PART II

  THE PACKAGE

  Drak leaned forward in the saddle as the simple town of Solace unfolded before them. Nalli’s eyes flickered between the rows of houses, shops, and workshops, taking in the bustling evening scene. The clanking of metal and the hiss of steam-powered machinery filled the air. It felt strange compared to the quiet country roads they had traveled all day before getting here. Dusk was quickly descending over the town, the homes and businesses casting shadows over the cobbled streets.

  As they approached the edge of town, Drak noticed townsfolk moving about, wrapping up their day’s work. Some carried tools or parcels, their faces weary but content, while others chatted in small groups. Every now and then, someone would glance up at the pair, their eyes lingering on Nalli, curiosity flashing across their faces.

  Drak swallowed hard and leaned down slightly, his voice subdued but firm. “Remember, stay calm. We need to keep this act up, at least until we’re out of town.”

  He could sense the growing tension in Nalli’s body beneath him; the rigidness in her posture, the subtle shift of her head as she watched the humans walking beneath them. He knew she was uneasy, but there was no choice. They had to play their roles.

  Nalli let out a low rumble of unease, her voice nothing more than a soft growl. “Who are you planning to talk to in order to find this inventor?”

  Drak mulled over her question, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar street signs as they passed by. He didn’t know Solace, and navigating wouldn't be easy. Finding Watson Irongear wasn’t going to be as simple as walking up to his doorstep on a whim, but an inventor like Watson would need supplies and materials for his work. Supplies like metals, tools, and components. A tradesman seemed like the most logical place to start.

  “Probably a blacksmith,” Drak replied. He thought for a moment before an inspiring idea came to mind. Direhounds have keen senses, he thought. Maybe we could use that to our advantage. “Nalli, Can you listen for the sound of metalwork? If we can find one, they might be able to point us in the right direction.”

  Nalli stopped for a moment as she considered Drak’s request. She tilted her head slightly, her ears twitching as she focused on the sounds around them. The clamor of hammers and grinding wheels echoed faintly in the distance, but it was mixed among the sounds of steam machines and other human activity. “Kavinguak. There’s a lot of noise,” she grumbled, her focus dialing in. She narrowed her eyes as her ears rotated in the equivalent of a flower in bloom chasing the sun. “Give me a moment.”

  They continued navigating the town, weaving between narrow streets and cobbled paths. Nalli focused on the overlapping clangs and crashes, filtering through the chaotic sounds of the busy town. Drak kept his eyes peeled, hoping for any visual clue to match the auditory trail they were following.

  After several minutes of searching, Drak spotted something promising. Ahead was a sturdy stone building with an iron anvil and a hammer carved into a hanging sign. The edges of the sign were rusted with age, but the symbol was a dead giveaway.

  “There.” Drak pointed ahead, his voice tinged with relief. “That’s what we’re looking for.”

  Nalli followed his gaze and rumbled in agreement, picking up the pace as they made their way toward the smithy.

  Drak was relieved to see that the flip-sign on the door still read Open. He leaned forward and tapped Nalli’s shoulder. “Hold up. I’ll need to get down here.”

  Nalli shifted her weight, her eyes scanning the street nervously. “You’re going to leave me here? Alone? What if more of your kin show up?” Her voice carried a subtle tremor of worry, and a soft canine whine escaped her throat.

  Drak patted her shoulder reassuringly. “So long as you hold still and don’t cause a commotion, you’ll be okay. I promise.” He pointed to a quiet, vacant spot near the blacksmith’s shop. “Just wait right there, alright? I won’t be long.”

  Nalli’s fur bristled, but she relented and let out a resigned sigh, lowering herself to the ground to let him dismount. Drak slid down from the saddle, his worn boots landing softly on the cobblestone. He glanced up at her with a smile, trying to ease her nerves. She gave him a reluctant nod, her gaze still darting around the street, taking in the other humans walking along the roadway as she watched him make his way toward the shop.

  Please don’t move, he pleaded internally as he grasped the handle and pushed.

  Then, Drak’s shape disappeared behind the door with a heavy, resounding thud.

  Inside, the blacksmith's shop was filled with the clang of hammering and the crackling warmth of a smelter at the back of the room. The air was thick with the scent of metal and soot. A muscular man, covered in grime and sweat, noticed Drak’s entrance from the corner of his eye. He set down his hammer and tongs on a workbench with a heavy clatter and approached.

  “Evening,” the blacksmith greeted, wiping his hands on his apron. “I was ‘bout to close up for the night, but what can I do for you, stranger?” His voice was gruff, but not unkind, as he looked Drak up and down, sizing him up.

  Drak cleared his throat and took a breath, preparing to explain his unusual request. "I’m sorry to trouble you just before you were closing, but I’m looking for someone—an inventor by the name of Watson Irongear. I have to deliver him a letter… think you could point me in the right direction?”

  The blacksmith chuckled, shaking his head. “Irongear, you say? Well, he’s a frequent customer of mine. Bit of a loony, if you ask me, but he pays well enough.” He wiped his brow, glancing at Drak with a smirk. “He’s off Old Cog Road, near the outskirts of the northern reaches of Solace. Look for the well at the center of town, then follow the road north towards the Frostspire Mountains. Can’t miss his place—it’s the one missing part its roof.” The blacksmith leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Just be careful if you go inside his shop. The man is always creating odd things, and sometimes… they explode. Wouldn’t want to see what happens if you spook the poor bastard.”

