Tanna raised her hand, catching the innkeeper's attention before the others could follow him toward the door.

  "The wagon," she said. "And Snow Tusk. Where should I stable them?"

  Garrik paused, his gaze shifting to assess the massive Colossagoat harnessed to their trade wagon. His expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted—recognition, perhaps. Understanding that this wasn't a creature you simply tied to a post.

  "Stable's around the side," Garrik said, gesturing toward a path that curved behind the building. "Tam should be there. He'll help you get everything settled."

  Tanna nodded her thanks. "I'll be in after I get him comfortable."

  Mazoga glanced back at her. "Need help?"

  "I should be fine." Tanna patted Snow Tusk's flank, feeling the familiar warmth through his thick coat. "You should go inside. Get things sorted."

  Moss-ear shifted on her shoulder, ears perked forward with interest as the others moved toward the inn's entrance. Fish hesitated beside Doc, watching Tanna for a moment before following her companion inside.

  Tanna clicked her tongue softly, guiding Snow Tusk around the building's corner. The path widened into a proper stable yard—larger than the front suggested, with covered stalls and a work area protected from wind by the mountainside itself.

  Good setup. Whoever managed this place understood animals.

  The smell hit her first—clean hay, leather oil, well-maintained tack. Not the stale neglect of cheap stabling, but the honest scent of regular care.

  Three horses occupied stalls along the left side, two pack mules on the right. All of them showed signs of proper grooming, their coats clean and their feed fresh.

  Movement near the back caught her attention.

  A young boy—human, maybe thirteen winters—straightened from mucking a stall, pitchfork in hand. His clothes showed the permanent stains of stable work, and his boots had been resoled at least twice.

  He spotted Snow Tusk and went completely still.

  Tanna gave him a moment.

  The boy's eyes tracked up — the chest, the shoulders, the horns — and his grip tightened on the pitchfork without him seeming to notice he'd done it.

  "What..." He took a small step back. "What is that?"

  "His name is Snow Tusk," Tanna said. "He's a Colossagoat."

  Tam stared. "A what?"

  "Colossagoat." She kept her voice even. "He won't hurt you."

  Tam didn't look entirely convinced. Snow Tusk lowered his head slightly, breath misting in the cold air, and the boy's grip on the pitchfork tightened again.

  Tanna waited.

  After a moment Tam set the pitchfork down.

  "Can I..." He glanced at her. "Can I touch him?"

  Tanna felt Snow Tusk through their bond — calm, mildly curious, unbothered. She nodded once.

  "Easy," she said. "Let him see you first."

  Tam extended his hand, palm open. His arm wasn't quite steady.

  Snow Tusk sniffed once, then nudged the boy's fingers with his broad nose.

  The breath Tam had been holding came out all at once. His face split into a grin.

  Tam ran his hand along Snow Tusk's shoulder, his grin widening. "He's beautiful."

  Snow Tusk huffed—a sharp exhale that made the boy's hair flutter.

  Tam's eyes went wide. "Did he just—does he understand?"

  "Snow Tusk is smarter than he looks." Tanna adjusted her grip on the harness, preparing to unhitch him from the wagon. "He knows when people talk about him."

  Before Tam could respond, Moss-ear phase-stepped onto Snow Tusk's head, settling between the horns with practiced ease.

  The boy jerked back a step, mouth open. "What—what is that?"

  "Moss-ear," Tanna said. "Phasehorn Rabbit. He travels with me."

  Tam stared at the small creature—silver-gray fur, spiral horn catching the light, violet shimmer fading from the blink. "A rabbit. That just... appeared."

  "He phases," Tanna confirmed. "Short distances. Useful when the herd scatters."

  Tam looked from Moss-ear to Snow Tusk, then back to her. His expression shifted—curiosity mixing with something deeper.

  "Tanna," she said. "Beast Tamer."

  "Tam." He glanced up. "Animal Tender. Level eight."

  Tanna smiled. "Good class."

  Tam's gaze dropped to his boots. "It's just... basic stuff. Feeding, grooming. Nothing like what you do."

  "You start somewhere." Tanna said

  "I know, but..." He gestured toward Snow Tusk. "Will I ever get to tame and take care of creatures like this?"

  Tanna considered that. Thought about the months before Hollow Vale—working caravan livestock, tending horses and pack mules. Simple work. Honest work. Nothing that prepared her for bonding a phase rabbit or anchoring a mountain goat the size of a cart.

  "Maybe," she said finally.

  Tam looked up, uncertain.

