Over the next few days, Rain began preparing a caravan to leave Elediah’s Trail. Though Frederik was excited at the opportunity to return to Fairvale to conduct research, the tension in the air had thrown a wet blanket over everyone else’s moods. Most folk assumed Lady Deleraine was in poor spirits because she viewed this as some manner of failure, that the settlement was struggling because they were in need of additional supplies. Rain made no effort to correct them, or tell them that she might not be returning for a while.

The community was beginning to feel the strain of preparing for the journey, thinning their own cupboards to load rations into a wagon on the promise they would return with more.

“I know things are lookin’ a little lean right now,” Arvel said as he carried a basket on his shoulder toward the wagon, “But by this time next year, you’ll be diggin’ up potatoes and sugar beets, millin’ yer hard wheat, and enjoyin’ all kinds of vegetables.”

“Good,” Lunette said, carrying a basket alongside him, “The people are quickly tiring of radishes, and watching the carrots and cabbage grow with bated breath.”

“Y’didn’t exactly plan this settlement at the best time of year,” Arvel replied, setting his basket in the back of the wagon, “You missed a whole lot of good plantin' season.”

Lunette smirked as she sat her own basket beside Arvel’s and said, “This is what happens when those who’ve never tended a field in their life are making decisions for farmers. I gently suggested that the lady consult experts before we departed, but she was hells-bent on arriving sooner rather than later.”

“Shouldn’t it have been somebody’s job to make sure she was doin’ the right thing?” Arvel asked, leaning on the back of the wagon and folding his arms.

Lunette smiled and said, “I’m afraid there’s no specific line of employment for ‘make sure your ruler is ruling properly’... People tend to just put up with it, until they don’t.”

“And what happens when they don’t?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The issue is raised with torches and pitchforks, usually,” she replied as she hopped up to sit on the back of the wagon, crossing her legs at the knee, “But our lady is not so careless or cruel as to provoke that sort of reaction. At least, she hasn’t before. ...Though I will miss her presence dearly, I know that she must return to Fairvale to maintain order and answer to her obligations.”

Across the street, Arvel noticed some odd movement. One of the young men in town ran up to a pair of women, said something to them, and then they all took off back down the road westbound, walking quickly. One of them knocked on the window shutter of another house and called for the couple inside to join them.

“What the heck’s goin’ on?” Arvel asked, pushing off the back of the wagon and starting to walk.

Lunette hopped down from the back of the wagon to fall into step alongside him, saying, “I could not tell you. Something’s certainly caught their interest, but not their panic.”

As Arvel and Lunette walked toward the west side of town, they could see most of the town gathered just past Melodia’s house, stretched out along the gravel road and looking northward where it curved. Some were holding their hands up to shade their eyes from the light of the midday sun, and others were waving at something in the distance.

“What is it?” Lunette called out as she approached.

“There’s people!” one of the young women replied, “Ser Lunette, there are people on the road! It looks like a whole caravan!”

Lunette looked in the direction the young woman was pointing, and squinted, before her eyes focused on distant moving shapes. Wagons were rolling along the gravel road, following the path toward Elediah’s Trail.

“Do you expect merchants to pass through this time of year?” Lunette asked.

“Nope,” Arvel said, eyes narrow, “Nobody comes out this way unless they need somethin’... ain’t never nothin’ good.”

“Well that’s just mean,” said Lunette.

“Hey,” Arvel replied, “Y’all got better but it don’t mean you were a welcome sight when ya’ showed up.”

“What’s going on?” Rain asked, jogging toward the group. She was dressed in her work clothes; a pair of boots, a long plain skirt and blouse, and her hair tied back with a kerchief, cleaning her dirtied hands on the end of her apron. She looked around at the crowd before politely pushing her way through it, and looking to the north. She too squinted at the incoming caravan, before her eyes opened wide.

“You recognize somethin’?” Arvel asked.

“The banners they’re flying,” she said quietly, before trailing off.

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When the caravan arrived at the edge of town, the settlers were overjoyed. The wagons were escorted by eight mounted soldiers, all dressed uniformly and carrying spears at their sides. But at the head of the caravan was one rider who stood out from the rest; he was an older man, his silver hair carrying a faint tinge of blue from his younger years, while his stern face was set with deep creases. He wore a knight’s finery, clad in silver plate with a long blue cape that draped over his shoulders and across his horse’s back. A sword was sheathed on his left hip, and under his left arm, his helmet decorated with white plumes. His gray eyes scanned the crowd as they rushed to greet him and his fellows, looking for a particular person of interest.

Rain clung to Arvel’s arm as she watched the excited settlers approaching the caravan, greeting the soldiers and inspecting the goods that they had brought.

“You alright?” Arvel asked quietly.

