Like one of the wizened ranchers of Gladdenfield had told me, I’d need to space the posts evenly, making sure to dig deep enough to ensure stability. The coop would nestle in the far corner, giving the chickens shelter for the nights to come.

  The chickens clucked and ruffled their feathers, unaware of my designs but contented in their ignorance. I marked out the corners of my projected enclosure with small stones, stepping back to survey the pasture that would soon be transformed by careful crafting and meticulous effort.

  Content with my initial assessment, I turned to the tool that would aid in my work — the post hole digger. Its blades, shiny in the remaining light, promised the precision and depth required for such an endeavor.

  Luckily, I would not have to do all of this on my own. In fact, I had a new ally, and I was looking forward to trying him out!

  With focus, I cast my Summon Duergar spell, reaching out to the magical realm to call forth the dwarven worker of exceptional craft. The air shimmered as, from a ripple in the fabric of the world, the duergar emerged.

  The duergar stood solidly before me, his blue skin reminiscent of deep ocean waters and his white beard a stark contrast, like foam upon the waves. His eyes, dark and depthless as underground caverns, held a knowledge of the earth’s secrets.

  The duergar inclined his head, acknowledging my mastery, and I sensed the mental connection with it — the ability to give it mental orders as I gave all my other summons. I commanded it, and it obeyed.

  Quick to work, the duergar took the post hole digger from my outstretched hands without a word. His gruff demeanor demanded no conversation, only to engage in the task at hand as he awaited my guidance. And that was fine by me; a hard worker was exactly what was needed.

  But there was one more thing to do. I had another slot for a familiar, and a permanent worker around the homestead was exactly what I needed. I cast my Bind Familiar spell, forging the connection between the duergar and myself. If the creature was as good as I expected it to be, it would make life around the homestead even easier.

  With the duergar’s binding sealed, we set to work — an artisan of stone and a wielder of elements, each driven by purpose.

  “Here.” I pointed to the first of my markers. “Let’s start our enclosure here.” The duergar nodded, understanding the commencement of our joint effort.

  The digger’s blades pierced the earth, scooping out clods of soil methodically. The duergar’s motions were efficient, each plunge demonstrating his skilled labor. Unlike the domesticants, which were cleaners and haulers, the duergar was a true craftsman. The domesticants had helped in the expansion of the house, but they had needed many instructions. The duergar knew intuitively what to do, and it could probably do a better — and faster — job than me.

  Still, I worked beside him, content to have some control over my new minion’s first project, clearing away the debris and ensuring each hole was of adequate depth. We moved from point to point, a silent agreement between us shaping the beginnings of my vision.

  At some point during our labors, Celeste emerged from the house, carrying a refreshment — likely tea, judging by the steam rising from the mug. Her approach was a pleasant interruption to the duergar’s relentless toil. She regarded the dwarf-like creature with wonder.

  “Thought you might like this,” she offered, her hands circling the warm mug. She watched our progress, a gentle smile gracing her lips. “What an amazing helper!”

  “Thanks, Celeste,” I said, accepting the mug with gratitude. The warmth from her hands lingered as she joined me in observing our work.

  “You’re making good time,” she noted, her eyes tracking the duergar’s systematic digging. “Your friend doesn’t tire, does he?”

  I chuckled at her comment, taking a sip from the mug. “That’s the benefit of magic — they work with a tirelessness we can only dream of.”

  “It’s impressive,” Celeste mused, her gaze drifting back towards the homestead. “We’ll have a proper coop in no time.”

  I nodded, emboldened by her confidence. “We will at that,” I agreed, the rich taste of tea fortifying me against the dropping temperature. “And who knows how quickly we can complete any other projects around the homestead with these guys around.”

  The evening grew upon us, gentle darkness unfurling with the slowly encroaching night. Soon, it would be too dark to work, and we’d head back inside. Celeste and I chatted briefly about the homestead’s needs, both immediate and those on the horizon.

