“Alright! Last meal of the trip! I made it extra special, but honestly I may have gone overboard with the spices and garlic. I hope that garlic isn’t a problem for anyone.” As she started passing a few bowls around, Jericho let out a chuckle, met with half hearted huffs of amusement from the group of tired farmers and the one tailer she was escorting. “Come on guys, that one usually does pretty well.”
“Don’t fret, we are simply tired, do not mistake out lack of enthusiasm as displeasure in your attempts to raise our spirits.” Feron spoke, an older gentleman that had approached Jericho with the groups gold and requested her services a fortnight ago.
Jericho sat, the rock under her digging into her thigh, but better than sitting on the muddy ground and risking smelling like the stench of rot that sat in the air. It always smelled like that here. This part of the mountains, just leaving the pass and nearing the ever forbidding manor of one Darius Bright, seemed to be rank with bog water and fertile yet pungent earth. Biodegrading vegetation and animals, flourishing with strange carnivorous plants and trees that cast shadows that played tricks on Jericho’s mind. It smelled bad there, but she had made this pass and this pastime her home, she didn’t intend on changing that anytime soon despite the smell.
“Just doin’ my job, keeping you fed and smiling occasionally is just as important as keeping you all from being eaten in your sleep.” Jericho dug into her stew, immediately opening her mouth and gasping at how hot it was. Her eyes watered, trying to fan the food as her tastebuds burnt. “Fuck-”
Feron laughed harder at that than the garlic joke. “Do you learn? Every night since we’ve set out you eat before it cools down.”
“I wanna hab da fub.” She tried to cover her mouth and chew with it open to cool down, putting her bowl on her knee while swallowing the still burning food.
Feron sighed, looking around at some of his traveling companions and the nervous tailer quietly scraping the last of her soup and getting back to sewing one of Jericho’s shirt she had torn fending off some undead giant rats. “You are curious.” Feron looked back to Jericho, who stopped mid bite and blew on her food like a child caught with candy.
“Like, good curious?” She asked.
“I suppose. Not what I expected.” The old farmer shrugged.
“So, is that good?”
“You subvert all expectations from appearance.”
“You’re- you’re really not giving me any hints, bud.”
“Shorter than I expected. Friendlier than you look. Mischievous, even for someone related to goblins and chaotic folks, I’ll give you that much.” Feron took a bite of food, letting Jericho simmer for a moment, deciding on whether or not she was offended. “What are your plans after you finish escorting us?”
“Uh…” She looked at her stew, brows furrowed. “Just going to find someone else that needs escort through the pass heading towards Merwarld Downs or ideally Trostad. Keep doing my job. I’ll probably stop by ol’ Darius Bright’s place, kinda gives me the creeps around there, but the people are nice and I get clients in that area, maybe head to the monastery.”
“If you ever want to settle down a little, you’re welcome to stay in our farmlands when we get back. We could use someone to protect us, and the grounds and livestock. Only so much we can do with pitchforks and wood axes.” Feron scraped the bottom of the bowl, finishing his stew and standing to go clean it. “Dinner was good, you’re a good cook and a better leader. Less garlic next time, though.”
He winked, and walked off, leaving Jericho there with the others, going back to her stew and considering taking a garlic tolerance break - seemed like a good amount to her. As kind of him as it was to offer, she didn’t want to settle down. Jericho looking across the mountains, the dark horizon hidden behind their peeks, the occasional ruined castle littering their profile and pools of distant water catching the light of the moon. No, this was what she liked, traveling, seeing the world and helping others see it too.
She liked freedom, it was a good change.