I clung to my mother and looked at the devastation the small village had endured. She bounced and shushed me, assuring me that all was fine, but I was not the one crying. The sounds of children calling for their parents echoed through the wreckage. Villagers wept or calmed their babies. Some took to the fires, heading off for the river with buckets to return and quell the flames that still burned. My mother ran to my father’s arms, and we all just held each other for a moment.

More villagers emerged from their homes or shops, still unsure if the worst had passed. Over the smoldering carcass of the felled Fire Wolf, villagers began to approach and whisper amongst themselves. “Where did Krig learn to fight like that?” “Did you know Krig and Gwen had all those weapons in their cottage?” “Am I crazy or did it look like he was using magic?” The tension of the crowd was growing again, only this time their trepidation was pointed toward my father.

My father wrapped an arm around my mother and I, cloaking us from danger. The villagers’ whispers escalated to jeering and shouts. “Magic’s not welcome here!” “You just put us all in danger!” “Now our village will be crawling with marshals thanks to you!” I noticed my father never sheathed his blades. I watched as his grip tightened.

Fortunately, words were the only thing they tossed. Before the anger could grow from slung words to slung stones, the Hunter’s Guild returned to the square. “What is the meaning of this?” the guildmaster Donovar cried out over the rabble.

“He slayed the wolf, but at what cost?” replied a villager. “I’d rather rebuild a burned down village than deal with the state!” Others joined in agreement.

“And what of your dead family?” a voice asked. “Could you rebuild from that?” The man who had been trapped under the cart stepped forward, accompanied by the child. “Had it not been for Krig and Gwen’s brave efforts, I would have surely perished beneath my cart. Shame on you, casting blame on him after the peril’s ended.”

“And how about when marshals are knocking down your door at night,” spoke another. “Will you thank him then?”

It was my father who spoke now, his swords finally put back in their sheaths. “I swear on my life, not a spell was cast by me. However, it is true that marshals will come.” The crowd began to stir again with grunts of discontentment, until Donovar backed my father up.

“He’s right. Marshals will be coming. Obviously, these were no ordinary wolves, which means one of two things. Either the pack settled in a den near an artifact powerful enough to imbue them with fire magic…”

“Or?” a villager asked, after the pause had grown too long.

“Or,” Donovar continued, “dragons are real, and they’re mating with anything in the forest that’ll have them.” A chuckle resonated through the crowd. I had to admit, Donovar sure could defuse a mob. “But right now, we need to tend to our own. No use pointing fingers when we should be lending hands. Now come on, let’s get this village fixed up and our hungry fed! Tonight, we feast on wolf!”

The crowd dispersed with a cheer, inspired by the guildmaster’s words. Some villagers approached my father and offered thanks or apologies. When all had gone, the guildmaster put a hand to Father’s shoulder. “As for you,” he said in a rather serious tone. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

“Next time,” my father said with a chuckle. “I think I’m going to get my family home. Your men handling the rest of that pack?”

“The guild is chasing them down as we speak. Once we find their den and get rid of the pack for good, I imagine stag will return as a regular item on the kitchen menu.”

The three of us returned to our cottage and, as soon as the door was shut, my father stumbled to the ground, catching the table for support. Mother placed me in my crib and fetched something from near their bed. “Wasn’t sure my composure would hold,” my father said, gritting his teeth. He clutched at his arm, the blood now visible when not concealed by his cloak.

Mother lifted a floorboard beneath their bed and moved back to her husband hastefully. I recognized the familiar shine of what she carried in her hand: a near-translucent stone with a soft pink hue emanating from its center. I couldn’t believe it. My mother has an artifact?! “That was completely reckless, Krig,” she scolded. “You should have let your guildmates handle it.”

She knelt by my father, cupping the crystal in both hands, focusing on it and reciting an arcane incantation under her breath. I could see the wound more clearly now: a long single cut framed by scorched skin. The wolf must have caught him with its final bite. In the soft glow of the artifact, the cut was rapidly healing.

The incantations were replaced with more cursing. “We were supposed to leave that life in the past! Showing off like that will make folk suspicious.” Father simply replied with a hearty laugh. “You think this is funny?!”

Father calmed down and wiped a tear from his eye. “All I know is, if you’re well enough to scold me, it must mean you and Crow are alright.”