7 – SOS

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Draft 4 – 22 September 2025 (C007/D004)

The charred remains of Milton—the rendezvous point for the butchers and their allies—straddled the long road connecting The Shadows to Eastwatch at either end of the valley. Sitting halfway between the site of the massacre and the Butchers’ shop in Old Mill, the abandoned village was chosen for its convenience, not for its isolation. 

It consisted of a dozen burned-out stone homes in various states of decay, one large barn, and several derelict outhouses. There were also a handful of assorted out buildings, some mere blackened remnants, others mostly intact, all deep-set in tall grasses and weeds. 

The point at which each of the townsfolk left the road to enter the overgrown site was clearly marked, as was their path to the buildings. Such would also be the case following their departure a while later. The directional bent of the vegetation would indicate which trails led in and which trails led out. 

The significance of trails in long grass next to a main artery would normally be neither here nor there. In this particular case, however, Hunter knew that this whole section of the valley would soon be scrutinized by an armed party of Company deputies aggressively searching for clues about a missing coffle. And no experienced tracker would ignore clues as obvious as these. 

The first to arrive, shortly after dawn, were the lanky fletcher and his willowy wife, Hannah. The well-fed Butchers, Mr. and Mrs., followed a few minutes later. The two couples awaited the rest of their party behind some charred stone walls nearest the valley’s main road. 

From his lookout position next to a tumbledown chicken coop, Hunter could see up and down the road in both directions. He could also clearly see and hear the townsfolk behind the house, even though he was effectively invisible to them. 

The butcher and his wife were both familiar to Hunter. As a silent partner in their butchery for many years, Hunter knew them well. They were sensible people with solid connections to their community. The fletcher, Simon, and his wife, Hannah, were close friends with the Butchers and were said to be equally sensible. Each family had three children: four, eight and ten years old. The children, paired as they were by age, were as close to each other as they were to their own siblings.

The two late-comers to the gathering were not on a first-name basis with Hunter, but he knew something of their stories nonetheless. The wiry Richard Collier was a widower with an active coal mine. Although his enterprise was exactly the kind that would normally find slave labor valuable, Collier kept no slaves. His best friend and drinking buddy was a copper-skinned millwright with flour in his moustache, Gavin Miller—also a widower, and equally reluctant to employ slave labor. 

As they came into sight on the road from Old Mill and entered the dew-drenched long grass on the edge of the village, Hunter watched carefully for signs of intoxication. Both men were said by the butcher to be men of good character, but both were also known to be fond of the jug. On this particular morning, however, Hunter saw no indication that either man had been drinking.

Hunter was impressed with the results thus created by Mrs. Butcher. With the exceptions of the blacksmith and the preacher—neither of whom could be trusted in this situation—every member of the town’s council was present. These six people, between them, were sure to have an excellent understanding of their community and would be able to give him a good sense of how far Old Mill would willing to go. 

Precisely how far could he trust the four he did not know well? That remained to be seen.

After taking one last wary look up and down the road, Hunter joined the councilors behind the crumbling walls. Mrs. Butcher, a full-figured mother of four who took the lead in most council meetings, introduced Hunter to those who didn’t already know him. He was described as a friend and an associate. His occupation was given as hunter. None in the group challenged this because they had seen him many times in recent years delivering meat to the Butchers’ shop in Old Mill.

“Events took a turn last night,” the elf began. “The coffle what passed through Old Mill yesterday afternoon was attacked.” He paused here to gauge the reactions of the four unfamiliar allies. 

“Who attacked it?” asked Fletcher, a man as straight and thin as the arrows he fashioned.

“Was anybody hurt?” his wife—who reminded Hunter of blooming flax—asked at exactly the same time.

“Gnolls,” Hunter offered, causing both to gasp. 

Hannah’s blonde eyebrows arched over her flax-flower eyes. “The children!” she exclaimed.

“Tads made it through,” Hunter assured her. “Gnolls got the rest.”

“Gnolls?” Miller and Collier asked at the same time. “There aren’t any gnolls around here,” continued Collier alone, while the diminutive miller nodded in agreement.

“Pack is from the White Mountain area,” Hunter said, watching confusion ripple through their faces. White Mountain was on the far side of the bay and gnolls don’t sail. “Not sure how they got here.”

