Emotions ran high throughout the evening, though the two goblin boys were already back to their antics, oblivious to the day’s weight. Freja returned to her tent, determined to finish setting it up. Sabec had shown her how the night before, and it seemed simple enough: ropes, poles, cloth, and stakes.
How hard could it be?
After several frustrating minutes of wrangling stubborn poles and collapsing fabric, she heard footsteps crunching on the ground behind her.
“Sif, need a hand?” Owen’s voice broke the silence as he caught one of the poles just before it toppled. “You’re not going to get it to stay up like that.”
Freja hesitated before answering. “Uh, yes, if you don’t mind. Thank you.”
Owen crouched down and began securing one side of the tent. “I wanted to thank you for what you did for my boy,” he said, his voice steady. “I know lesser potions aren’t cheap, so, how much?”
Freja opened her mouth to protest, but Owen raised a hand, cutting her off. “And don’t give me any nonsense about it being free.”
“I-I don’t know what the going rate is for a lesser health potion.” Freja said, “I made that one for emergencies, so I don’t feel right charging you.”
“You made it?” Owen asked, eyebrows lifting as he drove the last stake into the ground. “Hold this steady while I tighten it.” He gestured to a pole.
“Like this?” Freja asked, “And yes, I know how to make lots of different potions.”
“Are you an alchemist?” Owen sounded genuinely stunned. “Why in the world were you disowned?” His words hung awkwardly for a moment before he winced. “Sorry, that was insensitive. Helina mentioned the Shiagaunt, but still, an alchemist?”
Freja’s face fell slightly. “My family had...different expectations.”
Owen snorted. “If they couldn’t see the value in their daughter or in an alchemist, then screw ’em. Sounds like a bunch of stuck-up shits.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.” A surprised laugh burst from Freja.
Owen dusted off his hands and reached into his coin pouch. “I’ll give you a silver for the potion, saving my son, and, well, for putting up with my wife getting snot all over your skirt. She cried so much earlier, you’d think she was the one who got kicked.” He held out the coin. “And your tent’s all set up.”
Freja stared at the silver coin in disbelief. “This is...too much, isn’t it?”
“The going rate for a lesser health potion is fifty copper,” Owen said. “Greater potions? Five silvers. Grands are a gold or two. Supremes—those’ll cost you five hundred platinum, easy. They’re miracles in a bottle: regrow limbs, restore memories, pull you back from death’s door.”
“So this is too much,” Freja insisted.
“No, it’s not,” Owen replied firmly. “Oh, and Helina and the boys are heating up the tub again if you want another bath. They want to thank you too. Sleep well, Sif.” With that, he turned and walked off into the evening.
Freja stared at the coin in her hand, her thoughts swirling. This was the first money she’d ever earned. As a Salstar, she’d been prohibited from working, her role was to uphold the family image. Her parents had given her just enough to maintain appearances, buy textbooks, and eat. Nothing more.
She hurried to her book bag, pulling out a small silk pouch filled with the gold coins her father had given her before he left. The sight of them churned her stomach. She’d kept them out of necessity, but the thought of relying on that money was suffocating.
Selling potions hadn’t crossed her mind before, but now? She glanced toward the bustling caravan. These were seasoned merchants, if anyone could teach her, it was them. For the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope, a direction to follow.
“Bjorn,” she called softly, glancing at her familiar. “Ready for another bath, baby?”
***
Freja and Bjorn strolled through the campsite, their footsteps crunching softly on the uneven ground. The glow of the campfire illuminated Sabec and Joha, who were deep in conversation. They both had open bottles of ale and were laughing and playing some kind of card game. Freja caught snippets of their low voices but couldn’t piece together what they were discussing. Her focus was elsewhere.
The goblin family had retreated to their wagon after the earlier scare. Helina had enforced a strict curfew on her children after Wyatt’s injury. She and Owen now sat on the back tailgate, huddled together, wrapped in each other’s arms. The soft murmurs of their conversation were carried away on the night breeze.
