It took twice as long to get back to the orchard on foot. By the time they reached Haley’s home, the setting sun had doused the land in an amber hue, and growing shadows had begun to crawl along the foot of the hills. Crickets were preparing odes for the coming nightfall. The two paused outside the front door.

“Thanks for walking with me,” said Haley. Her eyes fell to the ground. “I feel a little nervous after seeing that foreign man.”

“Don’t worry about him,” replied Dryden. “Byromar isn’t the town to visit if you’re looking for trouble.”

“I suppose…”

They stood in awkward silence as Dryden scrambled for something to say. “You and your parents are still welcome to come to Vilitamian’s farewell party, if you’d like.”

“I can’t,” murmured Haley. “I have to catch up on all the work I skipped today. But I’m glad we got to go to the bluffs.” She opened the door and stepped inside. “Enjoy the party.”

The door clicked shut. Dryden remained in place for a moment, his gaze resting idly on the door’s weathered and split oak panels. He returned to the road with a dull weight tugging on his heart. Pity for Murar intermingled with his own self-empathy. That man had no chance with Haley, and neither did he. Murar lacked the wit, the looks, and the personality, he lacked the human blood required for an acceptable courtship.

I should just forget about it. She’s already risking her reputation by spending time with a thruin. And it’s not like it can go anywhere.

He kicked at the fallen twigs and loose pebbles strewn across the main road. A faint wind caressed the leaves of nearby trees. The flames of sunset had begun to give way to the moon’s flaccid glow, while Zaltoras prowled along the horizon, slowly engulfing the sky as it prepared to encumber the land in another indefinite stretch of dreariness.

Watching it brought an unexpected pang of loss, as if Dryden were bidding farewell to a close friend.

I hope it’s not another two years before Zaltoras leaves again.

‡

Cheerful voices drifted over the hills as he neared his home. A dancing ball of orange glowed in the distance, a sure sign that Flint had started a fire out by the barn.

Candlelight seeped through the house’s cracked shutters, and the smell of pie wafted from inside. Dryden hurried his pace, but the rustle of nearby footsteps froze him in place. Two dark figures scurried away from the property then vanished behind a thicket of trees.

Who was that? They’re going the opposite direction of the main road. They’ll end up in the middle of nowhere if they go that way.

He debated following them, but thought better of sneaking up on people in the dark. They were either drunk, lovers, or both. He headed for the back entrance to his house instead, away from the voices that laughed alongside the flickering bonfire. He climbed the crumpled steps and jostled the door until it unjammed itself from its sagging frame.

A sweltering heat welcomed him as he entered. Nearly a dozen candles lit the house. The kitchen’s brick oven billowed with flames. People crowded in the sitting room to his left, chatting, clinking mugs together, and filling the air with merry voices. Baked goods and hoppy ale teased his nostrils.

His focus narrowed on a staircase straight ahead, barricaded by droves of partygoers. He buried his hands in his pockets to prevent any eyes from settling on the bandages that ran from his knuckles to his wrists. Gaze downcast, he marched in the direction of the stairs in an attempt to reach his room uninterrupted.

Hardly a dozen strides passed before someone took him by the shoulder. He spun about to find his sister Monilia fixated on him, her azure eyes bright as two stars. “Where have you been?” she asked in a playfully stern tone. “I spent all afternoon cleaning. I could’ve used your help.”

Dryden gave a weak shrug. “Sorry, I didn’t know you wanted me around. I figured you’d want to be alone with Vilitamian today.”

Monilia rolled her eyes. “Please. I can’t wait for him to leave.”

Dryden didn’t reply, somewhat bemused by the remark. Monilia held a serious face for a moment, then broke into a grin. “I’m joking. It’s going to be the longest five months of my life. I have to plan the wedding all by myself. It’s a little stressful, to be honest.”

“Well, if you need any help with that,” offered Dryden, “let me know.”

Monilia twisted a length of hair around her finger. “Men don’t make good wedding planners. I’ll let you and father handle the lifting and moving once we’ve started setting up.”

Dryden chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“So where were you today?” asked Monilia. “You’re never this late coming home. You weren’t trying to outwait the party, were you?”

