Page 14 of Ashes, Apples, & Amorous Orcs

"More like it doesn't care if you break your neck." I pause beside a cluster of berry bushes, their leaves showing the telltale brown edges of recent animal browsing. "See how these branches are bent? Something large came through here within the last day or two."

She crouches beside me, studying the damaged foliage with the same careful attention she gives her honeycomb frames. Her fingers trace the broken stems without disturbing them further.

"The breaks are clean, not torn. Deliberate feeding rather than panicked flight."

"Exactly." The observation impresses me more than it should. "Most people would walk right past that."

"Most people don't spend their days reading the subtle signs of bee behavior." She straightens, brushing dirt from her skirts. "Same principles apply—everything leaves traces of its intentions."

We continue deeper into the woods, where the canopy thickens and afternoon light filters through in shifting patterns. I find myself pointing out details I've never bothered explaining to anyone—the scratch marks on bark that indicate territorial boundaries, the particular way grass bends when predators use regular hunting paths.

"You patrol all of this alone?" She steps carefully over a fallen log, accepting my offered hand for balance.

"The dangerous parts, yes. Thornak handles the areas closer to his mill." I don't release her hand immediately, telling myself it's about ensuring her footing on the uneven ground. "Town council pays me to keep the threats contained to the deep forest."

"That seems like a significant responsibility for one person."

"It is what it is."

She gives me a look that suggests my deflection didn't fool her, but she doesn't push. Instead, she stops beside a massive pine whose bark shows deep gouges at shoulder height.

"Bear?" Her assessment comes without hesitation.

"Good eye. Old markings, though. That one moved on months ago."

The sun sits lower now, painting everything in honey-colored light that makes her skin glow warm. I should suggest heading back, but the words refuse to form. Instead, I find myself leading her toward a small clearing where wildflowers still bloom despite the advancing season.

"How often do you have to actually fight these threats?"

"More often than the town probably wants to know." The honesty surprises me. "Less often than it could be if I wasn't out here."

She nods thoughtfully, settling onto a sun-warmed boulder that offers a view back through the trees toward Harvest Hollow's distant rooftops. The light catches the golden threads in her embroidery, making them shimmer like captured sunbeams.

"Thank you for showing me this." Her voice carries genuine warmth. "It honestly is so stunning."

Stunning. That's the only word I find, as I watch her bathed in the dying light. It feels insufficient, considering the way this moment roots itself deeper than it should.

As the shadows lengthen, Isolde turns, catching the play of light with those hazel eyes, eyes so full of insight and wit.

For a moment, I let myself hold the thought of her among these trees that usually stand sentinel to my solitude. Normally, it calms, but now I wonder if the peace I've claimed masks something else entirely. The forest, it seems, isn't the only place I've kept sheltered and unexplored.

Isolde rises from her boulder perch, brushing dust from her skirt. "Shall we head back before it gets too dark?"

I nod, quietly marshalling my thoughts as the woods close around us. The path home feels somehow altered, like it's widened to accommodate something beyond mere footfalls—something that doesn't mean solitude but possibly something more.

CHAPTER 9

ISOLDE

The path back feels different now—wider somehow, like the forest has opened space for conversation. Our footsteps fall into an easy rhythm, his longer stride naturally adjusting to match mine. The dying light filters through the canopy in shifting patterns that dance across his green skin and catch the gold in his eyes.

"How many times have the dangerous animals actually gotten close to Harvest Hollow?" The question emerges from genuine curiosity rather than concern. His competence in these woods radiates quiet confidence that makes fear feel unnecessary.

"More than the council probably wants to admit." His voice carries the weight of unspoken encounters. "Three mountain cats last spring, a pack of dire wolves during the harsh winter two years back. Bear family got curious about the orchards just after harvest season ended."

I step carefully over a root that juts across the path, noting how he positions himself slightly uphill to catch me if I stumble. "But none of them actually made it into town."

"No." The simple word carries layers of effort behind it. "That's the point."