The crunch of fresh snow under Alph's worn boots was the loudest sound in the quiet morning air as he made his way south. From his home, situated roughly in the sparse center of Oakhaven's seven scattered dwellings, the walk to Finn's house involved navigating paths trodden between snow-drifted vegetable patches and hardy, skeletal trees. Each puff of his breath plumed white in the crisp air, the silence broken only by the distant caw of a mountain bird. Finn's home, the last before the forest proper began its ascent, soon came into view, smoke curling lazily from its chimney.
Finn's dwelling was sturdier and a little more rugged than the others, built with thick, dark timbers and reinforced with heavy stones at its base, as if bracing itself against the wilderness at its doorstep. A rack near the entrance held a pair of well-used snowshoes and a sturdy hunting spear, its tip gleaming faintly. Tanned hides, likely deer or mountain goat, were stretched taut on one outer wall, curing in the cold, dry air, and a set of antlers was mounted above the doorway. The scent of pine and woodsmoke was stronger here, mingling with a faint, musky aroma that spoke of the forest and its creatures.
Just as Alph reached the heavy wooden door, a voice called out from behind him. "Alph! Wait up!" He turned to see Astrid jogging towards him along the snow-trodden pathway, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold and exertion. She was bundled in practical furs, a woven basket looped over one arm, though it appeared empty for now. She caught up to him, slightly breathless, a friendly smile on her face. "You here to check on Finn too?"
Despite her casual greeting, Alph, still channeling some of the original's more formal persona, replied with a slight, almost chiding tone, "Good morning, Astrid." Astrid, in a reflexive, playful gesture, stuck her tongue out at him for a split second before gasping as the frigid air hit it, her eyes widening comically. A brief, almost imperceptible smile touched Alph's lips as he shook his head at her antics. "Yes, I am," he confirmed. "Aunt Elara mentioned he took a tumble. Are you heading out with your mother for herbs today then?"
"Yup," Astrid replied, rubbing her hands together for warmth. "We didn't get everything yesterday. Old Man Hemlock's growth magic is a bit too good sometimes, you know? Almost all the moonpetal and frostbloom he planted have matured at once. If we don't get them harvested soon, they'll start attracting every hungry critter from the forest, and then there'll be nothing left for Dad to trade." She sighed dramatically. "It's a race against the rabbits, I tell you."
Alph glanced at the empty basket still looped on Astrid's arm. With a mischievous glint, one that felt more like his old Earth self than the studious original Alph, flickered in his eyes. Before Astrid could react, he reached out, deftly unhooked the basket from her arm, and with a swift movement, flipped it over her head so it rested upside down on her back, its woven base like a makeshift shell. "There," he said, a genuine laugh escaping him this time, a sound that surprised even himself. "Now you look more like a turtle. That should even the odds in your race against the rabbits."
Astrid, initially startled, quickly recovered. She adjusted the basket-shell on her back with a surprisingly smug little wiggle, a grin spreading across her face. "Oh, I'm a turtle now, am I?" she retorted, her eyes sparkling. "Well, you better watch out, Alph." She took a playful step closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "This turtle bites. You remember what happened last time you got too close to Old Man Hemlock's grumpy snapping turtle, don't you?"
Alph winced internally as another embarrassing memory of his past self surfaced – the snapping turtle incident had involved a yelp and a hasty retreat, much to the amusement of his friends. For a supposed bookworm, he grumbled silently, the original Alph certainly had a knack for getting into odd scrapes. With a shared chuckle at the memory, Astrid righted the basket on her arm, and together they pushed open the heavy door of Finn's home, calling out, "Finn? You in there?"
A muffled groan answered them from deeper within the house. "Yeah, in here! Door's open!" Finn's voice, though strained, was unmistakable. The hunter's cottage, while by no means large, was surprisingly well-partitioned. Unlike some of the more open-plan dwellings in Oakhaven, this one boasted a short hallway leading off the main living area, with separate, albeit small, rooms for each family member and even a dedicated space for storing hunting gear. Finn's room, as Alph recalled, was at the far end of this hallway, on the right.
* * *
Alph and Astrid made their way down the short, dimly lit hallway and pushed open the door. Finn was lying propped up on his simple wooden bed, his face pale and etched with discomfort. His left leg was extended, and his ankle was wrapped in what looked to Alph's suddenly critical eyes like a rather haphazard collection of cloth strips – a crude bandage indeed. A small, sturdy wooden bench sat beside a cluttered study table in the corner. Alph pulled it over to the bedside, Astrid perching on the edge of the bed itself. As Alph leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the poorly wrapped ankle, Astrid voiced their shared concern. "Finn! What in the world happened to you?"
