36. In the Warmth of Someone Else

Shanane and Eoghan lingered at the table a while longer, the last of the breakfast growing cold on their plates. The young woman sipped slowly at her tea, the warmth doing little to ease the quiet storm still twisting inside her. But the silence between her and the huntsman had settled into something calmer. Not comfort exactly but familiarity. A rhythm. A place where she didn't have to pretend.

Eoghan leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the window. The sun had risen higher now, casting soft gold through the trees.

__Eoghan: "It's a decent day out. Not too cold yet."

She looked up, eyebrows slightly raised. She didn't respond. He glanced at her, gauging her reaction.

__Eoghan: "Thought maybe we could take a walk through the village. Just stretch our legs, breathe some air that isn't laced with smoke and old wood."

Immediately, her body tensed. Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug in her hands, and she shook her head.

__Shanane: "I… don't want to go back in there. Not with them staring. Not with the way they look at me."

Her voice was low, clipped, her eyes fixed on the table. A flash of bitterness slipped through her tone before she could stop it.

__Shanane: "I can feel it every time. Their silence is worse than their words. I don't belong there. They've already decided who I am."

__Eoghan: "That might be true for some of them. But they don't get to decide how you live."

She scoffed softly under her breath, the sound bitter.

__Shanane: "It's not that simple. You've seen it too. I walk past and they whisper like I've dragged a curse into their homes. Like I buried my grandmother with a black candle in my hand."

He stood slowly, moving around the table to her side. When he crouched next to her, his voice lowered, not demanding, just steady.

__Eoghan: "You can't let their fear trap you. Whatever you're going through, the nightmares, it all feeds on isolation, silence, doubt."

She met his gaze reluctantly. He wasn't trying to push her. He was trying to remind her that she was still her own.

__Eoghan: "You've already lived too many nights in fear. You deserve to walk with your head high, not hidden behind locked doors."

__Shanane: "Even if they keep looking at me like I'm cursed?"

He gave a faint shrug.

__Eoghan: "Then let them look. You don't owe them comfort. You owe yourself your life back."

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression torn. A part of her still resisted because stepping outside meant more than facing the villagers. It meant stepping into the unknown again. Into the places where shadows might follow.

But another part of her… a small, tired part wanted to believe he was right. And that maybe, she didn't have to keep hiding.

__Shanane: "Okay then. Let's go."

She hesitated at the threshold of the cottage, her hand resting on the doorframe like it was the edge of a cliff. The idea of stepping into the village made her stomach knot. But then she felt a warm pressure at her back: Eoghan, close but not pushing.

__Eoghan: "Just a walk. That's all. You don't have to look at anyone. You don't even have to speak. Just walk with me."

His voice was low, steady, like a stone in a river. And slowly, Shanane nodded.

They stepped outside together, the door clicking shut behind them. The path back toward the village was lined with tall trees just beginning to lose their leaves, golden light spilling between the branches. Eoghan didn't speak at first. He simply walked beside her, his steps unhurried, his presence quietly anchoring.

When they reached the edge of the village, Shanane's breath caught. She felt it immediately: the shift in the air, the invisible eyes behind curtains, the silence that hung too tightly between doorways.

Her pace slowed. Without a word, the blonde man reached for her hand. His fingers closed gently around hers: warm and steady. Not demanding. Just there.

__Eoghan: "Let them look if they want. You're with me" he gave her a small, crooked smile.

His hand didn't waver, and she found herself holding tighter than she meant to.

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∆ ☆⁠ ATHERAMOND ☆ ∆

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They passed a few people along the road.

She felt eyes now and then, furtive glances through windows, people pausing mid-conversation but with Eoghan at her side, none of it touched her the way it used to. It was like walking with a shield. Not because he challenged anyone, but because he didn't flinch.

And slowly, the young woman's shoulders began to loosen. Her fingers no longer clenched so tightly around his. The air still felt heavy, but not unbearable. It felt… survivable.

As they turned down a quieter street lined with stone houses and creeping ivy, the huntsman glanced at her sideways.

