—DARK FOREST—

I walked through the dark forest in the early morning, leaving the monastery’s affairs in the capable hands of Agate and Harlan. The cold air made my breath visible, merging with the thick fog that hung among the trees. The leaves crunched under my boots, each step echoing in the silence.

Claude had asked me the night before if I wanted to visit their barn. I smiled and told him I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend my time. Even Wilbur had agreed, noting, “It’s good to take these little breaks while we can. Soon, our hands will be full with other responsibilities.” His tone was more excited than grave.

At the edge of the forest, I glimpsed Claude’s familiar jerkin through the trees. But the figure beside him was unfamiliar. As I approached, I saw that it was a child. Annette, her eyes the same color as Claude’s, looked up at me with wide curiosity. Her small hand was clasped in Claude’s as she swayed gently. Dressed in a simple dress and thick apron, she seemed like a delicate flower in the breeze.

I offered a warm smile, hoping it masked the marks on my face as I drew my hood down. “Hello,” I said softly. “It’s nice to see you.”

Annette blinked, then giggled and waved before bounding back to the porch, where she picked up a broom and began to sweep. Claude chuckled, watching her with affection. “She insisted on seeing you.”

We walked together to the barn, passing the brittle oats and away from their cottage. The cold wind scattered a few useless grains and stung my cheeks.

“How are things in your town?” I asked, concerned about the blight.

Claude’s expression darkened. “People are at each other’s throats. Husband and wife blame each other, siblings fight over food. I hardly go out anymore because of the whispers.”

I frowned and placed a hand on his shoulder as we neared the sheep enclosure. The old wooden gate, padlocked, seemed as though it might swing sadly on its hinges, like a weary dog.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” I murmured.

“It’s fine,” Claude said, though his eyes betrayed his worry.

He told me about his friends from town, about the carefree days spent playing on cobblestone streets, and how Vincent Bahram had called them pigs. Now, the memories felt like a distant echo, replaced by the harsh reality of the present.

Claude picked an apple that was about to rot and whistled to his flock. The sheep, drawn by the sound, moved towards us like a wave of gray clouds. Claude’s face lit up when Belle, his favorite ewe, bounded forward. She nuzzled him with eager affection, and he chuckled as he set her down and called the others to graze in the meadow.

“Let’s go to the spot where I first saw you,” he said, swinging his shepherd’s staff with a determined air.

Sitting on the grass, I found myself oddly at ease, watching the sheep. Claude noticed my wandering gaze towards the forest and kept my attention focused on the flock, calling out their names. His laughter, as he made up names, brought a brief moment of lightness. I pushed him playfully, realizing he was teasing me. The distraction worked, and I felt a calming contentment as we watched the sheep in the field once vibrant with feverfluke flowers.

“You make me happy, Ryne,” Claude said suddenly. His honesty stirred something inside me. In the oppressive atmosphere under Knox and Blake’s influence, we had learned to conceal our true feelings. But Claude’s openness was something new to me.

Claude watched the scene before us. “I used to spend my days just watching them until I fell asleep. It was my parents’ way of calming me. Sheep are vital to our economy. The realm relies on them.” His voice trailed off, and we shared the quiet.

As dusk fell, the landscape grew darker, and sadness etched deeper into Claude’s face. He sighed and rested his chin on his knees, gazing at Belle, who stayed close by. The shadows lengthened, merging with the darkening field.

“I shouldn’t have to do this,” Claude said, his voice thick with frustration. “The nobles, Bahram and his ilk, they only take and never give.” He paused, his fingers gently covering Belle’s ears as if shielding her from harsh truths. “The Bahrams have ordered us to give up most of our flock. I fear that they plan to slaughter them and preserve the rest for when the sickness reaches Rothfield.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of his pain. Instinctively, I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. His warmth contrasted with the cold of the evening.

“How can he take them and expect you to still pay for your tribute?” I asked.

