He struck off down the goat track on foot and heard Bulge-Eye fall in behind him, his slow pace forcing the toad to adopt the lumbering waddle he used when hopping was unnecessary. Deglan cut a path cross-country, wishing to avoid the village entirely. He was in no mood for questions regarding Faabar’s condition from slack jawed humans, and if he saw that dwarf peddler, he was of a mind to poison him.

“Use my own words against me, will he? Fever or no, that is not the act of a friend! Goblins, he says! Bunch of rutting, grey-skinned, gap-toothed, vicious, lying, lecherous, piss-smelling vermin! Live where they may, ha! Hob’s a daft bugger, always have said. Faabar, too!” He turned on his heel, causing Bulge-Eye to come to an unexpected halt. Deglan thrust a finger in the toad’s large face. “And I will tell you something about that damn fomori. Slaughtered countless of them bandy legged rodents, Faabar did! During the Rebellion and decades before besides! He’s killed more goblins than I have ever said a bad word about.”

Bulge-Eye did not argue.

Deglan turned and resumed his trek, angrily swatting at bugs that were not there. He had a mind to go straight home. There was work to be done, other more minor maladies to treat among the villagers. But he kept walking, regardless. The thought of trying to concentrate on proper dosage and the correct moisture content of poultices made the back of his ears itch. He hiked on into the hills, justifying his dalliance in his own mind as an excuse to search out rare herbs to replenish his stock. It was still early afternoon, plenty of time before sunset to deal with the complaints of the good people of Hog’s Wallow.

Deglan came across a patch of turnips and stopped to dig out a few. Not much good for medicinal use, except to alleviate his grumbling gut. He took his meager lunch up a rocky knoll that afforded a good view of the surrounding countryside. Here he sat with his back against a moss covered boulder and eased the tension in his back. Bulge-Eye squatted close by, seemingly uninterested in the view. The wind was stronger at this height and Deglan took a moment to button his vest up under his chin. He brushed the soil from the turnips as best he could, while looking out on the horizon.

“She’s still green, our dear old isle. Give her that. Trees’ve been red for too long now, but the rest of her, she’s still green.” He bit into the largest turnip and crunched, chewing thoughtfully at the verdant fields below. Without looking, he hooked the remainder over his head at Bulge-Eye, who opened his wide mouth to catch the flung vegetable and swallow it whole.