Djurle collapsed to his knees, his heart pounding in his ears, and sweat pouring from the cracks of his stony skin down his sides.

"Ancestor, get up!"

He looked at the ukitu in the back of the wagon as she pleaded to him. He huffed as the stones that made up the back of his hand scraped across the smooth skin of his cheek. In the limited pre-morning light, he couldn't tell if it was blood or river water on his face, and at this point, he didn't care.

Three down. Two left.

The grass shifted underneath him as his enemy tried to retaliate, only for Djurle to slam the ground sending a shockwave through it, knocking the klovenite off balance while simultaneously opening up the field to his senses.

Maker's teeth, I'm getting sick of these poachers.

He launched himself towards the klovenite, the ground shifting at his command to accelerate him beyond his normal running speed, and tackled him to the ground as it liquified beneath them. Djurle felt his opponent squirm as he swam deeper into the earth. An elbow smashed into his stone-armored back, and the klovenite managed to break free, only to find himself stuck as the ground resolidified around him, locking him in place a dozen feet below. Djurle propelled himself back to the surface, coughing as air poured into his lungs.

One to go.

He stumbled over to the massive bronze-reinforced wagon. The wheels were encased in stone, and the yoke was broken after Djurle had ambushed them. 

"Did you... See... The gurnian..."

"The river! He jumped in after you buried the other!"

Djurle scowled. Greeaat.

"Let's get you all... Out of here... Tell me if... You see..."

"Yes, Ancestor!"

Djurle commanded the earth to encase the lock and hinges of the wagon door before ripping it clean off with his mind. Dozens and dozens of ukitu of all varieties poured out, bark-skinned klovenites, fish-scaled gurnians, faintly glowing lumanites, even a handful of grixovites whose fur was matted from rubbing up against the others for maker knew how long. They all thanked him as they exited and shouted for joy that they were finally able to sit down. He leaned against the wagon as he tried to catch his breath-

"There he is!"

Djurle whipped to the river a hundred yards away as a water spout rose from it. From the top of it came a shout, "FACE ME, SPIRIT OF THE EARTH! I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT REAL POWER IS!"

Nyeh, nyeh, nyeh, nyeh, arrogant prick.

He said to the ukitu he'd saved, "Stay here..." Then pushed off the wagon, walked into the open, and shouted back, "I don't know, I've seen bigger spouts in a bathtub! You want me that bad!? THEN COME AND GET ME YOU SQUID LIVERED EXCUSE FOR A SOGGY LOINCLOTH!"

The gurnian raged, twisting and folding the spout to carry him on the attack. Djurle stood his ground. The gurnian charged out of the river, closing the gap in seconds, when suddenly he was speared from beneath with a khrkschlock. The sound of the stone impaling his opponent disgusted him. The water split around him as it impacted the stone pillar that Djurle had formed. The gurnian writhed for a moment before looking at him.

"For... For the... Mission..."

The gurnian's head went limp.

Djurle fell to his back.

A handful of the ukitu he'd saved ran over to him. "Ancestor!?" They yelled.

He tried to wave them off from the ground and said, "I'm fine... Just... Need to breathe for a bit..." But they continued to stand around him, as if trying to protect their savior from the wind. Some of them began to praise him, saying things like, "That was amazing," and "Thank you," and "Praise the Living Ancestor," while he recovered. The sky brightened. As the sun peaked over the hills of the Plains of Higlain, he was finally pulled to his feet. He looked over to the wagon and saw that none of the ukitu had left.

"Why are you still here? Was there another wagon that I missed?"

One of them, a grixovite man with sandy brown fur, said sheepishly, "No there wasn't, ancestor, we just... We don't have anywhere to go."

"I'm sorry, what? Where did you come from then?"

Another answered, "We came from Thruf... but they'd just as soon have us stay away."

A third said, "I for one want nothing more to do with that wretched camp."

"There's nothing for us there. It's not like we had much anyway, most of us had to leave our things in Stogh."

Djurle's heart sank like a stone in the ocean.

