The fire crackled quietly now, finally coaxed back to life by Trevon, who had added a few rger logs with careful, steady hands. The fmes cast a gentle glow across the clearing, painting the nearby tents and trees in warm gold and soft indigo. Overhead, dusk had melted into night, and the first stars blinked into view—quiet and steady, as if watching from above.

  Theoden had managed to catch two birds before night fully settled in. It wasn’t a grand feast, but after the chaos, it was more than enough. He now sat near the fire, calmly seasoning the meat with deft fingers while Constantine handed over a small jar of crushed herbs from one of the packs.

  Trevon paced toward the stack of crates near the base of a tree, chewing the inside of his cheek. He seemed distracted.

  “What’s wrong, Trevon?” I asked, watching him pause with that same furrow in his brow.

  “Uh… one of Master Ba’s provision boxes didn’t survive the wild boar incident,” he muttered.

  Constantine, who was slicing bread with surprising care, froze mid-cut. “Which one?” he asked slowly. “Please don’t say it’s the wine.”

  Trevon didn’t answer. He just pointed.

  Constantine rushed to the crates. The silence was broken by a long, drawn-out groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me… why was it the wine? That was the one he said he’d been looking forward to.”

  Theoden didn’t even gnce up from turning the spit. “It’s done. No sense panicking over broken gss.”

  “You can tell him that,” Constantine muttered as he returned, “while he mourns the death of his beloved wine bottles.”

  Theoden still didn’t react, but I caught the flicker of unease in his eyes—small, fleeting, but there.

  Soon enough, the fire was filled with the scent of roasting bird, crispy skin crackling beneath the fmes. When the meat was ready, Theoden carved it swiftly and began handing out portions. He tossed a leg to Trevon, passed a thigh to me, and nudged Constantine with his foot to make him sit up and eat.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Theoden said after a while, his voice low but firm. “Especially you, Trev. What happened wasn’t your fault. Master Ba won’t make it hard on us. Not over wine.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Constantine grumbled. “You didn’t see how he looked at me when I chipped his favorite tea bowl.”

  “Well then,” Trevon said, chewing slowly, “we’ll just distract him by reenacting the moment I ran screaming through the trees with a baby boar in my arms.”

  “Screaming?” I repeated, raising a brow.

  “Fine—running gracefully and bravely under pressure.”

  “With tears,” Constantine added helpfully. “And hiccups.”

  “Those were war cries.”

  We all ughed, the sound quiet but real. The fire crackled beneath it, as if ughing along.

  “To be fair,” Trevon said between bites, “you all owe me. I was the bait. I should get the st piece of bird.”

  Theoden didn’t look up as he wordlessly passed him the wing.

  “See? My suffering is finally recognized,” Trevon mumbled, trying not to smile.

  We continued eating with easy conversation flowing between us—light teasing, small memories, and the occasional “remember when” that made us ugh or shake our heads. The kind of talk that didn’t mean much in the grand scheme, but carried its own warmth. A reminder that we were still here. Still together.

  As we finished, one by one we naturally began to settle. Theoden leaned against the nearest tree, arms crossed and eyes half-closed. Constantine rolled onto his side near the fire with a satisfied sigh. Trevon stretched out on his back, using his bundled cloak as a pillow and muttering something about his heroic legacy being overlooked.

  I sat still for a while, just watching them.

  The warmth of the fire. The fullness in my stomach. The steadiness of ughter. All of it hummed around me like a quiet rhythm—steady, real, comforting.

  And deep inside me, I felt a shift.

  I hadn’t fought with steel today. I hadn’t won with commands or intimidation. I had kneeled. Spoken. Trusted that empathy could bridge the gap.

  And for once, it had.

  Maybe strength isn’t always about power, I thought. Sometimes, it’s about understanding. Patience. The kind of strength that doesn’t leave scars.

  I pulled my cloak tighter around me and y back, eyes tracing the flickering glow of the firelight. The stars above blinked slowly, serene and distant, as the clearing fell into a hush.

  One by one, the voices faded.

  The fire burned low.

  And beneath a sky full of quiet stars, we finally let ourselves rest.

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