Forbidden Bond: A Velthorn Tale

The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the dank stone walls of Borst's underground headquarters. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and fear. In the center of the room, bound to a sturdy wooden chair, sat Lorna. Her once-proud frame was slumped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Despite the bruises marring her wrinkled face and the blood trickling from her split lip, her milky eyes remained defiant.

Borst paced before her, his corpulent form trembling with barely contained rage. "I'll ask you one last time, witch," he snarled, spittle flying from his lips. "Where did the elk rider and his goblin whore go?"

Lorna slowly raised her head, a pained chuckle escaping her. "I've told you, you bloated sack of pig dung. I don't know."

With a roar of frustration, Borst backhanded her across the face. The sharp crack echoed through the room, followed by Lorna's grunt of pain.

"Rawl!" Borst bellowed, turning to the scarred brute standing silently in the corner. "This old crone is useless. We're wasting precious time."

Rawl stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "What do you want me to do with her, boss?"

Borst waved his hand dismissively. "Throw her in a cell. We might need her later." His piggy eyes narrowed as he considered his next move. "Gather a few of our best men. And find that tracker – what's his name? Fenris? You’re going hunting."

A cruel smile spread across Rawl's face. "And when I find them?"

"Use whatever means necessary," Borst growled. "But I want them alive. The Veldrins were quite specific about that."

As Rawl turned to leave, Borst called out once more. "And Rawl? Don't fail me again. The consequences will be... severe."

Rawl nodded, his hand unconsciously moving to the lump on his head where Gunter had struck him. "It'll be done, boss. Those two won't know what hit 'em."

As Rawl's heavy footsteps faded away, Borst turned back to Lorna. The old woman's head had lolled forward, but he could have sworn he saw a faint smile playing on her bloodied lips.

"What are you smirking at, you old bat?" he demanded.

Lorna raised her head slowly, her cloudy eyes seeming to pierce right through him. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, Borst," she wheezed. "That boy and his goblin girl... they're more than they seem. The wheels of fate are turning, and you're just a bug about to be crushed beneath them. Your time will come, Borst.”

Borst's face contorted with rage. "We'll see about that," he spat, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him. Two of his men looked nervously between themselves before opening the door again and removing the old woman, taking her off to a cell.

Borst slumped into his chair, his breath coming in heavy wheezes. With trembling hands, he wiped Lorna's blood onto a grimy handkerchief. The metallic scent of it turned his stomach, a reminder of his failure. He buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, shuddering sigh.

"Damn it all," he muttered, his mind racing with the consequences of his incompetence. The Veldrins were not known for their patience or forgiveness. He had promised them results, and so far, he had delivered nothing but excuses.

Fear, cold and insidious, crept up his spine as he imagined what they might do to him. He had seen firsthand the fate of those who displeased the Veldrins. The memory of screams and the acrid smell of burning flesh made him shudder.

"Borst."

The voice, soft yet commanding, cut through his thoughts like a knife. He froze, recognizing the dulcet tones of Lady Veldrin. It came from the small room adjacent to his office, the one that held nothing but the communication mirror.

Swallowing hard, Borst heaved himself to his feet. His legs felt like lead as he shuffled towards the room, dread building with each step. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, his piggy eyes immediately drawn to the ornate mirror on the wall.

Lady Veldrin's face gazed back at him, her silver hair framing features that were both beautiful and terrifying. Her eyes, cold and unforgiving, bore into him.

"My Lady," Borst stammered, bowing his head. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Spare me your groveling, Borst," Lady Veldrin snapped. "Have you completed your task? Have you captured the boy and the goblin?"

Borst felt sweat beading on his forehead. "I... that is to say... we've encountered some difficulties, my Lady."

Lady Veldrin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That is not what I asked you, Borst."

"No," he blurted out, his voice quavering. "No, we haven't captured them yet." Seeing the fury building in Lady Veldrin's eyes, he quickly added, "But I have sent my man Rawl to find them, my Lady. Re... rest assured that he will find them."

The silence that followed was deafening. Borst held his breath, waiting for Lady Veldrin's response, praying to any god that would listen for mercy.

Lady Veldrin's lips curled into a sneer, her eyes flashing with barely contained rage. "An easy task, Borst. That's all we asked of your porcine self. Capture two individuals - a boy and a goblin. How difficult could that possibly be?"

