Dark Whisperer

The low winter sun cast long shadows over the town as Ada and Marin hurried along the frozen paths, their boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. The biting wind tugged at their cloaks, but they pressed on, both knowing they were already running late.

“We’re supposed to be there by now,” Marin muttered, his pace quickening as he threw a glance at the fading light. His breath fogged in the cold air, and Ada could sense the tension radiating off him—he hated being late.

A voice called out to them from behind, breaking through the wind. “Marin! Ada!”

Marin winced, instinctively slowing his steps for a moment. He glanced back, offering a strained smile. “Sorry!” he shouted over his shoulder, his tone polite but clipped. He barely waited for a response, picking up the pace once again, his boots crunching more urgently against the frozen ground.

Ada jogged to keep up with him, her breath coming out in small, misty bursts as the cold air bit at her lungs. She cast a quick sidelong glance at Marin, noticing the way his brow furrowed, the crease in his forehead deepening with every hurried step.

“You know,” she said, trying to catch her breath as they weaved through narrow alleyways, “you’re allowed to be late once in a while.”

She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow, the fabric of her cloak brushing against his. Marin shook his head but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He still didn’t slow down.

“They’ll probably have me chopping wood for a week,” he said with a half-laugh, though his tension was clear in the way he walked. “You know how they are—late once, and next thing I know, they’ll have me standing in front of the elders, talking about shaving my head.”

Ada chuckled but kept her gaze forward, dodging a patch of ice. “I always thought the look suited you”

Her comment drew a quick laugh from Marin, but his eyes remained focused ahead, his long strides eating up the distance between them and their destination. Ada could see the weight of responsibility pressing down on him—the pressure to be perfect, to meet every expectation the town laid on him.

“Hey,” Ada added, her tone softening as they pushed on through the snow-laden street. “If it comes to it, I’ll take the blame. I mean, it’s kind of expected from me, right? I’m the town’s favourite troublemaker.”

Marin slowed just a fraction, glancing over at her with a knowing look. He knew Ada was always quick to shield others from consequences, especially him. “You’re not a troublemaker, Ada. You just... don’t fit their mould.”

Ada shrugged, kicking a rock out of her way as they rounded a corner, the familiar buildings of the town closing in around them. “Same thing, right? You know how they are. If anything goes wrong, it’s always easier to blame the one who doesn’t fall in line.”

“You’ve never fallen in line,” Marin said, his voice tinged with admiration, but also a hint of sadness. He respected her for it, but he also knew how hard it had been for her to carry that burden.

The sun sank lower, casting everything in a pale orange light that only emphasized the cold. Ada quickened her steps again, the feeling of lateness settling deep in her gut. She knew Marin felt it too—the heaviness of their task, the importance of being on time, especially now when the town seemed on edge from more than just the usual winter woes.

“We’re almost there,” Marin said, breathless now, his eyes scanning the path ahead. The stables were southwest of Daithi’s storehouse, just beyond the main road where the paths thinned out. The wind whipped against them, pulling at their cloaks as they moved swiftly, the winter air stinging their faces. Ada's heart quickened—not from the cold, but from the shared sense of urgency that grew heavier with each step.

As they reached the edge of the stable yard, Marin glanced over at Ada, offering her a small nod of understanding. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. There was something else in his expression—something deeper, a feeling he hadn’t quite voiced. He cared for her, more than just a friend, but the weight of their task and the hurried pace left no room to explore that thought. Not now.

They continued in silence, their boots crunching rhythmically against the frozen ground. Ada could feel Marin’s tension, his sense of duty gnawing at him, but she didn’t push him. They were already late, and she knew he was feeling the pressure of it.

When they finally reached the stables, both froze in their tracks. Standing there, arms crossed, was Elara, her sharp gaze cutting through the cold air like a knife. Beside her stood Lina, who seemed on the verge of bursting into laughter but managed to hold it back—just barely.

Ada's stomach sank. Her pulse quickened as her mother’s eyes fixed on her. She knew that look all too well—she was in trouble. And even though she wasn’t a child anymore, standing there under Elara’s fierce gaze made her feel like she might as well be. It wasn’t just about being late; it was about disappointing the one person she was always trying to measure up to.

“Ada!” Elara’s voice rang out, sharp and full of authority. “What is the meaning of this? You’re both late! This is not acceptable!”

Marin swallowed hard beside her, his usual calm slipping slightly. Ada could feel her own frustration bubbling up, the instinct to snap back rising before she could stop herself. But just as she opened her mouth to respond, Marin stepped forward.

