Page 13 of The Warrior and the Monk

At the edge of the forest, a woman stood speaking to Anders, her laughter light and musical as she gestured toward the cow beside her. The animal, a placid, reddish-brown creature with gentle eyes, seemed content to nibble at the grass as the woman patted its flank. Nearby, Anders was locked in a half-hearted battle with one of the goats, fending off its attempts to headbutt him in the stomach. He nodded occasionally at the woman’s words, his expression a mix of focus and faint amusement.

Wilder trailed behind the other cow, shyly watching the scene unfold. The second cow had wandered ahead of him, as if accustomed to leading rather than following, and he found himself reluctantly in her wake. As he drew closer, Anders noticed him first, his stern features softening immediately. With a beckoning gesture, he called Wilder over, placing a heavy, reassuring hand on his shoulder as he turned to introduce him.

The woman’s face lit up as she noticed Wilder, her smile broad and inviting. Wilder hesitated under her expectant gaze and Anders’s steady, encouraging touch. Clearing his throat, he bowed politely and murmured, “Hello. My name is Wilder. Are these your cows?”

Her grin widened further, and she delivered a playful punch to Anders’s shoulder, prompting a faint smirk from the man. “Your cows now,” she declared, her voice cheerful and animated. “Anders bought them from me yesterday! I said I’d bring them along today. I wanted to meet you.”

Wilder blinked, caught off guard. “You wanted to meet me?” he repeated, his tone uncertain. Though her sentences were simple and her words carefully chosen, he still second-guessed his understanding.

“Yes!” she replied brightly. “Everyone is curious about you. Do you know that word? Everyone?” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly in thought. “The people. The town. This house is too big for just one person.”

Ah. So that was it. She had come to gawk at Anders’s peculiar new servant, just like the others who had visited under the guise of curiosity. Wilder’s initial discomfort turned quickly to sullen irritation. Bowing his head stiffly, he mumbled, “Yes. There is much work to do. Pardon, but I must return to it.” Shrugging off Anders’s hand, he turned and walked briskly toward the garden, ignoring the woman’s surprise and Anders’s faint frown.

As he reached the vegetable patch, Wilder knelt and attacked the weeds with more vigor than necessary, his hands yanking at the stubborn roots with growing frustration. Was he so strange to these people that his mere presence was a topic of discussion? Perhaps Anders’s servants were typically sourced from the surrounding area. Wilder’s unfamiliar language and customs might be just different enough to warrant their curiosity. Or, worse, perhaps Anders’s solitary reputation made his decision to acquire a servant at all—let alone one like Wilder—into a spectacle worth observing.

He tossed the uprooted weeds into the chicken pen with a forceful flick of his wrist, watching as the hens descendedupon them with mild interest. That interest, however, turned to outrage as the goats soon joined the fray, abandoning their harassment of Anders in favor of investigating the chickens’ spoils. Wilder paused, sitting back on his heels as the small chaos unfolded around him.

The goats nudged the chickens aside with their noses, their mischievous enthusiasm only riling the hens further. The chickens puffed up their feathers and let out a symphony of indignant squawks, as though they might intimidate the goats into retreating. Avery, the boldest of the flock, strutted with dramatic flair, feathers flared and wings fluttering as if to say,This is my territory, and you are unwelcome.

It might have worked on any other creature, but the goats were unshaken. If anything, they seemed to delight in the chickens’ fury, treating their antics as a game.

Wilder found himself smiling despite his foul mood. He was so absorbed in the squabbling animals that he didn’t notice Anders’s shadow until it fell over him. With a soft sigh, he spoke without turning. “Forgive me for my rudeness to your guest, my lord.”

Anders made a low, questioning sound—a quiethmm?—as though he hadn’t fully understood.

“It was kind of her to bring the cows here,” Wilder continued, trying to sound more polite. “They are very fine cows.”

Anders said nothing. His silence stretched on, and Wilder finally turned to face him, brushing dirt from his knees as he stood. “My lord?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Anders was staring at him with an unreadable expression, his gaze flicking away as though avoiding eye contact.

The moment hung awkwardly in the air, and Wilder was about to repeat himself when one of the goats, emboldened by Anders’s presence, lowered its head and prepared to charge.

“Careful, Anders—the goat—” Wilder started, but it was too late.

The goat barreled forward, ramming Anders square in the side and sending him sprawling into the mud with an audiblesplat. The impact seemed to shake the very ground, and for a moment, all Wilder could do was stare in stunned silence.

Then the laughter bubbled up, uncontrollable and bright. “Are you all right, my lord?” he managed between fits of giggles. The sight of Anders—this towering, powerful warrior—laid low by a mischievous goat was simply too much. Anders’s wide-eyed, puzzled expression only made it funnier, as if he were still processing how he had ended up in such a state.

Anders raised his arms and inspected himself, his tunic now streaked with damp earth. He looked utterly baffled, and that only made Wilder laugh harder.

“You’re a mess, my lord!” Wilder said, grinning as he extended a hand to help him up. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Anders blinked, and then, to Wilder’s surprise, a small, bashful chuckle escaped him. He accepted the offered hand, his fingers warm and solid as they gripped Wilder’s. For a moment, they stood there, mud-streaked and smiling, the earlier tension melting away like morning mist.

???

They needed to get that tunic off before Anders caught a chill. Wilder glanced toward the hearth, where the flames now danced steadily, casting a warm light over the longhouse. Heturned to Anders, who was still sitting stiffly, his mud-streaked tunic clinging damply to his broad frame.

"My lord," Wilder said, more firmly this time, "I'll take your tunic." He gestured toward the soiled garment with a slight frown.

Anders stiffened, his brows drawing together in hesitation. He crossed his arms over his chest like a child refusing to part with a favorite toy, his head shaking in silent refusal.

"It needs to be clean," Wilder insisted, trying to temper his growing impatience. Still, Anders made no move, though his second headshake was less resolute. This was absurd—they were wasting time! Wilder’s tone sharpened. "Mylord!"

Anders let out a defeated sigh, one that seemed to echo with resignation, before finally peeling off the tunic. The wet fabric clung to his skin, making the process slow and awkward. Wilder reached out to take it, but his hands faltered as his gaze landed on the expanse of Anders’s bare torso.

Ah. He felt his cheeks burn as a sudden blush overtook him. That’s right—Anders’s chest was hairy. Wilder had seen glimpses of him without a tunic before, when Anders worked in the fields or chopped wood in the distance. But those moments had been fleeting, impersonal. This was different. Now, standing mere steps away, he could see the individual dark hairs curling across Anders’s chest, the way they tapered toward his abdomen.

It fit him, somehow—this ruggedness. Anders’s chest, like the rest of him, was a perfect balance of strength and resilience. Thick, muscled, and scarred, it bore the marks of a life hard-lived. Wilder found it unexpectedly fascinating. He wasn’t sure why, but the sight stirred something within him—admiration, perhaps, or awe. His pulse quickened, a sudden, rabbit-like rhythm that made him feel strangely breathless.

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