By the time Havyn reached the fields, the sun had climbed well above the treetops. The orchard, once well-kept, now looked partially abandoned. Rows of twisted apple trees stood in muddy ground, leaves still heavy with raindrops. A broken wooden fence lined the perimeter, sections collapsed from rot or storm damage.
Harwick awaited him there, along with two other villagers—an older man and a stocky woman, both wearing worn cloaks and grim expressions. Piles of lumber sat nearby, presumably for patching the fence.
Harwick motioned Havyn over. "You can handle a hammer and nails, right?"
Havyn suppressed a smirk. "I'll manage."
"Good. Marta and Edd here will help you haul the planks. Try not to slip in the mud and break a leg." His gaze lingered on Havyn's torn shirt and bruised arms. "You sure you're fit for this?"
Havyn rolled a stiff shoulder. "I've worked through worse."
"Your choice." Harwick shrugged. "Just get it done. We need those fences stable before any more livestock wander off."
Marta, the stocky woman, sized Havyn up. "You're not from around here. We don't see many big folk with claws."
Havyn froze, glancing down at his hands. Though he was mostly unshifted, his nails were still thicker and sharper than a normal human's, a lingering effect of repeated transformations. "Just an unfortunate side effect," he said lightly.
She grunted, apparently deciding it wasn't worth pressing further. Edd, the older man, barely acknowledged Havyn, focusing instead on lugging a pair of planks through the mud with a grimace.
With the minimal formalities out of the way, they set to work. Havyn hammered the replacement boards into position while Marta held them steady, and Edd secured the posts. Harwick oversaw, occasionally taking a turn with the hammer or saw.
It was grueling labor, especially with Havyn's ribs protesting every time he lifted his arms. By midday, sweat slicked his brow, and the lingering clouds made the air humid. Still, the fence slowly took shape, each battered plank fitted into place. A simple, honest job—miles away from the nightmares of underground dungeons or robed sorceresses.
Village Gossip
During a break, when they paused for water and a scrap of bread, Havyn forced a casual tone. "So… about these vanishings. Has anyone seen signs of who might be behind them?"
Marta's jaw tightened. "You must be new indeed to ask that so plainly."
Edd scowled but answered anyway. "No real signs. A torn cloak here, a few footprints there. Some say they saw shapes in the night—figures in black. Others suspect a pack of wolves."
Harwick, leaning on a section of fence, shot Havyn a warning glance. "You ask a lot of questions for a drifter."
Havyn shrugged. "I'm just trying to understand why everyone's on edge. If there's a real threat, I'd rather know what we're up against."
Marta gave him a considering look. "You talk like you might help. We've had caravans vanish, yes, but no one's come back with any proof of… robed cultists or beasts. Hard to fight what you can't see."
Edd spat into the mud. "I heard the old barony to the south used to harbor a coven. Evil witches worshipping some ancient demon. My grandfather told tales. Maybe their spawn's back for blood."
Harwick's gaze flicked to Havyn. "The baron's men can't be bothered with us anymore. We're left to handle our own troubles."
Havyn nodded slowly. "Fair enough. If I learn anything, I'll let you know. My friend and I aren't looking to cause harm—just to get by."
Edd grunted, apparently satisfied for the moment. "Suit yourself. Now let's finish these last few boards so I can rest my back."
They returned to work, conversation dwindling. But Havyn's mind churned with the new tidbits: rumors of an old coven, missing caravans, no direct proof. It all fit the pattern of a secretive group like the Daughters. But he needed more than rumor. He needed to be sure—and, crucially, figure out how to put a permanent end to them.
A Sour Note
By late afternoon, they completed the fence repairs. Harwick surveyed the result with a nod of approval. "Decent job. Maybe you drifters aren't so useless after all."
Havyn wiped sweat from his brow, ignoring the ache in his ribs. "Glad I could help."
"You should see if Eve needs more from you," Harwick added, voice still guarded. "But if you want a meal, head to the big house near the well. Olan's wife sometimes sells hot stew. You have coin?"
Havyn fished in his pouch, extracting a pitiful handful of copper bits. "We'll manage. Thanks."
"Right." Harwick looked away, a distant scowl crossing his features. "You have your place in the workshop. Don't stray at night. Last thing we need is more disappearances."
Havyn watched as Harwick and the other two drifted back toward the village center, presumably to stow tools and check on chores. Exhaustion weighed on him. He realized he hadn't eaten a proper meal in days—just scraps of jerky and mushrooms.
