Chapter 24 – Croquettes and Cold Nights
Axel stood at the edge of the clearing, staring out into the dense shadows of the forest that stretched endlessly beyond the warmth of the firelight. The night was deep, the wind cold, and the air sharp with the bite of winter, but there was something irresistible about the forest's call. It whispered to him through the rustling leaves, through the crackling branches, and perhaps most insistently, through his own thoughts.
But Axel refused to heed its pull, not yet, not tonight. Not when the village still needed him.
The fire crackled beside him, its orange glow flickering across the stone hearth and casting long, thin shadows on the ground. His workshop, nestled behind the warmth of his small cottage, stood silent and empty save for the half-finished bowls and the clattering of utensils. Tonight, however, the tools had a different task to perform. Instead of crafting pottery, Axel had turned his attention to an experiment of a far more personal nature.
He had no idea whether it would work—whether the strange combination of leftovers would do what he hoped—but he could not ignore the opportunity. He could not ignore the promise.
Axel had been thinking about the forest a great deal over the past week, ever since the first snow had fallen and the nights had grown long and cruelly cold. The harsh winter winds had driven the villagers closer together, not just by necessity, but by something else, too—a shared hunger for warmth that had brought an entirely new layer to their lives. And Axel, who had spent years refining the art of cooking, of bringing comfort to those around him with his dishes, found himself pondering one thing: warmth. True, deep, encompassing warmth. A warmth that went beyond the heat of a fire or the embrace of woolen blankets.
He thought of the boar fat, rich and earthy, left over from the last hunt. It had been a gift from the forest, and while most of it had been used for other purposes—seasoning, preserving, even as a remedy—it had struck Axel as something with untapped potential.
Then there were the roots. Long, fibrous tubers, unearthed during the cold months, have starchy, hearty qualities that could withstand the bitterest nights. He had worked with them before, making rustic broths and simple stews, but tonight, he had a different vision.
With a purposeful movement, Axel gathered his ingredients and began. He took the boar fat and slowly melted it down, letting its rich scent fill the air. The roots were pared, then grated, the dense pulp starting to gather in small heaps at his feet. He mixed them together with a pinch of salt, a dash of ground pepper, and just the right amount of patience. The result was something akin to dough, dense and malleable, its texture promising a crispy bite on the outside, with a tender, soft center.
Axel carefully shaped the mixture into small rounds, perfect for frying. Each croquette was a little sphere of promise, a bite-sized comfort for a world steeped in cold. The firelight flickered against the pan as he dropped them into the bubbling fat, and the sizzle that greeted them was the first sign that his experiment might actually work.
As the croquettes cooked, Axel let his mind wander, not to the forest this time, but to the village. To the children who had begun huddling together by the fire, their little bodies stiff with cold, their teeth chattering in the bitter winds. To the elders, their bones worn by years of labor and hardship, who could never quite seem to escape the chill that settled into their bones with the passing years.
For them, this dish—this humble creation—might just be enough. It wasn't just the food, Axel realized. It was the ritual, the comfort of sharing something hot and filling on a night so cold it felt like it might last forever. If his croquettes could offer even a small fraction of that warmth, perhaps he would have done something worth remembering.
One by one, the croquettes turned golden brown, their crisp exteriors a promise of something hearty, something that could stave off the night's chill. Axel carefully removed them from the pan, setting them on a bed of herbs to drain the excess oil, and with a satisfied smile, he took the first bite.
The warmth that spread through him was immediate and comforting, the saltiness of the boar fat mingling with the earthiness of the root, the crispy exterior giving way to the soft heart within. It was perfect—just enough richness, just enough texture, just enough warmth to fill him completely.
A small voice interrupted his reverie.
"Axel? Are you… Are you cooking something?"
Axel turned, surprised, to find Miri, the young daughter of the village healer, standing in the doorway of his cottage. Her dark eyes were wide with curiosity, her small form wrapped in a heavy cloak, her cheeks flushed with the cold.
"I am," Axel said, a grin tugging at his lips. "Something new. You want to try one?"
Miri's eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. "Yes, please!"
He held out a croquette for her, and she took it with a shy smile, biting into it carefully. Her eyes widened as the warmth seemed to fill her entirely, chasing away the chill of the night. She didn't speak immediately, but Axel could see the joy on her face as she chewed thoughtfully.
"They're… they're really good," Miri said at last, her voice full of wonder. "Warm. Like… like a hug."
Axel chuckled, a little sheepishly. "That was the idea."
Before he could say more, the door opened again, and this time, it was a small group—several of the village elders, their steps slow but deliberate. They had heard Miri's words, no doubt, and their curiosity had gotten the better of them.
"Smells like something different," grumbled old Bastian, the village blacksmith, his thick hands resting on the doorframe. "What is it?"
"Croquettes," Axel said simply. "Made with boar fat and starchy roots. It's… an experiment."
An experiment. But as the elders lined up, eyes glinting with hunger, Axel began to suspect that the dish had become more than just a culinary venture. It was something larger—something that could speak to their collective need for warmth in the face of an unrelenting winter. Something to hold onto when the nights felt endless.
The first elder to take a bite was Eda, the village's oldest resident. Her gnarled fingers trembled as she held the croquette, and her eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment as she chewed. She swallowed, slowly, as if savoring each bite, and then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"This…" Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. "This tastes like… like my mother's cooking. When I was a girl. It's the warmth of hearth and home."
Axel felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he had anticipated. The others were silent, their eyes downcast, as though remembering something long past.
"It's like the cold doesn't touch you at all," Bastian murmured, shaking his head. "You've done something here, Axel. Something more than just cooking."
The night stretched on, and the croquettes disappeared one by one, their golden forms gradually dwindling until there was nothing left but empty plates and satisfied smiles. Axel found himself surrounded by his neighbors—each of them, young and old alike, savoring the warmth of the dish, sharing a rare moment of comfort amidst the unyielding cold.
For the rest of the evening, the village seemed brighter, warmer. It wasn't just the heat of the fire, or the embers crackling in the hearth. It was the effect of the croquettes, their aura a subtle but undeniable presence in the air.
Axel didn't need to ask. He could see it in the way the children yawned and nestled into their blankets, no longer shivering, restless. He saw it in the way the elders sat a little straighter, their faces soft with the warmth of memory and relief.
Axel's creation had done more than offer sustenance—it had woven a thread of comfort through the village, and he knew in that moment that it would become a staple, a tradition. The Ashroot Croquettes, as they would come to be called, would become part of the village's seasonal rhythm. The children would crave them, and the elders would seek them out for the warmth they brought not just to their bodies, but to their hearts.
And as the cold nights stretched on, Axel would remain, steadfast in his refusal to leave the village. The forest could wait. There were others to tend to. There was warmth to offer, and it was in his hands.
The croquettes had become more than food—they had become a promise, one he would keep, season after season, winter after winter.
When the last croquette was gone and the embers had faded to nothing more than glowing coals, Axel sat back, content. The wind howled outside, but in here, in the heart of the village, the cold had no power over them.
It was enough.
For now.