Some nights don't begin with sleep, they begin with memory.
It was night. Midnight. Lanterns were lit up in front of the other houses, flickering softly like they were breathing. People were probably all asleep by now. But here I am, still awake.
My back's flying on the bedsheet, staring at the floor. The moonlight slipping in through the window was the only thing keeping the dark from swallowing the room. Curtains didn't move. Neither did I. And yet, my thoughts wouldn't stop pacing. I found myself quoting Jeren. Not out loud at first, just in my head. Then, it slipped out.
"Everyone's got a whole mess of reasons for why they are the way they are. Even the quiet ones. Especially the quiet ones." I murmured to myself, blinking slowly, trying to convince my body it was tired.
Trying to believe I could sleep just like that.
"Stop thinking I'm the center of every story, huh?" I said again, this time quieter.
There was no answer, of course. Just that same moon, pale and round, hanging steady above the window frame. I turned my head slightly to look at it.
I remembered that same moon hanging above broken hills, above tents soaked in blood and silence. Nights when the stars hid themselves, ashamed. When the only thing that kept me alive was momentum. Orders. Rage. The next command. The next swing.
Back then, the moon looked the same. Cold. Unbothered.
How many men had I killed under that same light? How many sons never came home? How many fathers never got to say goodbye?
I turned to my side, curling slightly into the cot's edge. My chest rose and fell slow, steady, but my thoughts didn't.
Jeren's words echoed again.
"Even the quiet ones. Especially the quiet ones."
Was that me? Was I one of the quiet ones? And if I was, then what kind of silence was I carrying? The kind that speaks? Or the kind that buries?
My fingers found the rough edge of the blanket and held onto it, not out of cold, but out of something else I didn't know how to name yet.
Jeren laughed too much, but maybe he wasn't wrong. Maybe I really did remind him of someone. His father. Maybe I'm not that different from the men I fought beside or the ones I buried.
Maybe that's the cruel part.
Maybe all of us, after the war, are just trying to learn how to sleep again.
Tomorrow, I'd be cutting trees. With strangers. With sweat and labor and noise. But right now, all I had was this silence. And somehow, it wasn't the worst thing. Not anymore.
I closed my eyes, but the moon stayed there. Behind my eyelids.
Bright.
Watching.
Waiting.
Then, it was morning. Just like that.
I barely had any sleep. Most of the night I was just staring, ceiling, window, ceiling again. Repeating that like it was some kind of ritual, until my eyes finally gave up on me.
I yawned and looked toward the window.
The sun hadn't risen yet, but it was already morning. That grey blue kind. Here I am again. An early bird.
"Morning," I murmured.
I sat up slowly, staring at the light slipping through the curtain.
"Oh right. I'm a lumberjack now," I muttered. "Old Harvin said it was out west, past the ridge from the village. Tent, chopping area, cart with spare axes and saws. Got it."
I stood up, fixed the bedsheet and pillow, then went straight to the icebox. Pulled out four eggs. Cooked them exactly the same way I did yesterday.
Still ended up with shell bits in them.
There I was, sitting at the small wooden table again.
"Delicious," I said dryly. "Well, for me. But if Rena tasted this, he'd be in a two-day coma."
Why did I just think of Rena?
"Oh, right. Jeren's supposed to check on me today," I mumbled, glancing toward the window.
I got up, washed the plate, fork, and spatula. Filled a cup from the sink, drank, then rinsed my face. A few stretches. Hops. Push-ups straight from the ground.
Got up again, not even sweating.
Then came a knock.
"Hello? Mister?"
That voice. Familiar.
I opened the door. It was the same two girls from yesterday.
The older one, maybe ten years old, stood holding a neatly folded lumberjack uniform. Her little sister was half-hiding behind her.
"For me?" I asked.
"Yes, mister," the older one said. "Grandpa wanted me to give this to you. As an exchange for your hard work yesterday. He said I should give it to you even if you don't want it. He also said you should wear this to work."
Grandpa? Wait, Harvin?
I knelt down to meet her eye level. No need to make kids talk to someone towering over them.
"May I ask something?"
"Yes, mister."
