The first militia training session started at dawn behind the village hall. About twenty people showed up, mostly the young boys who had signed up with big grins and loud talk. A handful of older men and a few women stood at the edges, looking more practical than excited.
Mayor Elias stood at the front with a wooden staff. "Alright, everyone. We're not turning you into soldiers overnight. We just need you to be useful if trouble reaches our walls. Sable will handle the main combat lessons once she's fully healed. Until then, we start with basics."
Garret leaned against a tree at the back, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. He had shown up only because Elias personally dragged him out of bed with a promise of free ale afterward.
The young lads bounced on their toes, wooden practice swords and sticks in hand. Tomas punched the air. "This is going to be easy! We'll learn some fancy moves and be ready in a week."
Jarek laughed beside him. "Yeah! Watch this!" He swung his stick in a wild arc that nearly hit his friend.
Sable, still moving carefully with her bandaged side, stepped forward. Her voice was calm but carried. "First rule: nothing about this is easy. Drop the excitement. Fear and pain make people sloppy. We train so you don't die from being sloppy."
She pointed at Garret. "Mole, come demonstrate basic stance and movement. Show them how not to fall over their own feet."
Garret sighed and walked to the front. He planted his feet, shoulders loose, hoe still in one hand like a crutch. "Stand like you're tired but ready to swing if something gets too close. Weight balanced. Don't lock your knees."
He demonstrated a simple sidestep and a short, controlled swing with the hoe. Nothing flashy. Just practical.
The boys tried to copy him. Within minutes half of them were stumbling or swinging too wide, kicking up dust and bumping into each other.
Tomas wiped sweat from his forehead after only ten minutes. "This… this is harder than it looks. My arms already hurt."
Jarek groaned. "I thought we'd be learning how to fight monsters, not just standing around."
Garret watched them with a flat expression. "Fighting monsters isn't pretty swings and hero poses. It's messy, tiring, and mostly about not dying. Keep your movements small. Save your energy."
They moved on to throwing rocks and basic evasion drills. Sable called out corrections while Garret demonstrated the "look mean and throw hard" technique he'd used on the boar and scavengers. The boys started laughing less and breathing harder.
By the time the suns climbed higher, everyone was sweating and sore. One of the younger lads sat down in the dirt, rubbing his shoulder. "I didn't think standing and moving could hurt this much."
Petra stopped by with water skins and gave Garret a knowing look. "They thought it would be all glory. Reality is hitting them already."
Pip watched from the sidelines, leg still bandaged, eyes shining with envy. "It looks tough, but they're learning real things. Mister Garret, when my leg heals, I get to join, right?"
Garret grunted. "If your mother allows it. And only if you promise not to run off alone again."
As the session continued, the mood shifted. The laughter died down. The boys' swings grew more focused, even if they were still clumsy. A couple of the older men nodded approvingly at Garret's simple, no-nonsense style.
During a short break, one of the trainees wiped his face and muttered, "You hear that last night? The sounds from the forest. It wasn't just wolves. Sounded like… voices. Whispering."
Another nodded. "I heard it too. Close to the eastern fields. Kept me awake."
Sable's expression tightened. She glanced toward the treeline. "The howls are getting closer every night. We don't have much time. That's why we train hard now, not later."
Garret took a long drink from his water skin and stayed quiet. He had heard the sounds too — low, unnatural murmurs mixed with the howls. They were definitely getting bolder.
The training wrapped up with everyone exhausted but a little more grounded. The young boys who had shown up full of fire now walked with sore muscles and quieter voices.
Elias clapped Garret on the shoulder as people started to leave. "Good work today. You made it real for them."
Garret shrugged. "Just showed them the truth. Glory gets you killed. Staying alive is the real skill."
He headed back to his farm as the two suns climbed higher. His own body felt the workout a bit — a pleasant burn in his shoulders from demonstrating swings — but nothing like the complaints coming from the younger ones.
Back at the farm he went through his usual motions: weeding a little, fixing a broken fence rail, tossing scraps to Dov's dog. The routine felt comforting after the morning chaos.
Yet every time the wind shifted, he caught himself listening for those sounds in the forest.
They were closer now.
Garret sat on his porch with a jug of ale in the late afternoon, staring toward the treeline.
"Still not my problem," he muttered.
But the words tasted thinner than the ale.
Tomorrow the training would continue. The sounds in the forest would keep getting louder.
Time was running out, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
End of Chapter 12