Year 3917 of the Almanac of Ages, Red Bird

The journey turned out to be longer than expected, eight days instead of the four I had calculated. Amelia struggled behind me, her breath heavy as she faced yet another ascent.

“If you keep up this pace, we’ll arrive for the next equinox,” I teased, slowing my stride.

She looked up, her cheeks flushed from the effort. “Not everyone spends their life wandering forgotten paths.”

“Oh, so you can be sarcastic too.” I paused to wait for her. “And here I thought you were just the quiet girl who answers in monosyllables.”

A hint of a smile creased her lips, the first I’d seen since we started our journey. “And I thought you were just the grumpy hunter who talks to his boots.”

In the following days, we found our rhythm. She told me about the village, the harvest seasons, the time her father built a mill that never worked. She spoke of her mother singing while she cooked, the scent of freshly baked bread filling the streets in the morning. Only when I mentioned her captors did her face close like a door slammed by the wind.

By the dusk of the eighth day, the hills overlooking Red Bird rose against the orange sky. I stopped, allowing Amelia to catch up with me. The village sprawled below like a painting faded by time.

“I’m back,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

The houses huddled together, some with missing tiles, others with shutters hanging askew. The gardens, once neatly arranged in precise rows, were now a tangle of weeds. The old well at the center of the square was covered with hastily nailed wooden planks. And yet, thin wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys, a sign that the village still breathed.

We descended along the main path. Our shadows stretched out before us, dancing on the worn stones. A boy sitting on an old bench looked up from the stick he was carving. The wood fell from his hands.

“Amelia?” His voice was little more than a whisper. Then, as if someone had lit a torch inside him, he jumped to his feet. “AMELIA! SHE’S BACK!”

His shout echoed among the houses like a stone in a pond. A door opened, then another. The villagers emerged from their homes like flowers opening to the sun. Hesitant at first, then faster, they approached us.

“Is it really her?” “Look at her, she’s grown…” “We thought that…”

The voices overlapped as the crowd gathered around us. An old woman stepped forward, her wrinkled hands trembling as she brushed Amelia’s face. “Is it really you, little one?”

Then the crowd parted like a curtain. A woman with streaks of gray in her hair stood still for a moment, her hands pressed against her mouth. “Amelia…” The name slipped from her lips like a prayer.

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“Mom…” Amelia’s voice broke.

They rushed to each other. Margherite hugged her daughter as if fearing she might vanish, tears wetting her face. Behind her, Arthur advanced slowly, his face lined with deep wrinkles. He stopped a step away from them, his hands visibly trembling.

“Dad…” Amelia reached out toward him.

Arthur took her into his arms, joining the embrace. He didn’t say a word, but his body shuddered with silent sobs.

I took a step back, giving them space. But Margherite turned to me, her eyes glistening. “You… you brought her back to us?”

“EVERYONE STOP!”

The shout sliced through the air like a blade. The crowd parted abruptly, silence falling heavy like a stone in water. An old man strode forward, his cane striking forcefully against the worn stones of the street.

“Who dares to bring strangers into my village?” The village chief’s voice was a low growl. His sunken eyes, set in a face etched by worry, scrutinized me like a hawk watching its prey. “You, outsider. Who are you?”

“He’s the man who saved my daughter,” Arthur interjected, stepping forward. But the village chief silenced him with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Saved? Or did he bring her back to lure her captors here?” He turned to the crowd. “Have you already forgotten what happened to the last village that welcomed a stranger? Three houses burned. Two dead.”

His words froze the atmosphere. I saw some villagers step back, their gazes shifting from me to Amelia with renewed suspicion.

“I am just…” I began, but he interrupted me.

“You are nobody! And this village cannot afford to…”

“Enough, father.”

A calm but firm voice rose from the crowd. A young man stepped forward. Tall like his father, but with broader shoulders and gentler eyes, he placed himself between us. His air of natural authority contrasted with the old chief's anger.

“Look,” the young man said, gesturing to Amelia and her parents. “Look closely. Don’t you see what he has brought us? Not the hope we need?”

The old man hesitated, his cane trembling slightly in his hand.

“Tonight,” the son continued, raising his voice so everyone could hear, “we will light the fires in the great hall. We will prepare the special occasion cider. And we will celebrate, because one of our children has come home.”

A murmur of approval rose from the crowd. I saw smiles return to faces, shoulders relax. The village chief shot me one last penetrating glance. “I will keep my eye on you, outsider,” he murmured before turning and limping away.

But his exit did not dim the enthusiasm that had rekindled. People were already dispersing, excitedly discussing preparations for the celebration. Someone mentioned pulling out the old musical instruments, another talked about freshly baked bread.

Amelia gave me an apologetic look, but I shrugged with a half-smile. Arthur shook my hand again, this time more firmly, as if to make up for the earlier hostility. Margherite, still with tears in her eyes, began talking about dinner preparations, her voice trembling with restrained joy.

The young man approached me. “Thomas,” he introduced himself with a nod. “Don’t mind my father,” he said softly. “The years have not been kind to him, and fear has hardened his heart. But this village hasn’t forgotten what it means to be human.” He paused, then smiled. “And you’ve just reminded us that there is still room for hope.”

For once, I didn’t feel the need to respond with my usual cynicism. I simply nodded, watching Amelia being swept away by the loving arms of her reunited family.