She raised her hand, examining her perfectly manicured nails with an air of practiced nonchalance. "Perhaps we've overestimated your usefulness. There are other ways to dispose of incompetent servants, you know. Ways that would be most... unpleasant for you."

Borst felt his knees go weak, cold sweat trickling down his back. He fell to the ground, his corpulent form shaking with fear. "Please, my Lady! I beg your forgiveness!" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Give me one more chance. I swear on my life, I will not fail you again!"

Lady Veldrin regarded him silently for a long moment, her piercing gaze seeming to strip away every layer of his being. Finally, she let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Very well, Borst. Against my better judgment, I will grant you one final opportunity."

Borst's eyes widened in disbelief and relief. Lady Veldrin continued, her tone icy, "Do not mistake this for mercy. You have served us adequately in the past, and that alone stays my hand. But mark my words - this is your last chance. Fail us again, and you will wish for the sweet release of death long before we grant it to you."

"Thank you, my Lady! Thank you!" Borst groveled, pressing his forehead to the floor. "I swear, I will not disappoint you. You won't regret this, I promise!"

Lady Veldrin's image began to fade from the mirror, her final words hanging in the air like a death sentence. "See that I don't, Borst. For your sake."

As her visage disappeared completely, Borst found himself staring at his own reflection. His face was pale and drawn, eyes wide with fear, sweat glistening on his brow. He barely recognized the cowering, pathetic figure gazing back at him.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered to his reflection, struggling to his feet. "You have work to do."

With shaking hands, he straightened his clothes and took a deep breath. He had been given one last chance, and he would not waste it. The boy and the goblin would be found, no matter the cost. His life depended on it.

Mikhail by Bakule’s side, watching as Gunter and Thunderhoof disappeared into the distance. The rhythmic clip-clop of the elk's hooves faded, leaving them in a companionable silence.

Mikhail turned to Anora, looking up at her with a warm smile spreading across his face. "Well, shall we get going?" he asked, gesturing towards the road to Cedarcrest.

Anora nodded, her orange eyes bright with anticipation. Mikhail then placed his left foot in the stirrup, as he swung his leg over Bakule's broad back, a sharp pain shot through his left thigh. He couldn't suppress a wince as he settled into the saddle behind Anora.

Feeling his body tense, Anora twisted in her seat to face him. Her brow furrowed with concern as she studied his face. "Are you okay?" she asked, her newly restored voice still soft and hesitant.

Mikhail met her gaze, momentarily lost in the depths of her striking orange eyes. The sunlight caught her red curls, making them glow like embers. Her freckles seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. His breath caught in his throat as he marveled at her beauty. 'By Aran, she's beautiful,' he thought to himself for what may have been the hundredth time.

Realizing she was still waiting for an answer, Mikhail cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he assured her, forcing a smile despite the lingering pain. "Just a bit sore from all the excitement. Nothing to worry about."

Anora held his gaze for a moment longer, not entirely convinced. But she nodded, accepting his answer for now. "Okay," she said softly, turning back to face forward.

As Anora settled against his chest, Mikhail felt a warmth bloom in his heart. He clicked his tongue, urging Bakule into a gentle trot. The elk set off down the road towards Cedarcrest, his steady gait carrying them towards their next adventure. Mikhail smiled, happy that he had Bakule to carry them.

Anora allowed herself a small smile, hidden from Mikhail's view. Despite the dangers they'd faced and the uncertainties that lay ahead, she felt a deep sense of contentment. Things had certainly changed for her. No more was she alone, searching for scraps of food or struggling to stay warm. Here, with Mikhail's strong presence at her back and the open road before them, she felt truly happy for the first time in years, it was an odd sensation for her though. One that she didn’t hate feeling.

They rode in silence for what felt like an eternity. Mikhail's thoughts swirled with conflicting emotions, his mind replaying Anora's confession of love and Gunter's words from the night before.

Did he love her? He certainly cared for her deeply, but was it truly love? Gunter's concerns echoed in his mind. Could they really have a life together? Mikhail had never felt so conflicted before, not even when he had started courting girls back in Aldernhor. Sure, he had kissed other girls before, but none of those kisses had affected him like Anora's had. He had also never had any of the girls confess their love to him. The kiss alone had thrown him for a loop let alone her confession of love. Did she mean it? He had saved her from danger but it had only been out of a sense of duty, a sense of not letting what happened to his sister happen to another if he could help it.

