“The backstory is completely necessary!”

“They could’ve cut it out and the story would’ve been just fine. It literally added nothing.”

It was another day in the library with Marcy and Penryn in their usual corner. The librarian perched at her desk nearby, ready to shush the two once their argument grew too heated. She was used to their literary discussions now and knew the drill.

They were bickering over the last book they’d read, “Murder Wind.” Penryn had loved it, while Marcy thought the entire plot was unintentionally comical.

“It does not!” Penryn rebutted. “It’s the whole reason the wind became murderous in the first place!”

“You realize it’s wind, right? It can’t actually feel things.”

“That’s why the backstory is important! It explains that in ancient times the elements were gods."

Marcy rolled her eyes.

"That was a metaphor! You're missing the whole point."

Penryn retrieved his copy of Murder Wind.

"No, look..."

He flipped through the pages in search of a specific passage to prove he was right. As he did so, the edge of one of those pages licked his finger in just the wrong way, splitting the skin open. He winced at the cut and stuck it in his mouth instinctively. When he turned to Marcy, she was visibly uncomfortable.

“Wha? Does dis gwoss you ouw?” Penryn garbled through his fingers.

“No,” she said briskly and began to flip through her own copy of Murder Wind.

Her efforts to look unbothered were wasted by the squirming and squinting that gave her away. It was too much not to notice.

“You know, if it really bothers you, you can heal it,” Penryn jested.

“Can I?” Marcy mumbled under her breath so quietly that Penryn wasn’t sure if that’s what she’d actually said. “Come with me,” she commanded as she set her book down.

The two made their way to the inn where a face that wasn’t Marcy’s was currently behind the front desk.

“Hello, Mavis,” Marcy greeted.

The girl gave a polite smile as Marcy walked past her and fumbled around in a cabinet just behind the desk. She emerged with a small basket filled with cloth and small bottles. The inn’s first aid kit was basic, but it was available to anyone who needed it. The only problem, Marcy noted as she looked around, was the lack of a proper work station.

She thought of taking Penryn to the dining area, where there was plenty of seating, but knew the innkeeper wouldn’t take kindly to a medical scene in the middle of an eating area. So, she brought him to the only other place she could think of where they could sit: her room.

“Don’t…” she started as her hand rested on the doorknob, “Don’t laugh, okay?”

“Why would I laugh?” Penryn asked, afraid of where she might be leading him.

“This is my room.”

And with that, she opened the door to let him in.

The door stopped short when it made contact with the bed that had been jammed into the corner of the room. Marcy and Penryn squeezed themselves through the small gap into the room. Penryn took the whole room in with a single glance. There wasn't much.

It was clear an effort was made to make the small space look decent: a slim vase with a single flower in the slit-of-a-window, everything neat and in its own place, simple art tastefully tacked to the wall. No matter what improvements were made, though, there was no hiding that it was practically a fancy closet.

“Uh. Wow. This is the room they gave you?”

“Yup.”

“My room is five times bigger than this, at least.”

“Sure, but I can bet you anything my mattress is better than yours. Go ahead, sit down.”

He sat at her invitation and wished he hadn’t.

“Why is yours so much better?” he whined, jealousy seeping from each word.

From then on, he knew he would resent his own mattress even more.

“I can’t tell you. It’s a secret of the trade.”

Awkwardly sorting through the basket, Marcy took out the necessary items, and then some. She laid them on the bed and analyzed each one until she seemed to have decided something.

“Right. Can I have your finger, please?”

Penryn handed her his injured finger. The wound had already stopped bleeding. The small amount of blood that had oozed out earlier had dried in a smear around the cut.

“I don’t think this is necessary anymore. It's already better."

“That’s what they all say before infection strikes. Next thing they know, they have to cut off a finger to save an arm. You want to end up like that?”

Penryn slowly shook his head, horrified at where her scenario went.

“Good,” she approved.

"Your brain scares me."

He watched as Marcy sloppily overdressed his small wound, first with some gauze, then with a splint and a long cloth that was usually used to bind bone injuries. She tucked the tail end into the wrapping of a finger that now resembled a giant, sagging lollipop and sat back to admire her work.

“All done!” she said proudly.

Penryn gawked at the abomination she’d created before bursting with laughter.

“Do I have to go out in public with this?”

She gave him a look that spoke for her.

