Chapter 3
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake to the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Bram’s massive form moves about the kitchen, his hooves making surprisingly little noise on the wooden floor. I stretch, wincing at the lingering soreness from the crash.
“Good morning,” I call out, my voice still husky from sleep.
Bram turns, a steaming mug in each of his large hands. “How are you feeling today?”
I sit up, accepting the offered coffee with a grateful nod. “Better, thanks. Still sore, but I think I’ll live.”
He nods, studying me with concern. “The storm’s still going strong. We might be stuck here for a while longer.”
I take a sip of the rich, dark coffee and glance out the window. The world beyond is a swirling mass of white. “Looks like it. I hope I’m not imposing too much.”
“Not at all,” he says, his deep voice warm. “It’s nice to have company, actually.”
As I finish my coffee, Bram moves to a nearby shelf and pulls down a wooden box. He opens it, revealing an intricately carved chess set.
“Who taught you to play?” he asks, setting up the board on the coffee table.
“My mom taught me when I was young.”
He nods. “My father taught me. Would you like a game? It might help pass the time.”
I nod, eager for the distraction. “You’re on.”
We settle on opposite sides of the board, the fire crackling beside us. I take white, moving a pawn forward to start the game. Bram responds quickly, his large fingers surprisingly dexterous as he maneuvers the pieces.
As we play, I study him more closely. His brow wrinkles in concentration,as he scans the board methodically. Each move is carefully considered, revealing a strategic mind I hadn’t expected from someone so physically imposing.
“You’re quite good,” I say after he captures my bishop in a move I didn’t see coming.
He gives me a small smile. “I’ve had a lot of practice. My father used to love the game.”
We continue to play, the game stretching on as we match each other move for move. Bram’s patience is remarkable, never rushing me even when I take extra time to consider my options. It’s a sharp contrast to his intimidating appearance, and I relax more in his presence.
“Checkmate,” he says finally, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise.
I blink, studying the board. He’s right – my king is trapped, with no escape. “Well played,” I concede, impressed. “That was a close game.”
Bram nods, already resetting the pieces. “Another?”
I grin, my competitive spirit fully awakened. “Absolutely.”
As we start our second game, I decide to probe a bit deeper into Bram’s life. “So, have you always lived in Evershift Haven?”
He pauses, a pawn held between his fingers. “Most of my life, yes. I left for a few years when I was younger, to see more of the world, but I came back. This place is home.”
“What made you come back?” I ask, curious about what could draw someone back to such an isolated place.
“My dad was ill, but also...” His gaze grows distant for a moment. “I missed the quiet and simplicity. Out there, in the wider magical world, everything’s so chaotic. Here, I can focus on my woodworking and take care of my mother since Dad died. It’s enough.”
I nod, understanding the appeal of a simpler life. “Your mother lives in town?”
“Yes. Thalinda Stonehorn. She’s quite a character. You’ll probably meet her once we can get into town.”
The game continues, our conversation flowing more easily now. I find myself opening up about my own life, the words spilling out almost without my permission.
“I’ve been feeling a bit lost lately,” I say, staring at the chessboard without really seeing it. “My mom passed away two months ago. She’d been sick for a long time, and I’d put everything on hold to take care of her. Now that she’s gone, I’m not sure what to do with myself.”
Bram’s hand pauses over a knight. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s not easy, losing a parent.”
I nod, blinking back tears. “Thanks. It’s just... I spent so long being her caretaker, I’m not sure who I am without that role. I have a business degree, but I’ve never really used it other than in retail for a couple of years when she was just getting sick but before she needed full-time care. I thought this road trip might help me figure things out, but so far, I just feel more adrift than ever.”
He considers this for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Sometimes, it takes time to find your footing again after a loss like that.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, moving my rook. “I just wish I had some direction, you know? Some sense of purpose.”
“Purpose can come from unexpected places,” he says softly. “Who knows? Maybe this detour into our little magical town is the universe’s way of showing you something new.”
I laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “A hidden town full of magical creatures? It’s certainly unexpected.”
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Stranger things have happened. Checkmate, by the way.”
I look down at the board, startled to find my king cornered once again. “You’re annoyingly good at this game.”
His laugh is a deep, rumbling sound that fills the cabin. “Years of practice, like I said. Want to go again?”
I nod, already reaching to reset the pieces. As we start our third game, the conversation shifts to lighter topics. Bram tells me about some of the more colorful residents of Evershift Haven, painting a picture of a vibrant, if eccentric, community.
