Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 24 - Leavi

I've forgotten what it's like to be in a house—the cozy heat of a fireplace, the sensation of bare feet against wooden floors, a towel to dry off with, clean clothes against my skin. Though the living room fire is small, the towel is rough, and the clothes drape on me like I'm a little girl who's stolen her father's nightshirt, we're in a house. We're safe inside a solid building that doesn't rock with the wind. Tomorrow, we won't break it down and pack it up. It will stay here, whether or not we do. That knowledge anchors my thoughts. It's refreshingly normal, refreshingly human. People are not meant to be herded like animals.

A quilt wraps around my shoulders as I sit in the floor before the fire, its reviving heat dispelling the chill of my wet hair. Sean sits beside me, brooding over the flames. I scoot closer to him, voice low. "Who are these people?"

He glances over at me, then slides his gaze back to the fire. "How am I supposed to know?"

"But how are they here? And why—"

"Riveirre!" I jump, and he looks me dead in the eye. "I. Don't. Know. Okay?"

I press my lips together but nod and slide back to where I sat before. The fire crackles in the silence.

A few minutes later, our hostess returns. "Are you two dry now?" The woman's accent is thick, making her Common even harder for me to understand. However, my months with the Traders at least produced some fruit since I can, in fact, understand her. I won't be completely lost, like I was at the beginning of this journey. I cling to that thought.

"Yes. Thanks," Sean answers.

"Of course! Couldn't leave you out there in the rain, could I?" Smiling, she ushers us into the dining room, where a pot of soup waits on the table. As soon as its savory scent hits my nose, my mouth waters. After months on scraps of dried fruit and jerky, this simple food looks like a gourmet delicacy. I force myself to wait for an invitation to sit.

Picking up a silver bell from the table, she raises it above her head and rings it repeatedly. The jangling tones stab my ear, and I flinch. "Dinner!" she calls.

I hope she's calling other inhabitants of the house and not her somewhat deaf husband standing right behind her. Apparently, he has the same fear. "I'm right here, dear," he informs her at a decibel just above a comfortable level. "No need to raise your voice."

She gently swats him. "I wasn't calling for you, silly." Ringing the bell as though daring it to break, she shouts again, "Dinner!" As I hide my wince, I wonder if maybe she's the reason her husband lost his hearing.

Little feet pad excitedly down the hallway, and a seven-year-old girl bursts into the room, grinning. Behind her, a deep voice calls, "No running inside, Zena." He shoulders in as she clambers into her seat. Zena pushes to her knees in her chair, hands braced against the table. Her ash-blonde hair falls into her face, and she blows it out of the way, annoyed. "Who are you two?"