Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Raff watched them. The woman’s pale hand shook as she took the bread, her eyes darting with the wildness of someone who was being hunted. She clutched the man’s arm as if afraid he’d vanish too. It was the mark, nothing more than a small patch of dark skin on her cheek, that had condemned her.
And all Raff could think was Ingrid has one too. Not the same, but she bore a mark that others might twist into something dark. Her fingers. A birth trait, harmless and wholly hers. But in the wrong eyes, in the wrong mood, it could be enough.
A chill deeper than the air stole through him.
This was what fear did. It made neighbors into judges, friends into cowards.
He watched Ingrid offer the woman a soft word and a steady touch, and the worry dug in deeper. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let this happen to her.
Not while he drew breath.
The woman ate slowly, chewing as if each bite might vanish. The man hovered beside her, a trembling hand stroking her back, whispering soft reassurances. Ingrid made sure he ate as well, forcing meat into his hand.
“You need the strength,” she said softly.
He nodded, teary-eyed, and took the meat.
Raff stood watch, eyes on the trees, listening for more than birdsong.
Ingrid turned away briefly, to snatch up the two blankets she had brought with her. She went and knelt beside the woman and gently shook out one of the thick wool blankets, her kind hand having woven its every thread.
“I made this,” she said quietly, wrapping it around the woman’s narrow shoulders. “It’ll keep the cold from stealing more of your strength.”
The woman flinched at the first touch of it, then stilled. Her fingers curled into the fabric as if afraid it would be taken back. She lowered her face, pressing her cheek into the wool, her body trembling—but this time from relief.
Ingrid’s eyes glistened with tears, fighting to keep them from falling, but she said nothing more. She only laid a hand gently on the woman’s arm. Then before she rose to stand beside Raff, she handed the other blanket to the man.
Raff looked at her, at the calm on her face, the strength in her quiet defiance of fear, and his chest ached with love for her and pride that she was his wife.
“They can’t stay here,” Ingrid said softly, watching the way the man now held his wife as if she’d crumple without him.
“I know,” Raff replied. “But there’s a place.” He turned to the man. “There’s an old dwelling about a day’s walk from here, deeper into the woods. It’s hidden well and still sound. I used it a few winters back when I was on the run from men with more blade than brains. No one will think to look for you there.”
The man looked up, cautious hope flickering in his eyes. “Truly?”
Raff nodded. “You’ll find shelter and a stream not far off. Stay hidden and wait for this madness to pass.”
The man clutched his wife close, tears in his eyes and his voice breaking as he whispered, “You both have been more than generous, more than kind. I cannot find words adequate enough to thank you. You have my everlasting gratitude.”
Raff gave a tight nod. “Stay safe.”
They walked back to the village in silence, their hands locked tightly as they passed beneath skeletal branches. The sky above had grown heavier, as though snow waited just beyond its seams.
“It could happen to anyone,” Ingrid said at last, her voice thin.
“I know,” Raff said. And then, after a pause, “I worry for you.”
She stopped walking but didn’t look at him.
Raff didn’t mean to say more, but the fear in his chest had teeth now. “That woman had a mark. So do you. Yours is different, but to someone already afraid, it wouldn’t matter.”
She looked at him then, her eyes searching his.
“I won’t let it happen,” he said, his jaw tight.
“I know,” she whispered. “But it could.”
And there, in the still hush of the trees, the weight of the madness hung between them.
By the time Raff and Ingrid emerged from the woods, dusk had begun to smother the gray day, folding the village into long shadows and cold stillness. Smoke curled from chimneys, the scent sharp and bitter, but few dared linger outside. Doors closed quickly when they passed, shutters clicked into place.
A cluster of villagers stood in the center of the village, murmuring in tight circles. The talk stopped when Raff and Ingrid approached. Faces turned, some curious, others cautious—one or two downright hostile.
“Did you help him?” someone called out. “The stranger?”
Raff didn’t answer, just kept walking, Ingrid beside him. He could feel their gazes following, feel the weight of unspoken questions thick as fog.
“It might have been wiser to turn him away before he crossed the threshold,” Tolan, the smithy, said.