“There’s Bella Brewster at ‘The Enchanted Espresso,’” he says, describing a coffee shop where the cups float to customers and the wallpaper changes to match people’s moods. “And Throk Ironheart runs ‘Mystical Motors.’ I think I briefly mentioned him. He can talk to cars, which comes in handy for diagnostics.”
I listen, fascinated by these glimpses into a world so different from my own. “It sounds like something out of a fairy tale.”
He nods, a wry smile on his face. “It can feel like that sometimes, but we have our share of everyday problems too. Magic can’t solve everything.”
As the day wears on, we play game after game of chess, our conversations growing deeper and more personal. Bram tells me about his woodworking and the joy he finds in creating beautiful, functional pieces with his hands. I share stories about my mom and the good times we had before she got sick, plus the dreams she had for me.
“She always wanted me to find my passion,” I say, staring into the fire. “I just wish I knew what that was.”
Bram reaches out, gently patting my arm. The gesture is surprisingly comforting. “You will.”
As night falls, the storm shows no signs of letting up. Bram prepares another simple but hearty meal, and we eat in comfortable silence, the chess board temporarily forgotten.
“Thank you,” I say suddenly, breaking the quiet. “For the rescue, the food, and the company. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me out there.”
His expression softens. “You’re welcome, Fiona. I’m glad I was able to help.”
As I settle in for another night on Bram’s couch, I feel more at peace than I have in months. The grief is still there, like a constant ache, but it’s tempered now by something else. A sense of possibility, perhaps. Or maybe just the comfort of a new friendship, forged over chess and conversation in this cozy cabin while the storm rages outside.
Whatever it is, for the first time since my mom died, I fall asleep with a smile on my face, curious about what the next day might bring.
THE STORM RAGES ON for days, transforming the world outside Bram’s cabin into an endless sea of white. I stand at the window, watching the swirling snow with awe and frustration. As much as I appreciate Bram’s hospitality, I’m starting to feel restless, trapped in this cozy prison of warmth and safety.
“Looks like we’re in for another day of this,” he says, his deep voice rumbling behind me.
I turn to face him, noting the way his massive form seems to fill the entire room. “How long do these storms usually last?”
He shrugs, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “It varies. Could be another day or two. Could be a week.”
“A week?” I exclaim, my eyes widening. “What if we run out of supplies?”
He smiles. “We won’t. I always keep the cabin well-stocked for winter, but...” He pauses, studying me thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I teach you a few things about surviving out here.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “What kind of things?”
“For starters, how to chop wood and build a fire. Essential skills in these parts.”
I glance at the crackling fireplace, then back at Bram. “I don’t know... I’ve never been very outdoorsy.”
“It’s not about being outdoorsy,” he says gently. “It’s about self-sufficiency. Being able to take care of yourself, no matter the situation.”
His words are uncomfortably full of truth. Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been struggling with since Mom died? Finding a way to stand on my own two feet?
“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”
Bram nods approvingly. “We’ll start with chopping wood. Bundle up – it’s cold out there.”
I layer on every piece of warm clothing I have, along with a coat borrowed from Bram’s wardrobe. It’s a short jacket on him but fits me like a full-length parka. When I’m done, I look like a puffy, mismatched snowman. Bram, on the other hand, seems impervious to the cold, wearing only a thick flannel shirt over his fur-covered torso.
We step out onto the porch, and the icy wind immediately bites at my exposed skin. Bram leads me to a covered area at the side of the cabin, where a large pile of logs sits next to a sturdy chopping block.
“First things first,” he says, picking up an axe that looks comically small in his massive hands. “Safety. Always make sure your stance is solid, and keep your eyes on the target.”
He demonstrates, his movements fluid and practiced. The axe comes down with a satisfying thunk, splitting the log cleanly in two.
“Now you try,” he says, holding out the axe to me.
I take it, surprised by its weight. Mimicking Bram’s stance, I position myself in front of the chopping block. I raise the axe, my arms already trembling from the effort.
“Keep your back straight, and let the weight of the axe do most of the work.”
I nod, focusing on the log in front of me. With a grunt of effort, I bring the axe down. It glances off the side of the log, barely leaving a mark.
“That’s okay,” he says encouragingly. “Try again. This time, aim for the center.”
I grit my teeth and lift the axe once more. This time, when it comes down, it bites into the wood with a satisfying crack. The log splits, not as cleanly as Bram’s, but split nonetheless.
“I did it.” A grin spreads across my face.
Bram nods with approval. “Well done. Let’s see if you can do it again.”
We spend the next hour chopping wood, and my technique improves with each swing. By the time we finish, I’m sweating despite the cold, my arms aching pleasantly from the exertion.
