BAD CROW MOUNTAIN (Lesbian)

CHAPTER 15 Bad woolf reference as a symbol of danger

During lunch at the tavern, we awkwardly apologize to each other. Zil scribbles something in his travel notebook.

"Let me have a look," I say, reaching for his notebook. "What did you write about us?"

Zil blushes, "Please, there's nothing interesting there!"

"Maybe there is!" I insist, trying to snatch the notebook, but refraining from using magic.

"Stop teasing him," the elfia says, glancing around.

Is she ashamed of my behavior? Maybe she's afraid the evil witch will hear us and return?

"No one's teasing anyone," I mutter, reluctantly giving up trying to peek into the boy's notebook.

Elfia spreads her map on the table. I quickly push aside the bowl of boiled potatoes in butter sauce, adorned with sprigs of parsley and greens. We ordered so much food, and I'm already full, but I keep picking at each dish: a piece of fried chicken here, a vegetable salad with sour cream there, stuffed peppers with eastern rice. Elfia must have decided to throw us a feast in celebration of not setting off to the ever-blooming gardens and fields of our gracious goddess Amixantra, although, in my case it's Bibar's misty wastelands and steppes.

"Take a look here," she points to a small dot on the map. It's drawn in pencil, clearly years after the map was first created. This inscription, or rather scribble, is brighter than all the others.

"And what am I looking at?" I ask, popping a slice of salty cucumber into my mouth.

"That's a portal leading to my mother's house. Since Roseville is near the elven border, it's not far to walk to the portal."

"Why do you keep pointing your finger at the drawn forest instead of this charming road with cute wagons and carriages?"

"Because we'll be going through it," Svartalf looks away.

"Why is that?"

"It'll take us a week if we go by the paved road."

"So you want us to trek through a dense dark forest full of bad wolves? We all know the story of the girl who went to visit her grandmother. Am I the only one who's heard of it?"

"I don't believe you're afraid of wolves."

"It seems Madam Sorrel wants to use the wolf as a symbol of hidden dangers in the forest. And I'll go with you."

"Nowhere you are going. My teacher will have my head if he finds out that a promising mage perished in a nameless forest because of me."

"Do you think I'm promising?" Zil modestly looks down.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, boy," I say, still looking at the map. The forest, with no hint of any trail, doesn't inspire confidence in me. I do love to travel, but I prefer to follow roads on the map or well-established paths.

"I think Zil should come with us. You might need help; another wizard in our group wouldn't hurt. He's earned our trust unlike this mermaid-prostitute you've warmed up to like a viper on your chest." Svartalf slices simple country potatoes carefully with a sharp knife, holding a piece with a fork like a noblewoman from the capital.

Without even touching my cheeks, it feels like they're burning, all because of elfia's words. They've humiliated me. They've humiliated me as a witch unable to protect a client. They've humiliated me as a witch unable to handle a task alone. They've humiliated me as a witch who can't understand creatures like mermaids (and these creatures, by the way, are my specialty).

"Madam Sorrel, allow me to accompany you as any noble knight would. I'm not that weak and can be useful to you." Zil doesn't understand the hidden meaning of her words. "In the room upstairs, you guessed that I come from a simple peasant family just like you. My father is a laborer, and my mother is an earthly farmerette. My father always dreamed that I would become a knight or a city guard and fulfill my duty as a citizen and a man, but I grew up as a weak child. While boys from our village played knights and fought with sticks, I could spend entire days watching fairies or gnomes. I couldn't write or read like all peasants, but I made charcoal sketches on birch bark or scraps of paper discarded by the village head. While children crafted bows and practiced archery or simply chased each other across the fields or through the forest, I could spend hours listening to old Amni's stories and legends about vampires, werewolves, and kelpies. My father, as you can imagine, was extremely disappointed, as I was even bad at farming. But then a miracle happened, my magic awakened! It lifted all my weakness and illness as if by magic. My parents were so happy! Not just a guard, but a mage! Unfortunately, it turned out that I'm not a combat mage, at least that's what they all say at the academy. Don't think badly of me, noble ladies, I'm wildly happy and grateful for the chance Amixantra has given me, but I still feel the weight of unfulfilled masculine duty hanging over me."

I snort ironically: typical male nonsense. Elfia, on the other hand, listens to him attentively and with a serious face. Obviously, such lofty speeches appeal to elves: a typical woman in search of a man.

"If anyone from the academy finds out that I met two noble ladies and didn't offer them my help, I'll be disgraced," he sadly adds his final argument. "Madam Sorrel, I implore you..." Thank Amixantra, he considered me the only authoritative figure above him, thinking that I have the final word.

They both stare at me, waiting. Odd... does Svartalf really need to know my opinion on whether Zil will join us or not?

"Fine," I shrug indifferently. "But if you," I point to him, a small blue flame igniting on my fingertip (a trick I learned from Sunshine). "...try to disobey me, start playing the hero, and end up in trouble, I'll hire a bunch of necromancers from all over Woodland and make them animate your cold, thin corpse for a while, or make them summon your ghost. And each time, I swear by Bibar's lost boots, I'll keep and keep on telling you how you let me down." I whisper the last words in a threatening theatrical tone.

Elfia turns away. I notice she's struggling to hold back her laughter. The boy, on the other hand, pales.

"Yes, Madam, just don't summon necromancers, I beg you!"

"Alright, now let me see your drawings in the notebook, or have you learned to write already?" I say ironically, deftly snatching his notebook away.

***

The novel is finally complete. You can get the access to all final chapters becoming my Patron (the link is in my bio)
🌈✍️ As a passionate lesbian writer, my mission is to fill the shelves with stories that reflect our experiences, our love, and our voices. Each word I write is fueled by the desire to create a world where every sapphic woman can see themselves reflected in literature. Your support means the world to me – whether it's through sharing my work, spreading the word, or contributing on Patreon. Together, let's amplify queer narratives and pave the way for more diverse and inclusive storytelling. Thank you for joining me on this journey! 💜