Mikhail felt he owed her an answer, but he wasn't quite sure what that answer would be. "She's a goblin, Mikhail! Think about it. What would your family say?” Gunters words played over and over in his mind. What would his family say? Would they be accepting of her or would they cast her out, or even worse, would they kill her like they had the goblins that lived in the caves near his home? In his mind's eye he could see an image of her beautiful head severed from her body, red curls blowing the afternoon breeze, impaled by a stake to serve as a warning to others and a reminder to him that two races shouldn’t mix.

Suddenly, a soft humming broke through the silence, the melody, tentative at first but growing stronger, shook Mikhail from his brooding thoughts. The simple tune carried on the breeze, soothing his troubled mind. He listened to it, feeling a question bubble up in him.

After a few moments, Mikhail found himself asking, "What does it feel like? Having your voice back, I mean."

The humming stopped abruptly and Anora was quiet for a moment before responding, her voice filled with wonder. "It feels... wonderful. After being mute for so long, I never dreamed this could happen. It's like... like I've been given a piece of myself back that I thought was lost forever."

Mikhail nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "I can only imagine," he replied softly. Then, gathering his courage, he continued, "Anora, there's something I've been wanting to ask you. Well, a few things actually."

"Oh?" Anora's voice held a note of curiosity.

"Where are you from? What's your real name? And how did you end up lost in the mountains near Anora's Pass?"

Anora fell silent, and Mikhail felt her shoulders slump slightly. Her pointed ears drooped, and he immediately regretted his questions.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" Mikhail began, but Anora cut him off.

"No, it's alright," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I'm from those same mountains where you found me. I used to live in an underground community of goblins, but..." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I ran away a long time ago. I couldn't bear to live there anymore, so I decided to make my home on the surface, alone."

Mikhail listened intently, his heart aching at the pain he could hear in her voice. He tightened his arms around her waist, offering silent support as she continued her story.

"Why did you leave?" Mikhail asked gently, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Anora fidgeted with a piece of leather on the saddle. But she remained silent.

Realizing he had touched on a sensitive subject, Mikhail quickly backtracked. "It's okay," he said softly, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

As they rode in silence, Mikhail's thoughts drifted to his sister back in Aldernhor. He remembered how quiet and withdrawn she had become after her own traumatic experience. Understanding dawned on him - home, for Anora, was clearly a painful topic and hard to speak of.

Wanting to lighten the mood, Mikhail circled back to one of his earlier questions. "So, what about your real name? You haven’t told me yet."

To his surprise, Anora let out a small chuckle. "Anora," she said, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Mikhail laughed, the tension easing slightly. "No, not the name I gave you," he said, shaking his head. "I mean the one your mother gave you."

As quickly as it had come, the mirth left Anora's voice. When she spoke again, her words were heavy with sorrow. "I... I wasn't given a name," she said quietly. "Not until the night we met."

Mikhail's eyes widened in shock. "Is that... is that how it works for goblins?" he asked hesitantly.

Anora shook her head. "No," she replied softly. "My mother... she just never gave me a name. No one in the tribe did."

A heavy silence fell between them as they rode on, passing fields of lush green grass where birds darted in and out, their calls a stark contrast to the quiet between the two of them. Mikhail struggled to comprehend the idea of a child going unnamed, the concept seemed so foreign to him that it was almost unthinkable.

Sensing Anora's darkening mood, Mikhail attempted to lighten the atmosphere. "Well, Anora is a fine name," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "Your mother made a terrible mistake in not naming you herself."

His clumsy attempt at comfort elicited a small giggle from Anora, the sound lifting Mikhail's spirits. She leaned back against his chest, craning her neck to look up at him. Her orange eyes met his curiosity sparkling within their depths.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mikhail nodded, smiling down at her. "Of course."

Anora hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Do you... do you think Gunter was right?"

Mikhail tensed, discomfort washing over him as he remembered the conversation from the night before. Gunter's words echoed in his mind once again: "It's not right... She's a goblin, Mikhail!"

