A figure stepped out from behind the farmhouse—a broad man in a wide-brimmed hat, his stance wary, one hand resting loosely on a pitchfork. His grip tightened when he spotted them.

  “Strangers, eh?” His voice carried across the field, steady but edged with caution.

  Elara raised both hands, palms out in a non-threatening gesture. “We mean no harm. Just travellers passing through.”

  He watched them for a long moment, then eased the pitchfork down a notch. “Travellers, is it? Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Come closer, and we’ll see what you’re about.”

  They approached the gate, halting politely as the man strode forward with a measured gait.

  “Name’s Joel,” he said, eyes flicking from one face to the next before settling on Elara. “Don’t get many of your sort down this way.”

  Del raised an eyebrow. “That a problem?”

  Joel shrugged. “Not at all. Just an observation. Haven’t seen an elf since I left Hybern to take up farming here a couple of years back.”

  Behind them, Naomi hesitated, then edged into view from where she’d been half-hidden.

  Joel’s gaze shifted. He took in the young girl’s guarded posture, and some of the steel in his stance gave way. His hand still rested on the pitchfork, but the edge in his voice softened.

  “Got the full crew, then. Don’t worry, lass—I don’t bite,” he said, gentler now.

  Naomi gave a small nod, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her cloak.

  Misty sauntered forward, tail twitching as she sniffed the air. She cast Del a familiar, unimpressed glance.

  ‘This one’s harmless—mostly.’

  Del smiled faintly. “She’s a good reader of people.” He gestured to Misty’s relaxed posture with a slight incline of his head. “We’re just passing through. I’m Del. That’s Elara, Naomi... and Misty. Though she’s more the boss of us than we are of her.”

  Joel chuckled at that, the last of his tension loosening. He let the pitchfork rest against the fence.

  “Well, Del, you’ve picked a quiet stretch to wander. Not much out here but soil and sweat.” Joel waved them through the gate. “Come on. My wife’ll have my head if I leave company standing at the fence.”

  They passed beneath the creaking gatepost and followed Joel up the dirt path, boots crunching over scattered grit and stray chaff. The scent of turned earth lingered in the still air, and nearby a weathered rain barrel dripped steadily, its rim slick with moss. A pair of old leather boots sat forgotten beneath a bench beside the porch, scuffed and misshapen from long use.

  As they neared the door, a small figure peered out from behind the frame—a boy, perhaps five, with wide eyes and a stillness that felt deliberate rather than shy. He didn’t flinch or hide, just watched them with the kind of intense focus that made Del slow his own movements without realising. A thin line of flour dust smudged the child’s cheek, likely a handprint, and a thumb was tucked into one side of his mouth, though he didn’t suck on it—just held it there, like a comfort piece kept at the ready.

  A tall woman appeared behind him, wiping her hands on the front of a well-worn apron. Her sleeves were rolled, and flour dusted the backs of her arms. Her dark hair had been braided neatly, though several strands had escaped and clung to her temples with the sweat of work. Her eyes swept over the group—measured, not hostile.

  “This here’s Mara, my wife,” Joel said, his tone softening as he stepped aside to let her come forward. “And that’s Finn, our lad. Don’t mind him—he’s shy around new faces.”

  Del nodded to both of them, and beside him, Naomi gave a small, hesitant smile toward the boy. Finn didn’t move, didn’t blink, but something in his posture shifted slightly—an almost imperceptible lean closer to his mother.

  Mara gave them all a long look, then inclined her head. “Strangers on the road, is it? There’s a tale in that, I’m sure.” Her gaze settled on the bundle of dinkus meat slung over Del’s shoulder. “And it seems you’ve brought supper with you.”

  Elara returned the smile. “If you’ve a place for us to rest a while, we’d be glad to share.”

  Joel gestured to the porch. “Set your packs over there. Dog’ll keep an eye on ’em.” He nodded toward the terrier now sitting attentively by the door, her ears alert but her tail giving a single, considered thump. “Name’s Wren. She’s more bark than bite—unless you’re a skep.”

  Skep? What the hell’s a bloody skep? Del wondered, eyeing the dog with mild interest. Wren returned the look, then let out a huff and flopped back down, apparently satisfied that the visitors weren’t about to start any trouble.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Inside, the farmhouse kitchen radiated homeliness. The air was warm with the scent of yeast and woodsmoke, the rich aroma of baking bread mingling with something heartier—onions, root vegetables, and what might have been leek or sage. A heavy wooden table dominated the centre of the room, its surface worn to a satiny sheen in places, scuffed and gouged in others. A stack of old linen cloths sat at one end beside a simple ceramic basin, half-filled with water darkened by soil from recently washed carrots.

  Bundles of herbs—some fresh, some crisped with age—hung from the beams above, and Del spotted an iron pot already simmering on the range, the occasional bubble rising to the surface with a thick plop. Mara moved between stove and counter with practiced economy, already slicing the first of the dinkus haunches into neat cuts. The creature’s darker meat had been stripped of sinew and gristle with clean knife work, and the remaining bones rested in a battered metal pan by the window, likely destined for stock. She dropped a few chunks into the pot and stirred, testing the seasoning with the edge of a wooden spoon.

