The dwarf tickled Gibs affectionately one last time and placed the horned marten on Zarni’s shoulder. “Zarni takes this.” The goblin smiled as Gibs wrapped himself up on his shoulders. Jorbinan then nodded to the egg and placed an oddly comforting hand on the goblin’s other shoulder and said, “Zarni takes this.”

  Zarni nodded. “Thank you.”

  Jorbinan waved to Zarni and Tobin for a long time as they made their way through the woods back toward their wagon. He hollered “Zarni beware snapplers” and “Tobin beware snapplers” and “Gibs does this,” until long after they walked out of earshot.

  When they reached the wagon, Tobin ran to greet Gregory with a hug. The boulder goat pranced about in his harness and nuzzled the halfling with his massive beard. So, he does have a heart, Zarni mused. With the reunion completed, Tobin set to work, checking over the wagon to ensure everything was in order. Zarni stopped a few paces away from the boulder goat. Gregory eyed him, but his normally aloof look was absent. Instead, Zarni could have sworn the boulder goat nodded to him. Whether in appreciation that the goblin had saved his friends—or at least the halfling that showered him with affection—or out of respect for the force with which Zarni had spoken to him the night before, the goblin wasn’t sure. Either way, he nodded to the boulder goat and climbed into the driver’s box.

  “Ah, you ready to take a turn at the reins?” Tobin asked as he climbed up and sat on the red cushioned bench next to the goblin.

  “Oh, no,” Zarnikorek said quickly. “I can’t do that.”

  Tobin eyed him as the halfling lit his pipe and puffed a few times to get it going. “You can’t?” he asked, emphasizing the negative word.

  Zarni chuckled and heaved a heavy sigh. “No. Maybe later. I just …” A yawn interrupted his words. “I thought I might like to sit with you here in the driver’s box for a little while. But now that I think about it, I’ve been up most of the night chasing after a mad sorcerer I thought was going to turn my friend into a mountain mule.”

  “Could you imagine the look on Lenor’s face?” Tobin said, biting hard on his pipe so it didn’t fly from his grin as he laughed and snapped the reins. Gregory seemed no worse for wear and pulled the wagon into motion. “Not sure she’d want to kiss my face if I had mule whiskers. She likes me clean shaven. Don’t think she’d be too fond of a furry snout. Though Button would probably get a kick out of it, I’d wager. She’d be climbing all over my back and leaping to the chairs in the sitting room. Though Lenor might not want me to bring my muddy hooves in the house. I’d have to sleep out in the stables with Wendra and Kelli. Wouldn’t that be a sight? I’d wager …”

  Tobin’s words slowly faded away as the rocking of the wagon lulled Zarni to sleep. He fought it for a while, forcing his heavy eyes to open. But the pure relief of knowing his friends were safe and the exhaustion of the previous night added their input to the matter, sending him into a sleep he could not deny.

  Gibs butted his head against Zarni’s face, over and over again, waking the goblin. Zarni rubbed his eyes and sat up. The sun had moved over the western slopes of the majestic Drelek Mountains and hidden behind formulating thunder clouds—a common occurrence in the elevated lands. How long have I been out? And how did I get into the back of the wagon? he wondered as he pulled the blankets away from himself. He let out a long yawn and stretched his hands high.

  “Well, good morning, there!” Tobin said cheerily as he ripped a bite of jerky with his teeth. He laughed to himself and said, “Well, I suppose it’s afternoon now. You were out for quite a while. Jorbinan must have been asleep, too. Imagine he’d have been outside waving to us again as we passed the house earlier. But I suppose he was up all night too, ‘clearing snapplers.’ Probably sleeps most during the day, I’d wager. And what do you think snapplers are? I had some friends who traversed the Tandal Sea. Told me a story about faeries. Nasty, horrible story. I wouldn’t want to run into their ilk. Likely as not …”

  Zarni had stopped listening. He was still waking up, wondering how he’d gotten into the back of the wagon.

  Gibs butted his head against Zarni’s feet. “Yes. Yes. I’m up. I’m up.” He turned to the forward railing and spoke to the halfling. “Tobin, how did I get back here?”