“You’re a quick learner,” he says as we carry the freshly chopped wood back to the cabin.
“I had a good teacher,” I say, surprised by the warmth in my voice. His eyes widen as his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything.
Back inside, Bram shows me how to build a fire, explaining the importance of proper airflow, and the right mix of kindling and larger logs. Under his patient guidance, I soon have a small flame flickering to life in the fireplace.
“There’s something satisfying about this,” I say, watching the fire grow stronger. “Knowing I can do these things for myself.”
He nods, his expression thoughtful. “That’s the beauty of self-sufficiency. It gives you a sense of control, even when the world around you feels chaotic.”
I think about the chaos of the past few months – Mom’s death, selling the house, and my aimless road trip. This feels so nice and normal. “Thank you for teaching me.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder. “You’re welcome. There’s more to learn, if you’re interested.”
I look up at him, seeing not just my rescuer now, but a friend. A mentor, even. “I am,” I say firmly. “What’s next?”
OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS , as the storm continues its relentless assault on the outside world, Bram teaches me a variety of survival skills. We practice fire-starting techniques using different materials, from matches to flint and steel. He shows me how to purify water, how to identify edible plants with books he keeps on his extensive bookshelf, since most are buried under snow at the moment, and even some basic first aid.
Each new skill I master fills me with a growing sense of confidence. It’s not just about survival in the wilderness. It’s about facing challenges head-on and believing in my own abilities. One evening, as we sit by the fire after a particularly grueling lesson on knot-tying, Bram turns to me with a serious expression.
“There’s one more thing I want to teach you. Something that might come in handy if you ever find yourself in a situation like the night we met.”
I lean forward, intrigued. “What is it?”
“How to navigate by the stars,” he says. “It’s not snowing as heavily tonight. We might be able to see them if we go outside.”
Despite the late hour and the cold, I eagerly agree. We bundle up and step out onto the porch. The storm has indeed calmed, and patches of clear sky are visible between the clouds.
Bram points upward, his arm a dark silhouette against the night sky. “See that bright star there? That’s Polaris, the North Star. It’s always in the same spot, which makes it invaluable for navigation.”
I follow his gaze, picking out the star he’s indicating. “How does it work?”
“Once you find Polaris, you know which way is north. From there, you can figure out the other directions. It’s a skill that’s saved many lost travelers over the years.”
As Bram continues his lesson, pointing out constellations and explaining their significance, I’m captivated not just by the stars, but by the depth of his knowledge. There’s so much more to this gentle giant than I first realized. It’s not just his knowledge that interests me, but I shy away from confronting the truth that I’m attracted to him.
“How did you learn all this?” I ask during a lull in his explanation.
Bram is quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the stars. “My father taught me,” he says finally, his voice tender with memory. “He believed in being prepared for anything. Said you never know when knowledge might save your life – or someone else’s.”
I think about how his father’s teachings led him to save me that night in the storm. “Your father sounds like a wise man,” I say.
Bram nods. “He was. I think he would have liked you, Fiona. He always appreciated those who were eager to learn.”
Warmth blooms from his words. “I wish I could have met him.”
“Me too,” he says softly. Then, with a gentle shake of his head, he turns back to the lesson. “Let’s see if you can find the Big Dipper...”
We stay outside for another hour, the cold forgotten as I absorb every bit of celestial knowledge Bram shares. By the time we head back inside, my head is spinning with stars and constellations, but I feel a deep sense of accomplishment.
As I settle onto the couch that has become my bed, Bram pauses by the door to his room.
“You’ve done so well, Fiona,” he says. “With all of it – the wood chopping, the fire-starting, the navigation. You’re picking things up faster than I expected.”
I flush with pride at his words. “I have a good teacher,” I say, echoing my earlier sentiment. “And... I think I needed this. To prove to myself that I can do these things.”
Bram nods. “Good night, Fiona. Rest well. We’ve got more to learn tomorrow.”
As he disappears into his room, I lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The past few days have been a whirlwind of new experiences and knowledge. More than that, they’ve given me a glimpse of a strength I didn’t know I possessed.
For the first time since Mom died, I have a sense of direction and purpose. It’s not a grand plan or a clear path forward, but it’s something. A spark of possibility, ignited by Bram’s patient teachings, and my own growing confidence, and the man...er, Minotaur...himself. He makes my heart pitter-patter just thinking about him.
I close my eyes, the memory of starlight still dancing behind my eyelids. As I drift off to sleep, I wonder if Bram would be shocked if I joined him in his bed. My eyelids fly open at the thought, and I quickly banish it. It takes far too long to relax enough again to try to sleep.