“The outsiders? Who hasn't!"

  “I hear that they're turtles turned human!”

  “Dont be stupid now, if there was that kind of monster we would surely know about it by now!”

  Whispers fill the town, hands over mouths, giggles and snarls and remarks spreading of the new people. Hands kneading bread stop, merchants selling gossip time instead of shining their knives. Even the town's historical knowledge keeper left the library. Everybody is wondering what's going on.

  Zorche walks outside after teenhall time reaches peak height, walking towards the river on the north side of town. Determined to spot the potential threat over his village, his jaw held tight as stone. He was going on patrol around the border- he wanted to see the newcomers for himself. Disobeying orders, he steps over brush, crunching leaves, as he watches squirrels squirm up trees as if only to glare at him.

  As he walks, he notices the squirrels squeaking as loud as the villagers and the birds flocking away fast. Even the Woodwenders’ tracks went elsewhere.

  “It's ok. This should help.” Riiiiiiip. A sound similar to that of cloth crashes through the air, making Zorche stop. The voices making a prickle running up his skin. Those voices weren’t like the ones from the village. The voices were more gentle, soft– too soft for these woods- and according to the records held by Quenral- too soft for anywhere else.

  Zorche stops- he shouldn’t continue. No he does- or that's the lie he chose to believe at least. So he continues on moving with practiced ease behind a tree as he reaches up to pull a hood over his head. Beyond the brush and leaves lies a girl with hay-stack blond hair, reaching her chin. “Bold cut for a lady…does her village not care for tradition?” remarks Zorche in his head, face scrunching up at the thought. Glancing at the young man beside her. Unlike the girl- the boy’s hair was black with light blue tips, soft seeming. A tear in his thinner jacket; the same color as the one wrapping around the girl's bleeding knee. The boy's eyes were soft as he tended to the girl's wound.

  “Seems the roles are flipped in their region- wherever that may be.” Zorche whispers to himself. A glimmer of intrigue spreading across his face. He’d never seen somebody with such a well and sharpened look before- almost like the wax dolls Fiona's sister loves to collect.

  A wind brushes as if something fell behind him, a twig snapping. “Enjoying the view, lurker?” a voice–similar but sharper–to the other two breathes against his neck. It was a bit stricter sounding but still intrigued. Zorche freezes, as if the air shifted and became thicker. He flips quickly, behind him a boy in black overalls and a white tattered shirt, a small rip in the left shoulder. His hair was longer than that of the other two people, – black, and falling past his shoulders, the top half clipped back with a purple flower pin that looked way too delicate for someone kneeling like a predator. The boy's narrow, clear eyes watching Zorche- as if reading his soul. The boy was kneeling before him, one arm braced on his leg, the other loosely at his side. “Well?”

  Zorche claps his cheeks with his hands, leaving marks on his face. He then looks up at the boy, smirking proudly, “I’m Zorche Hokentoff; Village guard trainee, uh--state your presence!” he accuses the boy, regaining both pride, dignity and dominance within their situation. “Well?”

  “Well- me and them are travelers.” says the boy

  “Travelers? To these parts? We have monsters all around, how'd you get here?” Zorche sneers, adding a creative insult to try and rub salt in the wound. “snowflake.”

  “Snowflake? “ the boy's lips peel back in distaste, “and that's supposed to mean what exactly?”

  Zorche looks the boy up and down, “you’re pale like the snow—and clearly twice as odd looking– plus you've clearly traveled from a place far from here based on your…degenerate looks and you refused to give me your name. Nicknames carry weight in this village, and snowflake fits an outbound like you. ”

  The boy's grimace tightens, before sighing and going to a simple scowl, looking at zorche’s sun-kissed skin then his own again, “The name’s Alexander”

  Zorche glances him up and down, “Alexander… That's an out-bound name, like Fiona and her fathers.”

  “Outbound?”

  “Correct.”

  They stare in awkward silence, that stretches— Zorche shifts first, He glances away. Alexander smirks at winning the little competition; neither of them had agreed to it, but both of them joined.

  “What’cha up to, Alex-y? Meeting new people?”

  Zorche jumps at the voice, turning to see the two people from before. It was the boy that spoke, head poking in from a bush.

  “I told you my name isn't Alex-y!” Alexander snaps, pushing the boy's face back into the bush, “it's Alexander.”

  Zorche blinks at them, sitting on his bottom with one arm up; almost as if scared, though he quickly masks it with a stern expression. “And you are?” he asks, lowering his arm and getting back to his feet. “More intruders?”