“No, I went to the bluffs today.”

Monilia’s eyes lit up. “Really? Who’d you go with?”

“Wait…” Dryden hesitated a moment. “…Why do you think I went with someone?”

His sister’s lips bowed in a mischievous grin. “I’m not a dunce, little brother. You went with Haley, didn’t you?”

Dryden felt his face flush. He ducked his head and turned away from Monilia as she giggled to herself.

“You make it sound so scandalous,” he muttered. “It’s not like that.”

“‘It’s not like that’,” chided Monilia, her tone rife with mockery. “Spare me! You’re enamoured whenever she’s around. You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

“Whatever,” grumbled Dryden. “You’re still exaggerating. Let me go change out of my work clothes.”

He rushed for the stairs, but Monilia called out behind him. “Hurry back down! I want to know everything she said.”

Dryden spoke over his shoulder in reply. “It’ll bore you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Dryden sighed, though he couldn’t keep a grin from forming. His sister had a way of lifting his spirits.

Nobody else bothered him as he climbed to the upstairs’ cramped confines. He crouched below the slanted ceiling and slipped into his bedroom. Darkness welcomed him as he shut the door. A thick sheet of fabric prevented any light from passing through the lone window. The bed rested to his left, and a dresser stood straight ahead on the opposite wall. He walked blindly through the blackness until his fingers pressed against the face of the dresser. After changing into a new pair of clothes, he untied the bandages wrapped around his hands and tossed the strips of fabric to the floor. He stood for a moment, running a finger along the bumps on the back of his bare hand.

They were hard as marble, as if gems had been imbedded into his skin. Two larger pieces lay half-buried in both palms, with thick veins trickling down to his wrists. Feeling the bumps reminded him of when they first appeared eight years ago. He could have filled a bathtub with the blood that dripped from his hands. The pain had been unlike anything he’d ever endured. Now, they were nothing more than horrible scars, ones which he felt compelled to keep covered.

The drawer grated against the dresser sides as he pulled it open, his mind half-glazed by the sour memories. Rows of clean bandages lined the inside, all neatly folded and organized. He took a new pair and wound the fabric from his wrist, over the rigid scars, up past his knuckles.

Hands covered, he retraced his steps to the stairs and pattered back into the frenzied buzz of Vilitamian’s farewell party. Monilia stood at the base of the staircase, caught in a seemingly uninteresting conversation with an older woman. As Dryden joined her side, she rested a hand on the lady’s arm.

“And here he is now. It was lovely speaking to you, Rita.”

Rita gave a wrinkled smile and greeted Dryden with a taut nod of the head. Dryden exchanged half of a formality before Monilia tugged him in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s get something to eat.”

They wormed past the folks lingering about the oven’s scorching fire. A kettle screeched as it spat steam into the air. Fingers plucked at the array of food laid out on the dining table.

“Give me the details,” said Monilia. “You asked her to go to the bluffs, she said yes, then what?”

“She actually asked me,” replied Dryden. He gave a brief recount of all that had happened, though he excluded the details about the foreigner they had crossed. It only took one extra pair of stray ears before something like that would erupt into a blaze of rumours.

Monilia’s zeal had dwindled to a contemplative expression by the time Dryden neared the end of his story. “So she didn’t even seem to consider coming to the party?”

Dryden shrugged. “She’s got a lot of work to do, I guess.”

Monilia gave a sympathetic smile. “Well, she wanted to spend the day with you. I think that’s a promising start.”

“You make it sound like I’m courting her.” Dryden broke the corner off a biscuit he had taken from the closest dish. “There’s no point. You know the—”

Monilia cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Yeah, yeah. It’s against the law for thruins and humans to marry. I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“The punishment is stoning.”

Monilia furrowed her brow. “And who’s going to stone you? This is Byromar, not Feldamor or one of those other big cities.”

Dryden opened his mouth, but his sister raised a finger. “You’re bringing me down with your seriousness. Look, there’s Deletha. Seems like she’s having a grand time.”

Deletha, the oldest of the three siblings, stood cross-armed by the dining table, watching her husband as he wove some kind of bombastic tale to a deeply engrossed couple. She looked over at Dryden and Monilia, rolled her eyes, then accompanied them by the oven.

