Kain eyed what remained of the back porch with professional wariness. Half the structure had already collapsed, leaving broken boards and rusty nails pointing upwards at odd angles.

A danger to be avoided at best until he get fix it, or remove it.

The remaining section didn't look much more trustworthy, especially with rotted support posts barely holding up what was left of the roof.

"Right," he muttered, testing his weight on the nearest board. It creaked ominously. "Not this way."

He backtracked through the house and exited the front instead, circling around to where he could properly survey the remains of what had once been a kitchen garden. Stone edging poked through tall grass and weeds, suggesting there had been garden beds of some sort..

Here and there, some of the hardier herbs still clung on. He recognized thyme gone wild, spreads of mint , and what might have been sage struggling beneath encroaching grass.

Something to salvage there, once I have time, he thought.

Kain crouched down, brushing aside weeds to examine the herbs more closely. His fingers traced the familiar shape of sage leaves, mind drifting to countless hours spent gathering similar plants in the field.

"At least I won't have to learn everything from scratch." He grabbed at some of the thyme, crushing it between his fingers. The smell brought back memories of Sarah teaching everyone on the team about medicinal herbs during their early days.

He pulled out his journal, sketching a rough map of the existing beds.

With some work, he could expand on the original design. Growing healing herbs would provide steady income, adventurers always needed supplies, and his rank gave him connections to several guild shops who might be willing to source material from him.

"Could set up a proper herb garden here." His hand instinctively went to the flask in his pocket and he took a swig. "Better quality than what most gather in the wild too, if I do it right."

Garden Recovery

Clear overgrowth

Rebuild bed borders

Identify surviving herbs

Plan replanting

Beyond the kitchen garden sprawled his fields proper. Tall grass swayed, thick and lush, and plenty of young trees dotted the field and would need to be cleared. According to his deed, the previous owners had kept three acres farm-ready. Finding the exact boundaries of those fields would take work.

He pushed through grass that reached his waist, noting places where the soil felt different underfoot. The ground remembered proper cultivation, even if nothing remained to show it.

A movement caught his eye - rabbits scattering at his approach. Plump ones too, well-fed on whatever remained of the old plantings. He'd need to deal with that situation before attempting any real farming.

The barn loomed ahead, its obvious lean more pronounced up close. Kain circled it cautiously, noting where support posts had rotted through at ground level. The foundation looked solid enough, but...

He grabbed a stick and poked at one of the posts. The wood crumbled, revealing a hollow core where rot had done its work.

"Wonderful."

Barn Assessment

Support posts rotted through

Roof missing sections

Door hanging loose

Foundation solid (possible salvage)

A well-worn path, barely visible through the overgrowth, led from the barn toward what looked like a stream cutting through his property. He followed it, pushing through brambles that caught at his clothes.

The path opened suddenly onto a natural bowl in the land. Clear water pooled deep and inviting, fed by the stream and shaded by old willows. Signs of old rope swings still hung from the strongest branches.

"Now this is something," he said appreciatively. Good water was worth its weight in gold to a farmer. And a swimming hole wouldn't hurt either, come summer.

The sound of hoofbeats made him turn and head towards the front of the property. There was a woman waiting at the gate, or what remained of it.

She sat her mount well, with the easy confidence of someone who'd spent years in the saddle. Dark hair was tied back practically, and her riding clothes had seen real use.

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"Thought I'd find you taking stock," she called out. "I'm Sorrel. I'm the owner of the Copper Kettle." She looked him over, and then looked over the ruin that was a 'farm'. "Quite a project you've taken on."

"Kain Asheld," he replied, making his way back to the gate. Up close, he could see old scars on her hands that spoke of more than tavern work. "Heard your ale's the best in three provinces."

She laughed. "Only three? Must be losing my touch." She produced a cloth-wrapped package from her saddlebag. "Brought you something. Call it a welcome gift."

Inside the cloth, he found a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, a chunk of cheese, and a small flask that sloshed promisingly.

"Figure you've got enough on your mind without worrying about dinner," she said. "Bread's from Fennick - he's our baker. Cheese is local. The ale..." She smiled. "Well, judge for yourself."

"Thank you," he said, meaning it. Trail rations had gotten old weeks ago.

"Don't mention it. We look after our own here." She nodded toward where he'd emerged from exploring. "Found the old swimming hole, I see. Used to be the favorite spot for half the village children, back when old Madder kept this place properly."

Her eyes drifted to his property. "Going to need help getting all this running again. Tablet on the drop-box shows a few standing offers - folk willing to trade labor for crops once you're producing. Might be worth considering."

Kain glanced at the metal plate fixed to the large box near his gate. Sure enough, below the quality indicators was a small section he hadn't noticed before, displaying what looked like job postings.

