The road from Northshire to Goldshire felt friendlier today, like a path I already knew by heart. I took Farley’s advice and spent a moment at the Lion’s Pride — a warm bowl and a corner to mend my gear — before diving back into the work that keeps this countryside from unravelling. By midday I’d delivered letters between worried lovers and stubborn farmhands, soothed a quarrel with a simple potion, and fetched water for Gerard; small tasks, but each one unspools a little more peace for these folks.
Kobolds proved to be the noisier problem. I followed the tunnels and tracked down the candles and the gold-toothed thief that had swiped an old widow’s necklace. There’s a particular satisfaction in nudging a problem closed — returning collars, pies, and notes to relieved hands — and watching faces relax when a worry is lifted. Somewhere between the mines and the farmsteads I leveled again; the work sharpens me, and my crossbow feels all the truer for it.
By dusk I’d taken a gryphon into Stormwind and ran a few errands for the dwarves: packages picked up and promises made. I accepted a delivery north and another to Argus, maps and routes already unfolding in my head. Night finds me cleaning my bolt heads and checking strings, glad of the simple rhythm of travel and the knowledge that, for now, these roads I walk are a little safer because I walked them.