In the days that followed, Fidget made a few more brief visits to the settlement. Arvel had struck a deal with some of the settlers to trade fresh eggs for packages of dried meat, and the jerky had helped to appease Fidget’s foul mood. While Rain was spending more time at the camp instead of Arvel’s farm, Fidget began to make more excuses to visit during the day. The sky remained overcast most days, but was beginning to clear up, and no more torrential storms had struck the burgeoning settlement as they began to figure out where they would build their homes and fields.

When the day finally arrived for Arvel to lead a timber harvesting expedition, Fidget decided to stay home. She had no love lost for the mountains she’d dwelled by herself for so long, and Arvel and Rain would be too busy to spend much time with her.

Arvel walked at the front of the group making their way up narrow paths along the side of the craggy mountain toward a patch of trees. Their ox-drawn wagons could not manage the terrain, so the burliest men were pushing and pulling handcarts full of their tools, with some supplies for eating and drinking throughout the day.

“It seems we’re on track to arrive by noon,” Lunette said as she fell into step alongside Arvel. He turned his head to look her over, seeing her bereft of her armor, but still with her sword at her side. In lieu of her etched and polished breastplate and pauldrons, she wore a simple sleeveless tunic cinched around her waist, baring her tanned and well-toned arms. There were a few faint scars on her skin, some very old, and some freshly recovering from the demon attack. Noticing that Arvel was quiet, Lunette looked his way and noticed his gaze drifting down her figure.

“Yeah,” he replied, after a short delay, “Little surprised to see you so dressed down.”

“Demons mislike making the same mistakes twice,” she replied, “Their last attack on our people went poorly, and seeing as the hero of our settlement is leading the expedition, I don’t presume they will attack us en masse again. I am better off helping the logging efforts that we might return home faster, than patrolling about in bulky armor until after the sun goes down... and furthermore, my armor could still use some repairs.”

Arvel looked to the road ahead and grumbled, “I ain’t your hero.”

“Do not presume the title is for your own benefit,” Lunette said, “You are not called ‘hero’ to sate your own ego. The people that you fought for, the people that you saved, look up to you and call you ‘hero’ because it gives them hope. Whenever you deny them, be it out of false modesty or genuine annoyance, you are telling them that their faith is misplaced.”

“And if it is?” he asked.

“What joy does one derive from telling a child that fairies aren’t real?” Lunette asked, “Or telling the little boy with a wooden sword that he can never be a knight?”

“Huh?”

Lunette looked at Arvel and said, “There is no harm in allowing someone to believe something that makes them happy. These settlers are enduring some of the greatest hardships of their lives because they believe that the path they walk will lead to a better tomorrow. To them, you are a sign of hope that they will make it over the hill to the next day. Even if you are not their protector, their ‘hero’, nothing good will come of telling them so.”

Arvel was quiet, looking at Lunette for a moment, before he returned his gaze to the narrow path ahead, and grumbled, “Fairies are real though.”

The ‘forest’ could only barely be called such. Many of the trees here were dead or dying, and the canopy was thick with dark gray leaves from white-barked trees.

“The fiendwood is taking over this place completely,” said Arvel, “So we can cut down everything except the big white trunks. Don’t mess with them though, the sap will wreck your tools.”

“A shame,” Lunette said, “The fiendwood is enormous. If the wood were usable, we could build many houses from it.”

“They’re rotten to the core,” Arvel replied, “Fiendwood is what happens when an ordinary sapling sprouts out of soil soaked with demon blood. There’s no saving it after that. The wood might build a real pretty looking house but the folk who live in it will get sick all the time and feel like they got no energy because the wood itself is feedin’ off of em.”

“Horrifying,” Lunette muttered.

Arvel shook his head and said, “Demons are just tryin’ to get along like we are. Except they ain’t supposed to get along in our realm at all.”

“Then why not keep to the underworld?” Lunette asked, “What drives them to invade our world?”

Arvel shrugged a bit and asked, “Does ‘the underworld’ sound great to you?”

Stolen novel; please report.

Over the next few hours, men had begun to work at cutting down trees, chopping the logs into manageable pieces to load into their carts. Some of the women had accompanied them and set up a cart to dispense food and water from for the workers, and the ladies were also taking turns walking about the area in small groups to collect sticks and twigs.

Arvel took a break from his chopping, pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt and using a dry corner to dry his face before he slung the garment over his shoulder. He looked around the area, surveying the progress they’d been making; they’d felled quite a few trees already, and some of the carts had already departed to take them back to the settlement. Eventually, Arvel’s eyes settled on a small group of ladies walking back toward the wagons with armfuls of sticks. Rain was among them, and she had noticed him before he noticed her. Like several of the other girls, she was staring at him, but when he looked their way, she was the first to avert her gaze, while some of the others stared shamelessly.

