Stalls lined the uneven stone path, their wooden frames creaking under the weight of hastily gathered goods. Thick, gray clouds loomed overhead and smothered the sky in a thick blanket. Now close to sunset, a gust of wind swept through the small market square of Bridgevault, sending loose papers scattering, and tugging at tarps.
Everett leaned against a crooked post with crossed arms. His eyes scanned the chaos, dark curls sticking damply to his forehead, and holding a flat lined lip. A vendor to his right cursed as he wrestled to tie a flapping tarp. “You’d think the world was ending,” he muttered to himself.
“It might as well be if we lose what little we’ve got left,” Adira snapped from behind. “And maybe if you hadn’t dragged good workers into the woods this morning, we wouldn’t be scrambling to keep this place afloat.”
Everett sighed, the smirk fading slightly as he straightened up. “I told you; we brought back enough to last at least a week. What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” Adira said and stood at his side, “is that you didn’t think. Again. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if you’d been seen out there? If anyone followed you back?”
“We weren’t,” Everett said flatly, holding her gaze without flinching. “And we wouldn’t have been if you’d just trusted me for once.”
She glanced away with a sigh and decided to change topics. “Shouldn’t you be helping them?” Adira’s voice rose above the growing noise. She strode past him, her leather boots slapping against the wet stone. Her black hair was pulled back, though the wind teased at loose strands, framing her sharp features. In her hands, she carried a bundle of wool blankets whose ends were caked in mud.
“Looks like they’ve got it handled.” He threw her a side-eyed glance, “Shouldn’t you be yelling at Lydus, or throwing a fit?”
Adira stopped abruptly and turned to face him with narrowed eyes, “Because...” She ignored his comment, “If they lose half their stock to the storm, you’re the one who’ll be hunting twice as hard to make up for it.”
“Fine, fine. Guess I’ll play hero for the day.” He snatched a crate from a struggling vendor, his movements brisk but oddly gentle.
“It’s the least you can do...” She grumbled and followed behind, “I have scouts following that soldier back to his camp.”
Everett didn’t reply. Instead, he hefted the crate onto a cart, his jaw tightening as the wind howled through the square, louder now.
“You think this’ll be as bad as last year’s storm?” he asked suddenly, glancing over his shoulder at Adira.
Adira didn’t look at him. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the first streak of lightning lit up the distant trees. “It already is,” she murmured. “We need to move faster—and this time, for the love of god, listen to me?”
Everett hesitated, something he rarely did, but for once, gave in, “Fine.” He responded sharply.
She then gave a quick nod before barking, “You’re stronger than me, help move things into cover, and I’ll get people inside.”
Everett followed orders with a surprising burst of ‘good soldier’ behavior, a rare sight that Adira found oddly refreshing. She watched as he hurried to secure a flyaway tarp, yanking it back just as it threatened to tear free.
A shout drew her attention.
“Hello—” an old man called from overhead. Adira squinted against the downpour, rainwater streaking down her face as she tried to make out his figure.
Cursing softly under her breath, she stepped forward, and reaching up, she took the man’s hand, startling him with the sudden contact.
“Doctor,” Adira said, recognition dawning as she moved closer. Her tone softened. “Sorry, Doctor. Let me help you get inside.”
The man nodded with a grizzled face. Adira shifted her stance, letting him lean against her for support as they made their way toward his home, just a short trek down the muddy dirt path. The effort was awkward but steady.
With a sigh, she glanced back over her shoulder. Everett had finished his task, the tarp now securely fastened. Whether it was to keep the rain out or simply prevent it from flying away didn’t matter—what mattered was that, for once, he’d listened.
At least this time, she thought.
Adira struggled to make out his words, her brow furrowing as she processed them. After a brief pause, she responded, “I don’t think so… Bridgevault is angled downhill.” Water seeped into her shoes, clung to her clothes, and dripped from her hair. Glancing around the vicinity once more, she added, “Let’s find some shelter.”
“Alright,” Everett agreed and gestured ahead. “We’ll head to my place. It’s closer.”
She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before giving a reluctant nod. “Fine,” Adira replied shortly. As they trudged forward, boots sinking into the mud with every step, she added, “But only until the rain’s over. I can’t take any more of your ‘righteous’ speeches.”
“Neither can I,” he muttered under his breath.
Adira ignored the comment and quickened her pace, taking the lead. The rain intensified, pounding against them and turning the already uneven dirt path into a slippery mess. They rounded two corners before the house came into view—a modest, single-story structure built from light brown wood, its thatched roof sagging slightly under the weight of the downpour.
The wooden steps creaked under their weight as they ascended, though the sound was drowned out by the relentless drumming of splashing water. Everett pushed the door open with a sigh of relief, stepping inside and shaking water from his coat. Adira followed closely, her movements almost in sync with his, the pair standing to some breathe 'dry' air.
Adira leaned against the wall and let her hair down before the string tying it dried and stuck. She swallowed and glanced around the room uneasily. It wasn’t usual for her to be in his home, and it felt even more unusual now that she wasn’t angry or needing to scold him.
To break the silence, and out of curiosity, Adira’s gaze fell to the floor as she spoke, “So, Everett...” Her voice softened. “When your parents died...” She looked at him to gauge his reaction and found only a flat expression. “...Why did you switch homes?”
He didn’t respond immediately. His hesitation made it seem as if he were contemplating, though his always-hard expression often gave that impression regardless. “Simple,” Everett muttered finally. “Half the village died, and this house was free to take. I didn’t want to live in the same place I had to watch my mother die… to that goddamned disease.”
“And your father?” Adira asked cautiously.
Everett huffed. “That man was a drunken old bastard, anyway.”
She nodded and said nothing more, recognizing the sore edge in his tone. Adira pushed off the cold wall and sank into a chair beside the small wooden table. His house wasn’t as messy as she remembered. Perhaps he’d finally learned how to clean, though the more likely truth was he hadn’t spent enough time indoors to make a mess. The faint smell of cheap ale and parchment paper lingered in the air.
A long silence stretched between them. One moment, then two.
“Funny,” Everett said at last, breaking the quiet.
Adira raised an eyebrow. “What is?”
“Silence is louder than noise. Louder than a bang, or laughter,” he said, his hand brushing the wall as if steadying himself.
Adira’s lips curved faintly. “That’s a lot of thought coming from someone like you.”
He glanced at her, unimpressed. “Whatever.” He gestured toward the cushioning on the floor. “That’s where Arawn used to sleep when we first brought him in. You can lay there for tonight.”
“I’d rather sit in the rain,” she replied, her gaze flickering to the front door as the wind howled and banged against it. She hesitated, weighing her options. Running home meant braving the storm halfway across the village, while staying here meant attempting sleep. The worst outcome would be waiting out the rain anyway. “Alright, fine,” Adira relented, sitting up straighter. “But don’t make any—”
She turned, only to find that Everett had already left the room. Rolling her eyes, she sighed and leaned back, listening to the relentless rhythm of the rain.
It hadn’t always been this way, hadn’t always felt this distant. She could still recall a time when Everett was the quiet boy who wandered the village taking in every detail and simply observing. When exactly that fire ignited in him, she couldn’t say. It had sparked long before the disease swept through the village. Long before hunger threatened their lives. Yet, despite herself, it left her bitter in ways she could scarcely articulate. They had once been the closest of friends. But times change, she supposed, and with them, so did they.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
