Tanna guided Snow Tusk away from the wagon, letting the Colossagoat set his own pace. His breath misted in the cold air, hooves crunching through packed snow. The familiar weight of Moss-ear settled on her shoulder—warm, steady, exactly where he belonged.

  The goat pen came into view. Risa stood near the gate, checking a latch. Tavi knelt beside the fence, inspecting the ground for signs of wear.

  Both looked up as Tanna approached.

  Tavi's face lit up. She scrambled to her feet and rushed forward, words spilling out in a breathless tumble. "You're back! Did you meet anyone? Were there monsters? Is Snow Tusk okay? Did Moss-ear behave? Did you—"

  Tanna raised a hand, gentle but firm.

  Tavi stopped mid-sentence, eyes still bright with curiosity.

  "Let me get Snow Tusk settled first," Tanna said. "Then I'll tell you everything."

  Tavi's shoulders dropped slightly, but she nodded. "Okay."

  She turned back toward the pen, already reaching for the gate latch. Snow Tusk followed her without hesitation, trusting the girl's small hands as much as Tanna's.

  Moss-ear hopped from Tanna's shoulder and phased out of sight. A second later, he reappeared beside Tinyhorn near the far corner of the pen. The smaller rabbit twitched its ears in greeting.

  Tanna watched them for a moment—then shifted her attention to Risa.

  The older girl stood quietly, waiting.

  "How are the animals?" Tanna asked.

  Risa glanced toward the pen. "Rabbits colony is doing fine. Population's leveled off. Tavi's been good about monitoring them." She paused. "The goats are still wary. They tolerate me and Tavi. Everyone else?" She shook her head. "They don't like it."

  Tanna nodded. That made sense.

  "They're magical beasts," she said. "They have cores. That changes how they bond." She gestured toward Snow Tusk, who stood calmly while Tavi brushed snow from his thick coat. "Core-bearers sense intent. They don't trust easily."

  Risa absorbed that, her expression thoughtful. "So it's not just stubbornness."

  "It's instinct," Tanna said. "They'll come around. But it takes time."

  Risa seemed satisfied with that answer. She turned back toward the gate, hands resting on the worn wood.

  Tanna walked back to the wagon and retrieved the small crate. The faint rustle of feathers came from inside—quiet clucks, the soft scrape of talons against wood. She came back to where Risa stood and set the crate down and opened the lid.

  Six hardweather fowl blinked up at her, mottled gray-brown plumage fluffed against the cold. Their beady eyes tracked movement with sharp awareness. Compact bodies. Dense feathers. Thick-shelled eggs visible beneath one hen's careful positioning.

  Risa stepped closer, brow furrowing. "What are those?"

  "Hardweather Fowl," Tanna said. "Gift from Threeburrow. They're bred for cold climates. Lay eggs through winter. Low upkeep."

  Risa crouched beside the crate, studying the birds with quiet interest. "We've never kept chickens like these before."

  "These aren't standard chickens," Tanna said. "They're northern stock. Tougher. Smarter. They'll need a coop, but they'll forage on their own if you let them."

  The gate creaked. Tavi jogged back over, Snow Tusk settled and calm behind her. She skidded to a stop when she saw the crate.

  "What's that?" she asked, leaning in.

  Tanna gestured toward the crate. "Hardweather Fowl. From the settlement we visited. They'll help with food supply."

  Tavi's eyes widened. She knelt beside Risa, peering at the birds. One of the hens clucked softly and tilted its head, watching her with sharp, unblinking focus.

  "They look tough," Tavi said.

  "They are," Tanna replied. "They'll need a sheltered coop. But once they settle, they'll handle themselves."

  Risa glanced up. "Where do we put them?"

  Tanna considered the pen layout, then nodded toward the southeastern corner. "There. Away from the goats. Close enough to monitor, far enough to keep them calm."

  Risa nodded. "I'll talk to Tor and Brenn. See if they can build something."

