Page 42 of Horned to be Wild
“This detail is incredible,” murmured Mrs. Gable, running her fingers lightly over a carving of a fox. “The door frames are amazing enough but I had no idea of the range of your talent.”
An elderly orc spent nearly twenty minutes examining a complex forest scene. “You’ve captured the way light filters through leaves better than any photograph could,” he said finally. “I can almost see them fluttering in the breeze.”
As the morning progressed, a small crowd gathered around his booth. Questions came, tentative at first, then with increasing enthusiasm. Where did he find his inspiration? How long had he been carving? What woods did he prefer to work with?
He answered each question carefully, gradually growing more confident. He found himself explaining the way cherry wood warmed under his hands differently than oak, how he sometimes felt the shape waiting within a piece of wood before he began carving.
“It’s like the wood tells me what it wants to become,” he explained to a wide-eyed child. “I just help it along.”
Throughout it all, he felt Lila’s presence beside him, her own booth equally busy but her awareness of his milestone apparent in every proud glance she sent his way.
Around midday, he noticed a sharply dressed woman lingering at Lila’s booth. Unlike the casual browsers, she examined each painting with methodical attention, occasionally making notes in a small leather-bound notebook. Her tailored suit and precise movements screamed “city,” triggering a familiar twinge of anxiety in his chest.
He tried to focus on his own customers, but his ears strained to catch snippets of the conversation happening next door.
“…remarkable use of light…”
“…unique perspective on rural subjects…”
“…would fit beautifully in our spring showcase…”
The woman introduced herself to Lila as Suzanna Vargas, owner of a prestigious gallery in Manhattan. His hands tightened on the edge of his table as he heard her discussing the possibility of featuring Lila’s work in an upcoming exhibition.
“It would mean coming to the city for the opening, of course,” Suzanna said. “And ideally staying for a few weeks to meet potential buyers and critics. You have a unique perspective, Ms. Monroe, and I believe that people would be intrigued by your background and inspiration.”
The old fear clawed at his throat—the city, taking someone he loved away again. He glanced at Lila and saw the undisguised excitement in her eyes, the way she leaned forward slightly as she listened to the gallery owner’s proposal.
This was her dream. Recognition of her talent, a chance to share her art with a wider audience. Everything she deserved.
The familiar impulse to withdraw, to protect himself from inevitable loss, rose within him. But now there was a new voice in his head, a stronger one. Loving Lila meant wanting her happiness. It meant supporting her dreams as fiercely as she had supported his.
Before he could second-guess himself, he went to join her, putting his hand gently on the small of her back.
“You should go,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the effort it took. “Show them what you can do.”
She looked up at him, frowning, then her face softened as if she understood what this moment cost him.
“Torin—”
“Your work deserves to be seen,” he continued. “And you deserve this opportunity.”
Suzanna Vargas raised an eyebrow, clearly reassessing the situation as she observed their exchange. “Mr. Stonehand, isn’t it? I was just admiring your work earlier. The craftsmanship is exceptional.”
He nodded his thanks, but kept his focus on Lila. “We can figure out the details,” he told her. “If you want this, we’ll make it work.”
He recognized the truth in his words as he spoke. Their love wasn’t a cage that confined them to one place or one way of being. It was a foundation strong enough to support them both. And if they had to part temporarily, they would always return to each other.
Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she reached up to touch his face. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of conversations and sales. To his astonishment, nearly all of his pieces sold, many at prices that made him blink in surprise. People didn’t just appreciate his work; they valued it enough to make it part of their homes, their lives.
As the fair wound down and the golden light of late afternoon shimmered on the lake, he found himself in a quiet moment at his now nearly empty booth. Next to him, Lila was deep in conversation with another customer, her hands moving animatedly as she explained her technique.
She caught his eye and smiled, a radiant expression that held not just happiness but love. For the first time in his life, he didn’t fear what lay ahead. Whatever came next—Lila’s exhibition inthe city, his own growing recognition as an artist, their life together in Harmony Glen—they would face it side by side, their love not a limitation but an endless source of strength.
He smiled back at her, letting his own happiness show. Around them, the last few customers wandered between the tents, admiring the art and crafts created by their neighbors. Snippets of conversation drifted by on the breeze:
“Did you see Torin Stonehand’s work? Absolutely extraordinary…”
