Measured Steps

Measured Steps

Teodor woke to morning light slipping through a gap in the curtain.

A pale strip of sunlight stretched across the dull wooden floor. The air remained cold, carrying the faint smell of dried cloth and old timber.

He sat on the edge of the bed and waited until his injured leg settled beneath him. The white bandage wrapped around it was no longer clean.

The door creaked open.

Leon stepped inside first and dropped into the chair near the window, leaning back with a long breath. Another set of footsteps followed before the door closed again.

Rask placed his shield neatly in the corner, then took a seat without a word.

“So,” Leon said, glancing over. “Feeling any better?”

“A little.”

Leon rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, Boss. I wasn’t focused back there.”

Rask turned toward him.

“How many times are you going to say that?”

Leon clicked his tongue, but Rask's gaze stayed on him.

“Relax,” Teodor said. “It’s not the first time I’ve been injured. This is Guild work. Getting hurt, or dying, comes with the risk.”

Leon gave a small nod.

Teodor shifted his attention toward him. “What about the report to the Guild?”

“Elyn handled it,” Leon said. “I just waited around in the lobby after selling the beast cores.”

“Surprising she agreed to do it,” Rask said flatly.

“That woman’s impossible to figure out,” Leon muttered.

“But Elyn’s better at handling incident reports,” Teodor said. “She knows what needs to be written down.”

“She’s too straightforward about it.” Leon leaned farther into the chair. “A little lying wouldn’t hurt. Make the information sound more valuable, and the Guild pays more.”

“You’re trying to copy the Guild trash,” Rask said.

Leon let out a short laugh. “You’re too serious, Rask. If the pay’s good, I can take it easy for a few weeks.”

“That kind of thinking gets other adventurers killed.”

Leon’s smile faded.

He looked down at his hands for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Including us. The ones who end up paying for it.”

Silence settled over the room.

Footsteps passed somewhere in the corridor. A door opened, followed by the muffled sound of voices. The strip of sunlight on the floor had shifted by the time Teodor spoke again.

“You’re not taking a job today?”

“Not yet.” Leon glanced toward the window. “The ones on the board aren’t worth it. Better to find a clear beast nest. Farm some cores and sell them.”

Rask pushed himself to his feet and looked outside.

“Day’s moving. Let’s go.”

Leon stood as well, rolling his shoulders before heading toward the door.

“We’re heading out. I’ll stop by again this evening.”

“Be careful,” Teodor said. “Stick to the safer jobs.”

Leon lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

Then he and Rask left the room.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Teodor remained seated on the edge of the bed for a moment before leaning back against the wall. Outside, the city had begun to stir in earnest.

Footsteps passed below.

Voices carried faintly through the walls. The day moved on.

***

The small wardrobe door creaked as Zio opened it.

He pulled out the only linen shirt left inside, then glanced toward the corner of the room. A pile of dirty clothes had gathered there, crumpled and damp. Some had already been dropped into a wooden bucket leaning against the wall.

Zio bent down and lifted it.

The bucket was heavier than it looked, but his grip settled around the handle without hesitation. With his other arm, he gathered the remaining clothes and held them against his side before stepping toward the door.

The handle turned.

A low creak came from the hinges as he stepped into the hallway.

Zio went down the stairs at an unhurried pace, the bucket hanging steadily from one hand. The inn’s main room was already stirring.

Glasses clinked as they were set on tables. Chairs scraped softly against the floor. Quiet conversation drifted between a few guests who had come down for breakfast.

Warm air carried the scent of soup and half-burned firewood.

“Where are you going this early with that?” Thomas asked from behind the counter.

Zio paused, his hand still wrapped around the bucket’s handle.

“To the river.”

Thomas blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Seriously? To wash clothes?”

Zio gave a single nod.

Thomas leaned one shoulder against a wooden pillar. “There’s a washhouse in the eastern district. People pay a little, leave their things, and wait. Easier than walking all the way out of the city.”

Zio said nothing at first.

His gaze shifted toward the door. Beyond it, the street was already beginning to fill with people.

“I want to see the river while I walk,” he said.

Thomas studied him for a moment before letting out a quiet breath.

“You know where it is?”

“I saw it on the map.”

Thomas opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he had been about to say. He rubbed his chin instead.

“Go through the small gate in the southeast. The eastern gate gets crowded sometimes.”

Zio nodded once. “Thank you.”

Thomas chuckled. “Thank you for what?”

“For the map you gave me.” Zio adjusted his grip on the bucket. “It was helpful.”

