For nearly an hour, Tro'go sat and watched the feast. The dartlings worked methodically, their numbers ensuring that no cricket escaped. Finally, as the last cricket disappeared down a very full dartling's gullet, the creatures looked around with satisfaction.

The sun went behind a cloud, and a spring breeze picked up, carrying the promise of rain. As one, the dartlings took to the sky, their wings carrying them off to wherever they chose to go next.

Tro'go watched them disappear into the distance and chuckled to himself. "Well, I never..."

The first drops of rain began to fall. What had looked like a spring shower was turning into a proper cloudburst. Tro'go made his way back to the village, where he found a group of anxious villagers waiting in the village hall.

"The crickets," he announced simply, "have gone, eaten by dartlings."

There were many stunned faces around the room.

"You called them to help!" Gurttie exclaimed. "I knew you could do it!"

"They just turned up," Tro'go said honestly.

The ‘governor’ snorted dismissively. "How remarkably convenient, are we sure he didn’t bring forth the crickets?"

But Garther clapped Tro'go on the back. "Job well done, whatever happened!"

Thrum, who had been watching the scene unfold from the back of the room, caught Tro'go's eye and smiled knowingly.

Tro'go managed a small smile back, though the attention was already starting to itch at him. This was theirs now, the field was safe, the village would sleep easy and that felt like enough. It usually did.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Tro'go stretched and adjusted his pack.

"I'll be heading south now," he announced. "To Syndorholt, see what adventure I can find."

"Oh!  Well, you're welcome back anytime," Garther said warmly.

"Anytime at all!" Gurttie and Harold echoed.

As Tro'go prepared to leave, Thrum approached with a small bundle.

"Some provisions from my garden," the ogre said quietly. "Some vegetables from last year's harvest, the kind that keep well on the road."

"Thank you," Tro'go said, genuinely touched. "For everything."

"Safe travels, little knight," Thrum replied. "May you find what you're looking for."

Tro'go wandered through the awakening countryside following the Adelwending River until he came to a narrow, easy crossing. Standing on its banks, he looked across the flowing water toward the forest beyond and wondered what other adventures might await him. He grimaced slightly at the thought of getting wet again. "Maybe the governor has a point," he muttered to himself. "I am empty-headed after all." He considered this for a moment, then brightened. "Still, empty-headed greolens don't have much to weigh them down. Explains why I float so well." He patted his pack fondly, quite pleased with himself, and waded in.

Behind him, the legend of the Undefeated Greolen Knight began its quiet march across the southern lands of Talam, a tale told by fishermen, villagers and travellers alike. Some called him a hero, a protector, a beast master even, while other voices declared him a hoax and a menace. The deeds of the self-proclaimed Greolen Knight went from person to person, spreading east until it found its way to the highest halls of Ineron itself.