By the time Vyn made her way back, the camp had shifted its weight again. Laughter and argument drifted down the rows like smoke. Took her half a beat to spot the disturbance. Group of people and flash of feathers. Children hanging at the edge like barnacles. Step slowed; one paced themselves when heading into a disaster.

Near the crooked Wagon, Roki and Marcy, were deep into negotiations with a very unhappy chicken. The bird flapped its wings with vengeance in its bloodline. Roki looked determined. Marcy looked furious. Chicken looked like it was winning.

“Get ‘er, Tusky!” Marcy was cheering from the side. “Right on the nose! And get the eggs!” Hitting the air to show what must be done. Vyn was surprised Jem, or someone equally grumpy, hadn’t stopped this madness thus far. But she joined the kids at the edges, more amused than worried.

“Bet ya a coin, Jem shows up before someone gets pecked.” Her elbow nudged little Wit’s shoulder.
“Oh yer on!” Without hesitation.
 
Feathers splayed and crest raised, the chicken was having none of it. Eyes sharp as pin needles.

Roki splayed out a hand, fingers wide as he tried to fan down the ire. "Easy now, chicky, easy now,"

It warbled anything but. Spade beak struck out, green hand snaked around and swept under.

"Oh! he got pecked!" One of the children called out, mocking like. Some of them laughed. Some of them gasped with worry.

Roki whipped back his hand, as if fire itself had scorched him. His whole body behind it as he wheeled wide and squat with the weight of his agony. Feigned pain tight on his lips as his whole spine curled in to where he had been pecked. Eyes squint, almost fat with tears. Lip set to quiver.

The kid's eyes grew fat. Even the laughers stopped their laughin for a breath.

A little laugh from the green, purple, and tusky. Grin like butter hot on a skillet. From his palm he showed two eggs to the crowd.

"He got ol Nenla's Eggs!"
 
By the time the eggs were revealed, Vyn had already palmed a coin for Wit. Smile proud. Debt paid.

“Need to go before she starts calling me Jeremy.” Wit made a quick exit.

“Nenla’s eggs? Wasn’t sure you had it in you..” Approaching the young Orkin. Small clap, more for the kids than the moment. The legend would grow. In a day or two, every child would know how Tusky stared down the foul fowl of the Wagons. And came out ahead.
“Did you see? Did you see how we got her?” Marcy pulled in beside her new friend. Vyn’s eyebrows went up at the generous usage of we, but she wouldn’t correct the kid.
“Yes, most impressive.” Voice flat, but lips betraying her.
“Sure is.”

Turned back to the Roki and continued. “Come on, bread boy, you caught ‘em. Now you cook ‘em.” She kept her voice amused, but there was genuine excitement there. She didn’t often get other people cooking for her. Well other than the communal fires, but that wasn’t quite the same.

“If we survive Marcy’s inspection, we may make an Elum of you yet.” She attempted serious, but it wouldn’t hold.

“Let’s go.”
 
Tusky, the young man grinned. Nod. Followed after, two eggs the richer.

At the crooked wagon, the pots and pans came quick. Rattle and clank over a set of logs stacked tinder box style. Stakes stamped into the green earth. Ingredients set about. Dry stuffs sifted, sorted, and mixed. A skin of water there, a ceramic bottle, stopped with good cork, and etched with a lattice of runes that glowed a feint blue, and hissed a pour of cool mist off its walls. And of course two hard one eggs.

"Marcy, come here!" he motioned to the kid as he squat down to the fire-pit. Soon as her little steps came close, he squat down low to the tinder and the logs. "You gotta help me pull the fire out of these here logs, ready?" he clapped his hands together, closed his eyes, and rubbed palms quick against each other. Rasp and hiss rasp and hiss.

"Hinter log, and neath the dirt, from falling stars to ember's skirt," he led the little cant. Stuck his hands out with palms pointed toward the stack of firewood. "Psst," he whispered to the kid. "Be a whole lot easier if you cant along," true as any tale round a fire.

