Chương 25: Vol 1. Victory Pies

Morton had healed remarkably quickly over the following days, although their trek had been slowed quite considerably due to his injured leg. Each day, Tahir would gently clean his wounds to prevent infection. Morton sat upon an aged fallen log clad in moss while Tahir unwound the strip of fabric from around his thigh. It looked considerably better than it had a few days earlier, though the skin around it was still ruddy, swollen, and warm, which worried Tahir a bit.

He was no expert on wounds, far from it, but the old husbands' tale was that a warm wound meant it was potentially infected. Tahir dipped a cloth into the river water, then dabbed a bit of shampoo on it.

"This may sting a little," Tahir said. Morton chuckled.

"Kid, I have gotten stabbed before. I know how these things go."

"And yet…" Tahir pressed the cloth against the wound and slowly started washing around the thick scabbing. Morton clenched his jaw and let out a low grunt. Tahir flicked his ears.

"You were saying, Sir Christian?"

"Hey, I said I have been stabbed before, not that I ain't a big baby 'bout it." Tahir rolled his eyes and finished cleaning. He was running low on soap. Tahir scrunched his muzzle. Those shampoos were extremely expensive and hard to get, and he wasn't getting more until he went home… if he ever went home. They had gone for longer and longer stretches without eating until Morton's leg was finally healed enough for him to chase wild game with his knife.

It was a pain, that was for certain, but he wanted to preserve the twenty-odd bullets he had left. Days without eating made both of their stomachs churn, shouting ravenously in protest. Morton, for the first time in a long time, felt like he was actually losing some weight. Usually, he had a large collection of moonshine to keep that from happening. At night, Tahir found his already difficult time sleeping even more difficult.

The night terrors were beginning to lessen, especially since he had started cuddling Morton, but the pains in his stomach were unbearable. Every time he curled onto his side, his stomach twisted into a knot beneath his ribs in a way that felt like the little guy was being purposefully malicious. On one of the nights, he dreamed he was back home, sitting at the dining room table all by himself.

Laid out before him was an enormous feast of liver, pastries, fresh bread, and, begrudgingly, roasted hare, only for the brilliant rays of the morning sun to pull him away and leave him with nothing but damp grass. Oh, for Seroth's sake, that damp grass was starting to look mighty tasty. Whenever Morton managed to catch something edible, he would divide it unevenly, handing Tahir the larger portion.

"I feel as though this is an irrational division. You require more food than I do," Tahir said one evening.

"You are far larger than I am. As a matter of principle, your body needs more food to survive." Morton shook his head.

"Nah, I got plenty of extra energy stored 'round the middle. See?" He slapped his stomach a few times. Tahir couldn't help but giggle. When he had met Morton, his midsection had been far larger. Now, the shirt he wore was beginning to loosen. At night, when he lay atop Morton, he couldn't help but notice that his midsection had become harder; perhaps not more muscular, but Morton had slimmed down enough that he could feel Morton's existing muscularity. Tahir looked down at himself, then felt beneath his dress.

Yep, abs were still there. You gotta check sometimes, you know?

"Sir Christian," Tahir said.

"Why do we not try to forage for fruits or nuts? It would be easier on your body." Morton looked at him in silence for a moment, then said:"Kid, do you really wanna play 'Will this kill me or make my dick fall off'?"

"Noted," Tahir said, then went back to eating. Forest rat surprisingly tasted quite decent. Or, at least bearable enough to swallow, anyway. When fifthday arrived, the copses had thinned, revealing a broad valley below. A town, Tudor-esque in its architecture, sat beneath rolling fields, surrounded by a low, ancient stone wall from a war long past. Hundreds of tiny chimneys rose from the rooftops, releasing little trails of smoke into the clear sky.

Carts travelled steadily along the cobbled roads, and somewhere beyond the walls, the bells of a church rang their call to prayer. Tahir stopped. He felt a warm, tingling feeling wash over him completely. There were houses; shops; people; food; roads… oh, by the gods, actual ROADS! Tahir nearly cried with joy when the town came into view. He dramatically fell to his knees.

"Sir Christian," he said, "I believe I have finally discovered the most glorious thing upon this earth."

"A town?"

"A road paved with stones." Tahir lowered himself and pressed his paws against the cobbles with the reverence of a priestess about to be ordained. It was beautiful: firm, well-kept, not a single patch of mud, no loose roots, hidden jagged stones, or puddles—just… civilized roads. Morton smirked.

"I get ya'." Tahir sat like that for a moment.

"Are you, uh… gonna get up?"

"Shhhh… in a moment," Tahir said. When he was ready, they walked again.

"The first thing we are doing is finding a public bathhouse. I also need more soap; I have used a considerable amount of my stash on you."

"And whose fault is that?" Morton said with a grin.

"That would be yours." The two entered the town along its main road—cobbled and well-maintained—as the throngs of Kharani bustled to and fro, this way and that. It was far larger than the village they had previously come from; that was a given. It was not a large town by any means, with a few thousand people, but it held an important administrative position. The smells of cooked food, soap, fresh bread, perfume, livestock, and smoke from the lit hearths hit Tahir's nostrils.

After all they had been through, everything felt luxurious. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Steam drifted from the vents of a nearby bathhouse, carrying the magnificent scent of lavender soap into the street. Tahir slowed on instinct. Across from it stood a little perfume shop, probably no bigger than most outdoor stalls, yet sandwiched between two much more sizable buildings.

Inside, clearly visible through the large windows that made up most of the building's front, were rows and rows of colourful bottles. Next to it was a bookseller, and on the other side was the workshop of a shoemaker.

