The path Yig and Sil walked was narrow, with tiny blades of grass peeking through, but far less rocky than those in Sharirun. Sil trailed behind a weary Yig, who panted like a dog as he pressed forward—his early enthusiasm hours ago now worn thin, and his wounds from the raid certainly weren’t helping.

  “Is this what I can expect?” Sil asked with a frown. “You charging off and expecting me to follow?”

  Yig drew back his tongue and gave her a look, as if she were the fool. “You asked to follow, didn’t you?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh… so you mean you want to walk in front?”

  Sil rolled her eyes and turned away, ending the conversation—though a few moments later, she started a new one.

  “Yig… right? That’s your name? But what about your second?”

  “Huh? My second name?”

  “Yeah. Plenty of people have them. One for themselves, one for their family. Some have more.”

  “My family just calls me Yig like everyone else.”

  Both fell quiet, caught in a moment of miscommunication, until Sil spoke again. “No… it’s not used like that. It’s just to show what family you're from.”

  “Oh.” Yig paused, glancing up at the sky. “That’s why Jordan and all his siblings share the same one.”

  “But you don’t?”

  Yig shrugged. “Guess not. What’s yours?”

  “March. I’m Sil March.”

  “Huh… well I don’t want that name.”

  You could almost hear steam hiss from Sil’s ears. “It wasn’t exactly an offer!”

  Yig’s sheep trotted happily beside them, inspecting every piece of nature in sight. There was something comforting about her fluffy innocence.

  A light breeze swept over them as they reached the peak of a steep trail, revealing the valley they had been searching for. A cluster of buildings came into view—uniform in shape, light brown walls, and cherry-red roofs with a subtle inward curve. A few structures sat apart from the rest, including one ornately built on a hill, ancient and dignified, accessed by a long staircase just as aged. This was Moonset.

  The two descended a sturdy, winding trail shaped like a spring. Wind buffeted the hillside, sending a ravenous breeze through the small trees growing from its slope. The grass danced in waves, tracing the wind’s path. Yig let out a loud yawn, rubbing his eyes as they walked.

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  “Something boring you?” Sil asked.

  “It’s taking too long to get down. I wanna just run straight down the hill.”

  Sil knew her answer already, but still peeked over the edge. It was indeed steep—nearly a quarter-mile drop. “You’d probably die if you tried.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m taking the path.” He said it with a tone of smug intellect that made Sil squint in discomfort. But just as she opened her mouth to reply, instinct kicked in—she threw out two strands of parchment on reflex.

  Figures masked head-to-toe in dark blue cloth lunged at them from above, their garments billowing as they drew daggers. But before they could strike, Sil had already bound one by his feet and wrists, yanking him down and pinning him to the path.

  Yig reacted a moment later with less urgency. He ducked under a blade that sliced a hair from his neck, then swung his foot back, tripping the bandit and sending him tumbling down the hill.

  Another attacker stepped forward, aiming to stab Yig in the eye. But Yig, guided by muscle memory, struck the man’s wrist, grabbed him with both hands, vaulted over him like an acrobat, and used his body weight to slam him into the ground. As the man reached for his blade, Yig kicked it away and placed a foot on the back of his head, standing casually as though nothing had happened.

  The bandit shouted some vague threat of violence if Yig didn’t get off him, but Yig stayed put, scanning the area for any hidden allies.

  “Looks like the coast is clear,” Sil remarked.

  “Thanks for the match, fellas,” Yig said with a grin.

  “Don’t thank them!” she snapped, tying up her bandit before yanking him to his feet.

  “Take it as a compliment. They challenged us because we’re strong.”

  “Did it cross your mind they picked us because we looked like easy targets?”

  Yig gasped, visibly offended, and slapped the bandit beneath him.

  Spartan waddled up to one of the men and sniffed him. The man snarled at the small creature, spooking her. She scrambled up Yig’s arm in a panic, seeking safety.

  The bandits were left tied tight on the cold hilltop, held fast by Sil’s parchment. It took them about half an hour to reach the bottom of the hill. Once they did, Sil enjoyed a much gentler, refreshing breeze. From there, the walk to the entrance of Moonset was pleasantly scented with the aroma of Pink Holly, a plant that only bloomed during this season.

  Yig didn’t seem impressed enough to justify dedicating a whole day to the plant, but Sil had fond memories of visiting during previous festivals. Her childlike admiration for it remained untouched. Pink Holly was beautiful no matter how you felt about it—perfectly round, glossy pink balls hanging among sharp, spiky leaves. They almost looked like candy. It was hard not to reach out and eat one.

  As they walked deeper into town, the flamboyance of the decorations only increased. Banners hung from houses and storefronts, crisscrossing overhead from building to building. Little trinkets of Pink Holly were everywhere—tiny banner replicas and characters from the Pink Holly myths. The festival hadn’t begun yet, but the days leading up to it seemed just as important to the locals.

  Sil peeked through a shop window as they passed and was so charmed that she walked in to explore. Yig noticed a few steps later and followed her in.

  Large bags in vibrant colors hung on the walls, adorned with decorative Pink Holly patterns sewn onto their fronts. Sil grabbed one and opened it wide, inspecting the size. She turned to Yig.

  “This could do nicely.”

  “A bag?”

  “Yes,” she replied, unamused by his indifference. “We need them to carry things.”

  “What’s wrong with what we’ve got?”

  “Nothing… I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to have more.”

  Sil opened a pouch holding the few shiny coins she’d brought from Sharirun. It hadn’t been easy getting them. She’d spent most of the previous day calling in favors and flattering elders to scrape together the money—a currency useless unless you left Sharirun, and therefore invaluable.

  Just as she placed the coin in the seller’s hand, all heads in the shop whipped toward the window at the sound of a rising commotion outside