Weight in the Marsh

The sun broke through the mist in slivers, thin light gleaming off the wet leaves and pooling in shallow puddles like scattered silver. Levi stood at the edge of the village, watching Bogwater stir. Thin trails of smoke curled from chimney pipes, rising into the damp air. The village had grown.

He could count over twenty new shelters now, patched together from peat-brick, swampwood, and salvaged tarps. Children darted between homes, chasing each other through the muck. There were paths now—actual foot-worn trails between homes, not just guesswork in the mud. Bogwater wasn't just surviving—it was becoming something more.

But with that growth came weight.

Levi rubbed at the ache in his lower back and sighed. Every decision pulled at him now. It wasn't enough to simply exist anymore. The villagers looked to him—some with quiet respect, others with cautious expectation. He didn't know what they saw when they looked at him. A boy? A lucky fool? A leader?

He wasn't sure which frightened him more.

Later that morning, he called together Mae, Harwin, Darran, and Lysa into the half-finished longhut they'd taken to calling the council shelter. It wasn't a council, not officially. But they were the ones people trusted.

"I've decided," Levi said, setting a cracked mug on the table. "I'll visit House Reed. One month from now."

Mae narrowed her eyes. "You planning to swim the marsh or walk it?"

"I'll ask around," he replied. "We'll plan the safest route. But it's time they know what's happening here."

Darran looked up. "And what is happening here?"

Levi paused. "A village is happening. Something real."

Harwin leaned forward. "They'll want more than stories and smiles."

"I know." Levi took a breath. "We bring what we have. Darran's smoked meat. The barrels Mae's been aging in the cellar. Maybe even some of that swampberry brew if it doesn't kill anyone."

Lysa folded her hands. "Then we do it right. Make it clean. Pack it in reed baskets. We send a message, not just a man."

Levi nodded. "Exactly. We don't go begging. We go as Bogwater."

By noon, Levi wandered through the village with a half-used scrap of parchment and a bit of charcoal. He stopped each group he passed—hunters, trappers, the rope-twisters, even the old leatherworker who barely spoke—and asked what they did. How they saw their role. If they'd keep doing it.

Not all were eager. Some shrugged, unsure. Others lit up with pride. A few were confused by the questions but answered honestly.

By sundown, Levi had something more than numbers. He had a shape.

27 hunters and gatherers—mostly men and older boys. They brought in the meat, the berries, the frogs, and the occasional lizard.

11 trappers and fur-workers—setting up trade-worthy pelts and preserving skin.

9 who knew leatherwork or tailoring.

12 builders and diggers—those shaping the village, one foundation at a time.

18 women who oversaw food, firewood, laundry, and children.

4 makeshift healers—including Mae, who refused the title of "wise woman" but acted like one.

5 brewers and distillers—mostly dabbling in swampberry mash and reed beer.

8 thatchers, ropemakers, and net-weavers.

6 strong youths doing general labor—too young for war, too old for idleness.

50 others: children, elders, new arrivals still finding their place.

Total: 150.

He rolled the parchment and tied it off with a reed string. This wasn't just a number. It was a village.

That night, Levi stood alone beside the firepit behind Mae's home. The flames were low, more warmth than light. Jory was already asleep, curled under a wool cloak near the hearth.

Levi held the map again. This time, he traced a path—Bogwater to Greycrann. A journey by stillwater and blackroot trail. Roads that weren't roads. Paths only the crannogmen would dare.

A month. Just enough time to prepare. Maybe.

He looked over the scrap in his other hand—the names, the numbers. Each one a person. Each one a reason.

"Mae was right," he muttered. "If we're going to make something of this place... it has to start with all of us."

He took a breath, slow and steady.

First, he would go house to house, assigning roles clearly, asking for volunteers to train others. He'd organize them—not as a lord, but as someone who lived here too. He would speak to Darren again, ask what he'd seen. Listen better this time.

Then, he would prepare for House Reed—not just for himself, but as the voice of Bogwater.

They were no longer just strays in the swamp.

They were a village.

And Levi Hallow was finally starting to act like it.