The rickety cart wound along the trail, pulled by the single horse—who Garrick had come to learn was named ‘Baji.’ Garrick sat in the back, facing toward the rear, Ember in his lap, napping.

 

Settling into the rhythm of the journey, Garrick found himself observing the small peculiarities of Agatha and her little band. Among their sparse belongings (of which were mostly poor quality,) a collection of simple, identical pewter cups caught his eye, each adorned with a pattern that seemed deliberate yet cryptic, the designs reminding him of something long ago—but from where, he couldn’t recall.

 

The younger children, Sam and Lucy, wore pendants that were almost too easy to overlook, hidden beneath their modest garments. These trinkets bore inscriptions that were not just decorative but held an air of solemnity, suggesting a significance beyond mere adornment. Their interactions, too, were peppered with an undercurrent of ritual, from the way they passed items to each other to the almost imperceptible nods before they shared a drink from the waning waterskin.

 

Agatha, for her part, carried herself with a reserved grace, her authority over the children a gentle one. The way she directed them, with soft commands followed by an expectant silence, hinted at a structured life once lived—far removed from this current venture.

 

Now that Garrick had settled into the journey, his attention was drawn to the interior of the cart itself. The light filtering through the canopy above revealed more than just the wear of travel; it highlighted a sort of history etched into the wood and metal. As Baji navigated them over a large root, the carriage slumped and Garrick's gaze fell upon several holes with indents around them scattered across the interior walls. They were the remnants of where something like pinion hooks once hung, removed hastily, judging by the rough edges and splintered wood around them. These hooks were familiar to him, commonly used inside vehicles designed to transport larger livestock, offering a means to secure the animals during travel.

 

Garrick recalled what he’d spied when they were freeing the cart. The frame beneath its shabby exterior had been reinforced, a detail that seemed incongruous with the cart's overall dilapidated appearance. It suggested a purpose far removed from the mere transportation of personal belongings or even typical market goods.

 

Most jarring, however, were the scratches. They weren't confined to the lower sections of the cart, where one might expect wear from cargo or the animals' hooves. Instead, they sprawled everywhere, crisscrossing the wooden interior with wild abandon. Some were deep gouges that spoke of considerable force, while others were lighter, almost frantic in their placement. This was no ordinary wear and tear, nor were these marks made by any livestock Garrick was familiar with.

 

The reinforced frame, the hastily removed hooks, and the omnipresent scratches suggested something—or someone—far more formidable than livestock had once been transported in this very cart. It hinted at a past or purpose that Agatha and her family were likely keen to leave behind.

 

Yet, despite these silent testimonies to a more tumultuous time, the current occupants of the cart bore no resemblance to the harbingers of chaos these marks suggested. Agatha and the children presented a picture of resilience and hope, albeit a bit…speckled with the shadows of a mysterious past.

 

Garrick didn’t intend to voice his observations, recognizing that whatever story lay behind these signs was Agatha's to share, in her own time—if she even knew. Though he suspected she might. Instead, he focused on the warmth of Ember's weight against him and the gentle rocking of the cart, allowing the quiet sounds to add to the calmness of his thoughts.

 

As the sun climbed higher, they decided to stop for a brief respite. The clearing they chose was dappled with sunlight, offering a serene backdrop for their modest lunch. Garrick noted the careful way Agatha distributed the food to the children—rations of nuts and dried slivers of meat, each portion measured with an eye for conservation rather than satisfaction. The children accepted their share with a practiced patience, devoid of complaint. Curiously, they did not seem to touch the apples.

 

Seizing the opportunity to offer more than just his company—and feeling as though the children might appreciate it—Garrick proposed, “How about I whip us up a stew?”

 

The children’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. Agatha, however, hesitated, her protest almost reflexive.

 

“You’ve done more than enough, Garrick. We couldn’t possibly impose further.”

 

Garrick waved her objections aside with a chuckle, his tone embodying a blend of wisdom and warmth.

 

“Nonsense. A good meal is one of life’s simple pleasures, one that’s best shared. Besides, it’s an old traveler’s tradition—my way of saying thank you for the lift.”

 

Agatha’s resistance wavered and she finally nodded, allowing a genuine smile to break through her reserve.

 

“Well, if you insist. Thank you, Garrick.”

 

As Garrick began to prepare the fire, he first cleared a small area on the ground, removing any dry leaves and twigs that could catch unintended flames. He then removed several hand-sized stones from the satchel at his waist and methodically placed them around this cleared spot, creating a makeshift fire pit that would contain the fire safely. The stones, he explained to the captivated children, would also help radiate the heat more evenly for cooking.

