“So you’re here on official business?” Asked the border guard. He was a sprightly light brown fellow with shoulder length peach fluffy hair that partially covered his eyes.

  “Yes.” Repeated Bastian for the third time.

  “With the Ferns?” Asked the border guard.

  “Yes.” Repeated Bastian.

  “To discuss official business?” Asked the border guard.

  “Yes.” Repeated Bastian.

  “And you’re not here to find work?” Asked the border guard, again.

  “No.” Bastian repeated, “Just to speak with the Ferns.”

  “You sure your business with the Ferns isn’t work?”

  “No,” Bastian repeated, realized he’d slipped and hurried to correct himself, “I meant yes, I’m sure. It's just official nation to nation business. I’m not going to be living, working, or staying in Sumbria. I’m just here to speak with the Fern’s, report to the royals on behalf of Peldeep, and then return home.”

  “So you’re here on official business?”

  If Bastian didn’t know that Peregrine was right behind him, he might have given up crossing the border. She couldn’t get here fast enough. “Yes.”

  “And how long is your business in Sumbria?” The border guard asked.

  The pair of them were standing at the treeline where the road coming out of the valley continued into a dense forest. Bastian’s horse was being checked over by another elf with cyan coloured hair. There were only about six capybara nearby, the rest congregating in the slope of the pass. Lish was waiting near the animals for her lady.

  “A week.” Bastian said confidently. He had no idea how many days it was actually going to take, but he would err on the side of caution.

  “And will you be spending the entire week with the Ferns?” The guard asked.

  “...I will speak to the Ferns, report to the royals on behalf of Peldeep, and then return home.” Bastian repeated, “But I do hope to be accompanied by a Fern during that time– this one, in fact.”

  Thank the gods, Lish and Peregrine had finally arrived. “There you are, Commander General.”

  How had she grown more lovely in the fifteen minutes they’d been apart? Peregrine looked down on them from her horse with an imperious noble manner full of all the irritation he would’ve liked to show if he could. He happily lived vicariously through her visible annoyance.

  “Countess Fern,” Bastian waved at the border guard, “I’m just going through security now, and should be with you shortly.”

  The shocked expression on the border guard’s face almost made it worth it. He’d obviously not believed Bastian, for some reason, and wasn’t expecting to come face to face with the truth.

  “Lady Fern!” The elf bowed low, and was visibly sweating. “Welcome home, my lady. I hope you had safe travels.”

  “I did.” Peregrine stated, “Now process my fi-companion so I can be on my way.”

  She tripped over the word fiance, but Bastian wasn’t insulted. He merely raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

  Anything to get out of answering another repeat question.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Of course! He’s all yours, Countess.” The border guard bowed a second time. When he straightened, he gave her a pitying look, “Please, my lady, if you wouldn’t mind putting in a word to your father about our capybara plight?”

  “I might.” Peregrine didn’t promise anything, but did look around one last time to assess the situation.

  The guard bowed a third time, adding, “The beasts have overrun us twice already, and there aren’t enough quest slots to tempt the adventurers what with the goose still on the loose.”

  “The goose?”

  “The Golden Goose,” He explained, “No one’s caught it yet.”

  “Here’s your horse,” The cyan-hair guardswoman returned with Bastian’s rented mount, a forced friendly smile on her face.

  “Thank you.”

  The capybara that had followed Peregrine out of the herd walked between her horse's legs and up to Bastian’s shoe, sniffing it. The drakin was momentarily distracted by the creature, and let it be.

  It rubbed up against his right mithril greave, and then looked up at him expectantly.

  “Here now!” The elf that had delivered him his horse made a shooing motion with her hands. “You skidaddle you!”

  Bastian couldn’t resist and leaned down to scritch the creature behind the ear, moving his hands around to scratch under the capybara’s chin.

  “At least they're friendly,” Peregrine mused, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips.

  “You weren’t here when they rampaged through the pass!” The guardswoman countered.

  The peach-haired guard went deathly pale and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her behind him. “What she means to say, my lady, is, ah, that you are of course correct. We are very lucky they are friendly. The stampede would have been so much worse otherwise and we are so thankful that the beasts have a good temper - as you say -”

  “Enough,” Peregrine shook her head, “I’m not offended.”

  The panic was still there, but the guard’s shoulders relaxed a little and he bowed a fourth time. Realizing the guardswoman hadn’t followed suit, he grabbed his companion by the shoulder and forced her into a bow as well. “Thank you for your patience, Countess. May your path be green.”

  Peregrine nodded and nudged her horse forward, Lish following right behind.

  Bastian patted the capybara on the head twice before letting go and mounting his horse. He wasn’t surprised at the bowing and scraping. Peregrine’s father was the prime minister and a noble, after all, and could do pretty much what he wanted without much recourse. Peldeep royals had to face the same rules as everyone else… but Sumbria had brutal sumptuary laws, and no one wanted to be within range of the nobility.

  Or so he’d heard.

  He’d also witnessed members of the rebellion trying to assassinate their ruling class almost every time he’d visited - though he’d never been bothered by them himself. Bastian mostly stuck close to Rowen and stayed silent on trips to Sumbria. Stand around, get unimpressed side-eye from elven courtiers, watch an uprising or two, go home, rinse and repeat.

  “How long until we reach your estate?” He asked, nudging his horse around the curious capybara to catch up. The beast tried to follow but was stopped by the guardswoman. She had animal handling abilities, and managed to prevent it from crossing the treeline.

  “Three more hours.” Peregrine said, shading her eyes and looking up at the sun through the suddenly dense canopy. They were in the forest now. “With any luck there’ll still be light when we get there.”

  Having travelled through the Dark Enchanted Forest many times, Bastian recognized the feel of a magical forest. This one wasn’t sentient, but it was rich in mana reserves and enchantment. The trees were old and ancient, the grass was too green and too perfect. The ideal height for walking on.

  It was like walking through an oil painting, everywhere vibrant and rich and alive. Bastian was immediately struck with the idea to turn it into a quilt. He had at least twenty shades of green fabric back home, give or take, and the splash of flowers on that apple tree nestled in a grove of rhododendrons could be made out of fabric mosaic. This late into spring, the flowers on the bushes had fallen, leaving a trace of red and white petals around the apple blossom. They would overcrowd the picture, but he could leave them out in the quilt and–

  “Do you like it?” Peregrine caught him staring, a genuine smile lighting her face.

  “It’s beautiful.” He stated. Peregrine slowed down so he could pull up beside her. Lish sat quietly behind them, frowning. The maid was on high alert, scanning the area for threats. She didn't seem to like Bastian much, but he couldn't tell if that was because he wasn't an elf, or if she was just overly protective of her charge.

  Maybe both.

  “Sumbria is the favoured domain of Life,” Peregrine explained, “We have a lot of priests that take care of the forest. We don’t have many fields, but we’re famous for our orchards and gardens.”

  “I’ve had the chance to try one of your celestial peaches.” Bastian smiled at the memory. “I’m looking forward to trying more.”

  “It's Scarlett Apricot season. We'll have first flower strawberries and brook melons too,” Peregrine said, “Our cook makes the best strawberry tarts–”

  “Mistress!”

  Everyone stopped short at a split second before the maids' warning.

  The bushes off to the side of the path started rustling.