“You know she can’t stay here,” Uncle Greg's voice hissed in the next room. Hushed whispers gave way to frustration, carrying the words to a blissfully ignorant child. Carmine looked up from the floor with a start, turning towards the room where her father and uncle argued. Why was Uncle Greg so mad? She curled her auburn hair anxiously around her finger until she felt a touch at her arm.

“Come on Carmine,” a young boy, her cousin Filbert, urged her attention back to the floor, covered in small knights and soldiers carved from wood. “It's your turn, you haven’t saved the king yet!”

“Oh...okay,” Carmine replied, picking up one of the toy soldiers and placing it next to a large wooden lizard. “Sir Gentle talks to the dragon…”

“Talks to…? You’re supposed to fight the dragon!”

“But...My mum said fighting is kinda bad?” Carmine gave her cousin a genuinely confused look.

“Well...the dragon’s bad; you have to fight it.” Filbert insisted, pushing the dragon closer to the knight, as he started rambling about what the dragon could do, how sharp its teeth were.

His voice quickly fell to the back of Carmine's mind, joining the rain pelting the cabin’s wooden roof as she looked back towards the room where her dad and uncle spoke. They kept their voices low so not to alarm the children in the next room, but Carmine’s ears picked up a few things.

Unlike her uncle, cousin, and even her father, her ears were longer, ending in points, and with that were more sensitive than they realized. She couldn’t hear everything, but the bits she picked up worried her.

“If she stays here, they’ll just come here,” Her uncle insisted quietly. “What about my wife, my son?”

“I’m not asking her to stay for long,” Dad replied. “Look, things have been getting bad: our fence was broken yesterday, and not by the storm; rocks hit our house at night; I see people circling our house like buzzards. I think they’re going to try something.”

“So you prefer that happen here!?”

“No! I just....need Carmine to be safe.”

"You think she'd be safer in my hovel, when you're sitting comfy in the family house."

"This isn't about the house, Greg! Can't you see that!?"

"I wish I could help, Al, I do, but not at the cost of my family.”

“Fine!” Dad hissed loud enough to even make Filbert jump.

The door to the next room swung open, and Carmine’s father stepped out. For a moment lines creased his brow in a deep angry frown. It fell away when he looked at Carmine, but it always found a way back on his face. “Hey, sweetie, have fun?” his voice sounded like an attempt at its usual soothing tone, but Carmine knew he was upset. Uncle Greg paced behind him, rubbing his forehead. Father briefly smiled on as he walked over and picked her up, but even she could see that the smile never reached his eyes..

“Yup,” Carmine said, smirking as her father picked her up. “Is everything okay, dad?”

“Yeah. Looks like you’ll be staying at home with mum and dad after all.”

“Good.” Carmine retorted, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. She didn’t want to stay at Filbert's anyway.

Her grin spread to her father, finally reaching his eyes..

“Time to go home, say goodbye to Filbert and Uncle Greg.” Her father glared sharply at Greg.

“Bye,” Carmine waved as her dad helped her with her cloak.

"Bye, Carmine," Filbert said, waving back a lot. Uncle Greg didn't say anything. Carmine thought he even looked a little sad.

Carmine and her father left the house into the torrential downpour outside. When would it stop? All the sky had done was pour down for weeks now. The water ruined mother’s garden, all her herbs drowned. Some of the farmers had started getting angry too. Were their gardens drowning too?

Carmine watched a few farmers in the fields during the walk back to her house, struggling to tend to whatever was still alive. One farmer lifted his head, soaked to the bone, his exhausted eyes meeting Carmine's. The man's eyes hardened as he recognized her and her father through the rain. A shiver ran down Carmine's spine as he glared, unblinking. She quickly turned back to the path ahead, feeling the eyes on her back as she and her father passed by. Moving closer to her father, she squeezed his hand. As long as Father was there, she'd be okay. A lot of the villagers sent glares their way these days. Why were they so angry?

"Dad," she said, inquisitively looking up as they walked.

"What is, Sweetie?"

"Did I do something bad?"