“I swear,” she said. “Wismire always has to make a scene with his stories. I thought I married a farmer, not an actor.”

“You can hear his voice from across the room,” said Dryden with a smirk.

Wismire flicked his wrists, as if he were snapping the reins of a horse. His small audience laughed as he rode atop an imaginary steed. He careened to the side, yanked on the reins, and accidentally spilled a drink resting on the edge of the table.

Deletha buried her face in her palms. “Oh, he can be so embarrassing sometimes!”

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Monilia, “Vilitamian is drunk as a sailor right now. I don’t even know where he is.”

“You two picked interesting men to marry,” said Dryden.

Deletha made a helpless gesture. “What fun would marriage be if your partner was plain and ordinary?”

“Speaking of marriage,” said Monilia with a wink. “Dryden spent his day at the bluffs with a certain someone.”

Deletha’s eyes glowed. A mocking grin creased her face. “Oh, really? So that’s why he was out so late.”

“That has nothing to do with marriage,” grumbled Dryden. “And it’s not why I’m late.”

Deletha made a smug expression. “Is that so? Did you get lost on your way back, perhaps? Maybe stumbled into the bushes by accident?”

Cheeks burning, Dryden fumbled for an answer. His sisters both seemed to relish in his discomfort. He muttered a few half-formed phrases, then nearly cried out in relief as their mother Liliana joined the circle. “Dryden, where’ve you been all evening?” Her narrow cheeks and delicate lips twisted into a scowl, as if her own question annoyed her.

“Actually, it doesn’t matter. Could you take some wood to the bonfire?”

Dryden’s shoulders relaxed. “Gladly.” He cast his sisters a vengeful look as he parted, though it only managed to draw snickers from the two. Navigating his way past the guests, he escaped the dense heat of the house and inhaled the fresh air outside. The shed rested a stone’s throw away; its rickety form paled in comparison to the one he was building for Martron. Rain always leaked through the straw roof, and the rotting beams looked ready to give out with the slightest gust of wind.

The smell of damp wood and moss hung heavy inside. Dryden shooed away several flies then grabbed an armload of wood. Loose pieces of bark clung to his bandages. He grimaced. Not many things annoyed him as much as dirtying a brand new pair he’d just put on.

People cheered as he arrived at the bonfire with a new stock of wood. The crowd had grown to over a dozen, seated in a semi-circle with drinks in hand. Dryden noticed Vilitamian among the group, staring at him with the glossy eyes of a man who’d drank more than he could handle. He held up his mug and hollered. “Oi! It’s my future brother! A fine replacement, if I do say so!”

He leapt from his seat and nearly fell into the fire. Foam sloshed over the lip of his mug as hands reached out to steady him. He pulled away, and wavering like a skipjack caught in a storm, he bumbled towards Dryden. “You know—” He hiccupped, wrapped his arm around Dryden, then led him away from the fire. “My only brother died when I was nine years old. The flu, I think it was.”

“Yes, you’ve told me before,” said Dryden.

Vilitamian tipped his head back and finished his drink. He shook the last remaining drops from the rim, then looked up at Dryden, his expression grave. “What I mean is, I think fate has sent you as a replacement. Because my father ran off when I was four, and my brother passed away five years later. I look up to you and Flint. You’re the role models I never had.”

Dryden craned his neck to escape Vilitamian’s rancid breath. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Vilitamian looked towards the horizon, as if he were deep in thought. He let out a long sigh. “I’m going to be gone for a while. I want you to take good care of Monilia till I’m back.” He held up his hand like a poet at a recital. “I love her more than a bird loves the sky. If I lost her, I don’t think I’d want to live anymore.”

“Me neither,” said Dryden. “She’s the best sister I could ask for.”

Vilitamian murmured in agreement. “Since I’m leaving, I wanted to tell you that I think you’re alright. I know I haven’t talked to you all that much, or been the friendliest, but I like you. I hope you’ll be happy to call me a brother.”

Dryden patted Vilitamian on the back. “Of course I will. But we ought to get you some water. I don’t want you vomiting in the guest bed tonight.”