  Tanna laughed—soft, genuine. "I never expected to work with something like Snow Tusk. But life can be surprising. You keep caring for the creatures you have now. Do it well. The rest... comes when it comes."

  Tam hesitated, then asked, "How did you... I mean, when did you know? That you could do more than just tend animals?"

  Tanna considered the question. Most people didn't ask. Most people assumed tamers were born different—touched by something special from the start.

  "I didn't know," she said. "Not for a long time. I worked caravans for years. Fed horses, cleaned tack, kept my head down. Figured that was all I'd ever do.

  "But you have bonds." Tam gestured toward Moss-ear. "Real ones."

  "Now I do." She scratched behind Moss-ear's ears, feeling his contentment hum through their connection. "The first time I felt something shift—really shift—I was twenty-three. A mare went into labor during a storm. Foal was breech. Everyone else had given up."

  Tam leaned forward slightly, pitchfork forgotten.

  "I stayed with her all night. Just talked. My voice, not words — something for her to hold onto. And somewhere around dawn, I felt her fear like it was my own. Not imagined. Felt." Tanna paused. "The foal lived. So did she. And after that, animals responded to me differently."

  "That's when you got your class evolution?"

  "No. That came later. Much later." She met his eyes. "The feeling came first. The system noticed after."

  Tam was quiet for a moment, processing that.

  Snow Tusk shifted, and Tam's hand moved with him—adjusting without thought, maintaining contact.

  Tanna noticed. Filed it away.

  "For now," she said, "can you help me get Snow Tusk and the wagon settled?"

  "Yes." Tam nodded quickly. "What do you need?"

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "Corner stall if you have one. He'll want space."

  Tam pointed toward the largest stall at the back—double-width, reinforced posts. "That one. It's empty."

  "Perfect."

  They worked together, Tam moving with the kind of quiet competence that came from repetition. He cleared the stall while Tanna unhitched Snow Tusk from the wagon, murmuring reassurance through their bond. Moss-ear stayed perched between the horns, ears swiveling as he surveyed the stable.

  Tam brought fresh hay and water without being asked. Checked the feed trough. Secured the gate latch twice.

  Snow Tusk settled into the stall, lowering himself onto the bedding with a satisfied rumble.

  "He likes it," Tam said.

  "He does."

  Moss-ear hopped down, phase-stepping to Tanna's shoulder in a flicker of violet light.

  Tam watched the transition without flinching this time.

  Progress.

  Tanna secured the wagon near the stable entrance, double-checking the wheel locks and canvas ties. Everything stayed where it should.

  She turned back toward Tam. "Thank you."

  "It's my job." He paused. "But... thank you. For letting me help."

  Tanna nodded once, then headed toward the inn's rear entrance.

  Behind her, she heard Tam speaking softly to Snow Tusk—gentle words, careful tone.

  She left him to it

  Doc followed Mazoga through the entrance of the inn, Fish padding silently at his heels. The warmth hit immediately—hearth fire, cooking smoke, the dense press of bodies and conversation.

  The common room stretched wider than the exterior suggested. Heavy wooden tables, bench seating along stone walls, low ceiling beams darkened by years of smoke. twenty people, maybe more. The space hummed with midday traffic.

  A young woman approached as Garrik disappeared toward the kitchen. Mixed heritage—human features softened by subtle goblin traits. Sharp ears, expressive eyes. She moved with practiced efficiency.

  "Welcome to the Thornwick Rest," she said. Her voice carried warmth. "You can sit anywhere. What would you like to eat?"

  Rurrak claimed a corner table near the back wall—good sightlines, defensible position. Mazoga approved with a nod, settling onto the bench with her warhammer propped within reach.

  Doc took the seat beside her. Marron, Calen, and Bran filled in around the table. Fish curled beneath Doc's feet, head on her paws.

  "Stew," Rurrak said immediately. "Whatever's hot."

  The young woman nodded and turned her attention to the others.

  "Same," Mazoga said.

  Marron requested bread and ale. Calen said he’d have the same as Rurrak. Bran just smiled and said stew sounded perfect.

  Doc scanned the room while they ordered. Most patrons focused on their own meals, their own conversations. But some glanced toward their table.

  Multiple visual contacts, Lux reported. Seven individuals tracking Mazoga's position. Four tracking yours.

  Doc kept his expression neutral. Assessment?

  Curiosity. Mazoga's equipment and bearing suggest high-level combatant. Your suit registers as unfamiliar. Standard threat evaluation.

  Fair enough.