__Eoghan: "You're doing better than most people would."

__Shanane: "I don't feel like it."

__Eoghan: "You don't have to. Just keep walking."

They walked for a while longer, weaving through narrow streets where the noise of the village was hushed by ivy-covered stone and the rustling of autumn leaves.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a quaint building tucked between two larger homes. Its windows glowed with warm amber light, and the smell of herbs and roasted vegetables drifted out each time the door opened.

__Eoghan: "I thought we could eat somewhere that doesn't have my terrible cooking."

Shanane raised an eyebrow, caught off guard.

__Shanane: "You brought me to a restaurant?"

__Eoghan: "It's the only place I trust in this village that doesn't serve everything with a side of suspicion. Besides, you deserve to be somewhere that doesn't feel like a memory." he said while opening the door for her.

Inside, the place was small, warm, and quiet. The wooden tables were carved with little names and initials, and a few candles burned in low-hanging glass lanterns above. A couple of older patrons were seated near the back, their conversations soft, their eyes politely uninterested.

The waiter, a tall man with a kind face and greying beard looked up, clearly recognizing Eoghan.

__Waiter: "Well, look who decided to show his face before winter."

__Eoghan: "We figured we'd test your hospitality before the frost sets in."

He pulled out a chair for Shanane, and she sat slowly, still not quite sure how this had happened. A restaurant. A meal. A moment of normal.

As they settled in and menus were passed, Eoghan leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his voice dropping slightly.

__Eoghan: "The first time I came here, I nearly burned off my tongue. It was a dumb teenager challenge. Didn't realize the stew came with a local chili they called the Widowmaker."

Shanane blinked at him, startled, then let out a sudden laugh, short, almost unsure, but real.

__Shanane: "You're joking."

__Eoghan: "Not even a little. I made it halfway through a sentence before I started hiccupping and cried into a napkin for ten minutes."

__Shanane: "That's… kind of amazing, actually."

__Eoghan: "I've been mocked relentlessly ever since. But the stew's still worth it."

He grinned, and for a moment, all the weight she carried lightened. His smile wasn't just a look, it was a quiet invitation to rest, to breathe.

The huntsman continue, sharing another embarrassing story about himself.

__Eoghan: "I remember when I was about fifteen, I tried to impress a visiting merchant's daughter. Thought I'd show off by climbing the old bell tower in the square."

She raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips.

__Eoghan: "Halfway up, I slipped and anded in a pile of straw, broke two ribs, and she ended up carrying my bag back to the infirmary while I could barely breathe."

She let out a surprised laugh.

__Shanane: "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

__Eoghan: "Oh, I wish it ended there. The priest wouldn't let me live it down. Told everyone I'd been 'humbled by vanity.' The nickname stuck for a year."

__Shanane: "What was it?"

__Eoghan: "Bell Boy."

That did it. She laughed, fully this time, hand to her mouth, eyes lighting up in a way they hadn't since she stepped back into this cursed village. The tension in her shoulders eased, her chest rising and falling without that crushing weight that had pressed down on her for days.

As they waited for their food, Eoghan told her another story, something about a badger that had snuck into his cabin once and claimed his fireplace for three days. About a time he'd been lost in the hills for days, surviving on roots and river water after a storm washed out the trail. Another time, a bear had chased him straight into a tree because he'd accidentally wandered too close to her cubs. He made it sound like something out of a storybook, casual, even humorous.

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∆ ☆⁠ ATHERAMOND ☆ ∆

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Their food arrived, and for a while, the conversation drifted between bites. The meal was good, better than she'd had in weeks. The tension that had wrapped around her like a second skin slowly began to unravel. It wasn't just the food, it was the way Eoghan carried the conversation, easy and unforced, like he wasn't trying to pry her open, just offering a space where she could unfold if she wanted to.

He asked about her studies, and she spoke briefly about medicinal herbs, her college, the long hours in greenhouses and labs. She found herself telling him things she hadn't expected to share. Small, harmless pieces at first: stories about university mishaps, like the time she accidentally brewed a sleep tonic so strong it knocked out an entire greenhouse of test plants.