Vilitamian ran a hand through his sandy-coloured hair. “You know, I think you’re right. I’d love some water.”

Dryden took Vilitamian’s mug and helped him towards the house, one wobbly step at a time. They laboured up the front step, teetering every inch of the way. Dryden reached for the door, but paused at the sound of feverish footsteps drumming from the outskirts of the property.

He squinted into the shadows. Someone sped towards the house while gasping for air, as if they’d been running for hours. A short, stocky silhouette bound towards them, barged past, then flung open the door. It slammed into the coatrack and sent hats and jackets sprawling across the floor.

“My husband is missing!”

It was Bevera, one of the nearby neighbours, a stout, middle-aged woman currently doused in sweat. She hunched over to reel for air. “He hasn’t come home yet! Something’s happened!”

A hush fell over the party. Folks gathered around as Bevera began to bawl like a child. “He’s gone! I don’t know where he is! He’s never come home late before! I know something terrible has happened! I don’t want to be a lonely widow! What am I going to do?”

Dryden seated Vilitamian on the front step and watched Deletha take Bevera’s shaking hands in her own. “It’s okay. Deep breaths. What do you mean your husband is missing? What happened?”

Bevera wiped her eyes on her sleeve and let out a long huff. “Sargan always comes home right after sundown. We’ve been married thirty-two years, and he’s never stayed out this late—especially not without telling me. He went to Bonial Woods today to set some traps, and he still isn’t back. Something terrible has happened, I know it!”

Flint stepped forward. He rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Maybe he stopped to help a neighbour. Have you spoken to Tamel or Wislon?”

Bevera nodded feverishly. “I’ve talked to everyone, even Grien and Enli. None of them saw my husband today.”

Apprehensive murmurs started to fill the room as people wondered aloud over Sargan’s disappearance. Bevera began sobbing again. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders throbbing as she cried. Flint eyed the crowd with an irritated look. He raised his arms to quiet the room.

“Stop it, all of you! We don’t need to waste time guessing what happened. Dryden and I will go check Bonial Woods, and if we can’t find him, we’ll gather a group to search in the morning.”

“He won’t survive until then!” howled Bevera.

“You don’t know that.” Flint picked up the coatrack and sifted through the pile of clothes. He pulled out his hat, threw it on, and parted the thick brown hair from his eyes. “Why don’t you sit down and have a drink to calm yourself? We’ll be back before sunrise, and Sargan will be with us.”

The sun beat down on Dryden’s back, the warmth an odd phenomenon, one he wished he could take for granted. He set his hammer down and reclined on the shed’s half-finished roof. A spotless sky smiled down at him, the eternal stretch of blue interrupted only by a lone golden sphere. Zaltoras was nowhere in sight.

Funny that they would name a cloud, as if it were a living creature. When was the last time it vanished like this? Two years ago?

How strange the sun felt, its caress something neither fire nor steam could replicate. Why must it always hide beneath Zaltoras, that sheet of darkness? Zaltoras brought the rain, the thunder, the lightning—all unpleasant things. The sun brought warmth, brightness, tranquility—pleasant things.

Footsteps sounded somewhere nearby, snapping Dryden from his daydream. He sat up to a flock of sheep and the pasture’s rolling hills sprawled before him. He looked over his shoulder. His boss, Martron, walked towards him, his young son following at his heels like a loyal pup. “Young man, it seems like the sunshine is distracting you from my shed,” he said with a laugh.

Dryden fumbled for his hammer and box of nails, eyes searching for where he had left off. “I’m sorry. I just paused for a minute to look at the sky.”

Martron rubbed his chin with his wiry fingers. “It’s keeping us all from our work, eh? It’s nearly two hours past noon, and I’ve hardly moved.” He glanced down at his son. The boy stood with two fingers in his mouth, bright blue eyes fixed on Dryden. “Why do you look so frightened? Say hello.”

The boy muttered something incomprehensible and held up a wooden soldier for Dryden to see. Dryden smiled back. “That’s a nice toy you have.”

“It’s mine.”

Dryden chuckled. “I won’t touch it.”