Selene's probably in the same boat. She'd been laboring over potions or chores for Eve, no doubt. A surge of protectiveness mingled with curiosity about how her day had gone. With a final glance at the newly mended fence, he turned toward the north lane, determined to meet her at the herbalist's cottage.
Rain threatened again, the wind picking up as it hissed through the orchard behind him. The day had turned a dull, oppressive gray. Havyn picked up his pace, half worried that something might have befallen Selene while he was away. This village felt safe on the surface, but a creeping dread told him that shadows could lurk anywhere.
As he passed by the well, a prickling sensation danced along the back of his neck—the same feeling he'd had the previous night, when he'd glimpsed that hooded figure. He glanced around, scanning the muddy lanes and shuttered windows. No one was there. But the sense of being watched wouldn't leave him.
He forced himself onward, turning down the lane toward Eve's place. The herbalist's sign swayed in the rising breeze. The door was shut tight. Havyn knocked gently, calling Selene's name. For a few seconds, nothing. Then footsteps approached, and Eve swung the door open.
She looked tired, her hair more disheveled than before. "Oh, it's you. Good timing. She's about done here."
Havyn stepped inside, scanning the modest space. Selene sat at the wooden table, carefully labeling jars of ground herbs. She glanced up, relief flickering in her eyes when she saw him. "How was fence duty?"
"Challenging," he said, arching a brow at the half-filled bowls and mortar sets around her. "You?"
Selene let out a weary laugh. "I never realized how many leaves and roots can look identical but do drastically different things. Eve kept me on my toes."
Eve snorted, crossing her arms. "Your friend has better eyesight than half my apprentices ever did. She found the differences quickly enough, but she's still got shaky hands." The older woman's expression softened. "Though I suspect that's more from fatigue than clumsiness."
Selene rubbed her eyes. "I'm fine."
Havyn slid an arm around her shoulders in a companionable way, ignoring Eve's watchful gaze. "Can she leave for the day?"
Eve nodded. "She's done enough. I'll need more help tomorrow, assuming you two are still around." A subtle pause. "You are staying, right?"
Selene hesitated. "For a bit, yes. We owe you for the salves and bandages."
The herbalist waved a hand, turning away as if embarrassed by gratitude. "Get out of here before the rain picks up again. I have my own dinner to tend to."
They left the cottage together, stepping into the gusty twilight. The second wave of storm clouds still loomed, but the rain held off for the moment. Havyn guided Selene toward the village square, pointing to the building Harwick had mentioned. Through a grimy window, they saw lamplight and shapes of people inside.
Inside, the homey scents of stew and bread welcomed them, a modest hearth flickering with warm flames. A woman—short, middle-aged, with flour-dusted hands—looked up from tending a pot. She gave them a wary once-over, but didn't turn them away.
"Evening," she said. "Olan's out in the fields. You want supper? It's a copper for a bowl. Another copper if you want extra bread."
Havyn produced the coins, feeling the pinch in his meager stash. Selene said nothing, gaze wandering across the modest room. A few villagers—likely farmhands—hunched at a rough wooden table, spooning stew in silence. They barely spared a glance for the newcomers.
Soon, Havyn and Selene found a seat by the wall, each with a steaming bowl of vegetable stew, hearty with bits of salted fish. The bread was tough but filling, especially with a drizzle of something akin to honey. For the first time in days, they tasted a real meal.
Selene closed her eyes, savoring each bite. "Gods, this is good."
Havyn nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Better than jerky and mushrooms."
They ate in companionable silence, the warmth of the food chasing away some of the day's fatigue. Through the window, dusk settled over Cinderbrook. Lanterns bobbed along the lanes as people finished their chores or retreated indoors.
A flicker of normalcy, so different from the dire battles and frantic escapes that had defined their lives for too long. For a fleeting moment, Havyn let himself pretend they were just travelers passing through a quaint village, not two fugitives hunted by a dark cult.
But the illusions never lasted. He caught Selene's eyes, shadowed with the same unspoken fear. They both knew it was only a matter of time before the Daughters' shadow fell across their path again, or before local suspicions flared into something dangerous.
Still, as they finished their stew, a fragile, defiant sense of hope stirred in Havyn's chest. They had allies now—or at least, people who might become allies if given time. They had a roof, meager though it was. They had each other.
For the night, that would be enough.