Extending a fingerless gloved hand, the figure continued to sway in place. Unlike a human, his fingers were bright pink, with sharp nails that were colored brown. I took the figure’s hand and shook it firmly, he didn’t seem to have much grip strength. He released his hand, taking a step back. It seemed like he had too much to drink, as he stood unevenly, swaying for no discernable reason. But his voice was clear in tone and diction. I had never met a drunk who could speak so smoothly yet walk like that.

“What is your name, if I might ask?”

“Norman, Norman Benson,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. Using my real name didn’t feel right, especially with what I was doing in Orten, but he didn’t seem untrustworthy. At the very least, he knew Greenspring.

His hood bounced up and down as he nodded his head. “Ah yes, I thought I recognized you.”

“You know me?” I asked.

“How could I not! I’ve been following your exploits ever since I’d heard about you. The great Norman Benson. It is an honor to meet you. Everyone in Xalir said you were the best bard they had ever heard,” said the figure. His voice was smooth, ranging in the higher pitches of tone.

“You know of Xalir?”

“Oh yes, I know of many places. Of course, I don’t remember all of them. Xalir has been fresh on my mind since I was just there.”

“How much of it did you see? Did you visit the countryside? My farm, the Benson family farm, is it doing okay?”

The figure’s swaying paused for a moment as if he was doing it on purpose before he continued. “I’m sorry, Mr. Benson, but I didn’t stay in Xalir long enough to know which farm was which. I didn’t hear any news about a Benson family farm.”

I took a deep breath. No news was good news. Still, it would have been nice to hear something. There hadn’t been a reply to my last letter. Of course, it had been some time since I had sent a letter and been in a place where I could receive a reply.

“Sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense. Any man traveling away from home would ask such a question. Though, I must ask, if you’re so worried, why don’t you visit them? I’m sure they would love to have the great Norman Benson visit!”

I glanced around us, looking for any sign of the harska I traveled with. Their cat-like features would have made them easy to spot in a crowd, but I doubted they would risk being so visible. Of course, they let me walk into town looking like I was homeless, so stealth wasn’t first in their mind.

“I’ve been busy. Going through a bit of a rough patch.”

The figure nodded slowly, his hood bouncing up and down again. It was difficult to see what he looked like under the hood since he was standing with his back to the sun. His face didn’t look human, but I couldn’t be sure. At least he wasn’t a harska.

“I understand. Sorry for bothering you, good sir. I will be on my way.”

“No, please! Sit down. I wasn’t sending you away, friend. I always have time to talk to my fans.” I gestured to an empty spot on the fountain’s edge. Nodding, the figure sat down. 

It took some time for him to get himself settled, but when he did he took his hood off. Beady black eyes stared down at me. His face extended out into a snout with a bright pink nose at the tip. Round, black-colored ears pointed upwards above his fur-covered face. Fur covered his entire body, except for his hand. It was white, like snow, on his face, with a darker grey for the rest of his body. Overall, he looked like a humanoid opossum.

He smiled, revealing his sharp canines. “Surprised? Most have never seen an opoamer. It would have been a pleasant surprise for you to be different.”

I apologized for my shock, but it only made him laugh. “I require no apology, friend. Especially not from the great Norman Benson! Now tell me, what do you know of Greenspring? You wouldn’t happen to be talking about that Greenspring, would you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know several Greensprings, you tend to if you hang around druids long enough. I sometimes find it strange how common that name is. Anyways, I have a druid friend of mine that goes by that name, he’s pretty famous amongst the druids. Do you know him?”

“I know a druid named Greenspring, but I’m not sure if he’s the one you're talking about,” I replied. Never in my life had I met a person named Greenspring before I went to Kent’s Crossing. My knowledge of the world was smaller than I thought. That had been a lesson drilled into me since leaving Xalir.

The opoamer frowned. “Does he wear a wooden necklace shaped like a wolf’s head?” I nodded causing him to smile and bounce in place. “That’s my friend! How is he doing? I haven’t seen him in years.”

Shaking my head, I sighed. “Not well. He’s... well, that’s partly why I’ve been having a tough time.”

“Is he in trouble?” he asked, his smile turning to a frown.

“I don’t think I can discuss it freely. Even if I could, I doubt you could help,” I said, kicking the dirt.

“There are few problems that have lived longer than an opoamer. Even so, if you don’t feel comfortable discussing it out here, why don’t we meet in my room tonight?”

“I don’t think that will work either.” Trying to change the subject, I faked a cough. “Forgive me, but I don’t think you told me your name?”

He smiled. “Sunday.”

“Like the day of the week?”

“Precisely. My mother named me Sunday because that was the day I was born. When you have 13 kids, naming becomes a hassle.”

I nearly fell backward into the fountain. “13!”

“13 survivors, I should say. An opoamer’s life is not easy. Sometimes only two or three survive.”

“But you say opoamer live a long life? How could a creature barely survive birth yet live for so long?” I asked, scratching my head.

Sunday shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know the complexities of my life.”

Yelling could be heard from down the street. I looked past Sunday, squinting my eyes to make out what was happening. A black shape moved quickly, kicking up dirt as it ran down the road. A muscular man waving a hammer above his head followed. The leather apron covered in burns told me he was the local blacksmith.