“What happened to the children?” Hannah’s tone was frantic. “Did you take them to The Shadows?”

“Brought ‘em here for now,” Hunter answered. “‘Til I could talk to you folks.”

Hannah, pale to begin with, paled even further. Her husband, noting her reaction, looked swiftly down. The collier glanced disapprovingly at the millwright while the soft-spoken millwright softly cleared his throat.

“Caring for children wasn’t in our plans,” Hunter said. “We ain’t exactly sure what to do with ‘em.” As he spoke, he monitored the trepidation building in Hannah Fletcher’s blue eyes. “Didn’t wanna leave them to the gnolls,” he paused. “Ain’t eager to take em to the Shad—”

“But they have to go,” Hannah blurted, leaning on the stone wall at her back.

“I believe your blacksmith would be willing to do that,” Hunter offered truthfully.

Hannah nodded eager agreement—while the other councillors exchanged silent glances ripe with withheld thoughts. 

“Before you decide though, you might wanna think on it,” Hunter offered. “There’s a chance The Shadows might consider them dead.”

Amanda stepped forward to draw her friend’s attention. “These children have a chance at freedom, Hannah.” Her eyes conveyed a mix of love and fear. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to help them.”

“Problem is,” John Butcher took a deep breath, “if we try to hide them…and if the governor finds out they’re not dead…”

“It could be Milton all over again.” Miller finished the horrific thought.

“Or Southport.” The tragedy of that name hung grimly on Collier’s sombre face. 

“Oh my,” Hannah said in a low, weak voice, slowly sliding down the wall. Strands of her long blonde hair snagged on the charred stones. “What have you done?”

Amanda squatted by her friend, taking her hand, while her husband, John, stroked his long dense beard and looked away, surveying the remains of the dead village. His eyes settled on the only significant structure still standing in the charred graveyard called Milton. “They’re in the barn,” he said mostly to himself. “We should go see them.”

“You go on ahead,” said Mrs. Butcher, clinging to her sobbing friend. “We’ll be along in a minute.”

When the men neared the barn, Hunter had them stop. He proceeded alone through the door as Autumn and Scout were passing small chunks of bread into the small hands of the children. He nodded to let them know they had guests.

The ginger druid clapped hands a few times to get everybody’s attention. “OK, children,” Autumn announced, “Hunter has brought some visitors. There is no need to be afraid. I promise they won’t hurt you. They are friends. Please just find a place to sit and eat your bread quietly.”

When the children were settled and their necks were straining to see who was at the door, Hunter brought the four men into the horse-and-smoke-scented barn. Butcher and Fletcher, fathers with children of their own, immediately took a few steps past the threshold and scanned the dirty faces, while the widowers stopped in the doorway to observe from afar. Mr. Butcher swallowed while Mr. Fletcher tugged firmly on his angular nose, causing his eyes to water.

“They need water,” Fletcher said, turning away almost immediately. “Do you have water?” he asked Hunter.

“Autumn has some,” he nodded, sensing the tall man’s discomfort, “but we need more. That’s on our list.”

“We can help,” Miller offered politely, relieved to find something to do with his hands in this awkward situation. “What do you need?”

Hunter picked up two canteens and gave them to Collier and Miller. “If you can find some water, fill these,” he instructed them. “Doesn’t matter if it’s clean or not. We can purify it.”

Butcher clenched his jaw, breathed in through his nose, and ran his thick hand over his smooth black scalp. He walked deeper into the barn, past the stalls holding the children. “Who’s this?” he asked Hunter as the miller and the collier left the barn in search of water.

“Right,” said Hunter, joining Butcher in looking down at the sleeping form of LT. “Forgot about him.”

“One of the coffle guards?” Butcher asked softly, his back to the children.

“Don’t worry none about him,” Hunter confirmed. “He ain’t waking up less we wake him up.”

“Is he going to be a problem?” the butcher asked, suspiciously, waving away a pesky fly.

“Ain’t sure yet,” Hunter admitted, carefully positioning himself to observe the reactions of the adults in the barn.

Shadows of movement disturbed the dim light as the mothers entered. Amanda stood in the doorway for a few moments allowing her rich acacia eyes to adjust. It was a large, single-story barn with five stalls on each side. The children occupied two pairs of stalls across from each other near the middle.

