The conversation drifted toward more general topics, the weight of earlier discussions settling into the background. Merl leaned back in his chair, the tension in his posture easing as he spoke of life in Stonebridge. He had arrived as a journeyman smith, seeking respite from the relentless pace of city life and the hardships of constant travel. The village had suited him well—quieter, steadier, without the endless demands and urgency of the forge where he had trained.

"When I got here, the place had been without a smith for over a year," he said, absentmindedly rolling his tankard between calloused fingers. "The old master passed, and no one had come to take his place. Paolo’s father—he was the elder at the time—offered me the use of the forge, said I could set up proper if I wanted."

He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Wasn’t much at first, mind you. The place was near falling in on itself. Roof leaked something fierce, and the hearth had more cracks than solid stone. Tools rusting where they stood, an anvil that looked like it hadn’t been struck in aeons. Took me the better part of a month just to make it fit for work."

Merl took a sip of ale, the memory settling over him with a faint nostalgia. "I’ll never forget the first proper job I did here—old farmer by the name of Rurik came in, looking sceptical as anything. Said he needed a plough blade reforged, but he wasn’t sure I’d be up to scratch. I didn’t blame him; losing their last smith had left folk cautious, and I was still half a stranger."

He smirked slightly, shaking his head. "Well, I worked through the night on that blade. Got it done just as dawn was breaking. Rurik came back expecting to find me still hammering away, but there it was—clean, sharp, stronger than before. He tested the edge with his thumb, gave me a grunt, then walked off without a word. Next day, half the village turned up needing something fixed."

He let out a contented sigh. "Been here almost twenty years now. Steady work with little fuss or stress, just the way I like it."

Elara smiled slightly, clearly understanding the appeal of a life built on quiet routine. She shared stories of her own upbringing in her Hometree, painting vivid pictures of the sprawling, elevated dwellings that wove through the ancient boughs. She spoke of the decision that had led her to leave—a yearning to learn, to seek out a master who could teach her more. This naturally led to a dramatic retelling of her capture by goblins and the unlikely rescue that had followed.

Jake, who had returned to tending the bar, was evidently still listening. At the mention of goblins, he let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he wiped down a mug. "Those green vermin are a plague on civilised folk," he muttered, his voice edged with distaste. His grip on the mug tightened slightly, knuckles whitening as though the mere thought of them stirred some deep-seated resentment. "Normally don’t see ‘em this far down from the High Hills, though."

Merl frowned, setting his tankard down with a quiet thunk. "Aye, and let’s hope it stays that way. Wasn’t too many years back we had a real problem with ‘em sneaking into outlying farms. They’d steal livestock, ruin stores, set fires for no reason but their own twisted amusement." He exhaled sharply. "We ran ‘em off eventually, but it took work. If they’re back, even just a few, it’s still too many."

Elara shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers brushing idly over the rim of her mug. "It was only a small group," she admitted, though her voice carried less certainty than before. "A scouting or hunting party, maybe? They might have strayed further than usual."

Jake didn’t look convinced. "Still not good," Merl said, brow furrowing deeper. "We’ll need to send word up the river to the lumber camp. Let the boys know to keep an eye out."

A pause hung between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Del exchanged a glance with Elara, recognising the subtle stiffness in her posture, the way her fingers tightened just slightly around her drink. He knew neither of them wanted to dwell on the subject, but something about this discussion felt… unfinished.

Goblins weren’t just a nuisance. They were opportunists, emboldened by weakness, drawn to places where they sensed vulnerability.

And something had made them bold enough to wander this far from their usual haunts.

At another question from Merl, Del shifted to his own story. He spoke of his homeland—his island home of Starnd—and the insular life he had known there.

"I never learned much about the mainland," he admitted, taking a sip of ale. "Everything back home is self-contained, its own little world. I think I’m the first from my community to travel to Gondowa in a long time." He gave a small, wry smile. "It’s been very educational so far."

Merl let out a short chuckle. "Aye, I’d imagine so. This land teaches plenty—whether you want it to or not."

The conversation was interrupted as the door to the kitchen swung open, and a round-faced woman with rosy cheeks and deep red hair strode into the room. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun, and she wore a neat apron, a large ladle in hand like a sceptre of authority.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Merl tipped his chin toward her. "Looks like Donna’s finished dinner."

Jake, upon spotting her, wasted no time in hurrying over to give her a quick peck on the cheek. Without a word, he ducked through the doorway she had emerged from and returned moments later, arms laden with steaming platters. The rich aroma of hearty meat stew filled the air, mingling with the warm scent of freshly baked bread.

He set bowls before them—thick, earthenware dishes filled to the brim with tender chunks of meat, root vegetables softened to perfection, and a broth so deep and fragrant it carried the very essence of slow-cooked goodness. The bread, golden-crusted and still warm from the oven, sat beside each serving, ready to soak up every last drop.