"Is Harvin your grandpa?"
"Yes, mister. Grandpa's been taking care of us ever since Mom and Dad went to the city for work."
"Oh. That's a surprise. So he tells you a lot of things then?"
She took a deep breath.
Then, like opening a floodgate, she started telling me everything. How her grandpa said I was strong. How the other workers were in shock at my strength. How I apparently did work worth five men. Everything. No detail spared.
"So to sum it all up, he didn't even leave a crumb behind," I said, scratching my temple.
"Yes!" she answered, eyes shining with pride.
I took the uniform from her hands, then glanced down at her little sister.
"What are you two girls doing out here anyway? Don't tell me your grandpa woke you just to give this uniform to me."
The little one still hadn't said a word.
"No, mister. We're early birds too, just like Grandpa!"
"Well, alright then. Thank you." I stood up and looked at the younger one again.
The little sister finally looked up at me and smiled. Soft. Brief. But a smile. Then she tugged at her sister's sleeve, whispered something. The older one nodded.
"Mister," she said, "my sister wants to ask something."
The little one leaned forward a bit. Her voice was tiny. "Are you gonna stay in Newham forever?"
I paused for a second. Smiled a little.
"I don't know yet. But, I'll be here for a while."
"Oh," she said, then looked down at her feet. "I hope you stay. You look less scary when you smile."
I chuckled. "Noted."
"And," the older one added quickly, "if you stay long enough, you'll get to taste Grandpa's potato stew. But only if he likes you."
"Sounds like a challenge."
They both giggled.
I was about to turn when I paused again.
"Hey, uhm, before you go. What are your names?"
"I'm Lenne," the older one said proudly. "And this is my little sister, Mira."
I nodded. "Lenne. Mira. Got it."
Then I placed a hand gently over my chest, almost like I was swearing something solemn.
"My name's Eron. Eron Weldan.
They both blinked like they were trying to remember it for later.
Lenne smiled. "Nice to meet you, Mister Eron. We're the Selwyns. Lenne and Mira Selwyn."
"Selwyn, huh?" I repeated. "Alright. I'll remember that."
"Nice to meet you, Mister Eron!" Lenne said.
"Take care, both of you, alright?"
Then they turned and walked off, skipping just a little.
"We will, mister!" the older one said.
I stood there a moment longer, watching the two disappear around the bend.
Selwyn.
It felt strange hearing surnames again, like they still meant something here. Like they were stitched to the land, not to rank or war reports.
I wondered, what's Jeren's surname?
Odd. I'd never thought to ask.
...
Wait. Where is he?
"Jeren?"
I glanced around. Nothing.
"Eh, anyway. Got to work."
I stepped back inside and closed the door. Headed to the bathroom. Took a quick shower, bare naked, of course, then dried off and pulled on the new uniform.
In the mirror, I stood still for a moment. Wearing a red-and-grey sleeveless collared shirt, paired with navy blue work pants.
"Old Harvin really made it sleeveless like the shirt I wore yesterday, huh?" I muttered. "Well. Not like that's gonna change how I swing an axe."
I pulled on my boots, stepped out the door, and locked it behind me.
"Alright," I said quietly. "Let's get this morning started."
I walked west.
Boots brushing over the dirt path, soft but steady. The air was still a little cold. That kind of cold that doesn't bite, just lingers. Thin fog still hovered above the ground, but it would disappear once the sun had the strength to burn it away.
I passed a few houses, wooden, modest, patched in places with care. Lanterns were still hanging on some porches, their flames dimming out. Smoke trickled from a few chimneys. Breakfast in the making, maybe.
The chief's house was just off the path. Still quiet. No one standing outside like yesterday. His old walking stick leaned against the doorframe.
"Probably sleeping in," I murmured, eyeing the porch.
Farther down was a small field, brown and green, worked and reworked. Rows of vegetables I couldn't name were growing low, thick with dew. A scarecrow leaned sideways in the middle of it like it hadn't slept well either.
Beyond that, a little pond. Motionless. Dragonflies clinging to the edge of the reeds. I saw a child's fishing pole left stuck in the mud beside a rock.
"Bet they left it yesterday and forgot," I mumbled.
