The wind blew with a humble whisper as Yig and Mona walked back into town, Yig skipping lightly in his step. Mona understood why. Yig had always been competitive by nature. Others took it as him trying to show them up, but that wasn’t quite the case. She knew Yig didn’t do it for them.

  “Want to eat something?” Yig asked. “I’m hoping we can get something special from the bar as a reward for catching the egg.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Mother delivered some carrots yesterday. Maybe that will give us some sway.”

  There was no money in Chestnut—just the common ideals of give and receive, and the kind-hearted gifts shared from one person to another. The farmers outsourced some of their work to citizens, and in return, they received a share of the crop. Crops were handed out around town, including to the Mayor as offerings for the community, later used for communal feeding. Much went to the tavern, where the cooks created dishes from the farmers’ ingredients, as well as to the carpenters who helped maintain the tavern’s walls and structure. Give to the community, and the community would give back.

  The Corners Angel was the name of the tavern—wholesome yet filled with busy workers, matching the rest of the village. The roof angled upward, leaving room for windows that let light into the living space above the establishment. Hanging from a rope was a sign that bore its name, along with a graceful illustration of an angel painted by Ms. Ollia, the old and retired gardener. The door swung open smoothly, lacking the irritating squeal it had had for the last week. Inside, sitting closest to the bar, feet on the table with his friends, merrily swinging an empty bottle, was Shack, yelling about his great exploits from the morning’s hunting trip.

  “Another!” he yelled, lifting his bottle high.

  A waiter, Joel Totten, walked over reluctantly and filled his glass.

  “No, no, you arse. Another bottle!” Shack slurred, as if the words were slipping from his mouth.

  Joel huffed and turned toward the bar, doing as he was asked, passing his little sister Mely as she brought over a tray of food.

  Shack, staring with a uneven glare over his shoulder, gave one look at it and slapped it from her hands, flipping the tray—much to his mates’ dismay. Lines of battered and breaded beef slopped onto the floor as the tray clanged from the impact, quieting the whole room.

  “That ain’t our order! You work here and can’t even get that right?” he yelled in a slurred rant. “We are hunters! We deserve more respect!”

  Joel stomped back to the table, his face boiling red, nostrils flared like a bull’s. Only his sister’s pleas and her stepping between them kept the conflict at bay.

  “Yeah! Stay back, Joel!” Shack yelled, only escalating the situation as his friends encouraged the opposite.

  Yig, showing little emotion, walked forward with a calm step, approaching Shack’s table steadily.

  Shack looked up, spotted him, and grimaced. The hunter opened his mouth, ready to spout more provocative words.

  Thwack! Yig released an uppercut, audibly snapping Shack’s nose as his body tipped back with his chair, crashing onto the red carpet of the tavern, dazed and unsure of what to do.

  Fists flew. It had been decided the moment Yig took a swing. The other hunters at the table leapt over, grasping at Yig’s clothing to restrain him. Joel intervened himself, quickly caught up in the aggression before wrestling the hunters to the ground.

  Mona didn’t hesitate to jump into the battle herself but still rolled her eyes slightly at the drastic turn.

  Yig ducked, letting a fist fly over his head as he punched the man in the stomach. Another rushed to his friend’s aid, forcing Yig to leap back onto a table and lift it as a shield. Plates and drinks scattered across the floor, followed by Yig kicking the table into his opponents. He rolled, the bandage on his right forearm stained by the spilled food.

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  A leg snapped off—perfect for Mona to grasp and swing at a head, knocking a tooth from its gum and across the room. She took the other end and jabbed it into the man behind her, shoving the dull end into his waist, making him wail and fall to the floor. She stepped back, narrowly missing a punch from Shack, now up and moving again. With greater force than before, Mona swung again, aiming for his nose. Shack lifted his arms, letting his forearms take the brunt of the blow. He then ripped the wooden tool from her hands, pulling her into a second punch that landed, knocking her nose toward the ceiling.

  Arms wrapped around Shack’s neck as Yig jumped on his back, pulling the man down to the floor and whacking them both against yet another finely built table, cracking it in half. They grasped each other, clutching clothing tightly as they pounded back and forth. With the other hunters down and out, Mona and Joel attempted to pull them apart, neither having much success.

