[VOLUME 1 - END]

Clop-clop-clop-clop, clop-clop-clop-clop-

“It seems that the innkeeper sold you out to both the bandits and Violeta. In exchange for money, of course, but also for a guarantee of his business’s safety.”

An explosion rings behind us. We’ve renovated the “Mertou Inn” into a burnt-out husk.

“Kameleons cannot fight - not even policemeleons - but the least I could do is help you escape.”

“Then, Bertie, we’re even more in your debt.” says Zorro.

Bertrand glances back. His eyes may not be on the road, but the horse's are, making the maneuver safer than it seems.

Bertrand bursts into reptilian laughter. “Ra-ra-ra, ra-ra-ra…

Zorro, I had the pleasure of watching you grow from a young lady to the brave warrior you are right now. And I have the happiness to see you’ve found Maru as a companion too.

That joy was always payment enough for what I’ve done, without a need for you to repay me in quest or coin. I gave you those emprientes freely.”

Clop-clop-clop-clop-

“Thank you, Bertrand.” I say, as Zorro looks away. “We may have misjudged you, and Guillaime too.”

“It’s true that we value debts and favors highly. But what I weigh the most in my own transactions are relationships; those are quite difficult to replace after all,” Bertrand nods.

“Yes… once broken, a relationship can be hard to regain.” Zorro mumbles. “Bertie, I’m sorry - I should have come to visit-”

“And so you shall,” Bertie says. “But I’m sure you and this young man already have plans. And this wagon has room only for two even if I wished to intrude.”

He halts the horse, steps out, and opens the barrel Violeta had pierced.

Water sloshes up to about the quarter line. A person’s daily water intake is supposed to be about two liters - if you don’t know how much that is, then visualize a tall cardboard carton of milk (except that the carton’s filled with water). That’s about the size.

The barrel we used to store water had about forty gallons; standard-sized. Most of it’s been drained, leaving us with just ten. Ten gallons is forty liters; forty liters for three people is six days of liquid.

Crossing the dry prairie will take more than three weeks.

Bertrand tugs on the horse’s bonds. “Tug the reins left, and the horse will go left… tug right, he will move right. Say ‘walk’ and the horse will move, and ‘whoa’ for the horse to stop. ‘Trot’ if the horse must go fast.”

“Walk, trot, whoa -” I say that last word almost as much to Bertrand as to the horse. “You’re already leaving?”

“I will walk to Kameleon Town” says Bertie. “I was fully in camouflage when I assisted you, so the Imperia will hardly recognize my scales.”

“Bertie… I don’t know when I’ll be back. But after I beat the Bandit Lord, I’ll visit you.” says Zorro. “I-I’ll treat you to the tavern! Or whatever they rebuild there…”

“Yes, please do.” he says, tipping his cap. “Even if Kameleon Town isn't as welcoming, you'll always have a home with me.”

***

Zorro leans against me as the small horse and cart takes on the wide dry plain. Each time our buggy jostles, she leans deeper into me, her hair brushing my arm.

This prairie’s filled with ‘grass’, but not the kind that grows tame on suburban lawns. The grass blades that thrive here are ones that have choked out their competitors, greedily drinking the hot sun and the doses of rain that come by.

If we were to wade through them, they’d go up to our knees; if we were to fall down and stay still for a thousand years, the plantlife would happily swallow us as compost.

So it feels like Zorro and I are in a rowboat in a vast grass sea. The patch of empty earth we come across, then, is like an island.

“Maru… can we stop here?”

“Whoa.” The horse keeps plodding along. “Whoa!” I affirm.

Zorro fixes her gaze on me. Seven years raised by kameleons; and twelve years a soldier those eyes have seen. However, right now they’re overwhelmed with affection.

“Maru…”

She raises her head.

This kind of whirlwind romance isn’t normal.

I’ve become attached to Zorro because she represents everything I want to be in this world - a dashing high-level hero who can kick bandit butt.

As for why Zorro’s so attached to me…

“Maru…”

“Yes, Zorro?”

“Violeta asked you to join her, and you didn’t leave me.”

“Yes, that’s right.” I say.

“Violeta and Giselle told you I had secrets, and you trusted me, Maru.”

“Yes, and why should I not?” I give her a look. “Trusting someone is easy. Doubting takes a conscious effort.”

“But it’s not just that. You’re good at combat strategy, and good with survival stuff too.” Zorro says, and she leans on her shoulder, rubbing her head. “I still think we’re two people who just happen to be traveling in the same direction, but Maru - I want to say that I really like you.”

The total number of Kameleons who had cared for her as family is perhaps just the one, Bertrand.

Up until now, the number of people who had cared for her as a friend was zero."

“I want to say that too,” I return.

“Your face… is really red.” Zorro says.

“I haven’t said anything like that before to anyone; and I still think it’s too early.”

“I want you to say it.” Zorro demands, and I shrug. She knows how I feel. But she pouts again, then makes a move.

Pshhh- Zorro lands on sand. She finds a cast-off stick, and draws in the ground.

One dashed horizontal line, a long diagonal, another straight line on top.

A Z, for Zorro.

But she doesn’t stop there - up, down, up, down appears an upper case “M’.

As for the final stroke - she draws a heart around them.

“This mark won’t last. As soon as the prairie gets rain - which it will, every few weeks - it’ll wash away.” Zorro says. “Places change, and people change too. But at least in this moment, I’d like to remember how I feel.”

“Zorro, don’t speak as if we’re parting ways-” I say, and reach out my hand. “The journey’s just begun.”

She takes it calmly, and we carry on.