"You shouldn't have come here."

Vencian froze for a second. The words carried no fear, only certainty. He frowned slightly, caught between confusion and caution.

He studied the girl's back. Small frame, probably nine or ten. Her tone hadn't matched her age.

Before he could respond, she turned toward him.

Her expression was plain, her eyes dull with a sort of bored alertness. "Because Mr. Delsor won't leave you without a scolding," she said, as if correcting herself. "This is his field. He gets angry if anyone steps on it."

Vencian's lips twitched. So that's what she meant. Cryptic for no reason.

He moved beside her, stopping a few feet away. "You don't seem to care much," he said.

She shrugged. "He's old. He forgets sometimes. But when he remembers, he swings that stick like it's a sword."

Her mouth twitched slightly, as if she found it funny.

Vencian looked at the group of children nearby. They were still laughing and running after the wooden hoop. "Why aren't you with them?"

"I don't want to play," she said flatly.

Her eyes flicked toward the group and then back to the ground.

He noticed the brief shift in her voice. That wasn't the whole truth.

He tilted his head. "You don't want to play, or they don't want you to?"

She looked down, her fingers brushing the edge of the boulder. "Both, maybe." Her next words came softer, almost a mumble. "They wouldn't want me there anyway."

He caught it even though she spoke barely above a whisper.

He watched her for a moment. The way she looked at the children told him enough. She wants to join them. She's pretending not to care.

It was an old story. One he knew too well.

When I was her age, I'd have done the same. Tell myself I didn't care because it hurt less than being left out.

He looked away briefly. But that kind of thinking gets you nowhere. You outgrow it, or it eats you alive.

He adjusted his tone. "Maybe if you changed how you act around them, they'd let you play. Try being friendlier."

The girl snorted. "Changing myself for them sounds stupid. Then I wouldn't be me."

Her words were blunt. Her expression showed she meant it.

Vencian went quiet. That's… fair enough.

He studied her again. Her logic was more mature than expected for someone her age. Smarter than she looks. Maybe I can get something useful out of this conversation.

He kept his voice mild. "What's your name?"

She hesitated for a beat. "Neine."

"Neine," he repeated. "Nice name."

She tilted her head slightly, suspicious but curious.

He kept the tone casual. "Has your family been here long? I'm studying the history of these villages. It helps to know how far back families go."

Her posture straightened. "Mum and Pa said I shouldn't tell personal things to strangers."

Vencian blinked. Right. Smart kid. I approve of the parent's teachings.

He nodded once. "They're right to say that."

She looked at him again, her expression softening slightly. "But they're gone now. So, I guess it's fine."

His brows drew together. Gone?

"Your parents?"

She nodded. "Mum and Pa passed away two winters ago. So, yeah, they're not here to tell me anymore."

I take that approval back.

"Sorry," he said simply.

She shrugged. "Everyone loses people. That's how it works."

He let the silence settle for a moment before asking, "So your family's been here for a while then?"

"Since before my great-great-great-grandparents," she said proudly. "That's what my gran told me."

"That's quite a long time," Vencian said.

"Gran says this land remembers us."

He noted that line carefully. Old families like hers tend to hold on to customs longer. Could be a lead.

He shifted his weight and glanced at the field. "So, what do people here do during the day? I've seen the decorations, but not much else."

"Everyone's busy," she said. "They're setting up for the festival. The men built the stands, the women make garlands. The kids help when they get caught."

He nodded slowly. Typical rural organization. Division of labor around the festival calendar.

"Do you go to the Church of True Light from here?" he asked.

Her face turned blank. "Mum and Pa never took me there."

That caught his attention. "Why?"

She shrugged. "They said we can pray at home. I didn't ask."

"So, you don't follow the True Light teachings?"

"Not really. But we still celebrate Solace," she said.

"Why celebrate if you don't believe in it?"

Her lips curved in a small grin. "Because it's fun."

Vencian held her gaze for a moment. Simple answer. And maybe the most honest one I've heard all day.

He glanced toward the field again. "What's your favorite part of the festival then?"

"The food. And the lanterns."

He shifted the topic lightly. "Does anyone ever tell old stories around here? Before the Church came?"

She shook her head. "Gran used to. But she's old now. Sleeps most of the time."

He noted that too. An elder who remembers the older ways. Could be worth a visit later.

Before he could ask more, Neine's eyes suddenly widened.

"Uh oh."

Vencian followed her gaze.

A man's silhouette appeared at the far edge of the field. He was holding a long stick, waving it above his head while shouting something that carried poorly in the wind.

Neine's voice rose. "Run! That's Mr. Delsor!"

"What?"

"He'll hit us if we're on his land!"

Before Vencian could react, the girl jumped off the boulder and dashed toward the fence.

He hesitated for a second, then sighed. Fantastic.

The man's voice grew louder, words still unclear but definitely angry.

Vencian sprinted after Neine.

They crossed the narrow field, their shoes scraping dry soil. She slipped through a gap in the fence while he vaulted over it.

Behind them, the man's shouts turned to frustrated curses.

They kept running until the fields gave way to a patch of open ground between two houses.

Neine finally stopped and bent forward, catching her breath.

Vencian stopped beside her, breathing heavier than he wanted to admit. I came here to find remnants of an ancient clan, not to run from a farmer with a stick.

Neine glanced at him, a small grin breaking across her face. "See? Told you he'd chase us."

He managed a faint huff of laughter. "I'll take your word for it next time."

She stood upright again. "That's the safe zone. He doesn't cross this part."

"Good to know."

The man's shouting faded behind them. Only the distant sound of festival work filled the silence again.

Vencian rubbed the side of his neck. So this is what fieldwork looks like now. Getting chased by landowners and counseled by children.

He crouched down to match her eye level. "Neine, if I ask you about things around this village—old places, stones, or stories—would you tell me?"

She looked cautious again. "Depends. Are you going to get me in trouble?"

"I'll try not to."

She squinted. "That's not a real answer."

Vencian smirked slightly. Clever, again.

"Fine," he said. "Then we'll see."

She gave a small shrug, then pointed toward the main path. "You should head back that way before he comes around again. Mr. Delsor never forgets faces."

Vencian stood. "And you?"

"I'll be around."

The sun had been going down, and darkness was almost upon them.

The girl stayed beside him. Neither spoke. The square had grown quieter as the villagers finished their work and returned home. A few lamps flickered near the road.

Vencian looked toward the slope and focused on his bond. The link to Quenya flared faintly in his mind, a clear signal of her position. She was close. Through that same trace, he guessed Roselys' position as well.

That saves time.

Before heading toward them, he turned to say a few words to Neine.

But she was gone.

He blinked once and looked around. The square was empty except for a cart left beside the well. His eyes swept the paths, the doorways, and the road toward the fields. Nothing.

She was right here a moment ago.

He moved a few paces in each direction, trying to spot any trace of her. The air felt colder now. He rubbed his neck, more puzzled than alarmed. Maybe her family called her in.

While he was still scanning the shadows, a voice came from behind him.

"Vencian."

He turned. Roselys approached from the direction of the main street, Quenya hovering faintly at her side.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

He hesitated. "A child..." he said, then shook his head. "Forget it."

Roselys's voice drew him back. "You found anything?"

He shook his head. "Nothing solid."

"Tomorrow, we'll search further uphill."

He nodded. Tomorrow, then.

Roselys gave a small nod. "It's getting dark. I found a place to stay the night."

"Good," he said quietly.

She turned, and he followed her toward the road. The square faded behind them, still and empty.

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