  “Cut it out!!!” a deep, bellowing voice shouted from the door.

  Everyone in the room perked up—even Yig and Shack. Especially Shack.

  Standing in the doorway was the leader of the Hunters, Jordan. Even without bulky hunting clothes, his frame inspired intimidation. He walked across the tavern’s red carpet, never looking away from the two culprits. Yig and Shack stepped up, guilt radiating from Shack’s downcast eyes. With one hand, Jordan picked up one of the fallen tables, setting it as steady as possible. Then he looked down at the two— the pure image of authority.

  “Hiya,” Yig said, a little too chipper.

  “What was possibly worth all this?” Jordan asked, looking mostly at Shack.

  “He was being a—”

  “I didn’t ask you…” Jordan cut Yig off in a flat tone, with the sternest eyes Yig had seen, excluding maybe the mayor... and his mother. “Get lost.”

  Yig huffed. “Fine.” He walked straight out the door, feet tapping down the pavement as he disappeared from the premises, followed by the quick tapping of Mona’s feet as she tried to catch up.

  “You know,” Mona said, stepping next to Yig as he walked the bright afternoon path, “you really need to think before getting me involved in scenes like that.”

  “You didn’t have to join.”

  Mona scowled. “What’d you say?”

  Yig hesitated for a moment. “Fair enough. But he deserved it.”

  “We can’t just punch everyone who deserves it.”

  Yig stayed silent, probably disagreeing.

  “So… where should we go for food now?” he asked. “Do you want to go hunting together?”

  “We’ve already cooked up enough conflict. We don’t need to add unlicensed hunting to today’s sins.”

  “Ehh… we could probably get away with it.”

  “You know, if you want to leave in time with a sword in hand, it really would be best to stay out of trouble.”

  “…You’re not wrong. Shack deserved it though.”

  Mona smiled. “Yeah, he sort of did, didn’t he?”

  They chuckled together, as they always had. She cherished those moments every time, silently praying they wouldn’t be the last—that laughter wouldn’t disappear when they faced the dangers of the world her mother had described, as if she’d known for sure.

  From across the grassy fields beside the path, footsteps approached as Mrs. Humbel ran up to Yig. She was dressed for work, wearing her familiar, dirty dungarees from the potato farm.

  “Gosh, boy, I heard about your egg catch. Are you alright?”

  “Yeah. Just a little bump on the head.” But it’d be worth it if everyone got cooked egg at Yig and Mona’s party.

  Mona smirked. That bump must’ve been one of many after what had gone down in the Corners Angel. “Considering you’ve come all this way to meet us, I’m assuming you need us for something?”

  The woman smiled. “I suppose I’m getting predictable. I know you’re quite busy, Mona dear, but perhaps I can bother Yig for a task.”

  “It’s fine,” Mona replied. “What do you need?”

  Yig’s eyes beamed with an idea. “Food would be a great payment.”

  “Spartans gone missing in the woods again. Could you—?”

  “Yes, of course we can,” they replied, almost in unison.

  Mona needed little convincing; it was an almost definite package deal when one of them was asked for help with this sort of task.

  At the end of a pathway marked by previous treks, located in the south of Chestnut, Mona and Yig looked up at the tall trees of the woods—a place far from unfamiliar. Leaves brushed as the afternoon winds whispered through the town. A collection of wooden posts was planted by the entrance, each marked by the many children who had claimed this as a place of play over generations. Even the signature of the great hero Darleth, Mona’s father, was carved there. Some say he was the first.

  “How deep do you think that rascal got?” Yig asked humorously. “Maybe we can beat our eight-minute record.”

  “We should probably try to enjoy it,” Mona replied. “This’ll be the last time we do this.”

  “Bet I can find him first.”

  “You really want a challenge after what you’ve put your head through this morning?”

  “Very true. It would be terribly embarrassing if you lost to me while I’m injured.” Yig grinned mischievously.

  “You cocky… fine, first to get him back here gets to be our hero-party’s leader.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Their legs stretched back and their heads lowered. With the bold color of competitiveness in their eyes, they each shot into the woods, splitting into separate paths.