I rest comfortably in my little workshop on the outside of my home. It's nothing fancy, just a few sheets of metal canted slightly overhead for rain to run off, propped up by wooden posts and lumber. Inside, I have a little workbench with a few woodworking tools. The last couple of days and nights have been quieter than I expected; some part of me still believed that Kline would cause some drama and there'd be an army of wiretails marching to our village because of it.

But there's been nothing, and life has returned to normal. Well, for everyone else, it seems to have–I've been trying to relax, even amusing myself by watching Khalil and Lani's maybe-budding relationship and teasing Khalil about whatever I can when I get the chance. But, as can be expected, I'm finding it very hard to go on as if everything's the same as when I left the village on that trading run those few weeks ago.

Whittling knife in hand, I slowly pick up another piece of wood and start shaping it down, just like the other twenty or so arrow shafts I've already done. Even my regular arrow creation isn't relaxing me. Drinks at the Forgetful Fox did the exact opposite; it made me surly and discontented the first night, so I haven't had anything inebriating since.

Merrill came by and asked if I wanted to go on a trading run for her yesterday, but I declined. When I refused, I had to fend off the bubbly fey's hundred questions. Finally, I just told her I didn't want to, that her harassing me was making me even less inclined to do anything at all and to leave me be. She offered to help me relax, and after a sharp look from me, she clarified that she wasn't coming on to me but that she may have access to some smoking flower that was picked up on one of the recent trading runs.

I did accept that offer, but she didn't swing back later in the day with it, and I haven't seen her today so far, so who knows what's going on with that. So, that's where I'm now–whittling arrow shafts and trying to relax my mind. Failing to calm my mind is a better description, truthfully.

I slid the next roughed-out shaft onto the pile and looked them over. It's a good-sized stack so far, putting my total completed arrows at around 20 or 21, with about the same amount that are unfinished. I start to carefully sandpaper the unfinished arrow shafts, smoothing out their roughed-in shape so that they'll fly more accurately when I fire them. The faint but rhythmic scratching of the paper allows me to turn my thoughts back to other things.

Is it our business that an entire village disappeared? Not really, but Lani was right to feel the way she did about it. Whole groups of people disappearing like that hasn't been heard of since the bad times when the sun and moon ascendancy tribes fought themselves and everyone else. It occurs to me that Hannah was probably around then, but she would have been Hannah of the Aurora then. That still trips me out. An ex-member of the people who literally determine the rules for fey like me who are sun-aligned. Not only an ex-member, but that necklace looked like it belonged to someone important.

I've only seen one Aurora in my life, and it was in the Alvarado's town. They're not quite big enough to call themselves a city yet, but they have enough of a footprint that when I was at their place, they were having an accusation hearing, and an Aurora was there to judge the whole affair. He was fancy and had some fancy adornments, but he didn't have a fancy necklace like the one I saw in Hannah and Jorge's secret room.

I shift on my chair and pick up another piece of sandpaper before tossing the one I'd been using into my wastebasket. I roll back to where I was and get back to sanding down and along the whittled arrow shafts.

Some part of me isn't at all comfortable with simply leaving this open-ended question about the village next to ours just disappearing, and I don't know how to feel about being the only one to be this concerned about it. I've thought about going to Hannah and asking if we can ask for an inquiry from the Deore, but then I remember that we're technically Wilder and not, you know, important enough to be asking for stuff like that.

On and on my thoughts go, my restless mind not allowing me the simple joy of creating with my hands. Finally, I get through the sanding of all the shafts, but my heart isn't in it to continue. I brush off my hands of wood shavings and then tidy up my tiny workshop. I move the unfinished arrows into a little box to handle later, and as I'm latching it closed, I hear loud footfalls crunching through the gravel leading up to my home.

There's a knock on the door to the front of my home, so I walk a few feet over and peek my head around the corner of my house. Standing at the front door is Merrill, with a little pouch the size of an apple in her hands.

"Hey, Meri. Over here."

"Orion! Hey!" Her bubbly personality is infectious for most, but for me right now, it just lures out a half-smile on my part. She casually walks over to where I'm in front of my little workshop.

"Looking like you were busy! Guess I have good timing; you just finished?"

"No–well, yes. I decided I was done for now. I didn't finish what I was doing, but I don't feel like doing more right now, I guess."

"Still feeling a little down?"

"I don't know if that's the word or phrase I'd use. Anxious is a better one, maybe."

Merrill struts the rest of the way and pokes me right in the center of the chest with her free hand.

"Listen here, mister, you don't get to get all emo on me. You're my favorite hunter-gatherer, okay?"

She follows it up with one of her trademark bubbly grins once again. I take a half step back, breaking the physical contact while pretending to get my whittling knife off my bench and return it to my belt.

"I'm not 'all emo' or anything like that; I'm just, I don't know, thoughtful?"

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"No, you're being serious and worrying about things that I don't think you need to worry about."

"You don't even know what I'm supposedly worrying about."

"The rumors at the Forgetful F–"

"–Oh, here we go; tell me what the rumor machine has cooked up now."

"–At the Forgetful Fox," she continues as if I didn't even interrupt, "says you're all in your head over a girl you had to leave in the Wilds."

"What? That's just–"

"True? You're not denying it, Or-i-on." She makes a little sing-song voice for my name while waving the little apple-sized pouch in front of her face and mine.

"I didn't leave anyone behind; she left alone, and she was on a wiretail, so I think she'll be just fine–was just fine."

Merrill steps closer to me again and looks over my face, her wild red hair framing her face in the mischievously attractive way she always seems to have. It's why she's such a good trader for our village–well, that and her bubbly personality. She reaches down and snags one of my hands; I start to resist a little, but she doesn't release my hand. Instead, she places the little sack into it and purposely curls my fingers around it for me.