  Finn hovered nearby, close enough to be underfoot but not so near as to touch. He didn’t speak, just shifted his weight from foot to foot, his fingers twitching lightly at his sides. His eyes tracked everything—Mara’s movements, the guests settling their packs, Naomi trailing behind Elara, Misty stretching her back with a lazy, full-bodied motion before hopping lightly onto the hearth.

  Misty glanced toward Finn, ears tilting. The boy’s gaze fixed on her for a long, still moment, and after what felt like quiet internal deliberation, he took a cautious step forward.

  Del held his breath, just slightly.

  Finn reached out, hesitating just at the edge of her fur. Misty watched him, unmoving.

  Then, gently—almost imperceptibly—she leaned her head forward, pressing her cheek into his palm. A purr rumbled up from her chest, soft but steady. Finn didn’t smile, but his fingers spread just a little wider, resting there for a second longer than necessary before he stepped back again, still silent.

  Naomi gave him a shy smile from across the room, not saying a word. Finn blinked at her, then lowered his head and moved back to Mara’s side.

  Del caught Misty’s eye. She didn’t say anything, but her tail gave a slow, deliberate swish, as if to say, Some of them are worth the effort.

  They took their seats around the table as the pot simmered on. Joel leaned back in his chair, the lines in his brow easing for the first time since they'd met.

  “Don’t mean to pry,” he said, “but you lot seem a bit more... seasoned than your average travellers. What brings you through these parts?”

  “We’re heading to Hybern,” Elara answered, her tone even. “Didn’t realise there was a farm this far off the road.”

  Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Most don’t. That’s part of why we chose it. Fewer visitors, fewer questions. Not everyone’s built for the market towns or the city noise. Me and Mara wanted something simpler. And Finn...” He cast a brief glance toward his son. “Well, crowds don’t sit right with him.”

  Del gave a nod, his eyes drifting briefly to the window, where the fields beyond were now tipping into shadow. “It’s peaceful enough out here.” He paused. “But you mentioned pests?”

  At the word, Misty’s ears flicked sharply. She rose and padded over to the open windowsill; tail held aloft. With a graceful hop, she landed on the ledge and peered out into the dusk. ‘Here we go’, she muttered, nose twitching as she sniffed the breeze. Her posture was alert now, not tense, but wary—like she’d heard that word before in less-than-pleasant contexts.

  Joel let out a slow breath and reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Skeps,” he said at last. “Big, rat-shaped bastards. Thick bodies, long claws. Mean. They’ve been raiding the barn for weeks now. Wren gives it her best, but she’s too small to do more than scare off one or two at a time. I’ve seen their tracks, scat, gnawed boards... but the nest?” He shook his head. “If it’s nearby, they’ve hidden it well.”

  Mara turned from the stove, stirring the pot with deliberate movements. Her brow had creased at the mention of the creatures. “They’ve done more than steal grain,” she said. “Scared off half our hens. One of them nearly took Finn’s hand when he went to check for eggs. If I hadn’t heard the commotion and come running—”

  Her voice caught there, not breaking, but harder now. Protective.

  Finn remained silent at her side, his eyes lowered. He hadn’t reacted visibly to the story, but his fingers were working restlessly to disgorge some treasure stuck in his left nostril.

  Elara’s expression darkened. “That’s more than just vermin. Have you tried traps?”

  “Tried ’em,” Joel said, spreading his hands in frustration. “Poison too. Even smoked the barn out once. Damned things didn’t even flinch. Smart, fast, and there’s more than a few. I reckon if I’d had the coin for a proper dog or some hired help, I might’ve gotten ahead of it. But—” He shrugged. “You make do, or you don’t.”

  There was a pause, the kind that falls when a truth has been laid bare.

  Across the table, Naomi looked over at Del. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “We could help,” she said, almost shyly. Her eyes didn’t leave his.

  Joel hesitated. His eyes scanned the three of them—Elara, Del, Naomi—and lingered a second longer on Misty, who had not moved from the window. “I don’t want to burden you,” he said. “You’re just passing through.”

  Del met his gaze. “It’s not a burden. We’ve handled worse. And it sounds like these skeps are more than you ought to be dealing with alone.”

  Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, some of the tension ebbing from his shoulders. “Ain’t that the truth of it,” he muttered.

  Dinner was a thick, rich dinkus stew. Mara proved to be an excellent cook, and conversation flowed more easily as the warmth of the food took hold. Finn, after a few encouraging words from his mother, edged closer to Naomi and eventually began whispering shy questions about Misty, who watched him from her perch with slow-blinking eyes.

  “We’ve a spare room in the attic you can use for the night,” Joel said once the dishes had been cleared. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you where the trouble’s been.”

  Del agreed without hesitation, and the plan was settled. As the evening wound down, the children were put to bed and the adults moved to the fire. The talk turned to Stonebridge—the roads leading out of it, the latest gossip—and the story of how Joel and Mara had claimed the land, built their home, and coaxed the first harvests from the stubborn earth.

  Misty caught Del’s eye, and a silent exchange passed between them. She stretched once, flexed her claws, and leapt from the windowsill in a single fluid motion, vanishing through the open frame into the darkness beyond.