Gwinlin

As Gwinlin stepped around a sapling that had sprouted in the middle of the path, she noticed more light was peeking through the trees ahead of her. She could almost see the edge of the forest, and the watering hole that lay beyond. The path grew wider as she approached the forest’s edge, and she tried not to think of her home. Everything was deliberate there. Designed with a purpose. The roads and walkways of the dwarves would never meander and fluctuate the way the forest paths do. There, roads are built to guide people to where they need to be. Here, paths emerge because the animals already know where to go.

But no, she mustn’t think of home. It’s not even her home anymore. And it never will be.

Stepping from the dark forest and into the morning sunlight surrounding the small lake, Gwinlin groaned as she slipped a strap of her pack off of one shoulder, then the other. She set the bag on the grass along with her longbow and quiver, then stood up tall and stretched out her aching back. Tall, in this case, is only 4’5”, although that is considered tall for a dwarf. She noticed the handle of her great maul protruding from her bag and smiled. If her longbow and stature caused some to confuse her for a young elf, the sight of her holding her maul usually corrected that mistake.

She withdrew 3 waterskins from the sack and turned to the lake. Normally, she’d only use one, but she was unsure how many she’d need for her upcoming journey. She took off her shoes, pulled her pant legs up to her knees, and waded in. After filling her waterskins, she took water into her hands and drank her fill of the refreshingly cool water. As the ripples dissipated, she stared at her reflection on the surface. She looked thinner than she remembered, and her red hair had grown long and wild. Maybe, she thought, I look less dwarvish than I thought.

She grabbed one of her hand axes from her hip. With her left hand, she grabbed the hair on the side of her head and pulled it taut. The axe in her right hand, she carefully sheared the hair away as close to her scalp as she could. She looked at her reflection again. Most of her hair was still long and unruly and swept over and down her right shoulder, but now her left ear was exposed and framed by a patch of scarlet stubble.

“Much better. I’d like anyone to look at this round little ear and call me an elf now! That ear is pure dwarf.”

She returned to her belongings, sat on the grass, and as she slipped her feet back into her shoes she took a moment to appreciate her surroundings. All around the lake, animals of all kinds gathered to sate their thirst. Deer, elk, and baboons all eschewed the safety of the forest in order to satisfy their thirst. On the other side of the lake was a vast savannah, and aurochs, goats, and rhinoceroses traveled for unknown miles just to come for a drink. To her immediate right a herd of elephants had just arrived, matriarchs standing close by as the calves took their first trunks-full of water.

Side-by-side with these herbivores, wolves and hyenas also wet their tongues. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, an unspoken social contract. There, everyone was safe. Everyone at the watering hole followed the rules, and we all remained safe. Again, Gwinlin found herself remembering her home. Everything seemed so safe there, as well. But there are always those willing to take advantage of the illusion of safety. She learned that well, back home. Back when she used to belong. When she still had a clan. It only takes one who thinks they are above the rules to ruin everything.

Distracted with thoughts of home, she was almost unprepared for what happened next. Suddenly, there was a spray of water and, seemingly, hundreds of dagger-like teeth burst from the surface of the lake in the direction of the elephants. Gwinlin then saw the rows of spiked scales trailing behind and recognized she was looking at the head of a giant crocodile. Animals on all sides of the watering hole cried out in alarm and scattered in every direction. Baboons and wolves retreating to the forest, rhinos and hyenas leaving trails of dust as they galloped away through the fields of grass. Gwinlin ran back to the trees, quickly grabbing her bag on the way, worried that the smell of the dried meats and fruits within would attract the crocodile’s attention.

Back in the safety of the woods, she braced herself against the tree and listened in horror at the cries of the elephants who were unlucky enough to be on that side of the lake. She was mortified by what sounded like a massacre, but selfishly grateful for the elephants' arrival. If they hadn’t arrived when they did, or if Gwinlin was only about fifty feet to the right of where she had sat to put her shoes on, those might have been her screams echoing through the clearing. Gwinlin remained as calm and still as she could until the crocodile seemed to have retreated back under the surface, most likely dragging one of the matriarchs along for its breakfast.

Once she felt enough time had passed, Gwinlin walked back toward the lake. No longer welcoming, the lake was eerie and foreboding, with the midday sun beaming down with an unforgiving heat. As she picked up the longbow and quiver she didn’t have the time to grab earlier, she was unnerved by the complete absence of animal life. The entire watering hole was empty and silent.

No, wait, there was a noise. Gwinlin turned her head back to the woods. Not far from where she had emerged from the forest, there was a strange sound. Like heavy breathing, inter-cut with a whimper. She slowly walked toward the sound, listening more carefully. No, it wasn’t just a whimper. It sounded like someone trying to learn to play an out-of-tune, poorly kept horn.

She ventured further into the woods until she finally found the source of the sounds. There, half-covered by a bush, was an elephant calf. It appeared to be very young, only about 300 lbs, and had its face hidden under its forelimbs.

“Hey, buddy” Gwinlin said as gently as she could. The elephant looked up in shock and let out a loud trumpeting sound that caused Gwinlin to cover her ears.

“Hey, hey! I’m here to help!” Gwinlin kneeled and avoided eye contact to make herself seem less threatening. As the trumpeting subsided, the calf stared at her with a wide, terrified look in its eyes. She slowly approached, hands low and open so the elephant could see she wasn’t holding a weapon. She noticed gashes in the calf’s trunk and left ear.

Suddenly Gwinlin was back home again, listening at the cries coming from her neighbor’s window. They were infrequent at first, but eventually it seemed like every night she had to listen as her neighbor’s son cried for his dad to stop. He never did. Men of that station, men with that kind of power, rarely do.