  Drak couldn’t believe his luck. He nodded gratefully, appreciating the blacksmith’s straightforward, albeit blunt, honesty. The mention of explosions made him curious about the kind of work Irongear did exactly, but that was a question for later. For now, he had a destination.

  “Thanks for the directions,” Drak said, tipping his head in appreciation before turning to leave the shop.

  Outside, the cool evening air hit him as he scanned the area for Nalli. Sure enough, she was right where he left her, her large form huddled in the vacant spot by the building. As Drak approached, he couldn’t help but notice the subtle sway of her tail at his reappearance, a gesture that made him stifle a smile.

  It must be hard for direhounds to hide their emotions.

  Nalli’s ears flicked as she saw him coming, and she spoke under her breath. “Did you find what you needed?”

  Drak nodded, walking up to her and adjusting the pack on his back. “Yeah. He’s near the northern outskirts of town. Apparently, Irongear’s got a shop missing part of its roof, so it won’t be hard to spot.”

  Nalli tilted her head, a soft huff escaping her. “Part of its roof?”

  “Yeah… and I guess we should be careful. Sounds like he has a habit of tinkering with things until they, uh…” Drak chuckled and made an explosive gesture with his hands, fingers splaying outward as if mimicking a blast. “Well, you get the idea.”

  Nalli’s plum nose twitched, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and caution. “Like a bursting kulgoskarrik tail! Let’s hope we don’t end up in the middle of one of his ‘projects,’ then.”

  “What is a kulgoskarrik?” Drak asked.

  “A lizard. Their little tails tend to drop with a loud pop when startled. I used to find them in groups as a pup and see how many I could scare at the same time.” She finished with a sharp-toothed grin.

  “Right…” Drak replied with a dumbfounded expression.

  With a final shared glance, Drak mounted up again, and together, they set off toward the city center where they would find the well leading to Old Cog Road.

  They wove through the town’s narrow streets, the steady pad of Nalli’s steps blending with the faint hum of evening activity. The journey to the city center was straightforward, but as they neared the well, there was an undeniable shift in the town’s atmosphere.

  People turned to look, their expressions ranging from wary curiosity to outright unease. Some quickly stepped aside, clearing a path as if merely being in the direhound’s way was a risk they weren’t willing to take. Others whispered in hushed tones, their eyes darting between Drak and Nalli with barely concealed suspicion. A mother ushered her child away, gripping their hand tightly, while an older man frowned, his gaze lingering on the control collar around Nalli’s neck as if questioning why she was even there.

  Drak felt their scrutiny heavy on his shoulders as a tight knot formed in his chest. He had expected some looks, but not this level of discomfort. His fingers tightened slightly on the saddle frame, to silently reassure himself. Beneath him, Nalli remained quiet, but he could feel the rigid pull in her muscles, the way her ears flicked back in irritation.

  She had noticed too.

  Forcing himself to ignore the stares, Drak refocused on their path, leaning down and whispered to Nalli, “Don't mind them. Direhounds in human territory are normal. We have every right to be here.”

  Nalli, in return, pinned her ears back and focused on the road ahead, quietly grumbling beneath her heavy steps.

  Soon enough, the streets opened up into a spacious town square. In the middle stood the well, a humble structure surrounded by the fading chatter of the day’s final business.

  Drak glanced up at the horizon, tracing the sun’s slow descent. It was inching toward dusk, painting the sky in soft oranges and purples. That way would be west, he thought, which meant the road to the left should take them towards the Frostspire Mountains. He could see the towering silhouette of their peaks, now purple and darkened in the distance.

  He motioned in that direction. “Let’s head that way—that'll be north,” he told Nalli.

  She hummed in response, pacing forward without missing a beat, the claws of her large feet tapping lightly on the cobblestone. As they passed, Drak squinted at the iron street signs, the fading light making them hard to read. After a moment, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

  “Yes. This is definitely Old Cog Road,” he confirmed after inspecting one last sign.

  The town began to thin as they traveled farther, the bustling shops and homes replaced by simple stone cottages and warehouses. The air grew quieter, and the sound of Dickins machinery faded behind them. Then, off in the distance, a larger structure came into view. A tall, weathered building with a spired-roof, part of it covered in wooden scaffolding, stood before them. A sizable hole gaped in its shingled canopy, exactly as the blacksmith had described.

  Nalli spoke first, her voice tinged with amusement. “Tatannamek! What exactly did you say this inventor does again?”

  Drak chuckled. “Honestly, I have no idea. But it looks like we found Watson Irongear’s workshop.”

  The large direhound snorted, her tail swaying lightly. “I hope he’s as interesting as his den suggests.”

  Drak shook his head with a grin. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  He swallowed hard as they reached the unvarnished, wooden fence outside of the workshop. The blacksmith's words of caution rang fresh in his ears as Drak steeled his confidence. Nalli lowered herself to the ground, allowing Drak to climb down. Her eyes gleamed with amusement.

  “Kulgoskarrik,” she mused with a slight, mischievous grin, her pointed teeth glinting.

  Drak shook his head, ignoring her jab, and fumbled in his pocket for the letter from his uncle Garvin. He glanced back at Nalli with a pressing look, praying she understood his unspoken request. He hoped she would stay put and keep quiet while he spoke with the inventor.

