Chapter Text
First week of November
When the drive up the mountain began, the sun hadn't even risen above it. Swallowed in the near darkness, the snow served as a marker of where the road lay. The tires crunched along the path as the vehicle attempted to remain on the uneven trail. Dark, with tinted glass, the bulky four-by-four clambered its way up the incline of mud and ice without a struggle. Pine woods lined the road; Dennis lost track the moment they had left the smooth ease of asphalt roads, the city long forgotten behind them. There wasn't a lamppost in sight, and road signs began to lessen, reduced to more simple, handcrafted manifestations as they drew closer to the property. The only indication of some human presence around the densely wooded area was the dirt road, and an occasional spray marking which signified a trail.
Curiosity and excitement kept Dennis awake for the whole trip. He had hardly slept the night before, too concerned about arriving on time at the meeting spot. It was public enough, nothing too suspect as the man stood outside in the waking hours of the urban landscape. Dennis only had two bags with him; his backpack and a larger bag with clothing and some belongings. A test period, Abbot had suggested. There was no need to bring anything, all would be supplied for. Not that it mattered, Dennis didn't own much. A small duffel bag, instead, with half of his things.
The road split out into a fork, and the car ventured onto a thinner path, just barely wide enough as it weaved between the trees into an opening. Log cabins surrounded by a wooden fence came into view as they exited the trail into an opening, which Dennis assumed had to be ‘the Fold’ Abbot had spoken to him about. Gravel had been used to fill the road leading to the property, snow dusting it only where tire tracks hadn’t cleared the small rocks already. The entrance taken was clearly along the back. Heavy chopping could be heard.
Familiarity struck Dennis as he stepped out of the vehicle. The scent of burning wood filled his lungs, a gentle reminder of rural Nebraska, entangled with pine and wet soil. The air was biting, nipping at his pale cheeks as he adjusted his jacket. It only struck him then how much he had missed home - or not quite, there wasn't much to miss back home. Perhaps it was nostalgia, playing her cruel tricks on him making him miss what never was. Dennis missed the simplicity of belonging. The safety in being a child, unaware of the cruel world around him. Not worrying about bills, scholarships, and homelessness.
"Good morning!", Abbot's voice exclaimed, greeting someone just beyond the car after climbing out of it. He was calling for Dennis shortly after, and Dennis scrambled to keep a hold of his bag as he rounded the four wheeled beast, until he found himself within arm's length of the other. A firm hand squeezed Dennis' shoulder, guiding him into place just before Abbot, there between the older man and this tall, looming stranger. A lumberjack. Each swing of the axe sent another sharp report through the still air, clean and controlled. Breath steamed from his mouth, sweat clung to the broad lines of his exposed back despite the cold, and flecks of wood dust clung stubbornly to his skin. He finished the last log with a clean swing before stepping away from the chopping block, the axe sliding easily into a loop at his belt. Grey eyes trailed down the bare front, appreciative of the flex of muscle as he adjusted the axe. Hands on his shoulders squeezed just lightly.
Dennis was almost two heads shorter than the man. Robby held out a large, rough hand to greet him, leaving it to Abbot to verbally introduce them.
"Dennis, this is Robby. He is a good friend of mine. Helps run things around here, and he keeps us safe. He knows these woods better than anyone else", Abbot spoke confidently, his voice close to Dennis' ear. Dennis peered up to the man and scrambled to switch his bag around so that he could take hold of the offered hand. He gave it a firm squeeze, feeling dirt and heat transfer to his own.
"Pleasure to meet you, Robby,” he greeted. Abbot, seemingly pleased with the exchange, flicked his attention from Dennis up to Robby. Hazel eyes examined the other man's expression expectantly. A silent question seemed to linger there, as though he was searching for answers unbeknownst to Dennis.
"Dennis here has experience working on a farm. You could show him to the barns and stables, as well as our winter storage... We're hoping spring will come soon, then we can get you gardening", he explained patiently. Dennis' eyes had not left Robby yet. His attention only drifted as Abbot rounded him, head turning to peer up. "But first I wanted Dennis to settle in. Would you mind? I have business to attend to."
Robby barely seemed to register half of what Abbot was saying. He listened - of course he did - but his attention stayed locked on Dennis instead. The shorter man met his gaze unflinchingly.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the small red band around his wrist briefly catching the pale morning light before he pulled the sweatshirt over his head that had been tied around his waist. Rather than asking, he simply took Dennis’ bag from him with ease, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. A short grunt was all the acknowledgement Abbot got when he waved him off, Robby already turning away and starting toward the housing lodges.
