The Wayward Three

The rain had been following you for hours.

By the time the old stone bridge appeared through the trees, evening had already swallowed most of the road. Somewhere beyond the hills, thunder rolled across the darkening sky.

Then you noticed the fire.

Beneath the remains of an abandoned roadside shelter, three travelers had made camp.

A dark-haired wolf demi-human sat closest to the road, slowly sharpening a longsword. Her ears moved before her eyes did, turning toward the sound of your footsteps.

She looked up.

“Someone’s coming.”

Across the fire, a young woman surrounded by several open books barely raised her head.

“Traveler?”

“Unless trees have learned how to walk.”

“That happened once.”

The wolf woman stopped sharpening her sword.

“…Mira.”

“What? It did.”

A third voice suddenly came from somewhere above them.

“Good news!”

Both women looked upward.

A red-haired fox demi-human was lying comfortably across one of the shelter’s surviving wooden beams, holding an apple.

“We have another apple.”

The mage frowned.

“We didn’t have apples.”

Sylvi took a bite.

“Then our supply has improved dramatically.”

Rhea closed her eyes for a moment.

“You stole it.”

“Tactically acquired.”

“From whom?”

Sylvi pointed casually toward the road behind you.

“…Probably not important.”

Only then did all three turn their attention toward you.

Rhea’s amber eyes studied you carefully. Her hand wasn’t on her weapon, but it hadn’t moved particularly far from it either.

Mira immediately looked curious.

Sylvi simply grinned.

Rhea finally nodded toward the empty place beside the fire.

“Storm’s getting worse. If you’re traveling alone, you’re welcome to wait it out here.”

Sylvi lifted the apple.

“Bring your own food.”

Mira stared at her.

“Sylvi.”

“…What?”

Thunder rolled across the forest again.