  Taking a final, steadying breath, Drak passed through the fence’s gate and stepped up to the door. He knocked, his knuckles tapping firmly against the wood. He flinched as the sound echoed in the still air.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crash from inside, followed by a clatter of metal and glass smashing to the floor. Drak flinched at the chaos, his heart racing as the sharp sounds cut through the silence. A barrage of frustrated curses erupted from within. Something scraped violently against the interior floorboards, and for a moment, Drak considered stepping back.

  Before he could react, the door flew open with startling force, rattling on its hinges. A short, wild-looking man wearing a stained white coat practically burst into view, his oversized glasses reflecting the fading sunlight as they magnified his comical, unsettling, and round proportions. His frizzy white hair stuck out in every direction, as though he’d just been electrocuted. A half-burnt, crooked mustache twitched above his lip, and Drak couldn’t help but notice a conspicuous gap where a tooth should have been.

  “What do you want?” the man shouted, his rough voice filled with impatience. “I'm in the middle of something important!”

  On the cobblestone behind Drak, Nalli let out an involuntary growl at the man's brashness, but if he noticed, he didn't show it. He only tapped his foot, looking at Drak expectantly.

  "Well, spit it out!" he yelled again, his voice ringing through the empty street.

  Drak blinked, pulling himself together. "Uh... Mr. Irongear?"

  "Yes—yes, that's my name. Who's asking?" Watson snapped, his large, magnified eyes intensifying.

  "I-I’m here to deliver a letter," Drak stuttered, offering the envelope. "It's from my uncle... Garvin Ridgewell."

  At the mention of Garvin's name, Watson Irongear’s demeanor changed in an instant. His wild eyes flickered with recognition as he reached out and snatched the letter from Drak's hand. He tore it open without hesitation, muttering to himself.

  "Garvin... of course, that crazy fool."

  Watson Irongear's amplified, spectacled eyes narrowed even further as he scanned the letter. Drak raised an eyebrow at the man’s mumblings. He had never thought of his uncle Garvin as particularly crazy. Eccentric, to be sure, but definitely not crazy... Watson on the other hand, certainly looked and acted the part.

  After a few moments of silence, Irongear scoffed. “A partnership? Who does Ridgewell think he is?” He folded the letter tightly, crumpling it in his fist. “So, my longest standing rival thinks he can just send his nephew to do his dirty work? I knew he was up to something when that damned package showed up on my doorstep this morning!”

  The inventor’s eyes swept up and down Drak’s figure as though assessing him, trying to come to a decision. After an uncomfortably long pause, Irongear grunted, “Come inside,” his large, blue eyes sweeping over to Nalli briefly, “Your hound can sit out back for now.”

  Before Drak could protest or explain, the inventor grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him into the house with surprising force. Drak shot Nalli a nervous, pleading look as he was dragged through the threshold, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that made him wince.

  Inside, the chaos of Irongear’s workshop immediately overwhelmed Drak. It was the complete opposite of his uncle’s pristine, orderly workspace. Parts and tools cluttered every available surface, half-finished steam and clock-work contraptions lay scattered about, and the air buzzed with the faint hum of machinery.

  Irongear mumbled incoherent fits of bewilderment as they wound their way through the maze of inventions. “Garvin and his wild ideas... always thinking he’s one step ahead... HA!” The man seemed to be having an entire conversation with himself, punctuated by occasional frustrated gestures at various objects.

  The more Drak listened, the more outlandish the whole situation felt. Here was a man calling his uncle crazy while surrounded by a workshop that looked like the aftermath of a violent storm. Drak couldn’t help but wonder who the real eccentric was as he glanced up at the sizable hole in the ceiling.

  Finally, they reached a workbench cluttered with even more tools and scraps piled up so high that it was impossible to conceive. Irongear pulled up two stools, gesturing for Drak to sit. Drak carefully lowered himself, trying to ignore the feeling that something might spring to life at any moment from the scattered mechanisms surrounding him.

  Irongear plopped down on the stool opposite Drak, adjusting a dial on his magnified glasses as though trying to size him up.

  “Well,” he said, his voice suddenly more serious, “if you’re Ridgewell’s nephew, I suppose you’re not completely useless. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you and your flea-ridden hound walk out of here with my best work.”

  Drak blinked, completely bemused by Irongear’s erratic behavior. Shaking his head, he replied, “No, sir. I’m not here to walk out of here with your…” He glanced around at the chaotic array of half-finished machines and whirring contraptions, “...creations.” He chose the word carefully. “I was just told to deliver the letter. That’s all.”

  Irongear studied him with narrowed eyes, his lips pulling into a sneer. “Well, then what’s the story with the package over there?” He pointed to a large wooden crate shoved into the corner of the workshop.

  Irongear shuffled over to the box, and Drak stalled his feet for a second before following. Just outside one of the workshop’s open four-paned windows, Drak caught sight of Nalli’s shadow moving along the perimeter. She was trying to peek through the small opening, clearly curious about what was going on inside.

  Returning his focus to the crate, he watched Irongear slap his hand on the wooden surface with a thud. A second letter, sealed with wax, was secured to the top. “It’s addressed to my workshop, but look at this—some other bloke’s name is on it.” Irongear’s voice turned accusatory as he pointed to the sealed letter. “But it’s clearly from Garvin!” He gestured toward the familiar Ridgewell Aeronautics logo ink-stamped on the side of the box.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Drak stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he took a better look at the crate. The label, though addressed to Irongear, had his name printed on it as the recipient. Drak’s confusion deepened as he scratched the back of his arm awkwardly. “Um—It’s… addressed to me…” he said softly, barely able to wrap his head around it.

