Faefalling (working title)

17- I return to civilisation and find it still sucks

I lifted the tattered cloth a tad, and peered like a child through a keyhole. A dark line ran down the otherwise hardy skin. I was tempted to reach out and rub it off, as if it were a mere smear.

I looked up to check on the line's progression. A mother and her youngling stepped through the gate, clearing the way for me. In a flash, I straightened, wary once more.

One of the two guards grunted, hardly glancing my way as I marched up. The second bade me stop and approached. There was nothing I could do but stand there. With a flick of his finger, my cloak was thrown aside. For a brief moment, Craorag glinted in the light and my daggers twinkled. Met with the blood-red blade, their eyes widened.

"You another of those bounty hunters?" one asked. He was a young fella, that I could see even through the muck coating his face.

A bounty hunter... works for me. I nodded.

His face lit up. "Well, you should know, you've a lot of competition. Anyone who's anyone is looking for that melter." He leaned in close. "Ya know, I heard one of his allies is human."

I scoffed. "Surely not! There's no such thing. They're just tales."

He frowned. "Well I believe 'em! A real live human, could you even imagine!"

"I certainly don't need to. Am I good to go?" I addressed the other guard.

He grunted and waved me off as the young soldier stepped aside, frown not lifting. I walked through the gate, glancing it over on the way. Overhead hung a wooden portcullis, chains latching it to the thick stone.

I sucked in a breath and took another step. I was in. Deaintinn in all its splendour. We'd made it.

Beyond the gate, the whole mood shifted. I had to admit, it was somehow strange to see actual smiles and hear laughs there within. So much for Neala's stories of the oppressed. No wonder she'd never once let me visit our neighbouring kingdom. How was I to end their lives in battle when I knew the families behind the soldiers?

Fae of every colour strolled through the snug streets, the crowds perhaps even larger than those in Timpearl. Younglings tugged their parents along, oohing and awing at every new sight. Thin, tall homes lined the road, cheery voices wafting out of open windows, lovely fae hanging out of others. The air smelt rich, happy, healthy even.

Part of me revelled in it all. Nothing like the streets of Scathliath where all I got were glances and whispered rumours. In Deaintinn, I was nothing, nobody. Just like I'd always wanted.

I smirked, a small pep added to my step as I strolled past an inn. The large poster hanging on its door caught my eye and dragged my legs to a stop. There was an awkward double-take before I saw the obvious. Hand-drawn and sloppy it may have been, but I was fairly sure those narrow eyes belonged to yours truly. With a furtive glance around, I spotted at least three others of the same make in my iminent vicinity. I scowled but took a couple of steps closer. I mean, it was my first ever wanted poster. Wouldn't you wanna ogle a bit?

Clearly, whoever had drawn the pictures wasn't out to paint me in my best light. The crooked nose and pile of sheep fluff on my scalp made that clear. And, by the gods, what was with that shit-eating grin.

My gaze floated up. Beneath the big WANTED ALIVE sat an amount of tunns that had my head spinning. The eight figures brought a warm tingle of pride to my chest and a smirk to my lips. Perhaps the artist hadn't been so far off in that regard.

Not that any of these supposed bounty hunters could bring me in alive if they tried. I guess it's the thought that counts, I shrugged.

For a minute, I pondered whether or not to pull off my hood and pose beside the drawing. Would anyone even recognize me? There was a fifty-fifty chance, I thought. Maybe I could even improve the posters myself, if anyone would be kind enough to lend me some ink. Chuckling, I moved on.