Martron tousled the boy’s hair. “It’s simply too difficult to work on a day like this. My wife and I plan to take my son on a picnic instead. Work will always be there tomorrow, right?”

Dryden scanned the shed Martron had hired him to build. The frame was finished, and the cedar siding had all been cut to size. It’d go up rather quickly, but if he focused on shingling the roof, he could have that done and out of the way by the end of the day.

“Dryden?” Martron looked up with a half-smile. “I said work will always be there tomorrow, right?”

Dryden scratched the stubble on his cheeks. “I can keep going…”

Martron waved his hand. “Pah! Zaltoras is gone. You’ve been working hard—you deserve a little break.”

“I really don’t mind...”

Martron’s grin faded. A serious expression overtook his hard-edged features. “Take the day off. And don’t run back home to help your father around the farm. Relax for a little while.”

A smile crept onto Dryden’s lips. He brushed the ink-black hair from his face and threw on a knitted hat. It was a little warm for the summer, but it hid his pointed ears well.

He gathered his tools and leapt from the roof, landing with the grace of a cat. “I appreciate your generosity,” he said, as he stowed everything in the shed. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“You deserve a day to yourself.” Martron gave him a sly wink. “A young man your age has other things to do besides work.”

“And what would those things be?”

Martron turned to leave. He spoke over his shoulder as his son chased after him.

“Whatever men in their twenties like to do. Things a wife and child forced me to abandon.”

Dryden opened his mouth, paused, then departed without a word. Flocks of cinereal sheep bleated at the three as they crossed the fields to Martron’s home. The sizeable building dwarfed every other house in town. It garnered a state of near nobility with its proud display of brick and mortar, glass windows and slate roof. Beside it stood a wooden barn painted a strawberry red. Not a single board looked split or rotten. Even in a village as small as Byromar, the position of mayor promised wealth beyond what mere farming could ever produce.

Martron stopped at the door to his house. His son scampered inside while he remained beneath the porch’s awning. “You’re not going to the tavern, are you?”

The question caught Dryden off guard. “Why do you think I’m going there?”

A bout of guilt shaded Martron’s brow. “I was just asking. Don’t look so offended. I know you’re no carouser. It’s just…you might want to keep your distance. Gravenir told me some foreign looking fellows checked in recently. There’s quite a few of them, and um…” He chewed on his lip, eyes downcast as if he were about to give some tragic news. “…He’s not too sure what they think of thruins.”

Dryden flinched. As the lone thruin in a town of humans, the issue of standing out never seemed to wane. With his pointed ears covered, though, one would never suspect his race unless he were to somehow cut himself and they witnessed the exposed blood fade to its striking white colour. Even then, the chances of a confrontation were rare in a place like Byromar. But the thruins long, hostile history with humans still gave him enough reason to exercise wariness around any strangers.

“Thanks for the warning,” he said. He adjusted his hat and fluffed out his hair until it drooped across his shoulders.

A serious frown lingered about Martron’s jaw. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

Dryden smiled. “It’s better to be cautious.”

They bade farewell, and Dryden set his sights on the stretch of trampled grass that folks called the main road. Divots lined each side, formed by the heavy and frequent tread of wagon wheels. It wove along the edge of several forests capped in resplendent bouquets of lush verdure. They seemed to sparkle under the naked sun, and the leaves chattered gleefully with every gust of wind. Dryden took a long breath and imbibed the crisp aromas.

His trek brought him to an orchard. Rows of apple trees speckled the green hills with red and yellow dots. From somewhere deeper inside, a woman hummed to herself, her voice accompanied by buzzing bees and whistling birds.

Haley stood halfway up a ladder with her back turned to Dryden, stretched on her toes while she filled a basket with ripe fruit. Dryden crept unnoticed, picked a rotten apple from the ground, and tossed it in her direction. It bounced off the side of the ladder with a delightful thud.

Haley yelped and dropped her basket. The ladder wavered a moment before she steadied herself and collected her composure. “Dryden!” she cried. “I didn’t even hear you coming!” She brushed the hair from her face and gave a playful sneer. “You’re wicked. I nearly fell off.”

