“Why don’t we stop somewhere?” The young man who asked the question didn’t appreciate traveling through fog, but his companion just refused to stop. Whatever his reasoning for it was, Milo didn’t know. The other male just wouldn’t say. “Huh?”

“Why?” Hett asked in reply, in his typical cold and unamused tone of voice. “Fog is a mere cloud. Is a cloud stronger than us?” Behind the broad-shouldered, tall man, complete with his dark blue hair and orange eyes, Milo rolled his own eyes and mocked him.

Milo looked much more normal than Hett, to be sure. Milo was tall, though a standard human height, while Hett came to at least seven feet high. Milo’s eyes and hair were both a rich, chocolate brown, rather than straight out of a rainbow. Hett’s clothing wasn’t different, or at least one couldn’t tell if it was or not, from all the armor that both men wore just in case they came across something unfavorable out there, wherever they were.

“No, but even you can’t be sure of where we’re walking, with it,” Milo reasoned, shrugging and adjusting the leather straps of the back he carried. “We haven’t stopped to rest for at least a day, anyway.” Hett stopped, and Milo wondered if the man was actually considering the idea. Neither of them spoke. Hett seemed to be just staring into the distance at something. Milo moved beside him and tried to find what the other was so focused on, but he still could barely make out anything through the weather’s tedious choice of appearance. “What are you looking at?”

“I can see a town. There will be an inn, or something of the sort. We can rest,” he explained, still rather monotone as far as his voice went, and his eyes slowly moved over to Milo, looking straight at him. Milo tried not to swallow, or look away. Hett’s eyes had always bothered him. It wasn’t that they were orange, even though that was odd enough on its own; sometimes they just had something of a crazed look about them. Like Hett, really. Sometimes Milo wondered about the sanity of whom he traveled with, and he would admit it to almost anyone who were to ask about it. He would never admit it to Hett, mainly because the man scared him. He was tall, he was strong, Milo didn’t know just where he came from, he was visibly different… Milo didn’t dare upset him, from fear.

For a few seconds, that was all Hett did. Stare at Milo. He could tell that it made him nervous. He had always been able to tell.

“And we can find out where the girl is,” he finished, with a slight, curt nod.

It was then that Milo became puzzled, and it showed on his face.

“Girl?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows. “I thought we were looking for a way to get to the island?”

“Fool.” Hett spat on the ground in disgust. Of all people to travel with, he would’ve much rather preferred someone of some intelligence, or at least Milo could try to show some for a change. “The girl can help us.” That didn’t help Milo figure things out much, to be honest. Who was the girl that Hett spoke of? What connection did she have with the island that they sought a way to travel to? Druuischa was what Hett always called it, though Milo had always thought that such a title was part of the forbidden language, and called it simply “the island.” It had a name, but he had never really learned what it was, obviously. Then came another question: how did Hett know a girl, anyway?

Hett barely knew any males, for one thing, so it seemed next to impossible for him to know a woman– or a girl, as he called it. Either term worked, and it didn’t really matter much to Milo, anyway. It was certainly puzzling to him, all the same. Come to think of it, Milo didn’t exactly know many females, himself.

“Oh,” he said. “Alright then.” Hett nodded, and began to walk again. Milo tried one more time to see anything, and again he failed. He shook his head, and trudged after Hett.

The town had been closer than Milo had anticipated, which made Hett think even less of his brain capacity when he expressed his surprise. “Of course it was close,” he had scoffed at him. “You must be next to blind if you couldn’t have seen that.”

Poor Milo.

They had found a tavern soon enough, with rooms for travelers who needed to spend the night. The town, Milo learned, was called Tarinok, and could be considered a town of traders and travelers. It was a major intersection, apparently. The tavern got good business, as did most of the other businesses in the community. Milo could understand the part about the tavern; the maids that worked there were exceptionally pretty, and the drink he ordered tasted wonderful. Hett, on the other hand, refused to order anything, aside from a sandwich of some sort. Even that looked rather plain, though for once Milo chose not to remark on another one of Hett’s unusual habits. He seemed to be an acquaintance of the bartender, though.

“Hello, Hërk,” he greeted, and Milo thought he actually saw a trace of a smile on the man’s hard face. The man behind the counter smiled and chuckled a low, hearty chuckle, one that made Milo wonder what on earth this man had to do with someone like the one who had greeted him. Again, he decided not to question it.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here in years, Hett,” he said, in something of a greeting, resting one arm on the counter and leaning on it. “What brings you?” Milo didn’t seem to be noticed at all. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have bothered him. Though, considering he was sitting right next to Hett, who obviously wasn’t the average Joe (though if one called him that to begin with, it was likely he would have a conniption from just the name ‘Joe’), and Hett didn’t have a problem with him being there, it mildly insulted him that it wasn’t noticeable.

“Before I forget, this is Milo. We met back in Sien; now we’re trying to find a way to reach Dru–” Hërk glanced around quickly and made a gesture to shush him. “The island,” Hett finished. Apparently it was okay just this once to call it something other than its proper name. The bartender nodded a hello to Milo, and Milo did the same in return.

“What’re you headed out there for?” The man asked, raising a brow. “Isn’t anything out there of interest to either of you, ‘cept women… wild women…”

“Hërk,” Hett cut him off sternly, with a serious look on his face. “You know perfectly well why.” The man fell silent, though he nodded grimly.

“Alright, alright… But the government don’t let anyone go out there, not unless they’re a government official! And, let’s face it Hett, you’re sure no government official. No offense to you, son, but you aren’t, either.” Hett rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, Hërk. Don’t you keep on anything?” The man looked mildly perplexed by such a statement. “There are rumors going about that many of the Anelines that have a seat on that monstrosity they call a government, are corrupt! If any of those are true, we should be able to bribe at least one of them to get us a permit to go. Milo here used to be a soldier; perhaps that can come in handy if need be.” Milo perked up at the sound of his name being mentioned in conversation. The drink he had ordered had made him somewhat ditzy, for lack of a better word, and his attention span was lacking.

“Eh?”

“Nothing. Go back to ogling the barmaids,” Hett barked at him, though a hint of a smirk was on his face. Being away from places for so long when traveling, alcohol wasn’t all too familiar in Milo’s system, and the effect it seemed to have on him was proving to be quite amusing. Milo blinked, nodding slightly, and did indeed go back to letting his eyes wander wherever they pleased. As long as they didn’t roll back into his head, he saw no problems with that.

“Anyway, Hërk,” Hett began again, “I really think we have a good shot getting over to that island.” Hërk smiled approvingly as Hett remembered to use the socially acceptable term. “Though, there’s something else. Something else that’s very important we find before we get there.” He glanced around, making sure nobody besides Hërk, Milo, and himself were within earshot of what he would proceed to question the bartender about.

“Yeah?” Hërk grunted, curious and wondering about what it was that Hett had to say next. “What is it?”

“Not an it,” Hett corrected, in a voice just barely above a whisper. It was most likely safe to say that Hërk’s hearing wasn’t as good as it used to be, so he couldn’t speak too quietly. “Have you ever heard of a girl who calls herself… Catrinka?”