We moved deeper into the forest, leaving the hustle and bustle of construction behind us.

  With the borrowed cloak draped around her shoulders, Illara blended almost seamlessly into the shifting greens and browns of the undergrowth. The boots muted her steps so thoroughly that, more than once, I had to remind myself she was still only a few paces ahead. If I hadn’t known she was there, I would have missed her entirely.

  I watched her work.

  She crouched beside disturbed patches of earth, brushed aside leaves to examine prints in the damp soil, and studied nibbled plants with quiet focus. When she found a fern recently stripped of its fronds, she stilled completely. Beneath it, faint but unmistakable, were fresh hoof marks pressed into the mud.

  She glanced back at me, eyes bright.

  We followed the trail slowly. Every few steps she paused, reassessing direction, confirming sign. The forest felt hushed around us, as if holding its breath.

  Eventually, through a break in the brush, we spotted it — a goat grazing lazily among the ferns, unaware.

  “You should try with the knife,” I whispered. “The cloak and boots will do most of the work.”

  She nodded once and drew her blade.

  I slipped the bow from her shoulder and kept it ready, just in case the animal startled. Then she moved.

  Within moments, I lost sight of her completely. The cloak swallowed her outline; the forest reclaimed her shape. All I could do was listen — for a snapped twig, a sudden bleat.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  There was a quick blur of motion, a flash of steel, and a brief, sharp sound cut short almost immediately. The goat collapsed where it stood.

  Illara rose from the undergrowth, breathing a little harder but grinning widely.

  “This equipment is incredible,” she said, wiping the blade clean. “It makes hunting almost unfair.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” I replied. “You can borrow it whenever you wish.”

  Her smile widened further at that.

  We dressed the carcass efficiently, working side by side, hands steady and practised. Once it was ready, we secured it for transport and began dragging it back toward camp.

  There wasn’t time for anything else today.

  By the time we returned to camp, the sound of chopping and digging had ceased. The half-finished palisade cast long shadows in the late afternoon light. Everyone looked worn, but satisfied with the day’s progress.

  Jenna and Sera were crouched near the fire, tending a pot of boiling foraged vegetables. The scent of steam and woodsmoke hung comfortably in the air.

  “Welcome back,” Cain called as he spotted us emerging from the trees. His eyes dropped to the goat and his brows lifted approvingly. “I see you’ve had a successful hunt. Well done.”

  “We were fortunate,” Illara replied, unable to hide the pride in her voice. “Tracked it from a fresh trail. It should feed us well.”

  Cain stepped forward and relieved us of the carcass with practised ease. “This will lift morale nicely,” he said, already assessing where to cut. “Good work, both of you.”

  He began butchering the goat into manageable portions, movements efficient and economical. The children drifted closer, curious but respectful of the knife.

  “You two can rest,” Cain added without looking up. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour.”

  The thought of sitting down — of doing nothing — was deeply appealing. My arms still hummed faintly from the morning’s labour.

  But Illara’s expression had shifted into something far less restful.

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  She leaned closer to me, lowering her voice just enough to avoid carrying.

  “How about we disappear for a little while?” she murmured, a grin tugging at her mouth. “I think some fun is in order.”

  Her eyes flicked toward the trees — not subtly.

  The forest, it seemed, was becoming dangerously convenient.

  Despite the protest in my muscles from the day’s labour, I let Illara pull me deeper into the trees. The sounds of camp faded behind us until only wind and distant birdsong remained.

  When she seemed satisfied with the distance, she turned to me with a mischievous glint and slipped out of her clothes.

  “You’re not going to leave me standing here alone like this, are you?” she asked.

  I shook my head and undressed as well. For a moment we simply stood there, the forest cool against our skin, looking at one another without speaking. There was something quietly powerful about it — no armour, no expectations, just us.

  I stepped forward and pulled her close, brushing my lips along her neck.

  “Thank you,” she murmured softly. “I was hoping you’d take the lead.”

  I guided her gently down onto the forest floor, but she caught my wrist.

  “Wait,” she said, a spark of pride in her eyes. “I made something today.”

  From where she had tucked it aside, she produced a carefully carved piece of wood, shaped and smoothed with deliberate attention. There was a shy boldness to the gesture — experimental, but thoughtful.

  “I thought we could try it,” she said.

  There was trust in the way she offered it. Not pressure. Just curiosity.

  We adjusted ourselves slowly, awkward at first, laughing quietly as we figured out how to make it work. The sensation was new — different from anything I had known before — and there was a shared discovery in it. Our movements grew more certain, finding a rhythm together rather than forcing one.

  The forest seemed to close around us, holding the moment gently.

  Pleasure built gradually, not in sudden bursts but in steady waves. I felt it in the way her breathing changed, in the way her hands tightened around mine. When release came for me, it was intense enough to leave me breathless, the world narrowing to nothing but warmth and closeness.

  She followed soon after, clinging to me as her body trembled through it.

  Afterward, we stayed where we were for a few long minutes, breathing slowing, listening to the wind move through the trees.

  Eventually, she shifted, carefully setting aside her creation as we dressed again.

  “That worked better than I expected,” she said, unable to hide her pleased smile.

  “It was… incredible,” I replied honestly. “Thank you.”

  We made our way back to camp hand in hand, both of us wearing the kind of quiet smile that refused to fade.

  Sera spotted us immediately.

  “Well,” she drawled, eyes sparkling, “it appears you two had an enjoyable excursion.”

  Illara only giggled in response, which did absolutely nothing to dispel suspicion.

  Dinner followed shortly after. Fresh goat mixed with boiled vegetables might not have been refined cuisine, but after a day of relentless labour it tasted almost decadent.

  As usual, Sera, Faie, Ash, Illara and I settled together near the fire.

  Sera wasted little time.

  “So, Faie,” she began casually, “is there anyone you’re attracted to?”

  Faie paused mid-bite, considering the question with surprising seriousness.

  “Yes.”

  Sera leaned forward. “Oh? What are they like?”

  “Kind,” Faie replied.

  Sera blinked. “And?”

  “Tall.”

  A visible sigh escaped her. “Perhaps something more specific. A name, perhaps?”

  Faie took another deliberate mouthful before answering. “Joan. She’s a cleric in the town guard.”

  That got more of a reaction.

  “Does she know?” Sera pressed.

  “No.”

  “And are you planning to tell her?”

  Faie shrugged. “I am busy.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “You might want to make time. Life has a habit of moving quickly.”

  Faie turned her gaze on me, sharp and unimpressed. “You are hardly the authority on decisive romance. It took you an eternity to acknowledge Illara’s obvious interest.”

  The comment landed cleanly.

  Illara tilted her head thoughtfully. “It was only about two weeks of effort on my part,” she corrected mildly.

  “Only,” Sera echoed with amusement.

  Sera then pointed her spoon at Faie. “How about this. Once the leadership of the city watch has been dealt with, you ask her out. Wear your new dress.”

  Faie hesitated — an unusual crack in her composure.

  “And if she declines?”

  “Then you survive it,” Sera replied. “And move on.”

  Faie looked into the fire for a moment, thoughtful.

  I found myself considering the idea. A relationship might suit her. Redirect some of her sharper edges elsewhere.

  Or at least keep her occupied.

  The fire crackled between us as the conversation drifted onward, but I noticed Faie was quieter than usual — not withdrawn, just… calculating.

  Perhaps Sera’s suggestion had taken root after all.