Companion rolled up his bedroll and sifted the ashes of the campfire with his boot, ensuring no embers remained. He’d sent his men back to the cottage the afternoon before, but something inside—he couldn’t name it—had urged him to stay one more night. He packed the last loaf of bread into his satchel, slung the waterbag over his shoulder, picked up his staff, and set out.
He followed the edge of the Slough, surveying their progress. It had been a good week, all things considered. They’d dumped thousands of cart-loads of the King’s best instructions into the mire to mend it—yet it looked no different.
A robin sang a sweet, melancholic tune. Companion whistled along. The faint scent of wildflowers lingered in the morning air, almost enough to cover the stench of the Slough. Something caught his eye.
A young man lay motionless, face-down in the mire at the edge of the Slough, his clothes caked with mud. Companion rushed to his side, knelt, and gently turned him over, listening for breath. He was still alive.
Without hesitation, Companion stepped into the Slough. The mud gurgled and shifted with a sluggish, sucking sound. He lifted the young man from the mire, heedless of the mud soaking into his clothes, and carried him to the grass.
He lifted the young man’s head and slid his bedroll beneath it, then took a cloth from his satchel, dampened it with a few drops from his waterbag, and gently wiped the Slough’s filth from his face. His skin was pale and cold, chilled by the Slough’s mire.
He’d just coaxed a small fire to life when he heard a ragged inhale behind him. The young man sat up, rubbing his arms. Companion passed him the waterbag. He took a sip, then huddled close to the fire.
“Looks like you’ve seen better days…”
“Seeker-for-Truth. My friends just call me Seeker.”
“I doubt this was what you were seeking,” His eyes twinkled as he gestured toward the Slough. “I’m Companion.”
Seeker nodded.
“How did you find yourself in this… situation?”
“I was trying to get to the Wicket Gate. I came from the City of Destruction.”
“Strange way to get to the Wicket Gate. Didn’t you see the bridge?”
“Bridge?” Seeker seemed confused. “The sun was setting, and I’d been robbed… in Stupidity.”
“That’s quite the detour.” He laughed.
A stubborn look crossed Seeker’s face. There was something he wasn’t saying—but Companion didn’t press the point.
“Well, Seeker, you’re in luck. I’m passing by the Wicket Gate. You can even walk with me all the way to the Interpreter’s House, if you want.” He reached into his satchel and handed Seeker the loaf of bread. “Eat, my friend. You have a long road ahead.” He paused. “But it’s nothing compared to the Slough. That, I promise.”