The lines in Father’s face deepened across his forehead. His sigh went unheard under the rain beating down. "You didn't do anything, Carmine. The storm is just making people think funny. They're just scared is all. Scared folks don't think straight sometimes."

"Oh! Like when I stay up past bedtime?"

"You do what now?"

"Nothing." Carmine quickly stopped talking. The jig was up, but her father only chuckled, holding her hand tighter.

The trail home took longer than normal, their boots sticking to the thick mud along the path, but eventually a familiar homestead came in view: a two storied home, in the center of a wide plain, well-built from white wood, with a green roof to keep the rain out. It stood sturdy enough to withstand the storm overhead, and time’s test. Long fences contained plots of grassland where horses would usually have grazed, but with the storm they all huddled within the stables, staying as dry as they could. Soggy grass probably tasted bad anyway...not that Carmine knew what grass tasted like. One horse waited outside the house, one Carmine didn't recognize.

"Dad, whose horse is that?" She looked up curiously.

"I don't know." He replied, pulling her a bit closer to him as he looked around the property. "Let's get inside."

Carmine huddled behind her father, feeling his hand tighten around hers as they approached the front door, but as they approached they heard sounds from within. Laughter? Father pushed open the door, and the sounds became louder. Carmine recognized one of the laughs as her mother's, its musical tone unmistakable, but the other she didn't know.

The door gave way to the foyer, and the lounge beyond it, filled with rustic furniture and beast skin rugs covering the floor. At the dining table, Carmine saw her mother sitting with the widest smile she'd seen in a while. Her auburn hair and deep blue eyes were much like Carmine's own, as were her elongated ears that ended in points.

The man across from her, however, she didn’t know, but he looked a bit older than Father. Shallow wrinkles crept over his skin as salt-and-pepper hair covered most of his head and face. Father relaxed, did he know the man?

"Nicholos?" Fathersaid, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Alan! Good to see you. I was close by," Nicholos replied with a smile. His voice was gruff and tired, but jubilant. "I've been on a journey, looking for old arcane writings. Much like our old work, Antora," he explained as he nodded to Mother. "My travels took me close by, and I haven't visited in years."

"And it's wonderful to see you again,” Mother added, smiling ear to ear. "How many years has it been?"

"Almost eight now," Nicholos answered as he looked between mother and father before noticing Carmine herself. His mouth opened in surprise, before turning to a warm smile. "Is that you, Carmine?"

Carmine hid behind her father's hip at the sudden attention, giving a hesitant nod.

"Goodness me, you've grown so big! You were just a babe in your mother's arms last I saw."

"Carmine, this is Nicholos, an old friend of ours." Mother explained.

"Hi, Nicholos," Carmine replied, still apprehensive behind her father. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to see you again, lass." His bearded smile put Carmine at ease. He reminded her of her old grandpa before he passed away; soft spoken with a warm face. Carmine moved fully around her father to meet Nicholos’ eyes. "My, You're the spitting image of you mother." He looked back towards Mother with a raised brow. "Has she shown any of your talents?"

"Not yet, Nicholos, When she's older we'll find out." Mother pulled Carmine into a hug after answering. "It's late Carmine; time for bed."

"But I don't want to." Carmine pouted, to no avail.

"Come on, Carmine, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow." Mother picked her up and tapped her nose. "After that I'll make you...a chocolate muffin, how does that sound?"

Carmine hummed thoughtfully. "Okay." She mumbled, trying to hide her excitement. She followed her mother upstairs, coming to her room. There was not much more than a bed, desk, and dresser inside, but it had all Carmine asked for. Books, blankets and figurines of beasts from legend and myth all across Vembris lay scattered around her room, locked in fantastical journeys across the world of her floor... Carmine enjoyed collecting them from merchants that came through town, each one a precious treasure.

As her mother tucked Carmine into bed, kissing her forehead before setting her down, Her mother waved a hand over the figurines, uttering words foreign to Carmine. Mother's eyes flashed white for a moment as she finished speaking and a second later the figures started moving, chasing each other around on Carmine's desk.