“Ms Agnew, I’m really sorry,” Marin said, his voice steady, even though Ada could hear the slight edge of nerves beneath it. “It’s my fault. We got held up at Daithi’s storehouse. I wasn’t keeping track of the time, and Ada was just helping me.”

Elara’s stern expression softened, but only a little. Her eyes moved between the two of them, taking in her daughter’s simmering frustration and Marin’s calm deference. She let out a long sigh, as if weighing her next words carefully.

“You two…” She shook her head, her tone still sharp but losing some of its edge. “This town relies on everyone pulling their weight. You know that. I expect better from both of you.”

Marin nodded, standing straight, taking the scolding with quiet grace. “It won’t happen again,” he promised.

Elara’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, and then, to Ada’s surprise, her mother’s expression shifted, softening into something almost amused. “You know, Marin,” Elara said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, “you’re a good boy. Dependable. A good influence on Ada.”

Marin smiled, a little sheepish, as he glanced at Ada, who was rolling her eyes in embarrassment.

“You’d make a good husband someday,” Elara added slyly, her eyes darting to Ada. “Someone has to keep this one in line.”

Ada felt her cheeks flush. “Mother!” she exclaimed, her voice half mortified, half exasperated.

Before she could say more, Lina let out a high-pitched giggle, the sound so pure and full of joy that even Ada couldn’t stay annoyed for long. Lina’s laughter was infectious, and soon Marin was stifling a chuckle himself.

Ada shot her sister a mock glare, but the warmth in Lina’s eyes was impossible to resist. She was always the light-hearted one, able to diffuse any tension with a smile or a laugh. Marin’s grin widened as Lina’s giggles continued to bubble up.

“Oh, come now, Ada,” Elara said, still smiling as she watched her daughters. “You’re lucky to have someone like Marin looking out for you.”

Ada groaned inwardly, but before she could protest further, Elara straightened up and gave Lina a gentle nudge. “Come on, Lina. We’ve got work to do. No more dawdling.”

Lina, ever playful, skipped ahead, humming a soft tune to herself as she bounced across the snow-covered ground. “Walk properly Lina,” Elara chided gently, though there was no real bite in her words.

“Yes, Mother,” Lina sang back in her usual carefree tone, twirling once in the snow before falling into step next to Elara.

As they walked away, Ada felt the tension that had gripped her slip away, replaced by the familiar warmth of home. The town’s rules, its discipline, its expectations—they were all part of life here, but so was the love that threaded its way through even the sternest of scoldings.

She turned to Marin, their eyes meeting for a moment. His face was still flushed from the cold and the lingering embarrassment of Elara’s teasing, but there was a soft smile playing at his lips. They didn’t need to say anything. Despite everything, they had each other, and in this town full of rules and rituals, maybe that was enough.

As Elara and Lina disappeared, Ada let out a long breath she didn’t know she had been holding. The tension of her mother’s scolding still clung to her, but there was a weight lifted too. She turned to Marin, her eyes softening, her lips curving into a grateful smile.

“Thanks for that,” Ada said, her voice quieter now, more personal. “I mean, I was ready to get the full Elara treatment. You didn’t have to take the blame.”

Marin shrugged, but there was warmth in his eyes. “Didn’t feel right letting you take it all. Besides, I’m used to it.” His lips quirked up in a teasing grin. “I used to be late a lot, remember? I’d have my head shaved if it weren’t for you covering for me half the time.”

Ada chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess we’re even then.”

But as the laughter died down, their conversation took on a different tone, softer, quieter, as if the world around them faded into the background. For a moment, there was only the two of them, standing close, sharing something unspoken. Ada looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time, she felt a flutter of something she hadn’t allowed herself to notice before.

He had covered for her, calmed her mother’s temper with such ease. It was more than just a friendly gesture—it made her feel seen, protected in a way she hadn’t expected. She was used to handling things on her own, brushing off her mother’s criticisms, standing apart from the town’s rigid expectations. But with Marin, things were different.

“You handled my mother better than I ever could,” Ada said, her voice low, laced with admiration.

Marin scratched the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that always made her smile. “She’s just… she wants what’s best for you.” His tone was careful, but there was something more beneath it—an acknowledgment of Elara’s earlier words about him being a good influence, about him being a good suitor. And the fact that Ada hadn’t rejected the idea made something stir inside him.

“Still,” Ada continued, her eyes never leaving his, “you always know what to say. I would’ve probably said something sarcastic and made it worse.”

Marin chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “Maybe. But that’s what I’m here for, right? To keep you out of trouble.”

