The morning in Branthollow began the sa as always — with the sound of roosters and the creak of wooden wheels rolling over uneven dirt paths. Smoke rose from chimneys, children ran barefoot chasing each other around water barrels, and farrs hefted tools onto their shoulders as they trudged toward the fields.
For most, life went on unchanged.
For Mira, it felt different.
She knelt in the small pen behind Draven's house, scattering grain for the hound and the goat. Luma bleated happily, nibbling the feed with eager bites. The mule stamped its hoof, tail flicking, while scarred birds hopped closer. All of them had been broken in so way, but they lived here, safe.
Mira smiled faintly as she moved among them. "He trusted with you. So I'll do it right."
Her hands were small, her arms thin, but she worked carefully, checking each creature the way Draven had shown her. The ox's rope needed nding, the hound's old wound had to be cleaned. She humd softly as she worked, the tune quivering but steady.
---
By midmorning, she walked to the village well with a bucket in hand. A cluster of won gathered there, gossiping as they drew water.
"Fool boy finally left, did he?" one said with a laugh. "Off to chase fairy tales in the hills."
"Good riddance," another sniffed. "He always wasted food on beasts when people starved."
"Careful. So say he had fire in his eyes last night."
"Hah! Fire won't feed your belly."
Mira lowered her bucket into the well, jaw tight. She wanted to shout at them — to tell them Draven was braver than any of them. But she bit her tongue, lifting the heavy bucket instead.
"Poor girl," one of the won muttered behind her. "Helping that fool, she'll end up worse than him."
Mira walked away quickly, water sloshing over her hand.
---
The tavern was louder that evening. rchants passing through filled the benches, their voices thick with ale.
"…Dominion troops pushing east, I tell you. Saw them myself."
"And the League gathering near the marsh. It's war coming, mark ."
"Bah, war's always coming. Dominion will win as they always do."
"Not with those… mutations."
That word hushed the table. One man leaned in. "A stag with horns glowing like molten rock. Took three n before it fell."
"Lies."
"Then explain the ashes."
Laughter rose again, but strained, thin. Mira lingered at the doorway, listening, until the innkeeper waved her away. "No place for brats. Off with you."
She hurried back to the sanctuary, her thoughts heavy.
---
At dusk, Dominion soldiers rode through Branthollow.
They didn't stop long — only filled their waterskins and spoke briefly with the headman. But Mira caught fragnts of their words.
"…outpost needs culling soon… too many unmarked beasts."
"…chains spread order. Villages must comply."
"…patrol west by tomorrow."
Her stomach turned cold.
If they discovered Draven's sanctuary… if they realized the marks were fakes…
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. "No," she whispered. "I won't let them."
---
That night, Mira sat among the beasts. The hound lay with its head in her lap, Luma snuggled against her side. The mule stood near the fence, quiet and watchful. Fireflies drifted above the grass, glowing faint in the dark.
Mira looked up at the stars. Sowhere out there, beyond the hills, Draven was walking toward the ruins. Alone.
Her voice trembled, but she spoke firmly. "I'll protect this place. Until you co back, I'll keep them safe. I promise."
The hound gave a soft whine, as if understanding.
Mira hugged it tighter, her eyes glistening in the starlight.
---
In Branthollow, life went on. But embers glowed quietly in the dark — in the beasts Draven had saved, in the girl he had trusted, and in the promise she now carried.
And though she was small, like a single spark against the night, sparks had a way of becoming fire.
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