Del woke early, overheated, and tangled in a mess of limbs, sheets, and a face full of warm ginger fur. Misty had, as always, claimed her territory in the most inconvenient position—pressed against his cheek, her body radiating heat like a living stove. He smacked his lips, grimacing at the unpleasant tackiness in his mouth as he pried his tongue from the roof of it.

‘I miss toothpaste,’ he thought sourly. The simple pleasure of a fresh, minty mouth. ‘It’s the little things that matter most.’

Carefully, he worked himself free, easing out from between Elara’s sleep-heavy form, the twisted sheets, and the dead weight of the cat sprawled across him. The cooler air beyond the bed was a welcome relief against his overheated skin. He padded over to the chest of drawers, pouring himself a glass of water from the jug resting there. The liquid was slightly stale from sitting overnight, but it was cool and wet, and that was good enough.

Still groggy, he pulled on his trousers, determined to maintain what little dignity he could muster before heading out into the corridor towards the shared washroom. The timber floor was smooth and slightly cool beneath his bare feet, the scent of aged wood and old hearth smoke lingering in the air.

A few minutes later, as he towelled his damp hair dry, he made his way back into the room. The scent of cooking had begun to drift up from downstairs—rich, savoury, thick with the promise of frying bacon and fresh bread. Elara was awake now, sitting up in bed, her fingers idly teasing Misty’s belly as the cat stretched luxuriously beneath her touch, purring in unrestrained delight.

"Morning," Del muttered, voice rough with sleep as he yanked his shirt over his head. He did his best not to dwell too long on the view Elara unintentionally provided—her golden hair tousled from sleep, the naked curve of her breasts catching the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window.

‘So shoot me for being human,’ he grumbled inwardly. ‘Del, you are too old for this shit.’

"I’m heading down to see what’s for breakfast," he said, keeping his tone casual. "Join me when you’re finished playing?"

Elara smirked but nodded, beginning the process of detangling her hand from Misty’s playful swipes as Del left the room.

Downstairs, the inn had settled into the gentle hum of early morning activity. The few other overnight guests had already claimed tables, quietly eating or murmuring in low conversation. The clatter of plates and the occasional laugh punctuated the warmth of the tavern’s interior. Donna was already busy, moving between tables with the effortless efficiency of someone who had been running an inn longer than some people had been alive.

She caught sight of him and tipped her chin towards an empty table. "Breakfast for just you, or are another one and the little bit joining?" she asked, amusement flickering in her eyes.

Del gave a half-smile. "They’ll be down soon," he confirmed, stretching slightly. "Whatever you’ve got cooking smells divine."

It wasn’t long before Elara joined him, and soon enough, steaming plates were placed before them—crispy, well-cooked bacon, soft scrambled eggs, and thick slices of fresh bread slathered with butter. Misty, perched on the chair beside them, was happily working her way through a plate of fatty meat scraps set aside just for her.

Between mouthfuls, Del and Elara discussed their plans for the day. Supplies came first—both of them were in dire need of proper clothes and equipment. After that, they’d make their way to the elder’s house and see what Paolo had to say about Lucas, the goblins, and whatever mess they had found themselves tangled in.

The market was already lively by the time they arrived. Stalls lined the main street, filled with an array of goods—from fresh produce and woven baskets to rough-spun clothing and hand-forged tools. The scent of spices, leather, and warm bread mingled with the crisp morning air, and the low murmur of vendors calling out their wares filled the space with a steady rhythm of commerce.

Their first stop was a clothing stall, where Del quickly picked out a new set of heavy-duty trousers, sturdy shirts, and a few undergarments to replace his increasingly battered attire. Elara, still dressed in the oversized shirt she had borrowed from him when they first met, finally had the chance to find a proper outfit. She wasted no time selecting a practical tunic, a warm cloak, and, most importantly, a good pair of leather boots to replace her bare feet.

The costs were surprisingly low—another advantage of rural life. The supply of copper and silver they carried was more than enough to cover their needs.

From there, they found a weapons stall, where they purchased a second bow and a quiver of arrows. Elara opted to keep the smaller goblin bow, leaving Del to take the larger one for himself.

At the leatherworkers, they acquired a toughened hide jerkin for Elara, while Del handed over the one he had taken from the bandits for repairs. As part of the deal, they sold off the various weapons and trinkets looted from those unfortunate enough to have chosen them as prey.

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A flicker of guilt stirred in the back of Del’s mind—brief, fleeting. But he shoved it aside with a pragmatic shrug. If it hadn’t been them, it would have been the other way around, and he doubted their attackers would have given the same passing thought to sentimentality.

As they made their way back through the market, Del spotted Jake loading a cart with fresh meat from the butcher. He raised a hand in greeting, and Jake waved back before hefting another bundle onto the cart.

"Looks like some kind of strange not-deer is on the menu tonight," Del murmured to Elara, eyeing the unfamiliar cuts of meat being loaded.

