The door creaked wide, letting in a gust of wet wind and the sharp scent of pine and mud. Maren's grip tightened on the axe, but his shoulders eased a fraction when the lantern light revealed not a raider, nor a soldier, but a man hunched beneath a travel-stained cloak.
The stranger's beard was soaked, water running in rivulets down his face, and his boots squelched on the threshold. He blinked against the sudden brightness of the hearth's glow.
"By the gods," he rasped, voice hoarse from cold, "you'll let a man in, won't you? Or leave him to drown standing up?"
Maren hesitated. Behind him, Elira clutched the child closer. "Who are you?"
"A traveler," the man said simply, teeth flashing in something like a smile. "My horse threw a shoe two miles back. Lost the beast in the dark. Been wandering since. Saw your light. Thought to beg shelter till morning."
The axe stayed in Maren's hand, though he leaned it slightly against the frame. His eyes searched the man's face, weighed the honesty of his story.
Elira's voice trembled from the hearth: "Let him in, Maren. The storm will kill him."
Maren exhaled, stepped aside. "You'll have food and fire. But no trouble."
The man ducked inside, dripping water onto the floorboards. He stretched his hands toward the flames, sighing in relief as warmth seeped into his bones. His eyes, sharp despite his exhaustion, scanned the room—lingering a moment too long on the cradle near Elira's chair.
"Your kindness does me a mercy," the traveler said after a silence. "Folk out this way aren't known for open doors."
"We're not folk," Maren replied flatly. "We're farmers."
The man chuckled low. "Aye. And farmers know better than most what storms can take from a body. Name's Veyl."
Maren grunted. "Maren." He gestured faintly toward his wife. "Elira."
Elira gave only the briefest nod, tightening the cloth around the bundle in her arms. Shithead squirmed faintly, a soft sound escaping him.
Veyl's brows lifted. "A babe? Out here?"
Elira's heart stumbled. She shifted, half turning her body to shield the child from his view. "Our… son."
The words trembled in the air, fragile as spun glass.
Veyl leaned back, studying her with unsettling interest. "Strange. Thought the two of you long past swaddling years."
Maren's hand curled into a fist on the table. "You've had your food and fire. Leave your questions at the door."
For a while, the crackle of the fire filled the silence. Veyl spooned stew into his mouth, watching them over the rim of the bowl. His eyes darted once more toward the cradle, toward the glimpse of small green skin where the cloth slipped loose.
His smile returned, thinner now. "Not every babe is born with skin like that."
Elira's breath caught. She pulled the blanket tighter, heart hammering.
Maren rose slowly, the axe back in his hand, though his tone stayed even. "Eat your fill. Sleep by the fire. And when morning comes, you'll be on your way. With no words spoken of what you think you saw."
Veyl tilted his head, eyes glittering in the firelight. "Think I saw? Oh, I saw enough. An orc's get, under a farmer's roof. That'll stir more than whispers, my friend."
Elira's voice broke, desperate: "Please. He's just a child."
Veyl's gaze softened, just a hair. "A child now. But children grow. Folk remember. And fear's a deep root to pull up." He set the bowl down, wiped his beard with the back of his hand, and leaned forward, voice low. "You'll not keep him hidden forever."
The wind howled against the shutters. Shithead whimpered, sensing the tension.
Elira rocked him gently, eyes wet. Maren stepped between her and the traveler, axe gleaming in the firelight.
"Then tonight, you'll keep your tongue," Maren growled.
Veyl's smile faded, replaced by something unreadable. He leaned back, raising both hands as if to show peace. "Aye. Tonight."
He stretched out by the fire, cloak steaming, and closed his eyes.
But Elira knew, as surely as she knew the storm would pass by dawn, that the danger had only begun.