Morning light slipped through the ill-fitted shutters, cutting pale stripes across the wooden floor. Only the creak of beams swelling in the first warmth disturbed the quiet. Half-asleep, Terence shifted—then a warmth against his flank kept him from moving further.
He looked down and froze. Nyala.
The feline slept deeply, curled against him like a cat by the fire. Her long chestnut hair spilled across his chest, and her pointed ears drooped loosely, a sign of complete ease. Her slow breathing lifted the hem of her too-short night top—a makeshift garment that had slipped in sleep to bare a golden shoulder and the clean line of her collarbone. Her flat stomach flashed into view whenever she shifted, and her loose pants had slid along one hip, hinting without truly showing. Her tail, heavy and warm, lay across Terence's torso as if claiming territory.
As if that weren't enough, one hand clutched his shirt like a lifeline, and one leg rested across his.
Heat flooded Terence's face. He tore his eyes away and stared desperately at the ceiling as if it could swallow him. Good grief… He tried to ease free, coaxing his shirt from her fingers—but Nyala grumbled in her sleep and tightened her hold, nose nuzzling him as if seeking more warmth on instinct.
He went rigid, breath short. A few seconds later, two golden eyes opened lazily—half-lidded, fogged with sleep—then went wide.
"Mm… Wh—what?!"
Nyala practically sprang from the bed, ears shooting up, then pinning back red. She yanked her top to cover her bare shoulder, cheeks scarlet. Terence threw up his hands in panic.
"Wait! It's not what you think—I didn't do anything!"
Nyala turned her head away, arms crossing under her chest."Tch… You toss around too much anyway. Not comfortable."
Terence opened his mouth to protest when the door creaked. Aveline appeared in the frame, a stack of notebooks hugged to her. Her gray eyes took in the scene calmly: Terence still on the bed; Nyala standing beside it, flushed, top askew.
"I hope you slept well," she said in a perfectly neutral tone.
Nyala exploded at once, ears bristling."I-it's not what you think!"
"I didn't say anything," Aveline replied with disconcerting calm, and walked back into the hall.
Terence flopped onto his back, a hand over his face. The day had barely begun and he already felt exhausted. Nyala stood there, arms crossed, heart still hammering.
Breakfast in the common room matched the wake-up: tense and comic at once. Nyala sat pressed tight against Terence, even stealing a piece off his plate with a defiant stare. Across from them, Aveline commented on the meal in her usual calm.
"Vegetables are cooked well, but you could have added a touch of acidity," she observed, noting something in a notebook.
"You talk too much," Nyala shot back through a sidelong glare.
"It's only an observation," Aveline said without looking up.
"Well you can keep your observation to yourself."
Terence rubbed his temple and sighed. Mie clapped and giggled."You really do look like a family!"
Everyone blushed. No one denied it.
In the days that followed, the house found its cruising speed. Mie scampered from room to room, equally fascinated by Terence's tools and Aveline's colored vials. When Nyala wasn't off hunting in the forest, she poured her boundless energy into looking after the girl—helping her wash, dress, or ending afternoons in impromptu pillow fights. Aveline stayed focused, filling notebooks with tight script as the click of glass and the smell of warmed herbs sometimes drifted through the hall.
Terence spent long hours in the workshop. One morning, he carefully unrolled several bands of linen he'd bought in town. Mie crouched on an oversized chair, legs swinging, eyes shining.
"What are you making?" she asked, ears perked.
"Armor," he said simply. "Not like metal ones. Something lighter—even a child could wear it."
He spread the strips, soaked them with a glue he'd prepared, then layered and pressed them by hand. The tacky glue stuck to his fingers, a faint sour scent filling the room. He took up his needle and tried to stitch the first layer… the seam pulled too hard and warped the fabric. He sighed and began again. The second try was better: more even stitches, a smoother surface. Routine was already at work.
Nyala poked her head in at the sound and crossed her arms, watching a while before drawling,"Looks like a big jacket."
"That's the idea," Terence said without looking up. "Light, sturdy, cheap."
He lifted the still-damp prototype. Mie tiptoed closer and tapped it with a fingertip."Knock, knock… Oh! It's hard!"
She tapped harder, then pressed an ear to it."Sounds like a beetle shell!"
Nyala snorted and flicked her forehead."Careful—you'll break your hand before the armor."
"Not true!" Mie protested, tiny fist balled, ears flapping.
Terence couldn't help a smile. Nyala caught it and immediately looked away, feigning indifference—though her reddened ears gave her away.
A few days later, Terence announced he needed to try selling his invention. Nyala agreed to come; Mie insisted on joining. They set out together, leaving Aveline buried in her notebooks.
The walk to town took nearly an hour. Mie—restless—lobbed a thousand questions."Why are all the stones flat there? And that bird—what is it? It goes 'hoo-hoo'!"
"An owl," Terence answered patiently.
"Why isn't it flying?"
"Because it sleeps in the day."
"Like Nyala!"
Nyala gently pressed a finger over the girl's ears, red with annoyance."I don't sleep all the time!"
Mie burst into laughter and trotted on ahead.
The city teemed with people when they arrived. Merchants' cries, the smell of warm bread, bright metal clinks—everything folded into a familiar din. Mie's eyes went wide at every stall. Nyala kept a firm hold on her hand so she wouldn't get lost. Terence walked on with the linothorax carefully wrapped across his back.
Heads turned. Murmurs rippled.
"That's him… the craftsman who lives out in the forest.""They say his goods are sturdy."
Not everyone was convinced. Some traders refused even to look at him with a curt wave."No guild, no guarantee. I'm not taking the risk."
Terence nodded without pushing. He was used to refusals. Even so, persistence brought them to an equipment dealer who examined the armor at length.
"What's this?" he asked, patting it flat. "Light… yet solid. Not bad. Good for novices. Got more?"
"Not yet," Terence said. "Prototype. But I can produce more."
The merchant smiled, intrigued."Come back with two or three pieces and we'll talk business."
Mie, who'd followed without understanding, tugged Terence's sleeve."He said it was good, right? You're going to make more?"
"Yes," Terence answered with a small smile.
They left the city late in the afternoon. Mie skipped along, delighted, clutching a small loaf gifted by a friendly merchant. Nyala walked beside them, satisfied but vigilant, eyeing every adventurer who crossed their path. Terence stayed quiet, thoughtful.
By that very evening, the rumors had already rooted. In taverns, people whispered:"They say a mysterious craftsman lives in the forest.""His creations are unique. Word is he's invented a linen armor lighter than a feather."
When they returned, Mie repeated what she'd heard, innocent as ever."Terence! They say you're 'the mysterious craftsman of the forest'!"
Nyala straightened proudly, as if the title reflected on her too. Terence raked a hand through his hair, embarrassed. Waiting for them in the common room, Aveline glanced up from her notebook.
"It was inevitable," she said. "An unprecedented product always draws attention. And rumors travel faster than the wind."
Terence sighed. He'd never sought notice. But deep down, he knew peace was already starting to slip from his hands.