The rain passed, but its mory clung to the ground. Puddles settled in wagon ruts, and the sll of wet peat filled the morning air. Levi walked the village paths with his hands behind his back, eyes scanning the faces and hos around him not with idle curiosity, but with intent.
People nodded when they passed. So strangers stared now. He wasn't the odd boy who washed ashore anymore. He was the one who built with them, ate with them, slept in the sa damp huts.
Near Mae's cottage, he found her and Harwin seated on stumps, sharing a bitter morning tea brewed from bark and roots. Levi joined them, crouched low and quiet.
"I need to know sothing," he said. "Who here's fought before? Real battle, not brawls."
Mae tilted her head. "Planning to start a fight?"
"No," he said, "but soone else might."
Harwin scratched his jaw. "Darran, the tanner's brother. He served a few seasons with a knight from White Harbor. Got half a spear through his thigh, ca ho limping. Won't talk about it much."
"Can he train others?"
"He might. Likes to drink, though."
"Then he'll drink with purpose. He should be enough for now."
Mae smirked, then nodded slowly. "Good instinct, boy."
Levi spent the rest of the day with a charcoal stick and a wide sheet of bark paper salvaged from a ruined ledger. By evening, he had nas around one hundred and fifty, give or take. Jory helped him rember the children. Mae filled in the older folk.
Beside each na, Levi jotted trades and habits:
Gerren: hunter, bone traps.
Kera: weaver, fast fingers.
Darran: tanner, ex-spear.
Old Myla: mushroom sorting, stubborn.
Sarn and Tob: twin boys, can carry loads.
Nel: listens more than she speaks, sharp-eyed.
So lines he left blank. "Still figuring it out," he muttered. "Can't force fish to walk."
That night, he nailed the list inside the barn, out of reach of wet boots. Not as a decree but as a reminder.
Two mornings later, he t with Darran behind the storage shed. The man slled of boiled leather and ale, and eyed Levi like a puzzle he didn't ask for.
"You want to drill swamp folk?" Darran asked, dragging a hand down his stubbled chin. "Half of 'em can't hold a spear right."
"Then teach 'em to hold a stick first," Levi replied.
"Why?"
Levi paused. "Because soone will co, soday. Bandit or thieves and I'd rather they see a village that stands together than one that begs."
Darran spit into the mud. "You'll feed if I do?"
"Three als a day, no rot. And a roof that doesn't leak."
The man grunted. "Fine. But if one of 'em stabs their own foot, it's not on ."
In the weeks that followed, the drills began. Wooden staves, padded with wrapped moss. Groups of four or five took turns each day. No yelling. No pride. Just form, rhythm, stance. Darran didn't shout, but he didn't smile either.
Levi watched quietly from a distance, notebook in hand.
One evening, he sat with Mae and Harwin again. The fire crackled, shadows long.
"I want to go," he said. "One moon (month) from now. Visit a noble house hopefully soone who knows the bog. Maybe… the Reeds?"
Harwin raised an eyebrow. "Greywater Watch?"
"They know the swamp better than anyone. If we want to stay hidden and safe, we need to understand this place deeper than its mud."
Mae said nothing at first. Then she looked up at the smoke curling into the night.
"Then make sure your people are rooted before you go."
Levi nodded. "That's what this moon (month) is for."
Later, by lantern light, Levi carved another plank and staked it beside the path leading into Bogwater. This one read:
Work feeds all. Watch feeds hope. One moon's ti, the road begins.
Bogwater wasn't a stronghold. Not yet. But its mud rembered. And so would its people.
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