Infamous Goose
patreon
1.5 For Once
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 02:10:19 +0000 UTCFor once, no time was wasted in getting ready to leave. The elders were notorious for taking a long time to get anything ready, spending dozens of seasons to deliberate over nearly anything. Not this time. Early the next morning Lysander found himself standing just outside of town with Alaric and his mother, the sun just starting to lighten the sky. A few people gave the little group glances as they went about their day-to-day lives, and Lysander took a moment to stretch, using his spear to keep his shoulders straight as he popped his back.
With a yawn – he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night – he double checked his supplies.
His pack was strapped across his back, his knife, sling, and stone pouch hanging at his side. All essentials, and really all he needed. The only change to his ensemble was a brand-new, green-colored spider-silk shirt that he’d traded some furs with the Xi for. After seeing how much people liked them, he needed to try it for himself. So far it was very light and breathable, not at all restricting like the traditional leathers he usually wore.
Though the shirt could use a bit more…color. He didn’t know how the Xi dyed the silk green, but some tassels or something to break up the pattern would be nice.
Alaric watched him with some amusement from the side, the red-haired elf equipped for a serious hunt rather than the simple excursion Lysander thought it would be. He gripped his good hunting spear in one hand, decorated heavily with leather grips dyed red, puffy fur, and feathers hanging from just below the head, and had a bow slung across his back right beside his own travel pack. Like everything else he wore the pack was covered in bits of fur, this one from a large storm wolf, supposedly. He loved displaying the fruits of his hunts this way, though Lysander found his eyes drifting back to the bow over and over again.
Bows weren’t a very common weapon. For most elves a sling or atlatl worked just fine; the bow was a weapon favored by hunters, particularly of the variety that enjoyed going after dangerous beasts. Of whom Alaric was easily the most skilled. Did he really think he would need that, or was he just being cautious?
“Don’t worry, we’ll match your pace,” he teased. Lysander snorted and shot the man a look, cracking his neck.
“I’ll be able to keep up just fine, thank you very much,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “I may not be able to match you in terms of magic yet, but I can run.”
“It’s fine, Lysander. You don’t have anything to prove,” his mother said from where she stood, clearly amused. Unlike Alaric, she didn’t carry any weapons. In fact, she didn’t have many supplies at all – not even a proper bag from what he could see – just a simple flint knife in a leather sheathe hanging from her waist. It was unlikely she would need even that. She was scary like that. “But you have everything you need? It could be a long trip.”
“Of course I do. I’ve taken longer and further trips than this with less supplies.” Lysander assured her, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t a child anymore and hadn’t been for a long time, no matter how much she still treated him like one. “Besides, it’s only about a week or two away as the crow flies. It took longer to get there in a canoe.” His mother frowned at him.
“You never know what could happen.” She said, but didn’t push the issue any further.
“We’re not waiting for anyone else, right?” Lysander asked, changing the subject and making sure nothing had changed in the past few hours. Both Alaric and his mother nodded. Despite his interest Old Man Xi hadn’t had any desire to actually go, and despite her desire to come, Sybella had not been allowed. Geovrick had, of course, tried to weasel his way into coming despite not knowing what was going on – but unlike Lysander he had an innate, and largely rational, fear of both his mother Fyra and Alaric. All it had taken was one good glare to get him to let it drop, much to Lysander’s amusement.
Not very many people had even been told about the lizards – salamanders, Lysander corrected himself – only the other elders knew at this point. They had all almost unanimously agreed to keep it quiet until more was known, though he suspected that Alaric had some information he was keeping to himself by the way he’d been acting the whole time. A great hunter he may be, but he wasn’t very good at hiding his expressions.
“If we’re all ready, let’s be off. I’d like to get there sooner than later.” Alaric grumbled, gesturing for Lysander to take the lead. He did as he was told, setting off at a light lope across the open ground around the town. A few elves stopped to watch as Lysander, Alaric, and Fyra all set out across the caldera floor, the sight of two elders being led by him no doubt being an odd thing to see, but no one tried to stop them.
It was easy going at first, running across the relatively flat land, even if it did take the better part of the morning to reach the edge of the caldera. Lysander wasn’t even breathing hard by that point, Alaric looking relatively bored and his mother almost seeming to want to chat as they ran, occasionally bringing up topics of her trip. His father had been up to a lot, apparently, and there was a young elf who was trying to build bigger ships for longer ocean voyages. Even though this was the easiest part of the run, Lysander didn’t respond beyond the polite nod and hum, saving his breath for when they needed to climb the mountains.
Though it did remind him that he needed to go visit his father soon. It had been a while since he’d seen the ocean.
The mountains loomed above them, imposing and snow-capped, and Lysander pushed forward, legs pumping as he propelled himself up the mountainside, weaving between trees and leaping over boulders. He aimed for a little notch only a few hundred feet up, popping over the ridge and descending the other side – and they were gone, the caldera left behind. Lysander pumped his arms, doing he best to keep his breathing even as he ran alongside Alaric and his mother. This was a fast pace, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
Now he just had to keep it up for the next week and a half.
