They stayed the night.
Food appeared. Children appeared — smaller Oni with smaller horns and the fearlessness of children in a place where they were safe. Clara was in the middle of them within an hour, because Clara could not be near a group of children without becoming the center of it. She began reciting her harrowing battles and fantasies turned stories - drawing in not just kids but even adults into her tales. Some of which recycled themes from stories Arthur told - coincidentally from his past life.
Lyra sat with the chief by the fire and asked careful questions about the forest — territories, seasonal movements, the creatures in the deep areas. The chief answered with the ease of someone who liked a good question.
Arthur, noticed a lack of clean water decided to dig the well after dinner. The settlement's water came from a river half a mile away, twice daily, and he did the earthwork and liner and pulley in two hours with earth magic and Shadow's help. The village didn't know what to do with it for about ten minutes. Then the children found it, and then it involved a great deal of water and several wet Oni children and Kiiro watching from a root with the expression of someone whose standards were not being met.
Hana sat across the fire from Arthur and did not speak to him for two hours. She had not put the spear down.
Eventually: 'How did you make it.'
He told her the relevant parts — materials, balance, the enchantment mechanic. She listened with the focused attention of someone filing information they intended to use.
'Can I make one even without magic?' she said. She was looking at the spear, not at him.
He reached into the dimensional storage and brought out the communication device. He held it out.
'We're friends now,' he said. 'If you need anything — help, information, a trade — use this and I'll come. I can be here within minutes.'
She took it. She looked at it. She looked at him.
'Perhaps,' she said, 'there will come a time when you need help and call me crying for aid. In that case, I may consider gracing you with my assistance.' A pause. 'Perhaps.'
The chief laughed. He had been laughing at intervals all evening.
'I'll look forward to it,' Arthur said as he began explaining how the phone worked and also brought out some more gifts for her like paper, paints, clothing, and even some sweet cakes, which made it so she couldn't hide a smile from forming.
Hana's ears went slightly pink at the tips. She looked at the spear, cakes, and other gifts and said nothing further on the subject.
◆ ◆ ◆
They left in the morning.
The whole village came out. Arthur distributed the remaining gifts — the extra grain, the preserved fruit, toys for the kids, pots and pans, tools from the dimensional storage that the village smith had examined the previous evening with the attention of someone who recognized quality he had not expected to see.
Hana was at the front. Still holding the spear.
Arthur cast the wing spell. The dragon-black wings appeared with the familiar weight. He looked at the others and each of them cast their own — Clara's fire-edged and bright, Lyra's white with silver threading, Saya's winter-white and grey cloud pattern.
The village went quiet. Then it went loud — the children first, the specific uninhibited delight of small people seeing something extraordinary, and then the adults behind them in the stiller way of people updating a significant assumption.
Hana was not making noise. She was looking at the wings with the expression of someone who had been given a fact they were going to think about for a long time. Eyes wide. Gripping the spear.
Arthur caught her eye. 'Three days west,' he said. 'We'll send word when we find the fox tribe.'
She looked at him. 'Travel safely,' she said. Her voice was different from the challenge voice, different from the fire voice. 'The forest is not kind to those it doesn't know.'
He looked at the village one more time — the children, the chief still smiling — and pushed the wings open and rose through the ironwood canopy into the cold clear air.
Below, the village was still loud.
Clara was already shouting something to his left. Lyra was writing in her journal while still managing to fly straight. Saya was ahead of them all, winter-white wings open, tail streaming, ears forward, eyes on the horizon.
Three days west.
He flew.