"A werewolf, you say?" Sadia asked. The little spellsinger lay draped over the general store's counter like the delinquent teenager she was, eyes wide and mouth open in surprise.

That is the problem with today's youth, right there. No spines.

"Yep. Killed and ate fifty-seven people, or so the Procurator claimed during the trial. Fucking wild." Oak shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "They let the knucklehead walk, since he only killed Borsippans or something."

"Borsippans?"

"Our werewolf's entire defence rested on whether folk from Borsippa qualify as people, if you can believe it," Oak replied. "The court ended up drawing a comparison to gnolls and called it a day. The debate was surprisingly academic. Lots of back and forth about skull shapes and the quintessential Borsippan simian forehead."

"Huh."

"Exactly how I felt listening to it, girl."

"What the hell is a simian, anyway?"

"Beats me. "Oak shrugged helplessly. "I might have to swallow my pride and ask Ur-Namma."

A squeak of hinges interrupted their lovely conversation. The fat store-owner and his young lad came out of the back with Oak's order in tow and laid the heap of provisions on the counter. Mostly packets of oats, lentils, and rice. A jar of dried‌ fruit and a small, precious packet of smoked and salted strips of beef.

"Want any salt to go along with all this?" The store-owner comped back his oily, sparse hair and licked his lips. By the greedy glint in his eyes, he could read the temptation on Oak's face like he was an open book. "Special discount, just for you, my tall friend."

"I shouldn't…but I am going to say, yes." Oak pulled out his coin pouch and laid the agreed upon sum on the counter, plus a few coins for the salt. Plain morning porridge without butter or salt was a crime against Creation and he would not suffer it while there was breath in his lungs.

Having paid for their supplies, and his tiny speck of luxury on the road, Oak piled everything inside a sack and threw it on his shoulder. With a farewell, he and Sadia trudged out of the store into the streets of Mashkan-shapir.

Ur-Namma had the good sense to commandeer them a small cart for the duration of their little shopping trip. Typically for him, the elf had given Oak the dubious honor of being the mule. It was not too bad. At least he wouldn't have to carry everything, while he sweated like a pig.

The heat felt sweltering, and it wasn't even noon yet. Lunatics. The people living in this furnace call this spring. Oak could not comprehend how anyone could spend summer after summer in this oven. He turned around the corner to the main road, Sadia in tow, and froze.

Geezer and the ancient elf had stayed behind to watch over the cart while Oak and Sadia shopped for supplies. Last he had seen them, the pair had been bored, but in good spirits. Now, the massive hellhound stood on top of a scrawny young man by the side of the cart, growling low enough that Oak could feel it inside his chest. Geezer had the lad's arm in his mouth, and the boy visibly shook with fear.

Ur-Namma held another would-be thief against the wall, the point of his dagger softly tickling the youngster's quivering throat.

Always something. Just once, I would like to have an utterly boring, no nonsense day.

"Morning, lads." Oak walked over and lowered the sack on his shoulder into the cart. Sadia followed in his shadow, eyes trailing the passing crowd for signs of trouble. "What is happening?"

Geezer growled and tightened his grip on the boy's arm. The lad whimpered. Oak could smell the telltale stink of urine in the air.

"Nice of you to join us, Northerner." Ur-Namma's smile showed way too many needle-like teeth. "Answer my friend's question, mongrel."

"Y-yes, yes of course…you see, it's a funny thing, really. A complete misunderstanding," the youngster said and licked his lips nervously. The scruffy beginnings of a beard decorated his puffy face and ratty brown robes hid his thin frame from the cruelty of the sun.

"You thought this was your cart, and the provisions in it belonged to you?" Ur-Namma asked with a gentle voice, like he was talking to a small child, or a simpleton. The tip of his dagger drew a shallow red line across the youngster's neck. A single drop of blood traveled down the blade, glistening in the harsh sunlight.

Oak swallowed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He followed the descent of the drop of blood towards the dagger's guard and felt the Pit dawning wide in the back of his mind. A giggle passed from his lips, and for the life of him, Oak could not tell if he was the one laughing.

Blood and offal. By the Chariot. I could soak the world in deathspit.

"Um…well, that is to say, yes?" The youngster threw a pleading look at Oak's way. "No harm, no foul?"

"Impressive," Ur-Namma said and tapped the lad on the chin with the point of his dagger. The sorry bastard flinched as if someone had slapped him around the ears.

"Thank you?"

"It was not a compliment." Ur-Namma pursed his lips. "I'm thinking we cut these two from navel to neck and leave them for the rats to find. Any objections, Oak?"

Steaming splatters of red ruin. The taste of metal on my tongue. Hewn meat and fractured bone.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Oak?" Sadia poked him between the ribs and snapped her fingers. "Stop staring into nothingness."

"Right." He shook his head, desperately trying to claw his frayed thoughts back together. Something about cutting up thieves for the rats? A family of six passed by the scene, and Oak could feel the weight of their curious gazes. This had gone on long enough. A scuffle like this attracted attention, and adding corpses into the mix would only make it worse.

"It feels weird to say this, but no killing or maiming. The last thing we need is trouble with the locals," Oak said, and both young men let out audible sighs of relief. "Just tell me who you are and what the fuck you thought you were doing. If you can manage that, we will let you go, alright?"

"M–my name is Driss, and the boy goes by Ghassan," the lad Ur-Namma held against the wall stammered. His tongue flickered out from between his teeth, wetting his lips. "We run with the Pazuzus, everyone knows that."

"Pazuzus?"

"The street gang that owns this quarter of the city, Old Duwari. We thought we could nick some of your shit and run off before the elf was none the wiser. Clearly, we miscalculated." Driss gave a side-eye to Ur-Namma and swallowed nervously. "Can you please take the dagger off my throat? I promise I will behave."

