Henrik looked a little too smug for Johan’s liking.
“He’s right. You do start it,” Johan said.
Henrik opened and closed his mouth a few times before clamping it shut and looking in the opposite direction, like the bushes were suddenly the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
Johan pondered whether all elves were quite as dramatic as the two he was falling for.
The sun still hadn’t risen by the time Johan took them off one of the main paths and onto an overgrown track.
“How much are you dying to ask him if he’s sure this is the right way?” Elias asked Henrik, who was eyeing the long grass sceptically.
“I’m certain that Johan is certain he knows the right way,” Henrik replied, and when the words registered, Johan snorted a laugh.
They walked a little farther and then broke through a tree line into a clearing of sorts. In the spring, it was quite beautiful, filled with wild flowers, but right then it looked neglected. Johan supposed that it had been really. How long had it been since he’d last come here?
On the far side of the clearing was a small hunting cabin. The sight of it brought back bittersweet memories for Johan, and because he’d learned the grief of loss never really went away, being here poked at the wound until he ached to see his father again. Ached to be able to ask his advice or receive a reassuring squeeze to the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.
“I never doubted you for a second,” Elias gloated. “But what is this place?”
Johan swallowed past the ball of emotion in his throat as some of the greatest memories of his life bombarded him.
“Mine,” he said barely above a whisper.
Johan approached the cabin with the elves trailing closely behind him. He lifted the wooden latch on the door, and it creaked loudly as it swung open. A thick layer of dust showered them when they stepped over the threshold.
Inside was much the same as it had been the last time he’d come, only in desperate need of a clean.
By the door were his and his father’s bows and quivers filled with arrows. He ran his finger along his father’s bow; the two of them had always struggled to connect, but hunting and fishing together had been the exception. Hunting was the one place where Johan’s silence was a benefit instead of a hindrance, and one of the rare times he’d felt worthy of his father’s love.
Elias and Henrik remained quiet, clearly recognising that Johan needed a moment to gather himself.
“It’s… small. But the land is mine,” he explained. “We could build.”
Seventeen
Henrik
H
enrik blinked in surprise, taking in his surroundings. He could hardly believe what Johan was suggesting.
Although small and in need of cleaning, the cabin would have enough space for the three of them to sleep and a little left over to provide a modest kitchen/dining area. While not much to look at right now, Henrik could see the potential.
Glancing behind him back through the front door, Henrik eyed the clearing critically. There was more than enough space to gradually build themselves a larger dwelling, especially with both the elves’ using magic to assist. There was arguably enough space to build themselves a workshop, too, as a means to earn money when they needed it.
Henrik was hopeful, an unfamiliar feeling to the elf who had lived so much of his life always braced for the next blow.
Grief sat heavy in the room, though. Henrik was sure that Johan had rarely, if ever, visited this place since his parents had died. He stepped closer and took Johan’s hand in his own,squeezing it in a way he hoped said “I’m here, we’re both here for you.”
“Do you think we will be safe here?” Henrik asked.
“Safer,” Johan replied.
“What about the shop? Your home?” Elias asked.
“Just a… a building. Homes can change.”
Henrik’s heart threatened to escape his chest at that. He feared that Johan might live to regret all he was willing to give up for Henrik and Elias and knew he could never possibly repay Johan for all he had done. The imbalance was an anvil in Henrik’s stomach.
