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Onward to Adventure

A Desrind & Sylvie Tale 🪓🍄

Desrind knew they were lost.

He had known they were lost for approximately three hours.

The first indication had been the river. The second had been the same river. The third—and perhaps most damning—had been the same crooked tree with the same little wooden sign nailed to its trunk, which they had now passed four times.

Briarwood — 8 Miles

The arrow pointed east.

Sylvie pointed west.

“That way!”

Desrind stopped. The enormous barbarian stood in the middle of the road with his axe resting across one shoulder, staring at the tiny mushroom-capped woman beside him.

“Sylvie.”

“Yes?”

“We have been that way.”

“No, we haven’t.”

“We have.”

“When?”

“Twice.”

Sylvie planted her hands on her hips.

Desrind pointed toward the tree. Someone had carved a crude picture of a mushroom into the bark beneath the sign.

Sylvie stared at it.

“Oh.”

“You did that.”

“I like that tree.”

“I know.”

She looked down the western road, then east, then west again. Her lips pursed.

“Okay. East!”

Desrind grunted and began walking.

Sylvie hurried after him, practically skipping to keep pace with his enormous strides. “We probably would have found it eventually.”

“No.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because you’re navigating.”

Sylvie gasped.

Desrind’s mouth twitched.

She narrowed her eyes. “Keep walking, axe boy.”

They did not reach Briarwood.

They found goblins.

Six of them.

The creatures had apparently established a toll booth across the road consisting of a fallen tree, several sharpened sticks, and a poorly painted sign:

PAY 5 GOLD OR DIE

Desrind stared at the sign.

The goblins stared at Desrind.

Sylvie stared at the goblins.

One goblin slowly erased the 5 and wrote 2.

Desrind raised an eyebrow.

The goblin erased the 2.

1 GOLD

Desrind folded his arms.

The goblin dropped the chalk.

“…You may pass.”

Sylvie leaned around Desrind. “Do you guys know the way to Briarwood?”

All six goblins pointed backward.

Desrind slowly turned his head toward Sylvie.

She smiled.

“Interesting.”

Two hours later, Sylvie found a shortcut.

Desrind hated shortcuts.

He especially hated shortcuts announced with the phrase, “I have an idea!”

Nevertheless, twenty minutes later, he was waist-deep in a swamp.

Sylvie sat comfortably on his shoulders.

“Left!”

Desrind trudged left.

“No, wait. Right!”

He stopped.

“Definitely right.”

Desrind turned.

A frog croaked from a nearby log.

Sylvie gasped. “Oh!”

“No.”

“But look at him!”

“No.”

“He’s so little!”

“We are not stopping.”

“Desrind!”

“No more mushrooms. No more frogs. No more interesting rocks.”

Sylvie leaned over his head until her face appeared upside down in front of his. “What about interesting flowers?”

“No.”

“Interesting bugs?”

“No.”

“Interesting—”

Something enormous moved beneath the water.

Desrind froze.

Sylvie froze.

Two yellow eyes emerged from the reeds.

A monstrous swamp serpent rose from the muck, opening a mouth large enough to swallow Sylvie whole.

There was a moment of silence.

Sylvie pointed.

“Interesting snake?”

Desrind grabbed his axe.

They left the swamp covered in mud.

Desrind carried a new snakeskin over one shoulder.

Sylvie carried three mushrooms, a frog she had named Bernard, and absolutely no remorse.

“I told you it was a shortcut.”

“We nearly died.”

“But did we?”

“The snake tried to eat you.”

“It didn’t.”

“Because I killed it.”

“Exactly! Teamwork.”

Desrind stopped.

Sylvie bumped directly into his back.

“What?”

He pointed ahead.

There, nestled between rolling green hills, was a village. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Lanterns glowed along wooden buildings. Somewhere in the distance, music drifted from what appeared to be a tavern.

Sylvie’s eyes widened.

“We made it!”

Desrind studied the sign beside the road.

WELCOME TO OAKENFORD

His eyes closed.

“Sylvie.”

“Yes?”

“This isn’t Briarwood.”

A pause.

“…No?”

“No.”

Sylvie examined the sign, then the village, then Desrind.

“But they have a tavern.”

Desrind looked toward it.

He could smell roasted meat.

His expression changed immediately.

Sylvie grinned. “And tomorrow,” she announced, taking his enormous hand in both of hers, “we’ll find Briarwood!”

Desrind looked down at her.

He should have been annoyed. He should have taken the map away from her hours ago. He should have reminded her that their supplies were dwindling, their boots were soaked, and somewhere several miles behind them lay the shattered remains of a goblin toll booth.

Instead, he squeezed her hand.

“Fine.”

Sylvie beamed.

“Onward to adventure!”

She marched confidently toward the village.

Desrind followed.

Ten paces later, he stopped.

“Sylvie.”

She turned. “What?”

“The tavern is that way.”

She looked behind herself.

“Oh.”

Desrind sighed.

Then he smiled.

Because somewhere along the road, he’d realized something.

Sylvie was absolutely terrible at finding where they were going.

But somehow, she had always been remarkably good at leading him exactly where he needed to be.

Onward to adventure. 🪓🍄