"Hmm. Count your lucky stars, Driss. It's not everyday I let a thief keep his limbs," Ur-Namma said, and stepped back from the young man, sheathing his dagger.

"Noted." Driss swallowed and rubbed his throat. "Can we go now?"

Oak whistled. Geezer let go of Ghassan's arm and trotted over to him, a big doggy smile on his face. "Off you get, before I change my mind," Oak said and gave the hellhound a pat on the head. "Good guard work, buddy."

Ghassan scrambled to his feet and Driss dragged him away by the collar, leading the younger thief briskly down the road and away from Oak and his companions. He watched the pair go until they left the road and vanished into a narrow alley, leading to who knows where. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ur-Namma's inscrutable gray eyes following the same path.

"Never a dull moment, huh." Oak wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and got in front of the cart. They still needed to hit a few spots before they could head back to the encampment. He bent down, grasped the handles, and straightened his frame. As easy as breathing. Not gonna say this out loud, since I would never hear the end of it, but I make a decent mule. "Are you mad we let them go, elf?"

Ur-Namma walked past him, grinning like a loon. "No, I just wanted to frighten them a little. Give them something to think about while they lay awake in the lonely hours of the night, searching for certainty and comfort."

The four of them marched down the busy street, accompanied by the constant click clack of the wheels of their cart bouncing on the smooth cobbles. Oak found the noise irritating, but it was better than carrying everything on his back. Spoiled for choice once more, eh? At least he didn't need to shoulder his way through the crowd. Folk gave them a wide berth, if only because if they didn't, Oak might step on them.

Or so Oak told himself. Truthfully, Geezer's frightening presence might have been the real reason why everyone with sense kept clear of their small company. Having a hellhound the size of a small pony trotting next to the cart certainly didn't hurt if one wanted some elbow room.

"You are a deeply disturbing person, Ur-Namma," Sadia said and donned her hood. The little spellsinger joined Geezer by Oak's side, her guarded gaze still wandering through the throng of people on both sides of the road. "Sometimes I forget for a day or two, but you never let me forget for long."

"Of course I'm disturbing. I have had thousands of years to grow all kinds of crooked, pipsqueak," Ur-Namma quipped. "Any other major revelations you wish to share with us?"

"No, I just wanted to get that one on the record," Sadia muttered, and lengthened her stride to keep up with Oak's longer legs.

***

Oak pulled the cart through the mass of people crowding the southern gates of Mashkan-shapir, elbowing travelers, merchants and the odd donkey aside with supreme indifference. Ignoring the curses and insults heaved his way, came easily. Ur-Namma, Sadia, and Geezer followed in the wake of their human battering ram, taking full advantage of the hole he bore through the crowd.

Not even a wisp of cloud sailed the vast blue sky, and the tyrannical rays of the midday sun beat down on Oak from on high like a trio of angry ogres, but the dirt road treated him and his friends well enough. The caravan's encampment was not far, and they walked back in good spirits despite the all-encompassing heat, past the lush fields hugging the banks of the glistening Nin-gublaga.

Fishing boats and merchant barges were out in force, zipping on the waves like little insects dashing around the surface of puddles. Some of those boats were big enough to boggle the mind, but distance and the width of the river made them look like the toy ships Oak had made as a child out of sticks and bark.

Every spring, when the meltwaters made all the rivers in the Northlands overflow, Oak had floated his creations down the streams near his family's homestead, cheering them on. Inevitably, they all succumbed to the rough currents and sank under the icy waters, but he didn't mind.

Trying to guess when the toy ships would sink was half the fun.

As they closed in on the edge of the caravan's sprawling encampment, the shouting of angry and worried voices expelled all daydreams of far away home from Oak's mind. The noise set his heart beating fast and spread goosebumps on his arms. Somewhere ahead, a woman wailed, her voice breaking.

"Something is wrong. Look alive," Oak said to his friends, furrowing his brow and lengthening his stride. "There is a desperate edge to this yelling that I don't much like."

Ur-Namma grasped the handle of the long dagger hidden inside his robes, his wrinkled face as unreadable as a porcelain mask, while Sadia tapped her bracelet, activating her protective enchantment with a spark of golden light. The little spellsinger fussed with her clothes, straightening her hood and adjusting her sleeves.

Idle hands grew anxious before a fight. Oak knew it all too well. He focused on the comforting weight of the hunting knife on his belt and took calming breaths, preparing for the worst. A pessimist is rarely disappointed, but an optimist often weeps. Show me your horrors, Creation. My shoulders are broad enough. Fragments of words and sentences reached Oak's infernally enhanced ears, filling him with worry.

"...gotta do something!"

"...barely made it back in one piece! Those fucking…"

"The Children! Where are my children?"

Geezer sniffed the air by his side, panting in the unforgiving heat. "NO SMELL OF BLOOD. I SENSE GRIEF. FRIGHT, ANGER AND SORROW."

They marched into camp, prepared for war. Instead, they found a caravan in an uproar, horrified parents gathering around the Kporaro caravan company's wagons. Tochukwu stood on top of a driver's box, shouting into the nonexistent wind, his voice falling on deaf ears. For the first time ever, Oak thought Tochukwu looked helpless, like all answers had fled him.

"What in the Hells has happened?" Oak muttered, staring at the pandemonium. A hand grasped his shoulder, and he turned with it, ready to punch whoever saw fit to touch him into next week. The grasping hand belonged to Yakubu. Oak stopped his fist an inch from the Koromite warrior's nose and the man didn't even seem to notice.

"My son, Oak. They took my son." Yakubu growled, the muscles on his arms rippling as if he was on the brink of losing all self control. His grip was like a vise. "Help me. Please."

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