Eamon walked down the grassy path, the morning sun gently warming his shoulders. His boots pressed into the damp earth; the rhythm of his steps steady. The forest around him buzzed with life—birds chirping above, leaves rustling with the breeze, and the occasional crack of a branch beneath his feet. Beside him, trotting with soft but excited steps, was Skarn—his bond, a silver and white direwolf pup barely reaching his waist but full of energy.
The journey to Iskareth was long, stretching across days on foot. Eamon didn't mind. The road ahead was uncertain, but he had purpose. On his back was a thick brown bag filled with food, a folded tent, a water flask, flint stones, a cloth blanket, and a few scrolls Arvin had tucked inside. His steel sword, the one Arvin had handed him before leaving, rested securely in its sheath over his shoulder. It wasn't magical, but it was sharp and reliable.
The real weapons—his Vixterium sword and enchanted dagger—were tucked away safely. Not in his bag, but in the hidden pocket dimension sealed inside the silver ring Arvin had given him. A simple tap by Eamon's finger on the ring's surface and the invisible pocket would open, pulling or storing items with ease. It was discreet and safe, especially to avoid suspicion from the royal army soldiers.
Skarn walked beside him with a cheerful gait, occasionally sniffing around or glancing up at him with those clever blue eyes. His fluffy tail swayed from side to side like a banner of joy.
After a few hours of walking, the sun climbed higher in the sky. Its heat pressed down on them, beads of sweat forming on Eamon's forehead. His shirt clung to his back. The path opened into a clearing where a river sparkled under the sunlight, its gentle stream singing a soft song.
Eamon smiled. "Let's rest here, Skarn."
He walked to the riverside, the grass under his boots giving way to smooth stones. A tall oak tree stood nearby, its shade wide and inviting. He dropped his bag under the tree and sat down, stretching his sore legs.
Skarn panted happily and rolled in the grass.
Eamon stood up, pulled a small net from his bag, and approached the river. He dipped the net carefully into the water. It took a few tries, but soon he had caught three slippery silver fishes. They wriggled in his grip as he placed them beside a flat rock.
"That should do for lunch," he murmured.
Then, he scanned the trees and noticed a few low-hanging branches full of small orange fruits. He picked a handful, sniffing each to check for ripeness. The fruits were sweet and juicy, perfect to balance the fish.
He sat near the river again, placed the fish on a stick, and pointed his palm at a small patch of dry grass and sticks. A tiny spark of fire magic lit up, and he carefully nurtured it into a cooking fire. The flames crackled to life, dancing in the afternoon light.
Using another stick, Eamon skewered the fish and held them over the fire. The smell of sizzling fish filled the air. Skarn's nose twitched, and he sat near the fire, eyes glued to the food.
Eamon chuckled. "Hungry already, are you?"
Skarn let out a soft woof and wagged his tail.
When the fish was cooked to a golden brown, Eamon pulled them off the fire. He handed one to Skarn, who gently took it in his mouth and lay down to eat. Eamon took a bite of his own. The fish was tender and warm, and the fruits were refreshing.
After finishing the meal and letting the fire die down, Eamon packed up and stood again. He stretched his arms over his head and looked at Skarn.
"Let's keep going, boy."
They continued their journey. Skarn walked close, his tail wagging rhythmically. Every now and then, he'd run a bit ahead, sniff the ground, bark at a bush, then return with a happy bounce. His energy was contagious.
Eamon felt lighter. Having a companion beside him made the long road less lonely.
As the day slowly turned into evening, the sky began to change color. Shades of orange, pink, and purple painted the sky above the trees. The sun hovered close to the horizon, casting long shadows across the path.
They entered a thicker part of the forest, where the light dimmed. Trees stood close together, tall and ancient, their trunks thick and roots twisting across the ground.
Suddenly, a loud grunt echoed through the trees.
Eamon stopped in his tracks.
A wild boar burst through the bushes, its tusks sharp and eyes wild. It charged straight toward them.
Before Eamon could move, Skarn leapt forward. His fur bristled, and he growled fiercely, placing himself between Eamon and the boar.
"Skarn!" Eamon shouted.
The pup growled louder, his tiny paws planted firmly on the ground.
Eamon quickly stepped beside him, dropping to one knee. He smiled and gently touched Skarn's head.
"Thanks, little buddy," he said softly. "But I'll handle this."
He stood up and drew his steel sword. The metal shimmered faintly under the fading light.
The boar snorted and charged.
Eamon waited until the last moment. He stepped aside swiftly, the beast rushing past him. Its hooves dug into the soil as it turned to charge again.
Eamon turned with it, his movements sharp. He slashed sideways as the boar lunged forward again. The blade cut through flesh and bone with a clean swipe. The boar stumbled and collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.
Eamon breathed heavily, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Skarn barked and ran toward the fallen boar. He jumped around it excitedly, wagging his tail and barking with pride.
Eamon laughed. "So you want that for dinner, huh? Okay."
He pulled out a small hunting knife from his bag and carefully cut a portion of the meat. He wrapped it in a cloth and tied it to a stick, resting it on his shoulder. The rest of the boar, he left behind for scavengers and forest creatures.
As the sky grew darker, he searched for a place to camp. He found a small clearing near a cluster of rocks. The ground was flat, and a few trees stood around to shield them from the wind.
Eamon set his bag down and unpacked the tent. It took a few minutes, but soon the small cloth shelter stood firm. He gathered dry wood and branches and stacked them in a circle.
He pointed his palm at the wood and whispered a soft incantation. Flames bloomed, casting a warm orange glow. He skewered the boar meat and placed it over the fire, rotating it slowly.
Skarn sat beside him, watching with eager eyes.
When the meat was roasted and dripping with juice, Eamon tore a piece and gave it to Skarn. The pup bit into it happily.
Eamon took a bite of his own. The meat was rich and smoky.
"Did you like that?" he asked, chewing.
Skarn let out a happy "Woof woof."
Eamon smiled. "Good. I liked it too. I think I'm finally able to understand you, buddy."
Skarn woofed again, his face full of joy.
They finished their meal and lay beside the fire for a while.
Eamon started playing his flute. Skarn was mesmerized by the rhythm and sat quietly beside him. After a while both were sleepy. The night was quiet except for the crackling flames and distant sounds of owls. Eventually, they crawled into the tent. Skarn curled beside Eamon, his warmth comforting.
Two more days passed like this.
They walked through forests, crossed rivers with Eamon carrying Skarn on his back, and climbed small hills where the wind howled. They fought off snakes, startled a pack of foxes, and even escaped a bear by hiding in a hollow tree.
Skarn grew stronger and braver with each step. He barked at shadows, sniffed out berries, and ran circles around Eamon when the road got boring. Eamon laughed more now. His heart felt less heavy.
They helped each other. Eamon shared food, and Skarn shared warmth. They kept each other safe. They were no longer just a boy and a bond. They were partners.
And finally…
They reached Iskareth.