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Tavi kept Nub at a steady walk down the slope, eyes fixed on the lead wagon.

Tanna had waved back. She'd actually seen her.

Jonson rode just ahead, calling something to the riders flanking the caravan. Tavi only half-heard it. Her grin had been stuck on her face since the ridge and she couldn't make it stop.

Tinyhorn shifted on Nub's haunches, ears swiveling forward. Moss-ear was up there on Tanna's shoulder — Tavi had spotted him the moment they got close enough. The two rabbits would be touching noses in about a minute, she figured.

Nub huffed and tossed his head as the slope evened out. Tavi steadied him with a light hand on the reins, the way she'd practiced. He settled.

The wagons rolled to a stop near the southern gate. Maz was already moving toward the back of the lead wagon, talking to someone Tavi couldn't see. Marron climbed down from the bench. Tanna stayed where she was, watching her come.

Tavi guided Nub the last few paces and pulled him up alongside the wagon.

"Tanna! You're back!"

Tanna's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I am."

Moss-ear phase-stepped from Tanna's shoulder to Nub's head, settling between his blunt horn nubs, and Tinyhorn hopped up to join him. The two rabbits touched noses.

"This is Nub," Tavi said, patting his shoulder. "I bonded with him."

Tanna went very still. "You bonded?"

"A couple weeks ago. He lets me ride him now, and I can feel where his feet are when we're on the rocks."

Tanna studied Nub the way she studied all the animals — the look that saw more than Tavi did. Then her expression softened. "That's good work, Tavi."

Tavi felt herself sit a little straighter in the saddle.

"What's new?" Tanna asked.

"A lot." Tavi twisted to look at her properly. "We're getting more people. Like, a lot more. Families mostly. Some from the villages that got attacked. The chicken coop's bigger too — we have eighteen now, and Jem helps me feed them before he heads to the storehouse."

"Eighteen," Tanna said, mouth quirking.

"They lay a lot of eggs."

They passed through the gate together, Nub keeping pace beside the wagon. The settlement opened up ahead — rows of new housing where there'd been packed snow before. Tavi pointed toward the goat pen as they rolled into the main courtyard.

"We have four younger goats now. Three were born here, and one came down the mountain following Kesh." She tipped her head toward Jonson and the riders peeling off to flank the refugee wagons. "Edda wants more people trained to ride. Jonson's been teaching them."

Tanna watched the riders for a moment. "And you?"

"I help sometimes. Not the riding part — that's Jonson's thing. But I show them how to get the goats to trust them first."

The wagon rolled to a stop near the longhouse. Maz was already calling out something about unloading, and Marron answered her from the bench. Tavi swung down from Nub's back and held the reins while Tanna climbed off. Moss-ear and Tinyhorn phase-stepped to the ground between them.

"Are you tired?" Tavi asked.

"Yes."

"Was it dangerous?"

"Sometimes."

Tavi nodded. That was fair.

Tanna rested a hand on her shoulder — just for a moment — then moved off toward Snow Tusk to check his harness. Tavi stayed where she was, Nub's reins in her hands, watching her work with the same quiet competence she always had.

She'd missed her.

---

---

Mazoga dropped from the wagon bench and moved to the back, already reaching for the first crate. Two months away. Time to see what's changed.

She grabbed a crate of tools and turned—

"We've got this."

Tor stood behind her, Brenn at his shoulder. Both looked tired but ready to help. A third man she didn't recognize waited beside them, younger, with a strange armband.

"Edda wants you in the longhouse," Brenn added.

Mazoga set the crate back down. "You sure?"

"We've done this a few times now," Tor said. He gestured at the three refugee wagons behind them. "Routine."

Mazoga glanced past him at the families climbing down—mothers with children, older men with weathered hands, a few younger folks who still carried knives at their belts. They looked uncertain and a bit wide eyed.

"Who's handling people coming in?" Mazoga asked.

"Jem's on his way," Brenn said.

Mazoga blinked. "Jem?"

Brenn smiled. "He's been helping Edda. Sorting out where folks go, what supplies they need. Kid's good at it."

Before Mazoga could ask more, movement caught her eye.

Jem appeared from the direction of the storehouse, flanked by two militia members. He carried a wooden ledger under one arm and moved with confidence. He stopped at the first wagon, nodded to the driver, and started talking to the refugees in a calm, steady voice.

Mazoga watched as Jem pointed toward the longhouse, then gestured to one of the militia members who immediately moved to help an older woman down from the wagon. Jem made a note in his ledger, asked a question Mazoga couldn't hear, then nodded and moved to the next family.

Marron stepped down from their wagon, and Jem immediately approached him.

"Marron," Jem said. "what did you bring back?"

“Tools and magical items,” Marron replied. “Crates of them in the back. Carl had a list, so I imagine half of it is meant for him.”

Jem made another note. "I'll go through them and make a list. Carl and Varnak are at the forge—I'll send someone to tell them the items they requested are here."

"Sounds good."

Jem moved on, already talking to the next family.

