# Chapter 2: The Price of Milk

Anaoy stirred the dying embers with a stick, pushing the last glowing coals together. The fire had served its purpose through the night, keeping the worst of the cold at bay. Dawn crept through the trees in pale fingers of light, and with it came the urgent reality of Haell's needs.

The baby had grown restless during the last few hours before sunrise. His small cries had become more frequent, more insistent. Anaoy had given him what water he could, but it wasn't enough. Haell needed proper nourishment, and soon.

"Easy now," Anaoy murmured, rewrapping the blankets around the infant. "We'll get you fed today. Promise."

He scattered the coals and kicked dirt over them, erasing any trace of their camp. Years of living on the margins had taught him to leave no sign of his passing. In these times, anyone could be an enemy.

The pendant from Haell's blankets caught the morning light as Anaoy secured it in his pocket. The metal felt warm against his fingers, though he couldn't tell if that was from his body heat or something else. The craftsmanship still amazed him – whoever had made it possessed skills far beyond any artisan he'd encountered in his travels.

Anaoy fashioned the sling again, positioning Haell against his chest. The baby settled against him with what seemed like relief. Perhaps the warmth and steady rhythm of Anaoy's heartbeat provided some comfort.

"Right then," he said, shouldering his pack. "Time to find you some milk."

The path through the wildlands proved more treacherous than he remembered. Roots snaked across the ground, hidden by fallen leaves. Branches hung low, forcing him to duck frequently to protect Haell. The morning mist clung to the hollows between trees, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that made every shadow suspect.

As they walked, Anaoy found himself talking to the baby, partly to calm his own nerves and partly because the silence felt oppressive. "You should know about this world you've been born into," he said, stepping carefully over a rotted log. "It's not what it used to be."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. Where to begin? The world had become so complicated, so dangerous. "Once, they say, humans and gods lived in harmony. That was before my time, before my father's time even. But the stories tell of a golden age when the divine blessed humanity with knowledge and power."

A bird called somewhere in the canopy above, its cry sharp and unfamiliar. Anaoy glanced up but saw nothing.

"Magic flows through all things," he continued, his voice low. "Every person born has what they call a Soul Core – a place inside where magical power can gather and grow. Most folks never develop theirs much. Takes special bloodlines, proper training, years of work. And even then, you might not amount to much."

Haell made a small sound, and Anaoy looked down to see the baby's eyes open, watching him with surprising alertness. "Paying attention, are you? Good. You'll need to understand this if you're going to survive."

The path began to slope downward, leading toward the valley where the herder's camp should be. Anaoy could smell woodsmoke on the breeze – a good sign.

"The magic system works in stages," he explained, using the familiar rhythm of explanation to keep his mind off their precarious situation. "First comes the Foundation Stage, where you learn to sense the power around you. Feel it flowing through the earth, the trees, everything alive. Most people who try magic never get past this point."

He shifted Haell's weight, making sure the sling remained secure. "After that comes Core Formation. That's when your Soul Core becomes something real, something you can actually use. People who reach this stage can call themselves proper mages, though they're still weak compared to what comes after."

The trees began to thin as they descended. Through the gaps, Anaoy could see smoke rising from what looked like a small settlement – temporary structures built around a central fire pit. The herders moved their camps seasonally, following the best grazing lands for their goats.

"Core Refinement follows," Anaoy continued, though he wondered why he bothered explaining something Haell couldn't possibly understand. Perhaps talking helped order his own thoughts. "That's where you master what you've built, make it stronger. Most mages spend years at this stage, if they reach it at all."

They emerged from the forest into a clearing where a dozen goats grazed peacefully. The animals looked up at their approach, regarding the strangers with mild curiosity before returning to their breakfast. Beyond them, Anaoy could see the camp proper – three small shelters constructed from woven branches and animal hides, arranged around a cooking fire.

A man emerged from the largest shelter, tall and weathered by years of outdoor living. He wore simple clothes of brown wool and leather, practical garments suited to his trade. His eyes, sharp and alert, fixed immediately on Anaoy and the bundle he carried.

"Morning, stranger," the herder called, his hand resting casually on the staff beside his shelter. "You're far from any proper road."