“He just wants to show his power. They all do. I’m not sure if they want to confiscate our livestock and bring them back once we paid our crop tribute in full, or just get satisfaction from simply bullying us.”

I huffed. “We won’t let that happen,” I said firmly, meeting his tearful gaze. “We can—”

“Ryne, it’s kind of you to say that,” Claude interrupted, shaking his head. “But even you can’t fix this.” He wiped his eyes, his voice breaking. “I feel so powerless. I’ve cared for them all, and now I have to give them away just to keep them safe. It feels like a betrayal.”

I felt a deep sorrow and wished for a magical solution to his plight. Belle nuzzled Claude’s lap, sensing his distress. I crouched down and picked her up.

“This one,” I said firmly. “We might not save them all, but we can save this one. We could save Belle. I’d be glad to take her and some of the others back to Rothfield. Bahram won’t notice a few missing.” Claude stared at me, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ll make sure they’re cared for with all the love they deserve. You can see her anytime you like.”

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As twilight deepened, shadows stretched over the field. Claude’s breaths came in ragged huffs as he looked at Belle and then at me. The darkness seemed to swallow the rest of the sheep. He looked away, then nodded with a sad smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered, stepping closer to embrace me with Belle between us. “Thank you.” His anger and sorrow melded into quiet resolve. “I trust you with them, Ryne. I hope it’s enough.”

“It will be,” I assured him. “We’ll make sure of it.”

As the last light of day faded, Claude and I remained by the field, our figures silhouetted against the encroaching darkness. We made our way back, Claude whistling for his flock to follow him. After a few steps, he would cough and his whistles sounded broken. My hand never left his shoulder.

—ROTHFIELD MONASTERY—

In the days following the arrival of Belle and Claude's other livestock at Rothfield, Claude dedicated his nights to building enclosures for them. He worked tirelessly with discarded wood from Harlan and Agate’s camp. I winced as I watched him wrestle with the timber, crafting it into pens and shelters. I scoured the old toolshed for a ladder, hammers, and rusted nails, which he used to build the structures.

Claude’s hammering soon joined the familiar rhythm of the camp. When I checked on him, he gently shooed me away, beaming with gratitude. I wanted to ask Harlan and Agate to lend a hand, but it didn’t feel right. Fortunately, I didn’t need to. I found one or two of them helping Claude with the structures. Even Woodrow pitched in when he wasn’t busy with mountain resources.

One gloomy day, as thunder rumbled faintly, Claude was almost finished with the thatched roof of Belle’s enclosure when he noticed the darkening sky. He paused and looked up at the heavy clouds. Belle bleated nearby, and in addition to her, a goose, a pig, two hens, and a goat had joined the makeshift animal enclosure. Belle and Ember, the pup, had become fast friends, chasing each other around. Claude whistled at Belle.

“Not long now. Just in time for the storm, eh?” he said, tapping the roof with the hammer I had given him. I had just finished my prayers and left Wilbur with his concoctions.

A gust of cold wind swept across the fields, and I saw Claude lose his balance on the ladder. My heart raced as I reached out, but Claude managed to grasp the unfinished roof, saving himself at the cost of some splintered wood.

I hurried to his side, handing him his hammer. “Together,” I said.

Claude smiled. We worked side by side to finish the pig pen, hen house, and sheep enclosure. Claude’s strong hands lifted timber beams with ease, though his muscles strained under the weight. My arms were weak, so I worked carefully, hammering and cutting wood, following his instructions. Despite my initial doubts, Claude seemed glad for my help, even enjoying teaching me.

As the air grew colder, it was filled with the scents of fresh wood and earth. We heard the settlement adding another layer of straw to their animal enclosure. I whistled to Belle, pleased that she responded to my call as well.

“Go back to the camp, girl,” I told her. When I introduced Claude’s animals to Agate and Harlan, they found Belle endearing and instructed their people not to disturb Rothfield’s animals.

