Page 44 of Wizards & Weavers
The helmet came off. Braiden gasped.
Chapter
Seventeen
The thing in black— no, thepersonin black — shook his head the way someone with long hair shakes out their mane, sighing with relief as air rushed over his exposed face. Except it wasn’t hair he was shaking, but a pair of very long ears, ears that grew out the top of his head. They flickered and flapped, then finally stood to attention.
“A burrowfolk,” Elyssandra breathed, looking even more stunned than Braiden felt. “You’re one of the burrowfolk.”
The half man, half rabbit’s whiskers twitched as he smiled. “A pleasure to meet you. My name is Warren.”
Of course it is, Braiden thought, only just remembering to snap his mouth shut instead of gawping.
The party made their introductions. Braiden’s eyes had traveled the length of Warren’s entire body, which nearly surpassed seven feet when you included the height of his ears. That explained his legs, how his feet bent at an angle, the way he kicked out like a cat.
Braiden had always thought it was a myth. There had always been tell of races in Aidun beyond those that more closely resembled humanoids. Though he hadn’t met all of them himself, Braiden knew that dwarves, gnomes, goblins, and thefae surely existed. And elves, well, he had one with a bottomless stomach and a dab hand with martial weaponry right beside him.
But the burrowfolk? He’d always assumed they were fairy tales, silly stories that Granny Bethilda and the entire Aidunese coalition of mothers and grandmothers agreed to tell their children before bed. If these elusive rabbit people existed, albeit this deep underground, then what did that say about the other legendary races? Fabled frog men, or fox people, or great cats that walked on two legs — Braiden could hardly contain his excitement.
“It’s genuinely incredible to make your acquaintance,” Augustin breathed, his eyes cutting toward Braiden as they silently exchanged their befuddlement. Braiden had been joking each time. A demon or an undead seemed far more likely, and yet.
Warren placed his hands on his hips and grinned a little smugly. “It is, isn’t it?”
The best Braiden could figure was that Warren was as humanoid as the fabled werewolf. In stature and musculature, the burrowfolk, it would seem, had torsos and upper legs that closely resembled those of humans. The greatest differences were their legs, and naturally, their heads.
And that meant that his black garments — that short-shorn fur that Braiden had mistaken for a velvety coat — oh, no. He’d been staring intently at Warren’s naked body this entire time. How mortifying.
“To be perfectly honest,” Elyssandra said, “it’s also incredible that you’re being so sociable after — well, everything we’ve just been through.”
Warren shrugged. “There’s something different about you people. Most adventurers go running for the exit the first time they have a near miss with the Pulverizer.”
Braiden frowned. “The what, now?”
“Big spiky thing that swung from the trees.” Warren spread his arms out wide. “Almost took out your friend over here. Could crush a man to death. You can’t miss it.”
Augustin laughed good-naturedly. “It isn’t my first brush with dungeon dangers, friend Warren. I know a thing or two about death traps.”
Braiden chewed on his lip, too curious about these new discoveries to remind Augustin that he had to be rescued from said Pulverizer.
“Elyssandra’s right,” Braiden said. “It’s quite nice of you to linger and chitchat after she nearly skewered you and I dropped a net on your head and everything.”
Again Warren shrugged. “It was a good sparring session. And again, you’re not the average human adventurers, are you? I like this one because she has long ears, like me. Well, long in a different way, I suppose.”
Elyssandra blushed as she brushed a hand against one reddening ear, suddenly bashful when she was so prepared to disembowel poor Warren not ten minutes ago.
“And you wear a soft downy pelt, like mine,” Warren said, feeling the sleeve of Braiden’s othergoat sweater with his own jet-black paw. “I like that.”
Braiden blushed, too. It felt nice to have his handiwork appreciated.
Augustin smiled hopefully, waiting for his own burrowfolk compliment that would never come.
“If you don’t mind,” Warren said, squeezing past them to retrieve his staff. “Don’t worry, I no longer mean you harm.”
Again Braiden found the burrowfolk’s bluntness quite refreshing. He didn’t often meet people who apologized so politely for almost committing murder and mutilation. Well, therewasElyssandra, of course.
He watched as Warren picked up his staff, brushing blades of grass from its shaft. Its wood was smoothed and polished by practice and frequent use, a well-loved weapon.
Undeterred by the uneven burrowfolk distribution of adventuring compliments, Augustin cleared his throat and stood with his head held heroically high, doing his best despite his now shabbier clothing.