  Irongear shot him a suspicious look, “Of course it is. Blast that Garvin! Well, what are you waiting for? Open the accursed thing!” His impatience was pronounced by the twitching of his burnt mustache. “I want to see what your uncle’s scheming!”

  Drak, feeling a sudden burden of expectation, gingerly reached for the wax-sealed letter and peeled it open. His heart pounded in his ears as his mind raced to figure out what in the world Garvin could have sent him, let alone something that ended up in Irongear’s hands, no less.

  Drak tore the wax seal from the letter and unfolded the thick parchment. He recognized his uncle’s scrawl as it filled the page. His eyes scanned the lines, and he began to read it aloud, if only to ease the bizarre tension in the room.

  “My dearest nephew,” Drak began, his voice wavering as Irongear loomed closer, clearly in a mood.

  “Well done! I knew you had it in you to take on this mighty adventure of yours. I hope my old friend, Watson, gave you a warmer reception than I imagined he would."

  Drak glanced up briefly, his lips twitching into a half-smile as Watson grunted with displeasure in the background, arms crossed. He continued reading.

  “Inside this package, you'll find some items that I think will benefit you on your journey ahead. I hope it makes up for lost time. I believe I’ve gotten the fit right; you appeared to be of similar stature to myself!”

  Drak's heart skipped a beat as he glanced back at the crate, wondering what his uncle could’ve packed for him in such a large vessel.

  “Best of luck, Uncle Garvin.”

  There was a brief pause before Drak noticed the postscript. “P.S. There's a book enclosed for dear Watson. Please, ensure he receives it.”

  Irongear’s wild eyes flared, his arms dropping to his sides. “A book? Garvin sent me a book?”

  Ignoring Irongear’s rising frustration, Drak pried open the crate with a flat piece of scrap metal that had been lying nearby. The wood creaked as it gave way, revealing several items inside, wrapped in thick layers of cloth and padding.

  At the top wrapped in cloth, a hefty tome caught Drak’s attention immediately, its green and gold cover marked with intricate designs of gears and cogs. There was no doubt it was something tailor-made for Irongear’s mechanical obsessions. He pulled it out and handed it over.

  Watson snatched the book with an incredulous look. “What in Ardraelion…?” His fingers traced the cover, the man’s suspicion evaporating into genuine intrigue.

  Irongear flipped the book open, eyes darting from page to page as Drak turned his attention to the remaining wrapped contents in the crate. As he did, the workshop fell into an odd stillness, broken only by the inventor’s occasional mumbling as he devoured the pages.

  Suddenly, a faint creak echoed from above. Drak’s eyes flicked upward, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Nalli’s nose and one curious eye peeking through the large hole in the ceiling. Her nose twitched, and her eye darted around, clearly inspecting the scene below. Trying to keep calm, Drak gave her a subtle wave to back away, hoping Irongear wouldn’t notice. Nalli's eyes lingered on him for a second longer before she disappeared from view, her shadow vanishing from the hole in the roof. Drak stifled a small smile at her persistence.

  Irongear slapped the book shut with a grunt, causing Drak to snap his attention back to the inventor. It didn’t seem possible, but the man’s wild eyes softened as he sighed, setting the book down with surprising care. “Oh, Garvin,” he muttered, shaking his head. “The things you come up with…”

  He turned to Drak, his posture no longer stiff with suspicion. "I apologize for my earlier conduct," Irongear admitted, scratching the back of his frizzy head. “I didn’t realize Garvin was being genuine with his interest in my help.” His voice had lost its edge, and he actually looked apologetic.

  Drak gave a small shrug, not really affected by the man's antics. “It’s fine,” he replied, stepping back toward the crate. “May I?” he asked, motioning to the remaining wrapped items.

  Irongear gave a lazy wave, the gruffness in his voice all but gone. “Go ahead. Let’s see what Garvin sent you.”

  Drak reached into the crate, carefully pulling out the remaining items. His hands moved over a bundle of thick cloth, which he unwrapped to reveal a stout pair of new boots. The sturdy, brown leather gleamed in the workshop’s dim light. Next, he pulled out a small, polished brass compass, complete with ornate detailing around its edges. Next was a set of goggles, just as finely crafted as the compass. Tucked beneath the goggles was a coin purse that carried an unusual heft, the jingle of coins inside confirming that it was more than just for show.

  Drak set each item aside with care, but his eyes were soon drawn to the largest package. Slowly, he unfolded the cloth around it, revealing a finely crafted leather jacket with reinforced metal plating on the shoulders and arms. The workmanship was astonishing, and the jacket looked not only durable, but also flexible, and designed for rugged journeys. He was enamored at how it could provide both protection and mobility without being too cumbersome.

  Irongear’s lips curled into a smirk. “Huh, looks like Garvin’s turning you into a daring adventurer, eh? The man always had a flair for the dramatic.”

  Drak marveled at the jacket, running his fingers over the metal plating and firm leather edges. Every stitch and every reinforced seam spoke of expert craftsmanship. He traced the embedded rivets along the shoulders, feeling the quality of the material.

