The heavy oak door creaked as Aeron made his way into Deryn’s stable.

He’d been in here plenty of times before. Not that he’d use any of Deryn’s tools, or take his horse out for a ride by himself. Often he’d just come by and watch Deryn as he worked, staring curiously as he hammered away at some piece of metal or sharpen his hunting axes. Aeron would often sit quietly across from him, drawing little scientific doodles in the sawdust on the workbench, or watching the fibres of Deryn’s arms twist and flex as he heaved items here and there, his dark skin glistening with sweat. Sometimes he’d unpack his herbs here too after they went hunting together, holding them up against the stable’s windows to see how the light refracted through them, wondering if the light could somehow elucidate the herbs’ properties.

This time though, he was alone after leaving Deryn in a huff at the riverside. His mind still raced with thoughts of his attacker in the forest, which were freshly etched into his brain after Deryn held him down. Beams of sunlight filled the stuffy stable with a heavy warmth through the windows, slowly melting Aeron’s worry into guilt at lashing at out at Deryn. Aeron knew Deryn wasn’t trying to hurt him. He let out a sigh, knowing that he couldn’t take back what he said, and promised that he’d apologise to Deryn later.

The wooden stable floors and walls creaked under Aeron’s footsteps as they bathed in the sunlight. The room filled with a pungent smell as the hay and horse droppings soaked in the sun too. Deryn’s horse roused and flicked its ears as Aeron stepped further into the room, letting out a huff of air as he gently stroked its face in passing.

Aeron had come here to retrieve a hammer to ring the bell in the town’s square and a call a meeting to search for Ako. He turned to Deryn’s workbench, his gaze sliding across the many tools hanging on the wall above it. A fresh shadow hung where one of Deryn’s hunting axes usually rested. Aeron frowned. Deryn was a diligent and orderly man, he’d never leave dangerous tools just lying around. Perhaps he’d come back from the river another way and went out to catch some meat, but his horse was still here, so surely not, Aeron thought.

A heavy, solid hammer hung to the right of the wall, its head worn and pockmarked from years of use. Aeron hauled it from the wall, briefly looking at his now healed hand. He was reminded of his mother’s sacrifice, how she’d given her life for his. He reflected on what Deryn said earlier, how Afon would want him to make things right. And he was determined to do that now.

The western winds greeted Aeron as he walked outside with the hammer in hand. He paused as they closed the stable door behind him and ran their fingers through his wavy red hair, as if wanting to pull him into a kiss. Their fingers ran seductively around his shoulders, and down his arm to wrap around his own fingers. The winds jumped in excitement as they felt him clutching the hammer. A firm gust bounced off the stable door with an rattle and hoisted his arm up in front of him, the dark metal of the hammer head drinking in the sunlight with a desperate thirst. The winds told him he’d made the right choice.

A whistling western breeze turned Aeron’s head towards the forest, the treeline in the distance taunting him. “This wouldn’t work on the trees,” he said to the wind. But the western winds weren’t telling him to use it on the trees. He felt a dull thud through his right hand, as if the hammer had cracked into something. Something hard. Something bloody. He shook his head and looked back at the hammer, which had fled from his clutch and was now lying in the grass. He hadn’t heard it drop, or noticed he’d let it go.

He fixed his hair as a warm southern breeze thanked him for returning to reality. “Ugh stop!” He flailed his arms in the air. It was happening again, just like how he’d heard the earth speak to him earlier, and he didn’t like it. He bent down to retrieve the hammer, and made his way up the eastern pathway to the town square.

The square was bustling this morning. Native birds fluttered overhead, filling the air with their melodies in harmony with the distant whinnies of wild horses. The farmers and bakers and cooks were just pulling up the tents for their morning market stalls. Villagers were floating by along the worn cobblestone pathways, like starving birds searching the river for little fish. Aeron’s stomach growled as the southern wind whipped the scents of freshly baked bread, sweet berries and grilled meat around the square. He approached one of the baker’s stalls. His loaves were smaller than yesterday’s, a sure sign of the declining harvests, Aeron thought. He pulled out a handful of herbs from his satchel and exchanged them for a meat-filled wrap. An expensive treat, he admitted, but one he felt he deserved. He gobbled it down in one breath.

Aeron turned to the centre of the square. A large brass bell hung on a post above a dry well, shining in the sunlight. Aeron recalled how his mother had told him the bell used to be a bucket that dipped into the well, but they’d converted it into the bell in her childhood after the groundwater ran dry. He flipped the hammer in his hand, gripped it tighter and approached the bell.

