The trail they chose led to a stream, which to their relief followed its winding course as they continued into the forest. But their continued searching yielded no more flowers the rest of the day. Ruthrrien hung back some from the rest of the group. “Let them find the next pit,” she thought. At night fell, they made camp in a small clearing just off the path, building a fire and laying out their bedrolls for the night.
Gelwyn lounged lazily against her pony while Lucerin sat with his back to the fire completely still, going into a meditative state that took the place of sleep. Ainz was simply staring into the fire, looking pensive while Ruthrrien sat cleaning and sharpening her ax. No one spoke for a time, having only known each other for less than two days. It was Gelwyn who broke the silence with sudden laughter apparently sharing a joke with her pony as they looked over at Ruthrrien. She glared at the pair of them. A druid’s ability to communicate with animals was common knowledge. But one would have thought the snack-size equine would have little intelligence for a full conversation. Yet it was clear to her now that at least this pony had near humanoid intelligence judging by the way the halfling interacted with it. So she knew by their mocking gaze that she had been the subject of their joking and offered them an angry glare before going back to cleaning her other weapons, forcing herself to ignore their continued snickers.
A few moments later the crow had returned from its flight, landing on a branch above its master, Ainz. It eyed the pony, who seemed agitated by its appearance. Even though she hadn’t looked up, Ruthrrien wondered if they were talking to each other in their own way. As if to answer, the raven suddenly hopped to a branch above it and pooped right between the pony’s eyes. The splat made her look up, and she grinned with satisfaction at the bewildered look on it’s long face. It stood up stamping angrily at the bird, while Gelwyn laughed. Satisfied, the raven turned its gaze on its master. With a slight nod and a serious look it took flight again to resume its watch.
Ainz looked over at the drow elf. “Hey, Lucifer.”
The elf stirred a little but didn’t turn. “I hope you were simply mispronouncing my name,” he said grumpily.
“I only said what I think it should be.” snickering at his own joke.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re weird?” Turning to face the fire now.
“All the time,” said the dwarf with a grin, “but not as weird as that one,” gesturing to the halfling.
“Hey! At least I know how to walk!” Gelwyn retorted.
Ruthrrien’s grip tightened on the hand ax she was currently sharpening, as quiet snickers erupted from the rest of them. Her patience was wearing thin from continuing to be the brunt of their jokes.
Ainz raised his voice a little to Ruthrrien from across the fire, “by the way, could you contain yourself from dicing up our attackers, I might find their bodies useful,” chuckling some.
At that, she stood and glared darkly at him, ax and whetstone gripped tightly in white knuckled hands. They all tensed. Rage was threatening to burst from her, like a flame licking at her insides. But she had enough sense left in her to turn abruptly and grab her great ax as she walked off, the satchel containing the flowers still on her shoulder.
“You have a real way with people, you know that?” said Lucerin snidely to the dwarf who simply shrugged, undisturbed.
She strode quickly beyond their site, pausing just within earshot as they continued talking in low voices. Ainz and Lucerin talked about their similar pasts, and both acknowledged the usefulness of Gelwyn’s transforming skills. It was clear to Ruthrrien that since they all shared some magical skill, she was the odd person out, and they would likely never see her as anything more than a dumb barbarian–muscle for hire. They were all laughing at something else when Gelwyn suddenly gasped.
“Guys, she has the flowers!” They all fell silent as Ruthrrien grinned wickedly in the shadow of a tree. “About time,” she thought, and continued further away from the group silently, wanting some time alone. After another five minutes of picking her way through the underbrush, she plopped down with her back against a tree. She had no fear of the forest, feeling at home despite the obvious dangers. It was driving her mad that she couldn’t remember what is was that felt so natural about this place, but knew it was no use trying to guess. Sighing, she rested her head back, not noticing the black winged shadow of Ainz’s raven keeping an eye on her.
The Whitney Scott 