The old woman, whose name was Maris, led them through the heart of the village. Her voice was warm and inviting, each word carrying the cadence of someone who had long known peace and prosperity.
"This village has stood for generations," she explained as they walked along cobbled paths bordered by blooming wildflowers. "We are fortunate here, sheltered from the troubles of the world."
Kenric, ever curious, admired the tidy cottages and well-tended gardens. The air smelled of fresh bread and herbs, and children played with wooden toys in the square, their laughter ringing through the village.
"Fortunate indeed!" Kenric exclaimed. "Your homes are lovely, your gardens plentiful. It's like something out of a storybook."
Maris chuckled. "We take pride in our village and care for each other as family."
As they walked, Maris introduced them to the villagers they passed. Each person greeted them with a warm smile and a kind word.
"This is Aldor, our baker," Maris said, gesturing to a burly man dusted with flour. "And this is Mina, who tends our herb garden."
A little girl with a basket of flowers ran up to Elara and offered her a daisy. "For you, miss."
Elara knelt gracefully, accepting the flower with a soft smile. "Thank you, little one."
Kenric watched the exchange with amusement. "See? They've already taken a liking to you."
Elara straightened, her expression reserved once more. "They are kind."
"And you," Maris said, turning to Kenric with a twinkle in her eye, "are full of cheer. We need more of that in these parts."
Kenric beamed. "Glad to be of service."
At the end of the tour, Maris brought them to a small cottage near the edge of the village. It was quaint, with a thatched roof and ivy climbing the stone walls. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the scent of lavender wafted from the garden.
"This will be your home for the night," Maris said, opening the door. "It's been empty for a time, but it's well-kept and cozy."
Elara stepped inside cautiously. The interior was simple yet comfortable, with a hearth, a sturdy table, and a pair of neatly made beds. A kettle hung over the hearth, and a loaf of fresh bread sat on the table.
Kenric dropped his pack by the door and sighed with relief. "Now this is hospitality!"
Elara, however, glanced around the room with narrowed eyes. "It is… generous."
Maris smiled, oblivious to Elara's caution. "Take your time to rest and refresh yourselves. Supper will be held in the main hall at dusk."
As Maris left, Kenric threw himself onto one of the beds with a groan of contentment. "I could get used to this."
Elara remained standing, her gaze lingering on the untouched loaf of bread. "It is strange," she murmured.
Kenric sat up, curious. "What is?"
"That they have a home prepared for guests," Elara said. "And that their village shows no sign of the blight. Not even a hint."
Kenric shrugged. "Maybe they're just lucky."
Perhaps," Elara said, though her tone suggested she was not convinced.
The sun dipped low in the sky as they made their way to the mail hall. The building stood at the center of the village, its wide doors open to welcome all. Lanterns hung from the rafters, casting a warm glow over long wooden tables laden with food.
Kenric's eyes widened at the sight. The feast was unlike anything he had ever seen – platters of roasted meats, fresh fruits and vegetables, loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, and desserts that glistened with honey and berries. There were dishes that seemed impossible to have in a forest village – delicate pastries, fine wines, and exotic spices.
"This is… incredible," Kenric said, his mouth watering.
Elara's gaze swept the tables. The food was fresh, vibrant, untouched by the decay she had seen throughout the forest. It made no sense.
"Come, sit!" Maris called, waving them over to a table near the hearth. "You must be hungry after your travels."
Kenric needed no further invitation. He sat eagerly, filling his plate with a bit of everything. "I can't remember the last time I had a meal like this."
Elara sat beside him, her movements more measured. She selected a few items – bread, roasted vegetables, a slice of fruit – but her mind was elsewhere. Her sharp eyes darted from the villagers to the food, noting every detail.
Kenric noticed her caution and nudged her gently. "Relax. It's a feast! Enjoy it."
Elara glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. "I am grateful," she said quietly.
As the villagers gathered and the feast began in earnest, laughter and music filled the hall. Kenric chatted with those around him, asking questions about the village and sharing tales of his own.
