaze stayed on the road, and it took a moment to understand she wasn't just talking about me. The realization didn’t surprise me. It only made her words settle differently.

  “I think people like believing that,” I said finally. “That there was a decision somewhere. It makes it easier to understand… The idea that someone could simply be something, without asking for it, tends to make people uncomfortable.”

  Nadine was quiet again after that.

  When she spoke next, her voice was softer. “I think that might be why the idea of going home frightens me.”

  I glanced at her, taking a moment to process her words, but then looked ahead again. “You don’t have to decide anything now,” I said. “We’ll deal with the curse first. That’s the important part.”

  She nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

  “And after that,” I continued, carefully, “if you decide you don’t want to stay in the city… you don’t have to.”

  She looked at me then, surprised.

  “You could stay with me,” I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “In the forest, I mean. Or travel. Or whatever you want. There’s no rule that says you have to go back just because it’s expected.”

  Nadine studied my face for a long moment, searching for something. “You’d really be all right with that?”

  “Of course,” I said. “You’d be safe. And you wouldn’t be alone.”

  She exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders. “That’s… a lot more comforting than you probably realize.”

  I smiled faintly. “Good.”

  We made camp earlier than we normally would have. The ground sloped gently away from the road, hidden enough that the wagon wasn’t visible unless you knew where to look, with a narrow stream close by for water. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough, and after the day we’d had, neither of us felt like pressing on.

  The horses were the first priority. We unharnessed them carefully, letting them drink and settle while the light was still good. I moved among them as I worked, hand on a neck here, a shoulder there, speaking softly without quite realizing I was doing it.

  The draft horses stayed close, their earlier unease calming as they took their cues from the others. They watched Altivo, then me, and seemed to decide, almost at once, that this was where they were meant to be. The tension left them in small, visible ways. Lowered heads. Slower breaths. The simple trust of animals that had stopped expecting to be chased.

  They weren’t warhorses, and they weren’t trained for danger, but they understood safety when they felt it. By the time we stepped away, they’d already folded themselves into the loose, unspoken order of the group, as if they’d always been part of it.

  Once the camp was set, we turned our attention to the wagon. Cleaning it was easier than I’d expected. Most of what had been inside was packed in crates or wrapped in oilcloth, meant to survive rain and dust. There was blood, but not much, and what remained came away with water and effort. Nadine handled most of that, methodical and focused, while I checked the canvas for weak spots and reinforced the worst of them.

  By the time the light began to fade, the wagon felt less like a crime scene and more like a workspace. We lit a lantern and began going through the contents properly. Not inventorying in detail, just getting a sense of what we had. Cloth. Tools. Household goods. Enough coin and paperwork to suggest these merchants had planned to be on the road for some time.

  “This is all very… normal,” Nadine said, lifting a crate lid and peering inside.

  I hummed in agreement. “Useful, though.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Very. This will do very well in a big enough market.”

  She started grouping things as she went, setting aside what could be sold easily, what might be worth keeping, and what we could use ourselves. I watched her for a bit, leaning against the wall, my attention drifting from the crates to the structure itself. The bunks folded into the sides. The reinforced storage. The way the space could be rearranged without much trouble.

  Then, something clicked.

  “Why don’t we just be merchants?” I asked.

  She looked up at me. “What?”

  I gestured around us. “This. The wagon. The goods. We already need supplies, and we already know how to make things people will buy. I can do alchemy. You can enchant. If we sell off most of this, we can buy materials and trade in something we’re actually good at.”

  Nadine stared at me for a long moment.

  “…That’s absurd,” she said slowly.

  I waited.

  “And practical,” she added, a little reluctantly. “Annoyingly so.”

  I smiled. “Who would expect to find us as merchants in a wagon,” I continued, “especially after we already burned one? It’s the last thing anyone would look for.”

  She leaned back against a crate, thinking. “We’d need guards,” she said after a moment. “Normal ones, you know, adventurers. It would add another layer of protection and concealment.”

  “That would let us put the horses to better use,” I said. “We'll have spares for them to ride if they don't have their own. And we'll be able to afford tack. We can have all four draft horses together. It'll be slower, but steadier, and far less suspicious.”

  “And we wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground anymore,” she added, glancing at the bunks. “With a little work…”

  “We’d blend in,” I said. “Caravans pass everywhere. No one questions them unless they cause trouble.”

  Nadine exhaled slowly, then laughed under her breath. “You know. I was worried today meant we were running out of good options.”

  I shrugged. “I think we just weren’t using the obvious ones.”

  She shook her head, still smiling faintly, and turned back to the crates. “All right, then I suppose we should see what kind of merchants we can afford to become.”

  The lantern flickered softly as we worked on, the wagon no longer feeling like salvage, but something we were already shaping for ourselves.

  For anyone who thinks catgirls are better than foxgirls (a claim obviously false on its face, like most of this story) my friend’s tale, Unreliable Narrator’s Bias, might be right up your alley.