“I mean, I appreciate it,” he backtracked, “but you’ve never wrapped a cut before, have you?”

Marcy knew she’d have to choose her words carefully. Of course she’d never wrapped a wound. She never had to. Not when she could just heal with her hands. She was too irritated to dance around the subject, though.

“All you have to do is say thank you,” she spat, but her reaction sent him into another fit of laughter that got him kicked out of the room.

Penryn chuckled at the door that had just closed in his face and looked down at his patched-up finger. A grin that he couldn’t control plastered his face. His finger really did look like a mess, but he wanted to keep the bandage on for as long as it would hold, just to see the look on Marcy’s face when she saw it, if anything.

The next day the bandage was barely holding on, but Penryn still wore it throughout the day. At the library, he specifically used the injured finger to clumsily turn the pages. He knew Marcy could see everything out of the corner of her eye, despite her best efforts to avoid looking directly at him, and he stifled a laugh at the thought of what must be going through her head.

Once he finally got over the joy his teasing brought him, he was able to focus on the book in front of him. This library excursion left Penryn in the middle of a thriller. The excitement of not knowing what would happen next in the story gave him a rush of second-hand adrenaline. It made him oddly depressed, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Later that night he thought of the story. He pictured himself as the main character, reliving his favorite scenes in his mind before falling asleep. That was when he realized he hadn’t felt much of his own thrill for weeks. He missed that feeling. It was the best part of his job, but ever since he arrived in Chapelwood, life had grown far too comfortable and predictable for his liking.

He’d wasted weeks. He knew he couldn’t waste any more, but he hated to admit it. It would hurt his pride to give up, but more than that, he knew there was a deeper struggle he'd have to face: who was truly good, and who was truly bad?

As a member of the Royal Bounty Hunter's Guild, he'd sworn loyalty to the king, and he did so proudly, believing the one he served was a righteous ruler...because why wouldn't he be? What purpose would he have to lock up those on the "wanted list" other than to clean up the streets and make the kingdom safer for his people?

While Penryn was certain he had a strong lead on a healer with Marcy, she hadn’t given any proof of healing for the entire time he tailed her. If he didn’t have proof then he couldn’t get a bounty from her, but more importantly, whether she was a healer or not, Marcy was a good person. Penryn had proof of that much, at least. Even when he'd been at his most annoying, she reached back with kindness. When he thought about it, she just didn’t deserve to be locked up, or whatever they did to healers.

As a bounty hunter, Penryn never questioned why his targets were wanted criminals. That was above his paygrade and not his place to question, but now he was startled by his own blind obedience.

Could it be that the morally correct decision and the lawfully correct decision were not the same? he thought. So what if she was a healer? What had she done? The king had made healers out to be greedy. They had, after all, stolen the power of the gods for themselves. Right? But if anyone was the complete opposite of that description, it was probably Marcy.

Money had been a major motivator for entering the bounty business, but Penryn also fancied himself as a bit of a hero. He liked fighting for a righteous cause by locking up the bad guys. Marcy was clearly not a bad guy, and this realization shattered his perception of his job, the kingdom, and even his own morals.

Thoughts swirled around his head with seemingly no end. That night was filled with tossing and turning as Penryn subconsciously wrestled with the decisions that lay ahead. His dreams were filled with pure chaos. In these dreams he was chasing something he could never reach, disappointing family and friends, and in one particularly disturbing dream he found a dark room filled with mangled rabbits. He woke feeling unrested and empty.

When the sun was finally up, he visited the front desk to notify Marcy that there would be an empty room. He also wanted to say goodbye and give her an apology for being a thorn in her side the last few weeks.

“Oh…” Marcy looked confused. “Giving up then? Am I too difficult of a target for you?”

Penryn sifted through the bowl of candies on the desk.

“No, no. You’re just too boring. I need to go somewhere with more action,” he said before popping a lemon-flavored candy into his mouth.

“Wow, I don’t know if I should be offended or grateful,” Marcy said wryly. Then she switched on her customer service personality. “Thank you for staying with us. Do you need any travel arrangements?”

“No. I’m still not really sure where I’m going but I’ll just follow my feet.” He shoved a few more lemon candies into his pocket. “Maybe I’ll visit home for a while. Thanks for putting up with me,” he added as he filled the other pocket.

And with that, Penryn disappeared down the hall for the last time.