The feast stretched long into the evening, the villagers sharing stories of laughter over the glow of candlelight. Elara sat quietly at the table, her sharp gaze drifting from one face to the next. The people of the village were lively and cheerful, but something tugged at the edge of her mind – a feeling she could not shake.
As Kenric chatted happily with those seated nearby, Elara's eyes caught on a man reaching for a platter of bread. The sleeve of his tunic slipped back, revealing a curious marking on his wrist – a swirling symbol, dark and intricate. Her gaze swept the hall, noticing more of these marks. Some were on hands, some on necks, and others barely visible beneath the villager's clothes.
She thought back to the stories she had read in ancient texts. Many cultures bore markings to signify their home, their family, or their faith. It is not uncommon. Yet these symbols seemed oddly uniform, as though every person in the village bore the same mark.
"Elara!" Kenric's voice jolted her from her thoughts. He grinned at her from across the table, holding up a tankard of ale. "You're missing out. This is the best brew I've had in years!"
She managed a small smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
One of the villagers, a stout man with a ruddy face, leaned toward Kenric. "You're brave to travel these woods," he said. "Few dare venture so far."
Kenric chuckled. "Brave, or foolish, perhaps."
"Nonsense!" said Maris, seated at the head of the table. "You have traveled far and endured much. You are welcome to stay as long as you need to recoup your strength."
The villagers nodded in agreement, their smiles warm and welcoming. But Elara noticed how their eyes lingered on her and Kenric, as though they were studying them.
Kenric, ever the optimist, saw only kindness. Elara saw something else.
When supper ended, Maris bid them goodnight, and Elara and Kenric made their way back to the little cottage they had been offered. The moonlight bathed the village in silver, and the air was cool and still.
Kenric stretched as he entered the cottage, sighing contentedly. "A proper roof over our heads, a warm meal… I'd say we're in good hands."
Elara said nothing, her mind still turning over the peculiarities of the village. She set her pack by the hearth and began arranging her belongings, her movements precise and deliberate.
"You worry too much," Kenric said, sitting on the bed and unlacing his boots. "Not every kindness hides a dagger."
Elara glanced at him. "And not every kindness is freely given."
Kenric rolled his eyes. "Elara, you've lived too long alone. You see danger in every shadow."
Before Elara could respond, there came a soft knock at the door. Both of them froze, exchanging a glance.
Kenric stood and opened the door. A young woman stood on the threshold, clutching a basket. Her dark hair was braided neatly, and she wore a simple dress. But it was her eyes that caught Elara's attention – deep and wary, unlike the cheerful gazes of the other villagers.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," the woman said softly. "May I come in?"
Kenric stepped aside, allowing her to enter. She set the basket on the table, glancing around nervously.
"Is something wrong?" Elara asked, her tone cautious.
The woman met her gaze, her voice low and urgent. "You shouldn't have stopped here."
Kenric frowned. "What do you mean? The villagers have been nothing but kind."
The woman shook her head. "Kind, yes. But there is danger here. You must keep your wits about you and leave as soon as you can."
Elara stepped closer, her expression serious. "What kind of danger?"
The woman hesitated, glancing toward the door. "I cannot say more. It is not safe to speak openly. But know this – things are not as they seem. You must be careful."
Kenric crossed his arms, skeptical. "Look, we've been on the road for days. We're tired, and these people have offered us shelter and food. Why would we turn that down?"
The woman looked at him with pity. "Because some prices are too high to pay."
Elara studied the woman's face, noting the fear hidden behind her calm exterior. "Why are you warning us?"
"Because I remember what it was like to be free," the woman said quietly. Then, without another word, she turned and slipped out into the night.
Kenric closed the door behind her, shaking his head. "Superstitious nonsense."
Elara remained silent, her mind racing.
Kenric sighed. "Come on, Elara. Don't let one strange woman ruin a perfectly good night. We've had worse days."
Elara looked at him, her gaze distant. "And we will have worse days yet."
Kenric chuckled, dismissing her words. "Well, I'm going to sleep. You should too. We've a long journey ahead."
But Elara could not shake the feeling that they had walked into something far more dangerous than they realized.
She didn't sleep well that night.