  A broad-shouldered man at the bar kept his gaze fixed on Mazoga's warhammer—the kind of look someone gave a weapon they recognized as dangerous. Two traders near the hearth whispered to each other, one gesturing subtly toward Doc.

  Doc shifted slightly, angling his body to reduce his profile without appearing defensive.

  Adaptive response noted, Lux said dryly.

  Before Doc could reply—a woman emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with bowls. Human, early forties, brown hair tied back. She moved with the same care as Mira, though her bearing carried more weight.

  She set bowls in front of Rurrak and Mazoga first, then worked her way around the table. Steam rose from each serving—thick stew, dark bread on the side.

  When she finished, she pulled a stool from a nearby table and sat at the end of theirs.

  "Elara Thornwick," she said. "Garrik's wife. Mira's mother."

  Rurrak set his spoon down. "They're the ones I mentioned. The settlement north of Threeburrow."

  Elara's gaze moved around the table, unhurried.

  "I was out when most of it happened," Rurrak said. "Draugr wound. I was unconscious for most of the first night." He paused. "What I know, I heard after. But I know it's true because I woke up alive when I shouldn't have."

  He nodded toward Doc. "This one pulled me and two of our children out of a draugr attack the night they arrived. Brought me back to their camp, treated the necrotic infection. The next day a horde hit Threeburrow with a Greater at the head." He let that settle. "Him and Mazoga killed it. Just the two of them, while our people held the walls. After that they stayed to help with the wounded, and made sure everything was safe." He paused. "The rest is in the letter Garrik has."

  Elara was quiet for a moment.

  She's processing, Lux observed.

  Doc said nothing. Let the silence sit.

  Mazoga broke it. "Mazoga," she said, inclining her head. "Warden."

  "Marron." The merchant set his ale down. "Trading representative of our settlement. We're looking to establish contacts here — reliable ones, guild or clan. We're not particular about sides as long as the dealing is honest."

  Doc watched Elara process the information. Her expression remained neutral, but her posture shifted—tension easing from her shoulders. Decision made.

  She nodded, then smiled. "Garrik and I tend to keep to ourselves," she said. "But he has contacts with the Adventurer's Guild in Glasshold. He can take you there."

  Mazoga straightened slightly. "I'm registered with the guild. Was hoping someone could point me in the right direction."

  "The Merchant's Guild too," Marron added. "If possible."

  Elara nodded. "The Merchant's Guild, Mage's Guild, and Adventurer's Guild are all in the same district. Splitstone Row. Garrik can guide you." She paused. "But before that, you should probably get settled in."

  Doc kept his attention on the conversation, though Lux monitored the room's ambient energy signatures.

  "We don't have a lot of free rooms," Elara continued. "But we can spare three if needed."

  "We can pay—" Marron started.

  "Money isn't the issue." Elara's tone stayed practical. "If you have anything you could trade instead, that would be better."

  Marron straightened. "We have trade goods. Quality ones. Crops mostly—hearthgrain, ashroot, deeproot. Preserved. We brought them for the Glasshold markets but you can take first pick."

  Elara's expression brightened slightly. "I'd like to see what you have."

  "It's in the wagon," Marron said. "I can show you."

  "Good." Elara stood. "Let's take a look."

  Marron rose and followed her toward the door.

  Doc tracked their movement peripherally. The common room's noise continued—conversations, the scrape of utensils, the crackling hearth. But the tension around their table had lessened.

  Bran leaned forward slightly. "Decent stew," he said quietly.

  Rurrak nodded agreement, already halfway through his bowl.

  Doc returned to his meal. The stew was simple—ashroot, stonebulb, marrowgourd, seasoned with something sharp.

  Fish shifted beneath the table, her weight pressing against Doc's boot. Settled.

  The door opened. Tanna entered, Moss-ear perched on her shoulder. She scanned the room, spotted their table, and moved toward them.

  Her expression was calm. "Snow Tusk is settled," she said as she took the seat Marron had vacated. "The stable's good. The boy knows what he's doing."

  Mazoga glanced toward the door. "Elara went out with Marron to check the trade goods."

  Tanna nodded. "Saw them heading toward the yard."

  Mira approached with another bowl of stew and set it in front of Tanna. "Anything else?"

  "Just this," Tanna said. "Thank you."

  Mira hesitated, her gaze dropping to Moss-ear. "That's a Phasehorn Rabbit."

  "Moss-ear," Tanna confirmed. "He's bonded."

  "I've never seen one up close before." Mira's tone stayed polite. Careful.