Anaoy raised his free hand in greeting, keeping his movements slow and non-threatening. "Morning. I'm hoping to trade for some goat's milk, if you can spare it."

The herder's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not many travelers this deep in the wildlands. Especially not carrying infants." He stepped closer, and Anaoy caught sight of callused hands that spoke of a lifetime's hard work. "Where are you headed?"

"North," Anaoy replied, which was true enough. "The baby needs feeding. I can pay."

"Can you now?" The herder looked him up and down, taking in his worn clothes and patched cloak. "What kind of payment?"

Anaoy reached into his pack, withdrawing a small cloth bundle. Inside were the only valuables he'd accumulated over months of scavenging – a pair of silver earrings set with small garnets. He'd found them in the ruins of a manor house outside Veridian, hidden in a jewelry box that had somehow survived the fire that claimed the rest of the building.

The herder examined the earrings carefully, holding them up to catch the morning light. "Nice work," he admitted. "Where did you find these?"

"Trade secret," Anaoy said.

The man laughed, a rough sound. "Fair enough. These'll buy you milk, certainly. But I'm curious about the child. Not often you see babes this young in the wildlands."

Anaoy had prepared for this question. "Orphaned. Parents died of fever in Veridian. I'm taking him to relatives in the north."

It wasn't entirely a lie, he told himself. Haell was certainly orphaned, and Anaoy did plan to take him north. The lack of relatives was a detail best left unmentioned.

The herder studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Children need families. Good of you to take responsibility." He pocketed the earrings. "I'm Khetros. Been herding in these lands for twenty years."

"Anaoy," he replied, though he wondered if giving his real name was wise.

Khetros gestured toward his fire. "Come. I'll milk one of the does. Fresh milk's what the baby needs."

As they walked toward the fire, Anaoy noticed details that spoke to Khetros's magical abilities. The man's staff was carved with intricate symbols that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. The goats moved in response to subtle hand gestures, clustering together or spreading out as directed. Most telling of all, Anaoy could sense something in the air around Khetros – a subtle presence that made his skin tingle.

"You're a mage," Anaoy observed.

Khetros shrugged. "Small talent. Enhancement Core, nothing fancy. Helps with the animals, makes the work easier." He selected a brown and white doe from the herd, leading her to a milking station beside his shelter. "Been at it since I was young. Never got past Core Refinement stage, mind you. Don't have the bloodline for more."

Anaoy watched as Khetros began milking, the doe standing calmly under his touch. The man's hands moved with practiced efficiency, but Anaoy could see the subtle glow that surrounded them – magical enhancement making the task easier on both herder and animal.

"Core Enhancement comes after Refinement," Khetros continued their earlier conversation, apparently having overheard more than he'd let on. "That's where you start integrating external energies into your Soul Core. Dangerous work. Plenty of mages have died trying to rush that stage."

Haell squirmed in his sling, making soft sounds of distress. The smell of fresh milk had caught his attention, and his tiny body knew what it needed.

"He's hungry," Khetros observed, filling a small wooden bowl with milk. "How long since he last ate?"

"Too long," Anaoy admitted. "I don't have proper supplies for caring for an infant."

Khetros frowned. "Goat's milk isn't ideal for babies this young. Too rich. You'll need to thin it with clean water." He produced a water skin and added small amounts to the bowl, testing the mixture with his finger. "This should work better."

The herder then disappeared into his shelter, returning with a small piece of clean cloth. "Use this as a makeshift nipple. Soak it in the milk, let him suck on it. Not perfect, but it'll keep him alive until you reach proper civilization."

Anaoy took the offered supplies gratefully. Khetros had asked for payment for the milk, but the advice and extra materials came freely – a kindness Anaoy hadn't expected.

He settled beside the fire and carefully removed Haell from the sling. The baby's cries had grown more urgent, his small face red with frustration. Anaoy soaked the cloth in the diluted milk and touched it to Haell's lips.

The response was immediate. Haell latched onto the makeshift nipple eagerly, sucking with surprising strength. Relief flooded through Anaoy as he watched the baby finally getting proper nourishment.

"Strong little thing," Khetros commented, settling across the fire from them. "Healthy grip, good appetite. He'll survive if you can keep him fed."

