After a couple more days of travel, we finally made it to the cabin. Since it was a full moon, we’d walked through the night—silver light filtering through the trees like something out of a dream. The littles had slowed us down, their tiny feet dragging with exhaustion. I’d carried a few, one after another, their soft weight clinging to my back, their warm breaths brushing my neck as they dozed.

When they said we’d be going to a cabin to rest, I didn’t know what I expected—but it wasn’t this. It felt like we had stumbled into one of Mama’s fairy tales. Like the forest had bent just enough to reveal a secret place meant only for us.

The cabin sat nestled in a gentle valley, hidden among towering pines and old oaks whose branches wove together above like protective arms. The clearing around it glowed in the moonlight—silver grasses swaying with the breeze, wildflowers catching the light like scattered stars. Crickets sang softly beneath the hush of trees, and the air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and pine needles, mingled with the faint sweetness of late-season blossoms.

The cabin itself was small but sturdy, its log walls weathered with time, and a stone chimney rising like a spine at one end. The steep, gabled roof was shingled with uneven slate, worn down to dusky gray, mottled with lichen. It looked abandoned in the way old places do. It was quiet, still, but something in the way the steps had been swept clean and the bench left facing the valley said it hadn’t been forgotten.

The porch creaked underfoot, each groan of wood echoing like a voice in the silence. An old bench rested there, worn smooth with time, its back carved with curling shapes—maybe vines, maybe flames. From the edge of the porch, a narrow path led down through the trees, where moonlight caught on something bright and moving.

We followed it to find a bubbling spring tucked between smooth stones, feeding a slender creek that danced through the undergrowth. The water was so clear it looked like liquid glass, catching moonbeams as it spilled over pebbles and drifted around mossy roots. The sound of it—soft, constant, whispering—eased something inside me I hadn’t realized was wound so tight.

All around the cabin, a meadow bloomed wild and unkempt. Tall grasses shimmered silver and gold in the low light, dotted with flowers in shades of violet, blue, and soft orange—fall blossoms clinging to their last breath before winter. Every step through the clearing released the scent of crushed herbs and warm soil. The air had that crispness that comes just before frost: sharp, clean, edged with the promise of firelight and wool blankets.

It’s peaceful here. Unbelievably peaceful. Like the world outside doesn’t exist, and maybe it never had.

I stood still for a moment, just breathing it all in. The hush of the woods, the glitter of moonlight on the creek, the softness of the air. It seemed to wrap around me like a story I’d almost forgotten. This place, a place like this just doesn’t feel real. After everything I’ve been through, after the dark and the screaming and the endless waiting, it almost hurt to see something so beautiful. Like my chest didn’t know whether to tighten or let go. Maybe this was what safety feels like. I’m not sure yet, but I want to believe it’s possible.

Micah broke me from my day dream. “We’ll stay here a full day and night before continuing,” he muttered, glancing at the littles. “If they need more time, that’s okay. A few of us will head to the Borough early to prepare.”

The door groaned open, as he pushed. He tried to take a step in but the littles ran in before it fully opened. Micah frowned. Maybe he wasn’t used to children. Do the boys have families? Do any of them have children of their own?

The noise of something falling and a big sigh pulled me back from my line of questions. I giggled watching a few getting scolded as they climbed the creaking stairs. There was never a dull moment with this group.

I paused, looking behind us. We’d come so far, been through so much. So far, this has been worth it. My feet finally got to catch up to my wandering mind. I smiled and went inside to help the younger ones get ready for their snack before bed.

They ate and passed out quickly, comfortable here. I smiled, and fell asleep right along with them. Eventually I woke in the night and became restless. I got a drink and spotted Mama Bear wrapped in a blanket outside.

I quietly stepped out to join her on the porch. Some of the boys were stationed around the cabin, taking turns on watch. I tried to be quiet, but the porch groaned. Mama turned and smiled when she saw it was me. I sat down and snuggled in beside her.

“How are you doing?” I asked. “I know traveling with your injuries can’t be easy.” She sighed and smiled, tiredness in her eyes.

“It’s not,” she answered flatly, “but they’re making it easier. They won’t let me help much yet. Just keep telling me I’m still healing.” She looked out to the forest, lost in thought. We sat in silence for a long time, just enjoying each other’s company. I started to drift off, leaning on her shoulder like old times.

When I woke again, I was inside under a blanket. Someone had tucked it around my shoulders, and the littles were curled up around me like sleepy kittens. Warm and soft and twitching in their dreams. I stifled a laugh so I wouldn’t wake them, my chest aching with something close to joy. For once, it wasn’t fear that stirred me awake, it was light.

Outside, the sun was just rising, spilling honey-colored beams across the floorboards and casting golden halos around the dust motes dancing in the air. Today was a day of rest. A full day with no marching, no panic, no plans. Just breathe. We’d bathe in the creek, wash clothes, maybe explore. I wasn’t sure what else the day held. But for once, not knowing didn’t scare me. It felt like an unopened storybook.

The morning sun kissed our skin as we walked barefoot through the meadow toward the spring. Grasses brushing against my legs and wetting my ankles with dew. The creek glistened ahead of us. It’s tucked at the bottom of a mossy slope where water rushed clear and cold from between ancient stones. It bubbled over smooth rocks and curled around fallen logs, singing a song that felt older than any of us.