 

Sam and Lucy squatted very close, fixated in their curiosity as they leaned forward, nearly tumbling over as they watched Garrick strike flint against steel. Sparks danced and caught on the small pile of kindling he had prepared, and with gentle breaths, he coaxed these sparks into a flame. The two children looked on in wonder, before looking back at one another. Sly, open-mouthed grins formed on their little faces in silent appraisal of this gift their mysterious travel companion had shown them and they both turned back to watch Garrick work. Ember, nestled between the two youngsters, observed with her own interest, her ears perked in attention.

 

Jeromie stood a short distance away, his arms crossed, skepticism and intrigue worn plainly on his face. Meanwhile, Basil and Agatha were preoccupied with tending to Baji, ensuring the horse was well-watered and fed after the journey's exertion.

 

Once the fire caught and grew to a steady, manageable size, Garrick placed the small cooking pot he had removed from his pack beside it, ready for the stew. The fire was small, designed for cooking rather than warmth, its flames licking the air with controlled eagerness.

 

It was Jeromie's reaction that caught Garrick's attention. The boy leered at the fire as if it was something sensational, yet his fascination quickly morphed into horror.

 

"Ye shouldn't make a fire.”

 

Garrick raised an eyebrow at the boy.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Not safe," Jeromie blurted out, his voice carrying an edge of fear.

 

Garrick, sensing the deeper implication behind Jeromie's words, chose not to dismiss his concerns outright. Instead, he sought a moment to perhaps teach the boy.

 

"Do you see these stones I'm using?" he asked, gesturing towards the carefully arranged barrier. Jeromie nodded, his expression still troubled.

 

"These stones stand much higher than the flames will reach," Garrick explained, his voice calm. "They're here to shield our light from being seen by anyone who might pass by. And since it's daylight, fires are harder to see from a distance, making this quite safe."

 

He paused, ensuring Jeromie was following along.

 

"Plus, see how I’m positioned? I'm sitting right in front of the fire, blocking it from the view of the trail," Garrick added, pointing towards his strategic position that obscured the fire from any casual observers. "Even if anyone were to sneak up on us without us knowing—doubtful with our little Ember here on guard duty—all they’d see is an old man’s back. We couldn't possibly be safer."

 

Ember seemed to sit up a little straighter at the mention of her sentry-like prowess. Jeromie's gaze lingered on the fire, the wheels in his mind turning as he processed Garrick's explanation. Garrick watched him relax a little, and the old man smiled.

 

"A’right," Jeromie finally conceded, though the skepticism hadn't entirely left his eyes. "Just...be careful, I ‘spose."

 

Garrick nodded, appreciating the boy's concern. "As you wish," he assured him, turning his attention back to the fire and the meal he was about to prepare.

 

As Garrick delved into his pack, he laid out the ingredients for the stew one by one on a clean cloth spread beside the fire:

• One medium-sized onion (he’d traded a hat for a bag of them when last he was in Maretown.)
• Two medium-sized carrots (grown in his own garden.)
• A large stalk of celery (found behind his woodshed.)
• A single large potato (??? - he didn’t quite remember where it came from.)

 

These made for a humble yet promising start. However, it was the final ingredient that captured everyone's attention—a tomato of such size and ripeness that it seemed to glow with an inner light, its deep red skin almost too perfect.

 

Sam and Lucy's eyes widened in delight at the sight of the tomato, their previous experiences with the fruit—if they’d ever had any—evidently not preparing them for the spectacle of Garrick's prized produce.

 

"Can we hold it?" Sam asked, his voice filled with awe and eagerness.

 

Garrick chuckled, nodding.

 

"Of course, but be very careful. It's quite ripe, and the skin is easy to crush. We wouldn't want to lose our base for the stew, would we?"

 

The children readily agreed, each taking the tomato with both hands as if it were a precious gem they needed to carry together. To Garrick, the sight was almost comical—the tomato looked enormous compared to the small hands that cradled it. Yet, there was a tenderness in their actions, a careful respect for the task entrusted to them that made him smile even wider.

 

I remember when Twyla was about that age.

 

"Would you like to be the ones to place it in the pot?" Garrick asked, already knowing their answer by the excited gleam in their eyes.

 

They rushed to do the job, setting the big tomato into the pot with such care that Garrick couldn't help but grin at their earnestness. He then lifted the pot, carefully placing it over the flames within the protective circle of stones.

 

With the pot securely positioned, Garrick plucked the stem and greens from the tomato, and stuffed them into his satchel for later.

 

Waste not, want not.