  “Once the fence is done, we’ll be able to focus on other projects,” I mused, the future spreading out like the land itself — full of potential and waiting to be shaped.

  She placed a hand on my shoulder, a silent gesture of her shared vision for the homestead. “It’s going to be a busy winter,” she said softly.

  With the hour growing late, Celeste headed back inside, while I returned the empty mug to the porch railing. The duergar and I continued in shared labor until we heard the calls of Diane, Yeska, and Leigh as they neared the homestead.

  I rose from my task and smiled as they approached, a satisfied feeling inside now that everyone was here. The bound duergar joined the storm elementals in a silent patrol, ready to resume the work with me tomorrow.

  Chapter 3

  I watched as Diane, with the silhouette of her swollen belly marking her as the bearer of new life, approached alongside Leigh and Yeska through the cold air, the sunset painting soft outlines around them.

  A smile found its way to my lips, seeing them there — Diane’s large bump a reminder of the future we’re eager to meet, and Yeska, once an outsider, now walking the same path as us back to where we belong. It had been three months since Yeska joined us, and the way she and Diane got along nowadays could warm the coldest of days.

  “David!” Diane called out, her gentle voice cutting through the quietude that had settled around me. Leigh’s laughter and the quieter steps of Yeska followed suit, creating a symphony of sorts — a welcoming tune to my ears.

  “How was town?” Leigh asked as they reached me, their faces aglow not just from the walk but from the friendship that had woven itself into their interactions.

  “Oh, Randal had new tales to tell,” I said. “Took a while before he was done gossiping! But mostly, business has been good.”

  “Oh, I bet! He’s a gossip, that one,” Leigh beamed as she leaned in to give me a kiss, euphoric at sharing the joys and trivialities of our small community. “You should’ve seen Diane, she’s still a rugged frontier girl despite bein’ all aglow with that little ‘un in her tummy!”

  “I’m not glowing,” Diane hummed with a brow raised in confusion as she inspected herself, her hands fluttering toward her belly, protective and proud.

  “It’s a manner of speech, darlin’,” Leigh drawled as Yeska giggled, her playful gaze flitting between us as she chuckled.

  “Leigh’s right,” I put in, giving Diane a kiss, then Yeska. “It’s something we humans say.”

  “I see,” Diane hummed, giving me a playful poke. “And did you get everything you needed from town?”

  “I did,” I confirmed. “The nursery will be as enchanting as the enchantress who’ll fill it,” I added, adding a little touch of exaggeration that made the girls giggle.

  We chatted more as the sun dipped below the horizon, and our conversation was interrupted by a sudden rush of rain that descended upon us like an unannounced guest, urging us indoors with its persistent presence.

  We hurried inside, our steps quickening as laughter mingled with the sudden patter of rain against the house. It was a homey sound that we all enjoyed. The threshold of our home became a welcome barrier to the elements, and we pushed through it together.

  Stepping into the warmth of the house, we left behind the damp chill of the rain. The familiar scent of the wood and the familiar creak of the floorboards was pleasant as always as we all wiped our feet and the girls removed their packs, surrendering to the warmth of our home.

  We shed boots and jackets hastily in the mudroom, forming a small mound near the entrance. Diane’s laughter faded into contented sighs as she peeled off her rain-kissed coat.

  “Never liked the rain much,” Yeska said, making a face as she neatly arranged her boots alongside ours.

  I could only chuckle at that. “I guess cats and catkin have that in common,” I said. She stuck out her tongue at me in reply, and I grinned back.

  I glanced down the hall to Celeste, who was humming an old elven tune that seemed to blend effortlessly with the patter of rain. Her hands moved with the grace of a dancer in the kitchen as she busied herself with the final touches of the meal.

  One by one, we followed the music of kitchenware and Celeste’s melody. As I sat at the head of the table, the women bustled around me like bees tending to their hive.

  With the gentle buzz of the domesticants quickly entering to aid, the table soon transformed. Silverware and dishes found their place amongst the laughter. Celeste announced the completion of her hithmiul, a savory elven soup that promised warmth and flavors as rich as the company.