  He had never worn something so well-crafted in his life. The scent of oiled leather and faint metal polish filled his senses, nothing like the simpler garments he was used to. This wasn’t just a piece of clothing; it was made for someone who braved the unknown, who faced danger head-on. Standing there, admiring the jacket outstretched in his hands, he felt that he could be that person. Even if only for a moment.

  Setting the jacket aside, Drak turned his attention to the last package in the crate. His hands trembled slightly as he unfolded the cloth wrapping it, revealing a finely tooled leather belt with several attached utility pouches. And the pouches weren’t empty, either. Each seemed to be filled with useful items, including a box of ammunition. That’s when his breath caught as he beheld the oversized firearm resting in the holster. A derringer. A triple-barreled beauty, shining silver in the workshop’s light. Drak could hardly believe his eyes.

  Irongear let out a descending whistle. “That’s a fine piece of work,” he said, stepping closer to inspect the weapon. “That’s a Titanworks Armory Lead Howler. It's no ordinary sidearm, young man. That’s meant to take down some of the most formidable opponents Ardraelion has to throw at humanity. I should know—I helped craft the munitions for it.”

  Drak felt a surge of emotion. He was full of complete gratitude and utter disbelief. His uncle had requisitioned him not just with gear but also with the tools needed to face danger. He traced his fingers over the derringer’s handle, imagining the great responsibility that the gift symbolized.

  Irongear eyed Drak with newfound, albeit, skeptical respect. “Appears like you’ve got quite the journey ahead of you, lad. Garvin wasn’t just sending you on an errand—he’s setting you up for something much larger.”

  Drak could barely contain the emotions rising within him. This wasn’t just a collection of useful, not to mention expensive, gifts; it was a message from his uncle. A challenge, perhaps, or maybe a nudge in the direction Drak had always longed to go. He could practically hear his uncle’s voice enticing him to take the next step, to make this journey his own.

  Unexpectedly, a loud crack from behind them shattered the moment, followed by a shrill cacophony of metallic clattering that jolted Drak from his thoughts. He whipped around just in time to see Nalli’s enormous head poking awkwardly through Irongear’s open shop window. Her snout had knocked over a set of stacked gears, and like dominos, a pile of scattered metal tools followed suit, clanging to the floor.

  Irongear’s eyes bulged, and he threw his hands into the air. “What in the name of all things mechanical? Your hound is going to destroy my window frame!”

  Drak rushed toward Nalli, exasperated. “Nalli! What are you doing?”

  Nalli huffed, her large eyes trying to focus on Drak through the small window opening. “I was just trying to see what’s happening! KuviasotiKak—These human holes are too small!” Another sharp, wooden crack resounded in Irongear’s workshop as Nalli adjusted and attempted to pull herself free from the window.

  Irongear stood to the side, fuming as he surveyed the mayhem. “Small? Small? It’s a perfectly standard-sized window—for humans! Hounds the size of carriages aren’t supposed to be sticking their heads through it!”

  Drak groaned, pressing his hands to Nalli’s fur, trying in vain to push her back out. “Nalli, you can’t just shove your head through random windows!”

  “I am curious!” she grumbled, trying to angle herself free. “I can’t see a thing out there, and you’re taking forever!”

  Irongear let out an exasperated sigh, pacing. “Great, now I'll have to replace a window frame on top of a new roof! Don't you expect to walk away without compensation, or shall I reach out to Garvin and explain this madness?”

  Drak, exasperated, examined the situation more closely and found the cause of the problem. “Nalli, your control collar,” he muttered. “It’s stuck on the inside of the frame.”

  Irongear pointed accusingly. “Just get your flea-bag out of my window! She's much too bulky for a proper indoor setting!”

  “I’m working on it!” Drak snapped back, desperately fumbling with the clasp. “Hold still, Nalli.”

  Nalli snorted, her voice muffled slightly as she struggled against the collar and wood pressing against her neck. “I am trying to hold still, but this whole situation is unbearable!”

  After a few tense moments of struggling with the rusted clasp, Drak managed to disconnect the collar, and with a whoosh of flying fur, Nalli pulled her head free. The motion startled Drak and nearly knocked him off his feet as she withdrew and shook herself off.

  Irongear threw his hands up in frustration. “My workshop looks like it’s been run through by a tornado! And your direhound’s fur is all over my window now!”

  Drak grumbled as he recovered, It already looked like a tornado ran through it…

  He turned and gave Nalli an incredulous look as he caught his breath and leaned out the window to speak to her. “Seriously, curiosity?”

  Nalli grinned from outside the window, baring the whites of her canid teeth. “I couldn’t help it.”

  Drak pulled away from the window as he rubbed his face, raising a hand towards the inventor in a calming gesture, trying to defuse the situation. “Look, Mr. Irongear, I’m really sorry about the mess, okay? I’ll clean it up right now.”

  Irongear groaned dramatically, hands on his hips as he stared at the crack on the window's frame. “A direhound! Of all the things… You realize how hard it is to find decent lumber for repairs these days, and to hire proper workers to fix the damage?”

  Drak turned to Nalli, who was starting to poke her large head through the window again. He gave her a look of exasperation. “Nalli, can you please be patient for like... five minutes?”

  Nalli, catching the desperation in Drak's tone, drooped her ears and gave him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry... I just wanted to see what treasures you got. You seemed excited.”

  Drak’s frustration melted a little. He sighed. “I know. I’ll show you everything later, alright? Just... no more peeking through any windows.”

