CHAPTER 243: ARAMORE

Serena blinked and then flashed a smile at the man. "Oh dear, I would not guess I stuck out like a sore thumb."

The man said nothing more and just stared Serena down like she was some monstrosity dragged into town by the guards. Nevertheless she willed herself to stay calm and walk away if needed.

"My hearing is poor these days," the man said with a short burst of laughter. "I was wondering why a cloaked person would Aramore. From the border towns, are ya?"

Her eyes drifted from the man and back to him. Guilt pricked at her for forgetting herself and using her mixed accent rather than forcing an Eastern one.

"Yes, how did you figure?"

The man shrugged and then kicked a rock. "You just have a look to ya. A little skittish but-" he gave her a once over. "You will adjust."

Serena nodded slowly, she wondered if Ironshaders rarely left their towns and villages, was a section run like a singular pack within itself? She rubbed her hands together and looked at the stalls.

"And who might you be?" She asked.

"Ben. Benjamin in full. What are you looking for, little lady?"

The woman nearly frowned at his question, seeing as she easily towered over him. "I needed to get a gift for a...friend."

"Oh that we can do."

Benjamin seemed perfectly at ease in the little village as he walked ahead of Serena, whistling a tune that she did not recognize. She followed him cautiously, keeping a good pace between them but still close enough that she wouldn’t seem suspicious. The village, if it could be called that, was quaint in a way Longdale could never hope to be. Cobbled paths wound between thatched cottages and open wooden stalls, and hanging cloth banners fluttered gently in the breeze. Several men and women, mostly older, were seated on stools near the shopfronts, weaving cloth or shaping wood or carving bone with long, patient strokes.

The scent of spiced oil, pressed herbs, and baked grains hung thick in the air.

"A craft village?" she murmured, more to herself.

Benjamin glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "Aye, every third house here’s got a workbench in it. You name it, someone here’s figured out how to make it prettier, shinier, or louder."

She offered a vague smile, still uncertain of how she felt about the man. "It is... charming."

He stopped abruptly and pointed toward a cluster of stalls where the smell of dyed leather and woven thread was stronger. "You will want to look there. Anything fit for gifting, that’s where they keep it."

Serena inclined her head in thanks and made to pass him, but Benjamin was already turning around and walking backward beside her.

"So what’s the gift for? A lad? A lass?" he asked, grinning again.

Serena’s brow twitched. "A friend."

"Must be a very dear one. You came all this way on foot, dressed like a storm’s about to break."

She pulled her cloak tighter, feeling more exposed by the second. "It is warmer this way," she answered plainly.

"Still odd, though," he muttered, not bothering to lower his voice. "Not that I mind a good odd. Everyone’s got their story."

She stopped walking and fixed him with a polite but firm smile. "It was kind of you to guide me, Mister Benjamin, but I believe I can manage from here."

He raised both hands in surrender. "As you wish, little lady. I’ll be round if you find yourself lost again."

Serena nodded and waited for him to leave before turning toward a quieter corner of the market. There, she found a modest stall covered in little linen-wrapped bundles and boxes made of pale pressed bark. A middle-aged woman with honey-colored hair sat behind it, gently twisting bits of dyed thread into decorative braids. Her hands moved with delicate precision, and her face held the kind of kindness that came with long patience.

"Good day, mistress," Serena said softly.

The woman looked up with a warm smile. "And to you. Looking for something special?"

"Yes," Serena said. "A small gift for a friend. I did not want anything too lavish."

"Something personal, then." The woman tapped her chin and gestured to a series of delicate boxes containing bracelets, paper sachets filled with dried petals, and small inked handkerchiefs. "She your friend?"

Serena hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. She enjoys quiet things."

"Then this will suit her well." The woman picked up a soft grey ribbon wrapped around a polished lapis bead, designed to tie around a wrist or a hair braid. "I had a daughter who used to play the flute," the woman said. "Said the colour helped her focus when she was nervous."

Serena ran her fingers over the ribbon. "It’s lovely. May I take it with one of the sachets?"

"Of course." The woman gently wrapped the items in a fine scrap of linen and tied it with a blue cord. "If you’ve a name, I’ll stitch it in."

Serena shook her head. "No need. She will know it is from me."

She handed over a few silver coins, and the woman tucked the package into a waxed pouch to keep it safe from the wind.

"Do many travellers pass through Aramore?" Serena asked, feigning casual interest as she tucked the pouch away.

The woman blinked. "Not many from outside the ranges. Aramore’s mostly for us folk who’d rather be useful with our hands than chase frivolities elsewhere."

Serena nodded slowly. "I see. Thank you for your help"

The woman inclined her head, already turning back to her work.

Serena didn’t linger. She turned on her heel and pulled her cloak hood back up. The sun had shifted in the sky, and while she had little sense of exact time, the warmth on her face told her it was past midday.

She followed a winding path away from the stalls, this time avoiding the main road. She didn’t want to see Benjamin again.

Once safely behind a copse of berry trees, she allowed herself a deep breath. The gift was simple, but it would suit. She patted the pouch at her side. "She might not forgive me," she murmured aloud. "But I will not let her think I have forgotten her."

The road back would be slower now that her legs ached, but she didn’t care.