Two chickens darted across the road ahead, flapping their wings like they had something important to do. A dog barked once from somewhere distant, then quieted down. A small livestock pen came next, wooden fences holding goats and a few pigs. One goat was chewing on the corner of a post, like it was trying to think of something. The barn by the river was closed shut this time. I stopped briefly near the riverbank. The water flowed slow, steady, dragging leaves and twigs downstream like time itself, quiet and certain.
I noticed something else.
Old Bram wasn't out there. And Jeren wasn't either. No sounds of chatter or hammering. No whistling. Just silence.
"Huh," I muttered. "That's odd."
My steps kept going.
Eventually, I reached the ridge Harvin had told me about. It wasn't high, just a soft slope that rose like a shoulder beside the village. Trees lined the top, thick, tall, straight as spears. The dirt path veered up and curved into them, swallowed by leaves and shadow.
I stopped there for a moment. Looked back at the village.
The houses. The fields. The river. The stillness. No armor. No shouting. No orders. No steel drawn. Just people trying to live.
I exhaled. Then turned, and kept walking. Toward the trees. Toward the work.
I walked into the forest.
Trees everywhere. Tall ones. Thick ones. Some curved, some crooked, some straight like spears. The further in I went, the less of the sky I saw. Only patches of blue breaking through branches.
"It sure is quiet over here," I murmured.
Then, somewhere above, birds chirped. High-pitched, calm, rhythmic.
"Not too quiet. At least I know I'm not alone. Temporarily."
Then came the others, deer moving in the distance, barely audible. A squirrel darted across the path, disappeared into a bush. A woodpecker knocked on bark nearby. I heard the wind pass through the leaves like the forest was breathing.
Beautiful.
Nature at its finest.
I kept walking. Kept walking. Still walking.
And there it was.
The tents.
Canvas pitched neatly beside a few tree stumps. A cart parked nearby, filled with spare axes, rope, and saws. Everything old man Harvin said was here.
Except the people.
I slowed down. Looked around. No voices. No shouts. No grunts from lifting logs. Just nothing.
"It's morning now, isn't it?"
I looked west, toward where Jeren and I had watched the sunrise yesterday. That quiet light was rising again, same as before.
"What am I missing?" I murmured. "The workers should be here. Don't tell me he forgot to send a word."
"Yo!"
The voice didn't come from ahead. It came from above.
I looked up.
There he was, Jeren. Just sitting on a thick branch halfway up a tree, legs swinging like a child, back leaned casually on the trunk. His uniform was the same as mine, red and gray shirt, navy pants, but he had sleeves. And no scars.
"Talking to yourself this early in the morning, huh?" he called out. "Did you even sleep? Or did you stare at the walls, hold a candle like a ghost, and contemplate your mysterious past for eight hours straight?"
I blinked. "In fact, you're right. I didn't get to sleep that much."
"Ha ha ha! Called it!"
There it was again. That laugh. Loud. Ridiculous. Completely unfazed by the quiet forest around him.
"So," he grinned, "surprised now?"
I paused. Then I remembered.
He did say I'd be surprised by what's waiting for me today.
"Yes. I am. But why are you here? Don't you already have two jobs?"
"Ha ha ha! I do! Three, actually." He leaned back further on the branch, swung one leg, looked up at the leaves. "First job, with old man Harvin. Second job, with old man Bram. Third job, with Lord Jaheim. You get it now?"
"Why do you have so many jobs?"
"Ha ha ha! To work! To live! To earn money! What else?" He sat up and gestured with both hands like he was preaching. "Ma and Pa aren't here to spoil me anymore. So now, I work to spoil myself. I buy myself lunch. I buy myself clothes. I even bought myself a wooden comb I don't use. You know what that's called?"
"What?"
"Independence!"
He stretched his arms wide like he just said something profound. Then nearly slipped off the branch.
"Besides," he said, settling back down, "if I only had one job, I'd have to go home early. And if I go home early, I gotta talk to myself. And if I talk to myself too long, I start arguing with myself. And trust me, me and me do not get along. I lose every time."
"You're unbelievable."
"Thank you. I try my best."
