A sharp, cold wind blew. While humans might have shunned the discomfort Zeff welcomed it. He unbuttoned his coat and let the gusts’ chilled fingers find their way beneath his mail to caress his recent wound. It cooled his temper as well, and after a couple hours of walking in the cold he was thinking more clearly.
Earlier in the day he’d defended his farm from a hobgoblin raiding party. Looking back on it now, he’d begun to realize how lucky he’d been to survive the encounter with only a light injury. And here he was, alone, looking for more trouble. It was a little unnerving if he thought too much about it, so he focused his attention on the ground looking for the raiders’ trail. It wasn’t easy to find signs on the frozen earth but he was pretty sure he was on the right track.
And the right track was coming from the general direction of the other farms.
Zeff had hoped he’d be led straight to the wilds instead. He’d assure himself he was the first victim of the raiding party, go back home, and make a hot dinner. Problem solved and no one else hurt.
As he crested the top of the next rise his heart sank. It would be a wonderful world if a brisk walk-about could solve his problems, but he’d never been even remotely that lucky. Smoke rose from the farm below, and even from a distance he could see that the walls and door of the farm house looked damaged. He gritted his teeth and started into a jog. He doubted there would be any survivors but delaying wouldn’t fix anything either. He had to pick up his knees to avoid tripping over the cornstalks that lay in his path, and was quickly glad he’d left his coat open as he began to sweat from the irregular exertion.
As he approached, he slowed his jog and then stopped. He huffed a plume of frost into the air and took a closer look. Something was off. There had obviously been an attack. The home was badly damaged and the livestock were killed or driven off. The smoke curled up to the sky as a last remnant of what he thought had been a larger fire, but now he realized that the smoke rose from the chimney as normal as can be.
Someone had a fire going in there. Zeff approached cautiously as he unslung his axe. He was certain he wouldn’t find any hobgoblins warming their toes but he couldn’t imagine who would choose to be here after an obvious attack. Maybe some riffraff prospectors looking to thieve and scavenge. He tried to creep up quietly, which meant he still made a great deal of noise while avoiding intentionally stepping on every dry stick or corn stalk, yet he still managed to reach the farmstead unchallenged.
Best to make a big entrance and sort it out from there he thought. With his shield in front and his axe held upright behind him he slammed the door open and leapt inside with his most intimidating snarl. The damaged door fell completely off of its remaining leather hinge and bounced off a table, making a satisfyingly loud crash.
The woman who was sitting by the fireplace jumped up surprised, but she was far from startled into inaction. Grabbing a spear from next to the fire, she raised her other hand palm up toward him and said “Halt!”
Much to his surprise, he did. A surge of power infused her command and he found that he couldn’t move. He could only stare as she set her spear toward him. Her face was grim but determined as she said, “Turn back, beast, or be destroyed.”
With that, he felt his limbs return to his control. The room was only dimly lit by the fire in the hearth, but his orcish eyes could see clearly. Behind the woman, next to the fire, a young human boy lay under a blanket. The woman looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place her. He lowered his shield a few inches as he tried to figure it out.
She recognized him as the lowering shield revealed his face. “Zeff! How did you get here?” she asked. But he only stared in response as he thought. Her face was familiar though she was oddly dressed in breeches and hunting leathers. She wore her brown hair in a tight braid, which would prevent an enemy from getting a fistful of hair if she had to defend herself. A fine cloak hung by the fireplace, good for a traveler who might need warmth when sleeping outdoors. But it was her voice that finally made it click in his head.
“Lady!” he simply replied. He moved his shield to his side and eased his fighting stance. What was Dessa Appledore-Chen doing here, dressed like some kind of ranger of all things? Ignoring her question, he asked the same one. “What are you doing here?”
They both lowered their weapons as each realized the other wasn’t a threat. Dessa answered first. “I’ve been checking in with folks at the outer farms. I got here last night and found… this” she said, waving her hand at the mess. “Young Braga here is the only person I’ve found alive. His father is gone. His body is in the barn for now. The rest of his family seems to have been taken. Hobgoblin raiders for certain.”
So this was the Hood farm. Brody Hood was the owner, and Braga was his oldest son. He had a wife and other children, too. “Those hobgoblins tried to raid my farm. I slew four and one escaped.” I tracked them back here hoping they hadn’t hurt anyone else.” A thought occurred to him. “But they didn’t have any captives.”
Dessa nodded. “I found Braga unconscious when I got here. I healed his wounds but couldn’t leave him alone. I was too late to save his Da.”
Zeff nodded like he understood, but he had more questions than answers. When had Lady Dessa ever healed someone? And why was she out here dressed like a woodsman? Where were the rest of the Hoods? He’d better look around and make sure things were reasonably safe. He also needed to think, and he always found it easier to do so when he walked. “I’ll be right back.” He left without waiting for a reply.
Zeff spent the next two hours searching the area around the farm and thinking as the sun sank. He found no threats, but he had the good luck (someone else’s luck, he told himself) to find a horse that must have escaped the raiders. It seemed glad to be brought back to the farm, even being led by a half orc. He put it in the barn, away from the deceased, and returned to the house. Dessa had food in a pot over the fire which didn’t smell like much of anything and Braga was sitting up, pale but awake. He raised his eyebrows and made a sharp inhale at Zeff’s entrance but then relaxed and nodded a greeting.
Zeff fixed the door as best he could after bringing in some firewood and gladly accepted a bowl of soup from Dessa. It tasted like it smelled but at least it met his earlier hopes for a hot dinner. “I apologize for insulting you” Dessa said. Seeing Zeff’s confusion she added “I called you a beast before.”
“Oh, s’okay. I’m used to it.” He felt awkward. He almost never spoke to women, and he’d never spoken to her before at all. She spoke to him like an equal even though she was far above his station, and he was unsure how to respond. “I wasn’t being my nicest either.”
“Still, it wasn’t deserved. I’m sorry.” And with that Zeff suddenly felt different. Maybe it was just that no one had ever really apologized to Zeff before, or perhaps he was simply glad to have someone around when there was possible danger nearby. Or perhaps this woman, who he always thought of as unapproachable, actually seemed down to earth, accepting, and kind. He nodded respectfully and rested his head against the warm hearth. Dessa leaned back in her chair and turned her attention to her bowl. Zeff didn’t know, but the pensive look on her face mirrored his own. Braga looked at both of them, perceiving something happened but, being on the outside of it didn’t understand. Zeff thought they both looked strained and could use a good rest.
They ate the rest of their food in silence. When the meal was done (Zeff had a bland helping of seconds, and thirds) he stood up and went to the door. He’d keep watch for awhile. Dessa smiled gratefully and closed her eyes. Within minutes her and the boy were both asleep.
At some point in the night, he realized what was different. He’d just discovered what it felt like to make a friend.