Sometimes the sun rises on a tragedy. Sometimes it rises even higher, taunting the stars behind its glow, because of a tragedy.

Of course none of this was of any concern to young Moss. He was exhausted, lost, and feeling a touch wronged by his circumstances. All that he wanted was to marry a rich and powerful woman who would by virtue of being rich and powerful, take care of him for the rest of his life and allow him to live peacefully.

Tragically, in order to win over women of such extraordinary merit, he would have to achieve a certain amount of merit as well. Meaning that he would need money, status, and an appearance that didn’t look like a rather unfortunate homeless individual.

He was lacking for all of those things.

It wasn’t impossible for him to have some of those things. Should he swallow his pride and return to the demonic realm where his mother surely awaited with a disappointed scowl then he would definitely at least have money.

Moss had decided to strike out on his own though. Working as a mercenary or existing as a mysterious traveling swordsman had seemed like such a romantic notion when he’d first thought it up. None of the books he’d read had mentioned that most of the life of a vagabond was spent hungry, wet, and the whole mysterious thing mostly just made people glare at him suspiciously.

Moss was a naturally sociable soul and so it didn’t really suit him to spend so long in isolation. Isolation was a huge reason he’d left the cloying protection of his parents. And a certain ill fitting and hypocritical distaste for caste systems had driven his feet further away from that fate.

As the sun rose up though, Moss felt the first bit of hope he’d had in weeks. Weeks. He’d spent wandering the seemingly endless forest because some old man had told him about a quest that he was pretty damn sure was a lie and had to survive on whatever disgusting thing he could cook on a campfire for long enough to forget what it actually was.

At least there was some mercy in Moss discovering his unexpected talent for cooking. It wasn’t exceptional by any means but he was pretty sure that no one could make a cricket and frog soup as appetizing as he could.

On this glorious morning though, Moss crested a hill and spotted with the light of dawn a small village that was half encircled by the endless forest.

Moss hadn’t just finally found his way out of this damn forest, but he’d found people and people meant food and drink and conversation. Oh how he’d missed conversation.

In all his nineteen years of living, Moss had never gone such a long period of time without another soul to talk to. He’d succumbed to talking to his sword and passing rabbits most days. Which made him increasingly uneasy because he was beginning to feel like they would answer back to him if he waited to listen.

People weren’t meant to live in isolation. Moss nodded to himself with the sureness of this statement and gleefully made his way in the direction of the wholesome little village.

The perfect place for a hero’s journey to begin.

Astor would not have grown into the paragon of femininity even if she had lived until adulthood but most especially in her youth, Astor was rather androgynous in appearance. She made no effort to improve upon this nor did she feel any desire to do so.

That was perhaps why she was quite usd to being referred to as young man or little boy by those who didn’t quite notice the subtle differences between the sexes.

She responded just as well to either. Astor was better known by such ambiguous terms than her own name and so, her name felt a far stranger form of address than that kid over there ever did.

It’s impossible to say whether this was due to a legitimate detachment to her gender or because she merely had more important matters to think about.

Where her next meal would come from, first and foremost.

That said meal was exactly why she was caught off guard when someone called out. “Hey! Hey kid!” While she was collecting mushrooms.

Astor sighed and looked up at the approaching and bedraggled swordsman who was grinning in an obnoxiously friendly way. “Hey! Boy!”

Astor decided to ignore him. It was always in her best interest to avoid the strange people and things that cropped up from the forest. Actually, it was probably in her best interest to avoid everyone but that was a conversation for another day.

Heedless of her clear disinterest, the swordsman jogged up. “Can you help guide me to the village? I’ve been lost for ages. Oh, are those mushrooms edible? They look good.”

Without asking he plucked one from her arms and inspected it. “You know, I know the best recipe for mushroom scumbo. Well, actually I don’t know it per say. I figured it out on my travels. Hey, wanna make some together after we get out of the forest?”

Astor was a little impressed. The crazy bastard could hold up a conversation all on his own. Curious as to how long he’d last without a single reply, she walked mercifully in the general direction of the village with him in tow. “You have no idea how long I was stuck in there! I was really going crazy! Did you know the branches in this forest move at night? Not like in the wind but just–move.”

Astor actually didn’t know that. She’d never once seen the forest at night. She spared him a curious glance before passing him a second mushroom, seeing as he’d already swallowed the first one.

He continued on after munching on the second mushroom. “Oh! I’m Moss by the way! Moss Dwarn. What’s a kid like you doing alone in the forest anyway? There are some seriously dangerous monsters here. You should probably go with someone else if you need to pick mushrooms. Or–oh, I can go with you next time! Just let me know.”

…amazing… this guy had absolutely no sense of boundaries whatsoever. He was completely crazy and probably dangerous. Also he’d just stolen a third mushroom without asking. She’d make him make good on his promise to make scumbo because at this point there wasn’t enough left to fill her stomach.

Despite herself, Astor’s lip twitched upwards in amusement.