  Tavi stayed crouched beside the crate, watching the birds with quiet fascination. Moss-ear phased back onto Tanna's shoulder, chirping softly.

  Tanna let the moment settle. The birds. The girl. The steady rhythm of settlement life continuing even while she'd been gone.

  The hen's cluck drew Tanna's attention back to the crate. Tavi's fingers hovered just above its mottled plumage, and the bird tilted its head, studying her with sharp, unblinking focus

  Footsteps crunched through snow.

  Brenn approached from the direction of the longhouse, his stride steady and unhurried. He stopped a few paces away, eyes sweeping over the crate.

  "Where do you want the coop built?" he asked.

  Tanna gestured toward the clearing. "There. Away from the goats. Close enough to monitor."

  Brenn nodded, his gaze already measuring distances and angles. "Should have it built within an hour or so," he said. "Once the trade wagon's fully unloaded, Tor and I will get it done."

  Tanna's ears twitched forward. "That fast?"

  "It's a coop," Brenn said simply. "Not complicated."

  Tanna inclined her head. "Thank you."

  Brenn turned back toward the longhouse without further comment, his steps leaving shallow prints in the snow.

  Tanna watched him go, then glanced at Risa. "I'd like to check the rabbit enclosure in the temple."

  Risa straightened. "I'll stay here with the fowl. Make sure they settle."

  Before Tanna could respond, Tavi bounced to her feet, eyes bright. "Follow me!"

  Tanna blinked. The girl's enthusiasm was immediate and unguarded—nothing like the wary, silent child at the temple months ago.

  "All right," Tanna said.

  Tavi grinned and started walking, Tinyhorn phasing onto her shoulder mid-step.

  They passed through the settlement proper, boots crunching over packed snow. The path sloped gently downward toward the colony entrance, and Tavi chattered the entire way.

  "Zim helps a lot now," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the longhouse. "She carries beams and holds things steady. Fenn works with her all the time."

  Tanna's ears flicked. "Really?"

  "Yup! She's very nice and a bit shy, but she's opening up!" Tavi exclaimed, as if this were perfectly normal.

  Tanna absorbed that without comment. She'd seen the construct and heard Edda say she was part of the settlement now, but hearing it from Tavi—delivered with such casual confidence—made it real.

  They reached the colony elevator and descended. Amber runes pulsed along the shaft walls. Tavi hummed softly to herself, Tinyhorn's ears twitching in rhythm.

  Tanna studied the girl from the corner of her eye. The change was undeniable. Tavi spoke freely now, moved with confidence, smiled without hesitation. She'd grown into herself—found her footing. Found her calling with the animals, and let herself be seen.

  The elevator settled at the colony floor. They stepped out into the main corridor and passed Riona heading toward Carl's workshop, arms full of mana stones. She nodded to them as she went by.

  "Riona's learning to fight," Tavi said, watching her go. "She practices with Kesh sometimes."

  They walked deeper into the colony, passing empty chambers. The halls were quiet—most activity centered on the surface or the foundry. Tanna caught sight of Carl's workshop in passing, the glow of hard-light patterns spilling from the open doorway.

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  Finally, they reached the passage leading back to the runic gateway.

  Tavi stopped at the threshold, turning to face Tanna with a bright smile. "The rabbits are doing really well—Tinyhorn and I check on them every day."

  Tanna's tail swayed. The girl had found her place—not just with the animals, but in the settlement itself. Six months ago, she wouldn't have met Tanna's eyes. Now she stood steady, proud of her work.

  "Let's see them," Tanna said.

  Tavi grinned and stepped through the gateway first, confident and unhesitating. The familiar pulse of energy washed over them both as the temple courtyard materialized beyond.

  The air on the other side felt different—softer, cleaner. Tavi took a deep breath, letting the scent of growing things and old stone fill her lungs. She'd always liked the temple more than the colony or settlement. It felt alive in a way neither of those did.