For a moment, Dennis wondered if Robby was mute. In any other case he might have thought it rude, but he assumed the two had an extensive history together. He had almost jolted out of his skin when the other man suddenly reached over to take the bag from his hands, so he didn’t press his luck and instead joined him in silence as he followed him through the grounds.
Dennis glanced back once as Robby led him away. Abbot was still standing where they’d left him, watching.
Not the cabins.
Not the clearing.
Just Dennis.
Snow crunched under the older man's boots as he led the way. They passed the sleeping fields first: low fences half buried in frost, sheep huddled close together, and then the main hall looming ahead of them.
It was the tallest structure on the grounds, its triangular roof angling forward in a way that made the entire building feel like it was leaning over whoever approached it. In front of it sat the large communal fire pit, benches circling the stone hearth where embers from the night before still slept beneath ash.
He was surprised. Perhaps he shouldn't have been, all things considered: Jack Abbot did not seem like a scrappy man, well trimmed and tailored. His attire suggested practicality, but nevertheless he wore a watch that likely cost more than he could afford in rent. The car that had picked him up was pristine, despite some mud on the wheels. This wasn't just some commune of cabins scattered on a camp ground, or half collapsing houses pieced together, rescued by system-escaping individuals and spiritual seekers. Or soul junkies, as Trinity had put it. There was clear order, there was structure. It alleviated some of the concerns his former roommate and classmate had placed in his head.
Robby didn’t speak until they reached one of the smaller lodges. He pulled the door open and gestured Dennis inside before following after him.
“Twelve rooms in each of these.” the lumberjack said simply, voice low and rough from the cold. “Private. Key, bathroom, all that.” His shoulder rolled in a faint shrug as he set the bag down inside of Dennis' new space. “No buses out here. If you want to go into the city, one of the drivers takes you. Unless you’ve got a permit yourself.”
The room itself was small but not snug: bed, desk, closet, a thick sheep wool rug beneath their feet and a wide window overlooking the snowy treeline alongside some of the other buildings. Despite the cool light of winter filtering in, the wood brought a gentle warmth to his surroundings. Robby's voice made itself right at home in the space; deep, rumbling in his ribcage. Dennis kicked off his sneakers by the doorway, walking into the space to examine it. There wasn't much to look at, all that was there was visible. Having shared rooms with three brothers for the majority of his life, Dennis would be happy to take this simplicity over nothing at all.
He opened the closet, as though seeing the empty inside might make a difference, and proceeded afterwards to look out the window. The forest stretched for as far as his eyes could see; there wasn't a sign of a soul out there, beyond the limits of the property.
Robby leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms folding loosely across his chest as he studied Dennis for a moment.
“You nervous?” he asked at last.
"Huh?" Dennis shifted his attention back to the lumberjack, taking an angled step towards him. Beneath his feet he could feel the toasty, plush wool. There was a hole in one of his socks, and his attention darted down briefly before looking at Robby. He held his gaze, hoping it would not stray down. "Farming is what I know. I might just know it better than medicine, it's my lifeblood--", Dennis caught himself, and shifted his weight as he gestured with a hand, "--I was studying medicine. Before this, before--..." He pinched his hands together, offering a gentle and somewhat embarrassed smile. "Nervous about what?"
Robby’s eyebrows rose sharply, nearly disappearing into his hairline.
For a moment he simply looked at Dennis, as if weighing something, before speaking. “Nervous about starting a new chapter in your life,” he said at last, voice even, expression barely shifting. The words hit their mark immediately.
Colour crept into Dennis’ cheeks and his hand lifted to the back of his neck, fingers combing through the longer strands there in an anxious habit. He’d already been halfway to scolding himself internally, but Robby continued before he could spiral too far. “A lot of people join us at their worst,” Robby went on. “It takes work - effort - to become a stable member of the herd. Everyone here is valued in what they do, in what they think. But…” His gaze flicked briefly toward Dennis, measuring. “It takes time to open up. To get used to the work. The schedules. The gatherings.”
Dennis’ fingers pressed a little harder into his skin before slowly dragging forward, the tension easing bit by bit as the explanation unfolded. His eyes softened, the tightness in his expression loosening despite Robby’s flat delivery. It wasn’t warmth, exactly. But it was understanding - and right now, that was enough to make Dennis feel a little less alone in it.
Thin lips open to express his opinion in the silence he has created, only for Robby to surprisingly fill it again.
"...Are you hungry? Before I show you the fields and stables. Breakfast is still ongoing."
Dennis' eyes shone in recognition, his eyebrows lowering.
"Yes. I'm starving-- not literally, just haven't eaten breakfast", at that time, he was already pacing towards the door, and just as quickly he tugged his shoes on, just on the other side of the threshold. His hands hung at his sides, fidgeting with his fingers. A little smile - barely lasting a second and not much more than a twitch at the corners of his mouth - is all that Robby offers the shorter man.
