---RYNE---

“We thank you,” I said after a long pause.

He nodded and whistled for Belle. “This way, quick, before the light completely leaves the sky,” Claude said.

We moved, us three monks with our long robes dragging behind us following the young farm boy and his fluffy sheep. Claude turned to me and slowed his pace so that we walked side by side, our arms almost brushing against each other. I noticed we were about the same height. We walked through the meadows, with Claude pointing out signs of the landscape. Maybe he wanted to fill in the silence, maybe he wanted us to not get lost. The medicinal flowers have all but gone, he said. The cruel weather, the icy winds, and the lack of sunlight had made them wilt.

“You should have seen this place a few years ago. It was brighter, then. My neighbors made merry in these grasslands. My father made music with his flute and my mother danced for us. My brothers and I brought out food to share. I wish I had more years of such good days like my eldest brother.”

“Where are your brothers now? How many do you have?” I asked. I begged the skies that they spared at least a few of them.

“Three older ones. Trapped in the walled cities. They can’t leave without permission from the nobles ruling there. But before they were shut in, all of them delivered the same message. They’re safe for now. There is food. One of them managed to land himself in the court of Lady Aylmere. Lucky bastard.”

I heard of her from one of Knox's many lectures. Edrea Aylmere was one of the few good nobles that actually gave a damn about her subjects. If only she had more land and power, then she could join the league of nobles that influenced the reigning saint-king’s drastic decisions.

“I’m not an elder or someone important in the town. I’m not lord Bahram, I just help run his farm. But I want to say that you’re welcome here.” He inclined his head towards us. “I know it isn’t much, and I don’t know how you would plan on taking care of yourselves, but I want you to know before anyone says anything hurtful to you… I want you to know that you’re welcome here.”

Claude arranged his dark curls and shrugged and smiled. “Welcome to Rothfield.”

___

I stared in awe at his farmhouse. I hadn’t seen anything like it before; larger than the cottages and huts that dotted the outside of our monasteries. It had an upper floor with wide windows that were lit from inside with low candlelights.

Claude caught me staring. He smiled. “My Da and Ma built it.” I stared in awe and he smiled wider. “My mother said that her side of the family started out as a small farm when Rothfield was a hamlet. We were close with the lords back then, but well…” he shrugged. "Her siblings are all dead, so she inherited the farm when she came of age on the promise that she would find a good man. But her parents died before that happened. She was the main farmer here before she met my Da."

I can imagine his family growing up with the place. Brothers would charge through the doorframe, slamming it open and shut to the chagrin of their parents. I can hear the scruff and splatter of mud-stained boots from working all day on the farm. It was wide, with a darling porch that seemed to want to invite you inside. Though, if you looked at it long enough, it seemed sad and vacant, absent of most of its occupants. Still, Claude’s home held a quaint charm. As if it still held the memories of laughter and cheer.

As we got closer, there was something delicious in the air. Claude turned his nose up and smiled. Belle bounced happily. He said, “Hope you’re hungry, folks.”

Hospitality was new to us, and we were not used to being on the receiving end of it. Wilbur and Woodrow locked eyes with me. It had suddenly dawned on me, too, that having an appetite would cast some normalcy upon us. At least, I hoped it was enough.

Claude left Belle in the sheep shed, a wide area enclosed in a wooden pen. Some of the sheep were dots of white cotton under the cloudy night sky. They did not spook when streaks of lightning blinked overhead. He told me of how Belle was bullied when she was little but now accepted fully by the flock once she proved herself fit enough.

We stood at the bottom of the porch. The aroma was richer now; there were familiar notes of herbs and cream, plus something that I did not recognize. He removed his old jacket and before he placed his shepherd’s staff on the frame of the door, he used it to knock on the wooden door; a melodious rap that alerted who was inside that it was him. It swung widely, spilling warm light and revealing the silhouetted figure of a woman holding a large spoon and one hip in her hand.

“Where have you been?” she screeched.

I winced. Woodrow looked amused and Wilbur’s lips were a firm line. I made sure that my hood covered my face.

She was about to scream yet again when Claude reached down in his pockets and showed her the feverflukes he had gathered. She stared at it. Her expression went to shock, then anger, then melted away into nothing. Her composure softened and she breathed out. She shook her head and took the flowers from his son, and then Claude said, “We have guests, Ma.”

Claude’s mother startled when she saw us. “I–forgive me, I didn’t see you there.” She instinctively placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, inching him back inside. We probably blended better now in the dark without us knowing. Blake’s power must have enhanced our natural abilities.

It was Woodrow that stepped forward. But then, at the last second, he grabbed my arm and nudged me forward. What is with my brothers this night constantly nudging me? I thought. I bowed to the lady of the house. “Forgive us, ma’am. We were merely traveling and bumped into Claude. He was kind enough to lead us through safe passage.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“They helped me find feverflukes for Annette,” Claude added.

Upon seeing my small form and hearing my voice, she breathed a tiny gasp. She opened the door wider to let the light fall on us. I lowered my head still. Claude went down the porch and stood next to me.

“The little brother looks different, but they swear he is not sick,” Claude explained, though he was adding some bits into his story. “His name is Ryne and they look like they’ve been traveling from far away. Their home was destroyed by rogues. Don’t be scared, Ma. He just looks this way.”

“Yes,” Woodrow said quickly. He matched Claude's sad tone. “We were attacked by brigands from the south. They burned our monastery and scattered our brothers around. We do not know where they are now, but we hope the Saints keep them safe.”

