While lending my sword—and admittedly, my curiosity—to the guild’s efforts in the Golden Pursuit, I found myself in a bit of an unexpected moment. We were scouting the edge of some ruins, chasing the usual whispers of coin and chaos, when he appeared. Just appeared, as he does.

Cadwell. Sprung from nowhere, humming tunelessly and juggling what looked like cheese wheels.

He said, “Meet my faithful steed, Honor. He’s always getting into my foodstuffs. Has the appetite of a mammoth and the cunning of a fox, that one!” Then, without further context or explanation, he gave a little bow, handed me a glowing biscuit of some kind, and vanished into thin air with a sound like a kettle boiling over.

And there he was. Little Honor.

A Guar. No bigger than a bedroll. Gleaming golden scales with faint stripes like ripples in sand, and perched on his head—Cadwell’s helmet. Or rather, a tiny version of it. Complete with a bent feather sticking out the top and a faint shimmer of enchantment. He looked up at me with big, curious eyes and let out a soft hrrm, like a question and a sneeze had a baby.

I don’t know what Cadwell was thinking, or if he was thinking at all. But Little Honor followed me after that. Right up to camp, into the tent, and even tried to sit in my lap when I was polishing my boots. He sniffs everything, has tried to eat my journal twice, and has already stolen two apples and half of Isobel’s travel bread. She says she doesn’t mind, but I caught her smiling when he curled up near the fire.

I think I’ll keep him with me through Solstice. At least until Cadwell reappears with another riddle or sends him off chasing floating cheese.

He’s too adorable to send away. And besides, every adventurer needs a little Honor.