Ada grinned, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “Oh, is that what you think? Keeping me out of trouble?”

“Well,” he said, leaning just a little closer, “someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself thrown in the stocks for being cheeky with the council.”

She laughed softly, but there was a warmth in her voice that made the moment linger. “I suppose I should be grateful then. My own personal hero.” The teasing tone was still there, but underneath it was something genuine, something that made her heart skip a beat.

Marin smiled, but there was a trace of shyness in his expression. He wasn’t used to being seen this way, especially by her. “If I’m your hero, then you’re the one giving me something to fight for.”

Ada blinked, surprised by the weight of his words. Her playful retort caught in her throat, and for a moment, all she could do was look at him. Marin wasn’t usually so bold, so direct with his feelings, but something about the way he said it—quiet, sincere—made her feel like the ground beneath her was shifting.

“Marin…” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish. She wasn’t sure she needed to.

The way she looked at him now, with gratitude and maybe something more, made him feel respected, valued. He wasn’t just the dependable boy, the one who did his duty and kept his head down—he was someone she saw, someone she trusted. And that meant everything.

He stepped just a little closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence against the cold air. “I’ve always been there for you, Ada. I’ll always be there.”

The tenderness in his voice wrapped around her like a blanket. For a long moment, they just stood there, their eyes locked. It was as if time had slowed, and they were caught in this pocket of stillness, where nothing existed but the quiet connection between them. Neither of them moved to break the silence, but there was no need to. The air between them was charged with an unspoken understanding, a gentle recognition of something deeper.

Ada’s heart swelled in her chest, the flutter from earlier turning into something steadier, something real. She had always known Marin—always trusted him—but now, standing here, she realized just how much he meant to her. He wasn’t just a friend, wasn’t just someone she shared her days with. He was the person who made everything a little brighter, a little easier, just by being there.

Her hand drifted down, brushing against his. It was such a small, simple gesture, but it was enough to make them both pause, their breaths catching in the cold winter air. Marin’s fingers hesitated, then gently closed around hers, his grip warm and reassuring. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They didn’t have to.

Then, out of nowhere, a cart rattled past them, hitting a dip in the path with a loud jolt. The moment shattered, and both jumped slightly, laughter bubbling up almost immediately.

“Well, that’s one way to remind us we’ve got things to do,” Ada said with a grin, the spell of the moment broken but leaving behind a lingering warmth.

Marin laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Right. We should get moving before your mother really does have my head.”

Ada smiled, but this time, there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to lose you now, would I?”

As they continued walking, their hands still brushing lightly against each other, there was a new kind of ease between them—one born not just of years of friendship, but of something deeper, something that neither of them needed to rush or define just yet. It was just there, like a quiet promise, waiting for them whenever they were ready.

Together, they made their way toward the stables, located in the newer part of town where recent expansions had spread into the grassy space between the lake’s edge and the old stone buildings. The crisp air carried with it the familiar smells of hay and horses. As they approached the wide wooden structure, the sounds of hooves and the ever-present voice of the town stablemaster, Leora, echoed through the space.

Leora was a fixture in the town—known for her endless talking just as much as for her work with the horses. People joked that the animals were the only creature’s patient enough to deal with her non-stop gossip. No one else could get a word in edgewise, so the horses were the perfect companions.

Leora was built for the work she did. Her forearms were thick with muscle from years of hauling hay, her calves sturdy from chasing after runaway horses, and her boots—though worn from season after season—always seemed to gleam as though freshly polished. She wore a long apron tied around her waist, and her hair, a forgettable shade of brown, was tucked under a wide-brimmed hat that kept it neat and out of her way. But it was her face that betrayed the madness bubbling underneath. Her wide blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and energy, and her lips were always quirked in a grin that suggested she had just thought of something hilarious—or scandalous.

Whenever Leora entered a room, people braced themselves. And yet, despite the flood of stories, opinions, and unsolicited advice that came with her, she was loved. Annoying, yes, but loved. Her endless enthusiasm was contagious—once you accepted that you weren’t getting out of a conversation anytime soon.

Ada shot Marin a knowing look as they approached the barn, her lips twitching. “Ready for the onslaught?”

Marin grinned, nudging her playfully. “Don’t be mean.” But the amusement in his eyes said he was bracing himself, too.

Inside the barn, Leora was already mid-flow, talking to no one in particular as she brushed down one of the town’s large draft horses. “Now, I told Clara last week that her pie crust was too tough—bless her heart—but did she listen? Nooo! And you’ll never guess what happened at the festival. Not a single person touched her pies! I mean, really, I felt awful for her, but what did she expect? A good crust needs love! And then, don’t even get me started on Harlan’s new roof. Have you seen the way it leaks? Absolutely shameful. But does anyone ask my opinion? Not once. I swear, if it’s not about horses or hay, nobody wants to hear what I think.”

