Chapter 13: The Third Week

  Weeks passed.

  The sixteen were counted among the adults now, and adults worked.

  Langur tamers hauled timber along the western corridor, lifting beams into place for new watch platforms. Goreboar riders rotated the perimeter patrol, clearing stray threats before they drifted too close to the farms. Stonehorn tamers worked the fields and gathering routes, their beasts built for steady labor rather than pursuit.

  No one was forced into a role, but quotas existed. The village functioned because its strength was divided wisely.

  Lily chose gathering.

  Moss wore a leather yoke across its reinforced neck, hitched to a low wooden cart with wide wheels meant for uneven ground. When the path allowed, Lily rode between Moss’s shoulders. When the undergrowth thickened, she dismounted and walked ahead, letting Moss push brush aside with its mineral-hardened skull plate.

  For three weeks she kept to the outer belt of forest, where light still reached the ground and the village wall remained within half a bell’s distance.

  It was work measured in baskets instead of blood.

  She learned the land quickly. Damp soil near fallen cedar meant Bitterroot. Shaded slopes sometimes hid Firecloud Mushrooms—broad caps streaked with orange veins like trapped sunset light.

  “Oh, this one’s good,” she murmured once, brushing soil aside carefully. “This’ll fetch high.”

  Further along, Moss slowed near a patch of violet-bladed grass. Lily followed the cue and parted it to reveal Purpleherb, sharp-scented and clean when crushed.

  “Patrol boys will want this,” she said lightly as she bundled it.

  The forest provided if you knew where to look.

  For three weeks, she did not cross the creek.

  She did not approach the clearing where she had last seen him nearly a month ago.

  That morning, after filling half her quota, she found herself staring at the narrow path that bent toward the ridgeline.

  It was about an hour deeper on foot.

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  The forest ahead did not look different.

  It should be safe… shouldn’t it?

  She let out a slow breath.

  “Just a little farther,” she muttered, and guided Moss toward the creek.

  They crossed without trouble. The ground rose into thicker shade. The air felt heavier here—not hostile, just older.

  As they neared the clearing, Moss slowed.

  Lily dismounted without thinking.

  She walked ahead alone.

  The clearing opened between two narrow trunks.

  At first, it seemed empty.

  Then she saw him.

  The young Karnyxen stood near the darker line of trees, upright and composed, his extended neck raised in scanning posture. He wasn’t crouched or coiled to spring. He was simply there—aware, steady, watching.

  He had grown.

  Or perhaps she was just closer this time.

  Moss shifted behind her.

  The Karnyxen’s gaze passed Lily and settled on the Stonehorn. His nostrils flared and he released a low snort that stirred dust at his feet.

  Not aggression.

  Dominance.

  This ground was his.

  Moss stiffened but did not step forward.

  Lily remained where she was, hands loose at her sides.

  “Hello again,” she said in a calm, almost cheery voice. “Third time now.”

  One small ear angled toward her.

  She felt her nerves tighten and ignored them.

  “You probably don’t understand me,” she went on easily. “Still feels rude not to say something.”

  She crouched and opened the smaller basket.

  “Look,” she added, lighter than she ever sounded in the village, “I brought you something. Hope you like it.”

  She stepped forward just far enough to set the strip of cooked hare on the ground between them.

  Her pulse thudded once, hard.

  Karnyxen rarely attacked people, the field texts said. Most incidents were provoked.

  He wouldn’t… would he?

  She straightened and stepped back to where she had stood before.

  The breeze shifted, carrying scent between them—human skin, Stonehorn musk, smoke from cooking fire, and the unfamiliar trace of spice clinging to the meat.

  He remained still for a moment longer, weighing it.

  Then he stepped forward, closing the distance in a direct, unhurried line.

  When he reached the strip, he lowered his head and inhaled once more.

  His eyes lifted to hers, holding there for a quiet moment—as if measuring her stillness against the scent of food.

  Then he snapped his jaws shut around the meat and flicked his head upward, tossing it into the air and swallowing it whole before it fell.

  The motion was quick and efficient.

  He licked once at his muzzle, tasting what lingered, and settled his weight evenly again, watching her without advancing.

  “So you like it, then,” Lily said, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “I’ll bring more next week.”

  The Karnyxen shifted slightly, a small adjustment of posture rather than a gesture, then remained where he stood. It wasn’t approval, and it wasn’t rejection. He had accepted what was offered, nothing more.

  Lily let out a quiet breath of laughter.

  “Alright then,” she said softly. “I won’t bother you.”

  She brushed the dirt from her hands.

  “I’m just glad you’re still here. Even if you don’t understand a word I’m saying.”

  The last words came quieter, almost to herself.

  She guided Moss toward the creek, heading back in the direction of the village.

  After putting some distance between herself and the clearing, she slowed again and resumed her gathering along the path, cutting vine and checking the soil for roots she might have missed earlier.

  Her thoughts drifted back despite herself.

  She liked him.

  Anyone would.

  The way he held himself—dominant, composed, never scrambling to prove it. Dangerous, yes, but restrained. There was pride in him, but not cruelty.

  It felt… almost noble.

  But noble and majestic did not make him harmless.

  As she tied another bundle to the cart, a quiet thread of caution remained beneath her calm.

  He could still kill her if he chose.

  That hadn’t changed.