***
Lysander didn’t set the most grueling of paces, as he didn’t want to wear himself out if Alaric or his mother decided they needed to check other areas. For all he knew, the next month could be running all over these mountains, and he didn’t want to kill anyone’s legs, least of all his own.
So, they ran for most of the day and slept at night, stopping the run only to eat a little bit or entertain his mother’s whims. She tended to stop to investigate the smallest things at random intervals – it had turned the run from a week and a half to nearly two weeks. And this was one such time.
Alaric and Lysander both stood atop a small ridge, watching Fyra slowly crawl across the ground on her hands and knees, staring intently at the tracks she had found. In normal circumstances he would be right down there with her, investigating the tracks and trying to understand what had caught her interest so – even if it was just passing curiosity or the joy of tracking something.
But they were only an hour or two away from Bite Mountain and the salamanders. And this had been the fifth time in two days she’d stopped to investigate something, that last two having taken a good four hours to sate her curiosity. So, he found himself impatiently tapping his foot as he watched her, Alaric standing with his arms crossed and eyes closed with a single finger tapping his bicep displaying his impatience.
“Done yet, Mom?” he called softly, unable to stand it anymore. He swore she did this on purpose sometimes, just to temper his impatience.
“This is an interesting bear,” she said in response, pressing her face against the ground. The little game trail she was following, winding lengthwise across the middle of a forested hillside, didn’t look large enough for something like the frost bear to wander down, but Lysander doubted she was talking about a regular bear. And despite himself that little fact did interest him, and Alaric too, judging by how the man opened his eyes.
“Is it the frost bear?” he asked, reaching up to touch his necklace of claws. Lysander frowned at him.
"Yes. I’ve been seeing his path crisscross our own these past few days a couple times; this is the freshest set of tracks I’ve seen yet. Let’s just leave him be, seems he’s avoiding us.” She said, standing and dusting off her clothes, the beads decorating the tassels that hung from tan leather shirt clattering together. A single twig stuck to her cheek, and she brushed it off with a smile. “More interestingly, about ten feet further down the hillside I can see evidence of your salamanders, Lysander.” She said, gesturing behind herself.
Both Alaric and Lysander blinked, Alaric squinting a bit as he peered down the hillside. Lysander couldn’t see what she was talking about from where he was, though he didn’t doubt her. He’d once seen her track an ant across a flat rock – an ant he himself had made run across said rock, then taken to her just to see if she could do it. Alaric, on the other hand, made a noise in the back of his throat and nodded.
“I see it now. That sweeping mark, that’s from the tail?” he said.
“I would assume. Lysander, when hunting do they sometimes sweep their tail across the ground?” his mother asked. He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.
“I didn’t really follow them hunting that much, but they did do that just as they walked. They’re big, long, heavy looking things.” He explained. “Come to think of it, they don’t seem to do much in the way of hunting. Mostly trapping, fishing, and foraging – think it might have to do with those caves Old Man Xi mentioned?”
“Could be,” Alaric mused, scratching his chin. “I’ve only ventured into the underground a few times – never really had any desire to go delving. But I have heard that there is an extensive cave network through some of these mountains, with some pretty interesting creatures in them. Giant bats, for one.”
“Well, we’re almost there so we should have some more answers soon. Lead the way, son,” Fyra said, motioning Lysander forward. He did as he was asked, walking down the hill and keeping an eye out for the tracks she mentioned. It wasn’t until he was a good five feet away that he was able to pick them out, even though he knew what he was looking for. Salamander tracks led parallel to the frost bear tracks, their five-toed feet place at minimum a good foot apart from each other with a swish mark against the ground behind each one.
From five feet is still better than a lot of elves, even if a lot of them aren’t actively honing their tracking skills. He told himself, though it didn’t help much. And here he’d been thinking that he was doing good advancing his skills – turns out, he still had a long way to go to get to where he wanted to be, to get to where he knew where he could be. Bah. Ego sucks. If you don’t have a big ego, there’s no pride that can be hurt.
It took a bit more effort of will to banish those thoughts than he would have liked, even as he led the way down the hillside and through the trees, emerging onto a second ridgeline that gave a perfect view of the Goldstone River and Bite Mountain, the former only a couple hundred feet downhill from them. And, roaming the riverside, two bright orange salamanders carrying spears running through the tall, marshy grasses that dominated the other side of the river.
“See, salamanders,” Lysander said, gesturing grandly and crouching down. Alaric pulled up beside him with surprising swiftness, gripping his spear tightly and all but glaring at the salamanders. His mother crouched beside Lysander, watching curiously as they scampered about. For a long while they just watched, the lizards scampering about with their wooden spears and just…seeming to play.
“Can’t see them talking,” Alaric grunted.
“I’m pretty sure they communicate through hisses and chirps. Like lizards do,” Lysander answered, picking dirt from his fingernails.
