Hood and Boots
A short piece about my current Pathfinder character. This details some of a rare peaceful day during his adventure and some of his anxieties.
Sunlight dappled along the lazily flowing river, creating a deceptively peaceful atmosphere. Zakkar didn't expect any real trouble, but even as he sketched the river and the trees beyond in his journal--with Alyara helpfully adding flourishes as he went, of course--he kept half an eye turned towards Babolax. While no one he traveled with used the name, it was easy to remember the goblin tribe he was part of frequently referred to him as Boom-Boom. Zakkar wasn't sure what exactly he was mixing in his flasks by the river; he just hoped he wouldn't need to use any healing magic once Babolax was finished.
"Hey, there's something we should practice."
Zakkar's ears twitched underneath his hood at the sound of Yda's voice. He stifled a sigh as he ran a hand over the heavy fabric. He turned his attention to where Yda was approaching Brek. For an uncomfortable moment, Zakkar's heart clenched. Brek had come so close--No, he mustn't think on it. Even if his nascent friendship with the ratfolk led to his wearing his hood and boots longer than he'd like, the thought of losing him was already too painful.
Alyara sensed his discomfort, and she curled around his shoulders and gave his cheek a lick. Zakkar turned his attention for a moment to stroke the calligraphy wyrm and looked back just in time to see Yda pick up Brek and throw him a good fifteen feet into the river.
Zakkar read surprise on the ratfolk's face before he did a truly impressive flip and dive into the water. Zakkar again reflected on his dwarven companion's truly prodigious strength. He took a moment to thank Pulura that she had never turned her strength or martial prowess against him. His hand subconsciously rubbed his hood again.
Brek flashed a smile at Zakkar as he made shore which Zakkar returned. A ratfolk and catfolk as friends, he thought. It still sounds like a joke.
His hand was rubbing at his boots again, he realized. Zakkar stood rather abruptly, returning his journal to his satchel. "I'm going for a walk," Zakkar called out to the group. He was wary of someone wanting to come with him, but fortunately even Brek seemed content to stay at camp. "Gerran," he said softly, and the grey wolf he had been leaning against stood with a shake, following him into the jungle.
While Zakkar's pace was unhurried, his ears strained beneath his hood. He was cautious of enemies in the jungle, especially as he knew they were relatively close to one of the pillars, but he was just as concerned about being followed. After about twenty minutes, he finally felt confident he was alone.
Still, his hands shook when he lowered his hood, brushing against the curved horns that closely hugged his head, ending just before his jaw. While he breathed a sigh of relief as his ears were no longer compressed under the heavy fabric, his neck was on a swivel, ensuring he was alone. Well, save for the wolf at his side and the tiny dragon on his shoulder.
Zakkar sat on the ground and pulled off his boots, revealing not the normal paws of a catfolk but instead cleft hooves. They too got uncomfortable being confined so long. Normally, he traveled alone and could take less beaten paths to avoid notice. Traveling first with just Brek and now also Yda and Babolax meant that he was sleeping with his boots on and his hood carefully adjusted over his head. He rubbed his aching hooves for a minute before standing, again looking carefully to make sure none were around to see his tiefling traits on display.
Zakkar tried to enjoy his walk, but his senses were on edge. He trusted his magic and Gerran to see him safely out of trouble from wildlife or a Cinderclaw patrol, but he was terrified of his new acquaintances--friends?--seeing him like this. Maybe they weren't superstitious or prejudiced, but he had been chased out of too many towns to risk it.
As he traveled east, his attention was diverted by an orange puddle. As he got closer and looked beyond, he could see others further into the jungle along the route they intended to take tomorrow. Zakkar wasn't entirely sure, and he certainly wasn't going to try and find out on his own, but the puddles looked acidic. There was no knowing for sure, not yet, but he had a sneaking suspicion about what the orange pillar could do.
With a sigh, Zakkar turned his attention west. It wouldn't do to be gone too long. The others might worry. Worse, they may come looking. He began retracing his hoofprints back through the jungle, picking his way through the underbrush. For the briefest of moments, he entertained the thought of returning as he was. He had proven helpful thus far; maybe they would be okay with a tiefling companion. He banished the thought. The reward of sometimes giving his hooves and ears a break was not worth the risk. When he returned to camp and told the others about the puddles he discovered, his hood was in place and his boots were on.
It was safer that way.