Sam stepped beside Pella as she guided him through the early morning streets. The village was alive in a panic even before the first light of morning burst from the top of the mountains. People ran from home to home, pulling out long wooden poles, tools, all sorts of items.

They were gathering weapons, what little they had. As far as he could tell Hradar was a collection of a couple dozen or so small homes made of stone and shingled roofs with a couple of larger buildings that might have been stores or warehouses. Surrounding the entire village was a wooden palisade standing about ten feet tall, all of the logs used had been cut so the tops. Running along the entire wall were plates of thick wood nailed to the logs and stakes driven into the ground at an angle propping them up.

Near the wide gate there were a couple of towers that looked more like a collection of thin logs to make a hollow box with a platform on top with barely any cover and a thatched roof. More people gathered at those gates setting down little knives, small bows, wooden poles from brooms. Jhonu stood there looking over everything and helping a few others by taking the mishmash of household items and discussing how to make them into weapons.

“... can split the wood and shove the knife at the top. Use some cord and resin to secure it in for a spear.” Jhonu passed a small knife and a length of cylindrical wood to a burly man that got to work carefully making cuts at the end of the wood. Then he turned and looked at Sam, scanning him up and down. “You ready to work then?”

Sam nodded and looked around “how long do we have?”

“Mongors prefer to attack at night. They’ll only attack during the day if they happen to pass by a farm or small community.” Jhonu worked as he spoke, handing out wood and sharp tools to be made into weapons.

“Why only at night?” Sam still needed to know how those people… those things worked.

“Night is the time of fear. Honestly, how did people in your home not know these things? I guess they never did build a wall… Sorry that was wrong to say, you’ve lost people too.”

Honestly Sam was relieved the village had a reputation. While he looked stupid it did make asking questions easier. “No, it’s alright… But I don’t want more people to suffer and lose their loved ones while I sit around. So, night is the fear time?”

“Yes.” Jhonu was breaking off the top of a scythe and fixing it back on so the point faced upward. “The Shadow is strong while the sun is down. People all over have some fear, especially of the dark and what lurks in it. So the mongors can feel and feed on that fear. They’re drawn to it.”

A wild roving band of maniacs that can sense fear, attack people, and then feed on that fear. That’s what they were dealing with. “I see… What can I do to help?”

“Well, what can you do? What’re you good at?” Jhonu set down the weapon and picked up a gourd at his side and drank from it.

“I can… cook.”

Jhonu stopped for a moment and coughed on his water. “Cook?”

“... Yes.”

The man sighed a bit and scratched at the side of his wavy hair near the temple. “I guess I can have you help with the food. The older folk and children are making the food while the rest get ready to fight. They’re in the center of the village on the green.”

Embarrassed, Sam just turned and left. Of course he’d show off how useless he was. Hey I want to help, I’ve never killed a person in my life or held a weapon even but I can make a mean plate of eggs. Fucking idiot.

Regardless, if it was the only way he could help then he’d do it. Sam picked up his pace and marched towards the center of the little village where he spotted a group of about a dozen working people mixing flour and water for kacha and an older woman setting chunks of potato into a vat of boiling water.

The crackle of the fire popped a bit of embers up into the air as Sam approached the lady. “Excuse me, I was told to help with the cooking?”

Narrow eyes shot from the wrinkled face of the woman. Her graying hair hung in her face a bit as she looked him up and down. “You that pudgy boy that ran in with Ebah?”

“That… would be me, yes.”

She let out a harrumph and groaned “Ebah took you in then? That silly little girl. She always was too sweet for her own good. Come help chop up the potatoes, we’re making a stew and kacha.”

“Alright, I can handle that.” Sam pulled his knife from his sash and stared at it. Other than the shawl around his shoulders, that small knife was all he had to keep from Khomu’s farm. The edge was already a bit dull, he would need to find a whetstone of some kind soon.

“Good, now get to work, we’ve got a lot of mouths that need feeding. I’m Klindi by the way. Just chop those vegetables up and drop them in the pot.” The older woman took up a large wooden spoon almost two feet long and began stirring the pot.

He got to work, scraping away the skin of the dark brown tubers and cutting them up into pieces a bit bigger than a single bite size. Even with a dull knife peeling and cutting was easy enough to do. He’d done it a thousand times in kitchens when other tools or machines went missing.

Sam and about three others, two children and an older man, cut up vegetables while two other men dragged over large bags. While he worked he thought of passion, what he wanted to do, what he loved to do.

