Eventually, the children grew tired and collapsed onto the tarp, leaning against the massive wheels of the wagon to catch their breath.

"My dad says we’re going to the Aurelian Kingdom next," the boy said, tossing a glowing marble into the air and catching it. "He says the King there is throwing a massive tournament. We’re going to sell so many meat-skewers."

"My dad is driving the third wagon," Elin chimed in proudly, her tail thumping happily against the tarp. "He let me steer the beasts yesterday."

Elin turned to Mira, completely innocent. "Where’s your father? Is he a hunter?"

The question hung in the air. Mira froze.. The fluffy snow-rabbit hopped away, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Mira’s tail stopped wagging, wrapping tightly around her own leg.

The merchant children noticed the change immediately. They sat up, exchanging confused, worried glances. They realized they had stepped on a landmine, even if they didn’t know why.

Mira looked down at her small, scuffed boots. She picked at a loose thread on her pants. "I don’t have one," Mira said quietly.

The mood plummeted into a heavy, awkward silence. The city kids didn’t know what to say. In their bustling, vibrant world of merchant caravans and safe city-states, death was an abstract concept. For Mira, it was a shadow that had lived in her house.

Elin looked at Mira, then looked down at her own pockets. She dug around for a second before pulling out a small, brightly wrapped piece of honey candy. She reached over and gently placed it in Mira’s lap.

"You can have mine," Elin said softly.

The boy with the silver-capped horns blinked, then quickly patted his own pockets. He pulled out a massive, jagged sugar rock and handed it over. "Here. This one changes colors when you bite it."

Then another merchant child handed over a strip of dried fruit. Then another gave a piece of candy. Within a minute, a small, colorful mountain of sweets had piled up in Mira’s lap.

Mira looked at the pile, her big green eyes wide with absolute confusion. She looked up at the children sitting around her.

"Why are you giving me all your candy?" Mira asked, her voice small.

The boy shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because friends share."

"And you looked sad," Elin added matter-of-factly, offering a warm smile. "Candy fixes sadness, that’s what my mom said."

Mira stared at the candy pile for a long time. The memory of the hounds, the fear, the heavy silence in her cabin, it all felt a little further away. She picked up the honey candy, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth.

Then, she smiled brightly. It was a bright, genuine smile. Not because she had scored a massive haul of sugar, but because for the first time in her life, she had made real friends.

Later in the afternoon, the sun began to dip behind the mountain peaks, casting a golden hue over the marketplace.

I was walking near the edge of the square when I spotted Mira waddling toward the cabins. She was clutching a canvas bag that was practically bursting at the seams, looking like a miniature bank robber making a getaway.

I stepped into her path, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Did you rob a merchant?" I asked.

Mira stopped, hugging the bag tightly to her chest. "No I did not."

"Then where did all that come from? I know Lyra didn’t buy it."

Mira beamed, her tail swishing happily behind her. "My friends gave it to me."

I looked at her bright eyes and the distinct lack of fear in her posture. She wasn’t the little girl hiding behind her mother’s legs anymore. She was opening up to a world outside the walls of Elderglen.

"Well," I said, unable to hide a smile. "Make sure you hide it before your mom sees it, or she’ll confiscate the whole bag."

Mira gasped softly, instantly turning and breaking into a dead sprint toward her cabin. As evening set in, the frantic pace of the trade finally began to slow down.

I met up with Lyra near the main storage hall. She looked exhausted, her fingers stained with ink, but there was a deep, satisfying peace radiating from her. I grabbed the heaviest crates of verified supplies and helped her carry them toward the back rooms.

As we walked, we passed the center of the square. Mira was sitting by the central fire pit with Elin and the boy with the silver-capped horns. They were laughing hysterically, sharing pieces of candy and trying to teach the snow-rabbit how to jump through a hoop made of twigs.

Lyra stopped walking. She held her ledger to her chest, watching the children play in the firelight.

"For a long time," Lyra said softly, her voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames, "I worried she would grow up entirely alone. I worried that fear was the only thing she would ever know."

I looked from the kids back to Lyra. The neon lights of the caravan reflected in her eyes.

"Looks like she proved you wrong," I said.

Lyra smiled, a small, incredibly warm expression. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. We just stood there in the quiet comfort of the evening, watching a child simply get to be a child.

By nightfall, the merchants began preparing for tomorrow’s departure.

Campfires burned brightly around the massive magi-tech wagons. The village was completely relaxed. Men and women sat on their porches, drinking spiced cider and talking excitedly. They were talking about the future.

They were talking about future trade agreements, about new opportunities in the south, and about finally expanding the village walls out toward the riverbanks. The oppressive, invisible ceiling that had hung over Elderglen for years was gone. The world was finally open.

***

Inside Lyra’s cabin, the fireplace crackled softly, casting a warm orange glow across the wooden floor.

Mira was fast asleep on the thick rug near the hearth. She was sprawled out on her back, softly snoring, her arms wrapped tightly around the bulging canvas bag of candy like it was a stuffed teddy bear.

Lyra knelt beside her. With practiced, gentle movements, she carefully pried the bag out of Mira’s grip before the girl could crush the sugar rocks in her sleep. She set the candy on the table, pulled a thick wool blanket over her daughter, and brushed a lock of hair from Mira’s forehead.

The mountain was quiet, the village was safe and tomorrow, the sun would rise on a brand new era.