Twenty years of peace felt like a dream.
Nox drove a fence post into the dark, rich soil of the Oakhaven valley. The thud of the mallet was a solid, satisfying sound. He wiped a line of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and looked at the neat row of posts stretching across the field. Real work. Honest work. The ache in his shoulders was a welcome, simple thing.
'This is good,' he thought. 'Just this.'
He looked back toward the cottage. It was a simple stone and wood building, nestled against the hill, smoke curling from its chimney. Serian was in her garden, a splash of silver-gold hair among the green leaves and bright flowers. She was humming, a quiet, happy tune that the wind carried up the hill to him.
This was their life. A quiet rhythm of seasons and small labors. The grand, cosmic wars were a distant memory, a story they sometimes told themselves on cold winter nights. Here, the greatest conflict was a stubborn stump or a late frost.