He looked out over the horizon, lost in thought. The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implications. Mikhail wrestled with his feelings, trying to reconcile his growing affection for Anora with the societal norms he'd grown up with.

Finally, he looked back down to answer, only to find that Anora had drifted off to sleep, her head resting against his chest. Her face was peaceful, free from the worry and pain that had clouded it earlier.

"No," Mikhail said softly, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. "I don't think he was right at all."

As they continued down the road, Bakule's steady gait carrying them closer to Cedarcrest, Mikhail felt a sense of clarity settling over him. The world might not understand, might not approve, but in that moment, with Anora's warmth against him, Mikhail knew in his heart that this – whatever it was between them – felt right.

Anora's heart pounded in her chest as she found herself in a misty forest, the trees stretching impossibly high above her. Their gnarled branches reached towards a sky she couldn't see, disappearing into a thick, swirling fog. The air was heavy, pressing down on her, making each breath a struggle.

She ran, her bare feet sinking into the moss-covered ground with each step. The soft, damp earth muffled her footfalls, creating an eerie silence broken only by her ragged breathing. Ahead, through the mist, she spotted a familiar silhouette - Mikhail, his back turned to her.

"Mikhail!" she called out, her voice echoing strangely in the dense forest. The sound seemed to bounce off the trees, distorting and multiplying until it was unrecognizable. He didn't turn.

Panic rising in her chest, Anora pushed herself harder, her legs burning with the effort. But no matter how fast she ran, Mikhail remained just out of reach, his form wavering like a mirage in the mist.

Suddenly, the forest began to shift around her. The towering trees twisted and warped, their bark smoothing and hardening into cold, unyielding stone. The misty air grew thick and oppressive, closing in around her. In moments, the forest had transformed into a dark, claustrophobic cave.

Whispers in Goblin tongue hissed from the shadows, words she hadn't heard in years but could never forget. Cruel taunts, harsh commands, reminders of a past she'd tried so hard to leave behind. The voices seemed to seep from the very walls, growing louder with each passing second.

"Outsider," they hissed. "Half-breed. Abomination."

Anora's breath came in short, sharp gasps as she finally reached Mikhail. Her hand trembled as she touched his arm, relief flooding through her at the solid feel of him beneath her fingers.

But as he turned, that relief turned to ice in her veins. The eyes that met hers were cold, unfamiliar. This wasn't her Mikhail, the man who had shown her kindness and love. This was a stranger wearing his face.

"Mikhail, please," she pleaded, her voice quavering. "I need to tell you something. I need you to understand-"

But as she spoke, her voice began to fade, growing weaker with each word until no sound escaped her lips at all. Panic clawed at her throat as she realized what was happening. She was mute again, her voice stolen away just as it had been all those years ago.

She clutched at her throat, desperate sounds trying to force their way past lips that refused to cooperate. Tears stung her eyes as she silently begged Mikhail to understand, to see her, to help her.

But Mikhail's form was changing before her eyes. He grew taller, his features blurring and shifting until he no longer resembled the man she loved. Instead, he became a grotesque amalgamation of all the human and goblin men who had treated her cruelly in the past. His eyes were cold, his smile cruel.

"You thought I could love a goblin?" his voice boomed, distorted and harsh, echoing off the cave walls. Each word was a physical blow, making Anora flinch and shrink back. "A filthy, lying, half-breed like you?"

The cave walls began to close in, the ceiling lowering with a groan of tortured stone. Anora tried to run, but her feet wouldn't move. Looking down in horror, she saw her legs sinking into the ground as if it were quicksand. Her green skin was turning gray, hardening into stone before her very eyes.

Just as the cave was about to crush her, everything shifted again. The oppressive darkness gave way to filtered sunlight. She was back in the forest, but something was wrong. Mikhail stood before her, but he was walking away, each step taking him further into the mist.

Anora tried to follow, her legs finally free. But no matter how fast she ran, she couldn't close the distance between them. It was as if she were running in place, the forest moving around her while she remained stationary.

"Don't leave me!" she cried out, her voice returned but weak and trembling. The words were swept away by a sudden gust of wind, lost in the rustling of leaves.