Finn let out another groan, shifting uncomfortably. "Stupid poachers," he grumbled, his voice tight with pain and annoyance. "I was tracking this massive snow hare, had it right where I wanted it, and then thwack! An arrow whistles past my ear and slams into a tree right beside me. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Lost the hare, twisted my ankle trying to dodge whatever idiot shot it." He scowled. "Dad said there's a group of them camped out in the south woods, been seeing their signs for days." "Poachers? Here?" Alph asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. "What happened then? Did they see you?" Finn waved a dismissive, if slightly shaky, hand. "Nah. Dad showed up right after. He… persuaded them to move along. Loudly." A flicker of pride, mixed with his usual arrogance, crossed his face. "They won't be back." Alph nodded slowly. He didn't doubt it. Uncle Borin, Finn's father, was a Tier 2 Ranger on the Hunter path. Even without fully understanding what 'Tier 2' entailed, Alph knew from village whispers and the sheer respect Uncle Borin commanded that he was a formidable presence, especially when it came to protecting their territory.
While Astrid continued to pepper Finn with questions about the poachers, Alph gently prodded the swollen area around Finn's ankle, his brow furrowed in concentration. The wrapping was too tight in some places, too loose in others, and offered little real support. The sight of the injury, the way Finn winced with even the slightest movement, unexpectedly dredged up a vivid memory from his past life. He'd been representing a particularly notorious criminal-turned-material-witness, trying to get him into witness protection. The client, a volatile man at the best of times, had gotten into a scuffle with a court constable right outside the courtroom and had ended up with a sprained ankle, looking remarkably similar to Finn's. The court-appointed doctor had to provide immediate assistance, as the client's testimony was crucial and couldn't be delayed. Alph remembered watching the doctor work, the methodical way he'd assessed and treated the injury.
That memory sparked an idea. Alph cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. "You know, Finn," he started, "that bandage looks a bit rough. I was reading an old traveler's journal the other day, and it mentioned some ways to deal with sprains like this. Said something about rewrapping it firmly, but not so tight it cuts off circulation. And using something cold, like snow packed in a cloth, on the swelling. Oh, and keeping it propped up on a pillow or something is supposed to help too." He shrugged, as if it were just a passing thought. "Just something I read, might be worth a try?"
Both Finn and Astrid looked at Alph with a degree of surprise, though Finn's was tinged with his usual skepticism. Astrid, however, quickly latched onto the suggestion. "He might be right, Finn," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "Alph reads all sorts of strange old things. And you really need to get better soon. The Awakening Ceremony is just around the corner, and you can't be hobbling around like this." She leaned closer, lowering her voice slightly. "I heard Old Man Hemlock telling Mom yesterday that all the candidates need to be in top physical condition for the assessment. Said it's the only way for our aptitudes to properly show themselves to the mountain."
Alph mentally filed away Astrid's comment about Old Man Hemlock's expectations; that was definitely something to inquire more about later. Finn, after a moment of grumbling and weighing his options—likely against the unpleasant prospect of being less than his best for the ceremony—reluctantly agreed to let Alph try his "book-learned" methods. With Astrid fetching a clean strip of cloth and a bundle of snow packed into a spare rag, they carefully re-bandaged Finn's ankle, ensuring it was snug but not constricting, then applied the makeshift ice pack. They propped his leg up on a rolled-up fur pelt. Just as they were finishing, Finn's mother, a sturdy woman with kind eyes, entered with a tray bearing three steaming mugs. "Heard you had visitors, Finn," she said, her voice warm as she handed them each a mug of what smelled like a sweet, Warm Berry Cordial. "Alph, dear, that's clever of you, remembering such things from your books. Finn, you need to be more careful out there, son. Can't be tripping over your own feet before the Awakening." With that, she gave Finn a loving but firm pat on his good leg and bustled out to finish her morning chores.
They stayed for a while longer, chatting with Finn and trying to keep his spirits up with village gossip and playful banter. Eventually, Astrid announced she really had to go help her mother with the herb gathering, and Alph, seeing Finn was more comfortable and starting to doze, decided it was time for him to leave as well. After promising to check in on Finn again later, Alph stepped back out into the bright, cold day. He returned to his own quiet home, the warmth of the hearth a welcome contrast to the chill outside. His mind, however, was far from settled. The incident with the poachers, Finn's injury, even the casual mention of the Awakening Ceremony requiring peak physical condition – it all served as a stark reminder. This world, for all its surface tranquility and tight-knit community, was not without its dangers. That arrow could just as easily have hit Finn's heart. A stray mountain predator could pounce from the snow-laden trees. Knowledge from his books was valuable, yes, but strength, real, tangible strength, seemed to be the undeniable key to survival, let alone exploration. A new, steely resolve settled in his chest; he would gain both.