  “Ah, well,” Tobin said through a bite of jerky. “You were falling asleep here on the bench, but I suggested you move to the back of the wagon to get more comfortable. Figured it’s better to be comfortable when you sleep. You’ll get better rest, waking up refreshed and renewed, you know. Then, you just stood up, didn’t even open your eyes, climbed over the railing and buried yourself in blankets. Might as well have been sleep walking like I did last night. For a minute I thought Jorbinan was using his firepops again, but then I remembered it only affects halflings—”

  “Ouch!” Zarni cried.

  Gibs had butted the goblin’s foot, leading with his little horn.

  “You alright?” Tobin asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Zarni said, bending down to rub his foot. “Just not sure what’s with Gibs.”

  “Is he hungry? Hey Gibs, I’ve got some jerky here. You want some?”

  Gibs rubbed up against Zarni again.

  “What? What is it?” the goblin asked, now giving the horned marten his full attention.

  Gibs scurried to the wyvern egg nestled on a small pile of unlit coals they used for their evening fires. The horned marten bobbed his head, emitting an adorable rhythmic purring noise.

  “Yes, it was a very nice gift. Are you missing Jorbinan already?” Zarni asked. He paused and wondered. “Hey Tobin, do horned martens eat eggs? And no, you can’t eat that,” he said to Gibs.

  “I’m not sure. He seems to be happy eating just about anything,” Tobin said with a chuckle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a halfling at heart. Is he trying to eat the wyvern egg?”

  “No,” Zarni said curiously. “He’s just standing by it and making weird noises.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “Yeah …” Zarni drew closer to the egg. “What is it?”

  His long green ears twitched as he heard another sound. Something like a croak. His face blanched when he realized it hadn’t been Gibs.

  The egg teetered, and a crack etched itself across the scaly surface.

  As the egg crumbled, a red, scaly head poked out. Round golden eyes blinked behind tired lids. Tiny horns framed the little wyvern’s face, following the ridges of its skull. A horned sail ran over its head like a purple mohawk, the skin in between the horns purple, like its leathery wings.

  The creature looked at Gibs and blinked.

  Gibs chirped uncomfortably. Zarnikorek might have cursed himself, if he could put together a rational thought.

  Using its two legs and the articulating claw at the fore bend of its wing, the miniature wyvern gingerly crawled out of its egg. Gibs stood on his hind legs, petrified. Zarni’s eyes met the horned marten’s. The goblin didn’t know what to do either.

  Then the wyvern did something neither of them expected. Slowly, it bobbed its head toward Gibs, as if feeling him out. Zarni thought it looked almost like a featherless and scaly plains chicken. Gibs didn’t move as the wyvern clicked and cooed and nuzzled against the horned marten’s furry belly.

  “What’s going on? What’s happening back there?” Tobin asked, turning and leaning back over the railing to see what he’d missed. “Well, I’ll be …”

  “The egg …” Zarni coughed, trying to clear away the shock. “The egg hatched.”

  “I can see that,” Tobin said. “Have you ever seen such a lizard?”

  “Yes … I …” Zarni shook his head, a million thoughts flooding his mind. How could this even happen? He huffed a heavy breath, trying to center his thoughts. The wyvern turned to face him.

  “Easy there,” Tobin said as they both recoiled.

  The wyvern merely looked at them, angling its head so his golden eyes could take them in. It turned back to Gibs and chirped as though it were asking for the horned marten’s appraisal of the duo. Gibs stood petrified for a moment, until the wyvern started rubbing up against him again.

  “I think … I think it might believe Gibs is his pa.” Zarni strung the words together, even though he hardly believed what he was saying.

  “Does that make us a wyvern’s uncle?” Tobin asked with a laugh.

  The wyvern looked back to the front of the wagon, and the two recoiled again.

  “I’m not sure it knows what to make of us yet,” Zarni replied.

  “Well, hopefully, Gibs tells him how nice we are. He seems a little small, don’t you think? I’ve not seen a baby wyvern before, but I expected it would be bigger. I know they don’t breathe fire.”

  “No,” Zarni said. “Not like their dragon cousins. And they don’t grow nearly as big as dragons. But this one is small for a wyvern. Smallest I’ve ever seen. Might be a runt.”

  “He’ll fit right in with us,” Tobin chuckled. “Only big member of our crew is King Gregory!”