Good. Now there was an excuse for our dark eyes and odd features. The unnatural paleness we could attribute to not eating enough meat and the lack of sunlight. Claude’s mother touched her chest. Claude only looked at me.

Wilbur spoke next, stepping forward. “They attacked us in the middle of the night and took all our valuables. We have nothing and no one now, save for each other.”

Claude nudged me softly with his arm. He nodded at my brothers. Wilbur was unsure but gave the faintest nod. I slowly unfastened my hood and raised my face for her to see, not meeting her eyes.

There was a long silence as she regarded me. When next she spoke, Calude's mother’s tone was soft. “Oh, brothers. You must have been so scared. Come inside and warm yourselves.”

She stepped away from her door and let us in. We bowed to her as we entered. Her gaze lingered on Woodrow. Then they fell on me and I heard her whisper to herself: so young. Then she kissed Claude on the head and took the flowers from him, smiling.

We introduced ourselves to her once we were inside, and she smiled at each of us in turn. The warmth of the house blanketed us, along with the warm candelights. “You’ve met Claude, my youngest boy. I am Lydia. And my youngest is upstairs, recovering. Young Annette.” Her voice quaked when she spoke her name but tried to disguise it with a smile. “I have heard rumors about outlaws pillaging villagers, but to directly attack monasteries and nunneries…” she shook her head. She shared a look with her son. “The world truly is dangerous.”

His home was even more charming inside. They had one large table… or no, it was two regular-sized tables with an iron plate connecting the two together. There were eight chairs surrounding it. The head of the table where fathers or elders usually sat glowed warmly with the fireplace behind it. Over the fireplace was a large pot bubbling with a rich, mouthwatering aroma. We knew what it was just by smelling it: onion soup with herbs and thick cream. Jars of dried herbs were stored in their counters, their contents few. Two of them were empty.

There were curious carvings displayed on the counter. They were of animals; a bird, a bear, a fox, and a crudely shaped flower. Claude spotted me. He picked up the flower and handed it to me. “I haven’t gotten the petals right. Shaping curves is difficult.”

I beamed. “You carved these?” My tone sounded excited.

“My Da taught me.”

Lydia gestured for us to sit, hands waving over the table. We each took seats farthest from the fireplace: they needed the heat more than we did. When it came time to serve the dish, Woodrow insisted on serving our hosts. Wilbur watched the cauldron. He stoked the flames and stirred the soup. I saw him discreetly add some leftover dried herbs from his satchel, saw him scatter a few flakes as Lydia was distracted.

Claude himself sat down quietly beside me. “I’m sorry for what happened at your monastery. You must have been frightened.”

“More than you will ever know,” I said truthfully. “I didn’t know what to do. We just had to run away.”

Claude nodded. “What were you supposed to do? They had weapons and you’re a weaponless monk child.” He motioned to my Wilbur and Woodrow. “Your brothers wanted to protect you.” There were memories behind his eyes. His own brothers must have defended him from peril many times throughout his early childhood.

“I could have done something. Anything, to help.” I nudged him. “Like you did, braving the meadow, unsure if the sickness will touch you next.”

When the soup was done, Claude rose from my side and took a seat next to his mother, facing me. Woodrow surprised Wilbur and I as he recited one of the prayers for blessing the food. Claude’s mother closed his eyes, but Claude’s eyes remained open, looking at me. He seemed to be looking at me all the time. I felt shy. I thought that now, surely, he was beginning to feel scared by my appearance, but he simply stared.

Then he made a face in the middle of prayer, catching me off guard. I closed my eyes and tried not to laugh. My shyness shattered.

I did not know why, but I looked in his direction and stared at him as well. This time, he wiggled his thick eyebrows. In response, I wrinkled my nose and pouted my lips. We chuckled as wooden bowls were set in front of us, the mouthwatering smell dispelling the cold months in me.

Lydia asked us from her seat next to Claude, “Do you hope to seek Lord Bahram’s aid, Brothers?” She looked uncertain. “He may be difficult to speak with. He isn’t known for his generosity.”

Claude abruptly said, “He’s a bully with lands.”

Lydia continued. “There is a chapel here, but the priest went away for business to other cities—”

“Probably squandering our confessions and tithes,” Claude interjected with a mouthful of hot soup.

Lydia fixed her son a stern stare. “It’s probably about the nuns and monks there and how best they can support the lord and the people. Maybe Lord Bahram can let you inside the chapel. I’m sure whatever difference monks and priests have in the way they run their sanctuaries won’t matter. But if Bahram turns you away, you could stay here a while. Saints know we need the help. You can stay in this farmhouse or in the barn until you find out a new plan.”

Even Claude was surprised at that. His mouth was slightly open, the soup from his spoon dripping back into his bowl. Then he turned to me, eyes uncertain, but twinkling softly. We thanked her for her generosity and she told us about the history of the land just as much as Claude said it on the path.

“What is beyond the thick trees?” Wilbur asked.

“Ah, yes, the natural border. No one knows. Though Lord Bahram claims it’s part of their land. But no carpenter, farmer, knight, or lord has ever gone to the other side. Lord Bahram himself got lost in the middle of the forest with the mercenaries he rented. He told us that the branches blocked out most of the sky and that everything there was dead. The trees aren’t even useful. They bear no fruits, no leaves, no flowers. Their bark is tough to cut down, but when you do try to sculpt something out of it, it then becomes brittle.”

“They say it is cursed. That the Saints themselves closed the place off from any living thing.” Claude wiggled his fingers playfully, finishing the story. “And yet, here we are, building a home nearby.”

Lydia shook her head. “But it couldn’t be cursed. The stream from the mountains flows there and right through here and onwards to the town.”