  “Intruders? We’re simply nothing but travelers with names, you know,” says the boy, his blue-tipped hair caught in the thorns of the bush.“Mine’s Porter, and the girl behind me is my sister Bailey. And I’m guessing he didn’t give you his name—so that’s Alex-y.

  “MY NAME IS ALEXANDER!” Alexander snaps at him, flinging a thorny stick, Zorche dodges and it ends up smacking Porter right on the cheek.

  “Why wouldn't he tell me his name?” Zorche asks, shrugging off the mini-attack happening before him, “he cracked within a minute.”

  Porter turns and gasps, mouth open agape, “a minute?!” Zorche nods. “It took us 2 and a half weeks!”

  “That long?” Zorche gasps, bewildered himself, glancing at the dark haired boy laying in the dirt, “Long time for a group traveling together.”

  “To be fair, young ‘guard’, they just started following me.” he mutters, moving to stand- only to be pushed by Zorche.

  “I didn't say you could get up yet, you're still in mine, and my village's territory.” He states. This makes Alexander grimace again, but he keeps quiet, knowing he can't really do anything here.

  Suddenly the masculine looking girl behind Porter, Bailey, speaks, “get up. We don't have the time to be playing pretend with a ‘guard’, and we aren't here for friends either.” With this, the two boy travelers look up at her, blinking. “Now stop playing in the mud like children, why don’t you get up, dust off, and act like the ages you are.” Afterwards she turns and brushes off her bandaged knee, muttering something about insolent boys,walking back to the middle of the road. As she walks she picks up a metal round item, it had brown, dirty leather around it tying to a strap. At the top of it lay a round knob with dried mud between the dips. Bailey throws the strap over her shoulder and picks up another bag. “Are you coming?”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Zorche stares at the weird trinket around her, He had never seen something so weird before. However he doesn't get to gawk at the item, noticing Alexander trying to get up. With one swift movement, Zorche takes the traveler by his shirt and spins– pinning him to the tree. The quick action makes Alexander yelp upon contact with the bark, hands going instinctively to Zorche’s wrists.

  “I don't care if the young girl told you to get up, I just told you that getting up is not an option for you curr–” Before Zorche can finish his sentence, a leaf crunches behind him and a swift kick finds his side. Bailey had, even while injured, snuck up behind him and managed to land a blow to his side, knocking the wind out of him as he fell to the floor gasping.

  Bailey looks down at him, an annoyed expression on her face– wincing slightly at the injury of her leg being pushed– Reaching to help Alexander up. However, before she gets the chance, Zorche swiftly kicks the side of Bailey's knees. Pushing himself up as he grabs her shoulders, pushing her against the ground. Right after pinning Bailey down, he wastes no time to throw his leg over Alexander, straddling him to the ground. He pants, heavy breathed but smirks in victory. He knew he had been trained to do this since he was young, and it was there they hadn't. He has the advantage here.

  He looks down at their soiling faces, half tempted to let Bailey sit up, but holds tight remembering his duties. “Tell me the real reason you're here.” he states in accordance with his village's guard code, “And the true reason this time. If you refuse I am to mark you as a traitor, the insignia across your face in accordance with both your crimes.”

  Alexander grunts, struggling to breath under zorches toned weight, “Both? As far as I see it we only have one. Trespassing.”

  Zorche shakes his head, “You have lied to a guard, trespassed, and since you have not stated the real and truthful reason you′ve entered forbidden ground, I am to suspect under code that you came to steal or do harm to my village. All punishable by public death.”

  Zorche looks down at the two pinned, wincing as dirt on the younger girl's face smears. But he knows one thing about them, he can't let them go. Not after what happened years ago. Not after what caused their closing off.

  ¨Now, you can either tell me what the hell you're doing here or I'll have to take you in to get it. I won't hesitate to mark you with the thief's marking if needed. Nor will I repeat myself again.¨ the blond states, tightening his grip. ¨You may speak.¨

  ¨Tch, morron. Like we said, we're travelers.¨ The black haired growls , getting more agitated, as anger slips through his monotone voice. ¨Now let us go so we can explain.¨

  ¨I, until sure of all safety, am forbidden to let go.¨

  ¨Those are some laws a Fractus would make,¨ Alex spits, ¨lunatically.¨

  Zorche′s lips curl downward, pressing his free hand into Alexander's back. He refuses to tolerate it, but he also refuses to speak. He won't speak, like he declared earlier, he won't until they explain.

  Alexander rolls his eyes, groaning before letting his face fall into the dirt of the path. Bailey does similar, cheek against the dirt as she looks up at her presumably brother- still stuck in the bushes.