Dryden stooped over and began gathering the apples back into the basket. “Don’t worry, I would’ve caught you.”

Haley climbed down and knelt beside him. “I hope you’re prepared to explain to my father why all the apples are bruised.”

Dryden held one up, twisting the plump fruit with his fingers. “They look alright to me.”

“They don’t bruise immediately. What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you building Martron a hay shed?”

“I am, but he told me to take the day off.”

Haley gave a sideways glance. “So you decided to bother me instead?”

Dryden stood up and threw the basket of apples onto his shoulder. “If it’s alright with you. Where should I bring these?”

Haley pointed to the far end of the orchard. “Would you carry it to the shop for me?”

“Only if you forgive me for scaring you.”

Haley rose to her feet and brushed loose blades of grass from her knees. “I’ll think about it.”

She led the way to the shop, a small wooden hut with a grand apple painted on a sign above the door. Metal chimes rang as they entered. The smell of baked fruit drifted from within.

Haley disrupted the chimes a second time as she shut the door behind them. “Father? Are you in here?”

A man appeared from behind a display of jelly with several jars cradled in his arms. “Hello, Haley.” He looked over at Dryden. “It seems you’ve found a helper.”

Dryden waved his free hand. “How are you, Chrizodo?”

“I’m doing well,” answered Haley’s father. “What brings you here?”

“Martron gave me the rest of the day off, so I thought I’d stop by.”

“That’s nice,” Chrizodo murmured, as he placed the jars onto an empty shelf. “How is your family doing? I hear your sister’s fiancé is leaving tomorrow morning.”

Dryden frowned. “Yes, Vilitamian will be gone for almost five months. But we’re having a farewell party tonight, if you’re interested.”

“I’ll do my best to make it,” said Chrizodo, never shifting his eyes away from the jelly.

Haley took the basket from Dryden and set it on a nearby counter. “Dryden asked me to go to the bluffs with him.”

“I didn’t—” Dryden’s words dried up in his mouth. Chrizodo eyed him with what looked like amusement, though his subtle expressions made it difficult to tell what he was thinking. “We have a lot of work to do,” he said to his daughter.

Haley tilted her head and smiled. “We always have lots of work to do. But Zaltoras is gone, and Dryden came all the way here to invite me. I don’t want to be rude.”

Chrizodo continued setting jars on the shelf, this time with his eyes fixed on Dryden. “I imagine your mother would needed help setting up for the party.”

Dryden shuffled his feet. “Well, yes, I should be home some time before the guests arrive.”

“We’ll only be an hour or two,” said Haley. “And his mother has plenty of helping hands at the moment.”

Chrizodo straightened his back as he placed the last of the jelly on a lower shelf. He examined the rows, and adjusted each jar until they sat in perfect synchronization. “Alright, you can go, but if you’re not back before sunset, you’ll have to sweep in the dark. We can’t afford to waste any candles.”

Haley skipped for the door, her skirt twirling about her knees. “Thank you, Father!”

The metal chimes declared their departure as she flung open the door. Dryden turned to close it, and met Chrizodo’s stare before he stepped out. The man’s lips arced upwards in the faintest manner, but still managed to deliver a clear message. Dryden gave a cordial nod, then hurried after Haley, making a conscious note to leave some space between the two of them as they walked for the main road.

Haley watched him from further ahead, her expression half mockery, half glee. “Are you scared of my father?”

Dryden smirked. “What do I have to be afraid of?”

“Nothing at all.” Haley tossed back her head. Her chestnut hair trickled over her shoulders. “You know, my father and Flint used to be quite the rebellious duo. They were notorious in Byromar—you couldn’t take your eyes off them, or they’d start some sort of trouble.”

A brief silence flickered, as if the past had enraptured her imagination. She turned to Dryden with a shrewd mischief in her eyes. “So how did you become such a stuffy old man if Flint was the one who raised you? You never have time for anything but work.”

Dryden shrugged. “My real father must’ve been a stuffy man, too.”

His remark erased the smile from Haley’s face. “No—I—sorry…I didn’t mean to word it like—”

Dryden brushed his hand through the air. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I’m the first person to be abandoned as an infant.”

