The urge to cry swelled in her chest, but she crushed it ruthlessly. She could not afford to lose what little dignity she still had. The tenderness in Arion’s eyes made her furious. She didn’t want his sympathy. She didn’t need it.
Just as she opened her mouth to bark at him, Arion quietly asked, “Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me if you’re not. If someone bothered you, I’ll tell my father, and he’ll—”
“I told you I’m fine!” She broke eye contact, yanking twigs out of her hair with more force than necessary. A few long strands of gold hair tore free, but she hardly noticed.
“What are you staring at?” she snapped when Arion’s sharp gaze refused to let her go. Regret struck her instantly. He had come for her. He had saved her. But she didn’t know how to let him in without crumbling.
She forced her voice into something softer. “Can you help me get her home?”
“Oh—right,” Arion said, jolting into action, as if glad for the task. He hurried to Gloria and snatched the end of the rope, giving it a firm tug. “Come on, time to go home.”
Gloria ignored him completely. Arion patted his pockets for a treat, but found nothing.
“Come on, girlie,” he coaxed with an empty hand. “Come home nicely, and you can have a tasty snack.”
Gloria grunted stubbornly and shoved herself deeper into the bush, yanking the rope from Arion’s hand and nearly pulling him off balance.
Arion sighed and looked around. He snapped a long branch from a young tree, stripped it of leaves, and gently prodded Gloria’s backside. “Come on, Gloria, I’m serious. Time to go home.”
Gloria spun around, squealing her outrage at the indignity.
Arion hopped backward out of her way. “There, that’s a good big pig. You don’t want to be out here all alone, trust me.”
Dragonfly grabbed the branch from him. She moved behind Gloria, while Arion tugged on the rope. Together—him pulling, her prodding—they herded the reluctant sow back toward the safety of her pen.
Gloria grunted her protest every step of the way, but she grudgingly surrendered to her captors.
Arion latched the gate shut with a triumphant snap and secured it tightly with the rope. He tugged on it to test its strength. “I don’t think she can get out this time—unless she’s grown fingers I don’t know about.”
Dragonfly leaned against the gate and let out a tired groan. “I haven’t raked out Falcon’s stall yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it after lunch. Come inside. I’ll make us some tea until the food’s ready.”
She nodded, grateful for Arion’s quiet kindness—but a new weight settled in her chest. He and his mother had only just moved back to White Wood, and already she felt like an intruder. Like she’d stepped into something delicate and private.
This place wasn’t just a house. It was legacy. Arion’s grandfather’s old farmhouse stood grand and polished even after all these years, and she knew—without needing to be told—that the fields stretching out past the hills, the sheep and cattle grazing in neat pastures, the tidy stables—all of it belonged to Arion’s father, Constantine. And one day, it would all pass to Arion.
She didn’t envy it, but the scale of it made her throat tighten.
Arion’s family lived half the year in Stargazer Creek, in a sprawling cabin by the river, and spent fall and winter here in White Wood. Arion had grown up in both places, shuttled between privilege and open sky. He’d never gone without—but he’d also spent his childhood knee-deep in mud, bottle-feeding lambs, hauling hay with the farmhands. Maybe that was why he carried himself the way he did. Polished, but grounded. Gentle without softness.
She liked that about him.
“Cook is making that roast chicken I like,” she said, trying to sound lighter than she felt.
"Oh, I love that chicken. I wish she would make it all the time.” He motioned them in the direction of the vast farmhouse. He looked at her with his usual bright smile. "Are you excited about the Autumn Celebration and seeing everyone again?"
Dragonfly replied with a noncommittal shrug.
“I’m really looking forward to the livestock show,” Arion rattled on enthusiastically. “I almost won first place last year with my chicken! I’m determined to win this year. Oh, and mymother doesn’t have a booth either, so I’ll be able to watch all the entertainment instead of being stuck helping.”
As Dragonfly stepped into the shade of the porch, a white and black seadog gazed up at her with his gentle brown eyes. The dog’s massive leathery nose twitched in Arion’s direction, but sensing that no snacks would be forthcoming, he didn’t bother to get up. The enormous beast thumped his tail once or twice in lazy greeting, and then went back to napping with a blissful groan.
It was the middle of the day, and lunch was still an hour away. The entire house was as silent as a whisper. No one lingered in the sitting room when Dragonfly and Arion stepped inside.
Constantine’s farmhouse was vast. The sitting room was enormous, its stone floors blanketed by colorful rugs imported from distant lands generations ago. The stained-glass windows shimmered with stories: horses, gods, lovers, and battles immortalized in brilliant glasswork.
The house boasted a huge kitchen, a dining hall large enough for dozens, a library, a music room, and even a room just for laundry. But none of it impressed Dragonfly as much as the bathing room.