Jeren started climbing down from the tree. Fast. Reckless. Chatty.
"Whew! You know, trees really are underrated. If I ever go broke, I might just live in one," he muttered mid-descent, "like a squirrel. Except a squirrel with charm. And better posture."
He landed with a soft thud on the ground. Then stood up and dusted his hands off.
"Oh wait," I asked. "Isn't there supposed to be another one?"
"Other one?" he said.
He looked up again, snapping his fingers. "Ohhh, the other one."
He cupped his hands around his mouth and called. "Yo!"
Another "Yo!" echoed back. Not from the trail. From the trees.
I looked up.
There he was. Another man. Around the same age as Jeren. Same build. Same uniform. Brown hair, slightly messy. Brown eyes that looked curious but unreadable.
"So," he called down, voice casual, "you're the new pal I heard about from Bram?"
No mention of elders, rank, or any formality. Just "pal."
"Get down here, Elric," Jeren said. "He's surprised."
Elric.
Right. Jeren mentioned him when we first met.
Elric climbed down like he was on stage, swinging from one branch to another, then dropping down in a smooth spin like he'd rehearsed the landing.
Flamboyant.
He landed with flair, adjusted the collar of his shirt, then walked toward me with a hand already extended.
"You're tall, holy crap," he said. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Elric."
I shook his hand. Firm, dry grip.
"Eron. Eron Walden."
He nodded. "Strong name. Sounds like a guy who's chopped a few hundred trees and a few thousand bears."
"Something like that."
I turned to Jeren. "What about you? Do you have a surname?"
"Me?" he said, pretending to look surprised. "Oh sure. Jeren Fowlmere. Farmer blood, bird name. Fits, right?"
He flapped his arms once like wings.
Elric grinned. "Mine's different. Elric Vanehart. Not farmer blood. Not bird either. Just trouble."
There was a short silence after that. Not awkward, just a moment where the name hung in the air. I looked at him a second longer.
Vanehart.
A name with weight, or maybe it just sounded like one.
Then Jeren leaned forward with a smirk. "You expecting him to bow or something, Elric?"
Elric raised his hands. "Hey, you told me to introduce myself!"
Jeren turned to me. "He gets dramatic when there's a new face. Thinks he's in a play."
Elric clicked his tongue. "I'm just trying to make a good first impression. Some of us still care about style."
I looked between them. Fowlmere and Vanehart. Couldn't be more different.
"Fowl and Vane," I muttered. "You two sound like a traveling act."
Jeren snapped his fingers. "Finally! Someone sees the vision."
Elric pointed at me. "See? He gets it."
I shook my head. "No. I'm not joining whatever delusion this is."
"Too late," they said in unison.
I sighed. The forest suddenly didn't feel as quiet anymore.
Jeren walked over to the cart by the tent. He grabbed an axe, one with a thick wooden handle and a slightly chipped blade, and threw it my way.
I caught it easily with one hand.
Then he tossed one to Elric, who caught his with a spin like he was performing for ghosts. Jeren grabbed one for himself and twirled it once, like it was lighter than it should be.
He marched forward, raised his axe high into the air, and shouted, "Alright! Are you boys, rather, men! Are you all ready?!"
I just stared at him. What is this guy even on this early in the morning?
Elric didn't respond either. He just stood beside me, swinging his axe slowly like it was a broom.
The only thing that answered Jeren's war cry were the birds. A flock shot up from a tree nearby and scattered into the sky.
Jeren stood there, arms still raised. "Repeat that again!" he barked, like a sergeant with no soldiers.
Elric chuckled under his breath. "No," he said flatly.
Jeren turned to him, theatrically shocked. "No?! Elric, you traitor!"
"I'm saving my energy for the actual work," Elric replied, stretching his arms up. "Unlike you, I don't need to waste my breath on speeches that don't inspire anyone."
"You wound me," Jeren said, gripping his chest. "You truly wound me."
They started going back and forth. Words flying. Insults that were too silly to sting. Laughs that kept echoing through the trees. They weren't brothers, but you'd think they were born fighting in the same crib.
I didn't say anything. Just watched.