  ¨ Can we talk this out? Where all people are here, and we don't need to fight. It's clear where not that type, were weak if anything.¨ mediated the boy in the bushes. His face has gained a few minor scratches from the thorns of the bush. ¨at least let us talk like we aren't below you, that's bound to only cause issues.¨

  Zorche glances over at the blue-tipped wonder, and shakes his head. His calloused hands were rough against Alexander's back, rougher than most their age at least. It was easy to tell he wasn't lying at least, his carved muscles and harsh but firm knowledge of all these rules proved that.

  ¨We′re runaways. There. Happy?¨ Alexander spits, his voice as sharp as a blade, ¨Now get off me, you lump of bronze.¨

  Zorche pauses, his grip loosening slightly, but doesn't let go completely yet. ¨Why are you running away?¨

  ¨ Is it any of your business?¨ The girl snaps, trying to kick out of his hands. ¨We don't know anything about Alexander's reason, only our own. And our business is ours alone. Not yours!¨

  The boys all silence at her outburst, Zorche flinching slightly, before gently letting the two go. ¨understood, miss.¨ is all he says before standing up, brushing off his clothing. ¨However, now that I've detained you, I am in no position of power to allow you to go. If you'll follow me. It's all part of town-¨

  ¨ Law.¨ The raven boy says more like a statement than a question. ¨yes, we heard.¨

  ¨At least you were listening,¨ Zorche huffs.

  ¨That′d be a first.¨ Bailey huffs from behind, dusting off all her clothing.

  Zorche turns, though his back never fully faces them. He keeps a stern face, shoulders square. And Throughout their trek home, he plays his part near-perfect. Just get them to the village. Just get them to the village. Is all that repeats in his head. Though every time porter coughed, or a twig snapped, Zorche would whirl around, hand on knife within moments. He wasn't used to them, to their loudness. If the monsters of the forest didn't choke them out, the villagers' judgement certainly would soon.

  ¨You cur are louder than the dogs of the guard when a monster comes near,¨ Zorche grumbles.

  Alexander's lips peel back far enough to make him look like a dog about to bite too, However Porter's hand grazes against Alexander for a split second, keeping Alexander quiet. Instead the raven-haired boy just rolls his eyes and watches his feet adjust quickly to moving more nimbly.

  Zorche sees the muk of the outskirts of the village and the thoughts of a smile curve at his lips, repressing as quickly as they came though. Instead he speeds up.

  ¨ We're almost there, but beforehand I should warn you that-¨ Zorche starts, but has no time to finish.

  ¨ What's that smell?¨ Bailey murmurs, sniffing the air, speeding up past zorches at a quick and quiet pace.¨ Smells good… sweet¨

  Zorche blinks, and grabs her, pulling her behind him. ¨I am of the guard, and as of when I found you, you became my responsibility. You will follow me and my orders, do not stray, and are for me to bring.¨ He recites, irritation etched on his face, grip loosening once his statement is done.

  Bailey turns, scowls, but Porter intercepts before she can argue. Grabbing Bailey's arm, he smiles lightly, ¨understood, Zorche¨

  Zorche nods and leads them towards the gate, his chin dipping momentarily to greet a fellow guard who stares at the outbounders, clearly on edge.

  ¨ Who is that?¨ the guard grumbles.

  ¨The outbounders, turns out they were really there.¨ Zorche states proudly. That confidence dies quickly as he is smacked on the back of his head. Zorche stumbles barely managing to keep up right after the swift hit.

  ¨We told you not to go after them. That job was for your superiors, cur.¨ The guard snaps, kicking the back of Zorche's knees to make him kneel. ¨dogs don't disobey orders. If one wishes to rise in ranks, he needs to know orders. ¨

  Alexander and his group jump back, looking down at the boy that once had them pinned now kneeling with what looked like ease. It was clear they were lucky it was a weaker guard who found them, one bad at following orders.

  ¨A dog also protects its masters and people.¨ Zorche hisses, touching the back of his head masking the pain all too well except the tremble of his fingertips. And a dog is trained to do so, yes? ¨ Zorche made a good point and he knew it.

  The guard snorts. Rolling his eyes, he turns his gaze upon the group of outbounders. ¨Then I trust you at least followed protocol and got what they wanted? ¨

  ¨Even pups know to do that. ¨ Zorche growls, pulling himself up slowly, backing off from the battle he knows he can't win. Now, I'll finish my own job, Mackam, and you can continue yours.¨ He turns and grabs the sleeve of Alexander triumphantly, ¨perferable without beating up your lower ranks, even that is seen as distainable. ¨

  Alexander's arm twitches under Zorche's grip, but he knows better not to pull back. If they were to get through safely, even the outbounders could tell they needed to trust the low ranked guard. It was their only choice.