When Helina spotted Freja, her face lit up. “Oh, there she is!” she called, waving her over. “Hey, Sif, I’ll take you to the tub.”
Helina disentangled herself from Owen’s embrace with a quick peck on his cheek and hopped down from the tailgate. She strode toward Freja with purposeful energy, taking her hand.
“Thanks,” Freja said, letting herself be guided. “How’s Wyatt holding up?”
“He’s doing fine now, thanks to you.” Her grip on Freja’s hand tightened slightly. “Luckily, you had that potion on you. Who knows how... well, let’s not dwell on it.” She took a deep breath and brightened. “The Ljósálfar and the Forest Father smiled on us today, and that’s what matters.”
“I’m just glad I had extras on hand.” Freja nodded, her relief evident. “I’ll have to make some more, though.”
Helina whispered a spell under her breath, and glowing orbs of water materialized, floating around them in soft light to guide their path. She paused, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Make more?” Her voice was hushed. “Wait, you actually are an alchemist? You can make vital elixirs?”
Freja’s cheeks flushed under Helina’s astonished gaze. “Technically, I’m not an alchemist... not a full one, anyway,” she admitted, her voice growing quieter. “I was an alchemist-in-training, but I didn’t finish my courses. I know the theory and have plenty of practical knowledge, but…”
Helina saw her discomfort so she changed the subject. “Alchemy has so many specializations, doesn’t it?”
Freja’s hesitation faded as her passion for the subject took over. “That’s right! Alchemy branches into different fields,” she explained, her tone brightening. “Elementalists focus on potions with elemental properties, like fire or ice. Infusionists embed magical or chemical traits into objects. Elixirists create consumable potions, like the vital elixirs I had on hand. Catalyst Crafters work on magical implements, while Materia Alchemists specialize in metals and alloys. Then there’s the Essencier, who extracts and refines magical essence. And finally, the Theorist, who delves into the higher concepts of alchemy—working on the principles that guide all the other specializations.”
“That’s incredible, really incredible you know,” Helina said. Alchemists have a lot of paths they can take and even if you haven’t finished book work you have done a lot as it is. Not many people can say they saved a life like you did today. Some of people aren’t gifted with talents that heal.”
Freja gave a modest shrug, but Helina’s admiration buoyed her spirits. She felt a flicker of pride something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. Something she thought she wouldn’t be able to feel again now that she was a Shia. To her family and all that knew her she was a disappointment, a disgrace, someone not worthy of the name she bore.
“Thanks, Helina.” Freja said as she squeezed the goblin mothers hand.
“Let’s just say,” Helina said with a wink, “the Ljósálfar and the Forest Father truly blessed us the night when you joined our caravan.”
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***
The morning sun painted the grasslands in soft hues of gold and green, dew clinging to the blades and glinting like tiny jewels. The earthy smell of freshly disturbed plants and soil painted the world. Bjorn crouched low, his long, serpentine body pressed against the earth. His two heads moved almost in synchrony if not for Failsafe bobbing up and down. His left head focused intently on the rabbit nibbling at the grass a few yards ahead.
“Your posture's all wrong,” Failsafe teased, his voice echoing in Bjorn's mind. “You’re too high. That rabbit's going to see you coming a mile away.”
“Shh, I am focusing,” Bjorn whispered, despite talking to Failsafe mentally. “I’ve got this. Just watch.”
Bjorn shifted his weight, muscles coiling with anticipation. His eyes locked on the rabbit, its ears twitching with every faint sound carried by the morning breeze. He quickly found that was the challenge of hunting mammals. Reptiles were straightforward; they would be too scared to move because of his King of Reptiles trait. Mammals? They were fast, skittish, and worst of all unaffected so when they saw him they would flee.
“We are a predator and you’ve had it easy with snakes.” Failsafe said mischievously. “However when we actually have to practice hunting you get to see how bad we really are at it.”
Bjorn ignored him, his body taut like a bowstring. He sprang forward, his leap silent or so he thought. At the last moment, the rabbit’s head shot up, and it darted away with startling speed. Bjorn landed unceremoniously, skidding on the wet grass and leaving furrows with his claws.
