Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence!

Relief flooded through Anton, but close on its heels came bewilderment. He stared at the dawn-touched fields beyond the window, turning over the night's events in his mind. How had he avoided the fate shown in his dream? What tiny thread had he pulled to avoid that terrible future?

He mentally compared the differences between his vision and reality. He'd returned home early instead of lingering in the fields. He'd forgone his usual evening at the tavern, choosing instead to stand guard with a rune paper clutched in his sweating palm. And there had been that conversation with Rathan the guard yesterday—in the vision, he had spoken with Calmo, his tavern companion and fellow dairy farmer's son.

"Such small changes," Anton murmured to himself, watching a sparrow hop along the windowsill. "Could they truly have diverted those adventurers from our door?" The thought was both empowering and terrifying. If such minute alterations could reshape destiny, how fragile was fate?

"Annie, are you awake?" His mother's voice carried from the back bedroom. "Are you making breakfast?"

Anton straightened, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. "Yes, Mom. Working on it now," he called back, pushing himself away from the window.

Footsteps approached, and Orla appeared in the doorway, her hair still tousled from sleep but her eyes sharp as ever. "You look like a ghost," she observed, frowning. "Did you sleep at all?"

Anton managed a wry smile. "Some. Chair wasn't as comfortable as my bed, it turns out."

She crossed her arms. "And why would a sensible young man choose a chair over his bed?"

"I told you, I was feeling sick so I came over and sat near the window for fresh and end up falling asleep" he said, moving toward the kitchen to avoid her scrutinizing gaze. 

"Hope you are feeling better today," Orla said gently. "I need my boy to be healthy and clear-headed." "Yes, Mother," Anton replied, grateful for her motherly concerns.

The cool well water helped clear the cobwebs from his mind. As he returned to the kitchen, he starts with the breakfast preparation of morning gruel. The familiar smell soothed him, drawing his mind away from yesterday's terrifying vision and the questions that still lingered about why events had unfolded so differently.

His morning gruel wasn't as flavorful as his mother's evening stews, rich with herbs and roots, but the simple oat porridge was filling and nourishing—suitable fare for a dairy farming family like the Weylands.

Anton ladled a small portion into a wooden bowl and set it on the floor. "Meeks," he called softly, and his trusty sheepdog trotted in from the yard, tail wagging. The dog's uncomplicated happiness was contagious, and Anton felt some of his tension ease as he scratched behind Meeks's ears.

By the time the rest of the family gathered around the table—his father Thonar with soil already under his fingernails, his sister Muri still yawning—Anton had almost convinced himself that the danger had truly passed.

The Weylands ate together as they did every morning, discussing the day's tasks between spoonfuls of gruel. Thonar would first tend the wheat fields, the grain destined for his ambitious whiskey project. Later, he would move the cows to the larger pen for exercise, examining each animal for signs of illness or injury. Afterward, he'd venture into the forest to hunt small game and gather interesting herbs and roots for his brewing experiments.

Orla and Muri would prepare feed for the cows before beginning the day's milking. Anton would normally head out with the sheep, but today his father needed him in the fields.

As the family dispersed to their duties, Anton found himself looking over his shoulder, scanning the horizon. The adventurers hadn't come in the night as his vision had shown, but that didn't mean they wouldn't come at all. The vision from dream had changed once—it could change again.

He patted the pocket where he'd tucked a fresh sheet of alert rune paper. Better to be prepared, just in case.

The morning air was crisp and sweet as Anton led the sheep from their barn. Today he would guide them farther north than their usual pasture—they'd been grazing the same field for weeks, and the vegetation there was nearly depleted. Meeks trotted alongside the flock with his sharp instincts keeping the sheeps charges together in an orderly manner with minimal instruction.

Anton inhaled deeply, trying to clear his mind of lingering questions about last night's averted vision. The warmth of the rising sun caressed his face, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers. These simple sensations snaps him back to the present moment, a welcome respite from his troubled thoughts.

In the adjacent field, Calmo was herding his own flock. Though their families were neighbors, an unspoken agreement kept their grazing areas separate—an arrangement that prevented disputes between the farming families of the valley.

When Calmo spotted Anton, he waved enthusiastically and called across the low stone wall that divided their lands. "Hey! Why weren't you at the tavern last night? We were waiting for you!"

Anton raised a hand in greeting. "I was feeling a bit unwell yesterday," he called back. "I'll be sure to come by today."

Calmo jogged closer, resting his arms on the wall. His ruddy face was creased with friendly concern. "Nothing serious, I hope? We even saved you a seat and everything. We were disappointed when you didn't show."

Anton's mind flashed to his vision—the fire, the pain, the adventurers. Had he truly altered fate by staying home? Or merely postponed it? "I'll make it up to you guys tonight," he said, forcing lightness into his tone. "Perhaps even bring you a bottle from my old man stash."

"See that you do," Calmo advised sagely as turning away, whistling for his dog. "Tonight at the tavern!" he called over his shoulder. "Don't disappoint us again!"

When Anton and Meeks reached the new grazing area, a gentle slope dotted with tender spring grass, Anton set about inspecting each sheep in the flock. He checked hooves for rot, fleece for parasites, and eyes for signs of sickness—methodical work that required focus but not deep thought, allowing his mind to settle.

The task completed, Anton sought refuge beneath a sprawling tree whose branches provided a cool shade. He leaned against the rough bark, watching the sheep graze contentedly while Meeks patrolled the perimeter with dignified purpose. The mental exhaustion from his night-long vigil, combined with the warm sunshine and distant bleating of the flock, lulled Anton into a deep slumber.

Suddenly, Meeks's frantic barking jerked him back to consciousness. The ground beneath him trembled, a gentle but persistent vibration that sent birds scattering from the treetops. Anton scrambled to his feet, disoriented and alarmed.

An earthquake? He'd never experienced one, though the elders spoke of them. The only ground-shaking he recalled was during the beast tide when he was six—when magical creatures led by a legendary beast had swarmed toward Kirkvalor, their countless hooves and paws making the earth itself shudder.

But this tremor was gentler, almost rhythmic. Squinting against the midday sun, Anton spotted four figures in the distance, running toward Kirkvalor along the northern road. They were shouting, their words becoming clearer as they drew nearer.

"Run! RUN!"

As they approached, Anton's blood turned to ice. The four figures are those bloody adventurers again, he started to see gradually, a massive wave of forest beasts among which are boars, bears, and tigers moved as a single unit, pursuing the fleeing humans with single-minded purpose.

If they maintained their trajectory, they would barrel straight through Anton's position, trampling him and his flock beneath a stampede of wild fury.

"God damn it," Anton swore, his earlier relief evaporating like morning dew. He'd avoided one death only to face another. The irony would have been amusing if it weren't so terrifying.