After spending quite some time traveling through Furmist, he finally arrived at a quiet place where no oil lamps lit the way anymore. Only the natural glow of the crescent moon hanging in the sky offered any light. The gray clouds blended seamlessly with the dark hue of the night sky, and clusters of stars joined in to decorate the evening. The air had changed too—cooler, quieter—and now that he had left Furmist behind, the journey to Nliyff wouldn't take much longer.
From the hilly terrain, he could already see the faint outlines of small buildings in the distance, dimly lit by scattered oil lamps. A smile crossed Nelvan's face; he felt relieved. Truthfully, he was exhausted. His throat was parched, and his stomach, which had been growling since the afternoon, still ached with hunger. He had only taken a small meal from his mother at dawn before heading to the Taliesin valley. His water supply had long run dry, and he had forgotten to refill his canteen at the river—all because he had been lost in thought again. He should have refilled it when the sun first began to sink toward the west, at the very least to have enough for the walk home.
Nliyff felt incredibly far when traveling on foot, especially when doing it all alone. There was no one to talk to throughout the entire task. Daydreaming and muttering to himself had become a daily habit—a kind of lonely routine he had quietly accepted.
He herded his flock toward Nliyff. The sounds of nocturnal insects had been present since he arrived in this area, though he had only just become aware of them. From time to time, he glanced around, letting his gaze wander—until it landed on a large tree standing alone in the meadow, with overgrown bushes surrounding its base. From where he was walking, he could see a narrow path leading directly to that tree.
That was the place he sometimes visited when he wasn't taking his sheep to the Taliesin Valley. It was just as peaceful as Taliesin, though it lacked the wide, green savanna the valley was known for. The Sylvan Mountains could still be seen from there, but Nelvan didn't particularly enjoy sitting idly while watching people pass by.
Now, both physically and emotionally drained, the boy had finally arrived in Nliyff. The main road of the village was quiet. Only the oil lamps hanging on each house provided light, casting a soft glow over the porches. Small fences lined the homes, enclosing them in neat little rows. Because Nliyff was close to Furmist, its streets bore a familiar look—paved with stone and concrete, just like in Furmist. They were of similar size too, although Nliyff was nowhere near as large. It was merely a village located north of Furmist, nestled among several other small settlements in the same region.
To the south of Furmist, there were two more villages, situated a bit farther away. Nelvan didn't remember much about those southern villages. He had only visited one of them once in his life, when he was five years old and his mother had taken him there.
Nelvan arrived at his house as he turned a corner at a three-way intersection, having crossed a bridge that led to the eastern edge of the village—the main road of Nliyff. In truth, the village wasn't quite as quiet as Nelvan had imagined. He passed a few people still out and about. Some looked like they had just returned from the fields after a long day's work—not so different from him.
Nelvan's house or Jonnester house had a modest front yard, probably only large enough to fit three or four Vlatsh carriages. Two teak chairs and a matching table sat on the veranda, and an old tree—clearly aged by time—stood beside the house, offering shade when the sun scorched the ground.
A small set of steps connected the veranda to a narrow stone path, about a meter wide, which led directly to the main road. Just beyond the front yard stood a mailbox, upright near a wooden fence that had been painted to match the house.
Behind the house was a draw-well, the family's regular source of water—for both daily needs and to provide for their livestock. The backyard opened into a sparse pine forest, not as dense as the Northwood near the Sylvan mountain foothills. Even at night, the sky could still be seen clearly through the trees, as their thin foliage didn't block the light filtering down from the heavens.
From a few dozen meters away, the fence surrounding the back of Nelvan's property was still visible in the dark. Unlike the front, the backyard was quite spacious. At the far edge stood a square building—that was the sheep pen belonging to the Aetherion family. Next to it was a smaller structure, a granary where harvests were stored.
And off to one side stood a tiny shed, its interior aglow with the warm light of an oil lamp. This place served as a textile storage hut—his mother's workshop and workplace.
She had taken up textile work three years ago, when Nelvan was twelve. A silhouette could be seen pacing inside the shed. Nelvan didn't notice at first, not until he had finished guiding his sheep into the pen. Even without suspicion, he already knew who it was.
He walked toward the shed and noticed the door was slightly ajar. Peeking inside, he was instantly noticed by the figure who had clearly been there before his return.
"Why are you peeking in like that?" The person said.
Startled, Nelvan chuckled and pushed the wooden door open with a creak. "Hehe, it's nothing, Mom," He replied casually.
He stepped inside and found his mother at work, tending to white cloths stretched across a small bamboo frame that spanned about two meters. The fabric looked damp—perhaps she was drying it.
Nelvan sat down on a small stool opposite a wooden table. On the table sat a rattan bowl of biscuits and two cups of warm tea. He guessed his mother had just prepared the snacks, anticipating that her eldest son would come to the shed to rest.
"Drink up, dear. I still need to clean these cloths before selling them at the market the day after tomorrow," His mother said.
Nelvan nodded and obediently reached for a cup, still steaming gently. He took a sip, letting the natural warmth flow through his throat and ease the chill from his bones.
"Will you go to Furmist alone, or is Father coming with you?" Nelvan asked, placing the cup back down and grabbing a biscuit.
His mother glanced at him briefly, then returned her focus to the cloth. "I don't know," she replied. "Are you offering to escort me, Nelvan?"
Instead of an answer, she had returned his question with one of her own. Nelvan paused to think. "Um, I think I'll be washing the flock the day after tomorrow, Mom," He said, scratching his head.
His mother sighed and shook her head gently. "I suppose I shouldn't mind going to Furmist alone. Am I a terrible mother for that?" She joked. "O-or maybe I should ask Aunt Geneva to take you, mom?."
She turned around and sat across from Nelvan. "No need. She's not home. I saw her earlier today—she said she's going to the neighboring village to visit her sick sister-in-law."
"I see," Nelvan said.
"I'll go to Furmist alone, don't worry," She replied.
Nelvan frowned. "But Mom, Furmist isn't the safest place for you to go by yourself." His tone had turned serious. "I'll take you there the day after tomorrow," He added, standing up.
He left the shed, retraced his steps, and entered the house through the back door.
***