  Zarni wasn’t sure, but he thought the wagon got a short burst of speed—likely the boulder goat surging with pride at the comment.

  “What are we going to do with a wyvern?” Zarni asked, genuinely lost for ideas. He had initially thought he’d be able to bring the egg to King Genjak as a symbol of this new venture between their peoples. But now …

  “I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like he’s going to grow big enough to ride. But I’m no wyvern expert.”

  “Who knows …”

  Tobin stroked his chin before popping another piece of jerky into his mouth. “Do we know how to take care of a baby wyvern?”

  Zarni didn’t respond as he watched the odd interaction between Gibs and the baby wyvern as the little creature nuzzled into the horned marten’s furry belly.

  As it turned out, they had no idea what to do with a baby wyvern. At first, the wyvern climbed around the wagon, following Gibs. The horned marten seemed to be trying to get away from the creature without making any fast movements. Zarni wasn’t sure if Gibs was worried about startling the wyvern or not, but he seemed mortified by the situation. After a few hours of this, Gibs seemed to resign himself to the fact that the wyvern wasn’t going to eat him, and even seemed curious about this creature that followed him around.

  The two climbed on barrels and sacks of wares. Gibs even clambered to the railing, seemingly testing the wyvern’s balance. It had been fascinating to watch the dynamic grow between the two creatures.

  Eventually, the two had worn themselves out and Gibs curled up into the blankets. The baby wyvern followed suit, coiling up next to the horned marten and stretching one purple wing over his face and the other over Gibs. The horned marten’s head popped for a second, his black eyes blinking curiously, before he laid back down for sleep.

  They’d driven long into the evening, Zarni marking the map and asking Tobin to fill in the gaps from when he was asleep himself. That is, until the baby wyvern starting crying. The little creature reared his head back and bobbed his neck, letting out the most pathetic and heartbreaking cries—somewhere between a coo and a crackle.

  Zarni had climbed into the back of the wagon, trying to help Gibs settle the baby wyvern. The wyvern even let the goblin pick him up. Zarni stroked the wyvern’s scaly back, and the creature rolled into his touch like a house cat, enjoying the pets.

  Still, the wyvern cried.

  After several hours of this, Zarni called to Tobin. “We may need to stop for the evening. If we can’t get it to stop crying, the whole mountain range will know where we are. Including any predators.”

  “That would not be helpful,” Tobin agreed. “There’s a stream up ahead. We can camp near there for the night. Have you tried feeding him? What should we name him?”

  “Name him?”

  “Yeah,” Tobin shrugged. “I was thinking we should probably name him. No sense in calling him little lizard forever. Maybe something strong since he’s so tiny. You know, make him feel big and tough. Something like Boulder. Or Mountain. Or Cliff.”

  “Cliff?” Zarni asked, wondering how they even managed to get into this situation. The wyvern stopped crying. “Cliff?” he said again. The wyvern eyed him, his scaly head popping to the side curiously. “Cliff?” Zarni said again. “He stopped. I think he likes it.”

  “Good. Cliff it is.”

  “But we have to spell it the orcish way with a ‘k.’ Kliff,” Zarni said. The wyvern seemed intrigued by Zarni’s voice.

  “Sounds good to me,” Tobin said. “Not many bigger and tougher than orc warriors. I’d wager there’s a warrior or two in orcish history named Kliff.”

  “I’d bet you’re right,” Zarni chuckled, more out of relief that the wyvern had stopped crying than out of amusement.

  It was then that he realized why the baby wyvern had stopped crying. His neck pulled away from the goblin’s embrace as he angled his head to see what Gibs was dragging over to them. When Zarni saw the cloth, he said, “Hey. How’d you get those out of the barrel?”

  Gibs didn’t respond, but Zarni could have sworn the horned marten snickered. The furry creature pulled at the knot on the cloth, quickly dismantling it. Zarni pressed a bemused smile between his lips. Looks like you were going to eat those gibs no matter how well I hid them or how tight I tied that knot.

  Gibs pulled one of the fish bone snacks from the cloth and the baby wyvern nearly flew out of Zarni’s arms. The wyvern croaked and cooed as Gibs relinquished the snack. Kliff bobbed his head and neck with fervor as he gobbled it down.

