Chapter 20: Morning Whispers at the Inn

The inn smelled like toasted grain, butter, and warm fruit preserves.

Kaelen and I stepped through the door together, both of us still a little sleep-soft, our clothes a touch rumpled from the morning. His hand brushed against mine once before he veered toward the table where his companions were already gathered—halfway through a carafe of cider and well into teasing each other between mouthfuls of porridge and thick-sliced bread.

“About time!” Merra called as we approached. “Did you two walk here or lose track of time again?”

Kaelen smirked as he slid into the seat beside her. “We took the scenic route.”

Thalen leaned forward with a grin. “We’re calling it that now?”

Saren lifted his mug. “As long as he comes back in one piece, I don’t care what they call it.”

I sat down across from Kaelen, just as Mira arrived with a plate for me—oatcakes with honey-drizzled pears and a steaming pot of spiced tea. “Thanks, Mira,” I said with a smile.

She gave me a quick, unreadable glance in return before retreating back toward the kitchen.

Conversation at the table turned to practicalities—corridors that still needed double-checking, markers left too close to dead-ends, a plan to begin scouting the second level if the first remained clear.

I ate quietly, listening. Kaelen didn’t dominate the conversation—he offered thoughts when needed, always measured. Confident. Anchored. He wasn’t just part of this group. He was theirs.

When breakfast wrapped up, Kaelen kissed my cheek—warm, soft, and entirely mine—before slinging his pack over one shoulder and following his party out into the bright morning.

I stayed behind to finish my tea.

Mira appeared at my side as I scraped up the last of the pears. “Walk with me?”

I nodded and followed her out onto the inn’s back porch, where plum blossoms trembled in the breeze and birds chattered between the rafters.

She leaned against the railing, arms folded.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” she began, her voice soft, “but I’d feel strange not asking.”

I waited.

“You and Kaelen… things are moving quickly.” She looked at me—not suspicious, just concerned. “Not judging. Just… wondering. Are you okay? Are you sure?”

I smiled before I could stop myself. “I am. It’s just—this is normal. For me. For us.”

“‘Us’ being…”

“Fellborn,” I said gently. “We have stories about people like this. Like him.”

She tilted her head, listening.

“We call them Fell-Hearts.” I glanced toward the road where Kaelen had gone, my voice softening. “It’s when two people recognize something in each other early—not loud or dramatic. Just… a knowing. It fits. It feels like coming home.”

“So this isn’t fast for you.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s familiar. When Fellborn bond, and it works—we don’t hold it back. We trust it. We let it grow.”

Mira was quiet a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. “I guess I just didn’t want to assume everything was fine. But… it looks like it is.”

“It is,” I said. “He’s steady. Kind. He sees who I am and doesn’t try to change it. That matters.”

She smiled and reached out to squeeze my arm. “Then I’m glad. Truly.”

We stood together in companionable silence for a while. The breeze tugged at my braid, and the scent of breakfast still clung to the edges of my cloak.

“I should get back,” I said eventually. “I’ve got moss to dry and a tincture to finish before he shows up with another scraped elbow and a guilty grin.”

Mira laughed. “You sure you don’t want to move into the inn? We could use a healer on staff.”

“Tempting,” I said, grinning. “But I think I’ve got everything I need.”

The cottage was quiet when I returned.

Not silent—never that—but peaceful in the way only familiar spaces could be. The fire had gone to embers, but the warmth still lingered, steeped into the air like the scent of herbs on wood. My boots left faint prints on the floorboards as I crossed to the desk near the window, sunlight spilling in across my half-finished journal and the edge of the tea tray I hadn’t yet cleared.

I set the kettle to reheat and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment.

It had been a while since I wrote home.

Not out of avoidance—just life. Days full of patients and potions, nights full of firelight and Kaelen’s quiet laughter beside me. But now, with everything beginning to take shape, it felt important. Like this was a moment worth sharing.

I dipped my pen in ink, hesitated only once, and began.

Dear Mother and Father,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and in good humor. I imagine spring is finally arriving there too—bringing muddy roads, blooming vineflowers, and the first complaints about pollen.

There’s something I want to share with you. Something important.

