The second morning of our journey began quietly. The sky was painted with streaks of pale orange and pink, the sun still low on the horizon as a cool breeze carried the faint scent of earth and grass. Bjorn led the group at a steady pace, his usual boisterous demeanor tempered by the long trek ahead.
"We're making good time," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. "If we keep this up, we'll be at Ingrid's farm by tomorrow afternoon."
"Still a full day's walk after that to Vargshold," Astrid muttered, pulling her cloak tighter against the morning chill.
"Vargshold?" Emery asked, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.
Bjorn grinned, though his steps didn't falter. "The city of the Wolf Clan's Elderman. It's our home base, you could say. Big stone walls, lots of warriors, and more beer than you could drink in a lifetime."
"It's the heart of our territory," Ingrid added, her tone softer. "It's where the academy is—*Ulvenskola*."
Bjorn's grin widened. "Best warriors and Magi in all of Halgard come from Vargshold. And the ale's not half bad either."
Emery smiled faintly, but I could see the wheels turning in her mind. I felt the same—every detail they gave us about this world was like a piece of a puzzle we didn't fully understand yet.
"What about the other clans?" I asked, keeping my tone casual.
Bjorn shrugged. "The Wolf Clan runs things around here, but there are plenty of others—Eagle Clan, Bear Clan, Boar Clan. Each has its own territory, its own traditions."
"The clans work together to protect the Nord lands," Ingrid added. "But each is independent. We answer to our Elderman, and he answers to the Emperor."
"The Emperor doesn't have much of a presence here, though," Bjorn said with a smirk. "We're too far out on the fringes. As long as the clans pay their tribute, he leaves us alone."
Their words painted a picture of a land filled with tradition and strength, but also isolation. I couldn't help but wonder how we fit into any of it.
---
The first day passed uneventfully. The open hills stretched endlessly, dotted with the occasional cluster of trees or patches of wildflowers. We stopped briefly to drink from a stream and rest in the shade of a rocky outcrop before continuing on.
By the second day, the landscape began to shift. The hills grew gentler, the terrain leveling out as we neared our destination. The group seemed more relaxed now, their pace less hurried as the air grew warmer.
Bjorn turned back to us as we crested a hill. "We're getting close," he said, gesturing ahead. "Ingrid's farm is just over the next ridge. After that, you two can take a break while we head to Vargshold."
"Finally," Astrid muttered. "I'm starving."
"You're always starving," Viggo said with a chuckle.
"Because I'm always working," Astrid shot back, rolling her eyes.
Ingrid smiled at the familiar banter but stayed focused on the path ahead. "You'll like the farm," she said, her voice directed toward Emery and me. "It's nothing fancy, but it's home."
---
When we crested the final hill, the farm came into view. A sprawling expanse of fields stretched out before us, the neatly planted crops swaying gently in the breeze. Pastures enclosed by sturdy wooden fences held cows, sheep, and a few horses, their slow movements a contrast to the constant tension of Grimwood.
At the center of it all was a large stone house with a thatched roof, its weathered exterior radiating a sense of permanence and stability. Nearby stood a barn, its wide doors revealing neatly stacked hay bales and farming tools hung in careful order.
"That's it," Ingrid said, her voice tinged with pride. "Home."
We made our way down the hill, the sound of animals growing louder with each step. As we approached the house, two figures emerged onto the front porch.
The first was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Ingrid. Her hair, streaked with silver, framed a face lined with years of hard work, but her eyes were warm and kind. Beside her stood a man who dwarfed her in size, his frame broad and imposing. He was taller than Bjorn—easily six feet—with hard eyes that swept over us like a general inspecting his troops.
"Mother, Father," Ingrid called out, her smile widening.
"Ingrid," the woman said, her expression softening. "What are you doing here? We weren't expecting you."
The man's gaze lingered on me for a moment before shifting to Emery. His expression remained unreadable, but there was no hostility in his stance—only caution.
"These are my friends," Ingrid said, stepping forward. "Logan and Emery. We met them in Grimwood."
Her father's eyes narrowed. "In Grimwood?"
"They've been through a lot," Ingrid continued quickly. "I thought… well, I thought they could stay here."
---
Ingrid led us into the house, its interior warm and inviting. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, and a fire crackled softly in the hearth. She gestured for us to sit on a sturdy wooden bench near the fire.
"Wait here," she said, her tone kind but firm. "I'll talk to them first."
Emery and I exchanged a glance but obeyed. The faint murmur of voices reached us from the next room, but I couldn't make out the words.
"What do you think they'll say?" Emery whispered.
"I don't know," I admitted, my voice low. "But we'll make it work."
After what felt like an eternity, the door opened, and Ingrid stepped into the room. "Come on," she said, her smile reassuring. "They want to meet you."
---
Ingrid's parents were seated at a large wooden table, their expressions contrasting but not unkind. Her mother's gaze was warm and welcoming, while her father's was sharp, appraising.
"These are Logan Grant and Emery Carter," Ingrid said, gesturing toward us.
I stepped forward, clearing my throat. "Thank you for letting us come here. We don't want to be a burden, and we're more than willing to work for our keep."
"I can help too," Emery added quickly. "Anything you need—cooking, cleaning, organizing—I'll do it."
For a moment, her parents said nothing. Then, her mother chuckled softly. "Work for your keep," she repeated, shaking her head. "You're sweet children."
Her father's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "But if you're offering, I won't say no."
Relief flooded through me, and I nodded earnestly. "Thank you. We won't let you down."
Her mother stood, placing a hand on Emery's shoulder. "I'm Inga," she said warmly. "And this is my husband, Rorik. Welcome to the Strynott farm."