Heart of Oak

Huma

Two weeks westward and the dense forests gave way to rolling grasslands. Hills peaked and dipped, giving a sort of wavelike appearance to the land. Horses roamed about, trotting and galloping freely. Bison and deer grazed the lands without worry or fear. Falcher stepped onto the grasslands and took a deep breath. "Finally, out of that damn maze," he grumbled to himself.

Not too far off was the outskirts of a walled city. Made of stone and mortar, it stood tall and menacing to any unfamiliar with it. "That must be Huma. Looks well built." Falcher pulled up his belt and his rapiers clanged together.

It was another half day to the city from the edges of the forest and much of the grasslands were grazing lands for the wildlife, with some farms dotted around. It was a calm summer day. Although, as he walked by the small family farms, he noticed something odd. They were staring at him, not with curiosity, but with disgust. He thought to himself, 'Perhaps they're not used to seeing wolf-kin?'

Regardless, he continued onward. The closer he got to the city, the more humans he saw and the more unsettling looks he received. The concern was setting in. Perhaps there was more to these looks than a simple 'ew, it's something unusual'. His eyes moved between the various humans he saw. The kids were pointing, only to be redirected away by their mothers. He paused in his walk. The situation was about to go from bad to worse, and he wasn't sure how to appear friendly to these people. Nonetheless, he made an attempt as he slung his guitar off his shoulder and held it loosely in his hand.

First, he strummed a quick chord to gather attention on purpose. Once he was sure he had everyone's attention, he began with a little folk tune he knew well, "Of Wolves and Sheep". It was an upbeat tune that he didn't sing along to. The lyrics were a very dark contrast to the jig itself. At first, it was the kids who smiled and started shuffling and dancing. Then a few adults bobbed their heads. It was catchy. Fortunately, no one else knew the actual words to the song.

When he finished, he stood and grinned, holding up his instrument in victory. The crowd that had gathered was no more than thirty farmers and their families and largely, they all clapped and celebrated. After a few minutes, they returned to their work and left Falcher alone.

"Good to know these people trust musicians," Falcher mumbled to himself and continued on his walk. "I wonder what those glares were about at first. Surely travelers are a thing in this place?"

However, it would only be a few minutes before he'd find himself accosted by some knightly-looking men. Bearing a red and gray tabard, these plate metal soldiers approached Falcher with their poleaxes on display. "Hold it, Werewolf"

"Werewolf? I'm a wolf-kin, not a—" Falcher was immediately interrupted.

"We don't care. We don't want you, you here. Turn around and go back to the fucking bone dens in those forests." The first knight said aggressively.

"Whoa now, boys," Falcher countered. "Let's not be hostile. I'm a traveling bard looking to make some coin in your fine city."

"Your kind are not welcome here." The second knight gave Falcher a rough shove. "This is our kindness, go and don't come back."

The shove set Falcher into fight mode. He stepped back and drew his rapiers, taking a readied fencing pose. "Now gents, I don't want to fight you. I only want to make some coin."

The knights looked at each other. "Who'd you eat to get that gear?"

"Eat?" Falcher raised a brow. "I don't eat people."

"Liar!" the second knight shouted and swung his poleaxe.

Falcher stepped back again. "I am a wolf-kin, not a werewolf. If I was a werewolf, how am I still looking like a wolf in broad daylight?!"