I’ve met someone. His name is Kaelen. He’s a scout, part of a small party stationed here in Deeproot Hollow to help manage a local dungeon. He’s sharp-eyed, kind, practical, and surprisingly good at roasting wild rabbit. He makes me laugh even when I’m tired, and he looks at me like I’m someone worth holding onto.

We haven’t said anything formal—but I think it’s more than courting. It feels… like a Fell-Heart bond might be blooming. I haven’t said the word aloud, not to him, but I think we’re walking the same path. And it feels right.

I want you to know I’ve decided to stay. Not just through the spring. Not just for the healing season. I want to build a life here. The village has become home in all the ways that matter. They’ve taken me in without question, and I find myself caring deeply—about the people, the work, the land.

Please don’t worry. I haven’t rushed into anything. This is me—steady, thoughtful, and sure. I’ve simply found something worth staying for.

I’d love for you to visit when the roads clear. The cottage is small, but there’s room. And there’s a tea blend I think you’d love.

With all my heart,

Elara

I folded the letter carefully and sealed it with wax before I could second-guess any of it.

It was the truth.

Every word.

And putting it down in ink felt like drawing a circle around something sacred.

I stood and stretched, my chest light and full all at once. When I turned back toward the hearth, I caught sight of Kaelen’s scarf draped over the back of the chair—forgotten, warm, and familiar. And I smiled.

The morning was bright, the sky streaked with pale clouds and the scent of turned earth on the air—wet bark, thawing moss, the clean promise of spring.

I slipped the sealed letter to my family into my satchel, tied it securely with a short ribbon of blue thread, and headed toward the inn.

There was a worn leather mail bag that hung near the back door, just beneath the service window—always there, always quietly tended by Mira. I slipped my letter into the pouch, tucked a few coins into the stitched pouch for postage, and gave the satchel a gentle pat.

The runner would come in the afternoon, Mira had said. My letter would be on its way before sunset.

The thought settled in my chest like a full breath.

I stepped out into the square, adjusting the strap of my satchel and turning toward the first of my patient visits.

Rissi, the cobbler’s daughter, had finally slept through the night.

Her mother met me at the door with a tired but grateful smile. “She’s almost herself again,” she said. “Just a little stuffy.”

Inside, Rissi sat wrapped in a quilt on the windowsill with a book in her lap and pink in her cheeks again. I gave her a new packet of tea and a smaller tin of decongestant balm, just in case the spring damp stuck around.

From there, I checked on Elder Harn, who declared—loudly—that the weather was trying to kill him and my salves were “probably witchcraft.” I took it as a compliment and left him a fresh jar anyway.

Old Bitty opened the door before I even reached the steps.

“I’ve got your next patient, right here,” she said, patting her chest. “Still wheezing like an old bellows.”

“Let me guess,” I replied. “You’ve been sleeping with the window open again.”

“It’s the only way to hear the plum blossoms coming in.”

I checked her lungs, left her with throat lozenges, and promised to return in a few days.

I was crossing the square toward the herb stall when I heard a familiar, high-pitched voice call my name.

“Elara!”

I turned just as Gerrit Underpost, the gnome administrator of the Adventurer’s Guild, came bustling down the front steps of the Guild Hall, goggles perched askew on his forehead and a clipboard clutched under one arm.

“Glad I caught you!” he said, panting only slightly as he reached me. “Walk with me?”

I nodded, curious, and followed him back into the Guild’s front hall, where a new map was pinned up with fresh notations and several gear chests had been opened and sorted for spring cleaning.

He gestured to one of the wide tables. “We’re gearing up for the usual spring influx—new adventurers, young and overeager, full of charm and absolutely no common sense.”

I arched an eyebrow. “That sounds familiar.”

“Yes, well.” He straightened his clipboard. “We try to keep them alive, but it’s hard when they come in with a sword and no supplies. So I was thinking—why not start issuing emergency medical packs? Small ones. Field-use only. Bandages, shock moss, fever vials. Whatever you’d recommend.”

“You want me to make them?”

“I want you to design them,” he said, eyes bright. “We’ll cover the costs. Either sell them or give them out depending on the adventurer’s situation. It’s a good investment—keeps them breathing and reduces the panic when someone collapses in the Guild lobby.”

I was already nodding. “That’s a great idea. I’ve got moss drying right now that would be perfect for shock recovery.”