  “Great,” Zarni said, grabbing one of the snacks for himself. He tried to savor it, thinking it may be the last one he got on the trip.

  “What?” Tobin asked as he parked the wagon and turned to lean over the railing.

  “Looks like we might need more gibs.”

  “You know how to make them on the road?” Tobin asked. “I suppose we’d probably be able to make something similar using the skillet, but it wouldn’t be the same. I’m sure we could make it taste good, but I don’t know how to fish. So, we may be out of luck. I’d wager we could—”

  “That’s it!” Zarni cut him off excitedly. “Fish! Wyverns love fish.”

  “Well, I imagine that makes sense,” Tobin started to say, but Zarni cut him off again.

  “Tobin, how would you like to learn how to fish?”

  Plunk!

  “Well, I think we’re done fishing for the evening,” Zarni said through a laugh that ached his ribs.

  Kliff screeched and flapped his wings wildly as he pulled himself back onto the bank of the creek. The wyvern had already taken bites of three of the trout they’d pulled from the river. Tobin had just pulled in another, and Kliff jumped and chomped at it like a cat attacking a dangling ribbon. Once the wyvern realized where the fish were coming from, he’d hobbled across the stones and dove in after one. Zarni was sure the creature hadn’t expected the mountain waters to be so brisk. Kliff, with his tail tucked between his legs, crawled to Gibs who sat nearby watching.

  “Oh, that pesky lizard,” Tobin scolded, though couldn’t help but laugh himself. The halfling had been having a blast. He took to the leisurely patience of fishing easily and had pulled in a couple himself. It did, however, take Zarni a couple of explanations before Tobin understood why he needed to stay quiet while they fished. But eventually, the halfling settled in, chewed his pipe, and enjoyed the game. “I suppose we should probably build a fire. Going to have to cook these fish up somehow. Though it doesn’t seem like Kliff minds eating them raw.”

  “No,” Zarni agreed. “I suppose most wyverns eat them raw.”

  The pair gathered up their basket of fish, and Zarni took both of the poles. He’d taught Tobin as much as he could think to teach him. The halfling had proven to be an adept student, eager to learn. Zarni showed him how to pick a branch to fashion the rod. Funny enough, Zarni had brought a fishing kit with him. When he unrolled the leather pouch that held his string, his hooks, and his flies, Tobin had looked on in wonder, as if the goblin were unveiling some sort of long-lost treasure.

  “That was a lot of fun,” Tobin said as they rejoined Gregory and the wagon. The boulder goat contentedly munched on the abundant mountain grass. “I could have done that all night!”

  “Well, the fishing isn’t as good when the sun sets. Better to hit the creekside in the morning.” Zarni said. “But you did really well for a first timer.”

  “Thank you kindly. I appreciate you teaching me all that stuff. I’ll have to keep practicing my flick,” the halfling said, whipping his arm and wrist in a mock cast. “I can’t wait to teach Button and Bandix how to fish. My father never taught me. He was a wagonwright. Whole reason I fell in love with wagons. When I was just a mite, I thought he had the neatest job in all Finlestia. But it didn’t afford him much time outside the wagon yard. And I wanted to go out and see where the wagons were taking good folk!”

  “And look at you now,” Zarni said.

  “Yes! On a wagon route that doesn’t even exist yet. Driving through the Drelek Mountains with the strongest boulder goat in all of Finlestia. With good weather, fresh air, and as good a friend as anyone could ask for.”

  Zarni smirked. “Well, I appreciate that.”

  “Nothing but the truth,” Tobin said as he set the basket of fish on the back of the wagon.

  “Funny thing is,” Zarni said slowly, “I’ve spent so much time looking at maps and reading books and wondering what places would look like. Just like you, I always wanted to go out and experience the world. But when the opportunity came, I almost said no.”

  “What?” Tobin gasped. The halfling eyed him with genuine disbelief.

  “No, really,” Zarni chuckled. He didn’t think it would be so hard to believe.

  “Why?”

  The simplicity of the question struck the goblin. Tobin was getting better at asking questions and leaving the space for Zarni to answer. The goblin grumbled at how jarring it was.

  “Well …” he hemmed. “I’d just been stuck for so long. You know, settled into the idea I would never get to do something like this. I resolved myself to the notion that I couldn’t.”