Mazoga shook her head slowly. The kid who used to follow Marron around asking questions was now organizing things like he'd been doing it for years.

"When did that happen?" she asked.

"Started about a month ago," Brenn said. "Edda needed someone to track supplies and people. Jem volunteered. Turned out he was better at it than anyone expected."

"Better than me," Tor muttered. "I just build things. Kid knows where everything is."

Mazoga almost smiled.

She nodded to Brenn and Tor. "Unload it all. I'll check in with Edda."

"We will."

Mazoga turned and walked toward the longhouse, her boots crunching on the packed earth. Behind her, she heard Tor bark something about the second crate, followed by Brenn's quieter response.

The settlement had grown. Not just in size—though the new housing rows made that obvious—but in the way people moved. Confident. Organized.

Mazoga reached the longhouse door and paused, one hand on the frame.

Time to see what Edda had been building while she was gone.

---

---

Mazoga stepped into the longhouse, letting the door swing shut behind her. The warmth hit immediately—a welcome shift from the biting mountain air outside. The scent of cooked meat and wood smoke filled the space.

Edda heard her before she saw her.

"Back room," Edda called from somewhere deeper inside. "Give me a moment."

Mazoga moved through the main hall, noting the changes. The longhouse felt lived-in now—tables arranged for meetings and meals, benches worn smooth from use, storage alcoves filled with supplies instead of sitting empty. The central hearth crackled steadily, casting orange light across the space.

She passed through a narrow corridor and reached the back room she assumed Edda had claimed for her office.

The space was small. A sturdy table dominated the center, its surface covered with maps—some hand-drawn, others purchased from Threeburrow. Charcoal marks traced routes between settlements, supply lines, patrol paths. A wooden chair sat behind the table, simple but reinforced. Shelves lined the walls, holding ledgers and scrolls.

A bronze radio sat near the table's edge, its casing dulled but clean. The device hummed faintly, ready for use.

A rifle leaned against the wall beside the door—one of Carl's designs, loaded and within easy reach.

Edda stood near the window, reviewing a document. She glanced up as Mazoga entered.

"Sit," Edda said, gesturing toward the chair opposite hers.

Mazoga lowered herself into the seat, setting her warhammer against the table leg.

Edda set the document aside and studied Mazoga for a moment. "How are you?"

Mazoga considered that. "Pretty good, actually."

Edda's brow lifted slightly.

"The trip from Threeburrow was safer than the one from Glasshold," Mazoga continued. "Militia kept most threats off us."

Edda nodded. "That's thanks to what Kesh and Rurran built out. Joint operations between our militia and Threeburrow's military. They've been running coordinated sweeps for weeks now."

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Edda called.

June entered, carrying a tray. The older woman moved with ease, setting down a teapot, two cups, a wedge of cheese, and sliced bread. Steam curled from the pot, carrying the scent of herbs.

"Figured you'd want something warm," June said.

"Thank you," Edda replied.

June nodded once and left, closing the door behind her.

Mazoga poured herself a cup, the heat spreading through her hands. She took a piece of bread, chewing slowly. The cheese was sharp—local stock, probably from the goats.

Edda poured her own tea but didn't drink yet. She waited, letting Mazoga settle.

After a moment, Mazoga set the cup down. "There's a lot of change since the last time I was here."

Edda's expression didn't shift, but something flickered in her eyes. "Two months is a long time."

"Yeah," Mazoga said. "I left with partial walls and a half-finished longhouse. Now there's housing rows, expanded pens, a working command post with radios..." She paused. "It's amazing what been done is such a short time."

"We also have radios at every outpost, three new housing blocks, eighteen chickens, four young goats, and enough mana stones to keep Carl busy for a year." Edda picked up her tea, taking a slow sip.

Mazoga absorbed that.

The changes almost felt impossible.

But then, a lot of things felt impossible lately.

"What about the draugr?" Mazoga asked.

Edda's expression sobered. "Activity's increased. Three villages destroyed in the past two weeks. We've been taking in refugees—farmers, craftspeople, families with children. Most settle fast. Some struggle."

Mazoga's jaw tightened. People being displaced. Three villages gone. And more coming if the draugr kept pressing south. This was bad.

Mazoga took another piece of bread, chewing thoughtfully. The settlement had grown. Not just in size, but in reach. They weren't isolated anymore. They had allies, trade agreements, joint defenses.

"You built something solid," Mazoga said.

Edda's gaze held steady. "We all did."

Mazoga didn't argue. She knew Edda well enough to recognize when the woman deflected credit. But Edda had steered them through this—organized the refugees, coordinated the militia, negotiated the trade deals.

The settlement worked because Edda made it work.

"What's next?" Mazoga asked.

Edda set her cup down. "You rest. Eat. Then we talk about what you learned in Glasshold."

Mazoga nodded. That was fair.

She finished her tea and stood, lifting her warhammer. The weight felt familiar again—grounding.

"Thanks for the tea," she said.

Edda inclined her head. "Welcome home."

Mazoga left the office, closing the door behind her.