Rise ye sparks, rise!
Let not there be such dark,
Let food be cooked, let bones be warmed,
about your tinder glow
Rise ye spars, rise!
Lest the cold turn biting, the fare gut blighting,
and the winds of winter grow

Each little line met with a sweep of hands, that rose and wavered, traced lines and shapes of flame. Each word uttered hotter. Each breath almost set to smoke. Even those who did not weave might feel it. Rise in their chest. Warm in their blood. Flame's promise came spark with a clap.

And the cookfire caught light. Like a thing with its own heart. Its own eyes of purple and blue. Greedy hands of green leapt and grabbed at the wood and the tinder, and it hissed in its delight. Popped. Crackled. Was just a small flame as any other.

Roki looked pleased. Uncorked the bottle, poured it into the pot. "Ever have milk from Burret?" he asked with a peak as the milk sizzled sweet against the heating iron. Its sugar quick to caramelize, Roki stirred it with a wooden spoon. Dashed in some flour. "Stuff tastes like the gold off the clouds," he said too happy. Nod to the cold bottle in his hand. "Have a sip!" pulled it back a moment. "Any more than, and that's illegal," he warned. "Wanna try some, Vynella?" he asked absently. Eyes back on the goings on within the pot he tended. Nose taking measured sniffs.
 
Vyn didn’t interrupt the cant. Just moved quietly to the edge of the circle as Roki and Marcy began. Her hands at her sides, and her eyes in the forming flame. She joined the tune a few beats late. Under her breath, just enough to lend weight, but not enough to claim it.

“Rise ye sparks, rise..” Old words, reshaped by young mouths. The best kind.

She allowed herself to get caught in the warmth. Not just in the fire, but in her chest. The kind of warmth you didn’t get from proximity. It was something shared, stoked. The pot was speaking in tongues of hiss and sizzle as the smell of sweet spread the small space. Spread the moment too.

Her nose twitched with memory, then approval. Milk, thick with sugar, was caramelizing dangerously quick over the open flame. It took her back to a different night. Different Wagon. Different cant. Not her hands holding the spoon, not her voice leading. Just watching. Unable to remember why she was there. She blinked. The moment passed.

Her nose wide open to the familiar smell of delicious, her smile opened too when matters of legality came up. Vyn’s eyes cut to Marcy. The child shrugged in the same unconvincing manner the woman did; on days she wasn’t quite herself. Guilt clung like smoke.
“Couldn’t be you.” Voice dry. Marcy gave her best innocent look, and to Vyn’s surprise, it was getting better. Marcy used to quiet moment to turn back to the pot fully.

When the bottle came her way, she didn’t hesitate. One swig, straight from the neck. She wiped her lips, frowning.
“The milk is cold. Kept cold. Jem will like you.” Realizing how strange that sounded. “His own rune work is having some issues lately.” She added quick.
Her eyes back to the faintly glowing bottle again.

“What’s a Burret?”
 
"What's a-" Roki laughed, shook his head. "Burret is a place," he nod as he gave the thickening roux another stir of agitation. "It's a village, betwixt the Rock and the Hold, their cows, they say, are descended from the great Aurochs itself," he breathed wonder into the sounds of it. Wind come off a crag. "I can take a look, see if might be able to help," Turned his eyes unto Vyn with a glint of mischief in his eye. "Does this Jem of yours appreciate fine dairy?" he asked with a wiggle of his brows.

Sniffed something that wafted up from the mix of white smoke and heated iron. "Oh, smells like its done," sweet and full of flavorful burn. He scraped the paste up the walls of the cast iron. Up and up, away from the heated belly of the pot.

A wooden bowl came out, flour mixed with yeasted water he had stowed in a fine glass jar. A spoon stirred, turned the powdered stuffs to sticky mass. Scraped up the paste, and mixed it in too.
 
“Jem tends to…appreciate things quietly. If you hear a thank you, he probably owes you his life.”
A snort to boot.
She leaned forward to watch roux disappear within the dough. “Likes fine hands tho.” Nodded to Roki. “And good bread.” A sniff test. Successful. “You’re getting dangerously close to both.”

Her grin split the moment. She was never quite sure what people would make of Jem. He was just Jem. The way he was meant to be. And there was comfort in that. People being exactly who they were supposed to.

“Burret, huh?” She rolled the name around her mind. It was unusual for there to be a village famous for something she hadn’t heard about. Perhaps one of these years the Road would take them there to make her own story and remember the place properly.