“Then you’re the right person for the job,” he said. “We’ll start with ten kits and expand as needed. Can I count on you?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling. “You absolutely can.”

As I stepped back outside, the market seemed brighter. Louder. The world fuller.

I wasn’t just helping the village now.

I was helping everyone who passed through it.

And that, I thought, felt exactly like what I was meant to do.

By the time evening rolled around, the cottage smelled faintly of dried mint, powdered resin, and the soft tang of burnt salve from a batch I’d let boil just a little too long. I’d already cleared the worktable and set out my notes—half a dozen pages of sketches, herb lists, and bundled muslin bags filled with sample contents for the emergency kits.

My fingers were stained with moss oil and tincture ink, my braid had half-fallen loose, and I hadn’t noticed the sun had gone down until the hearth began to glow more than the window.

I was still cross-referencing fire salve recipes when the door opened.

Kaelen stepped inside, cheeks pink from the wind and hair tousled by the evening air. His eyes went straight to me, then to the table.

“Are we cooking tonight,” he asked with a grin, “or eating paperwork?”

“I can’t promise the moss tastes good,” I said, standing to greet him. “But I do have stew warming. And fresh bread.”

He kissed me—just a soft press at the corner of my mouth—before shrugging off his cloak. “Smells amazing. And what’s all this?”

“I got a request from the Guild today,” I said, unable to hide my excitement. “They want me to design emergency field kits for adventurers. They’ll fund it and distribute them through the Guild.”

He blinked, impressed. “That’s brilliant.”

“I know, right?”

He stepped over to the table, scanning the scattered bundles and hand-drawn labels. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’m starting with a general-purpose kit. Shock moss, fever blend, general wound salve, light pain tonic, bandages. But I was thinking…” I hesitated. “You’d know what kinds of injuries to expect in different areas of the dungeon better than I would.”

He glanced at me, a slow smile forming. “You want help?”

“I want your insight,” I said, handing him one of the sketched layouts. “Like… what’s actually useful when you’re underground.”

He pulled a chair closer and sat, the pages spread between us.

“Well,” he said, “first level’s not too wild. A few traps. One corridor with an acid pit—you saw the damage from that first hand, so you'd want something for acid burns. Mild exposure mostly. Gloves and salve would be smart.”

I scribbled a note, then nodded. “I’ve got a salve that neutralizes most surface acid. Good for slime burns too.”

“Perfect. And the second level? Heat spikes. There’s a fire trap built into the hallway between two collapsed rooms. You’d want a burn balm. Maybe something for smoke inhalation, too—there’s one chamber that never vents well.”

We went back and forth like that for an hour—Kaelen listing hazards, me countering with what I had, what I could make, and what I needed to forage. He even showed me where he thought compartments should go in the kits for better accessibility, how adventurers reached for things under pressure, what they ignored unless clearly labeled.

By the end of it, we had two distinct kit designs sketched out—Standard Scout Pack and Level Two Burn Kit—complete with contents, quantities, and packing methods.

I sat back, looking at the ink-streaked pages and rough mock-ups with something like awe.

“I haven’t felt this energized in a while,” I admitted, smiling at him. “This kind of work—it’s what I love. Practical, hands-on, helping people before they even know they’ll need it.”

Kaelen leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and expression warm. “It shows. I’ve never seen you so focused.”

“I forget to eat when I get like this.”

“Lucky for you,” he said, standing with a stretch, “I remembered.”

He walked to the hearth, lifted the pot, and filled two bowls while I cleared the parchment off the table. When he returned, he kissed the top of my head and set one bowl in front of me.

“You’re going to save a lot of lives with these,” he said simply.

I looked down at the sketches, then up at him.

“So are you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell of toasted oats and honeyed bread filled the cottage as I turned the tea leaves over gently in the strainer. Kaelen sat at the table, still tousled from sleep, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a sleepy grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Didn’t know I’d get spoiled and put to work again,” he said, accepting a mug from my hands.

“I believe the phrase is ‘equal partnership,’” I said, pouring my own. “Besides, you’re getting first access to my finest emergency field kits.”

He chuckled and nudged one of the neatly packed bundles on the table. “You’re sure about these?”