Mikhail paused, half-turning towards her. For a moment, hope surged in Anora's chest. This was her chance to explain, to make him understand. But then he shook his head, his eyes filled with a sadness that broke her heart.

"I can't love someone I don't know," he said softly, his voice full of regret.

As he disappeared into the mist, Anora felt the ground give way beneath her feet. She was falling, tumbling through darkness. The forest dissolved around her, replaced by a swirling vortex of memories. Flashes of her life before Mikhail assaulted her senses - the cruelty she'd faced, the hard choices she'd been forced to make, the parts of herself she'd locked away to survive.

She saw herself as a child, ostracized by both humans and goblins. She relived the moment her voice was taken, felt again the searing pain and the crushing silence that followed. She watched herself flee from her home, surviving on the edges of society, never belonging anywhere.

And through it all, one thought echoed in her mind: "If he knew, he would leave. If he knew, he couldn't love me."

Suddenly, Anora jolted awake with a piercing scream. Her body jerked violently, nearly toppling her from the saddle. Mikhail's reflexes kicked in instantly, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist and pulling her securely against his chest.

"Whoa, easy there," he soothed, his voice low and calm. "It's alright. It was just a bad dream. You're safe."

Anora's breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps as she clung to Mikhail's arm. Her orange eyes darted around wildly, slowly focusing on their surroundings as reality settled back in. Though she quickly regained her bearings, Mikhail could feel her trembling against him, the nightmare having left her visibly shaken.

"Deep breaths," Mikhail encouraged, rubbing small circles on her back. "That's it. You're okay. I've got you."

Gradually, Anora's breathing steadied, her rigid posture relaxing slightly. But Mikhail could still sense the anxiety radiating from her, the lingering tendrils of fear from her dream.

As they continued to ride in silence, a loud growl suddenly emanated from Anora's stomach. The unexpected sound cut through the tension, causing Mikhail to chuckle softly.

"Sounds like someone's hungry," he said, a smile in his voice.

Anora tilted her head back to look at him, her orange eyes wide and a slight pout forming on her lips. She nodded sheepishly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Mikhail's smile widened, his heart warming at her expression. He pointed to a large oak tree in the distance, its broad canopy a welcome sight on the open plains. "See that tree over there? We'll stop there and have something to eat. How does that sound?"

Anora nodded eagerly, some of the anxiety from her nightmare finally fading from her face. As they rode towards their impromptu rest stop, Mikhail found himself looking forward to the break. They had been on Bakule’s back for hours now and a good stretch would be welcomed.

As they approached the tree, a wagon came into view, parked beneath its sprawling branches. Two figures moved about in the shade, their presence unexpected but not unwelcome.

Mikhail guided Bakule closer, the elk's hooves crunching softly on the sun-dried grass. The massive oak's limbs stretched out above them, offering a respite from the afternoon sun. As they drew nearer, Mikhail realized the two people had become three - a man, a woman, and a small bundle that could only be a baby.

The man, noticing their approach, stepped forward. His posture was tense, one hand resting on the hilt of a short sword at his hip. Wariness etched his features as he watched Mikhail and Anora draw near.

Mikhail raised his hand in a gesture of peace. "Well met," he called out. "I'm Mikhail, and this is Anora. We mean no harm. We were just looking for a place to rest and have a bite to eat."

The man's stance relaxed slightly, though his hand remained near his weapon. Looking them over before replying with. "I'm Kaelith," his voice gruff but not unfriendly. He jerked his thumb towards the wagon. "That's my wife Calista and our son Malric."

Kaelith wore simple, practical clothing - a rough linen shirt, a sturdy leather vest, and well-worn trousers tucked into scuffed boots. Despite his cautious stance, there was a warmth in his expression that suggested a kind nature beneath the protective exterior. He stood about six feet tall with a sturdy, muscular build that spoke of years of hard labor. His short, dark brown hair was slightly tousled, and a neatly trimmed beard framed his strong jawline. Warm hazel eyes regarded them warily.

His wife had fair skin, showing a light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She wore a simple, homespun dress in earthy tones, cinched at the waist with a leather belt, there was a softness to her features that spoke of kindness and warmth. Her long, flowing blonde hair fell in gentle waves past her shoulders, catching the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Striking green eyes watched them curiously as she cradled a small bundle - their newborn son, Malric - to her chest.

