There are of course the less fun tasks, such as changing the cloth diapers or hauling water from the river, washing laundry, and such. But we do it all with a smile on our faces. So relieved to finally be safe. To finally feel like we can breathe.

Mrs. Derinor has to be the sweetest soul on the planet. As if it weren’t enough that she manages all her children, she also bakes sweets to take to the children of the village widows. She loans out her children to help with household chores for the elderly, even takes in little ones when their parents are out in the fields at times.

In the evenings, Temra and I sit off to the side while Petrik tells stories to the children. He’s so well read that he has an endless supply of tales to share with Kellyn’s eager siblings. Stories of valiant lady knights saving princes in dragon-guarded towers, stories of mermaids in the sea, or gryphon-riding armies.

Temra is just as transfixed as any of the children.

Getting my hands on bricks, clay, and more iron is tricky. I visit several houses in the village looking for the items. Temra accompanies me to dispel any awkwardness. People are so friendly, not questioning anything. One person hands over a broken hoe. Another finds a cracked clay pot to donate.

I wish I had grown up in a small town. Amanor is lovely. So few people, everyone kind and willing to help their neighbors. I wonder if it’s even possible to feel unsafe in such a place.

I borrow the Derinors’ shovel to dig a large hole into the ground just outside the forge. I line the interior with clay and brick, leaving no gaps. It’s a slow process, stacking the bricks, lining them with clay, visiting more villagers when I run out of materials.

But I love every moment of it.

It feels so good to be using my hands again.

I may not be hammering, but using the kiln, wielding the familiar tools, feeling safe again—I cherish all of it.

Farming. Forging. Farming. Forging. Laughing with the children, listening to Petrik’s stories, watching Kellyn interact with his family—I enjoy all of it.

On a farming day, I return from the river with a bucketful of water in each hand. I pass by the storage shed, where the Derinors keep their farming equipment overnight.

Deep voices stop me in my tracks.

“I’m so sorry, Da,” Kellyn says. “I had nearly three thousand ockles saved up for you and Ma, but we were robbed on the road, which is why we arrived with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”

“I’m only glad you’re safe,” Mr. Derinor, Garon, says.

“But you would have been able to expand the house, buy more seeds for the next planting season, and—”

“Kellyn, you know your ma and I don’t want you doing what you do. We would much rather have you safe than have you continue to send us money. We wish you would give up the sword and settle down. Speaking of which, don’t think it didn’t escape my notice that you arrived with two young women. Which one do you have your eye on?”