The sky was a strawberry custard for the eyes, and the same color of the lips Roo yearned to kiss.
So what if the clouds behind him were dark and ominous? The wind gusty and chilled more than the perfect shot of vodka. The taste of rain electrified by lightning-to-be …
The street was as slim as his chances of success.
The cobble as bumpy as the journey ahead.
And this hill — a steep ascent into danger.
Roo even wore a jerkin woven of the finest dragon scale the son of an thee Exiled Exorcist of Most Notable Notoriety could hope to earn as one of the last members of the Vorshaya Clan.
Yup.
The Vorshaya clan. The once very badassed clan nearly wiped out to protect the greatest of the great Oak of Ages, a source of lightful magic and all from … something, something he’d hunt down and deal with.
Still, if his mother hadn’t been doing scholarly stuff far away at the time … if she hadn’t taken him with her …
Sigh.
He didn’t like to think about it much.
But his jerkin was pale blue as the sky … wasn’t today.
But it was one only worn by the best of the best True TriCross Knights. The big, white triple cross on his chest proclaimed it for all to see.
And a chance to pursue his dream to travel the world.
Slay monsters and save people, without any of that bounty hunter nonsense either.
Explores things, places that no one’s ever explored before, or okay, more like no one’s explored in living memory …
Or longer.
His jerkin, it even had the snazziest, puffiest shoulder guards of the palest, bluest cold silver, and they were so so perfectly round that a certain Motherly Scholar of Notable Nagging couldn’t hope to find a single fault with.
Just like the trusty pouch she made for him.
Shaped like a chubby triple cross, it was strapped to his waist and she magicked it to hold far more than you’d think it could and weigh so much less.
And just like his pouch, his slacks were as blue as the sky … wasn’t … today.
And … okay okay.
Anyways, his boots, and girls were obsessed with footwear or else the boot merchants wouldn’t cater to girls so utterly much, so anyways, his boots were a snazzy dark blue suede, like the coming night sky should be (but obviously won’t be. Pink sky meant severe storm coming.)
And with the coming storm …
There were even spooky tentacles of mist rising from the street, and that only happened when a serious storm was coming through.
But the not so distant rumbles … wasn’t only thunder.
So not much time left …
Good thing he wore a pair of sabers and a whip. One saber was of the bluest, sharpest cold silver, and the other, the blackest, sharpest cold steel, a stronger variant of cold iron, and the whip was made of pretty strong scarlet dragon scales, with the dragon magic woven strongly within the whip.
Good for offense and defense, against magical and nonmagical trouble too.
Sort of.
As long as he didn’t whip his eye out, like his mother often teased.
Even more important, his trusty arm guards were both cold silver and cold steel forged together. His left arm guard could extend into a shield. The right held a miniature bow with a string of holy blue magic so that, with the right motion flicking motion, it would fire bolts of holy blue light or unholy violet light.
Perfect for a True TriCross Knight.
His heart raced for the coming battle.
For the girl she would soon save.
Since nothing, absolutely nothing raced a heart like that elven fragrance, that whiff of the sweetest of peaches and cream only moments ago in this sweet sweltering hot afternoon.
No doubt about it.
The elf girl of his wildest dream come true. Right now. Here in the sexy flesh …
Amber Peaches: a lust dream come true.
No.
Thee one and best lust dream come true.
And the muddy road here was a nice reminder of years ago, back when Peaches and Row got to quipping each other and their quipping got so fierce it broke out into mud wrestling that if, today their reunion broke into mud wrestling, wow, that would be so sexy amazing …
Sniiiiiiiff.
It smelled … surprisingly fresh. Earthy forest mud, no, soil fresh.
The lampposts at the street corners … they were cold iron. The blackest of cold iron and forged like incredibly narrow, but tall, tulips of utter moonless midnight black.
Ah.
The oil lamps on top were those genie-style lamps to be wicked for the evening and wow, did they make the olive oil merchants rich.
But … it was the genies inside that kept the mud clean. Kept their lamps lit at night, but what those genies were …
Elf girls captured and lamped into genies due to the war between humans and demons, and well, elves were demons after all, and elves were the fully evolved form of fairies.
Even Peaches.
But the rumble of distant thunder that wasn’t thunder was almost louder than his own tummy rumbling for some peaches and cream pie, especially after that sexy whiff of long missed Peaches.
(All better to tease Peaches with too.)
((Sure, elves should thank the Light their natural body odor, after lots of sweaty work, was so fruity nice rather than so gut-wrenching stinky like humans, you know, like him, but either way, frequenting the public baths, a necessity, human or elf.))
(But not first date material.)
((Outside of certain smut rags kept hidden under the best lock and key in an undisclosed location.))
(((Very undisclosed.)))
Even now, the sun was still as blonde as Peaches’ waist-long hair, so no worries.
Last they ran into each other, back before war and puberty tore them apart, her hair was ass-long but also far far messier.
Just like back then, she styled the bangs to fountain off the sides of her head like gorgeously floppy wings, plus a floppy witch hat of rosy pink, that, of course, would hide her huuuuge but adorably pointy elf ears.
Ears so long and pointy, that resembled a cross between kitty and fawn ears, especially how they always were moving about so expressively.
So all in all, he wasn’t so distracted by her fine ass in a finer minidress, (and it was the ultra-short, ultra snug and stretchy kind that was like strawberry custard to the eyes, ears, and loins,) so no, in that critical moment, he didn’t walk into a wall.
No.
He walked into a door.
And as the Light would have it, there was plenty of wall he could of walked into.
The stone floors of the half-timber houses all along this block. All painted as colorfully as a field of wildflowers, but full of apples, apple blossoms, and even more apples.
This town was called Appleharth for a reason.
A very good reason.
And the door he did walk into was the usual solid sturdy oak, so no worries, it took the beating well.
Sure, there was … a crack down the middle of the door now.
Sure. From him.
But the door’s paint job was still spectacular.
No clumsy clod could hope to ruin those artful swathes of banana streaks full of cherry swirls. In fact, there wasn’t even a nick to show for his clumsy moment.
Other than a wide crack down the middle.
And by the hinges too.
Roo credited his snazzy cowl and mouth cloth for softening the blow. They were as pale blue as the sky … wasn’t … today.
But they were the color of Peaches’ bright blue eyes … well, last time they ran into each other years and years ago, over a decade ago. More than a decade ago. Wait. Same thing. Okay.
Good.
Dazed but not confused. A door would not stop him.
Or delay him.
Much.
Now one more chance or else … he’d regret it for the rest of his life.