Mikhail nodded in greeting, feeling Anora shift slightly against him. He could sense her unease at the unexpected company.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Kaelith," Mikhail said, keeping his tone light and friendly. "We've been on the road for a while. Would you mind if we shared your shade for a short time?"

Kaelith studied them for a moment, his eyes lingering on Anora's cloaked form. She had pulled the cloak up over her head just before they had reached the tree. Finally, he nodded. "Aye, you're welcome to rest here. There's plenty of shade to go around."

As Mikhail dismounted and helped Anora down from Bakule's back, he couldn't help but wonder what sort of reception they'd receive once Kaelith realized Anora's true nature. He hoped their brief respite wouldn't turn into yet another confrontation. He had had enough of that in the past couple of days.

Mikhail and Anora dismounted, their legs slightly stiff from the long ride. While stretching Mikhail looked around, he noticed a small tent set up near the wagon and what appeared to be a freshly dug well a short distance away.

Suddenly, Anora darted off, disappearing around the base of the large oak. Mikhail watched her go, assuming she needed a moment of privacy.

Kaelith's eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of Anora's green skin. "Was that a goblin?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

Mikhail turned to face Kaelith, placing his hand casually on his spear. "Sure was," he replied evenly. "Is that a problem?"

Bakule shifted restlessly, sensing the tension. Mikhail tightened his grip on the reins, keeping the elk close in case him and Anora needed to get away quickly.

Kaelith's eyes flicked to the spear, then back to Mikhail's face. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "No, no problem," he said quickly. "Just haven't seen one out this way is all. Bit unusual, you know?"

Mikhail relaxed slightly but remained alert. "Well, she's not from around here," he said simply, offering no further explanation.

A few seconds later, Anora returned, moving to stand close to Mikhail. Her orange eyes darted nervously between Kaelith and Calista, who was sitting against the tree, cradling her baby to her breast.

Anora seemed particularly fascinated by the sight of Calista nursing her child. She stared, a mixture of curiosity and something deeper - perhaps longing - in her gaze.

Mikhail placed a gentle hand on Anora's shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. "Hungry?" he asked softly, trying to ease the tension.

Anora nodded, her earlier hunger apparently returning now that he reminded her of it. As Mikhail reached for their pack to retrieve some food, he couldn't help but notice the way Kaelith and Calista exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of wariness and intrigue. He hoped their rest wouldn't be cut short by any misunderstandings or prejudices.

Mikhail, eager to break the awkward silence, gestured towards the well and the heavily laden wagon. "That's quite a setup you've got here. Did you dig the well yourself?"

Kaelith's face lit up, clearly proud of his accomplishments. "Aye, that I did. Just purchased this land from a lord in Cedarcrest," he said, puffing out his chest slightly. "Been working for years to save up enough to buy a plot like this."

He glanced fondly at Calista before continuing. "Wanted to have something to my name before I married Calista. Took a while, but I finally got the deed." He chuckled, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone. "Though, truth be told, she got pregnant before we tied the knot. Her parents weren't too pleased about that, but they came around when I showed them the land deed."

Mikhail smiled, understanding the pride of a man who had worked hard to achieve his dreams. He looked around, taking in the gently rolling hills and the lush grass. "Looks like a good plot of land you've got here," he remarked.

Kaelith nodded enthusiastically. "That it is," he agreed. "The soil's rich - perfect for crops. We're hoping to have a good harvest come fall." He paused, looking out over his land with a mix of hope and determination in his eyes. "It's a new beginning for us, you know? A chance to build something of our own."

Mikhail felt a pang of admiration for Kaelith and Calista. Their simple dream of a home and a family seemed so far removed from the dangers and complications he and Anora had faced. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder if such a life could ever be possible for them. For now, though, he was genuinely interested in hearing more about their plans for their new home.

Calista's voice carried across the small clearing. "Kaelith, can you come here for a moment?"

As Kaelith excused himself to attend to his wife, Mikhail paused rummaging around in the pack and glanced down at Anora. Her gaze remained fixed on Calista and the nursing baby, her orange eyes wide with fascination. Mikhail noticed her hand resting absentmindedly on her own belly, a gesture that spoke volumes.

