Tessa stood at the southern city gate just after sunrise, her pack strapped tight to her shoulders and Larry at her side.

  The gate loomed ahead—broad, old stone reinforced with ironwood and manned by two guards who looked only half-awake. The first light of morning spilled across the open road beyond, catching on the mist that still lingered in the fields.

  Larry shifted beside her, feathers puffed up in the morning chill. His new saddle fit snug around his wide body, the straps clean and tight, polished brass buckles glinting faintly. He looked, somehow, both heroic and ridiculous.

  He chirped once, low and eager, and took a single bouncing step forward.

  “Stay,” Tessa muttered.

  He did. Barely.

  People passed by now and then—merchants with loaded carts, messengers on lean dogs, two young adventurers with halberds strapped to their backs. Most gave Tessa only a passing glance.

  But Larry drew attention.

  A man carrying a barrel barked a laugh when he saw him. A pair of children nearby pointed and whispered, grinning.

  “Gods, look at that thing,” someone murmured. “Is it a bird or a walking pillow?”

  Tessa kept her expression flat, but she rubbed Larry’s side once with her knuckles.

  He fluffed his feathers with pride.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” she said under her breath.

  The guards waved her through after a quick check of her Guild badge and delivery token. No questions asked—just a look, a nod.

  And then the road was hers.

  The capital stretched behind her—walled and weathered and full of all the things she was tired of surviving.

  Ahead lay uncertainty. Travel. A job that paid enough to change things, if she didn’t screw it up.

  She glanced at Larry, who bounced in place once, clearly ready to go.

  “Alright, big guy,” she said softly. “Let’s see what’s waiting past the edge of everything we know.”

  She took the first step forward.

  Larry waddled after her, feathers bouncing with each stride.

  And together, they left the city behind.

  The road stretched out ahead of her, wide and pale under the morning light, flanked by low stone walls and tufts of yellow-green grass swaying in the breeze. It wasn’t long before the last buildings of the capital faded into the mist behind them, replaced by scattered trees and rolling hills.

  Tessa walked with one hand on Larry’s reins—not that he needed them. He kept pace with her easily, head bobbing, the occasional chirp or snort puffing out into the air like he was giving the scenery his approval.

  The city had always felt close, even in its largest spaces. Streets bordered by walls, alleys folding in on themselves, sky narrowed by rooftops. Here, the world felt huge. No corners. No noise. Just open sky and the sound of gravel underfoot.

  She hadn’t been outside the gates like this in years. Not since before her mother died.

  Her throat tightened.

  They used to go out together, the three of them—her mother, her sister, and her. Never far, just enough for her mom to stretch her legs, test new weapons, pick wild herbs that didn’t grow near the city. Tessa remembered sitting in the grass while her sister practiced swings under their mother’s watchful eye, both of them with hair like copper fire catching the sun.

  She used to feel so out of place between them. All dark brown and quiet where they were bold and bright. Her sister always knew how to move like she was part of something. Their mom had presence—laughter, heat, and certainty. Tessa had a satchel full of thread and questions.

  But they made room for her. Always.

  Until they were both gone.

  Larry let out a deep trill, dragging her out of the memory.

  She blinked and cleared her throat, brushing a hand against his neck feathers.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “Didn’t mean to get stuck in my head.”

  He didn’t mind.

  The road dipped into a shallow valley, and Tessa’s boots had already begun to ache against the uneven stone. She shifted her pack and glanced at Larry, who was still moving at an easy pace beside her—head up, stride light, feathers puffed in the morning sun like a walking snowdrift.

  He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  “Alright, alright,” she muttered, slowing to a stop.

  Larry stopped too, turning his head toward her with a curious tilt, as if to say Finally.

  She stared at the saddle for a beat. The straps looked good. Tight. Secure. The reinforcement from Tinker Touch still holding steady. She hadn’t ridden him since he was barely bigger than a sheepdog—just short jaunts in quiet alleys back when he was still figuring out his legs.

  Now he was easily twice her size, broad and fluffy and strong.

  “You better not buck me into a ditch,” she said under her breath.