"Goodnight, sweetie," Mother said, ruffling Carmine's hair.

"Goodnight, mum." Carmine replied from habit, watching the display.

Mother left the room with a smile, leaving Carmine staring at the show on her desk. It carried on for a few minutes, slowly pushing Carmine to sleep, and yet rest wouldn't come. Once again, she heard whispers not meant for her through the closed doors and thick walls of her home. Even Mother underestimated how much she could hear.

She crept out of bed, knowing exactly which boards to avoid to prevent a creaking giveaway as she edged towards her door. She slipped out without a sound, then crouched near the top of the stairs as the adults conversed below, just around the corner.

"You're serious," Nicholos spoke, no laughter left in his voice. "It's gotten that bad?"

"The town headman isn't even doing anything about it." Father grumbled next. Carmine had almost forgotten what he sounded like when he was mad, but she got a reminder now. "In fact I think the bastard is in on it."

"Alan…" Mother hushed him as he started to raise his voice.

"Sorry...it's just so infuriating. I grew up with most of these people, I can't believe they're doing this."

"Desperation changes people." Mother tried to comfort him. "They need a reason for the ill fortune that befalls them so much they'll invent one if none exists."

"Even at the expense of others." Nicholos added. "If you both believe you're in danger, why not leave?"

Carmine's heart started racing. Danger? Was something bad going to happen?

"We have nowhere to go Nicholos." Mother answered. Carmine had never heard her so tired. "Everything we have is here. Our home, our livelihood. If we leave, we'd only have what we could carry. Our cart can't get through this mud. We'd be starting over from scratch, I don't want to put Carmine through that."

"I see...but isn't remaining just as risky?" Nicholos asked. Both mother and father couldn't answer. "Listen,” Nicholos’ voice lowered, growing quieter but no less direct. “This storm shows no sign of stopping. If folk are already vandalizing your property and making threats, it's not going to stop. In fact, I'd bet on it getting worse.” Carmine waited for Mother or Father to retort; to say it wasn’t as bad as he thought, but as the silence stretched on, second after second, neither of them said a thing. “If you can't leave then I propose this, and I don't do it lightly,” Nicholas paused for a moment, then said in an almost reluctant tone, “Leave Carmine in my care, at least until you believe it's safe again to return."

Carmine gasped, shocked and afraid, but quickly put both hands over her mouth, hoping no one heard. She waited for mother and father to reject the offer, but as the silence lingered she only grew more afraid.

"I'll be clear with you both," Nicholos continued, leaning closer, his voice still deadly serious. "My path is no place for a child. I travel in search of artifacts as we once did as a team, Antora. You know that lifestyle is unpredictable."

"I remember," Mother agreed, her voice exasperated. Carmine heard her fingers tap against the kitchen table. "But the alternative…"

"I don't want to send Carmine away." Father answered, and Carmine started to relax, but couldn't shake the anxiety completely. "Her place is with us."

"I understand," Nicholos said. Carmine heard him stand and push his chair back beneath the table. "You're a good father, Alan, I know this isn't easy." Boots stepped across the floor and Nicholos stepped into view. Carmine pressed herself as tightly as she could to the floor, hoping he wouldn't see. "I'll be in the area a few more days. I'll visit again before I leave."

"Take care of yourself Nicholos." Mother said quietly to him, and a sad smile crossed his lips. Carmine swore, for a moment Nicholos saw her as he glanced in her direction.

"Take care of each other." He replied as he stepped out the door.

Carmine sprang up and quickly tip-toed back to her room, heart racing, mind full of questions and fears. She crawled back into bed, pulling her blanket over her head, her figurines now still. Her mind raced: Had she done something wrong? Was Mother really thinking of sending her away? What was so dangerous it even made Father scared?

Each question without answer drove her closer to quiet panic until she forced her eyes closed, wishing it would all go away. Eventually, a short, difficult sleep overtook her, but dreams offered no solace. Even then, she saw the eyes. Her uncle's, Filbert's, the farmer's, all of them, staring, judging, hating, none would even say why.

Tossing and turning, little sleep came through the night.