A Story Without The Villains Is Boring

Chapter 49: There's someone else out here with us.

We found makeshift seating on a log retrieved from the forest. Examining its size, I marveled at the strength required to cut such massive pieces of wood. The coachman's muscular biceps was a testament to his physical prowess, even in his uniform.

This realization sparked a new anxiety - I mustn't provoke this man, or his strength might prove lethal. Getting head lock with those biceps sounds nice though....

Grace returned to her cooking, a cauldron suspended over the flames. Engrossed in my thoughts, I spent half a minute gazing into the fire or sneakily observing the coachman's biceps. Both bear the same similarities. They were intensely hot and I couldn't help but reflect.

If only Ray had such muscles, I'd be in awe. Though, he's just a child, so my admiration would be misplaced.

Eventually, Grace handed me a wooden bowl, her intentions was unclear. I was puzzled by her actions.

"It's a soup, young miss. Please, partake in dinner," she clarified, assuming my unfamiliarity with the object in her hand.

"I apologize for not having plates or luxurious bowls among my luggage. I fashioned this bowl from wood gathered from the surrounding trees."

"No worries," I replied, casting her a sardonic glance. "Next time, consider being a theft. I spotted some golden utensils in the Bourghess house. A souvenir, perhaps?"

"I shall remember, young miss," Grace obediently responded, even though I had been joking.

"Just ensure you only pilfer from the wealthy. And make sure not to get caught."

Grace absorbed my advice earnestly. Even the coachman, sitting beside me and devouring his soup like a ravenous creature, seemed attentive.

A wooden bowl may not be visually appetizing, but the aroma of potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, pepper, and meat concocted a delectable scent.

I plunged my spoon into the fragrant brew, capturing a piece of meat that tantalizingly melted in my mouth.

The sensation of pure delight sparkled in my eyes, echoing the evident satisfaction on the coachman's face, who continued to shovel soup into his mouth.

A strange thought struck me as I finished eating the first bowl: How did Grace manage to include meat without causing a stench? I vocalized my bewilderment.

"Grace, didn't you refrain from bringing meat from Bourghess? How then did it end up in the soup?"

Grace, still munching, gestured toward the coachman. "Look at him."

And thus, the coachman answered my query.

"I hunted some birds roosting on tree branches with my bow."

I struggled to maintain a neutral expression, my disdain evident. How could he have slaughtered birds in front of a child?

My meal concluded, I settled down. There remained an unfinished bowl of soup on the ground, giving the appearance of completion.

"Finished already, young miss?" the coachman inquired.

I offered him a dry smile, my mouth parched.

"Yes, thanks to someone, my appetite has vanished," I responded, the jovial tone a veneer masking my intent to make him feel guilty.

However, he seemed impervious to my efforts. Was I too cute for him to notice my fake smile, or could he not discern it, being an adult?

Regardless, I was done. I lingered by the coachman, observing him with a glare that he seemed not to notice, absorbed in his meal.

Grace, accustomed to such interactions, collected the cutlery, but I instructed her to clean up when she was done.

Everything felt eerily similar to the temple, with the exception of our current forest setting. Darkness shrouded us, save for the fire's glow illuminating our surroundings.

Despite the presence of three moons, the dense trees obstructed their light. Feeling the need for light within the carriage, I inquired about a candle from Grace. She directed me to a lamp situated beneath the seat.

'That must've been the lamp I stumbled upon earlier.' I realized, harkening back to my earlier time in complete darkness.

Following Grace's directions, I reentered the carriage, a single candle illuminating my solitude. Heat was no longer an issue, for I had cracked open a window to usher in cooler air.

Outside, Grace and the coachman's voices buzzed in conversation, a hum that could be endured. Their talk lacked significance, making it easier to tune out.

Time slipped away, and I realized I had been gazing at nothingness for an hour. Replacing the used candle with a fresh one, I noticed an odd occurrence.

The voices had ceased, evaporating into thin air. Perhaps they had stopped a minute earlier, but my preoccupation obscured it.

An unease settled over me, prompting me to cautiously peer through the curtain at the unfolding scene. Grace wrestled with the fire, and the coachman's spot was conspicuously empty. He was nowhere in sight.

Panic stirred within me as I processed the situation. Grace fought to extinguish the flames, while the coachman had vanished from my view.

As I pondered the unfolding events, Grace abruptly stopped her efforts and gazed in my direction. Our eyes locked, and I involuntarily flinched.

Grace moved silently, swiftly opening the carriage door. Despite the dimness, I discerned her anxious expression, sweat on her brow.

She leaned in close, whispering, "Young miss, there's someone else out here with us."