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  She climbed up slowly, testing each movement as she swung her leg over the saddle and settled into the seat. The padding took her weight well. Larry adjusted under her with a slight grunt, shifting his stance, then stood still.

  Still.

  Like he understood.

  “Good boy,” she said softly, patting the side of his neck. “Still proud of that new saddle?”

  He chirped, short and pleased.

  They started forward again, his stride longer now, smoother. Riding him was strange—not like a mount lizard or a horse. He had a bounce to him, a rolling rhythm she had to match or risk getting jostled off. But once she found the pattern, it was… comfortable. Like riding a cloud that occasionally hiccupped.

  The wind tugged at her coat as they crested a ridge, and for the first time since leaving the city, she let herself relax—just a little.

  She was on the road.

  She was riding her own mount.

  She was doing this.

  Larry picked up the pace, as if feeling her confidence grow. His big white body rolled forward into a gentle trot, and Tessa grinned despite herself.

  “Alright,” she said aloud, the wind pulling the words from her mouth. “Let’s see how far we can get before nightfall.”

  Larry chirped again and surged forward.

  The world stretched out before them—wide, open, waiting.

  By midday, the trees grew sparser and the path narrowed into an uneven dirt road that twisted between tall grass and scattered boulders. Tessa kept an eye on the terrain—alert, but not anxious. Larry moved confidently beneath her, his gait smooth now, tuned to her weight.

  The wind shifted.

  And with it came a scent—musky, sharp, earthy.

  Larry’s body stiffened.

  Tessa tensed. “What is it?”

  He let out a low, warning click and angled his head toward a break in the grass.

  Then she saw them.

  At first just movement. Then shapes—lean, low-slung, fast.

  A pack.

  She didn’t recognize the species—but they looked like twisted versions of the stable’s lizard mounts, leaner and longer, with stretched limbs and mottled grey hides that clung tight to wiry muscle. Their movements were low and slinking, too smooth, like they’d been made for stalking through tall grass. There were at least six of them, fanning out along either side of the trail with eerie coordination. Their tails lashed behind them like whips, and their eyes caught the light in sharp flashes of yellow—too bright, too knowing.

  She used her inspect skill on one of them.

  “Greymaws,” she breathed.

  Larry let out a sharp, challenging chirp, one foot stamping into the earth.

  “Oh no,” Tessa said quickly. “Don’t.”

  He took a step forward, feathers bristling, stance widening.

  “Larry,” she hissed, shifting her weight. “No. We’re not fighting.”

  He hissed back at the pack, puffing his chest, making himself look even larger than he already was. One of the creatures snarled in return, snapping at the air, testing the distance.

  Tessa’s hand tightened on the reins. “Run.”

  Larry didn’t move.

  “Run, now!” she shouted, voice sharp and commanding.

  He hesitated—half a heartbeat of defiance.

  Then he obeyed.

  With a chirp of frustration, he turned, crouched slightly, and launched forward, bounding into a full sprint. The saddle jostled but held firm as the wind tore at Tessa’s coat and the ground blurred beneath them.

  The pack gave chase.

  But they couldn’t keep up.

  Larry tore through the trail with explosive speed, his broad feet slamming into the dirt with rhythmic power. Tessa ducked low, clinging to the saddle as they hurtled between trees and leapt a shallow ditch, the predators falling further and further behind.

  After a minute, they were gone.

  Only the wind, the pounding of Larry’s stride, and Tessa’s ragged breath remained.

  She didn’t speak again until they crested a hill and slowed to a loping stop. Larry snorted and stamped the ground, still agitated, feathers puffed out like a stormcloud.

  Tessa swung down and landed hard, knees slightly shaky. She put a hand on his flank and looked him in the eye.

  “We’re not doing that,” she said, voice low. “You don’t fight unless I say. You hear me?”

  He blinked. Then let out a short huff and lowered his head, guilt softening the edges of his feathers.

  She sighed and gave his side a gentle pat.

  “Fast is what keeps us alive. Remember that.”

  He leaned into her hand.

  They rested there for a moment—quiet again, with the road stretching onward.

  This was real. Outside the walls, there was no one coming to help.