She looked up at him, pausing, before giving him the briefest of nods. Slowly, Rain let go of his arm, and she walked slowly through the rushing crowd toward the man who rode at the head of the procession.

When his eyes settled on her, they narrowed, and he set his jaw. The man carefully dismounted from his horse, and took three long strides toward Rain to meet her midway, before he took a knee before her.

“Greetings, Lady Deleraine,” the man said, bowing his head.

Rain folded her hands neatly in front of herself, and nodded to him, saying, “Hello, uncle...”

Three whole wagons had arrived full of supplies; tools, seeds, fabric, clothing and shoes, and even preserved foods, and one wagon full of the soldiers’ own travel goods, such as tents and extra horse feed. Right away, the settlers tried to start bartering, before it became obvious that these supplies were brought as gifts. It was a stunning show of generosity from Lord Kellian of Nathulan, a name most of them had only heard in passing, but one that they now sung out in praise.

Arvel stood back from the edge of the clamor, his eyes narrow as he scanned the crowd to try to keep an eye on Rain. Though her uncle was a physically imposing man, she easily vanished in the gaggle.

“Arvel,” Lunette called out as she broke away from the crowd to approach him, “I’m afraid we must impose upon you...”

“Like how?” he asked, tilting his head to keep looking through the throngs.

“The visitor is our lady’s uncle,” she explained, “I’m afraid there’s no suitable place in town for her to entertain such a guest. Would it be possible to invite him to your home?”

“That’s fine,” Arvel muttered.

“Perhaps we could... tidy up?” Lunette asked.

“Fidge keeps the place tidy,” he replied.

Lunette was quiet.

“What?” he asked, exasperatedly.

“Perhaps we could warn Fidget that there will be a guest?” Lunette asked pointedly, “Make sure that she’s on her best behavior? Or, in lieu of that, I could take her out to the chicken coop to keep her out of sight?”

“We ain’t hidin’ Fidge!” Arvel snapped, finally looking at her, seemingly incensed that Lunette would suggest such a thing.

“It’s not as though Fidget embarrasses us,” Lunette said, “But as you recall, I was originally taken aback by a seemingly feral goblin in your home.”

“To be fair, she was wearin’ leather scraps back then, and now she’s got a dress ‘n apron ‘n everything,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking at the crowd again.

“Arvel,” said Lunette, “We need to make sure that this isn’t going to cause an incident. It’s better to introduce them properly than to surprise either of them.”

Arvel let out a huff, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, before he turned to walk east along the road home. Though he was unwilling to admit Lunette was probably right, he had stopped arguing, and inclined his head to gesture to her to walk alongside him.

Fidget usually kept the place tidy. That’s why Arvel’s jaw was agape when he opened the front door and found the kitchen table overturned, two broken plates scattered on the floor, and the contents of a kicked-over dustpan streaked across the floor. On one side of the room, Fidget was holding a broom over her head as threateningly as one might hold a longsword. On the other side of the room, Melodia stood with her fingers curled like claws in spite of her human glamor.

Once he blinked out of his shocked stupor, Arvel shouted, “What in all the hells are y’all doin’?!”

“Arvel!” Melodia cried as she turned and ran to his side, taking his arm, “I know you told me I shouldn’t come here, but I was absolutely terrified! I came seeking shelter and I was viciously attacked!”

Melodia’s words were punctuated with the sudden ‘pap’ of a straw broom head smacking her on the shoulder, knocking a cloud of dust in her face. Melodia coughed and swatted at the broom, but several more plaps and smacks finally drove her back from Arvel’s side.

“Out!” Fidget shouted, “Out, demon!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Arvel said, grabbing the broom shaft to keep Fidget from continuing to swing it, “What’s got you all worked up?”

“Those human guards,” said Melodia as she wiped a smudge of dirt from her fair cheek, “The one at the head of the pack is a demon slayer. I recognized him.”

“I can verify it,” Lunette said as she stepped in, slipping past the crowd at the doorway, “Lord Kellian was a great military leader in his day. I would even say he was one of Sir Elediah’s contemporaries.”

“He was?” Arvel asked, surprised.

“He might be able to recognize me, even through my glamor,” Melodia said, “A man like him would try to kill me on sight.”

“And I told you Fidge would too!” Arvel replied.

From a distance, the sound of horse hooves reached Arvel’s ears.

“Shoot!” he exclaimed, shoving Melodia toward the bedroom, “You gotta hide! Lunette, can you turn the table rightside up? Fidge, you gotta start sweepin’!”

“Are they coming here?!” Melodia asked.

“Keep quiet!” he replied, shoving her into the room, “Hide under a blanket or somethin’ if you have to but don’t make a peep.”

“Who’s coming?” Fidget asked, beginning to sweep up a broken plate, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“A guest,” Lunette replied as she went to right the toppled furniture, “Rain, and a very important guest.”