Hendrik snorted but eyed Dagan instead of his weapons now. “You weren’t scared.”
“I wouldn’t be a very good scout if the forest scared me.” He smiled as he started walking again, now on the far easier beaten path. “Respect, yes. Fear, no. You’ll come to feel the same.”
Hendrik didn’t look convinced, but the color came back into his face as they continued on their way down the bearless path.
After that, those first days in the forest were quiet, with Hendrik perpetually on guard during the day and tossing and turning at night. Dagan checked in regularly, offering to answer any questions or just making small talk about the plants and animals they encountered. Hendrik listened and responded, clearly taking the information in, but was always looking over his shoulder as if he expected the mama bear to be stalking them. He never complained and claimed to be perfectly comfortable, but Dagan knew a clenched asshole when he saw one. Though he still coaxed the occasional friendly response or half-smile from Hendrik, he didn’t learn much more about the why and how of his coming to the Heart Wood.
Dagan had always been patient, though.
Normally, he would’ve hunted something to bring the Apricot Grove winery master in return for a room for the night. It wasn’t absolutely necessary, as he was there as a scout, after all, but he had an urge to treat Hendrik to a little luxury after the apparent terrors of the forest path. He decided to promise a deer in return for a room for the night; he could hunt tomorrow morning while Hendrik enjoyed the winery’s fine accommodation.
When they stepped into the Apricot Grove settlement’s market square, Hendrik froze, eyes wide, knuckles going white on the strap of his clattering pack. “What…?”
“It’s the settlement. Every conservancy has a main one and sometimes smaller ones,” Dagan explained, pausing at the edge of the clearing. He realized as he never had before that the settlement really did seem to come out of nowhere, if one didn’t know the signs: the sentry posts in the trees and the widening of the path, the faint buzz of life that turned into a clamor once the forest was out of the way. Ancient trees marked the pathways and homes and commercial squares, of course, but the canopy went from consistently lush to almost nothing, of a sudden. “It’s alright; you don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to. I’ll handle everything.”
“I was just getting used to the trees,” Hendrik mumbled.
Dagan smiled and waited for him to take a deep breath. “Alright?” he asked.
Hendrik nodded, and they made their way through the market square. No one was selling—it was too late in the day, even if it was a market day—but children lingered, playing with gum balls and wooden toys. Adolescents lurked on corners, too grown-up to play with their younger siblings and standing in gossiping knots instead. Some of them turned to look as Dagan and Hendrik passed.
“Why are they looking at me?” Hendrik asked through clenched teeth.
“Because they’re children. Anyhow, they’re probably looking at me. I told you, scouts are impressive.” It was mostly true. Hendrik’s clothes were strange, but, to kids who’d never left their own conservancy, everything was. It was more likely Dagan’s bow and badge were of interest.
Hendrik snorted but relaxed slightly. Dagan paused and asked a clump of teenagers for the winery; some fell over themselves to be helpful, though a few rolled their eyes and pretended not to be interested. “I’ve got siblings their age,” Dagan said as they walked away. “Always a pain in the ballsack, but they do eventually grow full personalities.”
“I have a sister that age,” Hendrik said.
“What’s her name?”
“Kajja. What’s yours?”
“The teenagers are Iason, Korina, Nika, and the baby twins, Alexia and Erron.”
Hendrik stopped walking, staring. “You have five siblings?”
“Oh, no.” Dagan chuckled. “Those are just the younger ones. The ones older are Alonza, the older twins Helen and Amory, and Tiber. They’re all in their twenties, like me.”
“That’s…”
“Ten,” Dagan supplied. “Yes, it’s quite a family.”
“How did your parents feed even half as many?”
“Oh, my dear boy, no one goes hungry in the Heart Wood. Come, you’ll see. Maybe we can find you a knife, while we’re here. Do you know how to use a bow?” Dagan coaxed him to start walking again by taking a few steps and changing the subject.
Hendrik followed along like a lost baby goat. His gaze skirted back and forth, taking in the market square and then the wooden pathways that branched off from it. “I used to, but only from the walls. I’ve never used one except in training exercises.”
“Do you want to learn to hunt with one? I’ll go tomorrow morning.”
Hendrik nodded. “Yes, actually. I managed to stab a few squirrels with my sharp sticks, but a bow would be much better.”
Dagan refrained from pointing out that Hendrik had not pulled out one of his sharp sticks in the face of the mama bear, either, but decided against it.
“We’ll see if we can get a buck for the master,” Dagan promised, pleased that Hendrik was interested, anyhow. Showing signs of life in general was always a step forward, as his masters had always said. Refugees had a tendency to fade away if they weren’t engaged quickly.
He led the way to the busy winery, which smelled of sweet fruit and baking bread all the way down the path. The hall was full of patrons, some half in their cups and others just chatting or playing board games. Hendrik paused inside the door, but Dagan gently took him by the arm and steered him toward the bar, so he could gawk out of the way. “I’ll try to get us rooms. Do you mind sharing? It looks as if they’re busy.”
Hendrik shook his head, mouth falling open slightly as he watched the bustle of patrons and servers about him. Long wooden tables stretched across the hall, so that groups of people melded and then peeled off into smaller ones regularly, and neighbors and friends could join each other or hide away in a corner if necessary. A fiddle and guitar duo was tuning up on the small platform in one corner; it must’ve been near supper time, already.
Dagan waved down the best-looking barkeeper he could find, a young man with blond hair and a glowy, pinkish undertone to his skin. He smiled brightly, pushing past a server with a laden tray. “Welcome to the winery,” the boy said, putting one hand over his heart then holding out both of them. “I’m Will.”
Dagan took his hands and leaned forward, kissing the boy’s cheek. The boy kissed him on the other side. He vaguely remembered that was the tradition, in Apricot Grove Conservancy, and was glad of it now. “Will, I’m Dagan of the Black Walnut Grove, out on a scouting trip.”
His eyes lit up. “I knew it! I knew you looked like a scout! I couldn’t see your badge, but I do now.” He leaned back and eyed it, where it graced Dagan’s hip pouch.
Dagan turned the charm up to its full, blazing intensity, finding such a willing audience. It had been a while, and it felt good to flex that particular muscle again; almost as good as it had to let it rest for a moon. “I’ve found myself a refugee to escort: that tall, lost-looking thing over there by the bar. You don’t happen to have rooms for us, tonight? I’ve heard yours are really the best in the settlement.”
“They are!” Will frowned, though. “I think we only have one left. It’s a big one, though, with three beds.”
“Does it have a tub?”
“We can bring one up; it has a hearth for heating water.”
“Perfect, perfect. Now, can you convince the master to let us have it? Tell him I haven’t brought anything with me, because of my escort duties, but we’ll go out tomorrow and get him a perfect buck.”
Will nodded solemnly. “You don’t have to do that.”