It was strange. How easy it was for them to talk like this. To argue over nothing. To laugh at nothing.
I didn't know if I was supposed to feel distant or lucky.
But I stood there, axe in hand, listening to the two fools bark at each other while the morning light trickled through the forest. And for some reason, I didn't mind.
The barking had stopped. The laughter too. Now, only the distant sounds of axes meeting wood echoed through the forest.
I was just standing there. Axe in hand. Staring at a thick, towering tree whose trunk was wider than my shoulders. Bark peeling at the edges. Moss running down its base like scars. And tall, so tall I had to tilt my head to follow it up into the canopy.
Jeren was a few paces from me, already hacking into a smaller trunk with practiced swings. Elric was further off, humming some song as he worked, his rhythm quick and careless like he was chopping vegetables.
But me? I stood there.
Still.
My fingers gripped the axe. My boots felt heavy. My arms knew how to swing. But this time, it wasn't for blood or bodies or war. It was for wood. For labor. For something else.
I didn't move.
"Yo! Having trouble?"
I turned toward the voice. Jeren had stopped swinging. His axe rested against the trunk he'd been cutting. His arms folded lazily across the head of the tool, eyes on me.
"So why are you staring at that tree like it's got beef with your ancestors?"
"Nothing. Just new at the job." I looked back at the tree. "Still figuring out how I'm going to cut this without any instructions."
From the distance, Elric's voice shot through the forest.
"You hear that, Jeren? New coworker's flailing already. Bad coworker energy!"
"Shut up, will ya!" Jeren barked over his shoulder.
"You're just a very bad coworker! Disgraceful!"
Jeren smiled, then looked back at me. "You're lucky. You get me. The best of the worst."
I didn't answer. Still staring at the tree.
He wiped his hands on his pants, stepped closer. "So. You need help? I bet you're standing there wondering where the vital spot is. Like, do I strike the base? Go for the knees? The neck? Wait, trees don't have necks. Not yet. Not until some mad mage invents walking trees."
I looked at him. Blank. A little confused. A little amused.
"Eww, what's with that look? Is that the please teach me, O wise lumber god face?"
"Nothing," I muttered. "But I'll be glad if you do help."
"Alright, alright. Listen close, war vet. This is the way of the wood."
He spun the axe once, then pointed to the tree's base.
"Rule one: trees don't fall because you stab them. They fall because you weaken them. You don't need to be strong, just patient."
He knelt slightly, tapping a point on the trunk.
"You want to start cutting at a 45-degree angle. Like a wedge. Picture an open mouth, ready to take a bite out of the direction you want it to fall. This'll be your face cut."
I watched him demonstrate the motion. A smooth swing, shoulders loose, hands firm, blade sinking into the bark.
He stood up. "Now, if you're thinking about stabbing it in the chest like a soldier, don't. Axes aren't for charging. They're for rhythm. Like dancing. Except with less twirling and more sweating."
He handed the axe back to me.
"Try it. Small bite. Don't go full berserker on it. Ease in. Trees are stubborn bastards, but they'll fall if you keep chipping away."
I looked at the trunk. Lifted the axe. Took a breath.
And swung.
Thock.
It bit into the bark, shallow, but clean.
Jeren nodded. "There you go. Again."
I swung again.
Thock.
The axe felt heavier now. Or maybe my arms were remembering something older than war.
"Don't lock your shoulders. Let the weight help you. Swing like it's not about rage, but about rhythm."
So I did.
Again.
And again.
Each strike echoing through the trees.
Elric's voice came faintly, singing a line from a song I didn't recognize.
Jeren leaned against another tree. Watching. Occasionally nodding. Occasionally smirking.
And I kept swinging.
Each strike felt a little different. Less like killing something.
More like carving something open. Something slow. Repetitive. Meaningless to some. But not to me. Not right now.
The bark chipped. The trunk dented. My arms ached.
And for the first time in years, I felt pain that didn't come from a wound. Just work. Quiet, steady, honest work.
The sun had moved far past its highest point. Shadows grew long. The air, though still thick with the smell of sap and dirt, had cooled slightly under the trees.
