When dusk stained the valley copper, the gatekeeper of the dwarf town of Rockrun narrowed his eyes and watched the shadow slowly making its way along the mountain road in the distance.
It was something he couldn't quite put a name to. It looked like a food stall, or perhaps a small house ripped free of its foundation, swaying crookedly down the gravel road. A three-headed ghost hound pulled it from the front, its three heads transparent as smoke. Its six paws touched the ground without kicking up a speck of dust.
The gatekeeper rubbed his eyes. He couldn't see the wagon's outline clearly. It was like looking through a layer of water, its edges constantly trembling. But he could definitely see the figure driving it—a fellow in a voluminous cloak, with two furry tails poking out from beneath the hem and swaying lazily with the wagon's rocking.
"He's back again." The gatekeeper muttered under his breath, then turned toward town and shouted, "Elder! That cat is back!"
The cat merchant loosened the reins, and Lolo, the three-headed ghost hound, found a shady corner and lay down on her own. Her three transparent heads rested on top of one another like a cloud of mist half-scattered by the wind. Her six eyes were half-lidded, as if she was already used to waiting. He jumped down from the wagon, his feet landing almost soundlessly, and his two tails swished behind him as though he were stretching after a nap.
He removed his hood. A face covered in black fur emerged, with pointed ears and emerald eyes shining in the sunset like two freshly polished gems. He smiled at the gatekeeper, showing the tips of his sharp teeth.
"Long time no see, Kuhl. How's your knee? You still have any of the ointment I left you last time?"
Kuhl the gatekeeper snorted, though he could no longer suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Used it all up ages ago. You only leave me three days' worth every time. You're just as stingy as your supplies."
"Three days' worth is exactly right." The cat merchant tilted his head, his tone perfectly serious. "That ointment contains stoneback lizard spinal oil. It spoils after seven days and can actually harm the joints. I don't run a losing business."
As he spoke, he began lowering the wagon's tailgate with practiced ease. The interior was far larger than it looked from outside. Wooden racks stood in layer upon layer, packed with bottles and jars—some glowing faintly, some giving off wisps of smoke, and in one jar, something seemed to be breathing slowly.
Kuhl glanced inside, then quickly looked away. He did this every time—curious, but afraid to look too closely.
"Elder Gran is at the forge," Kuhl said. "He knew you were coming. He had that batch of glowstone prepared yesterday."
"Oh?" The cat merchant's ears shot up, and his entire air changed. His lazy gaze instantly sharpened, while his two tails trembled faintly despite himself. "What grade of glowstone?"
"How should I know?" Kuhl waved a hand. "Anyway, the elder said you'd be happy when you saw it."
The cat merchant was already heading into town, moving twice as fast as before. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back at Kuhl. "Keep an eye on the wagon for me. Don't let any children touch the green jar. Whatever's inside bites."
Kuhl glanced at the jar. The thing inside was looking back at him with a single eye.
"...What kind of freaky stuff do you bring here every time?"
The cat merchant had already gone far ahead, his two tails swaying back and forth in the twilight as if he were in an exceptionally good mood.
Rockrun wasn't large. The whole town was nestled in the folds of the valley, its buildings shaped in the dwarves' style—low, sturdy, and covered in dense patterns carved into their stone walls. Ore was set into the lamp posts along both sides of the streets, casting a warm orange glow. No fire, no oil—the ore itself burned through the geothermal heat remaining inside it.
As the cat merchant walked through the streets, dwarves called out to him now and then. A dwarf girl ran up and stuffed a piece of crisp, charred stone-slab cake into his hands.
"Mom says the cough medicine you gave her last time worked really well. This is for you."
He crouched to accept the cake, then took a solemn bite and chewed. His ears twitched. "Thank your mother for me. Tell her that if her cough still hasn't completely cleared up, she should soak a little iron moss in warm water before bed and hold it in her mouth until it slowly dissolves. Your town has iron moss everywhere. It won't cost her anything."
The girl nodded and ran off. The cat merchant stood and continued toward the forge. The stone-slab cake was hard and tough on the teeth, but it was warm.
As he chewed, his free hand unconsciously touched his chest. Beneath his cloak, resting against his skin, hung a small jewel. It had no luster, its color a dull gray, like a stone someone had forgotten.
But when his fingers touched it, they paused.
Only for a moment.
Then he lowered his hand and continued walking.
The forge stood at the very back of town, built against the mountainside. The sound of hammers striking ore reached him before he even drew near—dull and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of the mountain. A dwarf sat outside the entrance, his beard braided into three strands that hung to his waist, a steaming cup in his hands.
Dwarf elder Gran looked up when he saw the cat merchant, and a smile squeezed across his wrinkled face.
"You've gotten thinner."
"Your beard's gotten longer." The cat merchant sat down across from him, and his two tails automatically curled into a comfortable position. "Kuhl said you had glowstone ready?"
"What's the rush? Have a cup first." Gran pushed his own cup toward him.
The cat merchant lowered his head and sniffed. It was bitter tea brewed from mineral water, the kind dwarves drank to stay alert. He took a sip. The bitterness folded his ears back for a moment, but he swallowed it anyway.
Gran watched his expression and laughed. "Every time."
"It's bitter every time."
"Bitter things are good for you." Gran stood and headed into the forge. "Come on. I'll show you something good."
They entered the forge. Heat rushed over them, and dwarven smiths bustled everywhere. Gran led him past several rows of forges to a stone table at the very back. A bundle wrapped in rough cloth sat on the table. Gran pulled the cloth away.
The cat merchant's pupils contracted sharply.
It was a fist-sized chunk of ore, deep purple all the way through. Fine veins of light flowed slowly inside it, as though something alive had been sealed within.
"...Duskmark Glowstone." His voice dropped low, but something beneath his cloak began moving violently. All seven of his hidden tails burst free, joining the two on the outside. All nine stood straight up, their fur fluffed out. He himself froze for a moment, then hurriedly tried to stuff the extra tails back beneath his cloak. In his panic, two of them refused to go back in. "Gran, where did you dig this up? Glowstone of this grade has to come from at least three hundred feet underground, and it only crystallizes during the seven days after an eclipse—"
"See? I knew you'd react like that." Gran leaned against the stone table, folding his arms with a smug look on his face.
The cat merchant had already leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost touching the surface of the ore. Purple light reflected in his eyes, and his entire presence had become utterly different from before—focused, greedy, almost reverent. The extra tails quietly poked out again. He no longer had the attention to hide them.
"If this is ground into powder, then combined with moon moth scales and three drops of living spring water, it could be made into..." He suddenly stopped and looked up at Gran. "What do you want in exchange for it?"
Gran's expression changed, smugness giving way to something deeper. He was silent for a while.
"My granddaughter is sick."
The cat merchant's tails slowly lowered. The extra ones silently withdrew beneath his cloak, as though they had never appeared at all.
"What does she have?"
"Miner's lung." Gran's voice was calm, but his knuckles had gone white around the cup. "She spent too long in the mines. All of us dwarves have it to some degree, but she's too young. Her body can't withstand it. The town apothecary says there's nothing that can be done."
The cat merchant was quiet for a long while. The forge's hammers rang out one after another, filling the silence between them.
Then he reached out and covered the Duskmark Glowstone with the rough cloth again.
"Take me to see her."
Gran looked at him.
"We'll talk about the glowstone later." The cat merchant stood and brushed the dust from his cloak, his tone returning to its light, casual cadence. "The patient comes first. I'm a merchant, but my Master taught me this: medicinal ingredients are meant to be used, not ogled."
As he said it, the chest jewel pressed against him through the fabric.
As if someone had lightly tapped his heart.