The week passed in steady rhythm hunting, skinning, storing, and resting. The scent of smoked meat hung thick in the air, curling out of the cave and into the forest breeze. It was a scent of survival, of hands that worked and lives that adapted.
By now, the tribe had fallen into a routine. The youths went out with spears every morning, returning at dusk with game or empty-handed but never hopeless. The elders tended the fire and guided the drying racks, ensuring the smoke stayed thick but not fierce. And Torya their young chieftain watched over it all, the weight of small progress pressing on his shoulders like an invisible crown.
That morning, he sat near the fire with a strip of dried venison in hand. He chewed slowly, but the bland, leathery taste made him sigh. His memories, those of his former life, began to stir again flashes of herbs, sizzling pans, and the sharp, fragrant scent of spices. He missed flavor, but more than that, he missed variety.
As he stared at the cave entrance, where sunlight reached the mossy edge, a thought formed. "We could grow herbs…" he muttered under his breath.
Elder Saran, seated nearby and whittling a bone handle, raised his head. "Grow herbs?" he repeated, his voice rough but curious.
Torya straightened a little, embarrassed that he'd spoken aloud. "Ah… yes. We've been gathering them from the forest, but they don't last long. If we grow them here, we could have a steady supply for food and for healing."
The others nearby exchanged puzzled glances. It was a strange idea to them one that belonged to patience, not the chase.
"What kind of herbs?" asked Lera, the youngest of the youths. Her bright red pupils glimmered faintly in the firelight, wide with interest. "The kind you rub on wounds, or the kind that makes meat taste better?"
Torya smiled faintly. "Both, if we can. There's Fireleaf—the one with red edges. Dried, it adds a smoky flavor when cooked with meat. Then Sunwort, the yellow one—it softens tough cuts when boiled together."
He traced shapes in the dirt with a stick. "For healing, Greenstem helps with swelling, and Silvershade—the silver-veined one stops bleeding when pressed on wounds."
Elder Saran gave a low hum, impressed. "You've got a sharp mind, boy. Must be your father in you."
The mention of his father made Torya pause. His chest tightened. His father had been among those taken years ago when the Crowmen descended for conscription. That was the second time their tribe had been called. None from either wave had returned.
He looked away from Saran's gaze and forced a small smile. "Maybe so," he said quietly. Or maybe it's the pieces of a life I can't speak of…
He clapped his hands once, gathering everyone's attention. "Let's build it. Near the cave entrance there's sunlight there and enough space. We'll clear the soil, make it even, and plant the herbs there."
Some were hesitant, but curiosity had already caught them. A small group of youths and elders followed him outside. The morning air was cool, mist curling over the treetops. The spot Torya chose was a small, open slope just beyond the cave's shadow, where moss and grass clung to the damp earth.
"Clear this first," Torya said, pointing to the uneven ground. "We'll pull out the roots, then mix in dry soil from near the ridge it drains better."
The group worked together, pulling weeds and tossing stones aside. Lera knelt beside him, her hands covered in soil, grinning. "Feels strange to be planting instead of hunting."
"Strange good or strange bad?" Torya asked.
"Strange easy," she replied with a giggle.
He chuckled under his breath. It's true, he thought. This isn't survival by teeth and spear it's survival by patience.
Two of the older men, Dolv and Eren, carried baskets of soil over their shoulders, sweat gleaming on their backs. "Like this?" Eren asked, as he poured it into the leveled patch.
"Yes," Torya said, crouching to inspect. "Keep the middle a little higher than the sides. When rain comes, it'll drain off instead of flooding."
Elder Saran gave a nod of approval. "Sharp thinking. Haven't seen anyone build soil like that before."
Torya shrugged lightly. "Just something I remembered."From lessons long past, in a world far gone.
The tribe worked steadily. Some dug shallow holes two fingers deep; others brought water in gourds. Torya guided them, his tone calm but unsure, testing each instruction as if pulling it from foggy memory.
As they worked, chatter filled the air small stories, jokes, gossip.
One woman, carrying a basket of leaves, muttered, "They say the Crowmen were seen flying near the mountains again."
The others fell quiet for a moment. Dolv grunted. "I don't doubt it. They always come when something's brewing."
Saran's tone dropped low. "Let's hope they keep their distance. The last time they came, our men didn't return."
Lera frowned slightly. "You mean when Torya's father went?"
Saran nodded. "Aye. Him and the others. Called to serve the Crowmen in their wars. We never learned where they went, only that they followed willingly."
The words weighed heavy on the air. Torya said nothing, his hands tightening around the spade-shaped stone tool he was holding. If they followed willingly, he thought bitterly, it was because they had no choice.
Still, he forced his focus back to the task. "We'll plant the Fireleaf here, nearest the sun," he said after a while, gesturing to a small mound. "Then Sunwort beside it. Greenstem likes shade we'll put it near the wall."
By the time the sun was high, their work was done. A rough rectangle of turned soil lay before the cave humble, but alive with promise. Fireleaf's red-tipped leaves caught the light, while the pale green of Sunwort glimmered faintly in the breeze.
Torya stepped back, brushing dirt from his palms. "Not bad," he murmured. "It might actually work."
Elder Saran chuckled. "Give it time, boy. Plants grow like people slow, stubborn, but they grow."
Torya smiled, feeling a quiet satisfaction settle over him. Even basic botany knowledge… it's changing how we live. Maybe these memories are a gift after all.But then another thought followed. No. Best to keep silent. If they knew I wasn't like them if they knew I remember a different world… it might turn fear against me.
He took one last look at the small garden, the sunlight warming his skin, when a voice suddenly echoed from below the slope.
"Torya! Elder Saran!"
Everyone turned. It was Jarek, one of the foragers, sprinting toward them with a basket of fruit bouncing at his side. His breath came fast, and his eyes were wide with excitement.
"What is it, boy?" Saran called, steady but alert.
Jarek stopped a few steps away, hands on his knees, panting. "We... we saw them!"
"Who?" Lera asked, rising quickly.
"The Lapinfolk!" Jarek blurted, eyes flicking between them. "Down by the stream, just beyond the ridge! There were three of them standing together, watching us. They didn't hide, didn't speak just watched."
A hush fell over the group. The forest seemed to lean in, listening.
"The Lapinfolk?" Eren repeated. "You're sure?"
Jarek nodded vigorously. "Long ears, light steps I swear it. They looked almost like us… but faster. Their eyes glowed in the shade."
Lera's face lit with curiosity. "Did they do anything?"
"No," Jarek said, shaking his head, still trying to catch his breath. "When I looked back a second time… they were gone."
Murmurs rose among the group some curious, some uneasy.
"Lapinfolk this close?""Maybe they're just passing.""Or maybe watching for something…"
Torya's gaze turned toward the forest. The sunlight between the trees shimmered faintly, as if hiding secrets behind the green. His heartbeat steadied, slow and deliberate.
The Lapinfolk… I've only heard of them in stories.
He felt something cold and uncertain stir in his chest a faint echo of instinct warning him that the rhythm of their peaceful days was shifting.
He took a deep breath, the scent of soil and smoke heavy in the air.
"Keep everyone close tonight," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else. "Something's changing."
And as the sun sank behind the trees, the soft glow of their new garden seemed fragile like the calm before a gathering storm.