What he didn't tell Robby was that he hadn't had dinner either, not wanting to burden Trinity with paying for his meals when she had already given him so much. A place to stay until he could afford rent, countless meals, and gifts and the like to help him by. It was easy to see the appeal of living somewhere where he could pay for his stay through his work. For a time being, until he could reapply for his scholarship.
"I am nervous", Dennis replied, finally, "I'm not scared but I'm nervous... A good, normal amount. I'm mostly excited to meet people, to work... To make myself useful." A room for himself was a luxury, especially in such a nice lodge, he realised as they made their way through the structure. He would have expected to bunk with people, similarly to a ranch.
"Being nervous makes you human," Robby answered, finding that it was all he really had to say. It was true; an observation at best.
The sun finally peeked over one of the mountaintops - and yet, people were already starting to clear the paths between lodges and the fields, greeting each other and Robby with his new arrival - albeit nervously, clearly, because of his presence. His arm lifted to greet them back regardless. The Fold was waking slowly.
Mud clung to Dennis’ sneakers as they walked out towards the mess hall. Wearing his boots would have been an altogether wiser choice, but for the time being they would suffice. Besides, it wasn't as if they had been so pristine before. He would make sure to clean them later. Dennis followed Robby closely, only straying as he got mildly distracted with his surroundings. However, he made up that distance quickly.
Two heavy wooden doors led into the dining hall, where a good two dozen people were gathered around mismatched tables of various sizes, with different stools and chairs and even a wide set of sofas on one side with large full length windows looking out over the mountain.
The hall was bigger than he had expected. In fact, he was slowly starting to realise that he had arrived with a prejudice. The people around seemed to be normal folk not intoxicated hippies, the buildings were considerable in size, facilities had electricity and running water by the sight of it; how the toilets worked he had yet to discover but there were no unpleasant odours of any sort—though, in winter, with the biting cold clearing the air, it was hard to say. The interiors were warm, equally refreshed and the mess hall was swamped in a gorgeous symphony of delicious notes. Dennis was truly starving.
Being nervous made him human. There was truth in that. But being nervous was his constant state of being and it hadn't always played into his favour. His eyes flicked out over the groups of people who stared not so discretely at the newcomer. Eyes being latched on him so intently was a new thing, and it made his skin itch. It made him steadily uneasy, and Dennis, unsure how to act, offered sheepish smiles that hung awkwardly on his face before he sunk into himself while he trudged forth. He let his attention drift around the room as an alternative to staring back. In his explorative attempts, he found that there were even ceiling fans. He would have allowed himself to wander more if it weren't for the fact he was so hungry.
"Eat whatever you like. As much as you like. Food is labeled," Robby explained, standing behind Dennis like a shadow, almost shielding him from the rest of the community. He handed the curly-haired boy a tray and cutlery near a windowless opening where a large counter separated the two rooms —kitchen and seating area, set out like a buffet— not as neat or pretty as a hotel, but homey and plentiful.
Dennis had not seen so much food together in a long time. It wasn't some average cafeteria food either, it was all carefully prepared: Dried meats, milk and yoghurt, picked berries, chunky honey, several kinds of cheese. Home made, clearly, not warmed up from some previous frozen existence. Once he had arranged a generous tray, he turned to the room. He stood there, in conflict with himself: should he join the strangers or should he sit alone? What would be expected of him? His fingers curled into the edges of the tray.
And at last, Robby chose for him, guiding him to a table on their own. Finally, upon assuming a seat, Dennis stripped off his coat.
For the most part, he ate in silence. His head was tucked down as he consumed at a continuous, enthusiastic rate.
Only when he had gotten about half of the tray into his system did he lift his gaze up. Robby had not spoken, and he didn't think he would. He let his attention wander now. The decorations hanging on the walls and beams were clearly made by the residents; they varied in style, though largely were cut, carved from wood, painted or scorched. There were plant weavings too, dried, and textiles. Overall, it added to this eclectic collection that somehow fit in its chaos.
"The forest", Dennis spoke up eventually, with half a mouthful of food he was working through, "Is it dangerous? What can you tell me about it? Abbot mentioned you knew it well…”
Robby’s attention was pulled from the pit of quiet observation. The topic seemed to strike something in him, as it gathered his full interest, brown eyes glinting with appreciation at the mention of something he could comfortably talk about.
"It can be dangerous. Especially at night. It's vast and thick - getting lost is almost inevitable. There's no signal among the trees, and it's incredibly hard to spot humans from above even if a rescue helicopter was sent. The weather alone makes it difficult to survive out there for long." Robby spoke evenly, pausing briefly before adding, "And that's without the animals. Mountain lions. Moose. Bears." He counted.