Failsafe erupted in laughter, the sound manifesting as a series of sharp, hissing chuckles. “Truly a masterclass in rabbit hunting! Freja’s going to be so proud of how you almost caught breakfast.”
“At least I’m trying,” Bjorn growled, shaking clumps of wet soil from his scales. “What are you doing? Watching and heckling doesn’t count as help.”
“Help? I’m providing moral support,” Failsafe quipped smugly. “And let’s be honest, you’d be lost without me. But fine, since you’re so hopeless, I’ll throw you a bone. There’s another one to the right. Care to redeem yourself?”
Bjorn huffed, his frustration evident as he rolled his eyes. Slinking back into the grass, he reassessed his approach.
“Fine if your going to be grumpy your back legs are strong; use them,” Failsafe offered. “Pounce from farther away. Oh, and stop trying to attack from the side, rabbits have great peripheral vision. Get behind it instead.”
Bjorn grumbled but adjusted his stance, listening to Failsafe’s pointers. After a few more attempts that ended in empty claws and bruised pride, Bjorn decided one more try before it was time to change his hunting grounds. He quickly found the scent of one last furball. Lined himself up as Failsafe suggested and pounced. To his surprise his jaws found purchase and in moments the rabbit was dead. He was sure not to use his venom and bite strength alone was enough.
“See. All you have to do is listen to me.” Failsafe said.
“We will count this as the one time you were right.” Bjorn said.
“Hey, I’ve been right way more then once.” Failsafe protested.
Bjorn reached out through the subtle connection he shared with Freja, sensing the wagons slowly making their way along the road. Staying close enough to return quickly, he trotted through the grass toward the caravan.
The convoy came into view, the wagons moving at a steady pace. Bjorn approached the rear first, giving a wide berth to the warriors guarding the Isi trailing behind. He had planned to continue forward, but Embla’s voice caught his attention. The mention of Freja or Sif, as they called her, made him pause. Slowing his pace, he moved just far enough ahead to eavesdrop without arousing suspicion.
“We don’t know the truth, that’s the thing,” Embla said, her voice sharp with dissatisfaction. “We need to interrogate her further.”
“You seemed perfectly happy to help her before,” Tyr countered, his frustration bleeding into his tone. “You saw the treant’s corpse and the druid familiar. She defended herself and did something worthy of admiration.”
“If that’s true,” Embla said her skepticism was clear. “She has a druid warstaff, and I can sense her mana—it’s faint, but it’s there. It doesn’t add up. I’m not suggesting we torture her, but we need to know exactly who she is and where she comes from.”
“She’s a Shia,” Tyr said firmly.
“A convenient excuse to hide family ties,” Embla replied, her tone cold. “But it’s still an excuse. A Shia can name the family that disowned them. She has a familiar, meaning her family was wealthy or skilled enough to summon and bind it. That makes her, at the very least, a wizard.”
“So what are you suggesting she is a druid spy,” Tyr asked accusingly. “Or some kind of druid in disguise?”
“All I am saying is that we don’t know.” Embla said.
Tyr pulled his wagon to a stop, turning to face Embla. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to lash out, but he held his tongue. He exhaled deeply, locking eyes with her.
“Fine,” he said at last, his voice measured. “You’re right. We need answers, but listen to me, Maiden Embla. You can question her, but she is to be treated with respect. She saved lives by killing that treant, and that deserves honor, not suspicion. Once you find everything in order, this matter is to be resolved. Is that clear?”
“Of course Heir Tyr, it is all I wanted.” Embla said with a nod of her head. “I will go find her—”
“Wait, we are going to be arriving at árdyrholt soon. I understand she is helping Sabec, wait until the end of the day. It’s not like she is going anywhere.”
“As you say, Heir Tyr.” Embla bowed her head.
Bjorn sped back up after their conversation seemed to fall into silence. Now he had one more person to worry about.