 

He then retrieved a large wooden ladle from his pack, the tool looking almost as well-traveled as Garrick himself. With practiced motions, he began to mash the tomato, its flesh yielding easily to the pressure. Then he produced a small knife and began slicing up the other ingredients into small pieces before adding them into the pot.

 

As the children watched, mesmerized by the transformation occurring in the pot, Garrick took the opportunity to engage them further.

 

"Cooking's a bit like astara, you know," he mused aloud, stirring the contents gently. "You all know about astara?”

 

Sam and Lucy nodded, but Jeromie simply let out a derisive snort. Garrick pulled a small grinding mill out of his pack.

 

Yeah, he knows something about astara…Garrick thought.

 

“In any case, you start with simple things,” Garrick continued. “Root vegetables…a tomato…spices—” Garrick cranked the top of the grinding mill and salt tumbled into the pot—”but with a little heat and a lot of care, they come together to create something new and wonderful."

 

As Garrick continued to prepare the stew, the gentle simmer of the pot began to fill the air with a comforting aroma, weaving a spell of anticipation among the small gathering.

 

Garrick noticed a little crackling noise. Then the caw of a crow. Baji, being fed another apple, made a small whinny, and Garrick watched Ember’s ears suddenly twitch.

 

Hmm.

 

"Jeromie," Garrick called out, catching the boy's wary gaze. "Would you do me a favor?"

 

Jeromie's suspicion was obvious, his posture stiffening.

 

"Depends," he replied cautiously, eyeing Garrick.

 

"I need someone to watch over our stew for a few moments while I have a word with your aunt," Garrick explained, his tone imbued with trust and responsibility. "Think you can stir it every thirty seconds or so? Just so nothing sticks to the bottom."

 

The boy seemed to weigh his options before letting out a resigned sigh and nodding.

 

“Aye, I can do that.”

 

Accepting the ladle from Garrick, Jeromie took his place in front of the pot, his attention now partially diverted from his initial reluctance.

 

Sam, ever eager, piped up, "What can me and Lucy do?"

 

Garrick's laughter was light and genuine.

 

"Well, you two have the most important job of all: taste testing," he announced. "As long as you're careful not to burn your tongues, you have to let Jeromie know if it needs more salt. Not too much, though," he added, giving Jeromie a pointed look, "only enough to make it just right."

 

The children's excitement was endearing to witness as they shuffled closer, their eyes bright with the prospect of such an important task. Jeromie, now momentarily in charge of the stew, glanced down at his younger cousins with authority.

 

“Right then. One taste each for the both o’ ye, hear?” he declared. “No funny business.”

 

As Garrick made his way to where Basil and Agatha were fussing over Baji, Agatha's voice reached him first.

 

"Garrick, I can't begin to thank you enough for—" she started, her words trailing into the crisp air. But Garrick, with a subtle yet firm gesture, cut her off, his demeanor shifting noticeably.

 

“I’m sorry, but could I speak with you a moment?”

 

The atmosphere tensed, as if a cloud had passed over the sun, casting a shadow that was felt rather than seen.

 

Basil and Agatha immediately picked up on the change, their postures stiffening as if bracing against an unseen force. Agatha's eyes, wide with a sudden concern, darted first toward the children by the cook fire and then the surrounding trees, seeking any hint of danger, while Basil's attention quickly returned to the carriage, his expression hardening.

 

“What is it?” Agatha demanded. “What’s the issue?”

 

Garrick's voice, when he spoke, was a deliberate whisper, barely louder than the rustle of leaves underfoot.

 

"I hate to pry, but I need to know precisely what you and your family are running from."

 

His inquiry, gentle yet laden with an undeniable urgency, seemed to pierce the momentary peace they had found.

 

Agatha's reaction was immediate and visceral.

 

"How do you know we're running from something?" she blurted, her voice a cocktail of shock and defiance. The question hung between them, charged with a tension that seemed to draw the very air tight.

 

Well, if I hadn’t before, I do now.

 

Garrick didn't waver, his gaze steady and reassuring as he leaned closer, his voice a calm anchor in the swell of rising panic.

 

"First, I need you to know that everything is going to be alright. But, right now, I only need to know the nature of what's pursuing you," he stated, his confidence not masking but rather highlighting the gravity of his words. “Human? Elf? Beast?”

 

"Why?" Basil couldn't help but demand, his tone thick with suspicion and a protective edge that mirrored his stance.

 

Garrick's reply was a murmur, so quiet that they instinctively leaned in, their breaths held in anticipation.

 

"Because whoever or whatever they are, they're here."