Ada groaned inwardly as Leora’s voice reached them, already feeling the headache forming. But as much as she dreaded getting caught in Leora’s whirlwind, it was impossible not to get sucked in.

“Hi Leora,” Ada called out, forcing some cheer into her voice. “Need help with the horses?”

Leora spun around, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Ada! Marin! Just who I was hoping to see! These horses won’t groom themselves, and don’t even get me started on the feed delivery being late again. Honestly, some people need a wake-up call. Speaking of which, did you hear about Brenna’s boots? They’re falling apart, and I told her not to go cheap on new one’s last year, but does that old mare listen? No! I swear, I should open a shop. Maybe then people would take my advice seriously.” She let out a loud, hearty laugh, clearly tickled by her own joke.

Ada shot a look at Marin, her eyes pleading for help. Marin tried to smother a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he nudged her gently. “C’mon,” he whispered, “you don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Yeah, right,” Ada muttered under her breath, grabbing a brush from the wall. “She’d probably just talk me to death before I even had the chance.”

Leora, blissfully unaware of their private exchange, continued talking as she moved from one horse to another, her hands never stopping their work. “Oh, and did you hear about Lila’s boy? Got himself stuck in a tree again, third time this month! You’d think by now he’d have learned not to climb so high, but boys will be boys, won’t they? Reminds me of my nephew, always getting into trouble. Though, to be fair, he’s the one who taught me how to wrestle a goat. Not the most useful skill unless you’re in the middle of a market and some fool lets their animals loose. Speaking of which, I had to give Donal a piece of my mind the other day. Did you know he let his goats into the bakery? Absolute disaster, flour everywhere!”

Marin, trying his best not to laugh out loud, moved to grab a bucket of feed. “She never stops, does she?” he whispered.

“Never,” Ada replied, grinning as she started brushing down one of the horses. “We could walk away right now, and she’d still be talking by the time we got back.”

Marin smirked, shaking his head. “I think she’s got more stories than half the town combined.”

Leora, still chatting away, had now moved on to a tale about her sister’s wedding dress, which, according to her, had been an absolute disaster thanks to “poor seam stressing.” “I mean, really, how hard is it to get a hemline straight? It’s not sorcery! And don’t even get me started on the flowers. Wilted by the time the ceremony started! They should’ve asked me to handle it, but noooo, they wanted to do it themselves. You can guess how that turned out. But oh, I suppose it wasn’t all bad. At least the cake was decent. Not as good as mine, though. Did I ever tell you about the time I baked three cakes for Finnian’s birthday party? Never seen a man eat so much cake in my life!”

Ada exchanged a look with Marin, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Did you know,” she whispered, “if you stand perfectly still, she won’t notice you?”

Marin chuckled under his breath. “Not a chance. She’s like a hawk.”

“And her target is us,” Ada replied, feigning a dramatic sigh before flashing him a grin.

Leora’s voice pitched higher, seemingly oblivious to their teasing. “Oh, and speaking of cakes, did you hear about the baker’s new apprentice? Poor lad couldn’t tell a loaf of bread from a brick! Honestly, it’s a wonder how some people get hired around here.”

The two of them busied themselves with their tasks, brushing down the horses and preparing the feed, while Leora’s stories continued to pour forth, one after the other. There was no stopping her.

“You know,” Marin said softly, leaning close to Ada, “I think she’s got enough material for her own festival.”

Ada snorted, barely suppressing her laughter. “A festival of non-stop talking? Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“And we’d be the honoured guests,” Marin added with a grin.

“Lucky us,” Ada muttered, glancing over at Leora, who was now recounting a detailed account of a runaway chicken chase through the town square. “At least she keeps things interesting.”

Marin smirked, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, she’s a one-woman show.”

Leora’s voice drifted over again, still going strong. “—and I tell you, if that chicken ever shows its beak around here again, I’m ready. Got my net and everything! Anyway, that’s just the way it is, isn’t it? No one listens to ol’ Leora until it’s too late, but I’ll always be here, keeping things in line. Just like these horses, bless ‘em. Good thing they’re smart enough not to argue with me!”

Ada and Marin shared one last amused look before getting back to work, the sound of Leora’s never-ending stories filling the stable like a familiar, chaotic song they’d long since learned to dance to.