“I’m going to get closer,” Fyra said, standing.
“Don’t bother. They’re almost done, watch,” Lysander said, looking at the sky to make sure he had the time. Midday. The salamanders always ran back to their home cave around this time, only to emerge an hour or so later. True to his expectations the salamanders soon scampered off, one of them grabbing what looked like a net it had left by the riverside before it went. “Right, let’s go. You can get a good view of the entrance to their home cave from above – but be careful. They’ll look up at the slightest noise, even if only briefly.”
“Probably a residual instinct from the cave. Lots of stuff dropping on you from above,” Alaric said with a shudder. Fyra was already moving, ignoring his warnings, and Lysander had to sprint to keep up with her as she dashed through the woods without a sound. She didn’t stop even when she reached the river, diving silently in headfirst and gliding like a fish beneath the waters to reach the other side. Only Lysander hesitated, Alaric copying her and diving into the river without a second thought.
I hate wet leather. He thought with a grimace, taking a deep breath and diving in. The river was freezing cold, shocking the breath out of his lungs as he kicked as hard as he could, the current dragging him downstream. As soon as one hand touched dry rock – the opposite bank – he emerged as quietly as he could and darting forward to crouch beside a small bush, shivering as he went.
Alaric and his mother both were already further into the marshes, investigating the tracks. Lysander left them to it, flicking his arms and picking at his pants in annoyance. There was very little worse than wet leather. At least this shirt isn’t half bad. He mused, pulling at the silk. It was damp and clung to his skin, but it wasn’t heavy and would likely dry out quicker. My pack is probably soaked too. Should’ve just tried to find a new spot to cross. With a sigh he pushed forward, spear still held loosely in one hand and checking his sling with the other. He’d have to dry that out before using it again, the pocket might get ruined otherwise.
The other two had already moved on from the immediate riverside – Lysander could see them slowly following the paths the salamanders had taken. Alaric had unslung his bow, his spear hung across his back, and was making sure he was close to Fyra, always on alert. Lysander shook his head and followed them at a more sedate pace. This was the problem with travelling with two big personalities like this – they were going to do whatever they wanted. At least he got a chance to rest now. As much as he was trying to put on a false front, running as fast as he did for nearly a full two weeks had still taken a lot out of him.
He still had enough energy to run back to the Sacred Mountain if he had to, but…he clicked his tongue in annoyance. Stupid pride, forcing him to try and impress them with his speed and stamina.
“Lysander, come here for a moment,” his mother called quietly, waving him over. She was crouched beside a tall green bush nearly twice as tall as she was, growing beside a small pond. Alaric was looking over her shoulder at something in the bush with a complicated expression on his face.
“What is it?” he asked, moving so he could see what she was pointing at. The moment he saw it he froze in shock, then grinned wildly and fought the urge to burst out laughing.
“Is this one of the traps you were talking about?” she asked, pointing at a log that was too big and too dead, on a trigger that should never work, over pile of squashed bugs. He examined the bush again, shaking his head in amusement. Now that he looked at it, this bush, while not as dense or big as the willows that grew on the other side of the mountain, was fairly similar.
“Yes and no. I may or may not have played a prank on them when I saw a trap that was just…awful. Like this one. It’s the same thing dad did, with the fish. I just…didn’t expect them to keep trying it.” Lysander said. His mother blinked, took that in, then smiled and shook her head. Alaric popped him on the back of the head with an open hand, and Lysander didn’t bother to hold back his chuckle at that, shrugging helplessly. “There will probably be more and better traps around here if there’s this one. If not, I can show you the field where I found them before.”
“No,” Alaric said after a moment’s hesitation. “I want to see their main camp. We’ll spend a few days looking at it, if it’s what you say it is, then decide what to do from there.”
“And Lysander, do try and refrain from playing any more pranks on them. I would like to make a good first impression, when the time comes, and would rather not have made them mad before then.” His mother chided, though he got the feeling she wasn’t mad in the slightest. Lysander flashed her a grin that made no promises – he hadn’t been planning on doing anything, but now…Alaric huffed through his nose and glanced up the mountain, at the snowy peak, and fiddled with the string of his bow. Little strips of fur had been tied around the string; he’d heard that it helped keep it quieter.
“Let’s head around the side, I don’t want to go over the peak just yet. That bear might sleep up there. Lead the way, kid,” Alaric said, green eyes locking onto Lysander’s.
“I’m going to take it slow,” he warned. “They may not head up the mountain much, but if we’re keeping away for now, I’d still like to not take any chances.” Neither of the others made any form of protest, letting Lysander take the lead as he began walking up the side of Bite Mountain. He did so with a spring in his step despite the way his wet leather pants clung awkwardly to his legs, clasping his hands behind his head as he sauntered on.
But not once did he actually drop his guard, or forget to scan the trees for salamanders. Despite his act, he didn’t want to embarrass himself. He did have a reputation to maintain.