He followed her gaze and watched as Kaelith gently draped a thin blanket over Calista's chest and the child, providing them with some privacy. The tender scene stirred something in Mikhail, and before he could stop it, a vision flashed through his mind.

He saw himself and Anora, surrounded by children - some with his blonde hair, others with Anora's vibrant red curls. Their laughter echoed in his ears, a family forged from love despite their differences. For a moment, he lost himself in the daydream, a warmth spreading through his chest.

Shaking his head to clear the unexpected thoughts, Mikhail returned his attention to their supplies. He rummaged through the saddlebags, his brow furrowing as he searched. With a sinking feeling, he realized that in all the chaos in Sablewood, he had completely forgotten to resupply their provisions. Even at Gareth's farm, it hadn't crossed his mind.

"Blast it," he muttered under his breath, cursing his oversight as his stomach growled in protest. The only edible item he could find was a loaf of bread that was quickly going stale.

Mikhail sighed, disappointed in himself for the lapse. He glanced at Anora, knowing she must be just as hungry. The meager offering of stale bread seemed a poor meal, especially after the promises of a proper rest and food he had made earlier.

He held out the loaf in front of himself, a rueful smile on his face. "We'll need to find a way to restock soon. Maybe we will run into a traveling merchant.” he said hopefully to himself.

As he spoke, Mikhail couldn't shake the lingering images from his daydream. The idea of a future with Anora, complete with a family of their own, had taken root in his mind somehow. When had it started, after the kiss and confession or before? It both thrilled and terrified him, adding another layer of complexity to his already conflicted feelings.

Mikhail turned to Anora, the stale bread in his hands. As their eyes met, he was struck by the intensity of longing in her orange orbs. He cleared his throat, momentarily thrown off balance by the emotion he saw there.

"Anora," he began, his voice slightly husky. "I'm afraid we've got a bit of a problem with our supplies. This bread is all we've got left, and it's not exactly fresh."

He held out the loaf to her. "Here, you should have it. I know you must be hungry."

Anora's eyes widened, and she shook her head vigorously. She gently pushed the bread back towards Mikhail, her meaning clear - she wanted him to eat it instead.

Mikhail's jaw set stubbornly. "No, Anora. You need to eat. In my village, and especially in my family, we have a rule - the women never go without a meal."

Anora opened her mouth to argue, but Mikhail cut her off with a firm shake of his head. "I won't hear any arguments on this. I'm not eating the bread, and that's final."

His tone was gentle but resolute, leaving no room for debate. He held the bread out to her once more, his blue eyes meeting her orange ones with a mix of concern and affection.

"Please," he said softly. "Eat. We'll find a way to restock our supplies soon, I promise. But for now, this is all we have, and I want you to have it." He knew that soon he would have to go hunting.

The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions. Mikhail's insistence on her wellbeing, rooted in the traditions of his home, clashed with Anora's desire to care for him in return. It was a small moment, yet it spoke volumes about the growing bond between them.

Kaelith returned, catching the tail end of their conversation about supplies. "Did I hear you need food?" he asked, a friendly smile on his face. "I'd be happy to trade some of our provisions for a bit of help around the homestead."

He gestured towards a pile of logs nearby. "Could use an extra pair of hands sawing those logs. Need to start building the house soon and your help would go a long way.”

Mikhail considered the offer, watching as Anora quietly chewed on the stale bread. The prospect of making it to Cedarcrest without proper food was daunting and hunting down game with only a spear would be a difficult task. "Alright," he nodded. "We'd be glad to help."

Kaelith's face lit up with gratitude. "Excellent! Let's get to work then."

Mikhail smiled, looking at Anora he shrugged. “Guess I'm gonna be working today.” he told her, wrapping the reins around the saddle horn, leaving them loose enough for Bakule to wander about and eat grass. Kaelith asks. “Is it okay for that creature to be loose?”

“Sure is.” Mikhail replies. “He won’t be going anywhere. The elks of my village are trained to stay near their riders.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Mikhail worked alongside Kaelith, the rhythmic sound of their sawing filling the air. Meanwhile, Calista seemed to warm up to Anora, inviting her to help over to help with various tasks.The two of them together tended to baby Malric and other tasks. Using the new well to fetch water for Bakule and for cooking later that night. They chatted with each other, Anora not saying much though and mostly listening to Calista talk. She seemed happy to finally have another female around to speak to.