He struck the bell with one firm smack, its ring resonating all across the square and throughout his thin body. The villagers turned to him. Aeron gulped as their faces went sour, grumpy that their daily barter had been interrupted and that they might miss out on getting the best food, if any at all. Aeron hesitated for a moment too long, and most of the villagers turned away, thinking him a nuisance.

Aeron let out a desperate stutter. The western winds ran their hands up his neck and through his hair. “Do it again,” they whispered. Aeron took a deep breath, and smacked the bell twice more.

The crowd was restless now. “What do you want?” someone shouted.

“I … I’m Aeron, son of Afon,” he stuttered to the crowd. His voice trembled at the number of people now glaring at him, and at the mention of his late mother. But he carried on. “Yesterday morning, one of our own, the teacher Ako, was captured by the forest people.” Murmurs ran throughout the crowd, with a few giggles of disbelief. Aeron continued. “I’m calling on the village to help rescue him. By going into the forest to look for him.”

Gasps and cries shot throughout the crowd. A few people laughed. Very few looked at him with concern. Aeron looked around for any reassuring faces - Deryn, Fern, Eira - but none of them were here. His heart sank to his stomach. He felt nauseous.

“Why was he in the forest?” an old man piped up.

“He… we, we were gathering herbs.” Again, more villagers gasped and some jeered at him. Aeron steadied his voice. “For the village. We were gathering herbs for the village. For you.”

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“Entering the forest is strictly forbidden, young man,” the old man replied. “You’d be wise to remember that. Although it doesn’t seem like you need a reminder, as your friend has already suffered the consequences,” he chuckled.

Blood shot through Aeron’s eyes as he inhaled sharply. He came down from the bell and approached the old man, hammer in hand. He raised the hammer to the man’s face, the western winds whistling in his ears. “It seems like you need a reminder of our duties to each other, old man.” Aeron clutched the hammer tightly as he lowered it to his side. “One of our own has been captured, and you say that’s okay? You would not have lived this long without the herbs we’ve gathered. If you’re not thankful for that-“

Aeron felt a cold, gentle hand on his shoulder. He brushed it away, telling the western winds to get lost. “Aeron. Step away from him.” Aeron turned. It was Eira who’d grabbed him, not the wind. He was speechless. Eira’s eyes traced the length of his arm, their face cast with a shadow of disappointment as they saw him clutching Deryn’s hammer. They held out their palm. “Give it to me.”

Aeron did as he was told, silently. Eira’s skinny arms tensed as Aeron placed the hammer gently in their hands, before they tucked it away in their belt and stepped aside. Aeron saw Fern standing behind them, her eyes red and puffy, her gaze distant. The three of them just stood there - Aeron was paralyzed by what he’d just said to the old man. Aeron turned around to apologise. His eyes locked with the old man’s little granddaughter, who was peeking out from behind his leg. “I’m sorry,” he cried timidly.

“Aeron,” Eira whispered. Aeron turned back to them. Eira eyed at Fern. “Your daughter is here. She’s upset.”

Aeron, now teary-eyed, hesitated again as he looked at Fern. She clutched her left arm, looking away, her distant silence intermittently broken by sniffles. Aeron approached her slowly, and wrapped her in a warm embrace. Fern didn’t return his hug. He stepped away, and looked at Eira sadly.

The crowd, in the meantime, had resumed their usual business. Through grumbles and mumbles, people were starting to filter out of the square, including the old man. Eira drew the hammer from their belt and gave the bell another loud bang. “Listen up! My husband has been captured by our enemy.” They pointed the hammer at the crowd. “Your enemy. My husband, who’s taught all of your children, who’s helped heal your parents wounds with Aeron’s help, was stolen from us,” they yelled passionately. Some villagers turned back to listen to them. “I do not know what my husband is going through, and I don’t care to imagine it. Aeron was almost killed the other night too…”

“They should have finished the job,” the old man yelled back as he walked away, his hand around his granddaughter’s. Some of the villagers jeered him, but most ignored him. His granddaughter looked back to Eira with a fascinated gaze. She flexed her muscles and let out little punches into the air with a yell.

Eira looked around at the few villagers remaining, then at Aeron, who was watching Fern as she walked home. “Perhaps so,” they said sarcastically. “It was Aeron and Ako’s reckless behaviour that got them into this mess. They’ve broken the covenant by encroaching on the forest people’s land.” They pointed the hammer back to the crowd. “But you have a choice to make. If we don’t help Ako now, we are all doomed. No more herbs. No more healing. No more knowledge for your children. And no future for us. Either you choose to help Ako now, or you can expect the same apathy in return when you’re hurt by the forest people.” Eira felt that last line was cruel, but necessary. They felt pumped.

