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That was when I noticed the lone figure, tilling the land with methodical precision.
The farmer looked up as we neared, his eyes sharp and assessing, the lines on his face speaking of hard work and harder times.
He leaned heavily on his hoe, and the muscles in his arms tensed visibly.
“What do you want?” His voice was gruff, the tone uninviting.
Lorik, always the diplomat, stepped forward. “We seek shelter,” he began, his voice calm and soothing. “A storm is approaching, and we—”
The farmer cut him off, his eyes narrowing further. “I live here. Do you think I don’t know the fog is coming? What I do not know is why I should letyouinto my home.”
The tension was palpable.
Every instinct told me to turn and run, but the thick, metallic scent of the oncoming fog grew stronger, leaving us with few options.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Lorik beat me to it.
“We mean no harm,” he said, taking a deliberate step forward. “We have been through much and simply seek a place to rest.”
For a long moment, there was silence.
The only sound was the wind, which had picked up, now carrying with it a chilling bite.
Finally, the farmer sighed, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.
“Fine,” he grumbled, pointing towards the cave-house with his hoe. “But know this: any mischief, and you’ll find yourself tossed into the fog faster than you can blink.”
“Thank you,” I said, relieved.
The house’s innards were in no way a representation of its owner.
It was warm and inviting, the walls adorned with pictures and little trinkets that told stories of years gone by.
The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint aroma of wood polish.
A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a gentle glow around the room.
As we settled in, I couldn’t help but marvel at the turn our journey had taken.
From being trapped in a mansion to finding solace in a stranger’s barn, every twist and turn had brought Lorik and me closer.
As I glanced at him, the firelight dancing in his eyes, I realized that no storm or fog, no matter how fierce, could tear us apart.
The farmer, seeing us settled, finally introduced himself as Jarek.
His initial gruffness seemed to wane, replaced by a quiet curiosity.
The evening wore on, but within the walls of that farmhouse, stories were shared, bonds were formed, and for a brief moment in time, the dangers of the world outside were forgotten.
The soft clinkingof cutlery against ceramic was the only sound that broke the quiet lull of the evening.
The aroma of the stew wafted through the room, a rich tapestry of fragrances — roasted meats, simmering vegetables, and fragrant herbs.
I took a spoonful and let the warm, savory flavors wash over my taste buds.
The flavor was nothing short of divine, like a symphony of flavors coming together in perfect harmony.
“I must say, this is incredible,” I complimented, casting a glance at the farmer’s wife.