  Nalli gave a slow, sheepish nod, her plumb nose twitching as she backed away from the window. “Okay...”

  Irongear shook his head, muttering something under his breath about ‘oversized, nosy mutts,’ while Drak scrambled to pick up the scattered tools and gears from the floor. As he finished gathering everything, he walked over to the crate from his uncle, fished out the coin purse, and picked out a small handful of silver and placed them into Irongear’s palm.

  “For the trouble,” Drak said, offering an uneasy smile.

  Irongear paused, eyeing the coins with suspicion before pocketing them. “Well, that’s something, at least.” He then glanced at the large crate. “Say... now that I think about it, why don’t you leave the crate behind. I could use it for storing parts. The way I see it, you owe that much to me, at least.”

  Drak raised an eyebrow. “The crate?”

  Irongear nodded eagerly. “Yes, it’s sturdy! Good craftsmanship. Would be perfect for keeping some of these loose parts off the floor. Could even help me walk around here without tripping over everything.”

  Drak chuckled as he thought incredulously, Or just allow you to collect more clutter… But Drak shrugged, ceding to the man's point. “That’s fair enough, you can keep the crate, Mr. Irongear.”

  The inventor’s mood brightened noticeably. “Good lad! Now we’re talking.” He tapped his fingers on the book Garvin had sent, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere for a moment before he suddenly straightened, as if hit by an epiphany.

  “Well,” he huffed, “as inconvenient as it may be, it wouldn’t do me any good to be inhospitable to my future business partner’s nephew, now would it?”

  Drak paused, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone.

  Irongear waved his hand dismissively. “If your business here is done, you’re free to go. Sleep in the backyard with your hound for the night, if you want, but—” he pointed a finger at Drak, “—keep her away from my house! I’m already down part of a roof; I’m not looking to have the whole place collapse next.”

  Drak did his best to stifle a nervous laugh, but nodded regardless, “Understood. Thank you, Mr. Irongear.” He watched the inventor wave a hand in idle dismissal and turn to his disorganized table of unfinished projects, seemingly done with the young man before him.

  Drak moved to gather his new gear from the crate, taking a moment to study the order in which to outfit himself. First, he kicked off his old, worn work boots and slipped on the new pair, feeling the sturdy leather mold comfortably to his feet while also adding much-needed stability and support to his ankles. Next, he buckled the utility belt around his waist, noting the sizable weight of the sidearm resting securely in the holster. Finally, he draped the coat over his shoulders, adjusting the reinforced metal plating on the arms and shoulders. The goggles sat perched on his forehead, forcing his messy hair upwards, waiting for the perfect moment they’d be needed. For what, he had no idea.

  As Drak adjusted everything, he caught a glimpse of himself in a sheet of polished metal leaning against one of Irongear’s cluttered worktables. For a second, he blinked in disbelief. The reflection staring back at him didn’t look like the simple vineyard worker he once knew. Instead, he looked like a real adventurer. The attire made him look like one who could stand shoulder to shoulder with real Aeronauts or the Mounted Expeditionaries.

  His heart thumped in his chest, as pride and excitement grew inside him. Nalli was relying on him to guide her and this was something he always wanted. Right? Glancing once more at his distorted reflection, he felt a sudden pull of fear and anxiety. Could he really pull this off? What do you really know about adventuring, anyway? He mulled internally to himself.

  Irongear, still fiddling with one of his contraptions, glanced up and performed a double take. His bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, his voice half-amused, half-impressed. “You look the part of a bold renegade now, don’t you?”

  Drak grinned, but before he could say anything, Irongear ushered him away with a huff. “Alright, alright, enough gawking at yourself. Scurry off now and get out of my workshop. I’ve got more important things to tinker with than your costume party. You can leave your old boots, too. Good leather.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Irongear,” Drak said quickly, grabbing the last few items from the crate and slinging them over his shoulder. He hurriedly made his way toward the rear exit where Nalli awaited in Irongear’s backyard. When Drak glanced back behind him, he saw the mad inventor already lost in his own world of gears and inventions.

  As Drak stepped outside, the cool evening air hit his face, and the role of his new equipment suddenly felt surreal.

  Drak rounded the corner of the workshop, he found Nalli standing with her arms crossed and her foot tapping rhythmically against the ground. Her gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, but the moment she caught his movement from the corner of her eye, her posture changed. Nalli uncrossed her arms and took a few easy strides toward him.

  Drak, grinning, spread his hands wide, showing off the new uniform and gear he now wore with pride. "Well? What do you think?" he asked, his voice filled with nervousness and the anticipation of hearing her response.

  Nalli's eyes widened slightly, and though she tried to hide her reaction, the subtle sway of her tail gave her away. For a moment, it was clear she was impressed. She gave him a nod, trying to act nonchalant. “Decent. You still look… puny. But passable as a fledgling warrior, I suppose,” she said, her tone clipped as though she wasn’t the one who just had her head stuck in a window.

  Drak couldn’t help but release a hearty laugh, noticing the way her eyes lingered a bit too long on the coat. “Really? Just decent?" he teased, raising a brow. "You’re not still embarrassed about that window thing, are you?”

  Nalli’s ears flicked, her tail stopping its telltale swaying. “What window thing?” she replied, feigning ignorance. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Her tone was so serious it nearly convinced him. Nearly.

  “Uh-huh,” Drak said with a smirk, crossing his arms. “Well, good to know you're an expert on human architecture now.”