“Tested, sealed, and labeled,” I said. “Standard pack and a heat-response variant. Both light enough to wear clipped to a belt or pack strap. You’ll have two for your group, and if anything fails—or works perfectly—I want notes.”

Kaelen glanced over the compact pouches again, running a hand over the tidy stitching and waxed labels.

“We’re starting the second level today,” he said, voice a little more sober now. “Map’s nearly complete for the first floor. This’ll be a longer push—might need to stay overnight if things get complicated.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I nodded. “You’ll be careful.”

“Always.”

“Use the moss if anyone shows signs of trauma. If someone gets a minor burn, that tiny tin has the cooling salve. And if anyone ignores their injuries for too long, give them the bitter tonic. They'll hate it, but it works fast.”

He gave me a look, amused and fond. “You act like I’m the reckless one.”

“You’re the one carrying my best work into a fire-trapped corridor. That earns you at least one lecture.”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I’ll take it.”

As we ate, we talked about the terrain, his party’s plan for slow advancement, and the possibilities of what the second level might reveal. Kaelen speculated about what sort of monsters might have taken root deeper in, and I mentally cataloged salves I should start preparing just in case.

By the time we’d cleared the table and strapped the prototype kits to his pack, the sun had crested the ridge, casting golden light across the windowsill where last night’s tea mugs still waited.

Kaelen kissed me again at the door—longer this time, lingering.

“I’ll be back,” he said, hand cupping the side of my face.

“I know.”

“Maybe with some rare herb samples to make up for the worry.”

“Bring back yourself in one piece,” I said. “The rest is just garnish.”

He grinned, then turned, stepping out into the brisk morning with his pack slung high and purpose in his stride.

I watched him until he disappeared around the bend—my heart steady, but full.

The knock came just as I was sealing the last vial of burn balm.

I wasn’t expecting anyone. The sun had only just climbed high enough to warm the edge of the window, and I still had half a list of inventory to check off for the Guild kits. I wiped my hands on a cloth, crossed to the door, and opened it—

“Mama?”

“There she is,” my mother said with a radiant smile, and then I was wrapped in her arms before I could get another word out.

Behind her stood my father, his arms crossed and an amused look in his eyes, and my brother Theden, who leaned slightly on the porch railing with his travel cloak still draped around him and that same lopsided grin he’d worn since we were children.

“I—I just sent a letter,” I managed. “Yesterday.”

“Missed us by a day, then,” Theden said. “We left as soon as the roads were passable.”

“We weren’t waiting a week just for news,” Mama said, stepping inside like she already lived there. “We wanted to see you.”

I blinked as they moved past me into the cottage—my father setting down a satchel, Theden peeking into the stillroom, Mama circling the hearth with an approving hum.

“I have two guest rooms,” I said, still catching up to what was happening. “One’s got a double bed, and the other has a single. Fresh linens, wood stacked in both.”

“It’s perfect,” my father said. “It smells like your herbs. Smells like you.”

They were here. Really here.

And somehow, Kaelen didn’t even cross my mind.

Not because I was hiding anything—but because there was so much else to tell them. About the road that brought me here. About the people I’d met. About how the village had already made space for me before I knew I’d needed it.

Later that afternoon, I walked them to the inn, where Mira greeted them with her usual dry smile and a nod that somehow managed to be both gracious and sharp-eyed. Mama took to her immediately.

“This one’s the keeper of half the stories around here, isn’t she?” she said as I introduced them.

Mira chuckled. “Only the ones people bother to repeat.”

She arranged lunch for us without fuss—bowls of barley stew, warm rolls, and a fruit compote that Mama immediately asked for the recipe for. We took over one corner of the inn’s dining room and settled in, the sound of our voices rising and falling in happy rhythm.

I told them everything I could fit into an afternoon.

How I’d left home at sunrise with the map folded three times over. How I’d met Rennet on the road just outside of Norwick—how he’d shared his campfire and directed me toward the safer forest paths. How I’d stumbled into a too-quiet hamlet where I met L, the herbalist with silver eyes and a temper like summer thunder, who’d taken me in and taught me more than I thought I could learn in a season.

I told them about my first week in Deeproot Hollow—about the inn, the market, the stillroom, the slow settling of routine. About the first villager who’d called me “our healer” like it was a foregone conclusion.

