Chapter 27: The Mischievous Child

After eating and drinking their fill, the group sprawled lazily around the campfire, watching as the village women tidied up the mess in the golden glow of sunset, waiting for nightfall to descend. Unlike Leo and his companions, the other villagers couldn’t afford such leisure. After dinner, the veteran soldiers went to relieve their comrades on patrol, while the militiamen diligently practiced their spear-throwing, slings, and sword-and-shield skills.

Some young men hoping to join the militia gathered to observe, and a few even mustered the courage to ask for guidance—often earning themselves a sound thrashing in the process. Most villagers, however, hurried to reinforce their tents, piling and layering scavenged stones, branches, and bark around their shelters to make them warmer and more secure.

Many tents, after a period of modification, had transformed into semi-subterranean huts: sturdy enough to keep out the elements and, more importantly, to prevent a single wild javelin or stray arrow during the next attack from piercing the tent and skewering those inside.

At the highest point of the Riverbend encampment, a wide circle of stone foundations was gradually taking shape. This was the lord's great hall under construction.

It wasn’t that Urian was fond of grand gestures, trying to build a wonder from the start. The lord’s hall was more than a residence; it was a rudimentary castle, the heart of any northern village. It served as the village’s courthouse, where, under the chieftain’s guidance, the community gathered to resolve all disputes and injustices. It was also the storehouse: as the only two-story building, its cellar and upper floor could better preserve grain and valuables. And in times of raid—whether by outlanders, beasts, or bandits—this was the villagers’ sanctuary. The weak, the elderly, and the children would huddle inside behind its heavy doors and wait in silence for the fighting to end.

Their own humble huts and thin wooden doors could never withstand the ravages of thieves or marauders.

Across time and worlds, the yearning for home was etched into the human soul. For the pioneer convoy to take root in Riverbend, a lord’s hall was the first necessity.

Leo warmed himself by the fire, rubbing his full belly, and idly stroked the little mouse girl’s black hair, straightening a lock on her head.

“This is your receiver antenna. It’s like a third eye, or a third ear. It’ll make you smarter, you know?”

She stared blankly as he toyed with her hair, but when she saw the lock almost falling limp, she quickly reached up to smooth it straight.

“Really? I want one too!” Freya exclaimed with interest, bowing her head and stretching out her short forepaws to flatten the black fuzz on her forehead.

Alas, her paws were too short to meet, and her fur too short to stand upright.

That night, Leo arranged for Freya to sleep in the pigsty. To accommodate twenty kobold pups, the pigsty had already been expanded into something more like a stable—a higher enclosure, a makeshift roof of branches to keep out wind and rain, and a thick layer of leaves and dry grass inside. Olivia had even brought out some pelts from their stores for the kobold pups to nestle in, lest her godsons freeze in the night.

Freya stood curiously outside the fence, looking at the dense, foolish kobold pups inside, and shot Leo a look of contempt.

“Ew! You humans actually eat kobolds!”

Leo couldn’t be bothered to explain. He opened the door for her. “You want to try? One bite, one little fellow! Delicious!”

The kobold pups understood just enough to be terrified by their conversation. Their faces twisted in horror as they wailed and huddled together.

Freya squeezed inside and flopped onto her back, sprawling across most of the space on her own.

“Not bad!” Leo watched her lie there, limbs splayed in all directions, and could only respond with a silent look of disbelief. He had long since given up trying to comment.

After leaving the pigsty, Olivia—who had been with him all along—grabbed Leo’s sleeve and warned him irritably, “You can’t just bring home every stray you find!”

When he’d taken in the little girl to live in his tent, all the womenfolk joked that Leo was finding himself a wife. Olivia had been angry, but she’d let it slide—at least he’d saved a life. And after cleaning the little mouse girl up and caring for her, she was no longer the filthy, mud-caked waif who’d looked half-dead and starved, her face sunken and sallow from eating poisonous bugs and roots.

Who could dislike such a pretty little girl? The way the little mouse girl clumsily tried to please her just to be allowed to stay tugged at Olivia’s heart.

But kobold pups? Eating and making a mess every day! Still, they seemed obedient and adorable enough, following her around calling “Mama! Mama!” which was rather amusing.

And now there was a giant marmot who could devour a whole pot of food in one sitting!

Leo picked his nose and said shamelessly, “If there’s anyone you don’t like, I’ll send her away.”

Olivia was instantly flustered, torn between guilt and indecision.

The next morning, Leo was still sleeping when Olivia yanked him up by the ear.

She scolded as she pulled him along, “Just look at what you’ve brought home!”

“What now?” Leo grumbled sleepily, pulling on his clothes as he followed her out of camp.

At the edge of the farmland, Freya’s enormous figure sat forlornly on the embankment. Her head drooped, ears hung low, and she hugged her belly with both paws, her fur caked in mud—like a four-thousand-pound husky caught doing something wrong.

Before her lay the freshly tilled fields, now unrecognizable: pits and burrows everywhere, the soil once loosened by the curved plough now more compacted than before. The villagers—young and old—were hard at work filling in holes and turning the packed earth again. They still feared this enormous new beast and dared not scold her, quietly accepting the loss instead.

But their silence only deepened Freya’s guilt.

Leo stared in shock at the devastation, a stray thought crossing his mind: Fun fact—marmots are considered pests.

“What were you doing?” he demanded, and if only he could reach, he’d have pulled Freya’s ear too.

“I just wanted to help!” Freya replied miserably.

It turned out that before dawn, Freya had awoken full of energy. With her night vision, she’d seen the wide fields beyond camp and, feeling she owed the villagers after consuming so much of their grain, decided she should contribute. Imitating the farmers, she tried to loosen the soil, but each patch she dug up with her front paws was trampled solid again by her massive hindquarters. In her confusion, she only made matters worse, expanding the damage bit by bit.

By sunrise, she had ruined at least two acres.

When the villagers found her, Freya had completely forgotten her original good intentions and was happily wallowing in the mud pit she’d dug herself.

Leo mentally slapped a “problem child” label on Freya. But he certainly wouldn’t dare scold her physically—what if she fought back?

So he waved her over warmly, “Come with me!”

“Is it time to eat?” Freya leapt up, eyes sparkling with hope.