Then a young, nasally voice piped up beside him “do you know your bleeding mister?” Sam looked over and down beside him a small boy, maybe no older than five or six years old, was staring at his hand.

Amazingly, he cut his finger. Good job asshole, can’t throw that one in the pot. “Well… It seems I am.” He set down the potato and brought the cut finger up to his mouth and sucked on it. The iron taste of blood hitting his tongue along with the faint hint of dirt and raw root vegetables.

Cheerful little laughs came from the child as he smiled wide. “You’re funny. What’s your name?”

Sam licked his wound a bit more then took his finger out of his mouth. “Sahm. Who are you little guy?”

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“I’m Gahla! My whole name’s Gahlahunar but that’s long.” The boy smiled with all of his teeth.

Sam had never been fond of kids before. The thought of raising an infant for years and teaching them life lessons seemed like hell. But, he smiled back at Gahla. “Nice to meet you. You working hard to help out too?” He held up a new potato and shook it in the air a bit before starting to peel it.

“Yup! My older brother’s gonna fight so I wanna make stew so he can be full of energy to beat the monsters!” Gahla began carefully chopping up his own potato.

Even this small child was doing everything he could to help. Damn. Sam looked down at the knife and tuber in his hands. What can I do better than this? He looked back to Klindi, the old woman was scrunching her face as she added more food and water into her large pot. Beside her were a few other ingredients on a wooden board placed on top of a box that acted as a table.

“To hell with it.” Sam muttered to himself and stood up, walking to the pot and holding his hand out. “Miss Klindi, hand me the spoon I’ll handle the stew.”

“Shoo! I can handle this!” She winced and held back a grunt as she leaned over to look in the mixture. Sam looked in too, did she add any spices to this?

With a huff he pulled the large utensil from her. “Go rest… I cooked for Ebahra and Khomu, I’ll cook for this whole village. Bring me some powders, reds, browns, any that you have.” He began lifting up some of the half cooked stew to his face and sniffing it. It needed so much more.

The older woman retreated, reluctantly, but she still went off with a loud huff. Now it was his turn to do all he could. Deft hands shot out and chopped up an onion into slivers about as wide as his pinky, then he found a few aromatic leaves and threw those in the pot. He went to the board, tapped his knife on the wood, then chopped carrots, radish, and potato quickly and tossed them in. Klindi had already thrown in a sizable amount of peas.

Once she returned with an assortment of several small bags holding spices he attacked them immediately and inspected them. Dried and crushed chilies, cumin, turmeric, coriander seeds, even some green and red peppercorns. Perfect.

“Have you got a grinding bowl?” Sam carefully picked out enough spices for what looked like twenty gallons of stew. They’d need enough to feed the thirty or so fighters as well as anyone working .

One of the men peeling vegetables spoke up. “I have one in my home.”

“Bring it here.” Sam issued more orders left and right. He was in a kitchen, not just as a cook to be ordered around. Now he was a chef de cuisine, head chef. Soon enough he had mounds of prepared vegetables, and a mortar and pestle ready.

He left Klindi to manage getting a hundred kacha breads ready. Meanwhile Sam began setting the whole spices into the bowl and crushing them with a stone pestle. His arms burned with every step, but he pushed on. There were people that would be putting their lives on the line, if all he could do was give them a warm meal that filled their bellies that’s what he would do.

After crushing all the seeds and dried chillies into powder he was left with a full bowl of his own spice mix. He’d have preferred to dry toast them, but that would have to wait for another day. Carefully, he dumped the contents left in the mortar into the pot and an explosion of fragrance filled the village center.

Now most of the work was done, at least for the stew. Sam set the large spoon over the mouth of the pot and went right to work kneading dough together. Every one of the cooks had a small mound that slowly turned to a ball of tacky, not too sticky dough.

Turn, pull over, squish together, push down, repeat. Over and over again he kneaded the dough and felt even more pain in his arms. Sam didn’t stop, even as he pulled apart little balls and rolled them out into flat discs he let the burn resonate in him. Losing himself in the work, letting the rhythm of it control him and move his limbs.

Then, he turned back to his stew, stirring and tasting just a bit. The flavors were good, he wished he had some starch to thicken it up. Then once the stew was moved around he went back to the dough. Back and forth, stew, dough, stew, dough.