“Did you hear about the new trader that passed through last week? Oh, I tell you, the stories he brought with him! Apparently, there’s been trouble up north, bandits causing all sorts of ruckus. Can you imagine? And to think, just when we’ve had such a peaceful harvest season too! It’s always something, isn’t it?” Leora rattled on as if this piece of gossip were the most important news in the world.

Ada nodded along, barely listening as she brushed down the horse. Every now and then, she’d catch Marin’s eye, and they’d share a look, both suppressing their amusement as Leora carried on, her voice a ceaseless tide of chatter.

“I’m telling you, the council ought to do something about it, but do they ever listen to me? No, of course not. Too busy with their own business. But I tell them, mark my words, one day they’ll regret not taking my advice.”

Ada raised an eyebrow at Marin. Leora was on the council—though how anyone else ever got a word in edgewise during meetings was a mystery.

“Absolutely,” Ada chimed in at just the right moment, her tone so flat and deadpan that Marin had to turn away to hide his laughter.

Leora didn’t notice the sarcasm, and for that, Ada was grateful. The last thing she wanted was to get sucked into an even longer conversation. Marin shot her a warning look, one that said stop teasing her—but the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

As they worked, the stable came alive with their quiet laughter and Leora’s endless chatter. The horses, blissfully unaware of the gossip swirling around them, stood patiently as Ada and Marin brushed them down, feeling the weight of their earlier moment slowly fade into the background of town life once more.

But even amid the stable master’s unrelenting monologue, something unspoken lingered between Ada and Marin—an understanding that, despite everything, the connection they’d shared earlier wasn’t lost.

Leora’s voice filled the stable, her words tumbling over each other as she launched into more details about Clara’s infamous pie crust, as if it were the most critical issue of the day.

"Now, let me tell you,” She said, wagging her brush at the horse, which stood unbothered by the commotion, “Clara’s been making those tough pie crusts for years, and every time I tell her, 'Clara, love, you need to rest the dough. Let it settle, for goodness’ sake!' But does she listen? No! She rolls it out all in one go, like she’s afraid it’ll run away from her. So now the poor thing’s competing with the other town cooks in the Winter Festival, where every pie is judged by the gods and the elders. And let me tell you, when your pie sits there untouched, it’s not just a loss, it’s a sign! The gods are telling you, ‘You’ve got to get your act together!’”

Ada couldn’t help but snicker under her breath, and Marin gave her a side glance, his lips twitching again. Leora, predictably, didn’t notice, carried away by her own storytelling.

“Now,” Leora went on, her voice growing more animated, “the Winter Festival, that’s something special. We harvest everything we can before the cold sets in, and the whole town comes together for the celebration. You know how it is—the pie contest is the big event. Everyone tries to make something divine, hoping their pie will earn favour with the gods, bring a bountiful spring. And Clara—well, she’s never won, not once. I’m telling you, those pies are as hard as the winter ground. Last year, I nearly broke a tooth!”

She laughed, loud and raucous, and Ada shared a look with Marin, biting her lip to keep from laughing too. But just as quickly, Leora’s focus shifted.

“And Harlan’s roof, oh, don’t get me started! I swear, it leaks like a sieve. A few months back, when we had that downpour, the poor man’s house was like a pond. I felt so bad for him, but honestly, what did he expect with that cheap thatching? And of course, it’s never a problem until it rains, isn’t it? I told him, ‘Harlan, you’ve got to fix that roof,’ but does he listen? No, no one listens to me until they’re sitting in a puddle!”

Ada rolled her eyes, barely stifling her groan this time. It was like Leora’s stories were stuck on a loop, repeating themselves with new, slightly exaggerated details every time. But, as always, Leora hardly noticed.

“And you know that trader who passed through last week? He said the roads up north are practically a battleground because of those bandits! And can you believe it—bandits, here in our peaceful region! They’ve been stopping traders, scaring off merchants, and now we’re feeling it in the town. It’s no wonder our food stores are running low, what with all the disruption in trade. It’s not just bad pie crusts causing trouble—no, it’s those bandits!”

At this, Marin shot Ada a look—one that said he knew exactly what was coming next. Ada, catching the cue, raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. But instead of making another sly comment, something clicked in her mind. Leora’s rambling wasn’t just random town gossip—there was information hidden in all that noise. Information that might be more useful than they first thought.

Ada straightened, her expression shifting from mockery to focus. If Leora knew about the bandits, and how the town was struggling because of them, she might know more. This could be an opportunity, hidden under layers of idle chatter.

“So, these bandits…” Ada said slowly, her tone casual but curious. “They’ve really been causing problems for the traders? I hadn’t realized it was affecting the town that much.”