"Free of charge for a 'friend in need,' okay?" Her bright eyes watch mine with some hope.

"Thanks. You're 'a friend indeed,' Meri," My voice suddenly sounds crackly and dry, so I clear my throat.

Merrill's facial expression shifts just slightly, the corners of her smile lessening just ever so slightly. She steps back from in front of me and gives me a sad little smile. When I saw that shift in her facial features, I realized she hoped I would reciprocate with her. The moment's gone–thankfully, I might add.

"I hope you feel better, Or-i-on."

"Thanks, Meri, I'll pay you back."

"Nah, it's okay, no one will even know that flower's missing. You should take your big furball out and find yourself a peaceful place. Just use it to relax and calm your mind. Get back to who you are."

She finishes her sentence with a "Bye-bye" before hurriedly moving away, her face falling as she heads away from me. I'm pretty sure I just fumbled her showing interest in spending some alone time with me, but my internal feelings don't care. I could have been like other faeries my age and just gone off to enjoy the experience and have some probably great sex, but apparently, my brain is broken, and I'm still hung up on Cassandra on top of the other things.

I slowly pull the drawstrings open on the little leather bag Merrill left in my hands and the strong scent of the dried herb inside wafts up. I carefully pluck out one of the buds and look over its shimmery purple and blue nodules with its golden orange hairs. Quality smoking leaf, I appreciatively think to myself. I suppose I should feel bad about not sharing some of it with Merrill, but I don't. I drop the inspected flower bud back into the container and tightly draw the strings on the bag back to reseal the pouch.

I tie the pouch to my belt and then stop momentarily in my house to pick up my bow, a full quiver, and my smoking pipe. I sling the bow over my shoulder and set my quiver back to where I like to keep it placed for easy access, then tuck my pipe into my belt so that I won't lose it. I jog away from the front of my house toward the stables where I know Gallen will be and where Ranger is being kept. Along the way, I return greetings from people who see me passing by, trying to appear as normal as possible.

As I draw closer to the stables, Jorge comes out from inside, wiping his hands on a rag, his head tilting at me questioningly as he sees me reasonably close to fully kitted out.

"Hey there, young buck, what are you getting up to today?"

"Thought I might spend some quiet time in the Wilds for a few hours."

His kindly face studies me, and then he gestures for me to follow him to the side of the stables, away from the main walking paths. Of course I follow after Jorge, and about halfway down the length of the stables, he stops and turns to face me.

"I know you have a lot going on in that head of yours, Orion. You don't have to hold that weight alone. Trust me when I say that I know the look of someone holding on to many thoughts, questions, and concerns with no answers."

"Hannah, you mean."

"She told me that she showed you the room, and she trusts you, and I trust you, so I know that little expedition alone must have your poor head swimming."

I nudge my left shoe's toe at the soil and gravel underneath our feet, my eyes lowering as I decide what to say. Jorge reaches forward, setting one of his strong, meaty hands on my shoulder before squeezing it.

"Hannah is different from me, and I know we're not actual kin like you are to her, but I tell you what, I always was there for her. If you need someone to talk to who knows what you're going through, trust me when I say that I can be that outlet for you."

"Thanks, Jorge, but I wouldn't know where to start."

"Maybe you don't need a place to start; you just need to spray it all out, out loud, with someone who's got no real dog in the fight save for making sure you're good and safe. Now I see you're getting ready to get your beast and go out like you said, but if you want some company, I can put off making nails for another time."

"I don't know, Jorge. I'm not one of those people who likes to whine about things."

"It's not whinging to talk through your thoughts; it'll help you get a clear path forward. Besides, my word's got some weight around here, yeah? If you need to go somewhere or get something, maybe–just maybe–I'd be a good guy to have around when you come to that realization."

His craggy, weathered skin shifts and crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth when he gives me a big grin.

"Besides, I can smell what you got in that little pouch of yours, and if you don't mind, I'd rather like to sit, chat, or listen and partake in some of that smoking leaf while seeing if I can help ease your mind."

I laugh, not denying what I have, and already I feel a little better just knowing that Jorge probably knows most of what I told Hannah. I realized he was right and finally nodded my head in agreement with him.

"Sure, Jorge. I'd like your company, and it's been a long time since we went out anywhere together."

"Not since you were still struggling to draw a full-sized bow if memory serves me right. Give me a few minutes to tell a couple of people I'm taking a half day off from making nails at the forge, and I'll have Gallen saddle up my horse while you get your wiretail."

I nod and step back, heading to the front of the stables accompanied by Jorge. He splits off to do what he said he would, and I head into the stables to find Gallen. He's busily cleaning out a stall for the mules, and they're braying in irritation at being shuffled around against their will. Only a few minutes of waiting and talking before Gallen helps me to saddle up Ranger, who grumbles and grunts as his creature-sorts tend to do. As I lead Ranger out of the stables, Gallen starts to saddle up a stocky workhorse that everyone knows is Jorge's favorite. By the time Jorge returns, the horse is ready to go, with about a day's worth of oats in a little pouch connected to its saddle. I mount up on Ranger when Jorge gets up onto his horse. After a little fracas–where the horse is totally not all good with the fact that there's a wiretail right next to it–we get everything settled down and set off through the village gates.

I'm not entirely sure where we're heading, and Jorge seems more than willing to let me lead. I set a comfortable pace for Jorge's horse, which is only a light trot for Ranger, and lean forward a little in my saddle to pat and rub the dark mane and black tufted lynx-like ears of the wiretail.