  Nalli huffed, her nose twitching in mock offense. “Just don’t expect me to crawl through any more human-sized holes. Mittapuks. That was clearly a design flaw.”

  Drak laughed, shaking his head. “Noted. I’ll be sure to find direhound-friendly windows from now on.”

  Nalli let out a deep rumble, her broad shoulders shaking slightly as she laughed, clearly amused by Drak’s antics. She knelt down, bringing her massive frame closer to his level, her eyes keenly scanning the uniform he wore. “Hmm...,” she hummed thoughtfully, her golden eyes tracing the edges of the leather coat. “The craft work is impressive,” she remarked, admiring the detail with genuine interest.

  Drak, eager to show off more, turned a little to give her a better view, displaying the new boots, the utility belt, and finally the revolver holstered at his side. Nalli’s head listed slightly to the side with marked curiosity, her eyes eventually drawing to the unfamiliar device. “And what is that?” she asked, pointing a clawed finger toward the weapon.

  Drak glanced down at the firearm, an excited grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This?” he said, pulling it out for her to see. “It’s a derringer. Irongear called it a Lead Howler. It’s a firearm. A powerful human weapon.” Drak pointed out the three large barrels on the weapon, “It lets me take three shots—um, like arrows—in quick succession before I have to reload.”

  Nalli narrowed her eyes slightly, studying the firearm with skepticism. “I have heard of these human thunder sticks, but have never seen one. Three shots, you say... and you’re confident you know how to use it?”

  Drak hesitated for a moment before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well... not exactly,” he admitted. “I’ve never actually used one before. It’s all new to me.”

  Nalli’s furred brow arched while amusement danced in her eyes. “So, you’re carrying around a powerful weapon, and you don’t even know how to use it?”

  Drak shrugged, trying to keep his lacking reputation in check. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out. I just need to find some time to practice. Can’t be that hard, right?”

  Nalli gave him a doubtful look, her tail swishing again. “Hmm. I hope you find time to learn it. I’d rather not have to drag you out of an encounter after you fumble with it.”

  Drak chuckled. “I’ll figure it out before it comes to that, don’t worry.”

  Nalli smirked. “Maybe. Let us hope we do not run into trouble too soon, yes?”

  After their conversation lulled, Drak sighed and turned toward Nalli. “Irongear said we could sleep outside tonight,” he said, pulling out the control collar from his side. He held it up, giving her an apologetic look. Nalli responded with a dramatic eye roll and an exasperated huff, but she slowly leaned down to let him fasten it around her neck.

  “You know, this thing is ridiculous,” she grumbled as the collar clicked into place.

  Drak chuckled nervously. “I know, I know. Better to be safe than sorry. I still don’t want anyone seeing you without it on. I’m surprised Irongear didn’t make a fuss when I took it off earlier.”

  Nalli scratched lightly at the collar with her claws, her ears twitching in mild irritation. “It’s like wearing a tether,” she muttered before shaking her head to get the collar to sit more comfortably.

  Once they were set, they wandered over to an open patch of grass in the yard. Drak got to work, first helping Nalli remove the saddle and harness that had been weighing her down. She let out a relieved sigh as the burden was lifted from her back, stretching her long, massive limbs out.

  Meanwhile, Drak began unfolding out his sleeping roll. He glanced at the darkening sky, noticing the crisp bite in the air and the hot mist of his breath clouding the breeze. It would be a cold night, and he hoped the bedroll would be enough to keep him warm against the icy chill of the ground. His gifted gear he set aside next to him, still not entirely used to having the equipment. Then, he plopped down, adjusted the roll, before crawling on top of it and wrapping his new coat around himself for warmth.

  Nalli settled down near him, her golden eyes still sharp, scanning the yard for any signs of movement. Although, her focus kept returning to Drak, watching him with quiet curiosity as he wriggled to get comfortable.

  “You behave like a fish without its pond,” she said flatly.

  Drak chortled, finally finding a comfortable position that worked. “I’m not used to sleeping outside like this.”

  Nalli’s gaze lightened, and she gave a small nod. “You will get used to it. Eventually.”

  As the night deepened and the stars began to glitter in the sky, a heavy stillness blanketed Irongear’s yard. Drak lay on his sleeping roll, staring up into the vast night, listening to the calming chirp of crickets and the cool breeze. He shifted once more on the ground as his mind buzzed with the events of the day. He was no longer just Drak Forgeheart, the vineyard worker from Tribute; he was stepping into a new role he'd now have to face, and the burden of that change wasn’t easy to shake off.

  Beside him, Nalli settled down, her massive furred body a comforting presence in the night. She curled up close by, her eyes still alert as she scanned the darkness beyond. Drak turned his head slightly, watching her eyes reflect in the moonlight, and after a moment, he found himself wanting to ask a question to help take his mind off of the troubles growing within him.

  “What’s your home really like? The Nightmoon Veil?”

  Nalli shifted her eyes from the distance to him, her expression softening slightly. Her ears twitched, and she let out a thoughtful rumble, considering how to answer. “It is… wild,” she started, her voice full of pride. “The mountains are tall, with peaks that disappear into the clouds. The forests stretch endlessly, deep and ancient, filled with life. There is always a feeling of freedom there, of being truly alive.”

  Drak placed his hands under his head while looking up at the night sky, listening closely, trying to picture it. “Sounds beautiful.”