“You belong here.” Wasn’t sure if she meant the fire or the Wagon or all of it. But he did.
 
A plum colored brow quirked, tusks showed the more and his head keeled toward the big woman. Not bigger than Gruki, but plenty big all the same. "You think so, huh?" he brightened at the thought. Nod, as he stuck his hands into the mess that would turn to dough. "I think so too," he said with a happy squish between his fingers. Muscles set to work the magic of ingredients come together. A push and a pull, a pinch and a stretch. "Long as the Road takes me, I figure," he said absently.

Worked the dough to ready. Gave it one last nod as it sat round and stretchy there at the bottom of the wooden vessel. He could hear it singing. Little hisses and gurgles, deep down in its heart.

A snap of a rag, the pour of some water to damp, and a cover later, Roki held his concoction in both hands. "Now we need to rest this puppy somewhere cool and safe," he said to both, but looked to see if by some miracle, Marcy was still paying attention. Eyes flit back to Vyn. "Then maybe I can meet this Jem?" he grinned wide and full of his long teeth. "He seems interesting!" his amusement blanked away. mouth gathered to little pout. "Oh and..." his eyes flit to the fire. A wiggle of the nose set the flames to sleep inside the coals. Eyes back to Vyn. "Mind the milk," he winked.
 

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She gave him a look like she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned. The good kind.
She was ready with a quip, but he moved the moment too quick.
“Leave it up there.” Her head gestured to a would be shelf. It was a horrible idea on the move, but they weren’t moving anytime soon.
“High enough so Marcy can’t reach.”
“Oi”
Vyn's eyebrows went up.
“Ye” Marcy surrendered.

“As for Jem.” She stretched, making sure no limb had gone numb. “He’ll be by when the shadow hits the stones. Always is.” Looked out to the edge of camp, to where she knew his coals were dying.
“Bring him somethin’ weird.” A nod of approval. “Jem likes weird.”

She was halfway turned before she stopped, and added, quieter:
“Oh, and if you hear humming and no one’s there? Leave a gift and walk the other way.” Her back to him, the grin burned through the back of her skull.

“Could be Jem. Could be worse.”
 
Arms outstretched, fingers pushed the last bit of the bowl up onto the shelf. Turned to look over his shoulder. "Weird huh?" he asked, nose sniffed the air, as if the call of weird had activated some old part of his brain. Smile split wide and open across his face. "I like weird!" He said too eager. Near dropped the bowl from the shelf. Quick hands caught it, and with stretch of tiptoes, and push of fingertips he was able to get the bowl to sit atop the off kilter shelf.

Feet flat on the ground, hands clapped together to be rid of dust. His eyes were pulled by the quieter work of Vynella's voice. "Humming?" The question came soft. A lul in the young man's heat.

The growl of mischief from Vyn though, was like a spray of spirits over flame.

"Worse than Jem?!" He sounded bright. Followed after. "What, you lot have ghosts lingering about?" fingers wrapped about doorframes, and he pulled himself close to the wall. Peaked out the wagon door all leaned and neck stretched with head this way and that. A squirrel on the hunt for a nut. Maychance the shadow of a hawk, with more promise to run toward it than away there in the sparkle of his eye. "Some freaky little blight thing kept in a cage for study?", Almost sounded like first hand experience.
 
Marcy looked ready to declare war on the spot as the bread almost fell. But deft hands and a quick save postponed the second pastry crusade. A collective sigh of relief between the kid and the woman.
Vyn watched him peek out, as if he was trying to catch weird in the whispers of the breeze.
Bless his heart, he looked excited to be terrified.

“Worse than Jem.” Her voice played light, but eyes stayed elsewhere. Still, there would be no move to stop the boy.
“Ghosts would be a comfort.” Voice even lower. “Ghosts have rules. But this one just watches. You’ll know it’s near if kids start asking about ghost pillows.”
No smile for the young adventurer, only a tone that grew ever more ominous.
“Don’t whistle back if you hear it humming. That’s how it knows who’s listening.”
A laugh was finally let out, but she still checked over his shoulder. Couldn’t have him getting too relaxed.
“Unless you want to join the songs.”

And then as if she said nothing at all.

“But humming outpaces feet. He may already be there.”
 