They're refugees...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I wish there was more that I could do." Djurle thought back to all the wagons he'd wrecked in the hour before dawn for a moment. "One of the wagons near the back of your caravan had a bunch of supplies. If you go back and find its wreckage, maybe you all can get enough food to hold you all over until you can get to another town. Zelzah is a day east of here and is still friendly to ukitu like us. You might even pull these wagons apart for scraps, I'm sure at least one of the smiths that way would pay for the bronze."

One of the older men asked, "You don't think they'd find a group of ragged strangers carrying nails suspicious?"

"Most of them would, you're right... But if you find Zaccur Silver-tooth there and tell him I sent you, he'll get you the help you need. Might even offer some of you work."

They all seemed to like the idea, or at least none of them complained about it. Djule walked with the ones who elected to go for the supplies while a handful of the men stayed behind to salvage what they could. After leaving them behind at the supply wagon, Djurle continued on to his camp, where his dappled grey horse stood tied to a tree.

"Hey, Crispus. Anything exciting happen to you while I was gone?"

Crispus merely gave him a blank stare while Djurle grabbed his saddle.

"Well, since you asked, I have been on quite the adventure."

He told his horse all about his escapades while he packed up what few supplies he had left out before his sudden departure, ending the one-sided conversation saying, "-And no. The Spirit of Fire was nowhere to be seen during the whole thing. I really could have used an ukitu with that level of power on the assist today, but none of the refugees died, so I will call it a win."

He remembered his old boss, Yorlan Shavar, as the words left his mouth.

Djurle. Please. I don't care about what the spirit of fire did, I don't care that my home is gone, but I won't be able to live with myself if my son... I already lost Lynetta, I can't... I can't lose him too...

Yorlan’s face welled with tears as the rest of his words were choked in his throat. Djurle then hugged his human friend tightly and told him these words.

Yorlan, I promise you, if it's the last thing I do…

I'll bring your kid home.

Djurle looked to the sunrise and sighed.

"Any chance we'll have a slow rest of the day?"

As if to answer his question, Djurle felt motion through the ground. He closed his eyes and placed his palm down to help him focus through his weariness.

Six horses, moving quickly. They're chasing...

His eyes snapped open.

"C'mon, Crispus! Hyah!"

The man and his horse struck off from the site and rode at high speeds across the plains towards a grassy hill that obscured his view of his true target. Racing to the top, he was able to confirm his feeling. A group of human riders wearing patchwork leather were chasing a well-dressed man down the refugee's road between more hills on the rolling plains.

Maker's teeth, that's what I get for thinking I'd get a break!

The stone-skinned Djurle directed Crispus through the grass to intercept the well-dressed man. Once he was confident in his course, he closed his eyes and called upon his inner power, then focused it on the ground before him. As he reopened his eyes, the earth itself ripped in two, creating a chasm and sending two horses and their riders screaming to their deaths. The other four skidded to a stop at it's edge.

The well-dressed man stopped too, much to Djurle's annoyance.

"MOVE YOU IDIOT!"

The well-dressed man whipped in his direction, the man's eyes barely visible through his mud-splattered face, before twirling back and continuing his sprint down the damp dirt path.

The four remaining bandits overcame their shock; one turned and fled, while the other three went around the spontaneous sinkhole.

At least one of them is smart.

Just as quickly as the sinkhole had opened, pillars of dirt twice the height of a man forcibly placed themselves in the paths of the remaining riders. They would weave through the pillars, clipping the sides of them with their legs as they passed by.

Djurle had managed to slow them down enough to reach the well-dressed stranger before the bandits, however. Djurle grasped at his outstretched hand and quickly situated his new friend onto the back of Crispus.

A deep, yet frightened voice escaped the stranger, "GO! GO!"

"Calm down! I've got us covered."

Crispus continued his trajectory around the hill as more pillars formed behind the pair of people. Once he was sure that he'd broken line of sight, he focused on the side of the hill, and a gaping hole suddenly appeared. The three galloped inside. Once they were situated, the unnatural cave closed over, leaving them in complete darkness.

