Birds flit through the trees and squirrels rusted in the leaves. Crumbs dropped onto the map spread across his lap. He brushed them away, continuing to enjoy the fruity flavor of the rations. 

Black dots faded in and out on the rough blueprints of a town that represented Behoden. These were people who can help learn magic, however, as he thought of more specific requirements the targets changed. Did he want someone kind or someone who could teach him quickly? Or just someone to not betray him to the army? What about the best in the world? 

The ink wriggled, split, and expanded; Forming new pathways and outlines until the continents were shown. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Still the map showed an unfathomable expanse of land. He folded the map to put it out of sight. It was too much. 

How could the map show everything? This item was surely a gift from the gods, like the heroes magic treasure map you hear about in stories. He unfolded the map to see a simple sketch of the nearby woods and the shape of a unique tree.

 “A treasure map. Is it really? Is it not?”

Keenin rose and brushed the crumbs from his lap. He held the map high, turning to get his bearings. Then he started walking away from the river and his boat. Eventually he stood in front of an apple tree, examining the map to determine where to dig. 

“Isn't it supposed to be x marks the spot,” Keenin complained.

Slowly the image of the tree zoomed in on the page and an ink drawn apple came to focus. He lowered the map and stared up at it in real life.

“This...is a regular apple tree isn't it?” A ticklish feeling arose in his chest and he found himself smiling. 

He chuckled. “I guess it is a treasure.”

*

He returned to his boat, tossing up and catching the apple in his hand along the way. He had nearly returned when a sound made him stop.

The sound of things being ripped apart, a screeching, and the stomping of feet.

“No, no, no.” 

He rushed forward, pushing aside the last branches blocking his view. The scene was chaotic. Long legged birds the size of a donkey were greedily rummaging his packs for food. Their long nails left scratches against the boat.

Their beady black eyes fixed upon him and Keenin knew that he had made a terrible mistake. He reached behind him and pulled the short knife from his belt. He had only intended to use it to cut fruit.

One of the creatures squawked quietly as if questioning his motives. He dropped the apple and pointed forward the knife just as the group swarmed him.

He tried to shove, and slice, and kick the large birds away as they pecked and scratched at him. Somehow he had to get away. He took off at a mad dash along the riverbank. He pushed past bushes, and brambles, and trees, but it wasn’t enough. Keenin tripped, dropped his knife, rolled, and curled into a ball to protect himself.

Claws racked his bare head and arms. As warm blood spread down the side of his face a deeper, darker feeling of hate for his attackers stirred within. He grit his teeth, still with his eyes closed he imagined them around him. Using hatred as his fuel he lit them ablaze. 

Screams reverberate through the trees. Feet stomped more wildly, the attack on him stopped, water splashed. When the burnt smell of meat entered his nose he weakly opened his eyes. 

The large birds lay dead or dying, black and smoking in heaps, but Keenin didn't get up. He wasn't certain if he could. Everything hurt. He felt a burning pain from numerous open wounds. His stomach was woozy and his eyesight adjusted in and out of focus. 

His mind idly focused on a waving tuft of grass across the river that he recognized was a herb to prevent bleeding. He might have reached out a hand. He didn't. Couldn't.

Would Tess scold him for only making it this far? He must have looked so pathetic.

He closed his eyes and smiled then because he also thought of Aleban, and that warmth, it wasn't a bad thought to die with. 

Someone gently touched the top of his head and said something he couldn’t understand.

*

He sat on the steps of the library, eyes blinking in the sun. A hand rested atop his and he turned to see her. Tess.

“Tess.”

Time stretched out between them, ever growing apart. 

For a moment longer she continued to watch the life of the village play out. 

“Keenin. I'm sorry.”

“For what?” 

“For killing you.”

“But…” she hadn't.

Tess lifted her free hand. In her hand was a knife, so simple, so sharp. 

“But you promised. You see Keenin. You already promised.”

She placed the cold knife to his throat. 

*

He gasped, pushed himself up and retched onto the leaf littered ground. He knelt there panting, senses strained by the scent and sight of vomit, arms shaking. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaned back rising onto his knees, and put a hand to his mouth and nose. 

Beath. 

In.

Out. 

In.

Out.

It wasn't just a dream. His eyes had already sighted the burnt and blacked birds before he could shut them out. Things were not exactly right. He was covered in blood with no wounds. But this was real, uncomfortably so. 

He groaned in frustration and chanced to look again. His bags of rations were ruined, ripped, flattened, and wet. The boat…

“Heh.” A nervous laugh escaped him.

The boat was burning. One of the monster birds had fallen in. How? Just how?

Reluctantly he took the self scribing map from his pocket and unfurled it resting on the ground. He wanted the fastest way back to town. He couldn't do this. 

“Hey…”

“Hey kid.” 

He looked up at the stranger, down to where his knife had fallen out of reach in the leaves, and up. 

“Rough day, huh?” It wasn’t a question. 

There stood a weathered yet chubby man with a large travel pack and bedroll. 

He curiously eyed the charred creatures, and wandered over to one to pull out an arrow. He brushed the feathered ends.  

“Nice fletching. An elven arrow for sure, but what's with the fire? Is this a new way to pluck feathers?” 

By this time Keenin had quietly stepped around him to pick up the knife. 

“And you…ruined supplies, broken boat, map…disdainfully cheap. I bet you don’t even know the way home,” the man said.

“It's all mine,” Keenin claimed.

It might be mostly ruined, but he still needed food for travel, especially to go the remainder of the way on foot. 

“Well…I'm a merchant not a bandit. How about you pay me with these birds and I take you with me to Behoden?” 

That said, he pulled a large serrated knife from a sheath at his hip, set his pack aside, and knelt down to cut into a bird corpse.

“Come on. Put that knife to use. This meat won't cook itself. The scales are in better shape than I thought. We're taking some pelts.”

“Scales…”

But they were birds. Keenin approached and saw for himself. Scales under the feathers. He lifted one with the tip of his knife. Finally he plunged in his knife and set to work. Lester had taught him the basics.

“I'm Bodwin by the way.”

“Keenin.” 

At least he didn't have shoes to get dirty. He remembered there was a set of clothes in one of the packs. He glanced at Bodwins overstuffed bag. 

“Is it true what they say about war and merchants?”

“Hmm.”

“That it's good for business,” he clarified. 

“Sure. You just need to know what people want.”

Keenin picked up a stick nearby and started stripping the bark, then he skewered a few pieces of meat.

“We need a fire,” he noted. 

“Go make one,” Bodwin replied as he continued gutting the carcass.

Keenin considered if he could cheat with his fire abilities, but quickly discarded the idea. He collected wood into a pile and searched his scattered bags for matches. At least he found cloths. 

Bodwin finally approached with two pieces of stone and struck them to produce sparks until the kindling and wood caught fire. 

“What's that called?”

“You mean flint? Shouldn't you know. Were you actually a privileged brat to afford matches?”

“Hmmm. Forget it.” Lester always gave him matches.

Bodwin watched the frown on Keenin's face deepen and recognized the depressed state. 

"Come here.” Bodwin held out a white bar. “It's soap. Go wash. I can finish in half your time anyway.”