♪ Ser Mlynar was the first born ♪
♪ Ser Aleks sprang out last ♪
The tune drifted lazily through the small clearing, carried along by the soft midday breeze that stirred the leaves overhead in a steady, almost rhythmic motion. Sunlight filtered through the branches of the elm tree in soft patches, shifting now and then as the wind passed through. Soap sat perched on one of the lower branches, relaxed in a way that made it look like he had been there for hours already. One leg dangled freely while the other hooked loosely around the bark to keep his balance, and in his hand, a small knife moved with quiet, practiced ease as he shaved a stick down to a point. It wasn't something he needed to do, not really—it was just something to pass the time, something familiar to keep his hands busy while his voice carried the old song without much thought.
Nearby, just beyond the moss-covered stone wall that marked the edge of their camp, a tall hedge knight was bent over into a hedge, retching with little restraint. The sounds were unpleasant, loud enough to carry, but somehow they didn't quite break the calm of the clearing so much as exist alongside it in an awkward sort of harmony.
♪ Kulan was the Red Khagan,
so they kicked his arses red ♪
Soap didn't stop singing, his tone staying light and steady as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening just a few paces away. He didn't even bother to turn his head at first, only shifting slightly on the branch to keep his balance as he continued working the blade along the wood, thin curls peeling away and falling quietly to the ground below.
♪ Kazimierz is green in summer,
green grass I adore ♪
From behind the hedge, Dym let out a low groan, the kind that came from deep in the chest and carried more exhaustion than pain. It didn't sound like he was getting any better, but Soap simply went on, scraping the knife down the length of the stick again in a slow, even motion.
♪ But grass is red all over
when you kill the Nightzmoras ♪
Another sound followed, wetter this time, and noticeably worse. Soap paused for just a fraction of a second, his expression tightening in mild discomfort before smoothing out again. It wasn't enough to make him stop, though—he just adjusted his grip slightly and kept going.
♪ Horses die in battle ♪
Another miserable retch cut through the air, dragging on longer than the last. Soap let out a quiet breath through his nose, something between a sigh and simple resignation, but his voice carried on regardless, steady and unbothered on the surface.
♪ This battle was the front ♪
There was a rustling from the hedge at last, followed by the uneven sound of footsteps on dirt and loose stone. Branches shifted as someone pushed through, and it took a moment before Dym finally emerged onto the narrow path that ran along the old wall.
♪ The Nightzmoras ain't the old scourge,
he came from the south ♪
Dym moved slowly, one hand trailing briefly along the rough surface of the stone wall as if to steady himself. His face had gone pale, and there was a slight tension in his jaw that suggested he was still holding himself together by sheer will alone. He didn't look like someone who had fully recovered, but he was upright again, and that seemed to be enough for him.
♪ Kazimierz was in peril,
Silver was the hand ♪
He took a few more steps toward the tree, his breathing measured, controlled, though not entirely steady yet. His posture tried to straighten as he approached, as if he could simply will the weakness out of his limbs by standing properly.
♪ The Lance smashed the scourge
with his giant veiny Silverlances— ♪
"It's time."
Dym stopped in front of the elm tree, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He set both hands on his hips in a stance that aimed for confidence, though it didn't quite hide the fact that he still looked like he might turn right back around if his stomach decided otherwise.
Soap's voice cut off mid-line, the knife pausing where it rested against the half-carved stick. He glanced down from his perch, one brow lifting slightly as he took in the sight of his master standing there, pale and stubborn in equal measure.
"Hmm?"
Dym gave a short nod, as if that settled everything. "Let's fetch my armour."
Soap blinked once, the words taking a second to settle as he shifted his weight slightly on the branch.
"...Now?"
Dym looked up at him, his expression flat and unwavering despite everything. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the quiet stretching just a little longer than it needed to.
"...Aye," Dym said at last, a faint edge of annoyance slipping into his voice. "Now."
Soap tilted his head slightly, turning the stick idly between his fingers as he looked down at him with mild curiosity.
"Why?"
Dym frowned at that, as if the answer should have been obvious from the start. "Because I mean to enter the lists," he said, his tone steady, though still carrying a hint of strain underneath. "What else is there?"
Soap rolled his golden eyes, slow and deliberate, the kind of reaction that came from hearing something he didn't entirely agree with but wasn't surprised by either.
"You don't have your shield," he said plainly, as if pointing out something simple and unavoidable, like the weather.
The soft bleating of sheep carried in from somewhere nearby past the trees and the clearing of the town, uneven and distant, blending with the rustle of leaves overhead.
Dym stood where he was, still trying to hold onto the stance he'd taken earlier, though it was already starting to fall apart without him noticing. He sniffed once, then rubbed at his nose a bit too quickly, like he'd just remembered he was supposed to look composed. His shoulders shifted, straightening, then slouching again a second later as if he couldn't quite decide what he was going for.
"We'll... yeah, we'll gather it along the way," Dym said, nodding once to himself as though that settled it. The nod came a bit late, and a bit too firm, like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He sniffled again right after, quieter this time.
Soap, still perched above him, didn't answer straight away. He watched Dym for a moment, head tilted slightly, the stick turning slowly between his fingers as if the whole situation needed a bit of consideration. Then he hummed under his breath, like he'd reached a conclusion.
"Mmhmm. Also, the right of the first challenge goes to knights of high birth and renown," he said, his tone even, almost casual. He glanced down properly now. "Are you a knight of high birth and renown, ser?"
Dym froze.
His expression went blank for a moment, like the question had caught him somewhere in the middle of a thought and left him there. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again as he tried to put something together.
"I—well—" he started, then stopped, his brow pulling together as he tried to sort it out. His gaze drifted off to the side for a second, like the answer might be written somewhere in the trees. It wasn't.
