"Arvid," the man said, puffing slightly as she matched her pace to his leisurely walk. He kept a respectful and nervous distance. "My name is Arvid. My wife is Elin. We're both fourty-one—met each other at nineteen, and have been together since." He said it with the earnestness of someone offering vital credentials. "We have a daughter, Natalie. She's twelve. And a husky, Kona. We got her five years back, from when my mother passed. She was a hunter. Kona—a good dog. Bit of a lump."
He was rambling, a stream of harmless, personal data offered like a peace treaty. Serena listened attentively with the translation spell, nodding. It was a relief to hear about normal things—family, ages, pets, loss. Human things.
[Your mother was a hunter?] Serena prompted gently.
Arvid's face lit up, his nervousness momentarily overshadowed by pride. "Oh, the best. Strong. She would always complain about Kona not being fierce enough. Same with me, actually." The light then dimmed. "The... the bears got her, in the end. A few winters ago. She'd have liked you. Said the wild things were often lonely." Serena absorbed this, growing concerned.
'His defences break down too fast.' Here was a man, disarming himself with stories of his family, leading a being who could flash-freeze a sea—into the heart of his town. As they walked down the stone path between the houses, Serena became acutely aware of the life humming just out of sight. The town was not empty; it was holding its breath.
She saw a curtain twitch in a glazed window. A door cracked open, then silently shut. The distant, cheerful clang of a blacksmith's hammer had stopped. Her enhanced hearing picked up the whispers carried on the cold, still air:
"... it's Arvid, of course it's Arvid..."
"Where is his wife?"
"Spirits save him, a heart softer than fresh butter!"
"The man has absolutely no survival instincts. His mother would be cursing from the aurora."
"What is that she's wearing? Dirt?"
"He's just... walking with it. Does he have his gun?"
"Of course he doesn't have his gun!"
The whispers were a blend of exasperation, fear, concern, and a strange, communal fondness for the man beside her. They weren't just afraid of her; they were worried for him. Then, she detected the others. Not the whispering townspeople. These moved with a predatory silence that she couldn't have perceived without magic. They were in the alleys, paralleling their path to hers.
Hunters. Trained, patient, and armed with more than curiosity or concern. She felt the faint, metallic pressure of barrels held in readiness, not yet aimed. Arvid, blissfully unaware, was now pointing out a greenhouse.
"... the runes need recalibrating every spring, but we get produce you wouldn't believe..."
They entered the town square. It was a wide, open space laid with stone. The sparkling fountain well in the centre, despite the cold, was functional. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the silent openness.
Then, movement. From all around, men and women emerged. They wore practical furs and heavy boots, and they held their rifles with a casual, ready competence that spoke of a lifetime in this tundra. They formed a loose but effective perimeter, blocking all the exits from the square. Their expressions were not hateful, but grimly resolute.
Arvid finally stopped talking and walking. He blinked, looking around at his neighbours, only just noticing them for the first time. "Oh. Hallo, everyone. This is, well, we have a guest—"
"Arvid." The voice cut through the air. A man with his locs in a loose bun stepped forward from the group. He was perhaps in his mid 20's, his face sharp and stern. He didn't look or dress like a hunter, more like a young academic—especially with his glasses and earrings. "What have you done?"
Arvid visibly shrunk, his earlier sunniness wilting. "Salih. I was just—she was lost. She can't remember anything. She's not harmful, she just needs—"
"She appeared from the sky in a storm of unnatural power and shook the ground for kilometres!" he snapped, his eyes never leaving Serena.
'... How does he know that?'
"She's clothed in magic—she was casually walking around out in the cold naked before—the people she first met are still shaking in their boots! And you brought her here? To the square?"
"She asked for help," Arvid said, his voice small. "She... she asked. Politely."
A ripple of incredulous muttering went through the ring of armed townsfolk.
"... He's done it," they said.
"The soft-hearted fool has finally done it!"
Salih pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture of profound, exasperated fatigue. "Arvid, you incredible... lump." He used the term for his dog, and it somehow sounded dire. "Step away from it. Now."
Arvid looked at Serena, his kind face a turmoil of apology and defiance. He didn't move.
[It's alright, Arvid,] Serena expressed the thought. [You should do as he says. Thank you for the walk.]
"What the hell?! And she can speak with her mind?!" added Salih.
Arvid's shoulders slumped in relief and shame. He gave Serena one last, worried look, then trudged over to Salih, who grabbed his arm and pulled him firmly behind him, putting his own body between him and the potential threat. It was admittedly a strange sight—a lanky 20-something year old with no visible weapon defending a burly man twice his age.
Salih turned his full attention back to Serena, his gaze sharp and assessing. The circle of guns tightened slightly.
"Now," he said, his voice cold and clear in the morning air. "You will explain yourself. Properly. And you will do it out loud."
———
Serena complied. She opened her mouth, the unfamiliar muscles of her throat working. "My name is Serena. I mean no harm." The words, in English, felt like gravel in her throat, hoarse and alien in the crisp air. She hadn't spoken aloud in this body more than a handful of times, and it showed.
The reaction was a wall of blank, wary faces. Confusion. Not a flicker of comprehension.
"You said you couldn't remember," Salih interrogated, "Was that a lie?"