"Maker's teeth, did I leave my vest back at my camp? Oh well, guess we'll just be in the dark. We'll be safe here until they leave. Be careful if you want to step down and get your bearings."

"I think I'll stay up here." His voice was clear, though still full of energy. 

Djurle raised his hand to the ceiling that had formed and felt the world around them, not wanting to bring the walls any closer for the sake of his horse's comfort. Behind him, he heard the stranger wiping his face with the sound of mud chunks hitting the ground shortly after.

"Uhh... how long are we-"

"Don't talk, and keep your breathing slow. They're still around."

"How can you-"

"Shh."

He kept his hand pressed against the roof of the hovel, ignoring how much time was passing as he focused on the earth. The air began to warm. His arm burned from holding it over his head, and after a bit, Djurle dug his fingers into the ceiling to ease the strain. He slowly began to get sleepy. Finally, with a sigh of relief, the wall of their space opened up into the now blinding light, the air cooling instantly, and his energy returning with a few deep breaths as they exited.

"I don't know who you are, or how you did that, but I want to say thank you all the same." Having the chance to listen to it, the man's accent was thick, unlike any he'd heard back in his mountain home, or any of the other places he'd visited.

"Nothing any good man wouldn't do. I'm Djurle Iranu."

Djurle turned around in his saddle to get a good look at the well-dressed man, and he was surprised to see that his face had grown darker rather than lighter with the mud cleared from his face. It was the darkest shade of skin he'd seen, and he'd thoroughly traveled all the kingdoms that made up Stogh. 

"Uriah Thord, a pleasure."

Uriah offered his hand, and Djurle gave a firm handshake in return.

Uriah spoke with a deep, clear voice, "I've met many ukitu in my time, but I've never met any with stone skin."

"I wouldn't think so, seeing I'm the first."

"The first? You're the Spirit of the Earth?"

"Sure am."

"I guess I should have figured that out... Maker be praised that you were here."

Djurle grinned. Then he asked, "If my maps are anything to go by, you're pretty far from any towns. Where's your camp?"

"Towards the sunrise from here, I wanted to have a nice stroll before I broke it down. The roads are too long to ride without sightseeing."

"I know how you feel. Been on the road too long myself."

"You like to travel?"

"You'd think so with how much I do it, but I'd rather be at home with my wife and sons."

"Whatever reason has you out here, may you be blessed by The Maker in your endeavors."

"I appreciate it."

After quickly stopping to retrieve his leather vest, he followed Uriah's directions to the place where he had been set up. It didn't take long before it came into view.

Uriah hopped down from Crispus, saying, "Thank the Maker, nothing's been touched."

"Would you like some help breaking down?" Djurle asked. "I can't help but feel like you'd want to get away from here pretty quickly."

"After today's events, I'll gladly accept."

Djurle stepped down from his saddle and followed Uriah to his simple tent, which was held up by old pecan branches. Together, they were able to get the entire campsite cleaned and organized into the saddlebags. Uriah then convinced Djurle to help him gather extra firewood from a nearby wild pecan orchard for any other travelers who may pass by. Once a suitable pile had formed, Uriah said, "Thank you for your assistance, Djurle. It's been a pleasure."

"You're welcome. I better get to riding, I want to get to the refugee camp in Thruf I've been hearing so much about before the week's over."

"As someone who lives in that area, do be careful. There are good people, don't get me wrong, but also quite a few who've made it a terrible place to be."

"I'll make sure to keep that in mind. Oh, and don't mind the wagons ahead of you on the road. The people who owned them were no good scumbags."

Djurle mounted up and began to ride away, but he suddenly stopped.

"Hey, before I go, I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Does the name Tecovis Shavar mean anything to you?"

Uriah looked at him with a sideways glance. After a moment of silence, he replied, "No. It doesn't," and mounted up on his horse.

Djurle nodded. "Well, it never hurts to ask. May the Maker protect you."

With that, Djurle went on his way.