When their eyes were comfortable with the light, the two women entered and assessed the state of the children. Ten boys. Nine girls. Ranging in age from six to thirteen years old. They were dirty and dehydrated but appeared otherwise healthy.

Hannah went immediately to the stall with the youngest girls, while Amanda carefully scrutinized all of the children before stopping at the stall with the youngest boys. 

Hunter watched them carefully. Both were struggling under heavy emotional loads. Hannah squatted inside the stall holding the youngest girls, wet streaks running down her cheeks. Amanda stood stoically at the entrance to the boys’ stall, eyes wet, cheeks dry. 

As Simon Fletcher watched his wife take a small blonde girl’s hand, he choked on a ragged breath. Tears clouded his eyes; one leaked slowly down his face. He quickly brushed it away and then slipped out through the barn door. Without a word, he disappeared from sight.

John Butcher watched his friend leave and took another long breath through his nose. For a moment, Butcher seemed to consider joining him, but then changed his mind. “We can’t send them back,” he said, turning abruptly to Hunter.

The elf set his jaw and extended his hand. Butcher shook it firmly for several moments longer than is the custom. He tried to speak, but couldn’t form words.

“When you ready, we can talk outside,” Hunter told him. “Take your time now. Ain’t gonna see ‘em again for a while.”

Hunter left the barn to give the two families some space and some privacy. Miller located a covered well that held some murky water. The wiry coalminer found a leaky barrel that, when tipped just right, would hold several gallons of the precious liquid. Hunter got a rope from his saddlebag and they managed to fill the old barrel with enough water to get through the next turn of the day. Once it was purified by the healer, each of the children was given enough water to stave off dehydration. 

While all of this was going on, Scout took two apples from a saddlebag and went over to feed the horses. Tying the animals together in a line, she led them half a league down the road to drink from the river and graze in the lush grasses nearby.

When the morning had mostly passed and the shadows were at their shortest, Autumn distributed more rations of bread and cheese. Scout returned the horses to their stalls as the townsfolk gathered in a circle behind the house where they had gathered earlier.

“What’s your plan, Hunter?” Amanda Butcher asked, crossing her pudgy arms over her top-heavy coat, getting right to business. 

“If y’all’ll allow it,” he replied, barely above a whisper, “I’d like to take them to the free lands.”

Collier frowned. “Why do you need our permission?” he asked, skillfully stuffing a clay pipe without looking down at his hands.

“They ain’t belong to me. At least a few of ‘em are kin to y’all folks.”

“Do we have paperwork?” Hannah asked, with a degree of eagerness that raised a red flag.

“I found some.”

“What’s it say?”

Hunter shot the woman a warning look. “Ain’t looked for no names yet,” he said, pushing back firmly.

“Best we don’t know for sure,” Amanda stepped in, cautioning her curious friend.

“There are also the consequences to consider,” John’s sonorous voice reminded them.

Collier nodded thoughtfully, searching his pockets for a match. 

“If things go wrong, this whole situation could get downright nasty,” Miller agreed, retying the green-and-white checkered head scarf that had tangled in the rope during his work at the well.

“My brother’s family was slaughtered here,” said John, referring to the ghost town in which they were standing. 

“Southport got it bad, too,” said Collier. “If we do this and they figure out we’re hiding them, it’ll get ugly.”

“What are the chances of them figuring it out?” Amanda asked. 

“Depends on the trackers,” Hunter replied. “We’ve covered it as best we can.”

“Do you think it’s enough?” Ananda’s eyes narrowed.

“Wouldn’t fool me,” Hunter admitted. “But ain’t every deputy good at they job. They send one of they cousins… we might could get away with it.” 

“What are the odds?” John wanted numbers. 

“Bout half and half.”

They pondered the odds and calculated risks against their governor’s infamous ill temper. Collier puffed on his pipe while Miller finished his wrap, tying the knot so that the ends hung down his back like a pony tail. John waved at two flies who were after an unseen spot of dried blood on his shirt behind his right elbow.

“Wouldn’t be right if we didn’t give those kids a chance,” Miller volunteered. 

“It’s the least we can do for them,” Collier agreed.

The group was silent. Thinking. Waiting for leadership.