  But Larry had listened.

  The days passed in a rhythm of motion and breath.

  Tessa rode with the sun on her shoulders and the wind in her face, the steady thump of Larry’s gait her constant companion. The road narrowed, then widened, dipped through valleys and rose over ridges. She followed it like a thread unraveling across the land, pulling her further from everything she’d ever known.

  The first night, she camped beneath a leaning willow, curled in her bedroll with her back to Larry’s warm side. The saddle had held. The straps hadn’t slipped. It was a small win—but it felt like a triumph.

  Each day brought something new.

  A crumbling waystone etched with moss-covered words. A flock of songbirds that startled Larry so badly he nearly tripped over a bush. A stream that turned the road to muck and forced them to reroute for half a morning.

  She saw distant shapes she couldn’t name, heard howls at night that didn’t sound like any stable beast she’d ever met. Once, she passed a group of hunters returning from a failed expedition—their carts empty, their eyes hard. They nodded to her as she passed, surprised, maybe, to see someone traveling alone with only a fat bird and a badge for protection.

  But no one stopped her.

  No one questioned her.

  She ate what she’d packed, supplemented with wild greens she remembered from her lessons. Drank from streams when they ran clear. Woke up stiff each morning and kept going.

  Each night, she checked the scroll in her coat—still sealed, still secure—and ran her fingers along the notches of her token. Seven days. She hadn’t lost track. Not yet.

  And always, Larry was there—steady, patient, with more energy than sense. He tried to chase a squirrel on the second day, rolled down a hill after a butterfly on the third, and somehow still never strayed far from her side.

  She talked to him when the road got too quiet.

  “Do you think they expected me to make it this far?” she’d ask.

  He’d blink, blink again, and then make a noise that could be a yes or could mean “feed me.”

  It was enough.

  By the fourth day, the ground began to change—rockier, flatter. Signs of traffic faded. Fewer carts had passed this way, fewer bootprints marked the dust. The trees grew sparser. The sky seemed bigger.

  By the fifth day, the hills had evened out into long stretches of open land, cut occasionally by rows of old trees or low fences marking farmsteads. Tessa passed villages that barely had names, each one little more than a cluster of cottages around a central well or a crumbling trade post.

  She stopped at each one.

  Not for long—just enough to water Larry, check his straps, and ask a few questions.

  “Outpost Vire?” she asked an older man shelling peas in a roadside chair. His skin was sun-worn, his eyes sharp beneath a heavy brow.

  “Northwest, past the old quarry. Road forks there. You’ll want to keep left.”

  Another village, another stop.

  A woman running a bakery gave her a rough hand-drawn note with a few key markers: a bend in the river, a fallen watchtower, a ridge that looked like a sleeping ox if you squinted. “Road signs aren’t kept up past the trade routes,” she warned. “You’ll be guessing after that.”

  Tessa thanked her and moved on.

  Not one of the villages had heard of a courier coming through in the past few days—not from the capital, not from anywhere. That didn’t surprise her. The high pay and urgent tag on her job made more sense now. No one else had taken it.

  The people she met were friendly enough, though cautious. Most of them eyed Larry with amused curiosity.

  “Big one, ain’t he?” “You feed him or he feed you?”

  Tessa smiled, kept her answers short, and moved on quickly. The less attention she drew, the better.

  The further she traveled, the more the mood shifted. Not openly—but something lingered in the edge of conversation. Villagers exchanged wary glances when she mentioned her destination. Some asked why she was going alone. One woman lowered her voice and simply said, “Don’t follow the song.”

  Tessa didn’t ask what that meant.

  She didn’t want to know.

  That evening, she camped near a fallen waystone, half-swallowed by creeping moss. The symbols etched along its edge were almost too faded to read, but she could still make out the direction markers.

  One pointed to Outpost Vire.

  Larry sat beside her as she chewed on dried fruit and read over her notes by lantern-light. The breeze had stilled. The trees barely moved. Somewhere in the distance, a bird gave a short, clipped cry—and then nothing.

  She glanced at the horizon.

  Still so far to go.

  But she was getting close.