They listened with rapt attention, my father occasionally nodding, my brother asking questions, my mother smiling in that way that meant she was proud, even if her hands itched to tidy something.

And I didn’t even think to mention Kaelen.

Not because he wasn’t important—but because this story was mine. And I needed them to see the roots I’d planted before they saw what had begun to bloom.

The sun had dipped lower by the time we returned to the cottage, casting long golden beams across the fields and rooftops. A gentle breeze rustled through the herb bundles hanging near the rafters, and the front door creaked open to the familiar scent of dried chamomile, moss oil, and home.

Mama stepped inside first, exhaling softly. “It’s even lovelier the second time,” she said, brushing her fingers over the edge of the kitchen shelf like she could memorize the place by touch.

Theden went straight to the stillroom doorway, peering in with bright curiosity. “So this is where all the magic happens.”

I chuckled. “It’s where I burn half my experiments and perfect the other half.”

My father paused near the fireplace, hands resting on the mantel. “You’ve done well for yourself, Elara.”

That quiet statement warmed me more than any fire.

I pulled a few cushions over to the hearth bench and set out tea while Mama picked up one of the journals I kept stacked near the bookshelf—my travel logs, my field notes, the sometimes-rambling accounts of herbs found, people met, and little discoveries worth remembering.

“You wrote all this?” she asked, flipping slowly through the pages.

I nodded, sitting beside her. “Every town I passed through. Every useful plant I identified. Some sketches, some nonsense, but it helped keep me grounded.”

We spent the better part of the evening that way.

I answered their questions about the journal entries, showed them the earliest sketches of my current herb garden layout, and even laughed a little with Theden when he found a page of failed recipes with enthusiastic but chaotic margin notes.

Dinner was a hearty stew made with dried mushrooms, barley, and a handful of foraged herbs I’d preserved over the winter. I baked the bread fresh while we talked, and Mama insisted on setting the table just so, as if I might forget how a family meal should look.

We sat together under the soft golden glow of lanternlight, the stillroom door cracked open to release the faint scent of rosemary and peppermint.

There was no tension. No weight. Just the joy of reunion and the pleasure of sharing what I’d built.

After dinner, everyone helped clean without being asked—Theden humming while he dried dishes, my father refolding the tea towels with unnecessary precision, Mama tucking away the last few papers I’d left out in the kitchen.

When the fire was banked and the night cooled down, we each wandered off to our rooms, content and full.

Mama and Papa took the double room. Theden settled into the single, claiming he liked the window view best. I climbed up to the loft with a smile still tugging at my lips, heart full to the brim.

They were here.

And they saw me.

And it was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning air was crisp and earthy, thick with the scent of damp soil and budding herbs. My hands were already streaked with dirt as I crouched in the garden bed, pulling up the last of the winter-wilted stems. Nearby, Mama and Theden were clearing out the raised planters while Papa re-set the stones along the garden path with precise care.

It felt good—quiet, grounding. Like weaving the past and present into a single morning.

I’d just finished tying back the first row of spring sprouts when I felt it.

A familiar warmth in my chest. A buzz in the back of my ribs. My heart quickened before I even turned.

Boots pounded the earth behind me.

I looked up.

Kaelen was crossing the edge of the garden like a man possessed, armor singed, hair mussed, cloak half-unfastened and trailing behind him—but his eyes, gods, his eyes were locked on me like I was the only thing left in the world that made sense.

“Elara,” he breathed.

And then he was in front of me, dropping his pack, cupping my face in both hands, and kissing me—deeply, fully, and without restraint.

I gasped once, smiling into it, hands gripping the front of his scorched gear.

When he finally pulled back, breathless and grinning, he said, “The kits worked. Everything you made—perfect. Exactly what we needed.”

Behind him, the rest of his party staggered into view like the end of a very dramatic stage play.

Merra had one sleeve torn and a light burn along her jaw. Thalen limped with a bandaged knee already stained red, and Saren looked like he’d been hit by something large and blunt. All three wore expressions of resignation, exasperation, and respect.

Kaelen barely spared them a glance. He leaned his forehead against mine and whispered, “I told you I’d come back.”

“I’m glad you did,” I whispered back. “But your friends look like they need a healer now.”