  The courtyard stretched before them, sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead. Moss clung to the ancient marble steps, and luminous flowers lined the path, glowing faintly even in daylight. People moved through the grounds with quiet purpose—a woman carrying stonebulbs toward the kitchens, two children running past with laughter trailing behind them, an older man mending a fence near the eastern wing.

  The temple was home.

  They walked the gravel paths toward the rabbit enclosure, and Tavi watched the life around them unfold. Fields stretched beyond the temple proper, tended by steady hands. The stone mill's wheel turned where Brenn had built it months ago, powered by the diverted stream. Lina emerged from the herb garden with arms full of silverleaf and frostleaf, her healer's satchel bumping against her hip as she hurried toward the infirmary wing. She spotted them and smiled in passing.

  Near the rabbit enclosure, Hob sat on a low stone bench, chewing dark bread. His weathered face looked almost peaceful. Tavi waved, and he raised a hand in return without changing his expression. The gesture was enough.

  They reached the enclosure. Inside, the phasehorn colony moved with practiced ease—grazing, grooming, resting in shaded corners. Tinyhorn blinked off Tavi's shoulder, reappearing beside a cluster of rabbits near the water trough. Moss-ear followed a moment later, phasing down from Tanna's side to join him.

  Tavi leaned against the fence, watching the colony settle around the two arrivals.

  Tanna stepped beside her, tail swaying slowly. "They're thriving."

  Tavi nodded. The rabbits moved with calm certainty, their shimmering coats catching the light as they phased lazily between spots of sun and shade.

  "This place feels safe," Tavi said quietly.

  Tanna's ears tilted toward her. "It is."

  This place had roots—not workshops or forges, just people who'd found their place and were building something that would last. And that, Tavi thought, was something worth protecting.

  The afternoon stretched on. Tavi leaned against the rail, content to wait and watch.

  Tanna moved through the rabbit enclosure with practiced ease—checking water levels, examining bedding condition, running her fingers along fence posts to test for wear. Her ears swiveled constantly, tracking movement. Her tail balanced her steps. Moss-ear followed, blinking between positions whenever she moved too far ahead.

  Tavi had learned patience from watching Fish. Sometimes the best thing you could do was stay still and observe. And Tanna was worth observing. The way she read the colony—not just the rabbits themselves, but the space they lived in—was something Tavi was still learning.

  Tanna paused near the sheltered corner where two does rested with their kits. Her hand hovered over the nearest kit's head, not quite touching. The kit's nose twitched. After a moment, Tanna lowered her palm gently. The young rabbit didn't blink away.

  Tavi smiled.

  Eventually, Tanna straightened and walked back toward the gate. "They're healthy. No signs of illness or stress."

  Moss-ear phased onto her shoulder. Tinyhorn chirped from his sunny spot by the fence post, then blinked onto Tavi's.

  They left the enclosure and walked back through the temple grounds. The sun sat lower now, casting long shadows across the courtyard. At the gateway chamber, Tavi followed Tanna through the shimmering portal, and the cold hit immediately. The stone corridors of the colony felt sharp after the temple's warmth, but they didn't linger—just passed through to the elevator and rose back to the settlement.

  The clearing stretched before them, dusted with fresh snow. In the southeastern corner, a new structure sat completed—a sturdy coop with slanted roof and reinforced walls.

  Risa stood near the entrance. The Hardweather Fowl had already been moved inside, their muted browns and grays blending with the timber.

  "They're settled," Risa said as they approached. "Didn't give me much trouble."

  Tanna tilted her head, studying the birds through the doorway. "They're calm by nature. Good winter stock."

  She stepped inside. Tavi followed, staying near the doorway.

  The fowl didn't scatter. A few clucked softly, adjusting positions on their roosts. Two scratched at the bedding near the back wall. Tanna knelt beside the nesting boxes built into the eastern wall, running her hand along the interior. Her fingers tested the depth, the texture.

