By the time Gilbert left the militia camp, the sun had risen even higher overhead. Its strong brightness cut the landscape into hard lines: dazzling, pitiless gold and deep, never-ending shadows. Sweat dripped down his neck and spine, soaking the collar of his tunic till it clung uncomfortably to his flesh.
He wiped it with the back of his forearm, brushing the coarse linen against his sweaty forehead. Then he drew a deep, trembling breath and returned via the twisting durt paths of Ashwood.
The village seemed even more hollow than usual.
Doors hung slightly ajar on leather hinges, and cracked shutters swung with tiny creaks in the gentle breeze. Unproductive small crops in some free lands. A skinny brown dog lay stretched under a wagon, ribs pressed against its hide, one ear twitching occasionally.
But there was little evidence of life among the inhabitants — the men and women who were meant to be this place's beating heart. Gilbert strolled carefully past the low-rise houses, his eyes seeking for any face, any indication that someone would step forward.
Gilbert strolled through the tight areas between homes, hoping for a hint of cooperation. Of life.
He began with a gaunt man sitting on a broken step, shoulders so thin they appeared to snap under the weight of his head. Gilbert attempted to smile.
"I'm calling for hands," he announced, his voice weak. "To help strengthen our perimeter."
"It may not be long before we face another invasion; we should prepare now, while we can."
The man did not respond. His sunken eyes shifted momentarily, taking in Gilbert's optimistic expression, before drifting away to stare at the fractured clay. His lips moved dryly and silently. When he finally spoke, he let out a melancholy sigh. Then he dragged himself up and turned inside, without saying anything. Gilbert's heart fell. He went on, noticing two older women standing by a pile of half-mended baskets. He gave them a nod and tried again.
"Please — if we start now, we might stand a better chance if… when fighting comes again."
One woman let out a thin, humorless bark of laughter. "What will it matter? We all just hide, if one comes loose, prayers… prayers." The woman just turned her head, cradling an armful of dried grass like a swaddled newborn.
Gilbert's shoulders dropped. His mouth opened and closed. Then he stepped back, his boots throwing up light puffs of powdery dirt. He tried again and again. A bent old man leaning on a cane who just shook his head. A mother clutching her thin child so tightly the girl squeaked. A girl with skin burned dark from sun exposure, eyes fixed on some far, unreachable horizon. No one would stand by him.
They're already dead inside, Gilbert realized bleakly. Just waiting for someone to close their eyes for them. By the time he trudged back toward the middle of Ashwood, the sun was a branding iron on his back. His heart felt bruised and small, beating in a tight cage of hopeless ribs.
Then, sharp and unexpected, a pebble broke against his forehead.
Gilbert let out a hoarse gasp, raising his palms to his brow. Heat erupted beneath his skin, blazing and pulsating. When he took his fingers away, he discovered a small smear of blood.
"What in the—"
He looked around excitedly.
Two children stood around a dozen paces apart. One was a sun-darkened boy with a narrow, pointed face and eyes that seemed too old for his age. Beside him stood a girl with tangled hair in a loose braid, holding a damaged fabric doll to her bosom.
The boy snorted and balanced another small rock in his fingers. "Told ya it'd work."
"Did you—did you throw something at me?" Gilbert sputtered.
"Yup." The boy grinned, big and unrepentant. "You looked like you were about to kill yourself, moping like that. And I'm bored. WAHAHAHAHA."
Gilbert opened his mouth. I closed it. Then I just stared at them, little dizzy.
The girl hugged her toy more tightly. "My mother is unable to come. She's feeding the baby. But I can assist carry. Or hold the axes. "Or run if you need me to."
The young boy inflated his tiny chest. "Been watching you since morning. Out there doing strange things with monster bodies. I thought that was cool, Creepy and Manly! Honestly. "Better than hiding."
Gilbert then bit his lip inside in his thoughts wishing he didn't see much of it. It was very unsightly for anyone, even for him as a first timer. Then he remembered the girl, so she was the one inside the room of that lady rummaging stuff, he couldn't get a clear view since it was crummy and dark inside.
Something hot stung the corners of Gilbert's eyes. He swiped it away with the heel of his hand, voice cracking. "You're children. I can't—"
"You ain't askin'," the boy shot back, fierce. "We're offerin'. Not much worth waitin' for otherwise."
