By the time the elders finally summoned them, three days had passed, and the story of the well had already outrun anything a formal announcement could have managed.
Valen heard it secondhand before he ever set foot in the hall, a boy repeating it to another boy near the granary, embellished a little more with each telling, the dead roots grown to twice their size and the well gone from bitter to poisoned.
He didn't bother correcting it. Watching how stories moved through Rootrest had taught him that a little exaggeration sometimes did more good than a careful accounting of the truth ever could.
The hall itself felt different this time. Fewer eyes slid away when he walked in. A few even held his gaze outright, and what he saw in them now was curiosity more often than fear.
