Dreisterne

CHAPTER 20

The sun cast golden hues over Uschtenheim as days passed since the evening raid. The village slowly found its rhythm again. The fields, once marred by fire and battle, were gradually restored, and the air of sorrow that had clung to the streets was slowly replaced with cautious hope. The children, once caged like livestock, now ran freely, their laughter a stark contrast to the nightmare they had just escaped.

Dreisterne, however, had barely stopped moving. Harald had grumbled his way through the rebuilding efforts, though his complaints were more for show than genuine disdain. "Ach, I am a man of flame and fist, not of hammer and nail! Menial drudgery is unbecoming of me!" He paused for a dramatic sigh, continuing, "...and yet here I am, hammering away like a carpenter." He wiped his brow with exaggerated weariness before begrudgingly hammering another beam into place. Any villagers passing by simply laughed, having grown used to his complaints. Harald's spirited hammering was proof that his whinging had been nought but sound.

Nathan, unsurprisingly, had become a hero to the village children after freeing them from captivity and saving their home from von Hentzau's forces. Wherever he went, a small flock followed, their admiration evident in wide eyes and eager footsteps. They clung to his every word, watching in awe as he helped rebuild homes or lent a hand in the fields. When he sat to eat, they gathered around him, peppering him with endless questions, mainly about magic, about fighting, about the outside world beyond Uschtenheim.

"Did you really take on ten brigands at once?" one boy asked, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Nathan smirked. "It was probably less than that," he admitted, though the children gasped as if he'd just confirmed a grand legend.

A few of the boys immediately launched into a reenactment, wielding sticks as makeshift swords, swinging wildly at imaginary foes. "I'm Sir Nathan!" one declared, puffing out his chest. "I'll fight off all the bad guys!"

Another boy scoffed, "No fair! I called Nathan first! You have to be the brigand!"

Nathan tried to keep a straight face, but his cheeks burned a deep red. He stole a glance at his snickering friends and shot them a half-hearted scowl.

Nearby, a little girl crouched over a pile of stones, arranging them into what looked like a rough fire pit. "Nathan, how do you make one of those big fires? The ones that go whoosh?"

Nathan chuckled, crouching beside her. "Best to leave that to the grown-ups. But I can show you how to build a proper campfire, if you like."

The children clung to his every word, as if he were a wandering sage revealing ancient secrets.

Eventually, the time has come for the freelancers to leave, and Nathan's farewell with the children was difficult. Tiny fingers clung to his gambeson, their grips desperate and trembling. Tear-streaked faces gazed up at him, pleading without words. Some of the younger ones wrapped around his legs, their warmth pressing against his b oots, unwilling to let go even as their parents coaxed them. The older children stood still, swallowing their emotions, eyes red-rimmed but proud.

"Will you come back?" a little girl asked, tugging at his sleeve. "You can stay at my house! I'm sure Mama wouldn't mind!"

Nathan hesitated, not wanting to make promises he couldn't keep. "Maybe one day," he said. "But I think your village is better off with its own heroes, like you all."

"But we're not heroes..." a boy muttered, kicking at the dirt.

Nathan crouched down, his voice gentle but firm. "Be good to your family and each other," he said, resting a hand on the shoulder of a boy who had refused to speak since the rescue. "It's up to you all to look out for one another now."