The girl clutched her raggedy hay-stack doll tighter but nodded, her small mouth set in a determined line.
Gilbert laughed, thin, slightly wild. Then he crouched, setting his axe down to rest one hand on each of their narrow shoulders. He crouched for a long time, one hand resting softly on each of their tiny shoulders. The boy's clothes hung loosely on a skeletal body. The girl's arms, curled so tightly around her ratty doll, seemed like they'd snap under any weight.
Up close, it was heartbreakingly clear: they weren't brave young fighters, but rather two malnourished children with the hard shell of someone who had seen too many graves. His throat worked. He finally let out a deep, shuddering sigh.
"You're brave," he said, his voice raspy.
"You're braver than most grown men I've met. I'm afraid you'll get bruised and even get sick."
The boy's mouth opened, most likely in protest, and his eyes flashed with that keen, reckless spark. But Gilbert softly squeezed his shoulder.
"It's not a disgrace. That is reality. You're too little right now. Too exhausted. Alright?" He tried to compensate of words, as his not really good with children. The girl's lips quivered. Gilbert briefly considered crying. But she merely grabbed her toy harder, blinking rapidly.
He gave them each a sweet, sleepy grin.
"Thank you guys, haha… That matters more than anything else I have heard today. Go back. Find shade. Drink whatever water remains in your pans. And if you hear anything—screams, find me, okay? "
The boy glared, as if daring Gilbert to confront him. But after a lengthy, silent pause, he merely gave a brief nod. The girl did the same, extending out her small hand to grab her brother's. Gilbert stroked the boy's dust-stiff hair lightly before pushing himself to rise. The weight of the axe fell to his hand, anchoring and grim.
By the time Gilbert returned through Ashwood's few pathways to the militia's temporary camp, the sun remained a cruel overseer, staring down like a molten eye from a pale, washed-out sky. The heat pressed against his shoulders and crawled along his back, soaking into the rough fabric of his tunic, leaving it sticky and unpleasant.
It was probably just mid-afternoon, maybe three o'clock at most — but the long-splintered shadows from crooked houses were already creeping out across the broken soil, grasping for him like thin black claws. The ground itself felt parched and desperate for night, even if it meant worse.
Okay, he thought, stomach twisted. Axes, six battered militia, and a few hours remaining. Perhaps barricades. Perhaps in shallow trenches. Anything. How can even look back to Sir. Garric.
He was so caught up in frenzied half-formed schemes that he almost missed the faint scrape of small feet in the dust behind him. Okay, he thought, stomach twisted. Axes, six battered militia, and a few hours remaining. Perhaps barricades. Perhaps in shallow trenches. Anything.
The young Lord was so caught up in frenzied half-formed schemes that he almost missed the faint scrape of small feet in the dust behind him.
Gilbert froze in his tracks. Slowly, he turned.
There they were. The boy and the girl. Standing about ten steps behind, attempting to appear unintentional. The boy's hands were deep in his pockets, and his head slanted up in a slight challenge. The kid twisted her doll's limp cotton ear so hard that it threatened to tear, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground.
Gilbert glanced at them, his mouth slightly wide. Then he let forth a choked sound—half a laugh, half a grunt that seemed to seize uncomfortably in his throat.
"You're following me," he remarked almost accusingly, in a slightly tired tone.
The child shrugged and raised his slender shoulders with fake disinterest.
"There ain't much else to do here." "Maybe there's something we can carry that's not logs."
The girl looked up, her eyes wide and black, afraid but with a subtle, fierce spark.
Gilbert's heart twisted sharply. He shook his head and furrowed his brow.
"No," he replied. "No—I told you already. You are too little. You are exhausted. You can't—it's not your responsibility to assist with this."
The boy's mouth formed a tight line. He did not move. Gilbert took one step forward and lowered his voice.
"Go back." Please. Find some shade, sit with your mother, and wait till the evening. "This is work for people who can break their backs and stand up again."
They still didn't move. The girl pinched her doll's face till the fabric crumpled. The boy's eyes were narrowed and stubborn. Gilbert let out a frustrated breath. He ran his hand through his sweaty hair, feeling strands stick to his forehead.
"Hear me out, for the love of God. "If something happens while you're with me, I can't guarantee that I can…." he sighed.
Nothing. Not even a flinch.