  “It is,” Nalli replied, her voice quieter now. “But it is also dangerous. There are… things out there in the dark, things that humans wouldn’t believe if they saw it. My people know the land like the back of their claws, though. We learned how to survive, how to thrive in it.” She paused for a moment, her eyes returning to the distance again. “That’s why we fought so hard to keep it from your kind.”

  Drak could feel the meaning in between her words, the unspoken history of conflict, of loss. He nodded, unsure how to respond. “It was a really long time ago. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for your ancestors. To lose all that back then.”

  Nalli didn’t reply right away. Instead, she rested her head on her claws, and half-closed her eyes. “It is not lost. Not all of it. Not yet. There are still those fighting to protect it.” Her voice was quieter, almost like she was speaking to someone else instead of him. “I just hope I am not too late to save us from what is coming.”

  A silence fell between them again, the air leaden with unspoken thoughts. Drak could sense the gravity of what she was dealing with, the kind of responsibility that made his own concerns about adventure seem small in comparison.

  “I know you’ll make a difference,” Drak said softly, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice.

  Nalli glanced at him, her eyes studying him for a long moment before she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Maybe. But you do not know what it is we are facing.”

  He so badly wanted to question her more about it, but he knew he had to honor the line she had set previously. And so, they fell into silence again, the cool night air swirling around them. Drak pulled his coat tighter as he rolled to the side, his hands tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow, continuing to wondering what Nalli was alluding to. His eyes, however, were beginning to feel heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally creeping in.

  Just as sleep was starting to take him, Nalli spoke again. “You still do not have to come with me, you know. You are not tied to my cause.”

  Drak turned his head sluggishly, blinking heavy in the dark. “I know that.” His voice was subdued, quiet, and he yawned without a sound. “But I want to come... see what’s out there... and help if I can.”

  Nalli’s eyes met his once more. There was a flicker of respect in her gaze. She didn’t say anything. She just let out a soft huff before settling down again, her tail curling closer to her body. “Just do not slow me down.”

  Drak grinned at her threat as sleep threatened to overwhelm him. “I’ll try not to.”

  Yawning once more, he let his eyes close. The future loomed over him, vast and uncertain, no longer a distant dream but a reality closing in. He had no idea what lay ahead. He only knew that the road would be long, and the path forward might be less forgiving than his fantasies had led him to believe. Yet, with Nalli by his side, it still felt like the daring escape he always longed for.

  He just hoped that whatever they may face in the future on the unknown road ahead, they would face it together.

  Vine & Fang? Feel free to rate the story, leave a comment, and follow the author for future updates!

  A

  AkKalajuks – Ants

  Anniasuitik – Shaman of Medicine

  Anirnaq – The First Direhounds

  Anirniq – Soul

  Anga – Yes

  Atsinguak – Gift

  Auka – No

  I

  Ijik – Eye(s)

  Ikialuit! – Damnit or damn you, depending on phrasing.

  Ilisimaik – Craziness

  Ipatsik – Understand

  Ipvit – You

  K

  Kaijuuti – Coyote Tribe

  Kakiannangituk – Unpleasant

  Kavinguak – Much noise

  Kulgoskarrik – A lizard, known for dropping its tail when frightened with a sudden loud burst

  Kutsutak – Yellow

  Kuviasotikak – Ridiculous

  M

  Mitappuk(s) – Joke(s)

  N

  Nakummek – Thank you

  Nalligik – Love(s)

  Nokel-katantik – Honorable

  Nuni Lunikk – Moon Mother

  Nunivak – Pick berries

  Nutaqq – Child

  O

  Omajualuk – Monster

  P

  Paunngak – Berries

  Pattangaititsik – Protecting

  Piujuk – Good

  Piunngituk Silatsuak – Bad Earth

  Pijagia-keh – Different

  Pilluak – Smart, clever, skillful

  Pitsatujuk – Powerful

  Q

  Qilakpaangut – sky-eyed wanderer who flies like a startled birdling

  Qimmit – Dog (or like a dog)

  S

  IkKumanngituk – Stupid

  Siku – Ice

  Siitani – Star cycles, or revolutions around the sun

  Sungittotanuk – A symbol

  T

  Tatannamek – Amazed / How Fascinating!

  Takutsuapuk – Kindness

  Tatsika Napattulik – The Darkened Forest

  Tillia-Kattak – Vermin (More than one meaning?)

  Tikatsiak – Strong twine

  U

  Ukalik – Hare

  Ukausik – Language of Direhounds

  Ukiuq – Winter

  Ullak – Morning

  Nalligik-Paunngak Kutsutak-Ijik (Nalli) – Love(s) Berries Yellow-Eyes

  Akkitu-kumik Taggana-Tak (Umbra) – Soft-Scratch Shadow-Side

  (Uvaguk or Uvak)-kaik sollu pitsiak. Pik sivo-ganik – (We or I) Come as kin. Do not fear.

  Sakkik sollu pitsiak! Ipvut napaq kunulik… Amarik! – Appear as kin! But stand with… enemy!

  Qamut qimmit! Pilluq! – Cowardly dogs! Move!

  Sunas pait mittsikappuk, atiq? – What is your real/true name?

  Nuti Nannguk Kunnak – Great Fault of Kunnak

  Takutsuapuk aje atsinguak – Kindness is a treasure

  Vine & Fang posted for free reading. Redistribution prohibited.