Valora pressed herself against the wall, her throat tight with fear. She barely had the strength to speak. “Please,” she whispered. “I have nowhere else to go.”
The stranger stepped inside and shut the door against the storm. The darkness shifted, the snow-muted light leaking through gaps in the boards, and Valora saw him more clearly. Thick dark beard. Arms built from years of hard labor. A face carved by wind, not by comfort. His eyes swept the barn, quick and assessing, then stopped on her frail shape.
Something in him paused, as if his mind had been expecting an animal, not a human being half erased by hunger. “You’re from Belwick,” he said. The name made her flinch like a hit.
“Not anymore,” she replied weakly.
His gaze dropped to her hollow cheeks, her shaking hands. Something shifted in his expression, not pity exactly, but recognition. He set the ax down gently, as if sudden movement might shatter what little life she had left. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small cloth bundle. When he opened it, the smell hit her like a dream. Bread. Warm bread and cheese, the scent so rich it made her dizzy.
“When did you last eat?” he asked.
Valora tried to think. Her mind offered only fog and pain. “I can’t remember,” she admitted.
“It matters,” he said, and the way he said it made it sound like a law. “Eat.”
Her hands trembled as she took the food. She forced herself not to devour it like an animal, because the last scraps of dignity still mattered to her, even if no one else had cared. Each bite was painful and wonderful at the same time, her stomach spasming with both gratitude and betrayal.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked between bites, voice raw.
“I’m not looking for payment,” he said. “Just eat.”
Tears streamed down her face as she finished the bread. She couldn’t stop them, not because she was weak, but because she had been invisible for so long that being treated like a human felt like a miracle. When she looked up, he was watching her quietly, standing in a way that blocked the worst of the cold.
“My mother was burned as a witch when I was ten,” he said softly. Valora’s breath caught.
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