Vess was fairly sure that pigs were insane. She was covered in mud from head to foot and couldn’t remember a time when she’d been more uncomfortable. Worse, with her tent and bedroll sold last month to cheat starvation, she’d only get muddier when she stopped to sleep. If it was possible for her to be covered in any more muck, with this incessant downpour.
It was getting dark; Vess didn’t want to wander into any more muddy ditches. She’d had enough of them when able to see where she was going. The cultivated farmland around her, however, offered no shelter. Not even a barn presented itself to her through the twilit, rain-curtained gloom. Vess would have slept out in the open anyway, but there would have been some comfort in passing up a different choice.
She sighed, extricated her boots from the thick morass of mud that was supposed to be a road, and walked a short distance into a cornfield, her boots heavy with clinging muck. It was autumn, the cornstalks grown taller than she, so thankfully she’d have some scant shelter from the storm – though the music of the downpour rattling the stiff leaves of the cornstalks was somewhat distracting. She’d have to stay up if she wanted to keep watch.
Hang watch, she thought crossly, flattening a small space for herself under the corn. The ground was nearly as muddy as the road. Vess adjusted her thick wool cloak, which was soaked through and only managed to make her even colder and itch at the same time. Halfway through twitching the hood underneath her cheek, Vess fell asleep.

“What ho? A mud maiden, I do declare.”
Vess opened her eyes. Sunlight slanted down to touch the cornstalks, a slight wind the only sign of last night’s rain. None of the sunlight touched her, as an elongated shadow topped with a waving feather was stretched across her face. Vess sat up in sudden panic, cursing her negligence. How had she not heard him coming through the cornstalks?
“No need for distress,” the man said.
Vess scowled at him. He was tall and lanky, with a bony face and prominent Adam’s apple.  His travel stained clothing – which looked far cleaner and more comfortable than her own – was all a dark forest green. Dark red hair peeked out from under a soft hat that housed the white feather.
The man’s eyes widened as he looked at her more closely. “No mud maiden are you,” he said, his voice a great deal weaker than it had been before. “No, you are the beauty of the sea foam eyes.” Vess thought this one of the more ridiculous things she’d ever heard. “With ebony hair as waved as the ocean’s travels…ocean’s travels? Is that a bit much, do you think?” The man frowned, forgetting Vess as he continued to mutter to himself. “I can’t use ‘wave’ again, the juxtaposition would be too awkward…”
Vess tried to wipe some of the still-damp mud from her face and arms and just managed to smear it around. She stood and started walking in the opposite direction the man had come from, not caring where the road actually was.
“No…hey! Wait!” The man started after her. Vess heard the soft twang of mandolin strings. She froze.
“Look, I’m sorry – I’m a bard, you see, and looking for inspiration is one of the things I do to survive. I usually just manage to drive people away. A shepherd, if you will.” He grinned as he caught up to her.
Vess wasn’t listening. She pointed to the mandolin the man was carrying in his left hand. It had been hidden underneath his cloak before.
“What? This?” The man smiled fondly. “This is my mandolin, the accompaniment to my inner muse. The outlet of my— what?” Vess had pointed at the instrument, and then herself. “You want to- to play it?” He frowned in actual displeasure. “You’re all over with mud.”
Vess grabbed the water flask hanging from the belt of her dress and quickly washed the mud from her hands. The man wrinkled his face against flying drops of water as she flicked them to get them dry, then pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. Vess dried her hands and gave him a pleading look.
“I- I suppose, just for a moment…” Hesitantly, he gave her the mandolin.
Vess took it, closing her eyes at the soft echo that the slight movement made. Cradling it against her, she began to pluck at the strings. The music was too high strung and urgent for the softer tunes the lute handled so well, so she sped up her song, creating a rambling, cheerful tune that reflected the rustling music of the cornstalks. Cheerful and yet slightly wistful. She followed it to its end and then simply held the instrument, her eyes still closed.
When she opened them the man was gawking at her again. Vess blushed, and handed the mandolin back.
“That was…that was…ah – I’m a wordsmith and I can’t describe it.” The man shook his head. He took the mandolin, examining it carefully for any traces of mud. Then he looked up. “My name is Liniere. Liniere Palisban. Leir, some call me. And you? I- I mean,” he stuttered. “You are…you’re mute, aren’t you.” Vess nodded. “Well, I heard more of you in your music than I would have otherwise.” He pulled the strap of the mandolin over his head and adjusted it so it was hanging from one shoulder.
“Can you write?” he asked suddenly. He blushed. “I mean, you could use a stalk to- to write your name in the mud.”
Vess shook her head.
“Oh,” Leir said. Then he was silent. Vess noticed he avoided looking at her, and decided it was a welcome change. “Well…” he stopped. Vess had held out her hand. He looked at her uncertainly, and then shook it. “It was nice—Hey!” Vess had started walking again. “Wait a minute, please!” He hurried to catch up with her, getting whacked in the head by a stalk when he turned to look at her instead of where he was going.
“Just hold on,” he said, glaring at the corn around them. Vess stopped, tapping her shoe. He looked back at her and wilted. “I…ah, where are you going, exactly? The road is back there. Meandering, true, and more like a river of mud than an actual road, but it will take you somewhere. To Gena, for example. The next town to the east.” He pointed south in demonstration. “Here, there’s just miles of blasted corn. It’s easy to get lost when everything looks the same. In fact…the road was over there, wasn’t it?”
Vess gave a silent sigh and pointed out the right direction.
“Thanks,” Leir said. He hesitated, then looked at her, and his words didn’t seem to be so automatic – they were stumbling and awkward, which meant he was actually speaking to her. “I could…I mean, you look like— like you need a— like you need to rest. I’d be happy to escort you to the next inn. You can never be too careful of footpads and bandits.” Vess thought this was a weak argument, as they were in the middle of a cornfield. “I could even pay for you to stay the night, if they like my music.”
Vess raised an eyebrow at him. Leir winced. “I always underestimate the amount of scorn a woman can convey with her expression…”
Vess shook her head. Why? she mouthed.
He perked up a bit. “Oh. Why? Ah…you just…you just look like you- not that you look terrible, or anything, quite the—” He sighed. “I think I’d better stop before I make a bigger fool of myself. Usually someone interrupts me before I get going.” His lips twitched upwards. Then he gave her an anxious glance, as though afraid he’d offended her.
Vess couldn’t help it. She gave a short, silent laugh, her shoulders shaking.
Leir grinned. “Well, milady, if you can bear my prattle, I would be honored if you would accompany me to Gena.”
Vess smiled back. Thank you, she mouthed, turning around to walk back the way they had come, her eyes scanning the rows of corn.
“On the contrary – I must thank you. Your music was beautiful, and now I have the pleasure of your company. Just…” he switched back to his awkward self. “Just punch me if you need me to shut up, all right? I do tend to babble…”

Go to Farcry I:ii