As the shape moved past the fountain, I locked eyes with it. Yellow eyes. I groaned. It disappeared around the corner. The blacksmith followed, yelling, “Get back here, thief!”

Sunday tilted his head to the side as he watched the commotion. He must have noticed the annoyed expression on my face because he threw his arm around my shoulder. His rough fur rubbing against my neck didn’t do much to calm me. It made me itchy.

“No need to worry about that mess. Harold will catch that thief, just wait,” he said smiling.

I stood, brushing my pants off in an annoyed manner. “Doubtful. I’m afraid I must be going, Sunday. If we meet again, don’t be a stranger.”

“You’re leaving already? I thought you were staying for a while?”

“That was the plan,” I replied, looking towards the dispersing dust clouds. “But it looks like that plan changed.”

Sunday followed my eyes, realization dawning on his face. “You’re working with that harska?”

“What?” I almost hurt myself turning toward Sunday.

“Norman,” he said, like a mother scolding her child. “Why would you ever work for a harska? Or even with a harska? Please tell me you’re not working with them.”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

“The harska are ruled by an evil dictator. Any deal you’ve made with them will never be fulfilled. They’re using you.”

“I know, but what else can I do?”

Sunday smiled. “You can stick with me. I’ll protect you from those cats.”

I laughed. “I don’t doubt that, my friend, but I’m not worried about protecting myself. I have to do this to save my family and my friends.”

The sounds of the blacksmith faded into the background as the crowd either left to watch or got bored. Sunday’s face grew grim, his eyes staring somewhere beyond me. I nervously looked towards the street where I could still hear the commotion. While my back was turned, Sunday reached into his pocket and pulled out a leaf. After tapping me on the shoulder to get my attention, he held it out toward me.

“If you need my help, Norman, use this.”

It looked like a normal maple leaf. “How?”

“Give it to Greenspring, he’ll know what to do.”

I took the leaf from his hands and carefully put it into my pocket. “Thank you, but I have nothing to give you in return.”

“Your music is enough. Continue to hone your skills.”

I laughed. “You sound like Piopus.”

“Who?” asked Sunday, tilting his head.

“Nevermind.” I sighed. “I wish we could have talked longer.”

Sunday made a dismissive gesture. “This is not the last time we’ll meet, I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you, Sunday,” I said, turning to leave.

“Ah, wait, I have one more thing to give you.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small cookie wrapped in paper. My mouth watered as he unwrapped the cookie and held it out toward me. “Take this and eat. You’re going to need to keep your strength up if you plan to help your family. Be good, Norman Benson. Not just well, be good.”

With that, I said goodbye and raced after the blacksmith. Running through town was difficult without drawing attention to myself. Thankfully, everyone was too busy gossiping to notice me slip past them. Even if they did notice, I doubted they would have paid me much attention. I was only human after all.

I reached the edge of town. In the distance, I could still hear the blacksmith yelling. Guards were stationed on the road, keeping the crowds from following. An armored knight on a horse stood nearby. “Keep everyone back,” they yelled. There was no way I could follow Bagheera. Frustrated I ran back through the town, trying to find another road.

My legs ached as I found a crack between two houses I could slip through to get outside the town. Squeezing through, I found myself alone. The sun illuminated the empty fields. In the distance, farms stretched through the hills as far as I could see. If I ran, no one would find me. I would be free.

Wasn’t that what I always wanted? The freedom to show off my talents to the world? Free from family obligations and debts. I shook my head. Wasting my time thinking like my former master would only get people killed. If Sunday knew who I was, then I didn’t need to leave Xalir to be famous.

I took the cookie he gave me out of my pocket and ate it in one bite. Sugar, almost pure sugar. It was the best thing I had eaten in months. With renewed determination, I headed toward the direction of the harska.

The camp we had set up the previous night wasn’t far from where I was. I wasn’t sure if they would still be there, but I didn’t know where else we would meet up. There was no cover as I ran there. Anyone could have seen me sprinting, huffing, and puffing as I went. Very suspicious. Though, stealth was out of the question now.

Climbing that final hill was rough, but I managed. At the bottom, I could see our camp. Patches and Smokey were quickly packing everything up. With his hand blocking the sun from his eyes, Bagheera was stationed on the hill opposite me. He peered toward the town, no doubt looking to see if he was followed. Damian barked orders in the center of the camp, sitting on a large burlap sack. My heart sank as I realized that was the blacksmith.

Before I could think about running away or saving the blacksmith, Bagheera spotted me. He yelled something I couldn’t understand to the camp, who all looked up at me. Taking a deep breath, I carefully made my way down the hill. No point in dragging it out further. I couldn’t have saved the blacksmith if I tried. At least, not yet.

Damian smiled. “There you are. We were wondering if you had run.”

I shook my head. “Not an option.” Gesturing toward the sack, I asked, “What’s that?”

“None of your business,” said Damian. “We’re heading back.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be leading this mission? Besides, we didn’t get the info we needed.”

Patches smacked the side of the sack with the back of her hand. “All the info we need is in here. Congratulations, Norman. You’re one of us now.”