The morning came soft and golden, the world still half-asleep beneath a pale mist. Torya was the first to wake, as he often was. He stepped out of the cave and squinted at the rising sun a molten disc lifting over the treeline, warming the cold stone beneath his feet. The forest before him shimmered with dew, each drop catching light like tiny sparks.
He stood there for a moment, breathing in the quiet. Another day... another small piece of life built back together, he thought.
Behind him, the faint sounds of life began to stir footsteps, laughter, and the muffled chatter of the tribe. Soon, the clearing filled with the rustle of leaves and the scrape of stone tools. The small herb garden they had started days ago was beginning to take shape.
They worked with focus and easy smiles planting, mixing soil, and carrying woven baskets of cuttings. The rows of herbs had begun to fill: Sunleaf, used to stop bleeding; Tarthroot, boiled to fight fever; and Ambermint, whose fresh, sharp scent made even the dullest stew taste better.
"Careful with the roots, Lera," Torya said, glancing at the young girl kneeling beside the shallow ditch. Her red hair was tied back with a strip of vine, her face streaked with soil and determination.
She pouted, brushing dirt off her nose. "I am careful, Torya. You're the one who digs too deep."
A few of the boys chuckled, and Torya just smiled faintly. "Maybe. But plants don't grow well if their feet can't breathe."
They continued like that talking, teasing, working but beneath the gentle air of contentment, an unspoken heaviness lingered. Every so often, a glance would drift toward the distant horizon, toward the direction where their fathers, brothers, and uncles had marched months ago under the banner of the Crowmen.
The second conscription. No one returned from the first.
Torya knelt down, running his fingers through the soil. He remembered the morning they left the clatter of weapons, the weight of silence. The adults had gone willingly, but there was fear in their eyes that day, fear no one dared speak of.
He shook the thought away. "We'll make this garden thrive," he muttered under his breath. "So when they return... we'll have something to welcome them with."
Then, a sudden shout broke through the calm.
"Torya! Look!"
The voice came from the edge of the clearing a young man named Daren, one of the older hunters. He was pointing toward the tree line, his tone somewhere between shock and caution.
Everyone turned.
Three figures stood just beyond the brush upright, humanoid... but unmistakably different. They were about the height of Elder Saran, their lean forms clothed in light leather and woven straps. Long ears twitched atop their heads, furred like that of a rabbit, and their feet were large, padded perfect for silent movement through the forest floor.
"Lapinfolk," someone whispered, awe-struck.
Torya's muscles tensed. He reached for his spear and gestured for the youths to form a loose semicircle. The visitors, however, made no threatening move. The one in front with a dark gray tunic and a calm, steady gaze raised his hands slowly in greeting.
"Peace to you, Emberkin," the stranger said, his voice surprisingly smooth, almost melodic. "My name is Sero. These are my kin Miri and Leth. We come not to fight, but to trade."
Elder Saran, who had been tending to the drying herbs near the cave entrance, stepped closer. His wrinkled brow furrowed, though his tone stayed even. "Trade, you say? With us?"
Sero nodded. "The forest paths have been restless of late. Creatures move where they shouldn't, and the air carries strange scents. But before we head farther south, we thought to stop and offer exchange. Your tribe still has leather, meat... yes?"
He reached into a small leather pouch at his waist and produced something small a rough, uneven stone the size of a fist. Its surface gleamed faintly in the sunlight, dull orange-brown, but with veins that shimmered faintly gold beneath the dirt.
The youths leaned closer, puzzled.
"What is that?" Yoren murmured.
Saran's eyes widened immediately. "Bronze ore," he whispered. "By the flame, I haven't seen one in... years."
Torya's eyes narrowed, recognition flickering at the back of his mind. He knew this stone or rather, he used to. In the echoes of his past life, something about it stirred familiarity. Bronze... tools? Weapons? The thought was hazy, fleeting, and frustratingly out of reach.
He stepped forward slowly, nodding at Sero. "You wish to trade that?"
"Yes," Sero said, smiling faintly. "Our village has more than we can carry. We seek preserved meat and furs things you seem to have plenty of."
Elder Saran turned to Torya, his expression thoughtful. "It's your hunt, your decision," he murmured. "The boy who brings life back to the tribe should also bring its trade."
Torya hesitated, then nodded. "We'll trade."
The youths moved quickly, bringing a bundle of dried meat and several folded hides. The Lapinfolk inspected the goods with practiced eyes, then offered the ore in return, along with a few smaller stones of similar hue.
As they traded, the initial tension gave way to cautious curiosity. Lera, always the most curious among them, spoke up.
"Your people really live near the eastern ridge, don't you? I heard the trees there glow at night."
Sero chuckled, his long ears twitching slightly. "Some of them do. They grow on old ruins places where the earth still remembers fire. But I would not wander there alone, little one."
Lera blinked, unsure if he was teasing or warning her.
When the exchange was done, Sero secured the bundle of meat at his side and nodded toward Torya. "Your tribe is rebuilding well. Few can claim such unity after loss." His tone softened, but his gaze shifted briefly toward the shadowed woods. "Still, be wary. The forest... it is not as it used to be."
That drew a pause.
Elder Saran's hand tightened on his walking stick. "What do you mean?"
Sero's ears twitched again a nervous habit, perhaps. "We've seen tracks," he said quietly. "Large ones. Deep. And the trees themselves seem to whisper differently. Something moves at night, something we do not know."
The clearing fell silent. The rustling wind seemed louder than before.
Then Sero gave a small, respectful bow. "We take our leave now. May your flames burn bright, Emberkin."
With that, the Lapinfolk turned and vanished swiftly into the forest, their light steps leaving barely a trace.
For a long while, no one spoke. The youths exchanged uneasy glances, and even the birds seemed quieter. Torya looked down at the bronze ore in his hand its surface catching faint sunlight, glowing like an ember buried in ash.
He didn't know why, but as he stared at it, a chill crept through him.
Something about the forest had changed.
And for the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of unease beneath the warmth that bound them all.