Dashyl's Quest

Soern burst through the door. “I’m back,” he announced. A Kirzan who looked exactly like Soern, maybe a tad younger, walked through the door after him.

“Dashyl? Fretly? Where are you two,” asked Soern as he scanned the hut.

Soern threw the door shut with his foot. A figure leapt from behind it and did a somersault onto the floor.

“What,” Soern asked, “Dashyl, why are you rolling around on my floor? And where’s your friend?”

“Uh, well, we weren’t sure if you were bringing someone to take us captive or something,” Dashyl explained. “Fretly’s under the bed,” he said, pointing in that direction.

Soern laughed a few belly laughs before saying, “My young friend, if I wanted to take you two captive, I would not need anyone else.”

Soern reached under the bed and pulled out Fretly, covered in dust. Fretly sneezed three big sneezes, stood up and stuck his hand out to the new Kirzan in their midst. “Hello, I’m Fretly, nice to meet you.”

“This is Groernen, my brother,” Soern introduced what looked like his twin.

“Hello,” Groernen said, waving his hand briefly.

“I’ve brought Groernen here to watch over you while I go back to town for another igawza and supplies,” Soern explained to everyone. “I didn’t want you two to be alone after dark and it is taking me longer than I thought to borrow another igwaza. My brother will cook dinner for you and keep you safe until I return.”

Groernen swung a big sack from over his shoulder and onto the kitchen countertop with a large thud. With a big grin on his face he said, “I am going to make rootmash stew. It will give you great energy for your upcoming journey.” Groernen loosened a strap on his back and swung a huge hammer to the ground. “And I have my smashing hammer.”

“See there,” Soern asked, “you will be well taken care of.” Soern crouched down to look at Dahsyl and Fretly on eye level. “Now, you do not need to fear me. I am on your side and I am genuinely concerned about you. Until you are in Trader’s Haunt, you are my responsibility. I do not take that responsibility lightly.”

The Kirzan clapped his visitors on their backs, grabbed a long orange root from the countertop and took a bite of it before rushing out the door.

Dashyl and Fretly looked at each other a moment, but their puzzled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of pots and pans being pulled from Soern’s cupboards.

“This better be good,” Fretly said in between bangs and clangs.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Groernen reassured, “this will be the best rootmash stew you’ve ever eaten.”