__Eoghan: "So you've got a dangerous side after all."

__Shanane: "Only to vegetation."

His laughter wasn't loud, but it was honest. She liked that about him, how nothing he did felt performative. He didn't force smiles or jokes or sympathy. Everything with him was quiet, steady, real.

After a few bites of his food, he asked about her college life, what drew her to medicinal plants, what it was like living in a world so different from the village.

__Eoghan: "You ever think about staying out there permanently? After you finish?"

She nodded, though a bit slowly.

__Shanane: "That was the plan. I never wanted to come back."

He didn't take offense. He just nodded like he understood, like he knew all too well the kind of place this was, what it did to people who didn't fit the mold.

__Eoghan: "You don't strike me as someone who thrives in silence and suspicion."

__Shanane: "That obvious?"

__Eoghan: "It's the shoes."

She blinked, glanced down at her scuffed boots, and then looked up with a confused smile.

__Shanane: "My shoes?"

__Eoghan: "Too clean. You walk like someone who spends more time on paved paths than dirt trails. Even your laces are tidy. That's city energy, Shanane."

She let out a laugh that caught her by surprise. It came from her chest, a little freer than the last one. Eoghan smiled again, not the quiet, knowing smile she had gotten used to, but something a bit more playful. Younger, almost.

__Shanane: "Alright, fine. I'm more plant lab than forest trail."

__Eoghan: "Nothing wrong with that. The forest doesn't hand out degrees."

She gave him a mock glare, and he held up both hands in mock surrender, the candlelight dancing in his eyes.

Their conversation drifted easily again, the kind that made her forget what time it was or how far she'd come from the version of herself that had been curled in his guest bed just hours ago, wracked with panic.

Eventually, the talk slowed. Not because it faltered, but because something gentler settled between them, a quiet moment where the food was nearly gone, the room mostly empty, and the air between them felt like it had changed.

She studied him across the table now. The way the shadows played at the edge of his jaw, the way his green eyes softened when he was listening instead of watching. And she said it before she could stop herself.

__Shanane: "You're not what I expected."

Eoghan glanced at her with quiet amusement, lifting his glass but pausing mid-sip.

__Eoghan: "What did you expect?"

She hesitated, thinking.

__Shanane: "I don't know… You were always so quiet. Stoic. Like nothing rattled you."

__Eoghan: "I spend most of my time tracking wild boars and dragging injured men back from places they shouldn't be. Not a lot of room for charm."

__Shanane: "Still. I didn't expect you to be funny."

He smiled and took a sip of his drink.

__Eoghan: "Tragic, really. My sense of humor's been wasted on trees and foxes all these years."

__Shanane: "You make it sound easy."

__Eoghan: "It's not. But telling it with a straight face makes people think I'm invincible. That's part of the job."

__Shanane: "You don't have to be invincible around me."

The words left her mouth before she had time to pull them back. She hadn't planned to say that. Not tonight. Not now. But Eoghan's face softened, and for a moment, he looked less like the man who patrolled the forests and more like someone who had learned to carry silence just to keep others at ease.

__Eoghan: "You don't have to be, either."

That quiet exchange held more weight than either of them acknowledged aloud. Something was shifting between them, sowly, carefully but it was real. And in a place built on suspicion and silence, that mattered.

By the time they finished their meal, the restaurant had emptied, save for one old man sleeping near the fire. Eoghan leaned back in his chair, relaxed, arms folded as he watched her smile over the last of her tea.

__Eoghan: "You look different."

__Shanane: "Different how?"

__Eoghan: "Lighter. Like you remembered how to breathe."

She met his eyes across the candlelit table, and for the first time in days, she didn't look away.

__Shanane: "Maybe I did."

They sat in the quiet for a little longer, neither rushing to move. The world outside would still be waiting: the shadows, the questions, the things she couldn't speak aloud.

She forgot for a short while that she was marked by something monstrous, haunted by dreams, and walking through the ruins of her past.

Because here, in this little restaurant with candlelight dancing in the glasses and Eoghan looking at her like she wasn't broken, she remembered what it felt like to be human again.

And then here he was, not just the quiet man with the steady eyes he always shows. Not just the mysterious huntsman the villagers revered or whispered about. Here, in this simple room, he seemed different, lighter. Real.