“They’ll live,” he murmured, but finally turned to wave them in.

I turned toward the others and gestured toward the porch. “Inside. Now. Sit, and don’t bleed on the floor.”

As I herded the adventurers inside, I caught a glimpse of my parents standing near the back steps, watching the whole exchange.

Papa raised his brows slightly. Mama was trying not to smile. Theden let out a low, amused whistle.

“Well then, that’s that isn’t it?” Mama said, already dusting her hands on her apron like she was preparing for tea.

I didn’t have time to answer before Kaelen followed the others in, brushing dirt from his sleeves like he wasn’t still smoldering slightly.

“Well,” Papa said with a chuckle, “no need to ask if she’s staying now.”

Theden grinned. “Definitely a Fell-Heart bond.”

Mama nodded. “I like him. He kissed her like he knew it.”

And just like that, I didn’t have to explain anything.

They saw it. Understood it. And gave me space.

They didn’t follow. They didn’t pry. They just turned back to the garden with a few murmured comments about preparing lunch for “a few more mouths.”

Inside, I washed my hands, lit the stillroom lanterns, and began treating Merra’s burn while Kaelen leaned in the doorway and watched me like I was his favorite miracle.

Later, when I was done tending bruises and cracked ribs, I knew we’d have a quiet moment. Just the two of us. A heartbeat between all the noise where we’d hold each other and say everything that didn’t need words.

The stillroom had quieted.

The salves were applied, the bandages wrapped, and the adventurers—mostly intact—had taken their leave with grumbles of thanks and muttered promises to be “less heroic next time.” The door clicked shut behind them, and the cottage exhaled with peace.

Kaelen hadn’t moved far. He lingered by the hearth, his gear half-unfastened, shoulders slouched in exhaustion, but his eyes never left me.

I crossed the space between us and wrapped my arms around him without a word. He folded into the embrace instantly, arms circling my waist, forehead resting lightly against my temple.

“Welcome home,” I murmured.

He let out a soft sigh and kissed the side of my head. “I missed this.”

I smiled against his shoulder. “Did you happen to notice anything... unusual in the garden this morning?”

He paused, brows pulling together. “Unusual?”

“Tall man, brown cloak? Woman with a sharp look and a softer heart? Young man who moves like a hunter and judges like a younger sibling?”

Kaelen blinked.

“Those were my family, Kaelen.”

He stared at me.

I arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t notice?”

“I—no? I only saw you.”

I laughed, pulling back to look at him properly. “You are a terrible scout.”

“I was injured!” he said, half-defensive, half-delighted.

“Burned on the leg,” I said, poking his chest, “not blind.”

He caught my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I’m sorry. I’ll improve my surroundings-awareness once you stop being the most distracting thing in them.”

“You’d better,” I teased, then stepped back toward the door. “Come on. I have to go rescue them from pretending they’re not listening from the garden gate.”

Outside, I found my parents and Theden right where I left them—pretending to trim stray grass from the walkway and failing not to grin when I opened the door.

“Lunch is ready,” I said. “And there’s someone I’d like you to meet officially.”

They followed me back inside, boots scraping gently on the threshold.

Kaelen stood by the table now, freshly washed and dressed in a soft shirt and clean breeches, his posture polite but relaxed. He gave a respectful nod as they entered.

“Kaelen,” I said, voice soft, “this is my mother, Sella, my father, Bram, and my brother, Theden.”

He bowed slightly. “It’s an honor.”

Mama stepped forward first, smiling brightly. “We’ve heard just enough to be intrigued. It’s a pleasure.”

Papa clapped him on the shoulder—firmly—and Theden gave him the kind of look reserved for assessing someone who’d either marry into the family or fight a bear for you.

They sat. I served stew, still warm from the hearth, and Kaelen took the seat beside me at the head of the table, posture easing as the meal began.

Conversation flowed easily.

Kaelen spoke about the dungeon’s layout, the structural shifts between levels, the kinds of hazards they’d faced. He explained how his sketches helped his team navigate and remember paths more precisely.

“Sketches?” Theden asked, curious now. “Artistic, or tactical?”

Kaelen smiled shyly. “Both. I started for maps and markers. Then realized… I liked capturing things. The way the shadows fall. The feel of a space. It helps me stay present. And I sketch for myself, too. Elara’s garden. The hills at dawn.”

