HIS EVENING STAR

Chapter XIII

Nova

The crisp autumn air nipped at my cheeks as I stepped out of the cabin. The farm, once a peaceful haven, now buzzed with an urgency that both excited and unnerved me. Winter was coming, and with it, a sense of anticipation that seemed to infect every corner of our small world.

I paused for a moment, my eyes scanning the farmyard. The trees that lined the property were ablaze with color – vibrant reds, warm oranges, and golden yellows. It was beautiful, but I couldn't shake the feeling that this beauty was fleeting, a last hurrah before the harsh winter Elijah had warned me about.

Making my way to the smokehouse, I could see him was already hard at work. Through the open screen wall, his movements were practiced and efficient as he checked the hanging meat. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and I found myself captivated by the intensity of his focus.

For a moment, I simply stood there, watching him. There was something about Elijah that both intimidated and fascinated me. He was like the land itself – rugged, unyielding, yet capable of unexpected moments of beauty.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to help?" his sudden voice broke through my reverie.

I startled, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. Had he known I was watching him this whole time? "S-sorry," I stammered, stepping into the smoky interior. "I was just... thinking."

He grunted in response, gesturing to a pile of herbs on a nearby table. "Those need to be bundled and hung. The meat won't preserve properly without them."

I nodded, grateful for the task. As I began to work, my nimble fingers tying the fragrant bundles, I found my thoughts drifting. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity, with Elijah pushing us to prepare for what he insisted would be a brutal winter.

"What else do we need to do?" I asked, eager to contribute, to prove my worth. "Before the snow comes, I mean."

Elijah seemed to consider my question, his eyes scanning the smokehouse as if mentally cataloging our progress. "We've got the food mostly sorted," he said, ticking off items on his fingers. "But we need to reinforce the house – seal up any cracks, make sure the roof is secure. And we need more firewood. A lot more."

I nodded, absorbing the information. "What should I do to help?"

Something flickered in his eyes that I couldn't detect. "We'll see about that. But first, we need to finish up here."

As we worked side by side in the smokehouse, I found myself stealing glances at him. There was so much I still didn't understand about him, about this place. But with each passing day, I felt less like an outsider and more like... what? A part of something? The thought both thrilled and terrified me.

As the day wore on, we eventually moved outside to begin gathering firewood. The forest around the backyard was a tapestry of autumn colors, leaves rustling gently in the crisp breeze.

I watched in awe as Elijah swung the axe, cleanly splitting log after log. His movements were fluid and practiced, but I couldn't help noticing how he always kept his cloak draped over his right side, even as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

The rhythmic thud of the axe filled the air, punctuated by the occasional crack of splitting wood. I busied myself gathering the split logs, stacking them neatly nearby. The mystery of his ever-present cloak gnawed at my curiosity.

Finally, as he paused to wipe his brow, I gathered my courage. "Uhm," I began hesitantly, "don't you get too hot with that cloak? Especially on your right side?"

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Elijah's body tensed visibly, his grip tightening on the axe handle. For a heart-stopping moment, I feared I had overstepped, but I held my ground, waiting for his response.