Anaoy nodded, concentrating on feeding Haell. The process was messier than he'd expected, with milk dripping down the baby's chin and onto his blankets. But Haell was clearly getting enough, his frantic sucking gradually becoming more relaxed.

"Where in the north are you headed?" Khetros asked, poking at the fire with a stick.

The question made Anaoy pause. He'd been vague about their destination, but Khetros seemed genuinely helpful. Perhaps honesty wouldn't hurt.

"The capital," he said finally. "Qwvins. Figure there'll be people there who can take proper care of a baby."

Khetros whistled low. "Long journey to Qwvins. Weeks of travel, even by the main roads. And those aren't safe these days. Bandits, refugees, worse things stirring in the dark places."

"What would you suggest?"

The herder was quiet for a moment, considering. "There's an orphanage in Qwvins, run by the Temple of Mercy. They take in children who've lost their families. Good people, from what I hear. If you're determined to make the journey, that's where you should take him."

Anaoy filed the information away. An orphanage sounded perfect – somewhere Haell could grow up safely, away from the dangers that seemed to follow Anaoy wherever he went.

Haell had finished eating and now lay quietly in Anaoy's arms, his small stomach finally full. The transformation was remarkable – from the fretful, crying infant to this peaceful child who gazed up at the sky with curious eyes.

"You mentioned bloodlines," Anaoy said, remembering Khetros's earlier comment. "How important are they really?"

Khetros leaned back, his expression growing thoughtful. "Everything and nothing, depending on how you look at it. A strong bloodline gives you potential – better Soul Core, natural talents, easier progression through the stages. But potential means nothing without work."

He gestured toward the goats grazing nearby. "My bloodline's common as dirt. Farm stock, generations of simple folk. But I've been cultivating my Core for thirty years, practicing every day. There's nobles with ancient bloodlines who couldn't match what I can do, because they never put in the effort."

Anaoy found the conversation fascinating, though he wondered why. He'd never shown much interest in magic before – his talents lay in more practical areas like scavenging and survival. But something about their current situation made him want to understand the forces that shaped their world.

"What about the higher stages?" he asked. "Soul Manifestation and beyond?"

Khetros's expression grew more serious. "Those are for the truly gifted or truly dedicated. Soul Manifestation is where your Core projects its power outward – visible auras, spiritual weapons, elemental projections. I've seen a fire mage whose flames took the shape of a great bird, flying around the battlefield. Magnificent and terrifying."

The herder's eyes grew distant. "Transcendence is beyond my understanding. They say those who reach it gain insight into the fundamental laws of reality. Can manipulate time, space, life itself. But there might be only a handful of such mages in all the kingdoms."

Haell made a small sound, and Anaoy looked down to see the baby watching him with those strangely alert eyes. For a moment, he thought he saw that faint glow again, but it was gone so quickly he couldn't be sure.

"Strong bloodlines often run in noble families," Khetros continued. "That's how they maintain their power – magical ability passed down through generations. The royal family of Pailiter, they say, can trace their lineage back to the angels themselves."

Angels. Anaoy remembered the pendant in his pocket, with its design of wings wrapped around a sphere. He'd assumed it was merely decorative, but perhaps there was more significance to it than he'd realized.

"Angels," he said carefully. "They were real?"

"Oh yes," Khetros nodded. "Before the gods turned against humanity, angels served as intermediaries. Some say they were the gods' children, others that they were a separate divine race altogether. They mated with humans sometimes, creating bloodlines of incredible power."

The herder's expression darkened. "But when the gods declared war on humanity, the angels had to choose sides. Most stayed loyal to their divine masters. Those who sided with humans... well, that didn't end well for anyone."

Anaoy absorbed this information, his mind racing. The pendant, Haell's unusual eyes, his miraculous survival in Alabaster – could there be a connection? He pushed the thought aside. Coincidences happened, and he had no proof of anything supernatural about the baby.

Still, he found his hand drifting to his pocket, touching the pendant through the fabric.

"The journey to Qwvins," he said, changing the subject. "You said it was dangerous. What's the safest route?"