  “It smells divine, Celeste,” I complimented, savoring the aroma that filled the room.

  “Hithmiul is always a favorite of Waelin’s,” she said. “I made it often when we still lived in Thilduirne. He often joked that I should open a restaurant and serve only hithmiul.”

  “I recall you mentioning it,” I replied with a pleased grin, struggling to imagine the dour Waelin making a joke. “It’s the perfect meal for a night like this.”

  “The bread and fish will complement the soup wonderfully,” Diane noted, pulling out chairs and placing bowls around the table.

  As the conversation continued, I was pulled into comfortable domesticity. Leigh quipped about the day’s events, while Yeska listened attentively, her laughter mingling with the others’.

  Diane leaned over my shoulder to peer into the pot, her curiosity piqued. “Celeste really knows how to create magic in the kitchen. Anticipation alone has worked up my appetite.”

  “I can’t wait to taste it; the smell is making my mouth water,” Yeska admitted, sneaking a piece of bread before the meal officially began.

  Very quickly, the domesticants joined Celeste’s side, whisking bread from the oven to the table, lining up beside the steaming soup of freshly cooked fish that had been caught earlier in the day.

  “Right then,” Celeste declared as she directed the domesticants to set the last dish on the table. “It looks like we’re ready to have dinner.”

  As the domesticants finished presenting the final dish onto the wooden table, I sat at the head with Diane to my right and Yeska across from me. Leigh and Celeste filled in the remaining space, forming a cozy group that felt like the circumference of my world. The table, laden with the fruits of our harvest, welcomed us to partake in our evening meal.

  The soup Celeste prepared, steam rising in gentle spirals, carried the earthy scent of the forest surrounding our homestead. Hithmiul was a savory concoction that intertwined the flavors of the mushrooms we had gathered with fresh herbs from our garden.

  Diane served the soup with a practiced hand, while Yeska unfolded linen napkins, placing one by each bowl. Leigh passed around the bread, a crusty loaf that yielded easily to the knife, revealing a warm, soft center that sent a delicious aroma wafting through the room.

  With everyone’s bowl filled, we paused to appreciate the meal before us. “Every time we sit down together for dinner,” I began, lifting my spoon, “I feel like we’re more than just a family. We’re like parts of a single entity, growing and thriving together.”

  The women threw me warm looks, especially Yeska. Over the past three months, she had slowly grown into a member of our little family. Of course, she wasn’t here to stay — she was only here to research my Bloodline, a process that would take several more weeks to complete.

  But it was beginning to feel like she was enjoying herself a lot. Like, maybe, she would not want to leave.

  I certainly hoped she’d stay…

  I shot her a warm smile, hoping it would convey the way I felt about her. We would have to talk about it sooner or later, though, and I expected that would be an emotional conversation.

  Leigh took a hearty spoonful of the soup, the rich blend of flavors immediately eliciting an approving nod. “Celeste outdid herself with this,” she said, offering a contented look Celeste’s way. “And with the produce we sold today, we’ll have many more meals like this to come.”

  Celeste’s face lit up with Leigh’s compliment, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. “It’s easy when the ingredients are so fresh and full of life,” she said. “Everything in our pantry just jumped out at me and demanded to be cooked.”

  I chuckled at that mental image. “We do have a nice collection,” I agreed.

  Diane joined in, “It’s not just the quality of the ingredients,” she said. “It’s the care you put into choosing them, Celeste, and into preparing them for us. It’s something special — you make these simple things into a feast.”

  As we ate, Yeska’s eyes brightened with each bite, the comfort of the meal and the company evident in her relaxed posture. “I certainly have developed a deep appreciation of elven cooking,” she said, reaching for more bread as she shot Celeste a warm smile.

  I nodded, cutting into a fish that had been seasoned and cooked perfectly. “Randal told me the produce from the homestead sells exceptionally well. So, the townsfolk feel the same way about things coming from our soil.”

