The past few days passed like warm wind drifting through the valley.
Morning after morning, the planting fields grew greener.
Tender sprouts pushed through the soil with a stubborn joy, lifting their tiny leaves toward the sun. Beastmen gathered around the rows of crops each dawn, amazed that food could grow from the earth instead of the forest. They watered. They weeded. They guarded the fields as if guarding treasure.
And every afternoon, the stone hall echoed with the chatter of females sewing.
Needles flashed. Bright threads ran through soft hides and woven cloth.
Clothes, bags, straps, wraps—beautiful things began to appear everywhere.
Word spread quickly through the forest.
A village with crops.
A village with skilled women.
A village protected by a goddess.
A village that would survive winter.
Every two or three days, wanderers approached the gates, hoping to migrate, but the guards turned most away. Only those Isabella approved were allowed inside.
