Morning in the clearing was usually peaceful. Birds chattered, the fire crackled low in the pit, and Borgu snored like a dying bear in the half-finished hut.
Today, though, the peace was cracked by a sharp voice.
"You're doing it wrong."
Lorian froze, halfway through trying to stack firewood. He glanced over his shoulder nervously. "I—I'm just putting them by size."
Sylvara's green eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms, ears twitching faintly. "Too close together. Air cannot flow. Fire will choke."
"It's just… firewood," Lorian muttered under his breath.
Sylvara's dagger was out before he could blink. Not aimed at him, but glinting just enough to make her point. "Not just firewood. Fire is life. You treat carelessly, you treat us carelessly."
I rubbed the back of my neck, watching from where I was repairing a support beam on the hut. Here we go again.
Lorian stepped back from the woodpile, raising his hands like Sylvara was about to gut him. "Fine. You do it, then."
"I already did," Sylvara shot back. "Yesterday. And day before. You said you would help. Instead, you make mess."
Borgu's booming laugh shook the hut walls. The orc emerged, stretching like a mountain waking. "Elf scold like angry mother. Twig-man child who forgets chores!"
Lorian flushed red. "I'm not a child."
Borgu clapped him on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. "Good! Then swing axe like grown man. Chop wood, not feelings."
I sighed. "Borgu, you're not helping."
"Orc always help!" he declared proudly.
Sylvara muttered something in Elvish that sounded very much like a curse.
The tension lingered through breakfast. I stirred the pot of porridge while Borgu insisted on adding chunks of leftover boar meat. Lorian sat awkwardly, poking at the wooden bowl like it might bite him.
Sylvara didn't sit at all. She stood by the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between us and the trees as if waiting for the stranger to reveal his true colors.
Finally, she spoke, her voice cool and sharp. "Why are you here?"
Lorian blinked. "I told you. I was starving, I saw your fire—"
"No." Sylvara's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here? In forest. Alone. With broken spear. No one survives long that way."
Lorian hesitated, his spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. "I… got separated."
"From who?" she pressed.
"…doesn't matter."
That answer didn't satisfy her. Her gaze hardened like steel.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Sylvara, give him time. Not everyone's ready to spill their life story over breakfast."
"Secrets rot," she said simply. "Faster than meat."
Borgu slurped noisily. "Mmm. Rot meat tasty if cooked long enough."
"Not the point, Borgu," I muttered.
After breakfast, I set tasks. It was the only way to keep everyone from biting each other's heads off.
"Borgu, you and I will finish the support beams on the hut. Sylvara, can you check the herb patch? Lorian…" I hesitated.
He looked up, hopeful.
"…you'll fetch water."
His shoulders slumped, but he nodded. "Right. Water."
Sylvara's lips pressed thin. Clearly, she wanted me to send him packing instead.
But I wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
Hours passed in the rhythm of work. Borgu and I wrestled with logs, the orc humming tunelessly as he hammered pegs into place. Sylvara moved silently through the small herb garden we'd started, her hands careful and sure.
Lorian… took longer than expected.
When he returned, dripping wet from the waist down, I raised a brow. "Did you fall in?"
He glared. "Bucket broke."
Borgu bellowed laughter, nearly toppling a beam. "Twig-man cannot fight water!"
"Neither can you," I pointed out. "You nearly drowned in a river last week."
"River cheated!" Borgu shot back.
Sylvara said nothing, but the slight smirk tugging her lips betrayed her amusement.
That evening, we sat by the fire again. The Thornback Boar meat was long gone, but the porridge stretched thin enough for all of us.
Lorian poked at his bowl. "I'm trying, you know."
Sylvara's gaze sharpened instantly. "Trying is not enough. Survival is not 'try.' It is do, or die."
He winced. "You don't trust me."
"Correct," she said flatly.
"Then how am I supposed to change that?"
For a moment, the only sound was the fire crackling.
Finally, Sylvara leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "Prove. Not with words. With action."
Lorian swallowed. "What do you want me to do?"
She reached into her pouch and pulled out a small sprig of pale green herb. Its leaves shimmered faintly in the firelight.
"This. Moonleaf. Grows near river. Useful for wounds. But guarded."
"Guarded?" Lorian asked warily.
"Spined hares," Sylvara said simply.
Borgu grinned wide. "Ah! Spiny rabbits. Bite hard, taste good. Good test."
Lorian paled. "You're telling me… to fight killer rabbits?"
"Not fight," Sylvara corrected. "Gather. Quietly. If you can return with moonleaf, maybe you are worth more than burden."
The challenge hung in the air.
I studied Lorian carefully. His hands shook slightly, but he didn't back down.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll do it."
Borgu slapped his back again. "Good! If die, we eat rabbits instead."
Lorian grimaced. "Comforting."
Sylvara said nothing, but the faintest flicker of surprise crossed her face. Maybe she hadn't expected him to accept.
I sighed. "I'll go with him."
Sylvara's gaze snapped to mine. "No. He goes alone."
"That's suicide," I argued.
She met my eyes, firm and unyielding. "Trust is not given. It is earned. If he cannot do this, he cannot stay."
I hated to admit it—but she was right.
So the next morning, Lorian set off alone toward the river.
We watched him go, his figure disappearing into the trees with only a battered spear and a borrowed pouch.
Borgu stretched and yawned. "Twig-man come back, or not. Either way, stew tonight."
Sylvara didn't answer. She stood silently at the edge of the clearing, her eyes fixed on the treeline long after Lorian had vanished.
And for the first time, I thought I saw something other than distrust in her gaze.
Something closer to… hope.
Or maybe fear.