It was very early in the morning. The sun hadn't even risen.
The human girl, cooked rice and food, and left it onto the table with a note. Right after, however, she hadn't eaten but packed more of the food for several mouths to eat.
When Shad woke up, he immediately walked to the table and saw the note. He began to unpack the food and tasted it. But this was no longer routine. Jess had been away not just most of the days lately, but even in their routine breakfasts.
Shad then sat alone. The stew Jess had made had long gone cold, untouched in its bowl beside him. Like recently, he lingered in silence.
Then, unlike usual, Shad went to the village right after tending to his plants, ceasing his sculpturing period.
The village plaza was the same as always—modest stone homes with wooden roofs, smoke curling lazily from chimneys, chickens scratching in the dirt paths, a few sleepy merchants beginning to open their carts in the square. Life moved on, as if the world itself was indifferent.
Jess, however, was not in the places she usually goes.
So he went further—past the well, beyond the old carpenter's shop—until he heard quiet laughter behind the granary shed.
She was there.
Crouched beside two children, her hair tied back in a loose braid, sleeves rolled past her elbows. She was gently pressing the back of her hand against the forehead of a young girl lying on a woven mat. The child looked no older than sixteen, her face sunken but not pale anymore. Her breathing was steady.
Beside her sat a boy—perhaps ten—his arms skinny but his eyes bright, his dirty clothes barely hanging on his frame. He was chewing on a piece of dried fruit, smiling up at Jess as she spoke softly to him.
Jess looked tired. But peaceful.
The two other kids naturally were the same as the ones he met himself.
"She had been coming here every morning at dawn, tending to the sick siblings, cooking for them, fetching water, even tucking them to sleep when their coughing wouldn't stop. It's been such a pity." a granny in a store then said, allowing him to overhear.
"Were there any news about those hunters? "
"The chief already learned of the matter, and had requested help from the lord, but they haven't responded yet. As for those kids' father, we could just pray."
Shad just watched.
He didn't interrupt. He understood now.
Later that day, Shad walked to the granary where the village chief was barking orders at two young men carrying sacks of grain. The chief stood near a crate, arms folded, sweat glistening on his brow under the high sun.
Chief Erdan was a thickset man with a sun-scorched face, a bald crown ringed by wisps of stubborn gray hair, and a permanent squint from decades of looking into too many fires and too much sunlight. Despite his aging frame, there was nothing frail about him—his shoulders were broad, his hands like shovels, and his voice had the sharp bark of a man used to being obeyed. He was the kind of man who gave more than he took, and kept the village running through patience, blunt honesty, and occasional yelling.
When he noticed Shad approaching, his thick brows raised.
"Well now," he grunted. "Didn't expect to see you walkin' up to me. What brings the scarecrow of the fields to my corner of dirt today?"
"I need information," Shad said without pleasantries.
The chief blinked. "About?"
"The hunters. The ones who didn't come back."
He did not understand the interest. But Erdan sighed, pulling a cloth from his belt to wipe his brow.
"Been gone a week. The Marten brothers and the Martinis. Good people. Hardheaded, but skilled. They went north—up past Whispering Ridge, into the mountains. Haven't returned. I was hoping it was just bad weather."
"I'll go find them," Shad said, blunt and calm.
Erdan stared for a moment, not sure he heard right. Even the others in the vicinity were shocked. "You?"
"You heard me. Just tell me where they went. I don't need help."
There was a long pause.
"Don't take this wrong, son," Erdan muttered, "But it's dangerous place out there. That place ain't normal. It's not snow up there—it's worse. Beasts. Creatures that come down when the moon's red. The only reason we let hunters go is because they know how to hide. You... don't strike me as the hiding type."
"Just tell me." Shad then stepped closer, threatening the chief with his glare.
"..." - Chief Erdan.
But if he was going to be intimidated with a kid who could be his son, he wouldn't be the Chief. The chief studied him again—eyes narrowing at the confidence, the cold tone.
"What makes you care? You ain't exactly known for neighborly favors." He said, pushing Shad's chest away.
Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Shad sighed. He looked past the chief and slowly opened his mouth.
"Jess hasn't come home in three days. She's spending every waking hour helping some kids of one of the hunters. If I bring the hunters back—or news of them—maybe the kids won't need her anymore." His voice was steady, and even somewhat polite, for the first time.
For a moment, Chief Erdan just looked at him.
Then, surprisingly, he chuckled. A deep, gravelly laugh like rocks tumbling in a dry well.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said, slapping his thigh. "Alright. Come with me," the chief said, grinning.
He motioned for Shad to follow and led him to a crate behind the granary. From underneath a sack of beans, he pulled out a folded, weathered map.
"They followed this dried riverbed," he said, tracing a path with his thick finger. "Past the wolf cairn, through Razorbrush Ridge. After that, it's nothing but wild trails and cold wind."
"Any markers?"
"The wolf cairn is easy. Pile of stones with antlers sticking out the top. Beyond that, the trail disappears, but they said they'd camp near a narrow split in the cliffs shaped like a blade."
Shad nodded once.
"Be quick. If you find nothing by the third day—"
"I won't need three days," Shad said, already turning to go.
The chief shook his head with a crooked smile. "Try not to get yourself eaten. We're short enough scary-looking men as it is."