As night began to seep into the sky's palette of blues and grays, the Witling Forest welcomed more travelers beneath the shelter of its branches. As Ramun took his cohorts deep within the twisting trees to search for the Witling Woman, Fiepet and the Counsel were within sight of its edge. 

Despite the toil of their journey, they had made ample progress since the rumor of the witch came whistling through the wind towards them. With renewed hope, Fiepet's emboldened pace was kept by the Counsel, eagerly awaiting his own reunion with Ursa. Noting the darkening sky, Fiepet came to a stop on the forest path.

"Why?" asked the Counsel.

"It's been too long since we've eaten," Fiepet replied, "If we're to carry on to the road that lies beyond, it is better we forage or hunt whatever we can eat. There's still light, and we should make the most of our surroundings."

"I'm not hungry," the Counsel told him.

"Don't care," said Fiepet, "I'm sure your horse will be. And if only to fuel you, you'll eat what I make."

"We're losing time," said the Counsel.

"And you're losing strength. If you want to continue on without me then go ahead," Fiepet challenged, "I'll likely pick you up in an hour's time from where you've fallen from your mount."

Begrudgingly, the Counsel agreed to his plan. While the two ate, not far in front, another pair were already out of the woods, and riding through the open landscape.

"How far is your home from here?" asked Delph.

"I have no home," Ursa replied.

The roll of Delph's eyes was concealed by the evening shadows. Ursa's contrary answers seemed to be second nature. No parents, yet there was Merit Fox, no home, and yet they were on their way to pay their respects at the place he was raised. Delph began to suspect that there'd even been clothes for him to wear, hidden at the house with the thatched roof; but that Ursa couldn't help defaulting to the negative.

"How far is Hofingrad? Was that the name..?"

"There is no Hofingrad," came Ursa's obvious response.

Delph fixed his teeth into a smile and nodded his head into the distance. Staring out at the vastness to either side of their cart, he wondered if there was a soul on the Madning Isle as infuriating as his companion. He wondered, too, what Fiepet would make of him. Though Fie was always patient and generous with others.

More patient than Delph could manage.  

"How long until we reach the destination you are intending to visit?" asked Delph, hopeful that there was nothing in his question that Ursa could pick apart.

"We're not far from the inn of 'ill-repute' where we'll spend the night," Ursa replied, "but then it's another day on until we reach the coast."

"And... have you money for this inn? I noticed you paid the Traveling Men quite a sum to spread our rumor."

"You can think of my overflowing coinpurse as one belonging to a man with no future on which to spend it," Ursa announced, "There's enough for any proclivities you were hoping to explore."

Delph had no such thoughts.

"How did you earn your money?" he asked, "I hadn't thought to enquire what it is you do for a living."

"Professional layabout," said Ursa, "Neighborhood drunk and self-employed scoundrel. And a picker of pockets too when it's called for."

"Your money is stolen?!" cried Delph in alarm.

"Only from real bastards," Ursa countered, "The rich and easy to provoke kind of bastard."

Delph judged him silently and turned away.

"A whore you've no objection to," continued Ursa, "So long as she's not paid with stolen money. As honest as their profession may be, the dirtiest coin still glints in their eye."

In Delph's eye, the first glimmer of starlight in the night sky.

"I hadn't realized it when we came here," he said, "But the heavens are painted in patterns so different from those seen in Grunterbad. I find myself searching for missing constellations."

"Well that one, you can't miss." Ursa nodded with a grunt to where four bright stars resembled the shape of an upturned bucket. "The constellation of the witch... so named for the freckles on its skin."

"It's shaped like the mountain here," Delph noted. The one his father had told him about .

"You're looking at it upside down," Ursa advised, "The Warlock says it resembles a 'W'."

"But then a point is missing..."

Ursa sighed at the memory. The missing point was said to be the 'divine' witch's place marked out in the heavens. Where he'd go at the end of his life to complete the constellation. If the witch was truly Delph's dead father it was no surprise that the spot remained empty; there was no place for a demon in Hymm, only the realm of torment would await him.

Twisting his head to better understand how to view it, Delph felt it strangely familiar. Clutching a hand to the cluster of freckles above his cheek, he thought no more about it, and looked again to the road ahead.

Delph had expected the inn they were searching for to be tucked out of sight like Merit Fox's house. He hadn't accounted for a pleasure palace, and the village required to run it. Set in the center of a crescent of smaller buildings, was a two-storey structure festooned with light and gaudy decorations. The smell of alcohol and fragrant balms creating a miasma that overpowered the senses of all who passed by.

He didn't need to ask to know it was the place.

"What do you think?" asked Ursa, "It must be the grandest I've seen, and I've seen a lot. You'd think the parlor in Relmund would equal its scale, but this is really something!"

"What about my clothes?!" asked Delph, suddenly conscious of the purple silk robe tied at his waist.

"My boy," said Ursa with a hand on his shoulder, and in a manner more befitting of an older acquaintance, "Your clothes won't be on long enough for anyone to care."

Suddenly wrestling with his nerves, Delph sunk his hands into the comfort of his sleeves, and bit the dead skin from his wind-chapped lips.

"Come on!" cried Ursa, "Handing his reins to the stable boy and urging Delph to jump down and join him, "Tonight I'll play the role of elder brother. Something of a first for me, but then, tonight will be something of a first for you too!"