Khetros stood and walked to his shelter, returning with a rough map drawn on a piece of treated hide. "Main road's fastest but most dangerous. Too many people use it – bandits know to watch for travelers there." He traced a path with his finger. "Better to take the river road east, then follow the Silverflow north to the capital. Longer, but safer. More settlements along the way where you can rest and resupply."

Anaoy studied the map, committing the route to memory. "How long?"

"Six weeks, maybe seven if you're traveling with a baby. Silverflow's good for trade, so there's regular traffic. You might find merchants willing to let you travel with their caravans for protection."

Six weeks. Anaoy felt daunted by the prospect, but what choice did he have? Haell needed care he couldn't provide, and Qwvins offered the best chance of finding the child a proper home.

"I'll need supplies," he said. "More milk, proper feeding equipment."

"There's a trading post two days east," Khetros said. "Brystown. Small place, but they'll have what you need. Tell them I sent you – Merta who runs the store owes me a favor."

The herder went back to his shelter and returned with a small wooden bottle stoppered with cork. "Goat's milk. Should last you until Brystown if you're careful with it. And take this too." He handed Anaoy a small clay feeding bottle, clearly handmade but functional. "My sister had children. She won't miss it."

Anaoy accepted the gifts with genuine gratitude. "I can't pay you for all this."

"Don't need payment for everything," Khetros said gruffly. "Child's got to eat. Besides, the earrings are worth more than just milk."

As the morning progressed toward midday, Anaoy prepared to leave. He'd fed Haell again, changed the baby's makeshift swaddling with clean cloth Khetros had provided, and secured their new supplies in his pack.

"One more thing," Khetros said as Anaoy prepared the sling. "When you get to Qwvins, be careful who you trust. It's a big city, full of people who'd take advantage of a man traveling alone with an infant. The Temple of Mercy is in the noble quarter – ask for directions when you get there, but don't tell everyone why you're looking for it."

Anaoy nodded, appreciating the advice. "Thank you. For everything."

Khetros waved dismissively. "Safe travels. And take care of that boy. He's got something special about him, mark my words."

Something special. If only the herder knew how right he might be. Anaoy secured Haell in the sling, making sure the baby was warm and comfortable for the journey ahead.

As they left the herder's camp and began walking east toward Brystown, Anaoy found himself thinking about their conversation. Magic, bloodlines, angels – concepts that had seemed distant and theoretical now felt suddenly relevant. Whatever Haell's origins, the boy would grow up in a world where such things mattered.

The path through the wildlands continued to challenge them. Roots and fallen branches created obstacles that Anaoy had to navigate carefully while protecting his precious cargo. But Haell seemed content now, occasionally making small sounds but no longer crying with hunger.

They walked through the afternoon, stopping periodically to rest and give Haell more milk. The makeshift feeding arrangement worked reasonably well, though Anaoy looked forward to reaching Brystown and acquiring proper supplies.

As evening approached, he began looking for a suitable place to make camp. The wildlands felt different during the day – still dangerous, but less oppressive than they had in the darkness. Birds called from the trees, and he occasionally glimpsed small animals moving through the underbrush.

They'd made good progress toward Brystown, and Anaoy felt optimistic about their prospects. Two days to the trading post, then the long journey north to Qwvins and the Temple of Mercy. It seemed achievable, with enough planning and caution.

Haell had been quiet for the last hour, sleeping peacefully against Anaoy's chest. The baby's trust touched something deep inside him – this small, helpless creature depending entirely on his protection and care. He'd never been responsible for another life before, not like this.

The weight of that responsibility settled on his shoulders as he found a sheltered spot among some large rocks where they could spend the night safely. Tomorrow they would continue toward Brystown, and from there begin the long journey to Qwvins.

As he prepared their evening camp, Anaoy made a silent promise to Haell. Whatever it took, however long the journey, he would see the boy safely to the capital and find him a proper home where he could grow up protected from the dangers of their harsh world.

The pendant in his pocket seemed to grow warm against his leg, but Anaoy attributed it to his imagination. They had a long road ahead, and he needed to stay focused on practical concerns rather than mystical possibilities.

He settled beside their small fire with Haell cradled in his arms, planning their route to the capital and the new life that awaited them there.