I leaned back against a stump, arms heavy, fingers sore. My shirt stuck to my skin with sweat.
Elric plopped down not far from me, tossing his axe aside like it offended him. "Alright. I'm cooked. Done. Send my remains back to the village."
Jeren followed suit, landing with a loud thud beside the cart. "You barely cut four trees."
"Four big trees," Elric argued, wiping his forehead. "Unlike you, I don't chase skinny ones."
Jeren took out a pouch of dried berries and tossed it in Elric's direction. "Eat that before you start crying."
Then he turned to me. "Hungry?"
I nodded slightly. "Yeah. Just didn't think chopping wood would wear me down this fast."
Jeren dug into a cloth-wrapped bundle from the cart, then tossed a small loaf of bread my way. "First day's always like that. You'll get used to it."
I caught the bread, broke it in half. "Hope so."
We sat in a loose triangle. Nothing but forest around us. The quiet hum of birds. A breeze. Elric chewing noisily.
"Not so bad though, huh?" Jeren said, leaning back on one arm. "You chop, you sweat, you rest. No one breathing down your neck. No mud all over your boots. No rules except don't lose a toe."
I glanced at him. He wasn't smiling this time.
Just chewing.
"You ever fight?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nope. Heard enough from old man Bram and old man Harvin. Don't need to see it."
I nodded.
We fell quiet again.
The bread was dry. But it tasted real. Honest. Not rationed. Not handed to me by a trembling recruit in a burning camp.
I looked up.
Sunlight pierced the canopy above us in thin golden blades. Dust floated in the air, catching the light. My breath slowed.
For a moment, I forgot the sword.
Forgot the screams.
Just a stump. Some bread. Two loud coworkers. And a forest full of trees not trying to kill me.
"Hey," Jeren suddenly said. "You gonna fall asleep sitting up?"
"Maybe," I muttered.
"Then we'll bury you right here," Elric added. "Build a shrine. Here lies Eron Walden. First day on the job, died of peace and bread."
I cracked a small smile. Just for a second.
Then closed my eyes.
The wind passed again.
Elric stood up and looked at me. "You're quite impressive though. You already cut twelve trees. Not small ones, either, big ones. How were you able to do that besides, you know, being obviously built like a brick wall? I've seen dudes with the same build, but they never pull off something like that."
Jeren didn't say a word. Just quietly watched Elric.
He didn't have to speak, I already knew. His silence was respect. He knew, but he wouldn't say a thing. Not with Elric here.
I looked at Elric. "Guess I'm just blessed with good genetics."
"Oh? You must've had a crazy strong father, huh?"
I paused. "Something like that."
Jeren stood up next. "Well. Let's get back to it?"
I nodded, rising with him. "Yeah."
And just like that, we returned to chopping. Elric went back to his spot farther off. Jeren stayed close.
No more questions. Just the sound of wood breaking under steel.
By the time the sun slipped past the highest trees, the light had turned gold. It streaked through the forest canopy in long, quiet beams, soft, like it was trying not to wake something sleeping.
The axes weren't as loud anymore. Just slow swings. Steady rhythm. The kind of rhythm that tells you the day's nearly over, and the body knows it.
Elric sat down first, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He leaned back against a stump he'd claimed as his seat for the past hour.
"That's it for me," he sighed, tossing his axe gently beside him. "My arms feel like boiled wheat."
Jeren chuckled, walking over with a half-empty water jug. He took a long sip, then handed it to me.
I drank in silence, feeling the cool water trail down my throat. The kind of feeling you forget about until you work like this.
No one said much again. We just sat. Still. Letting the forest breathe again.
Some birds flew overhead. A pair of squirrels chased each other on a branch above. Elric watched them.
"Y'know," he muttered, "I'm kind of jealous. No shift, no boss. Just nuts and freedom."
Jeren laughed once through his nose. "You'd last five minutes out here without cooked food and a bed."
"Still sounds better than cutting trees all day."
I leaned back against a tree. The bark was rough behind my back, but I didn't move.
"Think we should head back?" Elric asked lazily, eyes closed.
"Eventually," Jeren replied. "We've still got to load a few logs on the cart."