  "Good construction," she said. "Deep enough for insulation." She picked up a handful of straw from the supply pile and let it fall through her fingers, watching how it scattered. "Bedding needs to stay loose like this. They'll scratch through it for warmth and forage. If it packs down, replace it."

  Risa stepped closer, watching.

  Tanna moved to the water trough, checking the level, then glanced at the roosts. "Fresh water twice a day—morning and evening. They'll drink more in winter than you'd think." She gestured toward the feed bin. "Grain scraps, kitchen leavings. They're not picky, but don't overfeed. Let them work through the bedding between meals."

  Tavi watched Tanna's hands as much as her words. The way she touched things—testing, measuring, reading. It wasn't just knowledge. It was instinct built from years of work.

  Tanna straightened, brushing straw from her knees, then turned to Tavi. "Come here. I want you to check something."

  Tavi stepped further into the coop. Tinyhorn shifted on her shoulder, ears twitching.

  Tanna gestured toward the nearest hen, settled on the lower roost. "Tell me what you see."

  Tavi crouched slowly, studying the bird. Brown-gray feathers, compact body, thick legs. The hen's eyes tracked her movement but didn't blink away.

  "She looks... calm?" Tavi offered.

  "That's surface," Tanna said quietly. "Go deeper. You've been working with the phasehorns and goats for months now. You know how to read them. These birds are different—no cores, no magic—but they still communicate. You just have to listen differently."

  Tavi went still.

  She let her breathing slow, the way she did when using Stillwatch. But this time, she didn't just sharpen her senses for movement or danger. She focused on the hen—the tilt of its head, the rhythm of its breathing, the way its feathers lay flat against its body.

  The impression came slowly. Not magical, not like the faint shimmer she felt from Tinyhorn or the steady pulse from the phasehorns. This was subtler. Physical. The hen's muscles were relaxed. Its eyes clear. Its breathing even and unhurried.

  Calm. Settled. Comfortable.

  "She's... fine," Tavi said. "Not stressed. Not sick."

  Tanna's tail swayed once. "Good. What else?"

  Tavi studied the hen's feet, remembering Tanna's earlier warning about frostbite. No swelling. The scales looked healthy. She shifted her attention to the bird's posture—weight distributed evenly, no favoring one leg over the other.

  "Her feet are fine," Tavi said. "She's not hurt."

  "And the others?" Tanna asked.

  Tavi turned her focus to the rest of the flock. One hen scratched through the bedding near the back wall—active, purposeful. Two cocks perched higher on the roosts, heads tucked slightly but eyes still alert. Another hen settled near the water trough, feathers fluffed for warmth.

  The hens scratched and preened without tension, the cocks perched with relaxed vigilance. The flock had claimed this space as theirs.

  "They're all settled," Tavi said. "None of them are scared."

  The flock had already claimed the space as theirs.

  "They're all settled," Tavi said. "None of them are scared."

  Tanna crouched beside her. "That's Flicker Instinct. You're reading their intent through behavior—ear position, breathing, muscle tension. With magical beasts, you can feel their cores. But with mundane animals, you have to rely on what they show you." She gestured toward the hen nearest them. "This one's comfortable. See how her feathers are smooth? That means she's not cold, not stressed. If they were ruffled without purpose, that would signal discomfort."

  Tavi nodded, absorbing the lesson.

  "Try something," Tanna said. "Extend your hand. Let her decide."

  Tavi reached out slowly, palm down, the way she'd seen Tanna do countless times. The hen eyed her, head tilting. After a moment, it stepped closer and pecked lightly at her knuckle—not aggressive, just curious.

  Tavi smiled.

  Tanna's ears flicked forward. "You're learning to trust what you sense. That's the difference between someone who works with animals and someone who understands them." She stood, offering Tavi a hand up. "Keep practicing. The more you use it, the sharper it'll get."

  Tavi rose, and Tinyhorn chirped softly from her shoulder.

  Risa had been watching quietly from the doorway. "Will they need anything else tonight?"