Del took the first spoonful, letting the flavours settle on his tongue. Rich, savoury meat, the slight sweetness of carrots, the depth of well-seasoned stock—it was as good as he had heard.

‘The stories we heard are true, then,’ he thought as he savoured another bite.

A soft pressure against his leg was followed by a familiar mental nudge, nudging the edge of his thoughts.

‘I guess you want yours too, then?’ Del mused.

A ripple of contented anticipation flowed back through their link.

‘Smells good’

With a chuckle, he called Jake over. "Can I get a small bowl for my little terror, please?" He gestured to the purring ball of fluff currently rubbing insistently against his boot.

Jake barked a laugh and reached down, scratching Misty lightly behind the ears. "Where’d you come from, then?" he asked as she arched into his touch. "Didn’t see you earlier."

"She always manages to magically appear when it’s food time," Del quipped.

With a final chuckle, Jake headed off, soon returning with two bowls—one filled with generous scraps of meat from the stew, the other with fresh water.

Misty gave a soft, appreciative mew before tucking in, tail flicking in pure contentment.

After dinner, Merl leaned back in his chair, let out a satisfied belch, and stretched his arms with a lazy groan. "Right, I’m off," he declared, pushing himself to his feet. "See you both tomorrow."

He gave a brief nod before making his way toward the door, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floorboards. As he stepped outside, the cool night air rushed in briefly before the door swung shut behind him.

Del and Elara remained a little longer, finishing the last of their drinks before rising to thank Jake for his hospitality. The innkeeper waved them off with a casual smile, already busy wiping down the bar and preparing for the night’s slower hours.

Upstairs, their room welcomed them with a blanket of warmth, the heat from the hearth below seeping up through the floorboards. The walls, made of sturdy timber, carried the faint, lingering scent of spiced stew and old woodsmoke, blending with the clean crispness of fresh linen. A wall-mounted lantern cast a soft, flickering glow, its flame dancing with every slight draft, painting long shadows across the modest furnishings.

The room was simple but well-kept, speaking of practical comfort rather than luxury. Against one wall stood a sturdy chest of drawers, its dark wood polished smooth from years of use, its brass handles dulled by time. Opposite, a large copper bath sat ready, its curved edges catching the lantern light in a dull sheen, the surface showing faint water stains from past use. Beside it, a chamber pot was discreetly tucked away, a necessary reminder of village life.

But it was the bed that caught Del’s attention.

Large, inviting, made up with crisp sheets freshly turned down, but still—only one.

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should get another room," he mused, eyeing the bed as though it might somehow resolve the situation on its own.

Elara looked at him, puzzled. "What?" She tilted her head, golden strands of hair catching the lantern’s glow. "We’ve shared the same sleep space since you rescued me—how is this any different?"

Before he could think of an answer, she shrugged off her clothes without hesitation, slipping under the covers with ease. Her movements were unbothered, familiar, practical, as though this was nothing unusual—just another night, another resting place. "Besides," she added, nestling deeper into the warmth, "this is far more comfortable than a pile of damp leaves in a cave."

Del hesitated. He couldn’t exactly argue with that logic.

With a mental sigh, he peeled off his outer layers, the fabric rough beneath his fingers as he pulled away the weight of the day. The air was cooler against his skin as he stripped down to his boxers, but the warmth of the bed was already calling.

He climbed in beside her, keeping a deliberate space between them, the scent of her subtle but present, something light and natural—a mix of forest air and faint herbal notes, reminders of the past weeks spent together.

‘Just go to sleep, Del,’ he told himself firmly. ‘It doesn’t matter that there’s a beautiful, naked woman sharing the bed with you. Just. Go. To. Sleep.’

Elara shifted slightly beside him, her body settling deeper into the mattress. "Del," she murmured, her voice softer in the stillness of the room. "Thank you for rescuing me."

Before he could respond, her breathing evened out, gentle and steady, slipping into the quiet rhythm of sleep.

Just as Del began to relax, a sudden thump landed beside him, the unexpected weight pressing against his ribs. A second later, a familiar kneading motion began—a set of paws working his side with calculated precision before curling into a warm ball. Misty, having claimed her rightful place in the bed.

A quiet, contented purr vibrated against his ribs.

Del sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The weight of exhaustion settled over him like a heavy, familiar cloak. The stress of the past days, the unrelenting tension that had clung to his shoulders, began to melt into the warmth of the bed, the steadiness of Elara’s breathing, the rhythmic hum of Misty’s purrs.

Somewhere below, the fire in the hearth crackled softly, its embers still glowing faintly, sending the occasional snap of settling wood into the quiet of the night. The scent of burned oak and the distant murmur of voices from the inn’s lower floor felt distant now, fading into the edges of his mind.

With one last deep breath, he let his eyes drift shut, sinking into the comfort of the moment, and finally—into sleep.