“Hey,” Arvel said, raising his hand to wave.

The girls giggled and leaned in to chatter amongst themselves, while Rain’s face reddened more deeply.

“You’re proving a distraction,” Lunette said.

Arvel looked toward the sound of her voice, just in time to catch a waterskin being tossed to him. He unplugged the cork and grinned, taking a deep sip, before saying, “Maybe they’re distracting me.”

“I’m sure,” she replied with a smirk, “Still, it’s good to see Lady Deleraine able to slip into the life of ‘Rain’ and enjoy herself with the common folk. There were very few nobles in Fairvale, and few young ladies of appropriate station for her to associate with.”

“Well that sounds snobby as all hells,” he muttered.

Lunette shook her head and said, “The late marchioness, Rain’s mother, believed firmly in keeping up appearances. Even after our nation all but abandoned the east marches, she still held her head up high.”

“No wonder my pa didn’t like her,” Arvel grumbled, looking toward Rain and the gaggle of girls gathered around her.

Rain looked happy. She was cheerful and smiling, even in this dim and depressing grove. She was surrounded by other girls who seemed excited to be near her.

“She’s a real social person, ain’t she?” Arvel asked.

Lunette smiled faintly and said, “She’s never happier than when she’s in the company of others.”

Arvel took one more sip from the waterskin before replacing the cork, and he passed it to Lunette. But as he was handing it over, he looked back at the gaggle of girls, and he froze. The waterskin slipped from between his fingers.

“Hey!” Lunette exclaimed, scrambling to catch it, “Be careful.”

Her voice sounded distant, as if listening from underwater. Arvel’s ears were full with the pounding of his pulse as his chest tightened. His voice caught in his throat as his eyes settled on one girl in the group, the rest of the world seeming to fall away.

She was a beautiful young woman, wearing a plain green dress, with long black hair pulled over her shoulder in a loose ponytail. Her eyes were a rich shade of purple, dark and depthless. On her lips hung a pleasant smile as she laughed and chatted with the other girls, and reached out to touch Rain’s arm softly.

The moment she touched Rain, Arvel tensed, and his knuckles turned white from gripping his hatchet.

“Arvel?” Lunette asked, her brow furrowing, “What’s wrong?”

“Who’s that?” Arvel asked, nodding toward the girls, “With the dark hair.”

“She’s one of the settlers,” replied Lunette offhandedly.

“What’s her name?” he questioned.

Lunette paused, and thought about it for a moment, before saying, “I’m not sure.”

“You traveled with these folks for weeks,” he said quietly, “and she’s about Rain’s age, but you don’t remember catching her name? Are you sure you remember seeing her?”

“I...” Lunette said, her voice trailing off as she thought about it, “I’m sure I’ve seen her before, she seems familiar, but... I don’t... I don’t remember specifically...”

“You don’t remember her being a part of anything, or talking to her?” Arvel asked.

Lunette slowly shook her head.

Arvel shrugged the damp shirt off of his shoulder as he started to walk toward the girls gathered near a cart of twigs and sticks. He shifted his grip on the hatchet at his side, choking up until he was holding it from the middle of the shaft, to better swing it one-handed.

“Arvel?” Lunette asked as she hurried behind him, “Arvel, what are you doing?”

Arvel picked up the pace, walking faster toward the girls.

As he grew nearer, Rain looked his way. She smiled brightly at him, and said, “Arvel, I want you to meet someone!”

He froze in his tracks.

That beautiful dark-haired girl was standing right next to Rain, almost eerily close at her side, though Rain didn’t seem to mind.

“This is Melodia,” Rain said, holding the dark-haired girl’s hand, “She wanted to meet you.”

The girl, Melodia, smiled at him and said, “I was hoping that we could chat?”

Arvel’s breath caught in his throat, but he managed to work out the words, “Not here.”

“Oh?” Melodia asked with a smile, “Why not?”

Arvel gripped the hatchet until the leather-wrapped handle creaked in his grasp.

“Not here,” he said more firmly, “If you want to talk, we’ll go somewhere else.”

Rain looked alarmed, until Melodia squeezed her hand, and said, “We’ll be back shortly, alright? Don’t you worry.”

“Oh! Of course,” Rain replied, smiling softly, as if she’d immediately forgotten whatever it was that had concerned her just moments before.

Melodia let go of Rain’s hand and walked past Arvel, casting him a small smile as she walked toward the northern edge of the woods, past a line of heavier fiendwood trees. As Arvel turned to follow after her, he looked at Lunette and said, “Stay close to Rain. Make sure she’s alright. And don’t come looking for me.”