As they continued to tend to their stall, Harold's approving smile and encouraging words filled Mary with a newfound confidence. The lively chatter of customers and the clatter of wooden carts around them only added to the festive atmosphere of the market, making it a day Mary would long remember as the start of something important—a day when her diligence and spirit shone as brightly as the morning sun over Ridge Town.

The day was winding down as the final few customers filtered through the market, and Mary began tidying up the last of the produce. Just as she was about to fold the tablecloth, a tall figure approached the stall. He was dressed in a weathered coat, his dark hair untamed beneath a hood, and his face obscured by a scruffy, unkempt beard. But what stood out most were his eyes—deep, ember-like eyes that seemed to flicker with something otherworldly, as though they held a secret only the forest could understand.

Mary froze for a moment, staring at him in surprise. He was unlike any customer she’d seen today. Tall, lean, and carrying the rugged air of a hunter, his presence immediately unsettled her. His pale skin seemed to contrast sharply with his dark clothes, making him look almost ghostly against the sunlit market.

"Do you still have vegetables left?" the man asked, his voice gravelly and calm.

Mary, still a little stunned, glanced at their remaining stock, her voice unsure. "We have some pota...toes...left," she stammered, almost entranced by the man's gaze.

Before she could say more, Harold stepped in, sensing his daughter’s unease. He gave the man a friendly nod, his tone warm as he spoke. "Hello, sir. We have just this much—would that be okay?" Harold offered a small smile, eager to keep the transaction smooth.

The man’s ember eyes lingered on Harold for a moment, then shifted back to the potatoes. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he nodded slowly. "That'll do," he said, his voice carrying an almost distant tone.

Without another word, the man handed over a pouch of coins, more generous than Mary expected. Then, with a swift motion, he pulled a bundle of freshly caught rabbits from a satchel slung over his shoulder. "Take these," he said. "Your vegetables are the freshest I’ve always had."

Harold nodded, his demeanor unchanged by the man’s strange presence. "Thank you for the meat, as always, Duncan," he said with a polite smile.

The man, Duncan, gave a small nod in return, and without another word, he turned and quietly made his way back into the crowds. His movements were deliberate, like a shadow slipping between the bustling stalls, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.

Mary blinked, still unsettled. As the man disappeared from view, she turned to her father, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Who’s that man, Pa?"

Harold looked after Duncan for a moment before returning his gaze to Mary. His face was calm, but there was a slight shift in his expression, a quiet wariness behind his smile. "Duncan’s a regular customer, lass," Harold explained. "He’s a hunter from the north. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s always good for a fair trade. He brings us fresh meat in exchange for our vegetables. Been doing business with him for years now."

Mary frowned slightly, her thoughts drifting back to the eerie eyes of the man. "He seems... different," she murmured.

"Ah, don’t mind that," Harold said with a chuckle, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "He’s a bit of a loner, but he means no harm. You won’t find anyone else around here who can track game as well as he can."

Mary wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Duncan’s strange presence lingered in her mind, like an unanswered question in the back of her thoughts. As they packed up the rest of their goods, her eyes kept drifting back to the spot where he had stood, the memory of his ember-like eyes still burning faintly in her mind.

"Come on, Mary," Harold said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "We’ve done well today. Let’s get home before dark."

Harold and Mary quickly cleaned up their stall, gathering the last of their goods and stacking them onto the donkey cart. Laddie, the old but reliable donkey, flicked his ears and chewed lazily on a patch of grass as they finished their tasks. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the land. The hustle and bustle of the market slowly faded away as Harold and Mary secured the final bits and bobs for the ride home.

Once everything was settled, Harold climbed onto the wagon and extended a hand to Mary. "Hop up, lass. Let’s head home," he said, his voice carrying the familiar warmth that Mary cherished. She clambered up beside him, settling into the cart as they gave Laddie a gentle nudge.

As they set off down the cobbled streets of Ridge Town and made their way into the more open roads leading to the outskirts, a sense of relief washed over Mary. The market had been bustling, and although the encounter with Duncan still lingered in her thoughts, there was something calming about being on the road again, heading back to the quiet familiarity of their village.

Harold started humming a soft tune, one that Mary had heard many times before. It was an old song from when he was young, a melody that seemed to belong to the earth itself. Mary joined in, her voice rising clear and sweet, harmonizing with her father’s low baritone. Together, their voices filled the air with a lighthearted melody, the sound of family and togetherness blending with the rustling of leaves and the creaking of the wooden cart.

"Sing it loud, Mary," Harold chuckled as they both swayed along with the rhythm. "You’ve got a good voice there, lass. Just like your mama."

Mary smiled, her heart light. "I think it’s the fresh air," she teased. "Makes everything sound better."

Harold laughed, the sound rich and hearty. "Aye, that’s the spirit. The road’s always easier when you sing through it."

As they neared the edge of Ridge Forest, the familiar scent of pine and earth greeted them, filling the air with the comforting fragrance of the wild. The trees on either side stood tall and watchful, their leaves whispering secrets in the wind. The trail through the forest was a path they had traveled countless times, familiar and safe, yet today Mary couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different.

Her thoughts flickered back to the woods and the strange feeling she’d had earlier, the strange eyes that seemed to follow them from the forest’s edge. But as the song continued and Laddie trotted along steadily, Mary shook off the unease. Whatever had happened, it was behind them now, and she was with her father, heading home.

“Almost there,” Harold said, pulling the reins gently as the trail became narrower and the trees seemed to close in. He slowed the donkey’s pace as they reached the heart of the forest, where the sunlight filtered through the thick canopy above in dappled patterns. “We’ll be back in Elysian Village in no time.”

Mary nodded, but her gaze lingered on the darkening shadows among the trees. The memory of Duncan’s ember eyes still danced at the edge of her mind, but she focused on the music, her father’s warm presence, and the rhythmic clip-clop of Laddie’s hooves on the path beneath them.

As they continued down the road, the world around them seemed to slow, the sounds of the forest melding with the song they sang—a moment of peace that would last only as long as the journey home.

The sound of crows grew louder, their shrill calls piercing the calm of the forest. The air around them seemed to thicken, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath. Harold’s hand tightened on the reins, and he gave a sharp command to Laddie. "Come on, Laddie! Fast, girl! Faster now! Hiyyah!"

Laddie, ever dependable, responded to her master’s urging. The donkey’s hooves beat faster against the earth, her pace picking up as the cart rattled over the uneven path. The sound of crows shifted, changing into the deeper, more ominous caw of ravens.

Mary clutched the sides of the cart, her heart pounding in her chest. "What’s going on, Papa?" she called out, her voice tight with worry.

Harold’s eyes darted around, scanning the trees ahead and the canopy above. He seemed more focused than she’d ever seen him, his usual calm demeanor replaced with urgency. "Hang on, lass!" he called back, his voice clipped. "If crows are like that, it's ravens! We need to leave the forest fast!"

Mary’s eyes widened, confusion mixing with a growing sense of dread. "Ravens? But... why?"

Harold didn’t have time to answer. The sound of flapping wings grew louder, more intense. The trees seemed to shake with the rush of the birds, the sky above darkening momentarily as large shadows passed overhead.

"Stay low, Mary!" Harold shouted, urging the donkey on. Laddie’s pace was fast now, her hooves pounding rhythmically against the earth, but even with the donkey’s quickened steps, Mary could feel the air around them shift, like the forest was closing in.