The village well stood at the center of the square, its stone base worn smooth by years of use. Women gathered there in the early morning light, balancing jugs on their hips as they gossiped in hushed voices. The scent of fresh-baked bread and damp earth lingered in the cool air.
Adila kept her head down as she and Magari approached, her stomach twisting with hunger. The traveler's words echoed in her mind—"There's a woman near the well who gives bread to travelers."
She didn't trust it. Kindness was rare. And when it came, it always had a price.
Magari was less cautious. She walked ahead, her shoulders squared, her blue eyes sharp and unflinching.
A woman stood apart from the others, a basket of bread resting at her feet. She was older, perhaps in her forties, with streaks of gray in her dark hair and a face lined with years of hardship. Unlike the others, she was dressed plainly, without the embroidered shawls or polished boots that marked wealth.
She noticed them immediately.
"You're new here," she said, her voice even.
Adila hesitated. Lies were safer than truth. "We're travelers. Just passing through."
The woman's gaze flickered to their torn clothes, to the dried mud on their feet, to the way Magari's fists clenched at her sides. She said nothing for a long moment, then bent down, lifted a loaf of bread from her basket, and held it out.
Magari stepped forward instantly, but Adila grabbed her arm, stopping her. No one gave anything for free.
The woman's lips curved in something like amusement. "It's not poisoned, girl. Take it."
Adila hesitated, then slowly reached out and took the bread. It was still warm. The smell alone made her dizzy with hunger.
"You two have names?" the woman asked.
Magari opened her mouth, but Adila cut her off. "Lina and Marek," she lied smoothly.
The woman raised an eyebrow but didn't question it.
"People call me Aunt Sela," she said. "You'll need more than bread if you're traveling alone. Where are your people?"
Magari tensed beside her. Adila forced a small, practiced smile. "Gone."
Sela exhaled through her nose, studying them in silence. Then she nodded toward the road. "Come with me."
Adila's stomach knotted.
Magari shot her a look—one Adila knew well. Suspicion. Distrust. Fear.
But what choice did they have?
Adila nodded, and they followed.
---
A Temporary Haven
Sela's house was a small, sturdy cottage on the outskirts of the village. A wooden fence surrounded a modest garden, and a chicken coop stood in the back, its occupants clucking softly. The scent of herbs and smoke filled the air as they stepped inside.
"You can wash up there," Sela said, nodding toward a basin of water near the hearth. "And eat while it's warm."
Magari didn't need to be told twice. She tore off a piece of the bread and stuffed it into her mouth, barely chewing before swallowing.
Adila ate more slowly, watching Sela from the corner of her eye.
The woman moved easily around the kitchen, stirring something in a pot, her back to them. "You two from the south?"
Adila's fingers tightened around the bread. "Near the border."
Sela nodded. "Lots of people heading north these days. Oryn's laws don't reach as far here. You're lucky you weren't stopped on the road."
Magari spoke through a mouthful of bread. "Stopped for what?"
Sela gave them a long look. "Travelers without papers don't usually get far."
Adila swallowed hard. They hadn't thought of that.
The woman turned back to the pot, stirring slowly. "How long are you staying?"
"Not long," Adila said quickly.
Sela hummed in response, but said nothing more.
For the first time in days, Adila let herself breathe. A roof. A fire. Food. It wouldn't last, but for now, it was enough.
---
A Dangerous World
That night, Adila lay awake on the straw mattress Sela had given them, listening to the wind rattle the shutters. Magari was already asleep beside her, curled on her side, her breathing slow and steady.
Adila's mind churned.
Sela hadn't asked many questions, but she had known. She had known they were running.
Adila's fingers tightened in the thin blanket. How long before she decided they weren't worth the risk?
She sat up quietly and slipped out of bed. The floor was cold beneath her feet as she padded toward the small window, peering out into the night. The village was quiet, but shadows moved near the well—two figures, speaking in hushed voices.
Adila strained to hear.
"…the merchant's men are looking. Two runaways. A girl with dark skin, another with white hair. Reward for information."
Adila's blood turned to ice.
She spun back toward Magari, shaking her awake.
"Mmm—what?" Magari groaned.
"We have to go," Adila whispered.
Magari blinked at her in confusion, then stiffened. "Now?"
"Now."
She pulled Magari to her feet. They gathered what little they had—the remains of the bread, their cloaks—and crept toward the door.
Sela was already there.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp in the dim light.
"You heard?" she asked quietly.
Adila nodded.
Sela studied them for a long moment, then exhaled. "I have a cart going to the next village at dawn. Take it."
Adila hesitated. "Why are you helping us?"
Sela's gaze flickered, something unreadable in her expression. "Because I know what men like Renard do to people like you."
She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.
Adila swallowed. "Thank you."
Sela didn't reply. She simply stepped aside, letting them pass.
As they slipped into the night, Adila cast one last glance back.
Sela stood in the doorway, watching them go.
Then she turned, and the door shut behind her.