Hiding behind Ursa's shoulder, Delph shuffled along behind him to the wide, imposing steps that led inside. On the first, two large men flanked them.

"I've enough," said Ursa, brandishing his coinpurse.

A swift check of its contents, and the barrier on the second step was magicked open; and the pair ushered inside to quickly spend it.

"I feel almost giddy," Ursa whispered to Delph, "Isn't that strange..? I think it's the place. It feels different here. Full of life or something; there's an energy to it I can't describe."

It was the closest he'd been to a drink since they'd left the Sirrup House. Of course his mood was lifted. Through the thick wooden doors, Ursa and Delph found themselves standing above a sunken lobby; beauties were serving wine and smiles to the early clientele that had come to meet them.

"It's rowdy tonight!" Ursa raised his voice above the clamor of the crowd and elbowed a jolly newcomer beside him, "Is it always like this?"

"By Maphis, no!" cried the man, "But with the witch's return, who wouldn't be out to celebrate?!"

Ursa gave a passable grunt in agreement. Casting his eyes across the delights before him, he noticed that a concerning number of eyes were looking back. Not quite at him mind you, but the figure shrinking behind him.

"Oh," said Ursa, "I forgot that others might find you pretty. Is this the usual reception you get when you're out in company?"

"I wouldn't know," Delph replied, "I don't go out in company."

Removing his coat, Ursa passed it around Delph's shoulders and upturned the collar to better obscure his face.

"For fuck's sake," said Ursa, "Just keep your head down. We'll find a corner to hide in until we can get you sent off to a private room. This is why I can't stand pretty people; they draw too much attention."

Holding the collar to his nose, Delph followed behind, and tried to blend in. A coin procured them their hiding spot, and from it, Ursa ran a discerning eye across the merchandise, and tasted the sweet, strong wine he'd been thirsting for.

"What kind will it be?" he asked Delph, "Mature and experienced? Or would you prefer the innocent type..? Someone who can pretend it's their first time too?"

"Shouldn't we first enjoy our drinks?" suggested Delph, "There's no need to rush! Not when the sun has not long since set."

Ursa raised his glass.

"A perfectly acceptable idea," he said, knocking back the contents and allowing a smiling brunette to pour him another, "Let's drink like there's no tomorrow!"

Having paired some foraged mushrooms with rations from the Counsel's saddlebags, Fiepet, while not wholly satisfied with the small amount the Counsel ate, was content to continue their journey. Before untying the horses, the Counsel motioned for Fiepet to pass him his shoe.

"In case they've changed course," he explained, "Ursa's been known to cover his tracks... he eluded me for decades."

In the dim light, the scorch of the finding spell illuminated their path.

"That's... that's strange," said the Counsel.

No longer due west from the Witling Forest, but meandering southwards, the Counsel remembered the bawdy house. He'd never been there, but had known a few in Forinstad that were resplendent with tales of it. The next best thing to sampling its delights, was hearing firsthand how they tasted.

Rel had always talked too big. He promised a day would come when the three of them would go and return with stories of their own, but of course they never did. There were far too few of their plans that were ever fulfilled. If that was Ursa's goal, then it was as the Counsel feared; even his final days would be wasted away in debauchery. It couldn't end like this. He refused to let it.

Without a word, and no regard for the shoe left discarded on the ground; the Counsel grabbed his reins and mounted his horse. He was gone before Fiepet had fastened his buckle. With no choice but to take off after him, Fiepet struggled to find his footing in the stirrup. He hadn't imagined the Counsel could move at so great a speed.

The Counsel surprised even himself.

Bounding across the landscape, his cloak flying out behind him as if to give him wings; he felt the sting of cold across his cheeks. It was the wind, he told himself, that streaked his face with tears. And the wind on which he flew, closer, faster, and in overwhelming desperation.

I am coming Ursa. I will save you.

Delph hadn't needed to drink very much before the wine went to his head. Barely a glass and he was flushed pink.

"Here!" he said, returning Ursa's coat without a thought of who would see him, "I find it is all a sudden much too hot."

On his third, and with no signs of slowing, Ursa took it back without a fight.

"You look like a piglet," was his honest observation.

"What?" asked Delph, sure he must have misheard him.

"The color of you, and that upturned nose... like a charmingly fresh little piglet. Did your father resemble a boar by any chance..? I'd have soon made a barrow of him."

Delph scrunched his nose and only fueled Ursa's theory.

"Alright then Piglet," he announced, "I think it's time you made your choice. There's not a woman here from the looks of things that wouldn't want to pull your pigtail, so what do you say you whisper the one that'd suit you best, and your big brother will put his money where his mouth is."

Delph's shy and reddened eyes nervously glanced up from the table. He wasn't sure if it was the way they were dressed or how they'd styled their hair, but he could tell the women here would be considered more attractive than the ones he'd seen at home. It's just that he didn't happen to find them so himself.

"It's not only the women mind you..." Ursa told him with a smile. 

He motioned towards the far side of the room, where half a dozen good looking men were sitting apart from the customers. 

"Whatever's ...normal," said Delph, blushing deeply and thinking of what his brother would say.

Ursa laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"It's normal enough for the rest of us here," he said, "Even if things were different in your precious Grunterbad..."

Ursa reached for another drink, and failed to notice the effect a word like that could have.

'The real witch... from the land of Grunterbad'. Every soul present had heard the rumor whispered to them on the wind.

"Grunterbad..? Did he say?"