By midday, the tension in Kael's gut had eased, smoothed over by the sheer absurdity of village life.
Oakhaven was a place of misery, yes, but it was also a place of ridiculous, petty dramas that served as the only entertainment for the poor. Kael was stacking logs behind the tavern when a commotion erupted in the main street.
"Murderer! Assassin!"
Kael dropped his axe and jogged around the corner. A crowd had gathered, laughing and jeering.
In the center of the muddy road stood Old Man Hobb, the village's oldest and deafest resident. He was eighty years old, bent like a windblown pine, and currently waving a walking stick at Widow Prynne.
"You trained it!" Hobb shrieked, his face a map of purple veins. "You trained that fucking beast to target my legacy!"
Widow Prynne, a formidable woman with arms like tree trunks, stood with her hands on her hips. Beside her, a goat chewed placidly on a piece of orange rind.
"It's a goat, Hobb!" Prynne yelled back. "It doesn't have a strategy! It just eats garbage!"
"My prize pumpkin was not garbage!" Hobb swung his stick, missing Prynne by a foot and nearly hitting the village priest. "It was the size of a wagon wheel! I was going to win the fair! I was going to be a legend!"
"It was rotten on the vine, you old bat!" Prynne countered. "The goat did you a favor. If the judges saw that mushy abomination, they'd have exiled you!"
Kael leaned against the tavern wall, crossing his arms. A chuckle bubbled up in his chest. It was absurd. It was petty. It was life.
He felt a warm presence beside him. It was Bess, the tavern's head barmaid. She was older than Kael, with a laugh that sounded like cracked brass and a bosom that she used to intimidate unruly drunks.
"Five coppers on Prynne," Bess whispered, bumping her shoulder against Kael's.
"No bet," Kael grinned. "Hobb's got the reach, but Prynne has the weight advantage."
Bess looked at him, her eyes softening. She reached out and brushed a woodchip from his shirt collar. Her hand lingered a moment too long. "You look tired, honey. Gorm giving you trouble again?"
"Gorm is Gorm," Kael shrugged. "He thinks money makes him a man."
"He's a pig in a velvet vest," Bess muttered. She lowered her voice. "If you need... extra work. Or just a warm meal tonight. The tavern closes at midnight. I could leave the back door unlatched."
It was an offer he had heard before. Bess was kind, and her bed was warm. In the past, on lonely nights, he had taken that offer. It was comfort, nothing more.
"You're too good to me, Bess," Kael said gently. He didn't say yes, but he didn't say no. He let the possibility hang there, a soothing balm for his bruised ego.
In the street, the goat let out a loud bleat and snatched the walking stick from Hobb's hand. The crowd roared with laughter.
For a moment, the darkness of the woods, the cruelty of Gorm, and the secret guilt of Elara felt far away. They were just people living small lives in a small valley.
But the sun was dipping below the peaks. The shadows were stretching, long and thin, like grasping fingers reaching from the forest toward the houses.