  Tanna reached up, gently stroking Moss-ear's ears. "They're rare outside the deep forests. We raise a small colony at our settlement."

  Mira's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't press further. She just nodded and returned to her work.

  Doc ate. Around them, the inn kept its own pace — murmured orders, scraping bowls, the fire doing its steady work.

  Energy signatures stable, Lux reported. No active scans detected. Local populace returning to baseline behavior.

  Good.

  Mazoga finished her stew and set the bowl aside. "When Marron gets back, we'll see about those rooms."

  Doc nodded.

  Outside, voices drifted through the open door—Elara's calm tone, Marron's measured responses.

  The inn hummed on.

  Marron and Elara returned after about twenty minutes. Marron looked satisfied. Elara carried a small ledger.

  "We worked it out," Marron said. "We will be leaving some hearthgrain, ashroot, and deeproot. Fair exchange for three rooms for the week."

  Elara nodded. "Garrik will show you to Splitstone Row in the morning if you need it."

  "Appreciate it," Mazoga said.

  The afternoon passed quietly. Tanna went back to the stable. Marron checked the remaining trade goods. The others settled where they could — Mazoga taking up a corner of the common room, Rurrak speaking with Garrik, Calen at the far end of the table, turning a folded letter over in his hands like he'd read it more than once.

  By evening the inn had shifted. The midday crowd thinned and a dinner crowd replaced it, louder and warmer. Candles replaced daylight. Garrik moved steadily behind the bar. Mira was gone — Elara said she had to attend the academy.

  The group eventually drifted back to the same table. Elara sent out bowls without being asked.

  Mazoga set her bowl aside and leaned forward slightly. "We should talk about tomorrow."

  Marron nodded. Calen straightened. Tanna kept eating but listened.

  "Some of us go into Splitstone Row," Mazoga continued. "We hit the guilds, get what we need, and get back."

  Doc tracked the logic.

  "I'm heading to the Adventurer's Guild," Mazoga said. "Need to check in, see if there's any work worth noting. More importantly, I want to know what people are saying about the region. Draugr. Waste activity. Anything that might affect the settlement."

  Marron tapped the table lightly. "I'll handle the Merchant's Guild. Sell off the rest of our trade goods, pick up what we need for the tri-settlement. Tools, maybe cloth. Depends on what they have."

  Calen shifted. "I want to stop by the Mage's Guild."

  Doc glanced at him.

  "Just to see if I can get a message to my siblings," Calen added quickly. "Talia and Ren. They're still in the south. I haven't spoken to them in months."

  Marron nodded. "The Mage's Guild has communication crystals. You can pay for a long-range message. It's not cheap, but it's reliable."

  Mazoga looked satisfied. "Good. That leaves Doc, Bran, and Tanna here."

  Doc met her gaze.

  "Wagon stays here," Mazoga said. "No point dragging it through city streets before we know what we're dealing with. We go in light, make the contacts, sort the deals. Bring the wagon in once we know what we're carrying back."

  Doc inclined his head. Made sense.

  Logical, Lux confirmed. Reduces exposure to higher-tier magical scans and guild scrutiny.

  Bran spoke quietly. "I can help with the kitchen if they need it."

  "And I'll tend to Snow Tusk," Tanna added. "Make sure he stays settled."

  Marron leaned back slightly, his expression serious. "We need to be careful. This isn't Threeburrow. Glasshold's a city. People there will have classes built around spotting valuable goods — Treasure Sense, Item Appraisal. We don't want to walk in carrying everything we own."

  Mazoga grunted agreement.

  Marron nodded. "Early morning. Busy enough that we blend, quiet enough that we move."

  "Agreed," Mazoga said.

  Calen nodded.

  The conversation settled. The group finished their meals in relative silence.

  Around them the inn's rhythm continued. Garrik moved behind the bar, refilling mugs. A server Doc didn't recognize cleared plates from nearby tables. The hearth crackled softly.

  Doc's part was simple. Stay put. Keep the wagon secure. Let the others work.

  He could do that.

  Fish shifted beneath the table, her weight steady against his boot.

  Tanna finished her stew and set the bowl aside. "We'll be fine," she said quietly.

  Doc glanced at her.

  She met his gaze, calm and certain. "We've handled worse."

  True enough. Different place. Different problems. But the people around this table had walked through worse and come out the other side.

  That counted for something.

  He reached down and scratched behind Fish's ears once. She didn't move. Just pressed closer.

  Thanks for reading!

  Chapter 83 drops Next Tuesday!