“Are you really a princess?” he asked from out of nowhere. He wiped Tulip’s hoof with a cloth before applying some ointment.
Katryna thought for a moment before responding. She was never comfortable disclosing personal information. But Sniff looked as though he could be trusted. “I am.”
“Hmm… Well, you don’t look it,” Sniff said.
“How so?”
Sniff looked her up and down. “You don’t dress like one. And you’re asking for help, rather than demanding it. Most nobles don’t talk that way.”
“I’m not exactly a typical princess.”
Sniff took some pliers. “Can I ask you to gently tap her on the face? Hard enough to distract, but not so hard as to hurt her.”
Katryna nodded at the odd request. She stood up and calmingly began tapping Tulip above the nose. “Good girl,” she whispered.
Within a second, Sniff had removed the nail. Tulip barely seemed to notice, other than a quiet whinny and a shake of her sore leg.
“Alright, all done. The ointment should heal any rot before it takes,” Sniff said, patting Tulip’s leg.
Katryna was ecstatic. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much trouble you’ve saved me.”
Sniff gave her a half bow. “S’not a problem, m’lady.”
“Here, take this. For your efforts.” Katryna handed the boy two gold marks, probably more than he’d earn in a month. His eyes went wide with astonishment.
“Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“You can, and you will. For your kindness,” Katryna said. “She means a lot to me, and you helped her when you didn’t have to. That means something and deserves a reward.”
Sniff took the marks, bowing once again, his awkwardness having disappeared. “Thank you, m’lady.”
“Thank you, Sniff.”
Chapter 3 - The Troll
A breathless night had consumed the Broken Coast war camp. Hundreds of grey tents were assembled around the small settlement of Barrowtown to house and treat those that had survived the battle that day. The air was grim, thick with sorrow.
Both of Eos’ moons, Rea and Ixo, were in the sky, but their light could barely pierce through the sea of clouds. Ixo had shattered into millions of pieces when it collided with Rea long ago. The millions of ghostly-white, crescent of Ixo shot out diagonally across the night sky, brighter than stars.
Soldiers in the war camp huddled around campfires to escape the bitter cold and to find some comfort with their comrades.
Most did not utter a single word.
King Ulmer Stoneheart had sent an assortment of healers, surgeons, and herbalists from the capital of Shadowshore with haste several days earlier. They had arrived just in time, but they were met with an appalling number of injured men.
Barely any of the soldiers had made it out of the battle unscathed.
Tomas and Rilan sat against a rough log beside a small fire by themselves towards the edge of the war camp, poking and prodding at their lukewarm stew that had been given to the men.
Tomas picked out the pieces of meat he spotted in the broth, tossing them into Rilan’s bowl.
“Still not eating any meat, hey?” Rilan asked.
Tomas shook his head. “Nope.”
The images of his father slaughtering those lambs played in his mind any time he saw meat being served. It had bothered him so much when he was a lad that he had promised himself never to eat any meat again.
“Well, you’re not really missing out on much,” Rilan said as he attempted to chew the rubbery meat. “Tastes like shit anyway.”
Tomas drank the warm broth, tasting the onions and carrots and sprinkled salt. Elsewhere, he could hear Chantry priests praying with the mortally wounded before they were to transcend, reading them the 12 Laws and passages from the Words of Power.
“Never thought I’d be so eager to go back home,” Rilan said, slurping his stew.
“Anything is better than this place,” Tomas replied. “It’s not at all what I thought it would be like.”
“Well, what were you expecting, Tommy? A quick massage from our comrades after a nice day of gentle skirmishing in the fields?”
A soldier stumbled past their campfire, clearing out his sinuses with the sounds of a dying man, before spitting on the ground next to them.
War was unlike anything Tomas had wished for.
No honour, no bravery, no excitement. No chivalrous knights fighting valiantly with clean, glistening armour.
War was loud, messy, and terrifying.
“I miss Old Bertha’s bread,” Rilan said.
Tomas smirked. “I thought you hated Old Bertha’s cooking?”
“Oh, it’s awful. Still miss it though.” The boys chuckled. “In fact, I’d rather eat one of Simple Sammy’s infamous meals than spend another night out here eating this shit.”
Tomas laughed. “Oh, Creator, I forgot about Simple Sammy.”
“Remember? He’d always go looking for bird’s eggs in their nests, and then eat them raw? Shell and all?”
Tomas gagged. “Don’t remind me!”
“Wonder what ever happened to him,” Rilan wondered. “He just up and left one day, didn’t he?”
“I don’t really remember, to be honest. He did so many strange things. When he did go missing, I didn’t take much note of it. If anything, it was a relief.” The boys reminisced for another moment.
“Simple Sammy, wonder where you are now?” Rilan said, looking at the stars above.
The boys could not help but picture home. Brittlepeak had little in terms of extraordinary qualities. It was so small that it didn’t even have a chantry, though some would consider it a picturesque and quaint place. The mountains surrounding the village, the pine woods, the river where he and Rilan would fish together.
Tomas had never seen the beauty there, though. Brittlepeak had always been a prison for him. People died young in Brittlepeak from an array of mysterious diseases. Tomas’s mother had been one of them when he was just a boy.
Rilan slurped up his lukewarm meal with a grimace, before leaning