  Randal’s store was like a hub for the produce from many homesteads around us. Most of the people of Gladdenfield Outpost frequented it regularly. Our products ended up on many a table.

  Yeska, her interest piqued, leaned toward me. “So, David, what else have you done today?” she inquired, her desire to know more about our activities displaying her integration into our lives. “I mean, besides dropping off the supplies in Gladdenfield?”

  “Well, today was about planning for the future,” I replied. “Making sure our chickens have a proper place to call home.” I explained how I’d spent time marking out where the fence would go and how the duergar had helped dig post holes.

  “And soon they’ll have a coop to roam in safely,” Leigh added. “Though, if you ask me, they seem happy enough scratchin’ around in the dirt.”

  Yeska chuckled at Leigh’s observation, dipping her bread into the soup. “Chickens,” she said, “so simple in their pleasures,” as she enjoyed the combined taste of the fresh bread and Celeste’s hithmiul.

  Our conversations around the table meandered from the chores of the day to more laid-back matters. We discussed possibilities for the homestead, the animals we might raise after the chickens, and the approach of winter that would change the rhythm of our days.

  Amidst the talk, I turned my attention to Yeska again. “Speaking of our next steps, how’s your research on my Bloodline going?” I asked, eager to hear if she had uncovered anything new.

  Yeska paused with her spoon mid-air, her face showing the anticipation of sharing her findings. “Well, David,” she began, lowering her spoon back into the soup, “I’ve been observing and studying, and I believe I’m close to a breakthrough with understanding the true nature of your Bloodline.”

  Intrigued, I leaned forward, my focus sharpening on her words. “Really?” I said, setting down my fork. “What have you found out?”

  “First, your Bloodline is unique,” Yeska continued, her voice steady with conviction. “But, based on the powers it seems to grant you and those around you, I’m fairly certain it must be draconic in nature.”

  The table fell quiet with Yeska’s revelation, the word ‘draconic’ hanging weighty in the air between us, loaded with implications and ancient power. The dragons of old were known for their swift advancement, for their connection to magic and the natural world.

  My excitement grew at the possibility; a Bloodline linked to such legendary creatures was a fascinating concept to consider. But it left a million questions! If Yeska’s prognosis proved true, then how could it be that a pure Earth Bloodline like mine was related to dragons, which were creatures of Tannoris, after all?

  The questions bubbled up, but I suppressed them for now. This was just a prognosis, after all. I didn’t want to swamp Yeska with my questions until she was at least a little more certain.

  “That’s incredible, Yeska,” I said. “I can’t wait to hear the full details once you’ve confirmed your findings.”

  Yeska nodded, a spark of pride flickering in her eyes. “I should have more concrete information in a few weeks’ time,” she said, taking another spoonful of her soup as the conversation resumed.

  Diane gave Yeska an impressed look while eating. “I knew there was something special.” Diane smiled. Leigh and Celeste shared equally pleased expressions, eating and sipping while we talked.

  We continued our dinner, the animated discussion turning to plans for the nursery, to winter preparations, and to the weaving of the future within the tapestry of our little community.

  But the conversation eventually ebbed as we neared the end of our meal, our bellies content and the evening settling around us in quiet comfort.

  Dinner wound down, and I looked forward to a quiet, comfy night by the fire with my women.

  Chapter 4

  As the remains of dinner disappeared, thanks to the diligent domesticants, I busied myself with the fire. It had fallen to a low glow in the hearth of our living room. The welcoming crackle of burning wood was the heartbeat of the home. I felt a certain rightness as I carefully placed another log onto the embers, coaxing the flames higher.

  Satisfied with the fire’s renewed vigor, I dusted my hands on my pants and turned to find my women lounging comfortably around the room. Diane had settled on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, while Leigh sprawled on the rug, supported by several cushions. Celeste had chosen the armchair, her posture relaxed but her eyes attentive. Yeska sat close by, her back against the wall, looking casual and content.

 

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