Golden light bled through the leaves, warming the peace inside her.
It painted the dark soil with a familiar glow.
Elowen knelt, tracing the curve of a tender shoot.
This was home.
The feeling settled deep in her bones.
A strange flicker caught her eye.
She looked up.
Beyond the ancient oaks, shadows twisted.
Their rhythm was unnatural.
Wonder tugged at her.
The shadows danced oddly today.
The movement was almost beautiful.
It flowed like dark water.
But it was wrong.
A cold thread of fear wove through her curiosity.
The feeling was new.
She had never felt it in her own garden before.
It was the unease of a watched thing.
"Thalor?" she whispered again, her voice tight.
"Do you see how they twist?"
He did not need to answer.
His silence was enough. His focus was absolute.
It was the focus of a protector, and that scared her more than the shadows themselves.
She had only ever seen that look when he spoke of the world beyond their borders.
The world he had tried so hard to shield her from.
Her breath caught.
"The shadows," she said. Her voice was small.
"They are moving," he answered. His tone was a low rumble.
Elowen rose.
She brushed dirt from her knees.
The familiar scent of mint felt thin now.
Her comfort felt just as fragile.
Something was wrong.
"Did you hear that?" she asked.
A howl drifted on the breeze. It was sharp and hungry.
"I did," Thalalor said.
The sound was a predator's call.
It did not belong in Thrakwhisper.
Thalor's stories echoed in her mind.
He spoke of the wilds.
He called them the Hungering Lands.
On winter nights, by the hearth's warm glow, he would tell tales.
He spoke of beasts with eyes like embers.
They hunted not for food, but for the thrill of the chase.
She remembered shivering under her blanket.
It had felt like a game then.
A story to make the safety of the village feel warmer.
But the story had a purpose.
"Never mistake peace for safety," he had told her, his voice a low whisper.
The howl on the wind was not a story.
It was a promise.
The Hungering Lands were closer than she had ever imagined.
The memory brought no comfort.
It brought a cold spike of fear.
The stories were no longer tales.
They were a sound on the wind.
"That sound," she said. Her voice was steadier.
He nodded.
His hand tightened on his vine-wrapped staff.
"The wind carries warnings now."
Her curiosity shifted.
It soured into a knot of apprehension.
She took a step closer to him.
The air carried the bitter tang of smoke.
It was not the comforting aroma of village hearths.
It smelled of violation.
"I feel it," she whispered.
Fear was a cold presence.
The peace of her home felt like a fragile shell.
He moved to stand between her and the forest.
The gesture was small.
It was everything.
His hand felt like an ancient root, steady and true because it reminded her of the village's quiet power they shared.
"We watch together," he said. His words were not a comfort. They were a duty.
"Together," she agreed. Her voice was firm.
The fear did not leave.
Resolve started to build beside it.
A small, warm flame.
"Will they come here?" she whispered.
His gaze did not waver. "They are always near, Elowen."
"But this feels different," she insisted.
He finally turned to her.
His expression was grim.
"The smoke is wrong."
A sharp, metallic sound echoed from the dark woods.
The crack of a chain on stone.
Elowen flinched.
The noise was an intrusion.
It did not belong here.
Suddenly, a branch snapped in the woods nearby.
The sound was sharp. Close.
Elowen froze, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Every muscle in her body screamed to run.
Thalor's hand landed on her shoulder, a heavy, grounding weight.
His touch was a silent command.
Stay.
"What was that?" she breathed, her voice barely a sound.
"Something small," he murmured, his gaze never leaving the treeline. "Fleeing."
The word hung in the air.
Fleeing.
The small creatures of the forest knew.
They were running from the greater hunger.
Elowen's fear did not vanish.
It sharpened into a point.
She would not be like them.
She would not flee her home.
"We won't run," she whispered.
It was a vow.
Thalor knelt by a broad leaf. He sifted a fine, dark powder from its surface. It was not dust.
Ash.
Cold dread washed over her. It stole her breath. The world narrowed to the dark grit on his fingertip.
"The fire is moving," she whispered. Her voice trembled.
"It is," Thalor said. He stood, his gaze returning to the horizon.
She felt the urge to run.
She wanted to hide.
But she looked at Thalor. His face was calm.
"We cannot hide," she said. It was a statement.
"No. We watch."
His words settled inside her.
The fear was still there.
But it no longer controlled her.
Strength rose in her chest.
With him, she felt ready.
She squeezed his arm.
A silent promise passed between them.
They turned and walked toward the village center.
The lights from the hearths were bright.
Their warmth held the darkness at bay.
But the shadows still gathered.
An old woman hurried past them.
Her face was a mask of worry.
"Did you hear it?" the woman asked.
Her voice was a frightened whisper.
Thalor gave a slow, reassuring nod.
"The wind plays tricks. Keep your hearth lit."
The woman's shoulders eased.
Elowen placed a gentle hand on her arm.
"We are watchful," she said.
The steadiness in her own voice surprised her.
The woman offered a grateful smile.
She hurried into her home.
The heavy door shut with a solid thud.
One more light against the dark.
"That was well done," Thalor said softly.
"It felt right," Elowen admitted.
Her own fear felt smaller when she soothed another's.
"That is the root of strength."
"The night tests us," he said, his voice a low hum.
"But we endure."
She nodded.
Her throat was tight.
The scent of roasting vegetables reached for them.
The smell of home. The smell of something that could be lost.
A second howl ripped through the dusk.
It was closer this time.
Louder.
A door creaked open nearby.
Then another.
Murmurs of fear spread through the village like a contagion.
"It's the howls," someone cried out from the shadows.
"They're coming for us."
Panic began to bloom in the twilight.
It was a fragile thing, easily crushed.
Elowen saw it in their wide, frightened eyes.
She turned to Thalor, but his focus was outward, on the threat.
Someone had to hold the center.
Her own fear was a cold stone in her gut. But the warmth of her resolve was stronger.
"Quiet," she said.
Her voice was not loud, but it cut through the rising panic.
"We are not scattered beasts. We are a village."
The murmurs subsided.
All eyes turned to her.
She felt their fear.
She felt their hope.
She would not let either of them break.
Elowen straightened her shoulders.
She matched Thalor's calm stride.
Resolve steadied her.
The howls promised a trial.
She would face them.
The shadows were coming.
"If they come," she whispered.
Thalor's gaze met hers. His eyes were ancient and knowing.
"We will stand," he said.
She would not break.
Let them come.
She would be ready.