Aryu was smart, charming, friendly, helpful, brave, and loyal. Even boyishly handsome despite being so different from the locals. Still, it was not enough.
Aryu had wings.
Large ones by this time, too. Large and strong, yet extremely flexible and pliable. This was how they fit so neatly into his large pack. It was custom made by his mother, with the back cut out to fit these jokes from an inhuman God (though it must be pointed out that despite feelings otherwise, God was once very much human, and as such, would know enough not to play such a terrible joke on someone). Mutations of this kind were quite common all around the world, but rare and scary were ones so perfect and purposeful. Green skin, third eyes, scales, extra legs, horns, faces with no mouths, mouths with no faces. All were well-documented, and all were quite useless. Wings are concise of purpose, and useful to the umpteenth level. Wings allow you to fly not by machine or by the power of the mind. They were something far more than patches of dense hair or an extra limp, boneless finger.
Wings were not an accident of mutated evolution. Wings have a purpose and Aryu mastered that purpose the second he realized he could. His back where they connected just between his shoulder blades was unlike any other human’s. It was thick with muscle and bone structure only he possessed, and his chest was larger around to accommodate a heart that was large enough to pump blood through them and the rest of his body. They were no accident. They were a part of him. Almost overnight the rumors of the demon-boy of Tan Torna Qu-ay were born.
But now they would be the stories of the demon-MAN. After all, the last year was not experienced for nothing.
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Aryu and Johan rested. Farther up the slope was a small trickle of fresh water, and this clearing they had found was large enough to fit both of them plus their gear. Aryu took his treasure and had it hidden before prying eyes could glimpse it. It was still not time.
Sadly, there was no meadow on this mountain or any near it, which would have been perfectly obvious to anyone not blinded by melodramatic tendencies. These mountains were nearly barren from top to bottom on all of these southern-facing slopes. Feeling cheated, but much too tired to care, they made their camp as the sun went down. For the youth who set forth on this quest from Tan Torna Qu-ay and the other villages of the land, it was an unofficial tradition on the last night out before the true stretch for home, they would sit around a fire and lay out the spoils of the adventure. No meadow meant that there was nothing to burn, so there would be no fire.
Aryu had very little, his pack being mostly full of wings this whole time. His wings were now free from their woven prison and were stretched out behind him, draping away from his shoulders like a deep greenish-brown cloak. These were not feathered and beautiful like glistening gossamer. They were thin and tough, like a lizard or bat. Veined and sinuous, with a full expanse that was twice as wide as Aryu was tall.
Johan had his items out. He was particularly fond of a long, ornate dagger he'd acquired during a stay they'd had in a mountain village far north. The people of this northern village were living in a constant threat of attack by a very aggressive Hooded Stalker: a reptilian beast with a long tail and frilled head and neck. Hooded Stalkers, like most of the Stalker family, were particularly nasty because of their tenaciousness. Their hides were scaled and nothing but the finest blades was able to penetrate them. Unfortunately, just getting close was a challenge unto itself. Stalkers were white-hot to the touch, their blood a blend of chemicals that could be mixed at its will to searing levels. If you didn't catch one off-guard, you didn't catch one at all.
In the case of this village, they were ill-prepared for the creature, not having encountered one that far south in recorded history.
Stalkers are amazingly intelligent. It's not uncommon in lands far enough away from this one to encounter Stalkers the size of elephants with the ability to talk.
The two brave travelers came to them. After helping build rock and mortar walls around the mountain village, they realized the futility of their efforts one night as the Stalker smashed a section of wall, destroyed several lodges, and devoured half a herd of alpine goats.
Needing another plan, it was Johan who suggested the classic enemy-repelling solution of the moat. Being a history buff, mostly in the areas of weapons, armies, attack, and defense, etc., he was well-versed in classic moat techniques. Using the existing irrigation system, the villagers redirected an irrigation canal around the most exposed sides of town. Stalkers, although strong and very fast, do not jump well, and any cold water was a very strong deterrent to something that could be so incendiary. The moat took days to build, but Johan was pleased with the results.
The Stalker returned, surveyed its new dilemma, howled in rage, and carried off back into the high country. No sign came thereafter, and once the villagers were satisfied, Johan was heralded as a hero.
The village got together and offered the dagger to him as a token of appreciation. It was a gift from a popular hermit that lived nearby and wandered into town on occasion to trade, drink and talk to anyone and