She gave a small laugh, shaking her head. "I’m sure it’ll taste fine. Better than dried rations, at least."

With their purchases secured and a clearer plan for the day, they made their way towards the elder’s house, the weight of supplies on their shoulders and the ever-present sense that, for all the quiet routine of the morning, trouble still lingered just beneath the surface.

‘You really need to learn more about the local plant and animal life,’ Del chided himself as they made their way back towards the inn. The thought lingered, solidifying into a quiet resolution—he’d start using Elara’s knowledge to broaden his own. She had spent her life surrounded by nature, after all. It was time to start paying more attention.

Once inside, they wasted no time changing into fresh clothes. The relief was immediate—gone were the stiff, bloodstained, and travel-worn garments, replaced with clean, well-fitted clothing that didn’t carry the weight of the past days’ grime. The fabric felt lighter, easier against his skin, free from the cloying scent of sweat and dried blood.

Back downstairs, Del caught Donna on her way between tables. "Are these salvageable, or should I just toss them?" he asked, nodding towards the bundle of old clothing he had left near the kitchen entrance.

She let out a hearty laugh, already shaking her head. "I’ll see them right," she promised. "Might take some work, but I’ll have them back in your room before supper."

"Appreciate it," Del said, grateful he wouldn’t have to worry about replacing absolutely everything. With that sorted, he and Elara stepped out into the morning sun, making their way across the town square.

Behind the bustling market, standing with an air of quiet authority, was the elder’s house—an imposing structure of solid timber and weathered stone. It was larger than the surrounding buildings, but not ostentatious. There was no unnecessary ornamentation, no attempt to impress. Instead, it exuded the same quiet practicality that defined much of Stonebridge—a building designed to serve its purpose rather than to impress visitors.

The door stood open, and inside, the reception area was a well-ordered collection of desks, shelves stacked with ledgers, and the steady scratch of quills on parchment. Several functionaries were already at work, their heads bent over documents, murmuring quietly as they sorted through the business of the day.

One of them, a young woman with keen eyes and ink-stained fingers, looked up with a polite smile. "Can I help you?"

"We’re here to see Paolo," Del said.

She gave a small nod, setting aside her quill before disappearing into an adjoining room. "Wait here a moment," she called over her shoulder.

Del took the opportunity to glance around, absorbing the details of the space. The place smelled of old parchment, beeswax polish, and faintly of the ink drying on freshly written documents. It was orderly, efficient—clearly the nerve centre of the village’s affairs.

The wait wasn’t long. A door opened, and a portly man emerged, stepping forward with an air of authority tempered by approachability. He was about Del’s age, his neatly cropped hair framed by thick mutton chops. A gold chain rested against his shirt, standing in contrast to the rolled-up sleeves and the dark smudges of ink on his fingers—a man equally comfortable behind a desk as he was out in the village managing affairs directly.

He offered a firm handshake, his smile one of polite curiosity. "Welcome to Stonebridge. Always nice to meet new faces." He studied them briefly, one brow lifting in mild amusement. "Visiting our village or are you planning to stay a while?"

"Not moving in—no plans to, anyway," Del replied with a faint smirk. "But we do have some things we need to discuss with you."

Paolo’s brow furrowed slightly before clearing, understanding settling into his expression. "Ah. You must be the ones who brought news about Lucas."

At their nods, he gestured for them to follow, leading them deeper into the building and into a modest but well-kept office. The space was warm and functional—bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers and documents bound in well-worn leather. A large, heavy desk sat to one side, cluttered but organised, while a collection of comfortable chairs surrounded a central table, clearly meant for discussions rather than mere formality.

Paolo motioned to the chairs. "Please, sit."

Once they were settled, Del exhaled slightly. "Yes, that was us," he confirmed. "I came across him after an ambush in the high woods. Some bandits attacked me, and when I fought them off, I found they’d already killed him." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "He was dead when I got there."

Paolo nodded solemnly. "You still brought us word, and that was good of you. Bandits and robbers have been getting bolder lately." He leaned back slightly, expression darkening. "The towns around Stenfield have reinforced their watch, but the ones who got away seem to have made their way into rural areas like ours."

Del exchanged a glance with Elara before tilting his head. "Merl mentioned there have been more local problems?"

Paolo let out a slow breath, nodding. "Times are troubling," he admitted. "People disappearing, seemingly at random. The whole village is on edge."

Elara leaned forward slightly, her brows drawing together. "Do you have any idea who—or what—is behind it?"

Paolo’s expression darkened, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest of his chair. "I wish I did," he said grimly. "There are rumours, plenty of them. But nothing solid—no real truth we can figure out."

A quiet tension settled over the room, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air. Whatever was happening in Stonebridge, it was more than just bad luck or scattered misfortunes. And from the look in Paolo’s eyes, Del knew they weren’t the only ones who felt it.