Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

Seren folded her arms across her chest and gave Mannis Snowshale a disapproving look. He was as incorrigible as his grandson.

The old halfling burst into a fit of cackling, laughing so hard that he was forced to dab his eyes with his sleeve. When he finished, his eyes still glistened. He looked up at Seren seriously.

“Did my grandson really do what you said?” he asked hoarsely. “Was he as brave as you said?”

“My words don’t do it justice,” she said. “Pherris named the new ship after him.”

“The Lunatic? ” Mannis asked hopefully.

“The Reckless, ” she said with a laugh.

“Eh, close enough,” he said. “Thank you, Miss Morisse. I proclaim my grandson’s quest a success.” The old halfling rubbed his nose with the same sleeve, sniffling a little. “I think I need some time alone to write all of this down.”

“Of course,” she said softly.

Seren stepped out of the tent and back into Snowshale village. The sun shone brightly over the plains. The people went about their lives happily, with no worries for the future. She could hear some of them already trading their favorite bits of Gerith’s story.

“How did it go, Seren?” Tristam asked.

The young artificer wore a new coat, slick black with red trim. His sandy hair was tied back in a ponytail and he carried a new sword at his hip. The ring on his hand bore the Cannith house seal.

He smiled at her hopefully. Behind Tristam, in the plains beyond the village, the airship’s green elemental ring hovered peacefully.

“They liked it,” Seren said.

Tristam’s grin broadened. He reached out and clasped her hand in his.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered.