The harvest ended on a Tuesday.
Samuel no longer knew which weekday was which here—he had stopped keeping track months ago. But he thought about it as he carried the last basket across the field and set it beside the others. Somewhere, in another world, it was Tuesday.
Jorcx stood at the edge of the field, looking out over the harvested rows.
He stood there for a long time.
Samuel walked over and stood beside him, looking too.
The field was empty. Neat. Clean. Ready to rest.
Jorcx knelt and scooped up one last handful of earth. He let it sift through his fingers, the way he always did. Then he remained there for a moment, still kneeling, his eyes on the ground.
Finally, he stood.
He glanced at Samuel.
— "Next year, more on the south side."
Samuel nodded.
Jorcx picked up his basket and walked away.
He knows I won't be here next year.
And he says it anyway.
Because it's the right thing to say when a harvest is over.
Samuel remained by the empty field for another moment.
Then he picked up his own basket and followed.
That evening was the quietest they had shared in a long time.
There was no special meal. No remembrance. No announcement.
Only the fire, the people gathered around it, and the summer sky slowly giving way to darkness.
Samuel sat in his usual place and listened—to the conversations around him, to the crackling of the fire, to Vorzak telling the children a story he didn't entirely understand, though its rhythm had become familiar.
Tomorrow morning he would tell Gustov it was time.
The decision was already made.
Not after some long struggle. Not after weighing every possibility.
Simply in the moment Jorcx had said, Next year, more on the south side.
As if that had been the last sentence he needed.
Dravan sat down beside him and ate in silence.
After a while, he said,
— "You're leaving soon."
It wasn't a question.
Samuel looked at him.
— "Yes."
Dravan nodded. He chewed for another moment.
— "When?"
— "Probably the day after tomorrow."
Dravan said nothing else.
He stared into the fire as he ate.
When he finished, he simply remained where he was, his bowl resting on his knee, his eyes fixed on the flames.
Samuel let the silence stay.
A little later Yeva came over and sat on Dravan's other side.
She looked at Samuel.
Then at Dravan.
Then into the fire.
She didn't say anything either.
The three of them sat quietly together.
After a while, Yeva leaned gently against Dravan and closed her eyes.
Samuel reached into his jacket pocket.
Two stones.
One gray.
One red.
He held them in his hand for a moment.
Then he carefully placed the red stone on the ground beside Yeva—not in her hand, just beside her.
When she found it, she would understand.
Dravan saw.
He glanced at Samuel once, then looked away again.
Samuel kept the gray stone.
He would take that one with him.
The next morning, he told Gustov.
Gustov listened, nodded once, stood up, and said,
— "I'll help you pack."
That was all.
They packed through the morning.
Samuel owned very little: the clothes he had, a small knife Jorcx had given him one day without explanation, and the gray stone.
Gustov brought him a small leather backpack, old but still sound.
— "It used to be mine. I don't need it anymore."
Samuel accepted it.
The day passed slowly.
The settlement worked as it always did. After the harvest came different tasks: storing supplies, maintaining tools, preparing the fields for the next season.
Samuel helped wherever he could—not because he had to, but because he didn't know what else to do with the day.
Around noon, Morra joined him at the water trough.
She didn't speak immediately.
She filled her water container, set it down, then looked at him.
— "You know what you're doing in the fields."
— "You taught me."
Morra held his gaze for another moment.
Then she picked up her container and walked away.
No embrace.
No long farewell.
Just a simple statement that held everything she wanted to say.
Torck looked up from his workbench around midday.
As Samuel passed, he gave a brief nod.
Samuel nodded back.
From the fields, Setha called out to him, casual and almost cheerful, with that rare laugh of hers.
— "Take care of yourself!"
Vranna muttered something that probably meant the same thing.
Barak stood at the edge of the settlement as Samuel passed by.
Without looking at him, he said,
— "The city isn't like this place."
— "I know."
