6. Draven
DRAVEN
The forest has become my second home this past week.
My boots find familiar paths between oak and maple, their autumn canopy filtering golden light into scattered coins across the forest floor.
Red leaves spiral down like drops of blood against the brown earth, and somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker hammers out its territorial claim.
I move through the trees with practiced silence, each step calculated to avoid the snap of dry branches or the rustle of accumulated leaves.
The irony isn't lost on me—I've spent more time within a mile of Harvest Hollow's borders in the last seven days than I have in the previous year.
My usual patrol routes took me deep into the wilderness, tracking threats before they could approach the settlement's edges.
Now I find myself circling back, again and again, drawn by something I refuse to name.
Through the red and gold tapestry of autumn foliage, I catch sight of her.
Isolde kneels beside her hives, that ridiculous netted hat perched on her dark curls like some bizarre crown.
The wide brim casts shadows across her face, but I can see the concentration in her posture as she works.
She's traded her usual soft linens for practical brown trousers that hug the curve of her hips, the fabric outlining the gentle swell where her waist narrows before flaring again.
Smart choice—bees have an unfortunate tendency to explore beneath skirts, and their stings in delicate places would ruin anyone's day.
Her cream-colored blouse pulls slightly across her breasts as she leans forward to examine a frame, the embroidered vines along her cuffs catching the morning light. The sight hits me with unexpected force, and I find myself gripping the rough bark of the maple I'm using for cover.
She straightens, rolling her shoulders to ease some tension, and the movement makes me notice the graceful line of her neck where a few escaped curls dance against brown skin. Even dressed for practical work, she possesses an unconscious elegance that makes my chest hurt.
When did I start anticipating her presence during my rounds?
"Now listen here, you stubborn things." Isolde's voice carries clearly through the still air, addressing her bees with the same patient authority she used to explain her honey production process.
"I know the move was disruptive, but sulking won't help anyone.
The sooner you accept this location, the sooner you can get back to proper honey production. "
I lean against the maple's trunk, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.
She speaks to sixty thousand insects as if they're wayward children, and somehow it doesn't sound foolish.
There's genuine affection in her tone, the kind of connection that comes from years of partnership rather than simple ownership.
"The lavender bloom won't last forever, and I need samples for the trade negotiations. So let's have some cooperation, shall we?"
A worker bee lands on her gloved hand, and she holds perfectly still while it explores the leather surface. Most humans would panic or swat instinctively, but Isolde watches with calm curiosity, as if the bee's investigation provides valuable information about the colony's mood.
The bee takes flight, rejoining its sisters in their purposeful dance around the hive entrance. Isolde nods approvingly, apparently satisfied with whatever message the encounter conveyed.
"Much better. See how reasonable you can be when you put your minds to it?"
I should continue my patrol. Check the eastern boundary where I found those tracks yesterday, verify the wolf pack has moved on to safer hunting grounds.
My presence here serves no practical purpose—the orchard sits well within the town's protected zone, and Isolde has proven capable of handling her bees without supervision.
The sound of rustling underbrush draws my gaze to the side where heavy footsteps announce Thornak's approach. He emerges from between two towering oaks, his massive frame making the trees look smaller by comparison. Sawdust clings to his dark hair and shoulders, evidence of his morning's work.
"Admiring the view?" His tusks catch the dappled sunlight as he speaks, voice carrying that familiar note of dry amusement.
I straighten from my position against the maple but don't move away from my vantage point. "Checking the perimeter."
"From behind a tree. For the third time this week." Thornak crosses his arms, biceps straining against his work shirt. "You're lingering where you don't need to be, Draven."
Heat creeps up my neck, but I keep my expression neutral. "Your wife asked me to keep an eye on Isolde during her time here. I'm following orders."
"Orders." Thornak's laugh rumbles deep in his chest. "Since when do you care what Maddie says? You've never bothered listening to anything but the sound of woodland creatures most of your life."
The accusation stings because it holds truth. I've built my existence around the forest's rhythms, the predictable patterns of animal behavior, the honest simplicity of tracking and hunting. Human complications have always felt foreign, unnecessarily complex.
"I listen to someone who says something worth hearing." The words emerge sharper than intended. "I'm not interested in town gossip, rivalries, or drama."
Thornak's expression shifts, something harder settling behind his dark eyes. He uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer, close enough that I have to tilt my chin up slightly to maintain eye contact.
"As much as I prefer to keep to myself, the town is good for me. It's good for Isolde and Maddie." His voice carries quiet conviction, the weight of experience. "There's more to Harvest Hollow than your shallow view of things. You should consider opening your eyes to that."
He turns to leave, boots crunching through the carpet of fallen leaves. The dismissal burns in my chest, but before I can formulate a response, he pauses and glances back over his shoulder.
"You're acting like a creep, by the way."
The words hit like a hard physical blow. Thornak continues walking, his broad back disappearing between the trees as he returns to his woodcutting. The distant sound of his axe biting into timber echoes through the forest moments later.
I remain frozen against the maple, Thornak's assessment replaying in my mind.
The brutal honesty of it forces me to examine my behavior from an outside perspective.
How many times have I positioned myself where I can observe Isolde without her knowledge?
How many excuses have I manufactured to justify my presence?
The realization settles over me like cold water.
Despite all my interest in Isolde, despite the pull I feel toward her quiet strength and gentle competence, I can never have her.
Thornak spoke truth—village life is good for her.
She deserves the warmth of community, the security of belonging somewhere people value her presence.
And I would want to take her away from all of that. Keep her for myself.