He looked back up at Soap, slower this time.
"Wait," he said, a bit more carefully now. "So I... I cannot enter the lists today?"
Soap shook his head once, simple and certain.
"Not today, ser, no. Only knights of high birth and renown."
Dym blinked again.
The words seemed to take longer to settle this time, like they had to work their way through him properly before they made sense. His shoulders dropped a little without him noticing, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, boots scraping lightly against the dirt.
"Oh," he said after a moment.
Another pause followed, quieter than the last. The breeze passed through again, leaves brushing together overhead while somewhere off to the side, a sheep bleated as if nothing at all had changed.
Dym rubbed at the back of his neck, then stopped halfway through and let his hand fall awkwardly to his side instead, like he'd just remembered that wasn't a very knightly thing to do. He stood there for a second longer, clearly trying to piece something together, but not quite managing it.
"Then..." he began, then hesitated again, his voice trailing off before he picked it back up. "Then why have I been vomiting all morning?"
It came out honest. Not angry, not even particularly upset—just confused, like he genuinely couldn't connect the effort with the outcome and didn't know what to do with that.
Up in the tree, Soap gave a small shrug, shifting slightly on the branch as he resumed turning the stick between his fingers.
"It's a mystery."
The tall knight nodded along slowly. "Ah... well..." he began, though it wasn't clear where he meant to go with that. The words lingered for a second, unfinished, as if he was trying to find the rest of the sentence somewhere in his head. Then his stomach gave a sudden, unpleasant churn, sharp enough to make him pause mid-thought.
Up in the tree, Soap stopped scraping the knife against the stick. The small, steady sound cut off, and for a moment there was only the quiet of the clearing—until, faintly, there was another, very similar churn. Not from Dym this time.
Dym blinked, then let out a short, awkward chuckle under his breath, glancing up. "Well..." he said again, though it came out softer now, a bit more resigned than before.
His gaze drifted toward their camp. It didn't take long to notice the state of things—their supplies laid out in a way that made it obvious there wasn't much left. What little food they had was down to scraps, nothing that could really pass for a proper meal. He stared at it for a moment, as if hoping he'd somehow miscounted earlier.
He hadn't.
Dym shifted his weight, then looked back up at Soap. "You hungry?" he asked, the question simple, though the answer was already fairly obvious.
Soap hesitated just a little, then hummed quietly and nodded, a touch of embarrassment slipping into the gesture as he avoided looking too directly at him.
Dym let out a quiet sigh, rubbing briefly at his face before dropping his hand again. "Right," he muttered, more to himself than anything. Of course they were. They hadn't eaten anything that morning, not with everything else going on.
He straightened slightly, trying to gather himself again. "Go on then," he said, giving a small nod toward the camp. "Get yourself ready. We'll head into town, find something to eat."
Soap nodded at once. "Aye, ser."
With that, he slid down from the elm tree, landing lightly on his feet before moving off to prepare himself without further fuss.
Dym followed more slowly, stepping back toward the camp as he adjusted the rope he used as a belt, tying it tighter around his waist with a small, practiced motion. He crouched briefly to pick up their coin pouch, weighing it in his hand before tucking it away. Then his eyes fell on the piece of golden ornament lying nearby—the one Wladysaw had thrown his way the day before.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hand, watching how it caught the light. It looked valuable enough, more than anything else they carried. His thoughts drifted as he stood there.
Might as well pay Branik a visit too, he figured. Finish paying for his armor, finally have something proper instead of what he was managing with now. And the ornament... he could sell it. It would cover a fair bit, maybe more than enough.
Or...
His grip tightened slightly as another thought settled in. He could keep it. Hold onto it for the road ahead, for the tourney, for whatever came next. Might even be enough, one day, to buy Swift back.
Dym stood there a moment longer, weighing it quietly, then gave a small nod to himself.
Better to keep it. Just in case.
He tucked the ornament away carefully, then reached for his sword, fastening it to his side with the rope belt. After that, he knelt by his bedding and pulled back the edge of the rug just enough to check the small stash of coins buried beneath. Still there. Untouched. He covered it again without lingering.
Once that was done, he made his way over to the horses. The two of them stood calmly where they'd been left, ears flicking slightly as he approached.
"We'll be gone a while," Dym said, resting a hand briefly against one of their necks. His voice softened without him really thinking about it. "So... watch the camp, aye, boys?"
Chestnut shifted and gave a small nod of his head, while Thunder let out a low, easy neigh in response.
Dym couldn't help the faint smile that followed. It wasn't much, but it came naturally.
"We won't be long," he added, more quietly this time.
Somewhere behind him, Soap was finishing up, and for once, things felt simple enough—just a short walk into town, something to eat, and then they'd see what came after.
By the time Dym turned back from the horses, Soap was already waiting near the edge of the camp, standing a bit straighter than usual like he was making an effort to look properly prepared. He had his small, ragged brown cloak draped over his shoulders, the fabric worn thin in places but still doing its job well enough. A satchel was slung across his shoulder, resting against his side, while another hung from his small hand, the weight of it making his arm dip just slightly.
He stepped forward as Dym approached and held the extra bag out without a word at first, then added, "Ready, ser." His voice was steady, though there was a faint eagerness in it, like he was glad to finally be moving instead of waiting around.
Dym nodded, taking the bag from him and slinging it over his own shoulder with a small adjustment to keep it from slipping. "Right," he said quietly. He reached down to pick up his ragged grey cloak from where it had been left nearby, giving it a brief shake before settling it over himself. For a moment, he just stood there, checking that everything felt more or less in place.
Then he gave a small hum, more to himself than anything.
"Aye, let's go."
And with that, the two of them set off together, leaving the quiet clearing behind as they made their way down the path toward Rudnicka town.