Gwinlin snapped back to the present. “I’m no healer, but I know a little herbalism. Let me help you.” She took some herbs from her pack that she knew would ease the pain. “I don't really have the right tools to make this into a salve, but I’ll do what I can.” She put the leaves in her mouth and ground them between her molars three times before her tongue started to go numb, then spit them back out into her hands. She smeared the herbs as liberally as she could over the trunk and ear wounds. The calf seemed calmer, although Gwinlin wondered if it was just in shock. She did a more thorough inspection and saw that its legs seemed fine.

“You were very lucky, little guy. Only surface wounds. That croc could have eaten you whole.” She stared at the young elephant, cursing herself for getting involved. “You know, I really shouldn’t be helping you. Whenever I help someone, it just gets me in trouble. Plus, I have somewhere I need to be.”

Gwinlin stood up and took a step back toward the lake and heard the elephant rustling behind her. She turned and saw the calf standing on all fours right behind her.

“Who am I kidding,” Gwinlin asked, “Of course I’ll help. Let’s go find your herd.”

She stepped out of the woods, elephant close behind, and moved toward the savannah. She kept a safe distance from the lake, just in case. Gwinlin noticed a good-sized section of trampled grass.

“Looks like that’s the way your family went. I guess that’s where we’re going, too.”

As the afternoon turned into evening, Gwinlin continued following the tracks of the elephant herd, with the calf close behind. The monotony of the march led her mind to wander.

She remembered seeing her neighbor’s son playing “Orcs and Goblins” with his friends in front of her home. She decided to bring the kids a snack, as she had just baked a loaf of sweet bread. The boys eagerly devoured their dessert, and she pulled her neighbor’s son aside,

“Travin. I wanted to let you know, if you are ever in danger, you can come to me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I will keep you safe. I mean that. From anybody.”

“Can I go back to playing now? Thank you for the snack.”

Gwinlin sighed. “Yes, Travin. Go play with your friends. But remember, I meant what I said.”

Gwinlin noticed the calf’s pace slowed considerably. As the sun was nearing the horizon, it seemed like they would have to make camp for the night. Gwinlin retrieved her bedroll from her sack and stretched it out on the flattened grass.

“Go ahead,” Gwinlin gestured to the bedroll. “I’ll take first watch. You need your sleep.” Gwinlin chuckled at the idea of trusting the calf with the next shift. The calf, for his part, took no time to consider her offer. He stomped right onto the bedroll, curled up and, within five minutes, passed out. Gwinlin remained standing to watch the sunset, but soon her legs grew tired and she sat facing her unexpected companion.

A sudden trumpeting startled Gwinlin awake. She must have fallen asleep! As she gathered her wits, she saw what had alarmed her companion. Her bag was open and its contents were scattered around their little makeshift campsite by a pygmy allosaurus that had caught the scent of the dried meats in her pack. Now, however, its attention was fully on the calf. In the moonlit night, Gwinlin could see the predatory look in the allosaurus’s eyes as it discovered the defenseless pachyderm, and again her memories shot back to her home.

Gwinlin heard frantic knocking at her front door. She rushed to answer, but by the time she got there, the knocking had stopped. She opened it, but nobody was there. Suddenly she heard her neighbor’s door slam shut. She ran to her neighbor’s door and knocked.

“Travadin! Travadin I know you're home! Travadin answer the door! I… I have something to give your son! Please answer the door!”

Travadin didn’t respond, but Gwinlin heard the possible sounds of a struggle. She ran back to her home and up the stairs. As she passed her window she could clearly hear Travadin screaming at his son.

“Where did you think you were going, boy? What did that lanky, elf-looking bitch say to you?”

Gwinlin went to her bedroom and grabbed her longbow.

“She told me she’d keep me safe! She’s nice! She’s nothing like you!”

“She can’t keep you safe, Travin! Only I can keep you safe! And if you ever raise your voice at me again you’ll wish you were never born!”

Gwinlin went to the window between her home and Travin’s. She nocked an arrow and drew her right hand back near her ear, the arrow aimed squarely through her neighbor's window.

“TRAVADIN!” Gwinlin yelled out of her window.

Travadin’s head appeared in his open window. “WHAT!?” he bellowed.

Gwinlin let her arrow fly.

The arrow flew right into the allosaurus’s eye. It screamed in pain and redirected its attention to Gwinlin. What would have been a killing blow for a humanoid only served to enrage the dinosaur. It roared at Gwinlin as she tried to nock another arrow when the allosaurus was bowled over by the sudden arrival of an angry adult elephant. With the pygmy allosaurus on the ground, the elephant matriarch grabbed its tail with her trunk and lifted the dinosaur off of the ground, only to slam it back into the dry dirt and grass. She did this three more times until the allosaurus lay limp on the ground.

The calf let out another trumpet, this time a cry of celebration, as the rest of the herd arrived. He found his mother and they intertwined their trunks lovingly. Gwinlin smiled and walked toward the calf when suddenly his mother’s ears shot straight out to the sides in a threat display. Three other matriarchs joined her in the display and started slowly and deliberately walking toward Gwinlin. Gwinlin quickly averted her eyes and began backing up, making herself seem as small as possible. Once they were confident that Gwinlin was far enough from the herd, they turned and walked away.

“Goodbye, little Travin,” Gwinlin said.

Ten years ago, she would have been offended by this display. After risking her life for the calf, this is the thanks she gets? Treated as a threat and chased away. She is used to it, now. It’s not the first time she helped someone who needed her, only to be punished. No, for someone without a home, without a clan, this is exactly what she expected.

She cleaned up the mess the allosaurus made and curled up for the night on the bedroll. It still smelled like elephant.