“Yeah, that’s true…” Haley gave a quiet titter. It failed to dispel the tension that had begun to swallow the air around them, so Dryden altered his attention to the road and changed the topic. “Why do you want to go to the bluffs?”

Haley curled her lips, and put on an air of indifference. “Because I was bored. The orchard can get lonely sometimes. We’re so far away from the main square, and we hardly get any customers. Though we might travel to the city soon and rent a stall at the marketplace. I hope we do—it would be so exciting!”

They chatted casually for a time, until the sound of hooves clopping down the road interrupted the conversation. Two horses crested a hill with a small wagon in tow. A man steered from the front seat, his face hidden by a worn straw hat. He brought the horses to a stop in front of the two and lifted his brim.

Haley waved to the man. “Good afternoon, Renoll.”

Renoll smiled, his grin checkered with two missing teeth. “Good afternoon, Haley.” He looked over at Dryden. Hesitation seemed to hamper the muddy brown of his eyes.

“Same to you.”

Dryden nodded, well aware of the sudden awkwardness.

“Are you headed to your farm?” asked Haley.

Renoll nodded. He pointed his thumb at the wagon’s contents. “I just picked up a load of hay from Daven’s place. I’m on my way back now.”

“Would you be kind enough to take us to the bluffs?” Haley cast an irresistible smile, one Dryden felt no man with a heart could say no to.

Renoll bit his lip. His eyes darted in Dryden’s direction for a split second. “The two of you, eh?” He pondered for a moment, but Haley’s charm must have trumped Dryden’s heritage. The amicableness soon returned to his face. “Well, it is on the way. I suppose you could hop in the back with the hay.”

Haley clapped her hands together. “Thank you!”

Dryden tried his best to ignore the nervous eyes of Renoll as he climbed into the wagon. Taking Haley by the hand, he hoisted her up, and they flung themselves into the prickly mound of straw.

‡

A fervent wind, jostled into existence by the ocean’s unending fury, tore away loose strands of hay and rapped Dryden’s hair against his face. The wagon slowed to a halt, and Renoll turned around with one hand on his hat to keep it from blowing off.

“We’re here,” he called in a voice raised to compete with the wind.

Dryden and Haley leapt down from the wagon. “Thanks again,” said Haley. “Have a lovely afternoon.”

Renoll smiled at her, then nodded tersely to Dryden, as if he only possessed enough pleasantry for one person at a time. As he departed, Dryden and Haley moved for the bluffs—a stretch of insurmountable cliffs facing the eastern ocean.

The water was rough today. White foam rode the dark blue waves. Dryden mounted the fence that guarded the edge of the cliff and seated himself. Far below, waves crashed against the rocky base and swirled about in a whirlpool of froth.

Watching the pelagic bustle left him feeling heavy, as if the water kept forlorn memories imprisoned beneath its surface. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

Something brushed his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Haley seated close beside him on the fence. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I don’t know…” Dryden turned to face the ocean. “There’s something about the bluffs—I’m not sure what it is. It seems a sad place, like a graveyard.”

Haley narrowed her eyes. “That’s odd. What’s it have in common with a graveyard?”

Dryden chuckled. “I don’t know. It just has that invisible presence.”

“You’re a strange one.”

Haley clicked her feet together as they sat side by side, no words exchanged while the ocean stormed below them. Dryden’s mind began to wander, though it never strayed far from the touch of Haley’s shoulder against his own. Maybe I should say something. He peeked at her from the corner of his eye. Or maybe not. Damned if I had a clue…

He chose to relish the silence, though it didn’t last long before loud, deliberate footsteps interrupted. A square-jawed fellow approached the two with his tiny eyes locked onto Haley as if she were a fount in a desert. “Hello, Haley. What are you doing here?”

Haley peered over her shoulder with a disinterested mien. “Oh…hello, Murar. You aren’t at your father’s today?”

Murar straightened his posture. Dryden noticed him puffing his chest slightly. “No, I decided to go for a walk today, since Zaltoras is gone. Business is going well, so I can afford to take the afternoon off.”

