Ochrea and Theodas sat at a sturdy wooden table, the flickering fire casting shadows that danced across the rough-hewn walls. The early morning light filtered in through the narrow windows, mingling with the glow from the fire, creating a cozy but slightly somber atmosphere.
As they were about to take their first bites of breakfast, a fussy, angry cry pierced the air. The baby, nestled in Ochrea’s arms, had just caught sight of Ingrid’s form. The cry wasn’t particularly loud, but it was enough to draw everyone’s attention.
Ochrea immediately apologized, her voice soft and full of concern. “I’m so sorry, Ingrid. We didn’t mean to wake you.”
Ingrid brushed off the apology with a little stretch before getting up, her movements deliberate as she approached them. “No need to apologize,” she replied with a smile. “I was hoping to see the little one, one last time before you headed out.” There was a brightness in her eyes that belied the deeper shadows of her thoughts she kept hidden. Her tone was light, but there was an intensity in her eyes that she was careful to concealed.
Ochrea could sense something more behind Ingrid’s words, there was just something in the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the look of someone who had lost too much, too often. “Now, hand him over before he gets as unbearable as an elf trying to explain something,” Ingrid said with a wink at Theodas, her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling playfully. Theodas smirked, in good naturedly. A warmth spread through the room as Ochrea let out a small chuckle herself, letting go of any apprehension before gently passing the baby to Ingrid.
“Thank you again for all your help,” Ochrea said, her voice filled with gratitude. “It’s going to take us about a day and half to reach the next village, and a full stomach and happy baby will make the journey that much easier.”
The older cook, who had been quietly working in the background, approached with a with an additional bowl of warm porridge to accompany the basic broth. “Eat up,” she said kindly, “you’ll need your strength.”
The scent of the porridge, rich with spices and the earthy aroma of grains, filled the air, offering a fleeting comfort in the face of the uncertainties ahead. The warmth of the fire crackled in the hearth, its orange flames licking the stone with a soft, soothing rhythm, as if trying to chase away the chill that clung to the early dawn. As they ate, Ingrid tried to keep the conversation going, her eyes occasionally flicking to the entrance. She asked about their journey, their plans, and anything else that might stretch the time until her brother arrived. Ochrea sensed an unease behind Ingrid’s questions, the subtle way she was stalling for time. Ochrea and Theodas answered politely, though they were clearly eager to be on their way. The anticipation hung in the air, an unspoken understanding between them.
Each word exchanged seemed to carry the weight of what was unsaid. Theodas could feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface, a tension that prickled at his warrior’s instincts. Though it didn’t take long before the door creaked open, and the chief’s broad form filled the entryway, his presence commanding yet familiar. His eyes immediately sought out his sister, his expression a mix of determination and concern.
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As the chief entered the room nodding briefly to his sister before turning to Ochrea and Theodas, a warm smile crossing his face. However, beneath that warmth, there was a glint of something more—an urgency that didn’t match the smile. Bjorn followed closely behind, greeting Ingrid with a casual “Hello,” and giving a friendly wave to the others before heading to the older cook, who handed him a bowl of porridge from the table.
“I’m glad I caught you before you left,” the chief began, his voice steady but earnest. “We don’t have much to offer, but I’d like to give you some supplies for your journey as a small token of thanks for the kindness and closure you’ve given my sister. And I won’t take no for an answer.”
His tone left no room for refusal, but there was sincerity in his words that made it clear this was more than just a simple gesture of gratitude. The chief’s gaze was steady, yet a flicker of something deeper—an unvoiced plea—shimmered in his eyes.
“There is something else,” he continued, his expression becoming more serious as he took a seat at the table. “I have a request—one you are in no way obligated to fulfill, but I need to ask nonetheless.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes settling on the table for a moment before he began. “Our village was founded over a hundred years ago, based on an old myth that ancient treasures and metals were hidden in these mountains.” His voice was low, each word weighted with the gravity of his people’s history. At this, Ochrea and Theodas exchanged a quick, knowing glance. The chief noticed but didn’t comment, continuing with his story. “I’m a stone singer—a rare talent among our people. I can hear the resonance in the stone, finding ores and shaping stone with ease. It’s made creating new mines much easier for us.”
Theodas felt a ripple of tension tighten his muscles. He knew what was coming next, could almost feel the shift in the air as the chief’s tone grew heavier. His voice grew heavier as he continued. “A few years ago, I believe we found what we were searching for when we came here all those years ago —an ancient cave entrance. But a nest of frost trolls had made it their home, blocking our path and, more recently, began venturing closer to the village.”
He paused, glancing at Ingrid, who was gently rocking the baby, her cheeks flushed with emotion. Ochrea felt her heart clench at the sight, understanding the silent grief that was too deep to be spoken. “Ingrid’s husband, Mundrin, fought one of the trolls bravely and died while felling it.”
Ingrid’s eyes welled up but allowed only a single tear to roll down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away, as if to banish the pain with a single motion. “He saved thirty people,” she whispered, her voice trembling with pride and sorrow.
Bjorn, who had been quietly eating, looked up and echoed, “Aye, he did. He was the best of us.” Ingrid turned to give him a grateful nod, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
The chief continued; his tone steady but weighed down by the responsibility of his words. “We’re capable, but we’re stretched thin. We don’t have mages for fire magic, and our few warriors are either mining or protecting the village. And those frost trolls aren’t just a threat—they’re a death sentence if we don’t act soon. We can’t offer much, and I don’t know what might be left in those ruins, but if you help us, I can promise you first pick of anything valuable we find within.”
Ochrea felt the weight of his words, the desperation that lay behind them. This wasn’t just a request for help—it was a cry for survival. Ingrid, trying to lighten the mood, added, “And all the milk and poopy diaper changes this one will need.” The chief winced slightly at her words, realizing she might have unintentionally made the task sound more daunting than intended.
Theodas chuckled, easing the tension. “Those poopy diapers might be strong enough to keep the Frost Trolls away on their own,” he quipped, the lightheartedness of his words bringing a much-needed break to the heaviness in the room, eliciting laughter from all around.
Then, in a tender moment, Theodas leaned his forehead against Ochrea’s, sharing a silent understanding. “I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured softly.
Ochrea smiled, a quiet warmth in her eyes. In that moment, she knew what they had to do. The choice had been made before the chief had even asked, written in the unspoken bond they shared. Theodas nodded, his decision clear. “Let’s go give those Frost Trolls a reason to hibernate early,” he said with a grin, the resolve in his voice underlined by a shared, unspoken determination, the weight of the commitment settling between them.