Mama caught my eye with a knowing smile, and Papa’s approving grunt felt like a rare kind of blessing.

Over second helpings and warm bread, they asked more about his scouting work, his party, his life before the Guild.

And Kaelen answered every question—honestly, humbly, and with enough subtle affection in his voice every time he said my name that I felt it like sunlight on skin.

By the end of the meal, it wasn’t even a question. He belonged, and they knew it.

By the time the evening chill crept in, the hearth was glowing with soft golden light and the air inside the cottage smelled of tea steam, firewood, and freshly baked bread. Juniper crackled gently in the coals, and Kaelen had helped bring in extra chairs from the guest rooms so everyone could gather around without feeling crowded.

Mama handed out mugs of her favorite calming blend—lavender, chamomile, and just a pinch of lemon peel—declaring it “better than any sleeping charm.”

We all settled in, a little bundle of warmth and comfort, surrounded by firelight and soft blankets.

Papa leaned back in my favorite rocker, the one he always claimed when he visited anywhere. “Alright,” he said. “Story time. Someone give us something with danger and near misses. I want drama.”

Kaelen obliged, though he started slow—just a scout’s account of navigating the shifting stones of the second dungeon level. But soon, he was telling us about a half-collapsed corridor that nearly sealed behind them and a fire trap that activated before they triggered it, forcing them to think backward just to escape. Theden leaned in, absorbed.

“Did you actually slide under a falling archway?” he asked, eyes wide.

Kaelen shrugged. “Only slightly dramatic. Mostly it was awkward crawling while smoke tried to roast us.”

Mama laughed and shook her head. “You’re lucky your healer wasn’t with you, or you’d never have heard the end of it.”

“She gives enough lectures when we come back,” Kaelen said, and nudged my knee gently with his own.

I smiled, but didn’t speak—not just yet.

Instead, I sipped my tea and waited for the quiet between stories before I set my cup down.

“I didn’t come here on accident,” I said softly, into the lull. “I didn’t know I was coming here—but I think Learna did.”

“The healer who taught you?” Papa asked.

I nodded. “She wasn’t a warm person—not exactly—but she was wise. Quiet and observant. When I told her I wanted to keep learning… she didn’t hesitate. She said there was a place that I could learn from and when I got here, their healer had already passed a few months ago. I think she knew I’d see a village too busy to go without.”

I glanced toward the window, where only darkness waited outside now.

“She sent me here,” I said. “And I think she knew. She didn’t say it, but I think she knew that I’d fall in love with the people here. That I’d find work here. That I’d be needed.”

The words settled quietly among us, like soft stones on a riverbed.

“She was right,” Mama said.

“She was,” I agreed, and made a mental note to write Learna a letter as soon as I could. I owed her more than just gratitude—I owed her belonging.

Papa nodded slowly. “Seems to me this place fits you.”

Kaelen reached for my hand beneath the table and gave it a small, wordless squeeze.

“It does,” I said. “It really does.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning dawned bright and golden, a welcome warmth in the air that promised more green to come. A soft breeze tugged at the window curtain above the sink as I finished brewing the morning tea and set out a basket of warm rolls Mira had sent over just after sunrise.

Mama hummed as she tied her scarf at the mirror, and Theden already had his boots on and was poking through my satchel of pre-dried herbs with curious fingers.

“I was thinking,” I said as I passed around mugs, “we could walk through the market this morning. It’s small, but it has everything. Produce, tools, fabrics—sometimes even odd magical odds and ends from the adventurers.”

“That sounds perfect,” Mama said, already tucking a coin pouch into her sash.

Papa, sipping his tea slowly, gave me a look over the rim of the mug. “And I suppose you’re well-known at every stall?”

I grinned. “Close enough.”

We set out not long after, following the worn path to the square, where the market had already come to life. Tents rustled, vendors called out soft greetings, and the smell of fresh bread, spiced oil, and spring herbs wound through the air like a song.

Theden was immediately pulled into a booth selling leatherworking tools. Mama busied herself inspecting baskets of dried herbs, clearly comparing them to what she’d seen in my stillroom.

I stood back and let them explore, heart full.

I was home.

And now they were seeing it.