Belle stayed put, watching Claude and his work. An idea struck me. I whistled another tune and summoned Ember from the nave. “Take Belle to our home,” I told Ember. She yawned and nuzzled Belle, and they headed towards the church.

Claude wiped his brow and glanced at me. “We need to get these supports in place before the rain starts,” he said, pointing to the incomplete structures. “The pig pen and hen house need to be sturdier.”

I nodded, eyeing the darkening clouds. “I’ve gathered all the nails and hammers,” I said. “I’ll reinforce the sheep enclosure corners.”

Claude smiled. “Good thinking. Belle is smart, but we don’t want the others escaping.”

He directed me in the construction. The pig pen took shape with sturdy posts and rails. The hen house was nearly complete, and the sheep enclosure was coming together with reinforced wood.

Claude inspected our progress. “The pig pen looks solid,” he said, running a hand along a beam. “But we need to ensure the gates swing properly.”

I nodded and checked the gate fittings. Once I was done, I demonstrated how it swung. Claude approved, and I felt proud of our work. We rested against the sheep enclosure fence, catching our breaths.

Suddenly, lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a heavy downpour. We looked at each other, laughing as the rain soaked us. We stomped through the mud, letting go of our troubles, forgetting the darkness and conflicts outside. There was no miasma, no Unending Chaos. No Bahrams, no tributes, no closed cities. The rain felt like a refreshing escape.

When we settled back to work, we hammered the last nails, twisted the remaining twigs, and secured the roofs and fences against the wind. Soaked and exhausted, we finally leaned against the walls of Rothfield monastery and collapsed.

Claude’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths. He chuckled. “Thank you, Ryne.”

“Anytime,” I replied.

As the rain slowed, twilight broke through the clouds, revealing our new constructions. The monastery grounds, now marked by our hard work, promised new life and hope, just as Gaelmar had said.

—MONASTERY KITCHENS—

I lit the candles in the monastery kitchen with kindflame, gathering brass pots and wooden spoons. In my muddy arms, I carried crops from Harlan, along with a few grains of rye and oats from our fields. I had left Claude at the nave with Ember and Belle, their fur keeping him warm, and told him I’d return with food.

Agate had given me two silvergill fish from their stock, already cleaned and descaled. I planned to make it into a stew again, hoping it would be a hearty and satisfying meal for Claude, who had been working tirelessly on the monastery grounds.

I began by heating a small amount of pig fat in a large pot and cooking chopped turnips until they softened. Once they were tender, I added slices of potatoes, letting them mingle with the fat. I poured in water from the clean river, and soon the pot began to bubble. I stirred gently, savoring the rich, earthy aroma. The vegetables cooked until tender, their colors vibrant and inviting.

Next, I added the fish chunks, stirring carefully so as not to break up the delicate pieces. I watched as the fish turned opaque and flaked easily, a sign that it was perfectly cooked. I added a splash of goat’s milk for a smooth, creamy broth that brought everything together. I tasted the stew, adjusting the seasoning with a bit of salt. The final result was a comforting bowl of warmth, perfect for a cold evening.

I went back to the church just as Wilbur emerged from his infirmary. He paused at the doorway, eyeing my mud-stained appearance. I simply beamed at him and continued on my way. Claude was contentedly stroking Ember and Belle’s heads when I saw him. His tired eyes brightened at the sight of the steaming stew.

“Move over,” I chuckled, placing the bowl on his lap.

Claude took his first spoonful and closed his eyes. “This is just what I needed,” he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. I smiled, relieved and happy to see my friend enjoy the meal. We ate together, the stew warming our cold bones alongside the warmth of our furry companions.

Claude finished his meal faster than I did and clapped me on the back, his gesture both appreciative and affectionate. “Thank you, Ryne. This means a lot.”

I nodded, and as I glanced at Gaelmar’s statue, I thought the flickering shadow made him smile.