“The Reeve?” I asked. The name tasted strange in my mouth. It sounded official, a title belonging to a works of ledgers and law. Something that seemed entirely out of place in this room made of roots and magic.
“The Reeve of Duskhollow,” Fenn clarified. His hooves clicked as he moved back toward the hearth. “She handles the goings-on of the town. We aren’t exactly on the main road to the capital of Aethegard, you see. We’re on the edge of the kingdom, tucked up right beside Grimholt. It’s a busy place, trading with the trolls in Millhaven, but we don’t often get, well…travelers from the Cairns.”
He turned back to me, his spectacles sliding back down his long nose. He looked at my soot-stained, torn clothes, then at my matted hair.
“We are getting ahead of ourselves,” he said kindly. “
