Page 51 of Donovan
The village hall was larger than I had anticipated, the wood of the walls warm and thick, a fortress against the cold night air.
Long tables stretched out in rows, set with hearty platters of food.
The smell of roasted meats, vegetables, and fresh-baked bread mixed with the faint, still-lingering scent of smoke from the earlier battle.
It was a stark contrast. The warmth of the hall against the coldness of what we had just fought through, yet these people continued their lives.
The atmosphere was strangely light for a group that had nearly been wiped out hours before.
Conversations hummed through the hall, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clinking of mugs.
The shifters, sparing a few who lingered near the wounded, ate with quiet reverence, their expressions solemn but not defeated.
The weight of the battle was there, but it was as if they refused to let it take their spirits.
It was unsettling to see how they could be so unaffected by the very real threat that had almost wiped them out, yet I had to admire them for it.
Lena led us toward the head of the hall, where the Elders sat in their simple but well-made chairs.
Their eyes turned as we approached, sharp and evaluating, yet none of them showed fear. Jonas stood first. He gestured for us to take seats next to him.
“Come, sit. You fought for us. You are welcome here,” Jonas said with a voice that rang with sincerity.
Donovan didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself into the seat beside me, looking comfortable, like he belonged.
I, on the other hand, stayed standing for a beat too long, my instincts screaming to keep my back to the wall, to stand on alert.
My gaze swept the room. There were too many unknowns, too many unfamiliar faces.
But I caught Donovan’s eye, and without a word, I let out a silent growl and lowered myself onto the bench beside him. I wasn’t going to argue with him here.
Platters of food were brought to the table. Meats, cheeses, hearty breads.
Donovan dug in without hesitation, but since I no longer needed to eat human food, I held back.
I needed to process more of this place, this strange little village that had taken in two strangers without a second thought. The mugs of warm cider came next.
It had a sweet, spicy scent to it, and I couldn’t resist taking a sip.
The heat spread through me quickly, the warmth a welcome distraction from the coldness that had settled deep inside me.
The shifters around us ate as if it were just another evening, but there was something different about their actions.
A kind of reverence in the way they moved, a deep gratitude for the simple act of being alive. As if they could still taste the bloodshed of the day.
Some of them glanced toward the injured, whose bandages were fresh and clean.
They seemed to silently acknowledge their loss, but there were no tears. No panic. Just acceptance.
One of the Elders, a woman with streaks of silver in her dark hair, leaned forward. “You two are skilled warriors,” she said, a thread of respect in her tone.
“We’ve been doing this for a long time,” I said.
The words were automatic. Too many times I’d said them.
Jonas nodded, his expression solemn. “It shows. Which is why we’d like to make an offer.”
I could feel my grip tighten on my mug, the warmth suddenly feeling too hot against my skin. I didn’t like where this was heading.