“Elara Bramble!” a voice crackled over the morning bustle.

I turned just in time to see Old Bitty marching toward us with her cane clacking against the stone, eyes sharp and glinting with mischief.

“Well, now,” she said, looking from my mother to my father to Theden and back to me. “So these are the brave souls who raised you.”

Mama straightened with a smile. “And you must be Bitty.”

“The one and only,” Bitty said proudly. “Taught this girl everything she knows about surviving small-town gossip and not over-steeping thyme. Mostly.”

“She tells us you’re as feisty as ever,” Papa said, shaking her hand.

“I’m old,” she replied, “not dull.”

The two of them got along immediately—of course they did.

Bitty stayed with us for the rest of the market stroll, throwing in commentary whether it was asked for or not. She told Theden which fishmonger had the best prices and pointed Mama toward the stall that sold polished river stones for heat therapy. I simply followed and smiled.

Near midday, my father looked over the square and then to Mama. “You know,” he said, “this place isn’t bad.”

“Quiet. Friendly. Good air,” she agreed. “And we wouldn’t need to climb into the hills every time we want a decent healer.”

I turned to look at them, heart skipping.

“You’re thinking of retiring here?”

“Not today,” Papa said. “But soon. And… maybe. This wouldn’t be a bad town to grow old in.”

I felt something warm and solid bloom behind my ribs.

“Really?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Mama said, linking her arm through mine. “We’re allowed to want to be near you.”

Theden added, “And Bitty clearly needs more people to bother.”

“I heard that,” Bitty called, not bothering to turn around.

As we wandered toward the bakery for a late snack, my thoughts buzzed like bees in the sun. Not only did I have my own life here, my own work, my own place—but soon, maybe, I’d have them too. Not just visiting.

Staying. My heart felt as warm as the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning came early, cool and quiet, the sky painted in soft pastels as dew clung to the garden path. My mother’s shawl was already wrapped tight around her shoulders as Papa adjusted the straps on their bags. Theden waited with the cart, brushing off the last of the spring pollen from the seat with a half-hearted scowl.

We stood together in the cottage doorway, the stillroom behind me already catching the first rays of light.

Mama gave me one last hug—long and firm. “You’re everything we hoped you’d become,” she whispered.

“And more stubborn than ever,” Papa added as he kissed my forehead.

I smiled through the tightness in my throat. “Promise to write.”

“Often,” Mama said.

Theden gave me a smirk and a small pouch of pressed herbs. “Trade you for one of your tea blends next time we see you.”

“Deal,” I said.

They climbed into the cart, and I stood at the edge of the garden, hand raised, watching as they rolled down the lane. At the bend, they all looked back. I waved once more.

Then they were gone.

By midday, I had a new letter folded in my hands.

The words had come easily—flowing steady and sure, like everything I needed to say had been waiting for this moment.

Dear Learna,

You probably knew before I did.

You sent me here without telling me their healer had passed. You gave me a map and a task, and good advice. Still, I think you knew what I would find. Deeproot Hollow is small and rough around the edges. With no replacement healer, the village welcomed me with open arms, and now they call me theirs. I’ve started to call them mine too.

I’ve made a place here. I’ve learned names and stitched wounds and written in margins and laughed at dinner tables. I’ve fallen in love—with this work, with this land, with someone who understands how to walk beside me without asking me to slow down. His name is Kaelen. He’s a scout. Stubborn, steady, thoughtful. I think you’d like him.

I’m staying, Learna. For good. This is home now. And I wanted to thank you—for knowing, for not saying, for letting me choose it and still guiding me there.

I’ll write you again. To share what I’ve learned and ask questions in return. There's more I want to know—about herbs you never had time to teach, about techniques I still haven’t mastered. Let’s trade knowledge across the seasons.

With gratitude and roots now firmly planted,

Elara

I sealed the envelope, pressed my personal mark into the wax, and walked it down to the inn. The runner wouldn’t be by until evening, but Mira had already set out the mail satchel on its hook, waiting like always.

I slid the letter inside, tucked a few coins into the pouch for postage, and whispered quietly, “Thank you.”

Then I stepped back out into the spring sun, heart light, hands free.

There was work to do.

There was home to tend.

And there was always more to grow.

The End.