The remaining villagers rolled their eyes. “You’re being dramatic. Go back to where you came from, foreigner.” The square emptied with laughs, the exhausted villagers carrying their half filled baskets and backpacks away. Eira let out an exasperated sigh, then screamed and threw the hammer down the dry well. The hammer bounced off the stone walls, the sound bellowing up the well and out across the square before fading into the forest. They clutched the side of the well, their tears flowing into it.

A small native bird fluttered down to the rim of well. Its grey feathers were speckled with hints of red. It looked curiously at Eira, its head tilting to the side. Eira locked eyes with it, and smiled. “I knew you’d be here for me too, Afon,” they whispered. Perhaps this was the first member of their search party.

Firm footsteps approached Eira and Aeron from behind. Some of the cooks had heard their plea while preparing food for the market. Eira and Aeron turned to face the baker, the grill cook, and a gatherer, who were all carrying packs of food. “We will come with you,” the baker said.

Eira smiled sadly, but thankfully. “Let’s get Ako back,” the grill cook said, placing a bunch of cured meats in Eira’s arms.

The gatherer approached Aeron with a basket of fruits. “You saved my wife after she gave birth to our son. I owe you everything.” The gatherer wrapped his arms around Aeron and whispered in his ear. “Let’s kick their asses.”

Aeron returned his hug. He looked over his shoulder down the square’s eastern pathway. Deryn walked up the path, Aeron’s shovel in one hand and a basket of river berries in the other. He placed both at the foot of the well. “I’m going too.”

Aeron’s body filled with warmth. He jumped and embraced Deryn, teary-eyed. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry for what I said,” he cried, stroking Deryn’s bald head.

Deryn pulled Aeron closer by his lower back. “I would do anything for you,” he said. He placed Aeron gently back on the ground. “But you need to stay here.”

“What?” Aeron exclaimed.

Deryn exhaled. “You’ve done an excellent job at helping Ako already by rallying us together. But you’re still hurt by what happened to you in the forest, Aeron. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Aeron refused. “I’m not letting you go without me! Ako needs me. You all do.”

Deryn clutched Aeron’s hand. “I know. But Fern needs you now more than ever. Go home, look after her. We will be okay. We will bring Ako home. You need to get ready to heal him, you can help him that way.” Deryn looked at the treeline. “And gods forbid that we need your healing too.”

Aeron scrunched his nose and stomped, but he knew Deryn was right. He rummaged through his satchel and pulled out his remaining herbs, thrusting them into Deryn’s pocket. “Just in case you need them immediately. Put these in any wounds. Please bring any good herbs back if you find them.”

Deryn planted a firm kiss on Aeron’s forehead, breathing in a deep sigh of relief that Aeron had chosen to stay. “We’ll try our hardest.”

The gatherer’s wife ran out from their house with a backpack. She handed it to Eira, who packed the food away, but leaving Deryn’s berry basket behind for Aeron and Fern. “We’ll set out shortly,” they said. They turned to Aeron, grabbing his shoulders and placing their forehead against his. “Believe in us, Aeron. We will bring him home. I’m not losing anyone ever again. All of us will come home safely.” They closed their eyes. “I see it. I see him back with me. I see him with me as the sun sets tonight. I promise we will come back soon. By sunset.”

Aeron grabbed Eira’s shoulders in return, tightening the buckles on their backpack before the search party walked to Deryn’s to arm themselves. Aeron returned home with the basket of berries Deryn had collected, placing them on the kitchen table. Deryn had left a handwritten note inside it. “These are our darkest days. But we will create a brighter future,” he wrote, echoing Aeron’s mother’s last words. He clutched the note to his chest. Aeron called out for Fern to eat, but she didn’t respond. He walked up to her room, but she wasn’t there either.

As the noon sun rose, Aeron looked across to the treeline from Fern’s bedroom window, the search party marching their way to the forest. Aeron counted six of them, plus the small bird fluttering around them - Eira, Deryn, the baker, the cook, the gatherer, and a sixth, shorter, stockier figure. Her red hair bounced in the southern wind as she looked back at him, a determined look on her face, and one of Deryn’s axes in hand.

Aeron thought he’d feel dread at seeing his daughter march into the forest. But he felt proud. Aeron watched over them protectively as they all marched into the forest’s maw.