The boys, road-worn and dust-coated, had finally surrendered to the need to scrub off the trail. I followed, curious as always. The scene was soft and warm, like something from Mama’s gentler stories. The kind with laughter and meadows and slow mornings.

Aiden was at the edge of the creek, sleeves rolled up, hands working rhythmically as he scrubbed a shirt against a flat stone. His movements were careful, almost meditative. He always worked like that. He was slow, steady, intentional. You could see the way he treated every task as if it mattered, from stitching a wound to steeping tea. He had this habit of humming just under his breath, like he was keeping time with the rhythm of the earth.

Cory was crouched beside him, filling a canteen. The sun caught his messy blond hair, and for once his brow was smooth. Not solving anything, not building or planning—just being. He wiped water from his face with the back of his wrist, then leaned back on his elbows, eyes closed, letting the sun dry his skin.

Brennan wasn’t doing anything productive, of course. He was skipping stones, sending ripples dancing across the water. He grinned at me the second he noticed I was watching. “Careful, Jo. If you’re not paying attention, I might make you part of the water fight.” He wouldn’t dare. Well, he would, just to get someone laughing. It’s a day of rest though.

Unbothered by his words, I smiled, easing my feet into the spring. The cold shocked my bones at first, but quickly settled into something refreshing, almost addictive. Sunlight shimmered on the creek’s surface, fracturing into patterns that swirled across the stones below. It was like starlight trapped in water.

I’ve only ever known the guards before. Their hard eyes, quick tempers, hands that hurt. These men are nothing like them. They’re built tough, yes. They have sun-hardened skin and weather-worn faces. But inside? They seem to be full of soft things. Laughter. Gentleness. The kind of strength that didn’t need to scare people to prove itself.

I heard footsteps behind me and peered over my shoulder. Mama was walking over to join me. She also rolled up her pants then sat beside me, dipping her toes in too. The light caught in her hair, painting it copper.

“They’re so different,” I said, chuckling softly. “And they look different.”

“I guess you’ve grown up,” she added, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Can’t treat you the same way anymore. I can’t believe we’ve been together so long.” Her eyes grew distant, remembering those dark days.

I dropped my gaze, watching the boys again. Jamie now sat on the porch steps, quietly oiling his weapons. He always did that in the mornings, like it grounded him. Even in moments like this, his eyes kept scanning the edges of the woods. The tension in his shoulders had softened some though. He whistled sometimes when he thought no one was listening. A habit, maybe. A comfort.

“They’re different in many ways,” Mama said. “Physically, you can see the difference between men and women…”

I nodded slowly. “But they’re compassionate, good listeners, forgiving. And they’re helping us more than they know.” I smiled, watching Brennan let one of the littles braid flowers into his hair while pretending to protest.

Most of us had never known what happiness looked like until now.

Micah had stayed behind near the cabin, sharpening his knives on a flat stone. His movements were quiet, deliberate. But even he couldn’t resist the pull of the creek for long. Without a word, he joined us, standing barefoot at the edge of the water. His arms were crossed, but there was the faintest curve of a smile as he watched Brennan get tackled by two soaked children.

It felt like we were just… a family.

The littles heard the laughter and splashing and bolted toward us with shrieks of joy. They plunged into the creek without hesitation, then immediately regretted their decision because of the cold. We all laughed. Most of them got over the shock quickly. They stripped off soggy layers and played away, their giggles echoing off the trees. Aiden offered to wash their clothes too, his sleeves soaked up to the elbows.

The water fight officially began after that. Brennan got dunked by a girl half his size, and Cory nearly lost a boot to the chaos. I watched from the rocks, the sun warm on my face, my heart oddly light.

By midday, clothes were hung between trees, fluttering like prayer flags in the breeze. Aiden gathered herbs from near the spring, slipping them into his pouch with a practiced hand. Micah tended the fire, his watchful gaze softer than usual as the littles brought him sticks. He nodded his thanks, a rare moment of praise, and they beamed.

The fire wasn’t needed for warmth yet, but it added to the cozy feeling of the day. Smoke curled gently into the air, mixing with the scent of damp moss, pine sap, and crushed wildflowers. The air smelled like healing.

Girls made flower crowns and garlands, weaving them into each other’s hair. Some of the boys resisted, but only at first. Even Jamie ended up with a daisy tucked behind one ear. I laughed so hard when he came around the corner. This tough looking guy with pretty flowers was quite the sight. Mama and I sat nearby the girls, tying small bunches with twine and trading stories under our breath.

Eventually, I wandered toward the cabin for a moment of quiet.

I leaned back against the sun-warmed wall, letting my eyes scan the scene. The breeze rustled through the trees, and somewhere overhead, birds sang in low, sleepy calls. The laughter had faded into murmurs and the crackle of the fire.

This house were precious to us. There was no threat. No hunger, no marching, no fear. Just sunlight, water, laughter and the people we’d found along the way.

It was an illusion of peace, but one I hadn’t realized I needed.

As much as I’ve learned how to survive, how to keep going…

Moments like this reminded me why we fight.

Not just for tomorrow.

But for this.

For something beautiful.

For something worth protecting.