They both turned to me. I didn't say anything.
But I stood. Picked up my axe. Hoisted a trunk with them. And together, we moved, without words. Just the creak of wheels, the soft sound of boots in dirt, and a breeze that followed us all the way home.
The cart creaked as it rolled over the uneven dirt path, wheels rumbling soft against the trail. My hands were firm on the handles, steady as I guided it forward. The logs were heavy, but not too heavy. At least not for me.
Behind me, I could hear Elric dragging his feet like they owed him something.
"Ugh," he groaned, wiping the sweat from his forehead for the sixth time in three minutes. "Tell me again why we don't have horses for this job?"
Jeren, walking beside him with his shirt clinging to his back, let out a dry laugh. "Because you are the horse."
"Very funny," Elric muttered. "Next time I'll just pretend to be dead in the forest. Let the squirrels carry me home."
"At least then you'd finally be useful for something," Jeren shot back, smirking.
Elric turned his head slowly. "You're talking real brave for someone who almost fell asleep standing up ten minutes ago."
"Almost," Jeren raised a finger. "But didn't. That's called resilience."
I didn't say anything. Just kept pushing the cart.
"Hey Eron," Elric called out, "how are you not tired? You've barely said a word all afternoon."
I glanced back slightly. "I'm fine."
Elric blinked. "Fine? That's it?"
"Yeah."
Jeren grinned. "Told you he's built different. Probably cut trees in his sleep."
"Don't tempt me," Elric muttered. "He probably does. Wakes up and there's a cleared field next to him."
They both laughed, and I allowed myself a small smile, just barely.
The village road came into view up ahead. Lanterns were being lit.
Elric rubbed his shoulder. "Next time, we bring a cart that rolls better. Or a chair. Preferably one with wheels."
"You're gonna invent a wheel-chair now?" Jeren asked, snorting.
"Maybe I will," Elric replied, raising his chin. "Put it on the record: Elric Valden, inventor of the rolling chair for the tragically tired."
"Tragically weak," Jeren corrected.
"Bold of you to say for someone whose hands were shaking when he tied the last rope."
They went back and forth like that. Light teasing. No malice. Two boys too tired to care and too familiar to stop. We kept walking. Slowly, but surely. The cart rolled behind me, while the sounds of Elric and Jeren filled the spaces where silence used to be.
By the time we passed the pond, I could hear dogs barking faintly in the distance again, as if they'd woken up from their own kind of rest.
Jeren and Elric were still talking, still laughing over something I'd half-heard and half-missed. I didn't mind. It was good background noise. Not the chaos of commands, not the screams of battle, voices. Familiar, light, foolish at times, but alive.
The air smelled of pine and sweat and old bark. My palms stung faintly. I looked down at them.
A farmer's hands.
We passed the chief's house. No one was outside. Only lamps and calm.
"There it is," Jeren muttered, like he'd just spotted a mirage.
Elric let out a groan of relief. "Home, sweet woodshed."
The cart gave one last squeak before I stopped it in front of the storage house, its roof patched with old tin and moss. We'd made it.
Jeren clapped once and nodded. "Alright. Let's get this done before we all melt."
Old Harvin was already there, leaning on his cane outside the woodshed. His eyes scanned us, then the cart, then us again.
"You boys look like wet laundry," he said flatly.
Jeren gave a two-finger salute. "Delivery complete, Chief."
Harvin sniffed. "About time."
We unloaded the logs together. No complaints. No instructions. Just quiet motion, the kind that came when you didn't need to talk to know what came next.
When we were done, Elric collapsed onto the ground like he'd just crossed a desert.
"I need a nap," he muttered. "And a meal. In that order."
Jeren leaned against the wall, wiping his face with the edge of his shirt. "We still gotta check the saws tomorrow."
"Shut up," Elric groaned. "Let tomorrow come later."
I stood there for a moment longer.
Breathing in. Then out. My hands hurt. My back felt tight.
But it was good.
"Old Harvin," I called softly.
He raised an eyebrow. "Mm?"
I gave a small nod. "Thanks."
He didn't answer. Just turned and limped slowly into the woodshed.
And that was the day.