Leora, pleased to have an audience, immediately latched on. “Oh, absolutely! You wouldn’t believe it! I mean, the traders that used to come by here—gone! Most of them are too scared to travel the roads now, what with all the robberies. And it’s not just the traders, either. Farmers can’t get their goods to the markets, and it’s making everything harder. I tell you, if something’s not done soon, we’re going to be in real trouble.”

Ada nodded, glancing at Marin out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her closely, clearly impressed that she had managed to steer Leora toward more important topics.

“Trouble, how?” Ada pressed, keeping her tone light as if she was simply curious. “I mean, the food shortages we’ve heard about can’t be that bad, can they?”

Leora, who had been polishing a saddle, suddenly paused. Her eyes darted around the stable before she lowered her voice, as if preparing to share a secret. “Well… truth is, it’s a lot worse than Daithi’s been letting on.”

Ada’s heart skipped a beat. This was what she had been hoping for. “Worse? How bad, exactly?”

Leora leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, though it was clear she relished having the inside scoop. “The council’s been keeping it quiet, but we’re down to just a few days’ worth of food. If those bandits keep stopping trade, we’ll run out. And soon. No one’s supposed to know—not the children, not most of the adults even—but it’s bad. Real bad.”

For a moment, Ada didn’t know how to respond. The gravity of what Leora had just revealed settled over her like a cold mist. She glanced at Marin, who was already watching her, his expression serious. He’d known she’d dig for more information, but even he hadn’t expected something this dire.

Leora, seemingly unaware of the bombshell she’d just dropped, straightened and continued brushing the saddle with renewed vigor, as if she hadn’t just disclosed the town’s precarious situation. But then, as if realizing she’d said too much, her face changed, growing more controlled, more careful.

“But don’t you worry,” she added quickly, her tone abruptly shifting to one of forced optimism. “The council’s got a meeting soon. We’ll figure it out. Yes, we’ll figure something out. It’s not for us to worry about. Just… just leave it to us.” “The shore walker will decide.” She nodded to herself, her words sounding more like an attempt to convince herself than anything else.

Ada’s ears perked at the mention of a council meeting. “When is the meeting?” she asked casually, but Leora’s expression grew tight, as though she realized she’d already given away too much.

“Oh, well… I’m sure it’ll be soon,” Leora said evasively, avoiding Ada’s eyes. “The other council members always keep these things close to their chest. You know how they are.”

Ada exchanged another glance with Marin, both of them thinking the same thing: the situation was worse than they’d thought, and whatever the council was planning, it wasn’t being shared with the town.

Leora, clearly flustered by her own slip-up, began muttering under her breath as she shuffled toward the back of the stable, the cheerful gossip now replaced by nervous murmurs. “Yes, yes… we’ll sort it out, no need for you to worry. We’ll fix it all in the next meeting. Shouldn’t have said anything…”

The town wasn’t just dealing with a minor disruption—this was a crisis. And now, they had more questions than answers.

As soon as Leora shuffled away, muttering to herself and vanishing into the back of the stable, the tension in the air shifted. Marin and Ada stood in the quiet for a moment, the weight of what they'd just heard still hanging over them like an unfinished sentence. Ada turned toward Marin, the spark of curiosity in her eyes unmistakable.

"Marin," Ada started, her voice barely a whisper, "we need to know more. If what she said is true—"

"Ada, stop," Marin interrupted gently but firmly, stepping closer to her as his tone took on the calm, logical edge that usually kept her from flying off the handle. He shook his head, his dark hair catching the low winter light filtering through the stable door. "You can’t push this any further. You know how the town works. We’re still considered children in their eyes. We’re not allowed to meddle in these things."

Ada folded her arms, a defiant look creeping into her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. "But we’re not children. Not really. And if the town is running out of food—"

"The council will handle it," Marin cut her off, his brow furrowing with concern as he glanced around to make sure they weren’t overheard. He took a step closer, lowering his voice, his words meant only for her. "We’re not supposed to press the adults, remember? They won’t take kindly to it, and they definitely won’t tell us anything. You know we won’t qualify for the council until… what, another twenty years? A lifetime, Ada."

Ada huffed in frustration, clearly not satisfied with his answer. "So what? We’re supposed to sit around, twiddling our thumbs, while the town starves? That's ridiculous, Marin."

He exhaled sharply, his shoulders tensing, and for a brief moment, a flicker of frustration crossed his face. But he quickly swallowed it down, trying to maintain his usual calm demeanor. "No. But we can’t just go around asking more questions, not yet. We need to be smart about this."

