The days slipped by, and the air grew colder. In the mornings, a thin layer of frost sometimes clung to the grass, sparkling faintly when the sun hit it.
Inside the village, the men were more active than ever.
They were not only preparing for winter. They were also busy fighting an invisible battle among themselves.
Isabella had not declared any competition.
But the men seemed to have decided on one anyway.
…
On one of the hunting days after her new orders, Cyrus returned before noon.
He walked through the village gate with steady steps. On his back, he carried a fat, medium-sized beast that looked perfect for roasting. In his hands, he held a bundle of roots and wild vegetables he had dug along the way.
The villagers greeted him casually. They were used to seeing him bring back practical catches.
Cyrus did not stop to talk. He went straight to where Isabella was sitting near the stone hall, reading over the new patrol notes that she had made with some resources.
