Lys edged toward the hearth, the cup clutched in one hand like it held his entire future. He kept his steps light, barely lifting his feet from the dirt floor to avoid any creaking sound that might draw attention.

  Elara bent low over the pot, her wooden spoon scraping the bottom as she stirred the soup. The steam rose in thin wisps, carrying a faint earthy smell from the roots she had tossed in earlier. Her fingers were moving slowly, eyes drooping from the long day.

  Mira, on the other hand, sat a few feet away, her legs tucked under her as she sorted through a pile of mended clothes.

  Lys stopped just behind Elara, close enough to feel the warmth from the fire. His voice came out casual as always, like he was just checking on dinner. "Mom, could you see if there's any more salt? I think the soup needs more salt."

  Elara paused her stirring and straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron with a small sigh. She looked at the pot first, then at him, her face softening with that tired motherly concern she always had.

  "Salt? We finished the last bit yesterday, honey. But let me check the jar by the door anyway, just in case there's a scrape left. Who knows."

  She didn't question why he cared about the taste all of a sudden. She just nodded and moved toward the door, her steps heavy from exhaustion.

  The second her back turned, Lys leaned in. Mira's head was still down, focused on threading a needle through a tear in an old shirt, her braid falling over one shoulder. He angled his body to block any glance she might make, his hand steady as he tipped the powder from the cup into the pot.

  It hit the surface and sank fast, dissolving into the thick broth without leaving a single lump. He grabbed the spoon Elara had left and gave it one quick stir, blending it in deep. Then he stepped back to his mat, sitting down smoothly, as if he had never moved.

  Elara came back in, shaking her head with a small frown. "No luck. Not even a grain is left. We'll eat it as is, better than nothing." She poked at the fire with a stick, sending up a few sparks that danced in the air before dying out.

  Lys leaned against the wall, watching the pot bubble. He kept his tone easy. "It looks ready now, doesn’t it? Pull it off the heat, Mom. Or it'll overcook and turn to mush."

  She glanced at it and nodded, wrapping a rag around her hand to grab the handle. "Good eye. No point ruining what we have." She lifted the pot and set it on the rough wooden table, the steam settling around them like a thin fog.

  They pulled up close to the table, bowls scraped clean from lunch and ready again. Elara ladled out the portions, filling hers and Mira's first, then handing Lys his. The soup looked the same as always, brown and chunky, but he held his spoon without dipping it in.

  Mira took her spoon and blew on a hot bite, her eyes flicking to him. "Wait up, Lys. don’t be picky with food." As she said, she slipped a spoonful inside her mouth, chewing slowly, her shoulders relaxing a bit with the warmth.

  Elara followed, her spoon dipping in and coming up full. "Hits the spot. Tastes a touch stronger tonight, even without the salt, isn’t it? Maybe those herbs I picked gave it an extra kick." She swallowed, then went for another bite, her face calm at first.

  Lys sat there, watching without a word; his own bowl was still untouched. Mira's eyelids started to flutter after her second spoonful, her spoon hovering halfway to her mouth.

  "This... feels off. Like everything's getting heavy." She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice coming out thicker, like she had to push the words.

  Elara put her bowl down, one hand pressing to her forehead. "Same here. The room's tilting a little. Maybe I’m too tired."

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  She tried to smile, but it faded as her body swayed, her words slurring at the edges.

  Mira slumped first, her head dropping forward onto the ground with a soft thump, her bowl tipping but not spilling. Seconds later, Elara also followed behind her. Before they could form any thought about why Lys was still not slumping or even have any suspicion about him, they both fell asleep.

  The hut fell silent, broken only by the lamp's soft crackle and their steady breathing. Lys stood over them, a sharp twist in his stomach that wasn't from hunger. After all, this wasn't the way he pictured taking care of them, slipping something into their food like a thief.

  But roofs didn't fix themselves, and empty bowls didn't fill on guilt alone. He bent down and lifted Mira first; her body was light and warm in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. He carried her to the mat and laid her down gently.

  Then he tried to pick up Elara, but he failed spectacularly. With her curves and the little fat on her belly, she was way heavier than Mira.

  But he managed to get her to the bed somehow, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as he set her beside Mira. He pulled the thin blanket over them, tucking it around their shoulders to keep the chill away.

  The red timer in his vision blinked harshly now, as there were only forty minutes left. It was time to move.

  He grabbed the lamp from the table; its metal handle was cool and slick in his palm. The flame danced as he pushed the door open, and the night rushed in. Cold wind hit him like a slap, cutting through his thin shirt and raising goosebumps on his skin right away.

  He instantly stumbled back inside, the door banging shut behind him, his whole body shaking with shivers, teeth clicking together.

  Seeing how cold it was outside, he became confused now. ‘How can the hut stay so warm? With holes in the roof and walls that barely blocked the draft, it just makes no sense.’

  But he shoved the thought aside. There was no time for puzzles. He spotted the worn blanket in the corner. It may be frayed and patched, but it has thick wool. He wrapped it around his shoulders, tying the ends tight across his chest.

  Now that the easy part was done, the main task was in front of him.

  He has to fight hungry wolves on his own, and with no blade, barely any strength left in him to cross the distance. He had no idea how he would do it now.

  Not to mention, the beasts had mauled this body before, leaving it for dead. And now he was willingly walking back into their teeth on purpose. It felt like begging for the end.

  Thinking about the rewards, he gathered the courage once again.

  He opened the door again, quieter this time, and stepped into the dark. The village stretched out silent, huts dark shapes under a sky with no moon. Mud sucked at his shoes as he headed for the wall; each step was a fight against his aching legs.

  He saw no guards guarding the village gate.

  His face gleamed up, ‘The cold must have chased them inside, probably huddled by their own fires. Lucky for me.’

  He reached the wall, leaning hard against the rough logs to catch his breath. It came in short puffs, clouding in the air; his chest was protesting from just that short walk.

  The forest edge lay three times as far, so he couldn’t take a break just yet. He gritted his teeth, pushing off the wall, forcing one foot ahead of the other. The blanket flapped like a flag in the wind, but he held it close.

  ***

  Twenty minutes dragged on like hours in his mind. His legs burned with stretch, stamina fading with every slog through the mud and grass. But he made it, collapsing against the first tree at the forest's edge. The dark swallowed everything ahead, branches creaking in the wind.

  Even though he came at the forest edge as the quest mentioned, there were no women's cries, no wolf howls yet, just the rush of cold air that drowned out smaller sounds.

  He pushed deeper, lamp raised to cut a thin beam through the trees. Roots and many small veins of trees tripped him twice, but he caught himself.

  After five more minutes passed, a low growl cut through the night. It was the sound of Wolves, no doubt. But still, no voice from the lady could be heard. Now he was doubting himself, whether he had come too late?

  Lys crept forward, keeping himself low. His heart was slamming in his chest. Then, after some looking around through a gap in the bushes, he saw them: three or four dark shapes circling a tall tree, their heads up, snarls rumbling deep.

  He dropped behind a thick bush, but the lamp's light spilled out, alerting the real predators.

  The wolves spun around, eyes gleaming as they fixed on him.

  Watching the wolves had found him, panic hit him hard. There was no sign of the noble lady anywhere, and the pack was also closing in slowly.

  He was out of tricks and out of time. He was utterly screwed.

  Author note: Please rate this story. That helps me keep being motivated.

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