He cast Dryden a quick glance after the last remark. Dryden took no heed, instead leaning into Haley just enough for the man to notice. To his delight, it sparked a flare of obvious envy. It practically oozed out of Murar’s eyes and nostrils.

“I’m glad you’re doing well,” Haley said in an absent-minded tone.

Murar adjusted his feet and stroked his clean-shaven cheeks. “Yes, I am enjoying it. I was actually planning on heading south later. I could walk you home this evening, if you’d like.”

Haley ran a finger along the fence. “That’s kind of you, Murar, but Dryden is taking me home.”

Murar’s eyes darkened. “I see. Well, as long as you have someone to escort you.”

Haley giggled. “Yes, Byromar is rife with danger, isn’t it?”

“It can be,” murmured Murar. He stood awkwardly for a moment before flashing a smile too wide to be genuine. “It was good talking to you, Haley. Enjoy your day.” He trudged away, shoulders sinking with each step.

Dryden watched him depart. A slight empathy fluttered in his stomach, yet he couldn’t keep his lips from splitting into a stupid grin.

Haley turned to him with a sour expression. Her cheeks glowed red. “What are you smirking at?”

Dryden couldn’t hold his composure. He laughed to himself and brushed loose hair back under his hat. “You’re quite the heartbreaker.”

“I am not!” grumbled Haley. “It’s just…he’s a little strange. He makes me feel uptight.” She furrowed her brow. “I’m not interested in him—it’s as simple as that.”

“I think that’s a good reason,” said Dryden.

Haley blushed even more. She ducked her head. “So what do you think of your sister’s fiancé? Vilitamian? He’s sounds quite wealthy. I heard he’s building a house that’s going to look over the ocean.”

Dryden opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as a figure clad in a night-hued cloak hurried by. Their eyes met for a brief moment. The stranger had a harrowing stare. Purple shadows ringed his sullen eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days. A sword hung from his belt—an oddity in a town as peaceful as Byromar. His long and frenetic strides carried a sense of earnestness, one that suggested he was in a rush to be somewhere of the utmost importance.

Haley and Dryden both craned their necks to watch him move along the bluffs. His shadow almost seemed sentient, as if it possessed more spirit than his body. An odd aura hung about him, something Dryden couldn’t quite define.

Haley leaned close and spoke in a serious tone. “I saw that man before! Three days ago, I think. I found him wandering in the orchard. He asked me if anyone else worked here. I could barely understand his accent, but I told him it was only me and my parents, so he turned and left for the shop. It was the strangest thing.”

“Did he buy anything?”

“No. And he asked my father the same question. It was like he was looking for someone. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just ask, though. We all know each other in Byromar.”

Dryden checked to make sure his hat still covered his ears. “Is he one of the visitors staying at Gravenir’s inn?”

Haley held up her hands. “I don’t know. I didn’t know we had foreigners staying in Byromar.”

“Martron told me today. He said to keep a distance.”

Haley’s mouth gaped. “Are they hostile? That guy had a sword.”

“I don’t know. I know nothing about them.”

“I wonder if we should talk to Gravenir.”

Dryden frowned. “What could they possibly want? There’s nothing in Byromar but crops and livestock.”

“I suppose they could be visiting.” Despite her hopeful words, Haley looked far from convinced. “It’s awfully strange, though, to ask both me and my father the same question. His Velian was good enough for him to explain why he wanted to know that.”

“What does your father think?” asked Dryden.

Haley pursed her lips. “The same as me. That man was looking for someone, but for some reason, he wouldn’t say who.”

Dryden dug his heels into the fence. “Maybe we should let Martron know. I’ll tell him tomorrow. If he or any of the other foreigners start acting strange, he can send for some guards from Feldamor.”

Haley sighed. “I hope they’re just visiting. Byromar has nothing to protect itself with.”

“Byromar has nothing to protect. If he’s so desperate to find someone, he can ask around. There’s no need to be secretive about it.”

“Then why was he?” asked Haley.

Dryden shrugged. He looked to his right. The stranger had already made it quite a distance. The wind rippled his long black cloak; his shadow flickered atop the grass. Though it was difficult to tell from so far away, it seemed like he had turned around and was staring back at him.