“So let’s say we fool them trackers.” Amada proposed. “Then what happens? How do you get them out?”

“We got ways.” Hunter flashed a glance at the fletcher’s flaxen bride.

“Where would you hide them?” Amanda asked, uncrossing her arms and stepping forward.

“We got places.” 

Amanda wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer, but Hunter knew she wouldn’t push. It was one of the many reasons he trusted her. She had sense enough to wait and ask him again in private. 

“What do you need from us?” John deliberately changed direction.

“Supplies. ‘Til we get settled. Won’t be able to move them ‘til the search is over.”

“Anything else?”

“There’s a fity-fity chance this’ll go bad. When it does, the governor’s gonna wanna make an example. Y’all are closest. So y’all are the most likely the example he’ll wanna set.”

Fear twisted Hannah’s face.  “Maybe we should just turn the coffle over to the church,” she proposed. 

“If you like,” Hunter allowed.

“If we give it back, he’ll leave us alone, right?” Hannah looked around for support. 

“The governor hates elves,” John stated. 

“That’s a fact,” Miller mumbled. 

“The gnolls had to come from The Wood,” John continued. 

“No place else they could,” Collier supported him, exhaling a rich cloud of smoke, settling down into a restful squat.

“An elf interacted with the coffle just before the attack, Hannah,” Amanda looked at her helplessly.

“So he’ll blame elves,” Hannah brightened.

“Why would elves take it upon themselves to interfere with a coffle, sugar?” Amanda asked, touching her plump, pinecone-colored fingers gently to Hannah’s forearm.

John cleared his throat. “She’s right,” he said.  “They wouldn’t do it on their own. Governor wouldn’t buy it.”

“He’ll blame freedom fighters,” said Collier. “He’ll say they’re working with the elves again.”

“He’ll blame us, Mrs. Fletcher,” Miller clarified gently. “He’ll murder everyone in Old Mill just to be sure he gets the culprits.”

“But we didn’t do anything,” Hannah objected.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Collier, squatting low in the grass and looking straight ahead, sucking on his pipe as if lost in thought. “He’ll want to set an example so people don’t get the idea of starting back up interfering with Company business again.”

Hannah’s face dimmed as a cloud of reality cast a shadow on her face.

“We need to defend ourselves,” John suddenly realized. “Maybe we should hire mercenaries.”

“No point,” said Hunter. 

Fletcher agreed. “Mercs work for money, John. Whatever we offer them, the Company will offer more.”

“We need to do this ourselves.” Amanda took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Your folks’ll back your play?” Hunter asked.

Amanda hesitated, thinking about his question for a few heartbeats. Her bottom lip curled back over her bottom teeth while her pink tongue pushed against it. “Some won’t,” she admitted at length, “but most will.” 

All except Hannah nodded in agreement. 

“I can get y’all some help,” said Hunter. “But that means Imma need to leave. I won’t be here to help while all of this is going down.”

“Should we warn people?” Fletcher asked. 

“If we say anything, they’ll assume we’re in on it,” Amada cautioned.  

“So we should go home and do nothing?” Fletcher asked. 

“Autumn’ll can take the tads,” Hunter explained. “Scout can stay with you folks. She and Autumn can coordinate getting supplies.” Scout and Autumn both nodded their agreement. “I imagine you’re pretty good at making arrows,” Hunter said to Fletcher.

“I am.”

“Then make as many as you can—”

“Can’t he just use magic to feed the kids?” Hannah asked, referring to Autumn and the need for supplies.

“Healers can heal,” Hunter replied, misleading her with an established fact. “Can’t do much else though,” he added, to throw her off the scent.

“How many you figure we’ll need?” Fletcher asked him.

“If it comes to a fight?” Hunter asked rhetorically. “All of em.”

“This isn’t fair,” Hannah complained a second time. “We haven’t done anything.”

“Y’all made a deal,” Hunter reminded her, annoyed but trying not to show it. “These the consequences.”

“It was that or war,” Hannah blushed.

“We didn’t understand,” her lanky husband mumbled weakly.

“The Company’s got the instinct to slave. Only one way to keep slavers off your back. Show em you ain’t slaves,” Hunter said. 

“So now what?” John asked.

“Now we wait. See what happens. Hope we get lucky.”

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