Wooden steps rose in a straight flight along the entry hall, and just off to one side lay a study. The air within seemed different—quiet, set apart, as though the world outside had never touched it. Dark oak paneled the walls, polished smooth by years of care. A single tall window admitted the light, its clear glass framing a view of the fields beyond, where sheep grazed in peace.
Seeker set his burden beside a narrow bookshelf. The few volumes it held were a mismatched collection, their spines worn and frayed—tokens, perhaps, left behind by pilgrims who had passed this way before. On the lower shelf there was space enough for his own books, waiting for his hand.
A desk stood ready with a neat stack of paper, a quill, and an inkpot beside it. Seeker placed his Book upon the desk but kept the Phial pressed close to his heart. By the hearth waited a great chair—worn yet dignified, its leather softened by generations of pilgrims who had found rest within its arms. He sank into it, a long breath slipping from his chest—a mingling of relief and gratitude.
Beautiful stepped into the room, her eyes shining. “There are three bedrooms—one for us, one for Bright, and one for Wonderful.”
From down the hall came Bright’s jubilant shout, “Yay!” His voice rang against the walls, Wonderful’s own cheer rising right after, full of laughter.
Seeker rose, the warm scent of fresh bread guiding down the hall to the back of the country house. In the kitchen, a great hearth dominated the room with a wide stone arch. A small iron door covered the oven. Near the back door, cords of firewood were stacked neatly, and linen-draped baskets rested in tidy rows.
Beyond the kitchen, a dining room opened to the side. Beautiful slipped in beside him, her fingers catching his hand in a playful tug. “Upstairs, honey.”
Seeker’s fingers slid along the smooth, time-darkened banister as Beautiful guided him up the narrow stair. At the top, he stepped into a broad chamber where light streamed through tall windows set on either side. The ceiling dipped low with the slope of the roof, yet the room felt airy, filled with brightness.
A long wooden table commanded the center of the room, its surface scarred with age yet worn smooth by countless hands. Benches flanked either side, their edges rounded by use. Against the wall stood a basin on a simple stand, a folded cloth laid neatly beside it.
Along the wall stood three doors, each opening into a bedroom. One was larger, set with a bed wide enough for two. The other two were smaller, each holding a single bed.
Beautiful’s breath caught, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s almost as if this place was built for us.”
***
The kitchen smelled of smoke and bread so warm it made Wonderful’s tummy grumble, even though she’d already eaten. The hearth yawned wide—so wide she thought she could almost crawl inside. Flames leapt and licked the black stones above, alive and playful. Beside it, a little arched door hid in the wall like a secret cave. That was where the loaves went in, Mama said, to bake until golden.
A stack of logs towered taller than she was, and when one popped into the fire she jumped—then giggled. Dusty flour drifted in the air and settled on the table, where a lump of dough waited beneath a white cloth, rising as if it were breathing.
Wonderful rose on her tiptoes to peek, fingers itching to press the soft dough, to knead it, to bake bread like Mama. She was sure she could do better. She stuck out her tongue at Mama’s back and stifled a giggle.
Out back lay a small garden. Mama said each plant meant something. The sharp smelling sage for wisdom. Rosemary for remembering. Basil was sweet, so it must be love. And parsley for cleansing. Another way to say “tastes funny,” she decided. Wonderful didn’t care so much about that. She just liked leaning close, breathing in their smells.
Mama chopped carrots and parsley for the stew. A piece of carrot slipped from the board and spun across the floor. Merry pounced, snatching it up.
“Merry, no!” Wonderful cried, hands on her hips.
Bright leaned in the doorway, smirking. “Puppies can eat carrots.”
Merry crunched happily, tail thumping, then plopped down with his paws lifted, eyes wide, waiting for the next treasure to fall.
***
With Seeker and Bright gone to explore, and Wonderful still asleep, Beautiful stood in the garden, the morning sun warm upon her face.
Tucked just beyond the garden stood a smaller house, simpler but well kept. Its whitewashed walls had weathered softer beneath years of sun and rain. Vines curled along the corners, while wildflowers gathered at its base where stone met earth. The thatched roof dipped lower, humbler than the main house. Its golden reeds had weathered to straw. A narrow path, worn smooth, led from the kitchen door to its plain wooden threshold, where the house seemed to wait in quiet welcome.
A faint whiff of clove drifted past. Her. The pain had dulled to an almost imperceptible ache, but it was not gone. A wave of dizziness swept over her—she nearly sank to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone, as if it had never been.
No—it was cinnamon. Comfort had returned. She came across the meadow, waving as she neared.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Beautiful said.
Comfort’s smile widened. “I brought you something.” She slipped a hand into her bag and drew out a small parcel, pressing it gently into Beautiful’s hands.
Beautiful unwrapped the parcel carefully, and the smoky-sweet aroma drifted up. She gasped, eyes wide. “Octopus jerky? I haven’t had this since Bright-Harbor! The scent alone brings it back!” She glanced toward the guest house and smiled. “Are you staying a while? It’s humble, but you are welcome.”
They stepped inside together. The little house held only a single room—plain and spare. A rough-hewn table stood in the center, and a narrow bed was pressed against the wall. By the door, a few wooden pegs waited for cloaks or bags, and one small window opened onto the garden outside.
Comfort’s smile softened as she looked around. “It’s perfect.”
***
Bright walked toward the pond, leaning on his staff. Sheep grazed quietly along the water’s edge, their noses dipping now and then into the ripples. Then without warning, the meadow erupted. Sheep scattered, bleating in terror, their hooves drumming the earth like thunder. Bright’s chest clenched, his heart slamming hard against his ribs. From the dark mountains to the west, a black shape surged into view—huge, hulking, fur bristling, a roar tearing the air apart.
A bear.
It barreled toward the flock, eyes locked, claws ripping furrows in the earth. One ewe stumbled, legs tangling beneath her. She bleated in panic, stranded in the open. The bear swung toward her, jaws gaping, teeth glinting white.
Bright didn’t think—he couldn’t. His staff was already clenched in his grip, and his legs were moving before his mind caught up. He tore across the meadow, breath burning in his throat, reckless, unstoppable.
“Hey!” he shouted, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and fury. He lifted the staff high over his head, hands trembling, and bellowed again, “Leave her!”
The bear wheeled at the sound, its massive head snapping toward him. A growl rumbled through the earth itself, yet Bright planted his feet. He clutched the staff in both hands, palms slick with sweat, refusing to let go.
Bright swung with all his strength, the staff cracking down on the bear’s nose with a solid thump. The beast froze, stunned, then dropped back on its haunches. A pitiful whimper broke from its throat before it bolted, crashing toward the dark mountains.
Bright sank beneath a tree, his legs quivering too hard to hold him. He held the staff against his chest and tried to steady his breath. Slowly, the trembling eased. A tune slipped through his lips, soft at first, then steadier, threading through the meadow like a breeze. One by one, the sheep wandered back, their bleating quieting. They circled close and settled around him, wool brushing his knees, until he sat enclosed in their calm.
Bonus Picture!