***
Freja strolled along the roadside, her flora book in hand, her sharp eyes sweeping over the landscape for any signs of useful plants. The crisp morning air carried the earthy scent of dew-drenched grass, mingling with the rhythmic creak of wagon wheels and the soft rustling of leaves in the distance. She breathed deeply, relishing the cool breeze on her skin and the comforting weight of her new attire.
Helina had gifted her the traditional Wendigo garb after her bath as a gesture of gratitude for saving her son. Freja wore a brown kvinskappe, a loose-fitting robe that swayed gently as she moved. Around her waist was a black sash called a bindill, tied snugly, and atop it was a snorband—a cord adorned with colorful beads, wrapped three times around her waist to add a splash of color. It was far more comfortable than the uniform had and it really made her feel like she was embracing something new for herself.
She was grateful that she got to walk alongside the caravan rather than driving the wagon that day. It was an opportunity to breathe the cool morning air, to take in the sights and sounds of the world without worrying about crashing or spooking the horses. She had already informed Sabec of her plan to start selling potions and that she might venture off the road if she found something she could use for potion making. The wagons weren’t moving fast and she could easily walk to catch up.
She glanced back at the gnoll, who seemed unusually quiet. The faint scent of alcohol still lingered on him, and she smirked to herself. He must have overindulged during his game with Joha last night. While she didn’t feel it was her place to pry, she made a mental note to gather ingredients for a potion to alleviate hangovers. He might appreciate the gesture more than her questions.
As she walked, her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Bjorn bounding toward her with a plump rabbit or was it a hare. Was there a difference? His tail wagged with pride as he approached, and Freja couldn’t help but smile.
“Good boy,” she said warmly as she tool the animal and petted his scaly side. “Now I just have to figure out how to cook this thing. Though... it’d probably taste fine as is.”
Bjorn tilted his head as if to agree, but before she could dwell on the thought, the goblin family’s wagon rolled closer.
“That’s a good size hare.” Owen called out.
Freja turned as Freja, walking alongside the wagon, held up the creature for a better look.
“It’s a hare? I thought it was a rabbit.” Freja said as she rubbed her chin in contemplation. “How can you tell the difference?”
“No, it’s too big and lean,” Helina chimed in, climbing down from the wagon. “Need help cleanin’ it?”
“I don’t want to impose,” she said, though the idea of handling it alone didn’t appeal to her. “Bjorn and I can manage. We’ll eat it like it is.”
Helina’s hands went to her hips, “pretty claws don't dig ditches. I will not have a beautiful young lady like you eating a raw hare like that. ” She held out her hand for Freja to hand over the hare. “You are a part of this caravan and we look after our own.”
For a moment, Freja stared at the hare, torn between wanting to keep it for herself and the gentle insistence in Helina’s voice. Finally, she relented, handing it over.
“Will you show me how to clean it properly?” Freja asked.
“Yes I will little missy.” Helina said with a sharp nod of her head. “Meet me after you help Sabec set up in the next village. Next time you think about eating something raw, bring it to me first. I know wendigo can handle eating hair and fur just fine, but it’s better to preserve and sell what we can, yeah?”
Freja considered the goblin woman’s practicality. It made sense, if she was going to be a merchant she should consider what she could sell. Furs and the like could be sold in larger towns and cities. She was about to respond when a flash of blue caught her eye. She turned sharply, her breath hitching as she spotted a delicate flower growing in the field just beyond the road.
“Excuse me!” Freja called, darting off the dirt path.
Bjorn followed at her heels bounding right beside her. Freja knelt beside the vibrant bloom, her excitement bubbling over.
“It’s a northern blue moon!” Freja exclaimed, quickly flipping through her flora book. The pages rustled as she found the entry, confirming her find. “If I can gather a few more ingredients, I can make all sorts of potions with this!”
She read and reread the proper procedure for collecting the plant. She carefully plucked the flower, her fingers gentle as if handling spun glass. Turning to Bjorn, she beamed.
“Oh,” She said as she pet the two headed lizard. “That reminded me, I’ll need some of your venom to run tests on it. You killed a troll, young man, you don’t know how rare that is with venom.”