— "Good."
Then he continued toward the horses.
Late in the afternoon, Kessa came over.
Dravan lingered some distance behind her, pretending to be interested in something else.
Kessa looked at Samuel.
— "He'll talk about you."
She paused.
— "For a long time."
Samuel glanced toward Dravan.
— "I'll talk about him too."
Kessa studied him for a moment.
Then she held out her hand—not quite for a handshake, more like a gesture that simply said, I see you.
Samuel took it briefly.
Kessa nodded and left.
Dravan disappeared somewhere and didn't return until evening.
Durrak spoke to him only briefly—as always—with the same quiet steadiness he had inherited from Urag, or perhaps the other way around.
— "You worked well."
— "Thank you for letting me."
Durrak looked at him as though the wording itself was unusual.
Then he nodded.
Wunn made his rounds and stopped beside Samuel.
— "Will you come back?"
Samuel thought about it.
— "I don't know."
Wunn nodded.
— "An honest answer."
Then he continued on.
Gorc remained in his usual place.
As Samuel passed, Gorc gave him one slow, deliberate nod.
Not the nod reserved for a stranger.
The nod given to someone who had become one of them—and was now leaving.
Sarva handed him a small pouch of dried herbs.
— "If your stomach gives you trouble on the road. Hot water."
— "Thank you."
Weva stood beside her.
— "Stay healthy."
Without a word, Rhan handed him a folded piece of cloth.
A simple neckerchief.
Freshly sewn.
Clean.
He had probably made it over the last few days.
Samuel folded it carefully and tucked it into his pack.
That evening, Harra checked the water he was carrying for the journey and topped it off without being asked.
At dinner, Orva quietly gave Samuel a little more food than everyone else.
As always, without comment.
Greth muttered something as Samuel walked past him.
It sounded either like a blessing for travelers or a prediction about the weather.
It was difficult to tell.
Samuel nodded anyway.
Tira hugged him suddenly—briefly, tightly—then stepped back and said,
— "Make it count."
Brox stepped forward and held out his hand.
Samuel shook it.
Keth looked up from his place.
— "Watch out for strange forests."
— "I will."
Keth nodded.
Evening settled over the village.
The fire burned.
Vorzak spoke.
Tonight it wasn't a story for children.
It was for everyone.
He told of a traveler who came to a community he didn't know.
In the end, he stayed far longer than he had intended.
And what he was allowed to carry away wasn't gold.
It wasn't weapons.
It was the knowledge that it is possible to arrive somewhere—even when you don't know where you're going.
Samuel listened.
He knew the story was for him.
When it was over, Vorzak looked at him and gave a single nod.
Then he fell silent.
Urag sat quietly by the fire.
He said nothing more.
He had already said what he needed to say.
But when Samuel stood to go to bed, Urag looked up at him.
One brief nod.
The same nod he gave whenever a task had been done well.
Samuel nodded back.
Dravan was waiting outside his shelter.
His arms were folded across his chest, his face set in the stubborn expression he wore whenever he refused to admit something.
Samuel stopped.
Dravan looked at him.
— "Yeva found the stone."
— "Good."
— "She cried."
— "I know."
Dravan was silent for a moment.
— "I didn't."
— "I know."
Dravan looked away.
Then, without warning, without transition,
— "You'll come back."
This time it wasn't a question.
It was a statement.
The certainty of someone declaring something true because he couldn't bear for it to be otherwise.
Samuel looked at him.
He didn't lie.
— "Maybe."
Dravan nodded.
He took one step back.
— "I'll be up tomorrow morning."
— "You don't have to."
— "I know."
He disappeared inside his shelter.
Samuel remained where he was, looking at the door after it closed behind him.
Then he went into his own shelter, lay down on his blanket with the gray stone in his hand, and listened to the settlement around him—
quiet,
whole,
complete.
Tomorrow, he would leave.
Today, he was still here.