"I'll take a look," he said. "Though it'll be a while before I have anything worth trading."

Sorrel shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Good workers are always in demand here. Plenty of folk willing to trade labor now for payment during harvest."

She gathered her reins. "Stop by the Copper Kettle when you get a chance. Usually quiet in the afternoons - good time to meet people who might be useful."

She turned her horse, then paused. "Oh, and watch out for the rabbit warren near your east field. Little bastards nearly stripped my herb garden bare last year. Best deal with them before you start planting."

Kain shifted the package in his hands, studying her. "Why are you doing this? Being..."

"Nice?" Sorrel finished. She adjusted her seat in the saddle, the leather creaking a bit. "Because it's the neighborly thing to do. You've got a tough road ahead getting this place running again."

Her eyes flickered to his scarred hands, then back to his face. "And a rough one behind you too, if buying Madder's Place is any indication."

"That obvious?"

"Most folk looking for a fresh start don't pick a rundown farm." She gestured at the overgrown fields. "This looks more like a distraction. But sometimes that's exactly what's needed."

Kain turned away, his gaze drifting across the overgrown fields. "Yeah, something like that."

The morning breeze rustled through the tall grass, carrying the scent of wild herbs and earth. His fingers tightened around the cloth-wrapped package, the bread still warm against his palm.

Sorrel nodded, her expression softening. "Life is like that sometimes." She adjusted her reins, the leather creaking beneath her grip. "Listen, don't be a stranger out here, alright? Being alone too long isn't good for anyone."

Her horse shifted beneath her, whickering softly. "That said, I gotta get back to the Copper Kettle and put something on."

Kain watched Sorrel ride away, the package of food a welcome weight in his hands. The morning sun had climbed higher, burning off the last wisps of fog from his fields. My fields. The thought still felt foreign.

He settled on his front steps, unwrapping the cloth. The bread released a cloud of steam, and the cheese had that sharp smell that promised real flavor. He uncorked the flask, taking a careful sip.

"Damn." The ale hit his tongue with notes of honey and something darker - roasted nuts maybe. Far better than the watered-down stuff most village taverns passed off as drinkable.

The bread disappeared quickly, followed by most of the cheese. He'd forgotten how hungry real work made him. Different from combat hunger, that sharp edge that came with adrenaline and fear. This was honest fatigue, earned through sweat rather than blood.

The rest of the day blurred into a cycle of inspect, note, and move on. Kain's boots picked up nothing but mud as he walked the edge of the property marking spots where fencing had failed completely, while also finding a tool shed that somehow looked worse than the barn.

He opened up the tool shed, pulled his journal out, brushing aside a spider web that draped across his face and started to write.

Tool Inventory:

Hoe (heavy rust on blade but the handle is solid)

Shovel (usable)

Firewood axe (edge needs serious work, the handle cracked)

Splitting maul (head seems good but needs new handle)

Pruning shears (cant get them to open)

Two sickles (one blade is broken the other salvageable)

Wooden rake (missing some of its teeth)

Pickaxe (heavy rust, handle rotted)

Sledgehammer (just a head)

He started sorting them into piles: immediate use, needs repair, and beyond salvation. The splitting maul was a decent find, its head still had a decent edge under the rust, and replacing a handle wasn't difficult.

The shovel was the only thing not needing work.

"Better than starting from scratch," he muttered, adding rough sketches next to his notes. A proper inventory would help when he visited the village blacksmith. Some of these tools might be worth trading for repairs on others.

The back wall held rows of hooks where smaller tools had been hung before. Most of the hooks had fallen across the rotting workbenches. It wasn't a complete loss though; metal parts could be salvaged, and good steel was worth saving.

Eventually, with the sun starting to set and his hand aching from writing, shoulders tight from ducking under fallen beams and pushing through undergrowth, Kain stopped. The lists covered six pages now, each item representing days or weeks of work.

He settled at the kitchen table, using the last of the daylight to review his notes. His ribs started to hurt, reminding him again of his limitations.

The healer had stressed the importance of rest, but he knew from experience that some movement was better than none. Just had to be careful not to push too hard.

Inside, he laid out his bedroll in a relatively clean corner of the main room. The loft would wait until he was more confident about the stairs.

His pack made a familiar pillow; he'd slept rougher in a hundred camps across four kingdoms.

But this was different. This wasn't a temporary camp or a rented room. This was his, purchased with silver earned the hard way.

His responsibility. His chance to build on the dreams his friends had left behind.

Sleep came slowly as his mind turned over problems and solutions. The roof. The door. The fields.

Each challenge seemed to sprout three more, like heads of a hydra he'd once helped hunt in the southern marshes.

One thing at a time, he thought as exhaustion finally took him. One thing at a time.