Ada stared at him, her green eyes searching his face for any hint of compromise. She bit back the retort that was sitting on the tip of her tongue. On the outside, she seemed to relent, giving a curt nod as if accepting his reasoning. But inside? Her mind was already racing. She couldn’t just let this drop, not with everything they’d just learned. There had to be more they could do—she had to do more.

They both returned to their tasks in silence, their hands busy with the familiar rhythm of mucking out the stalls and filling fresh hay into the feeders. The earthy scent of horses, leather, and straw surrounded them, mixing with the crisp winter air that drifted in through the stable door. Despite the mundane nature of their work, the unspoken tension between them eased, replaced by the comfortable silence of long friendship.

Ada tossed a bundle of hay into a nearby stall and glanced over at Marin, catching the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted the bridle on one of the draft horses. For a moment, the quiet between them felt intimate, like they were sharing more than just the space around them.

After a beat, Ada’s playful nature resurfaced, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "Do you think the Sorting Festival will still happen this year?" she asked, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she moved toward him, her eyes bright with curiosity.

Marin straightened up from where he’d been fastening the leather straps, glancing at her thoughtfully. His expression softened, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a small, hopeful smile. "I hope so. The town could use something to celebrate."

Ada tilted her head, her grin widening. "Maybe we should go together this year," she said, her voice teasing but carrying a hint of sincerity that made her heart skip just a little faster.

Marin looked up at her, surprise flashing in his dark eyes for a brief moment, followed by that soft, boyish smile he seemed to save just for her. He hesitated, then nodded, his voice almost shy. "Yeah," he said, the warmth in his tone unmistakable. "We should."

They stood in silence for a moment, the simple suggestion hanging between them, charged with an unspoken weight. The stable, once filled with the background noise of hooves and the rustle of hay, now seemed to grow quiet around them. Marin’s hand brushed against Ada’s as he reached for a rope hanging nearby, the touch sending a brief but noticeable jolt through both of them.

Ada’s heart skipped again, and she saw a faint flush rise to Marin’s cheeks, a sign that he’d felt it too. They both returned to their work, the unspoken connection between them lingering like a shadow, even as their conversation shifted back to easier topics.

They talked about the Winter Festival, about pie contests and town traditions, as though the weight of the earlier conversation had melted away with the soft laughter they shared. Ada, her arms now busy lugging a sack of oats toward the far stall, shot Marin a playful look over her shoulder.

“Remember last year at the Winter Festival?” she asked, her voice teasing as she hefted the sack onto her shoulder with more strength than her small frame suggested.

Marin chuckled, leaning against the nearby stall door, his arms crossed as he watched her with that familiar look of fond amusement. "I remember you nearly pushing me into the snowbank because I wouldn’t try Clara’s pie."

Ada laughed, rolling her eyes as she dumped the oats into the trough. "Someone had to convince you to join in. You looked so serious the whole time, like you were planning your escape."

Marin shook his head, though there was a clear fondness in his voice. "I’m not good at festivals," he admitted, the hint of a smile on his lips as he watched her work. "But it wasn’t so bad with you there."

Ada paused, brushing her hands off on her cloak as she turned to face him, her expression softening. "Well, you’re not getting out of it this year either. Especially if we’re going together," she teased, though there was an unmistakable warmth in her words.

Marin smiled at her, that same soft, shy smile he always gave when she caught him off guard. "Guess I’ll have to practice my pie-eating skills," he said, his voice light but carrying that undertone of affection that always seemed to linger between them.

They exchanged another glance, this one quieter, filled with the ease of two people who had spent a lifetime together. The tension from earlier had dissipated, leaving behind the closeness of their friendship, and perhaps something more that neither of them was ready to fully acknowledge just yet.

For now, they worked side by side, the conversation flowing easily between them.

Her smile softened at that, and for a moment, the world outside the stable vanished. It was just the two of them, working in quiet harmony, sharing these stolen moments of joy in the middle of their mundane tasks.

Marin’s gaze lingered on Ada as she worked, and Ada couldn’t help but catch herself glancing at him, her heart thudding just a little louder each time their eyes met.

But then, just as Marin was about to speak, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment.

“Well, would you look at you two!” Leora’s voice rang out, bright and loud as she re-entered the stable, a grin splitting her weathered face. “Still at it, huh? I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were preparing for a life of mucking out stalls! Not exactly romantic, eh?”

Both Marin and Ada froze for a moment before bursting into laughter, the absurdity of Leora’s comment breaking the tension between them. They shook their heads, still chuckling as Leora planted her hands on her hips and grinned at them, clearly pleased with herself for getting them to laugh.