A faint, satisfied smile touched Thomas’s mouth.

“Yeah. This city likes making people walk in circles. At least you won’t get lost.”

“I’ll be back before evening.”

“No need to report like a soldier,” Thomas replied. “Just go. Ravenhold isn’t going anywhere.”

Zio nodded once.

He stepped toward the door.

When it opened, the morning air slipped inside, cooler against the warmth of the inn. Zio walked out with the bucket in hand, joining the steady movement of the waking city.

***

Ravenhold’s streets were already busy before the sun had fully risen.

Zio walked on, keeping his pace steady as the morning crowd thickened around him. Stall tents were being opened one by one. Adventurers headed toward the guild, while couriers hurried past with messages held close to their chests.

A child ran by with a loaf of warm bread tucked under one arm. His foot caught against the edge of a stone, sending him stumbling toward a passerby before his mother caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

At a street corner, two old men sat on a wooden bench, talking quietly as they watched the morning traffic pass.

Zio continued past a row of shops just opening their doors. Wooden shutters scraped against stone. Fabric awnings were pulled into place, and small bells chimed as the first customers stepped inside.

A few people glanced at the bucket in his hand.

None looked for long.

Zio kept walking, his attention moving from one street to the next. Thomas had been right. Ravenhold’s main roads branched in different directions, winding past warehouses, inns, woodworking shops, and narrow alleys that disappeared between the buildings.

The farther he went southeast, the more the streets began to thin.

The buildings stood farther apart. The smell of fish grew stronger, carried from the warehouses closer to the outskirts.

Ahead, the lower gate came into view.

It was smaller than the main gate, with only two guards standing beside it. One rested against the wall while the other watched a passing cart.

The cart rolled toward the gate, its wooden wheels creaking beneath a stack of crates bound for the market.

Zio stepped aside to let it pass.

One of the guards glanced at the bucket in his hand.

His eyes moved on.

Zio walked through the gate without slowing.

Beyond the walls, the city did not fall silent. Its noise simply thinned behind him, fading beneath the open air.

Zio drew in a slow breath.

The road ahead was little more than packed dirt, bordered by scattered trees and patches of grass. Somewhere beyond them, water moved over stone.

He stopped for half a moment.

The sound was faint, but unmistakable.

Zio continued forward.

With every step, the walls behind him seemed farther away, while the sound of running water grew clearer.

***

The dirt path sloped gently downward, winding past low shrubs and sparsely scattered trees.

By the time Zio arrived, the river was already loud enough to hear clearly. Water rushed over the stones, catching the pale morning light between the branches. Large rocks broke the surface in places, while wild grass grew thick along the banks, its blades still wet with dew.

Only a few people were around.

An old man sat near the water with a simple wooden fishing rod in hand. His hat shaded part of his face as he remained still, his line disappearing beneath the current.

The old man glanced toward Zio. His eyes settled briefly on the bucket.

“Hey. If you’re going to wash, don’t do it over here. You’ll scare the fish away.”

Zio nodded and continued along the riverbank.

He followed the water south until the rocks formed a shallow hollow away from the fishing spot.

Zio set the bucket down on a flat stone and placed the bundle of clothes beside it. He removed his long-sleeved shirt and trousers, leaving only his shorts.

When he dipped a hand into the river, the cold water tightened his fingers.

He filled the bucket halfway, then crouched beside it.

The first piece of cloth was heavy with dampness. He submerged it, worked the water through the fabric, then rubbed it against itself with the coarse soap he had brought. A thin layer of lather gathered between his fingers.

The sound of fabric rubbing together mixed with the constant rush of the river.

He wrung the cloth out and set it aside.

Then he reached for the next piece.

One after another, the clothes went into the water. He scrubbed them, wrung them out, and placed them on the rocks beside him. When the water in the bucket turned cloudy, he carried it a short distance from the riverbank and emptied it before filling it again.

By the time he finished, the morning had brightened.

Zio spread several pieces of clothing across smooth rocks, leaving them where the breeze could reach them. The rest he folded loosely and set beside the bucket, clean though still damp.

He sat down on a nearby stone. His wet hands rested on his knees.

A small bird skimmed low over the river before disappearing among the trees on the opposite bank. Zio watched the ripples fade behind it, then lifted his eyes toward the water.

Clouds drifted across its surface in broken reflections.

The breeze moved over his bare skin, carrying the cool scent of the river and the faint dampness of early spring.

Zio remained there for a while.