57 Ashan, Arc 719
“Wh-what do you mean she ran away?” asked Zarik, his voice raising to a shout. “Where to?!”
“I’m not sure, Lord Venora,” answered the headmistress of the orphanage. “The gateworkers saw her and a couple other of the children head northwest.”
Northwest meant the far coast, the strip of beach that was mostly untouched and next to the dangers of wilderness. Zarik shook his head and said, “Why haven’t you sent anyone after them?”
“I only found out just before you arrived,” she insisted. “We were about to put together a group. I didn't expect you to arrive so soon in the day. And… I… found this.”
Zarik took the piece of parchment from the woman. He looked at scribbles of a child’s penmanship that were illegible next to what looked like a small map. “Is this where they are going?”
“I think so, one of the boys said that Hazel has been planning on…”
“On what? What is it?” asked Zarik, encouraging the woman to finish the sentence.
“On a hunt.”
“They’ve gone hunting, alone?” He shook his head.
“I told them they couldn’t, that they needed to focus on helping in the village. But Hazel, as you know, her uncle used to take her out, she helped him with his trapping, so… it’s been difficult for her, but I didn’t think she’d… simply go like this.”
“I’ll find them,” said Zarik. He pocketed the parchment in his silver surcoat.
“Did you want me to gather some of the others to help, Lord Venora?”
“No, no… watch the other children and make sure no more stray,” he answered. “If I’m not back by morning, then send a search party.”
He didn’t wait to listen to her agreement. Zarik turned swiftly on heel, then left the orphanage through the front doors. He hurried with a fast clip in his pace, through the streets of Marcovera, out the gates that were almost finished being rebuilt, and along the path over a grassy knoll. He knew, roughly, where he was headed. Zarik broke into a sprint, his crystalline legs sent him fast over the terrain. In several bits, he found himself near the mouth of a cave.
Zarik took a deep breath, then he called out, “Fridgar?! Dosan? Are either of you in there? I require your aid.”
He detected movement to the side. Zarik turned and looked down the other way of the shore. He caught sight of a familiar man. He waved immediately upon sight of the Quacian. “Dosan! Thank the gods you’re here.”
The biqaj ran over and his translucent wings fluttered behind him. Whether obvious or not, Zarik’s features were softer than usual. His blond hair was golden in the sunlight rather than icy pale, and no Mark of Faith adorned his forehead. He said, “Some orphans from Marcovera have gone to the far side coast to hunt alone, and I fear they might not be able to find their way back before night falls. I thought perhaps if Fridgar could smell them or… is he not here? Will you help me track them down, please?”