“You know,” Leora continued, her eyes twinkling, “some folks say there’s no better test of love than doing the dirty work together. If you can survive the smell of a stable, well, maybe there’s hope for you yet!”

Marin glanced at Ada, smirking, and they shared another quiet laugh, shaking their heads at the stablemaster’s carefree attitude. As annoying as Leora could be, she had a way of making even the most tedious moments light-hearted.

"Come on, Leora," Ada teased, wiping a hand across her brow. "We can't all be as carefree as you."

Leora threw her head back and laughed heartily, grabbing a rake and brandishing it like a sceptre. "Carefree? I’ve got more complaints than a rooster in the rain, girl, but someone’s gotta keep this place lively! It sure isn’t going to be you two, staring into each other’s eyes like that!"

Marin blushed slightly, but Ada just laughed again, shaking her head. “You know we’re just helping out,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been running us ragged since we got here!”

“And I’ll thank the gods for your help today, truly!” Leora replied, her grin broad and unrelenting. “I would’ve had to get a horse to muck its own stall without you two!” She let out a boisterous chuckle, the sound filling the stable. “One of my girls didn’t show up, and it messed my whole day right up! Just vanished, no word, no nothing! Left me shorthanded and with more chores than a cat has lives!”

Ada paused mid-brush, her eyebrows raising as she exchanged a glance with Marin. His hands stilled too, a momentary flicker of concern crossing his face. But Leora, oblivious, just waved her hand dismissively and kept talking, clearly thinking nothing of it.

“Probably ran off with some boy,” Leora said with a laugh, shaking her head. “You know how these young girls are—romance on the mind and no sense left in their heads! I remember being that age. If I had a copper for every time I thought of running off with some scoundrel, I’d be rich by now! Don’t worry about it, she’ll show up, all flustered and full of excuses, just wait and see.”

Ada’s hand tightened around the brush; her earlier playfulness replaced by a growing unease. Leora’s light-hearted tone didn’t match the weight of what she’d just said, and Ada felt her stomach tighten, an uncomfortable knot forming.

Marin caught her eye, and she could see the same thoughts reflected in his gaze. The idea of someone just vanishing like that—especially in a small, close-knit town where everyone knew everyone—didn’t sit right. People didn’t just disappear. Not here.

Leora, however, carried on as if nothing were amiss, propping the rake against the wall with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, can’t count on people these days!” she said, her voice full of its usual exaggerated energy. “I swear, if one more thing goes wrong, I’m going to hitch myself up and pull the carts myself!” She winked, her eyes sparkling with her typical humor. “Not that I wouldn’t look good doing it!”

Ada let out a snort of laughter despite the tension, grateful for the reprieve. “I’d pay to see that,” she said, trying to keep the conversation light even as her mind raced with questions.

“And I’d make you pay double!” Leora shot back, giving her a mock stern look. “Now, enough chit-chat—get back to work, or I’ll start charging you rent for dawdling in my stables!”

Ada shook her head, smiling to herself as she turned back to the task at hand. Marin, still grinning, shot her a playful look before focusing back on the muck. But the lingering unease from Leora’s casual remark stayed with them, the strange comment about the missing stable girl casting a shadow over their earlier light-hearted banter.

Despite Leora’s relentless chatter and jokes, there was something off about the whole situation, something that neither Ada nor Marin could shake. They worked quietly; their thoughts now preoccupied with what they’d heard. Could it just be a case of a girl running off? Or was there more to it?

As they continued their work, Ada’s mind buzzed with the unsettling possibilities. Leora had laughed it off, but the town had been feeling different lately. Strange. Tensions had been rising, and whispers of things going wrong—small things at first, like food shortages or odd weather—had begun to spread. Now, with this new disappearance, Ada couldn’t help but feel like the pieces were starting to add up.

The stable fell into a quieter rhythm as Leora’s footsteps faded, her cheerful presence now gone. Marin caught Ada’s eye once more, his expression thoughtful, as if he too was grappling with the implications of what they’d just heard. There was a question hanging between them now, unspoken but heavy: what if this wasn’t just a runaway girl?

The horses shuffled in their stalls, the only sound breaking the silence, but even they seemed quieter, more subdued than usual. The world outside the stable felt just a little colder, a little darker.

"Do you think…" Marin began, his voice low, cautious, "we should ask more about this?"

Ada met his gaze, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t have an answer, not yet. But one thing was certain: something wasn’t right.

And they weren’t going to leave it alone.