Chapter: The Second Village
The dirt road wound gently through rolling meadows and golden grasslands, sunlight glinting off distant ponds. Keith's hooves clopped softly against the ground while Sarah hummed in her usual lighthearted tone, her mane swaying gently in the wind. Claribel held the reins loosely, humming as well, content after their small victory over the desperate bandits earlier.
"Sarah, Keith," she said softly, smiling, "I think we'll reach the next village soon."
Keith flicked his long ears back. "You think they'll be friendlier than the first one? Those villagers were polite, but so thin I could see their ribs."
Claribel's expression darkened slightly. "If things are that bad here too, we'll have to leave more of Roland's potatoes than planned."
Sarah's bright eyes shone. "It's worth it! Those potatoes feel… alive. When I ate one yesterday, my legs felt stronger, my heart lighter."
She giggled and glanced back at Keith. "What if… what if we keep eating them and grow stronger over time? Maybe we could reach Tier 3 someday."
Keith snorted, half in disbelief, half in wonder. "A Tier 3 donkey… That'd make us legends."
He straightened proudly. "Maybe we could even pull caravans of gold for the gods themselves."
Claribel laughed warmly. "If that day comes, you'll both have gilded saddles, courtesy of Roland."
The three shared a comfortable laugh as the dirt road bent into a narrow valley — and there, nestled between green hills, lay the second village.
It was unlike any they'd seen before.
Tall fences of woven reeds and bark surrounded the settlement, but instead of the usual human farmers, the people who greeted them were of a different kind — the herbivore beastfolk.
The first to approach was a tall rabbit-man with soft gray fur on his cheeks, long ears tipped in white, and gentle blue eyes. His name, as he later introduced himself, was Hareon — the village guard.
Behind him came others: Doeva, a graceful deer-woman with elegant horns adorned in wooden beads; Bovik, a sturdy buffalo-man with thick arms and a calm, rumbling voice; and Cowa, a young cow-girl whose curly brown hair framed a pair of shy, twitching ears.
Each of them had a distinctly human shape but retained their animal traits — fur along the arms and shoulders, hooflike feet, small tails, and the occasional marking of divine pattern glowing faintly under sunlight. Their presence radiated warmth and earthy gentleness.
Claribel dismounted and bowed lightly. "Greetings! I'm Claribel, a traveling merchant representing a farmer named Roland. He's offered me his harvest to trade and share — food for goods, simple and fair."
At her words, the villagers murmured, ears twitching. Hunger was written clearly on their faces. Bovik stepped forward, nostrils flaring slightly as he caught the scent of the potatoes in the wagon.
"Is that… food?" he rumbled, voice trembling. "Real food?"
Claribel nodded and uncovered one of the sacks. The scent filled the air — fresh, earthy, rich. Keith and Sarah stood proudly, tails swishing as the villagers gathered in awe.
Doeva clasped her hands together. "We've had so little… the forests are dry, and our crops haven't yielded this season."
Claribel smiled kindly. "Roland's crops are blessed. I can offer you potatoes in exchange for supplies — nothing fancy, just what you can spare. Sacks, linens, clay goods, even raw hide or simple tools. Whatever keeps trade fair."
Hareon stepped forward, his long ears tilting thoughtfully. "If you can feed us, you'll have our gratitude. And a permanent deal, if our mayor agrees."
Claribel nodded. "Then let's speak with your mayor."
They followed him to a large lodge built from bark and woven grass, adorned with horns and carved wooden figures of grazing animals. Inside, the village mayor awaited them — Elder Bovra, an elderly cow-woman with silver hair, warm eyes, and a gentle yet commanding voice.
When she saw the potatoes, her eyes misted. "It has been long since our children smelled true nourishment."
Claribel bowed respectfully. "We can start small — a simple contract. I bring food, and in return, your people help us sustain the trade. Roland doesn't seek riches. Only fairness and cooperation."
Elder Bovra smiled faintly. "Then you have found the right village, child."
She took out a scroll made from thin bark paper and inked her hoof-mark beside Claribel's name, sealing their deal.
When the first pot of potato stew began to boil, laughter returned to the air. The villagers' tails wagged or flicked in delight as the scent of cooking filled the square.
Claribel watched them eat, her heart swelling. She looked down at Keith and Sarah, who were munching grass near the fence.
Keith nudged her softly. "See? This is what we were meant for."
Sarah grinned, eyes gleaming. "Helping others… and getting stronger together."
Claribel smiled warmly, whispering, "Roland will be proud of us."
As twilight settled, the beastfolk sang a low, rhythmic song of thanks — voices of deer, buffalo, and rabbits blending in harmony with the crackle of firelight and the scent of boiled potatoes.
And far away, in the gentle night breeze, a divine warmth flickered through the pine-marked covenant — faint, but unmistakable.