  Tanna shook her head. "They're settled. Just check their water before you turn in. They'll be fine until morning."

  Risa nodded. "I'll keep an eye on them."

  "They'll settle fast if you stay consistent," Tanna said.

  Outside, the sky had dimmed to pale gray. Smoke drifted from the longhouse chimney, carrying the scent of cooking meat.

  Tanna looked at Tavi. "Ready?"

  Tavi nodded.

  They left Risa with the birds and walked toward the longhouse together.

  Tanna pushed open the longhouse door with Tavi at her side. Warmth rolled out from the hearth, melting the cold from her cheeks. The scent of cooked meat and wood smoke filled the space.

  Edda sat at the central table with Marron, Dulric, and Ironha. Their conversation paused as Tanna and Tavi stepped inside.

  "Meeting over?" Tanna asked.

  Edda nodded. "Just finished. The trade contract's being written up."

  Tanna crossed toward the table. Tavi followed, quieter now. Moss-ear phased onto a nearby bench, curling into a ball. Tinyhorn blinked onto Tavi's shoulder.

  "Risa settled the Hardweather Fowl," Tanna said. "The coop's solid. They're calm."

  Edda's attention shifted immediately. "How many?"

  "Six. Four hens, two cocks," Tanna replied. "Ygrana gave them as thanks. They're good winter stock. They'll lay through the cold if we keep their conditions steady."

  Edda leaned back slightly, her gaze distant. Tanna recognized the expression—energy flowing through her Authority Awareness or Settlement Design. The sensation was invisible to others, but Tanna had watched it enough to know the stillness that came with it.

  After a moment, Edda's focus returned. "How long before they breed?"

  "Two months if conditions hold," Tanna said. "Maybe sooner. Hardweather Fowl mature fast. If the coop stays warm and they're well-fed, we could have a dozen birds by spring."

  Edda nodded slowly. "Eggs?"

  "Daily. Not many at first—one or two per hen. But consistent through winter." Tanna gestured toward the door. "Between that, the goats producing milk and the rabbit colony, we won't need to relay so heavily on hunting for protein."

  Dulric grunted from his seat. "Chickens, rabbits and goats. Simple, but it works."

  "Exactly," Tanna said. "Simple means reliable. Snow Tusk pulls the wagon. The goats give milk and meat when needed. The rabbits breed fast. Now the chickens provide eggs."

  Ironha smiled. "You've built something stable."

  Tanna's tail swayed once. "Not just me. Risa and Tavi help. Jem tracks the feed. Brenn and Tor built the structures. It's shared work."

  Edda's expression softened slightly. "Good. That's how it should be."

  Tavi shifted beside Tanna, one hand absently stroking Tinyhorn's ears. The rabbit's nose twitched, but it stayed calm.

  Marron flipped through his journal, making a quick note. "The chickens add another trade option. Eggs are valuable in the north. If we can produce surplus, Threeburrow might buy them."

  Tanna considered that. "Maybe. But let them settle first. Build numbers before we start selling stock."

  "Agreed," Edda said.

  The fire crackled. Outside, voices drifted from the training ground—sharper now, more focused. The militia drills continued even as evening settled in.

  Tanna glanced around the longhouse. The warmth, the steady conversation at the council table, the quiet activity throughout the space—it all felt solid.

  "We're stable," Tanna said.

  Edda met her eyes. "We are."

  "Not just surviving anymore," Tanna added. "Thriving."

  Edda's lips curved faintly. "That's the goal."

  Tavi tugged Tanna's sleeve gently. "Can we eat now?"

  Tanna's tail flicked. "Yes."

  They moved toward the kitchen, leaving the council to their work. Moss-ear phased onto Tanna's shoulder as they walked. Tinyhorn chirped softly from Tavi's.

  And outside, the chickens settled into their new coop, feathers fluffed against the cold.

  Thanks for reading!

  Chapter 69 Drops Tuesday!