"I think we should stop there," Tahir said, pointing at the bookshop.

"I thought ya' said you wanted a bath?"

"We can do both, Sir Christian. I have the funds on me."

"Perhaps best not to say that out loud, I reckon," Morton said with a wink.

"Indeed," Tahir grumbled. Morton looked farther down the street. There was a blacksmith's workshop not too far off, and beyond that stood a stable filled with a variety of sturdy-looking horses and several taverns whose doors had been opened due to the mid-afternoon heat. Dark red banners bearing crossed spears hung from several balconies.

"Now, that over there could be useful," Morton said, tipping his head towards the blacksmith. Tahir followed his gaze.

"Do you have more things to sell?" he asked.

"Nah, but I wanna see if they can… make somethin' for me." He tipped his hat. It reminded him a lot of the before times; back when everything was okay; when he and his daddy would go to the markets to get fishing supplies in the summer. Those were the days, Morton thought. He remembered how they would spend an hour arguing over the price of fishing hooks and bait, then proceed to use almost none of them when they got on the boat.

Rarely did they catch anything; all the good fish were already snatched up by the time they got on the lake. Afterwards, they would sit on the tailgate of the truck, drinking a beer and planning more fishing trips in the future—ones that would, hopefully, be more fruitful. They never were.

"Seems like a swell little place, hey, kid?" Tahir's nose twitched, and his tail and ears shot straight up.

"Sir Christian."

"What is it?"

"Over there!" Morton looked to where Tahir was pointing. It was a bakery, surprisingly not too busy for this time of day. Displayed in the window was a variety of different breadstuffs: rye, rustic, white, and brown.

"Ah, that's a cute little bread shop, ain't it?"

"Actual food!" Tahir said. His stomach growled loudly.

"We must go in!"

"I thought ya' wanted a bath first?"

"Yeah, well, flexible plans can be most beneficial. Now, let us go!" Morton and Tahir entered the bakery. Instantly, the intense, warm smell of doughy foods washed over Tahir. The hot air curled around them like a viper. There was flour spread unceremoniously across the floor. Fresh loaves cooled upon wooden racks, their crusts golden and cracked. Steam rose from trays of meat pies, carrying the pungent aroma of cooked liver, onions, spices, and whatever else. Tahir stood completely still.

His pupils widened significantly. He was drooling from the side of his mouth. Morton waved one hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Earth to Tahir?" Morton said. Tahir did not answer.

"Are ya' alive?"

"I think Seroth has taken me up to the afterlife," he said. Morton walked up to the baker, an older lady with an apron taut over her frame. She looked a little startled at first but readjusted into business mode.

"What can I do for you…" She looked him up and down.

"Pardon, are you a man or a woman?"

"A man," Morton said evenly.

"Oh, by Seroth, I thought so. I am terribly sorry; I am not good with elves. What can I do for you?"

"We shall have one loaf of rye," Tahir said. The baker reached for it.

"Actually, perhaps two." She flicked her ears in acknowledgement, then reached for another. Tahir looked towards the pastries.

"And one of those." His stomach banged against the wall again.

"Three."

"Add three for me as well," Morton said.

"Of course," the baker said. She took several more pastries off the shelf and began wrapping up the entire order. Tahir noticed a couple of meat pies arranged near the register in a perfect line and held up at a ninety-degree angle. Crossed spears had been pressed into the centre of the crust of each one. He cocked his head, mildly quizzical. The baker beamed, her tail going straight.

"Are you interested in those?" she said rapidly.

"Um, well—""Victory pies! It's an old local tradition around the Seran region; they say it might even predate the modern church! The idea is that by placing special symbols on them and blessing them in the name of the Great Mother, they will bring good fortune to those they are dedicated to. I made them in honour of Lady Korra. I love her; she is such a good—""Ah, throw a couple of 'em in," Morton interrupted.

"Certainly," the baker said, clasping her hands together excitedly. Tahir flicked one ear. His face scrunched slightly in mild rumination. Lady Korra… Lady Korra… That name… It certainly sounded familiar. But where had he heard it before?

"Lady"—that meant some type of nobility, one way or another. Before he could think any further, the baker placed the wrapped goods in Morton's hands. The aroma overwhelmed him, and every other thought vanished from his mind. Morton paid, and the two sat on the bench outside and began to eat. Tahir intended to eat with proper culinary etiquette for once. Bread was something you ate with your hands, so there were no moral qualms there.

However, there was much more to dining etiquette than simply whether you touched the food. It was how fast you ate, who ate first, how to eat it, et cetera. He placed a cloth on his lap, then took out a loaf, placing it gently on the cloth. Then he tore a little piece from the edge, holding it with two claws, and slowly raised it to his mouth. For the first time in a while, he was a dutiful son again. Then he tasted it, and that carefully built foundation came crashing down once more.

A moment later, half the loaf had vanished. Crumbs clung to the fur around his muzzle and cheeks as he tore into one of the meat pies like a swine. Hot meat juices ran all over his paws, soaking into the fur. He barely noticed.

"Hold yer horses there, kid," Morton said, leaning back against the bench in amusement.

"Sorry, what was it?" Tahir said, his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk.

"I said slow down there, or that will be the last thing you ever eat." Tahir swallowed.

"I am eating at a perfectly reasonable speed." His stomach was still growling, and Tahir continued to barrel through the food like a swine. Morton chuckled.

"Good?" he asked. Tahir nodded, his cheeks full.

"I do not know why such plain and ordinary goods taste so wonderfully exotic, expensive, and flavourful."

"That happens when you have been through a hella lot of sufferin'," Morton remarked.