Goosebumps prickled all up and down Roki's arm. Something about the how in the way she said things. Sent a shiver down his spine and had his hair stand on end. He wiggles his way out of it, and gave his foot a stamp!

Hopped out the crooked wagon and shuffle stepped onto the grass and dirt, all limber and ready to go.

"Way you talk about it," he said with excitement and daring. The sort those who didn't know no better got to brewing int their chests. "You make it sound like clockwork," he said with a grin like hot coals. Ready to catch light to any fuel that fed them. He remembered something. Looked to Marcy.

"You know something about this here whistling ghost pillow, worse than Lem?" His brow rode high. Turned quick to look easy and south. "Maybe these rocks, what with the shadows?" He sounded hungry for anything he could use.
 
Marcy startled at the mention. Calmed herself a little too quickly. Like she’d heard the phrase before. Her mouth opened and closed, but she stayed mute.
“Forgot to feed them goats.” And the kid was already snapping ‘round the corner before the sentence finished. Vyn blinked after her, unsure what to make of it. She knew Marcy was one of the kids that kept bringing it up – but she had never managed to untangle the tale.

She glanced sideways to see if Roki would laugh it off. Part of her hoped he would. The other part wasn’t so sure.

The thing about the Road was that stories were like mold. Always growing, especially in the damp and silence. The more you ignored them, the deeper they dug into the Wagonwood. Some stories had names, and others were just fed out of habit.
Vyn rubbed at her temple. Too many songs started this way. Harmless half jokes and a kid who ran too fast.

She thought about warning him, but then her jaw set, and she looked at the sky instead of meeting the stubborn spark in his eyes. If he wanted to chase stories, she’d let him.
“Don’t let Marcy rope you into carryin’ feed.” Muttered, more to herself. “The goats don’t exist.”

But something sure as hell ate the offerings.
 
Roki's eyes went wide, breath sucked down his lungs as he tracked the kid running away. Double took to Vyn, a look of, what in Ghanga's tit's was that? "Goats?" he asked.

Half laughed. Straightened up and stretched his arms. More out of habit than anything. Had to stay limber. Ready to move. Back kicked a foot up and pulled at his ankle as he stood on one foot as he looked about in the lul.

Sometimes, a bit of waiting yielded results.

Hopped onto his other foot and switched the stretch.

Don't let marcy rope you into carryin' feed... the goats don't exist.

"The goats don't..." his whole face seemed to twist in on itself. Tilt and whirl with pure God Sailor Tits. All heave and ho. "Oh!" he lit up. Both feet on the ground. and hurried after Marcy.
 
She didn’t chase them. Watched instead, arms folded, as Roki bolted after Marcy like he thought he’d catch a prize beyond the story. They disappeared behind one of the older Wagons, somewhere near where the path dipped just enough to lose your footing if you weren’t careful. The kind of place stories liked to haunt.

She tried to recall whose Wagon it was, but couldn’t.

Didn’t move yet, let them get spooked first. Then maybe she’d come remind them how to breathe.

“Goats.” Her head shook. “Always the goats.”


*​


Roki rounded the corner after Marcy, a half laugh still on his lips, when he saw it.

There was something standing in the middle of the camp. Not moving. Not hiding. Just…there.

It looked vaguely like a person, but wasn’t. The shape was off. Its arms hung too long. Its feet pointed inward, but backwards, heels where toes should be. It had no eyes, only a hollowed suggestion for their placement. Rest of its face reminded of an unfinished sculpture. It was clearly meant to be a face, but someone had forgotten the detail. Its hands moved precisely, folding one of the Elum patterned blankets into too perfect corners.
And Marcy walked right past it. Didn’t flinch or glance. Didn’t see.
He could even hear the wind carry a small “’Scuse me.” Like she’d almost hit someone, but she never once looked up.
The others were doing the same thing. The usual bustle of the camp, pots clattering and someone cursing out a donkey, ran uninterrupted. No one saw it. They stepped around it. Tilted their heads the other way. Their eyes slid off it like water and oil.

That’s when the creature turned its sightless gaze to Roki. And then it smiled without lips, revealing two perfect rows of far too many teeth.

It turned and walked through the space between the Wagons without a sound.
 
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