Silas's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Silas climbed the watchtower stairs two days after the harvest, needing the height to see what was coming. The structure still held firm despite years of emptiness. From the top he could count the cabins below, the thin smoke rising from cookfires, the followers moving between tasks. He had come up here to think about what they needed next, but movement at the forest edge pulled his focus. Three figures emerged from the tree line, carrying packs on their backs. He watched them pause at the clearing's edge, searching for signs of welcome or warning. His hand went to the rope beside him — the bell tower he'd built last season stood below, its three tones ready to tell the commune what approached. One ring meant friends. Two meant strangers who might become friends. Three meant danger. He pulled the rope once, and the clear note rang out across the clearing. Below, his followers stopped their work and turned toward the trees. Silas descended quickly, his boots finding each step without thought. By the time he reached the ground, the three newcomers had crossed into the clearing, and Summer was already walking toward them with a clay bowl of vegetables from yesterday's harvest. The decision was made. They would feed these people and see if their hands were ready for the soil. The commune had enough to share, barely, and that margin was where faith lived.