Gilbert was still in a state of annoyance and mild terror when a low voice burst through the dusty path.
"So, what is all of this? "
He almost screamed. His heart gave a furious lurch, and he spun around so rapidly that he almost fell.
Sir Garric, the militia's eldest member and the leader, stood there with a long scar that etched a pale line down his cheek and a huge iron-banded sword slung across his back. Even standing there, arms folded carelessly, he had the calm gravity of old, dangerous men who had seen too many conflicts.
Gilbert's throat worked. His hands fumbled on the haft of his axe.
"Sir Garric." I — I did not see you there."
"Aye. That is often the point."
Garric's weathered brow rose slightly. His eyes moved from Gilbert to the two children standing awkwardly behind him. Then return to Gilbert.
"You appear flustered, lad. What are you up to out here? What about your new task? Or are you just takin' a stroll with the local brats? "
Gilbert's mouth opened. Then it was closed.
For a painfully long second, all he did was stand there, hands twisting and thoughts blank. His stomach twisted slightly.
"I couldn't..." he finally said, his voice shaking. "I couldn't get a single—"
Thunk.
A little rock slammed into his back.
Gilbert flinched so sharply that he let out a short, undignified yell and jerked forward. He swung around, gazing daggers at the two children.
"Would you quit it?! " He snapped, his voice rising high.
Johnny simply stuck out his tongue, utterly unapologetic. Eva half-hid behind him, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes.
When Gilbert returned, face flushed and breathing heavily, he noticed Garric staring – first at the children, then at him. The ancient soldier's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So, who are these two? And why are they scurrying behind you like starving ducklings?"
Before Gilbert could respond, the youngster stepped forward, puffing his scrawny chest.
"My name is Johnny," he said, his voice faltering slightly as he tried to project confidence. He thrust his thumb over his shoulder. "This is Eva. "Don't bother her; she thinks you're scary."
Eva quickly squeaked and tucked her face against Johnny's back, gripping her doll so tightly that the head bulged.
Garric snorted. "Am I a scary person? Hah. "I suppose I've earned that."
Then he looked closer, the deep creases in the corners of his eyes tightening. "What's your game, eh? Why follow a half-pint lord around when disaster is brewing? "
Gilbert attempted to step in, flapping his hand awkwardly. "They were just leaving, actually, I was about to—"
"No, I wasn't! Johnny spoke up indignantly. "He's not telling the truth! This guy has been trying to leave us all day. He's mean. Anyway, he phoned for assistance, correct? So, we are here. "Because someone has to be."
Gilbert's mouth dropped when he saw its sheer, unabashed cheek. Garric then stared at Reinhardt. His face stayed as rigid as aged stone, for a heartbeat that seemed to linger forever. Then, suddenly, it cracked and looked towards the kids.
A deep, harsh guffaw rose from his chest, rocking his wide shoulders.
"By the gods," Garric wheezed after a time, stroking his damaged cheek. "It's been—ha!" - it's been too damn long since I've laughed."
Johnny blinked, briefly disoriented. His gaze shifted from Garric's large, scarred hands to his crinkled eyes, which seemed less fierce.
"Oi, are you mocking me? " The child demanded, attempting to appear dangerous. However, there was a tremor in it, like a stray leaf rustling in the wind.
Garric just put out one big palm and lightly placed it on Johnny's head. His fingers were rough, his palm hefty, but the contact was surprisingly soft - like a grandfather supporting a beloved kid.
"Not mockin'," Garric said. "Just… rememberin' what hope used to look like."
Eva glanced up, her wide eyes softening. Even Johnny, after a second, stopped scowling as intensely. Garric then turned that look on Gilbert — a crinkling, delighted expression that yet held the weight of tumbling earth.
"You amuse me, young Lord," he mumbled.
"Not because you brought farmers, workers, possible soldiers—you failed at that. "But this..."
He gently ruffled Johnny's hair. The boy ducked halfheartedly, attempting to conceal a surprised little grin.
"This says more than a hundred peasants clutchin' pitchforks. Even if it's little, it's there. A spark. You ever hear the old line? That it's children who pave the roads to tomorrow — even if they walk it barefoot and hungry. A world that can still make 'em stand up like this… that's a world worth bleedin' for."
The old man chuckled. "You know, I'm keepers of my promises. Never got a hearty moment now and then. Haha."