Bread, Laughter, and the Forest’s Favor
1092 Words
Chapter Ten — Bread, Laughter, and the Forest’s Favor
Lunch was simple — warm stew, fresh bread, and the soft hum of the forest drifting through the open window — but Silas couldn’t remember the last time a meal felt this… peaceful.
Anwen sat across from him, elbows resting lightly on the table, her hair falling in soft waves around her face. Ink perched on the back of her chair, occasionally leaning down to steal crumbs when he thought no one was looking.
Silas caught him once.
“Hey— that’s mine.”
Ink froze mid‑peck, then slowly withdrew his beak like he was innocent.
Anwen snorted into her tea. “He does that.”
“He’s a menace.”
Ink cawed sharply, offended.
Silas pointed at him. “See? Menace.”
Anwen laughed — really laughed — and Silas felt something warm bloom in his chest. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he just kept eating.
They talked about small things:
the creek behind her house
the way the forest changed with the seasons
how Ink once stole an entire biscuit from a traveling merchant
how Silas used to climb the apple tree behind his old house
Nothing heavy. Nothing sharp. Just soft, easy conversation that made the world feel lighter.
When they finished eating, Anwen stood to gather the dishes — and Silas immediately reached out.
“I’ve got it.”
She blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said, “but I want to.”
Her cheeks warmed, just slightly. She let him take the bowls.
Ink hopped onto the table and tapped Silas’s wrist, as if approving his manners.
“Yeah, yeah,” Silas muttered. “I’m amazing.”
Anwen laughed again — softer this time, like she was trying not to show how much she enjoyed it.
After the dishes were washed and set aside, Silas stepped onto the porch to gather his tools. The sun had shifted, casting warm light across the clearing. The forest rustled gently, as if watching.
“I should head home soon,” he said reluctantly.
Anwen nodded, though something in her expression dimmed. “Thank you for today.”
Silas shrugged, trying to hide the way her words tugged at him. “I’ll come back tomorrow. There’s still more to fix.”
Her eyes brightened — just a little. “I’d like that.”
Ink fluttered to Silas’s shoulder, tapping his head twice like a farewell blessing.
“Stop doing that,” Silas grumbled, but he didn’t push the bird away.
Anwen covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Silas stepped off the porch, tools in hand. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you,” she said softly.
He turned toward the forest — and the world shifted.
Branches lifted. Roots eased aside. The path unfolded like a ribbon, guiding him forward.
Silas blinked. “Okay… that’s new.”
The forest didn’t answer, but the air felt warm, almost pleased.
He walked, and the trees seemed to move with him — not in a frightening way, but in a protective one. He reached the edge of the woods in half the time it should’ve taken.
It was like the forest wanted to make sure he didn’t get lost.
That night, Silas lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
He tried to sleep. He really did.
But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the way she said “I’d like that” like it meant something
He rolled onto his side, groaning into his pillow.
This was ridiculous.
He barely knew her.
Eventually, sleep dragged him under — thin, restless, but enough.
Silas woke before dawn, heart already thudding with a strange, restless energy. He dressed in the half‑dark, nearly tripping over his own pants, and stumbled into the kitchen where his dad was sipping coffee.
“Morning,” his dad said, giving him a sleepy smile.
“Morning,” Silas muttered, grabbing toast and shoving half of it into his mouth at once.
His dad raised an eyebrow. “You’re up early.”
Silas froze mid‑chew. “Uh. Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Mhm.” His dad took a slow sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of the mug.
Silas cleared his throat. “Hey, Dad… if a house has, um… old shutters that don’t close right, how would you fix them?”
His dad blinked. “Shutters?”
“Hypothetically,” Silas added quickly, ears burning.
“Hypothetically,” his dad echoed, fighting a smile. “Well, you’d check the hinges first. Might be rusted. Or the wood could be warped. You can sand it down, oil the hinges, maybe replace a screw or two.”
Silas nodded fast. “Right. Okay.”
His dad set his mug down. “Anything else… hypothetically?”
Silas hesitated. “If a door sticks.”
“Sand the frame. Check for swelling. Might need a new hinge pin.”
Silas nodded again.
“And if a stove isn’t heating evenly?”
Silas froze. “How did you—?”
His dad chuckled. “Old houses have old problems. You clean the ash pan, check the flue, make sure the vent isn’t clogged.”
Silas memorized every word.
His dad watched him for a long moment — too long — then leaned back in his chair, eyes softening with something like recognition.
“You’re really interested in home repair all of a sudden,” he said lightly.
Silas’s face went hot. “Just… curious.”
“Of course,” his dad said, voice warm. “Curious.”
He didn’t push. He didn’t tease. He just smiled — that quiet, knowing smile that made Silas’s stomach twist.
Then his dad stood, walked to the counter, and picked up a small metal lunch box.
“Here,” he said, handing it over. “You’ll need this.”
Silas blinked. “For what?”
“For whatever you’re fixing today.”
Silas swallowed. “Thanks.”
His dad squeezed his shoulder. “Bring the tools back when you’re done.”
“I will.”
“And Silas?”
“Yeah?”
His dad’s smile softened even more. “Shoes.”
Silas groaned, shoved his feet into them, and bolted out the door — nearly tripping down the steps in his rush.
He didn’t slow down.
The forest was waiting.
And he was already thinking about the way Anwen’s eyes lit up when she saw him yesterday.
- Writer