As evening approached, Calista began preparing dinner. She turned to Anora with a smile. "Would you mind holding Malric for a bit?"

Anora nodded nervously, her arms outstretched to receive the baby. As Calista gently placed Malric in her arms, Anora's mind raced with worries about accidentally hurting him. But as she cradled the infant, she found her fears melting away.

"Look at you," Calista beamed. "You're a natural!"

Anora marveled at the tiny being in her arms, amazed by how calm he was. However, something nagged at her. In the hours they'd been at the homestead, she hadn't heard Malric cry once.

"Calista," Anora asked hesitantly, "Is Malric... always this quiet?"

Calista nodded, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "He was born that way. He even has a birthmark on his neck, see?" She gently tilted the baby's head to show Anora.

A chill ran down Anora's spine. "When... when was he born?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Just yesterday," Calista replied proudly. “Why?”

Horror rose in Anora's chest, her mind reeling with the implications. The birthmark, the silence - it was all too familiar. She looked down at the peaceful baby in her arms, her heart breaking for the voice he would never have.

As the men's sawing continued in the background and the smell of dinner began to fill the air, Anora held Malric close, torn between the joy of holding a baby and the devastating realization of what had likely been done to him. She glanced towards Mikhail, desperately wanting to share her suspicions but unsure of how to do so without raising alarm.

As night fell, they shared a hearty meal of stew and potatoes, complemented by fresh bread that Calista had baked on a stone beside the cooking fire. Afterwards, everyone retired for the evening. The work from the day having worn them out. Mikhail and Anora settled a fair distance from Kaelith and Calista, seeking some privacy.

They lay against Bakule's warm flank, the exhausted elk already fast asleep, tired from being ridden hard the last two days. His wounds in much better condition since the girls Mira and Lila had put the poultice on them. Mikhail gazed up at the stars peeking through the oak's branches, lost in thought. A soft sound drew his attention, and he turned to see tears streaming down Anora's face as she leaned against him.

"Anora," he said gently, "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

She wrung her hands, sitting up straight, her orange eyes shimmering with tears as she looked up at him. "I... I wish I had stayed mute," she whispered. "The baby, Malric... he's mute because of me."

Mikhail's brow furrowed, his mind struggling to make sense of Anora's words. "Wait, Anora," he said gently, "How could you possibly be responsible? Kaelith told me Malric was born that way." He paused, remembering their encounter with Lorna. "And remember what the old woman said? The price would be a chicken or a goat, not... not a human child."

But Anora shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't understand, Mikhail. I've been watching him all day. He doesn't cry, doesn't coo - he doesn't make a sound." Her orange eyes met his, filled with anguish. "And there's more. He has a mark on his neck, right where..." Her fingers unconsciously traced the spot on her own neck where her scar had been. "It's exactly where mine was."

Mikhail felt a chill run down his spine as the implications of her words sank in. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her it was all just a coincidence, but the certainty in her voice gave him pause. He fell silent, the implications of her words sinking in. His heart ached at the sight of her distress. "Anora," he said softly, "I’m sure it’s just a coincidence. And if anyone should feel guilty, it's me. I was the one who suggested we go to Lorna."

Anora began to argue, her sobs growing more intense. Mikhail looked around, panic rising in his chest. Desperate to calm her, he did the only thing he could think of.

Gently, he cupped Anora's right cheek, his other hand tilting her chin up. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Mikhail leaned in and kissed her. It was a long, tender kiss, filled with all the emotions he'd been struggling to express. He felt Anora stiffen in surprise, her sobs stifled against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, Anora's face was flushed, her eyes wide with astonishment. She looked down, clearly trying to process what had just happened.

"Anora," Mikhail called softly. She glanced back up, her orange eyes meeting his blue ones. In that moment, Mikhail uttered the words she had longed to hear all her life from someone, anyone.

"I love you."

The words hung in the air between them, charged with emotion. Anora's lips parted in shock, her tears momentarily forgotten. The world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, everything else fading into the background.

Mikhail's heart raced as he waited for her response, hoping he hadn't overstepped or misread the situation. But as he gazed into Anora's eyes, he knew with certainty that he had meant every word.