Even as the others worked on mixing flour and water for dough the cooking team of Hradar’s defense made little noises in the early morning as their stew boiled. By the time the sun finally crested over distant mountains the stew and bread were ready.

Sweat fell from Sam’s cheeks onto the grassy field in the middle of the little village. He was sitting on a bench where the peelers were working. Klindi was already handing out bowls of the stew along with a piece of bread. Over an hour of straight cooking, Sam welcomed the familiar strain on his muscles. He hadn’t worked so hard cooking since arriving here. The intimate meals with Khomu and Ebahra were lovely to be sure. But the rush of getting food done, making every movement count, and silently waiting for the next order. That was the cooking he was used to.

I wonder if they have restaurants on Noutir? He began to think of waitresses rushing out to bring people his meals. One in particular, Pella. She would look great in a short skirt and apron for sure.

Not the time for lecherous thoughts. Sam took in a deep breath and focused on the line of people. Men and women of all ages lined up to receive their morning meal. “Wonder what I’ll make for dinner…” Sam spoke softly to no one, thinking aloud and probably looking a bit stupid.

“If it’s half as good as this it’ll make a fine last meal.” Jhonu’s voice came from behind him. Sam looked over his shoulder and sure enough the tall man was standing there with a bowl of stew and kacha in hand. “I wish you’d have told me it was going to be this good. I’d have sent you to Klindi as soon as you woke up. She tells me you took over the cooking?” As he spoke the man sat down on the bench beside him.

He just nodded and smiled a bit. In the line he spotted Pella getting a bowl of food. She was stunning, gorgeous. “How the hell isn’t she married…” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Sam turned and met eyes with Jhonu.

“What makes you think she isn’t?”

Shit. He realized then that he never did ask. “Umm…”

Jhonu chuckled and shook his head. “Well… it’s a bit of a story. Pella was married a few years back to a man from here, Namiid. Four years ago during the cold storm he got sick, fever burned him to death from within. She was… not well for two years.”

“That's… terrible. I’m sorry…”

“There is no need for being sorry.” Sam knew that, it was just an instinct to apologize when someone said something terrible. “She was getting better, she started seeing another man from Tahmgrav. He was a calmweed merchant. The man stopped here once a month to see Pella, then one day he stopped. We don’t know what happened to him but it’s been almost a year.”

“She has really bad luck with men… that’s shitty.”

“Yes it… it is?” Jhonu looked at him with a puzzled face.

Crap, would he even understand how I meant that? Sam’s mind raced, trying to find the right way to explain what he meant. Did he tell him just outright? Or… then he realized he had the perfect excuse. “Oh. Yes, it’s an expression from my hometown. It’s like a turd. Uncomfortable and it stinks but you can’t stop it… you know?” Sam plastered his face with an idiotic smile.

The man just nodded. “Shit tea… I see.” From the look on his face Sam could only guess he was thinking ‘those people in Lawashar are stupid and strange. Probably a blessing they all got killed.’ At least that’s what Sam would think if someone said that to him.

The pair sat together for a short while in silence. Sam watched as the people of Hradar ate and talked amongst themselves, he even heard them praise the food. Klindi shot a scowl over to Sam whenever someone thanked her for the stew.

Despite the knowledge they may well die before the next sunrise, the people here smiled and enjoyed their food. There wasn’t a single sullen face, no whimpering children or frightened adults. Just people enjoying the life they had and eating a good meal.

“I want to fight, Jhonu.” Sam wouldn’t let this place die.

The man slurped away at his stew then set down the bowl, wiping his face clean with his sleeve. “Well, I’d accept anyone that can hold up a weapon. You have a passion?”

“No… I want to find mine before they come. I need to.” If he could flair, have even half the strength Pella showed back in that house, he could really help. Strength like Khomu charging against the mongors and throwing them around.

“That’s not really how it works.”

“Then I need you to tell me how it does. Please.” Sam turned and craned his neck to look up at him in the eyes. “Let me fight for you all.”

Jhonu stared back at him and smiled a bit. Wiping away the last of the stew brother with his bread, he ate the soaked kacha and stood up. “Go back to my house, rest. When you wake up I’ll see if I can pull your passion out of you.” He grinned down at Sam, then not waiting for his reply, walked off towards the gate.

Sam sat there for a bit longer, looking around the village center. People still stood around, talking, laughing, smiling. Pella was helping clean up a small girl's face after she finished her meal.

He stood and made his way back to the house Pella and he came from. Sam would protect this place, the people. No matter what.