"...Wolves." Robby finished simply, taking a sip from the coffee he had picked up at the buffet, finishing what he was saying with that gesture to shut himself up.
Dennis’ excitement began to dissipate as the other spoke on. The bags under his eyes were well marked, his large eyes fixed on Robby as he listened to the observations. The woods that had seemed so welcoming to him at many a time, so peaceful and silent, now seemed so tremendous. There was no denying there were dangers everywhere. Caught by surprise, Dennis didn’t speak at first. And, If he had known better than to press judgement on a stranger, he would have said it was toned in a negative light. As if to sway him from entering the woods, or considering them in the first place.
He didn't quite grasp Robby. Not yet, anyhow. He could only assume, as he had stated before, that he was there to lick his wounds. Like the rest of them. And in his lament, he was seeing the world in a cruel, distorted lens. It would only take a little push to guide him onto more favourable imagery.
Dennis breathed an airy laugh, offering a tooth-gapped smile.
"Sure, but there's probably beautiful things too. Fresh pine has a great smell, I missed it", Dennis began, taking his own mug of coffee from the tray and cupping it with both of his hands. "There's deer, no doubt; if there are wolves and mountain lions, there must be. And rabbits, surely-- I know how to hunt those. I've done it a fair amount of times... I would assume there are berries to pick, and uh... rivers! And gorgeous moss, and wonderful birds. I bet there are fantastic views from here, and the sunlight must stream beautifully through the trees at dawn, in spring and summer...maybe even autumn. Oh! The colors! In autumn-- Tell me about those things too."
The lumberjack hummed, nodding along as Dennis spoke.
His mug settled softly back onto the wooden table, both of Robby’s hands curling around it and making the cup look comically small against his size. He opened his mouth, ready to answer—to answer what the other seasons were like here, how life at the Fold shifted with them—
But the suddenly rising ruckus across the room cut him off.
Several heads turned at once. Chairs scraped. A small crowd began to gather around someone who had ended up on the floor, his drink splashed across the boards and food scattered in the mess. Someone must have knocked into him—hard, and likely on purpose.
The commotion spread quickly. First the crash, then the voices, then people pushing closer to see what had happened.
Dennis leaned slightly to get a better look. The man on the ground looked young, not much older than himself. Charcoal hair, straight and parted to the side - that much he could make out between shifting shoulders and moving bodies. The details were harder to catch as the man kept slipping out of view while arguing animatedly with the people around him.
No. Arguing wasn’t quite the right word. He wasn’t discussing anything.
Robby exhaled, rising to his feet. The slide of Robby's chair caused Dennis' attention to dart up.
"Give me a moment, I will be right back with you," he said before stomping over, intending to break the now physical fight between the dark haired man and two other members.
Dennis’ mouth opened like a fish, helplessly grasping for words. What was he going to do? Offer to help? In a fight? He had better chances watching it than taking part in it. Two figures sided the dark haired male, with physicality breaking into violent shoves and pushes. It was as if watching a helpless wild animal, cornered. Dennis felt something twist in his heart. He could hardly imagine what brought the man to this community, and what might be haunting him. But he was kind faced, he now saw. He seemed more pained than angered.
A hand suddenly clamped his shoulder and Dennis sucked in a sharp breath.
"Enjoying breakfast?" Abbot hummed while peering down on him. The scuffle continued distantly, and Abbot's lack of urgency to break it up unnerved Dennis. But he simply pressed his thin lips into a tight smile, offered a brief hum, alert eyes flicking between Abbot and the scene.
"Yes. What is goin--"
"Langdon. He is a good man... Strays from the path at times, but we do our best to guide him back," Abbot's voice went from an easy calmness, to something tighter. His gaze sharpened too, the corners of his lips sinking down emphasised by the slight droop of his wrinkles. A hardness cracked through his weathered features.
"One moment."
In a series of long, fast strides, Abbot had closed in on the group. He guided Langdon out of the squabble, away from Robby too, his hand pressed into his elbow. He seemed to speak, and whatever it was was insistent as Langdon attempted to speak past it. All attempts at answering back were squandered by a hand cupping Langdon's nape.
There was a continued tranquility about Abbot's delivery that was almost unshakeable. As a silent observer, the mind wandered. Was Langdon alright? Was he unable to let go of his past? Was he still sick? Sickness had always been so physical to Dennis that he wondered now what mental ailments might look like. Within the boundaries of his family’s farm, any issues that were not physical were buried. Under bible verses, under a cattle prod, or saline words that bit more than healed. He thought of his uncle, drowning down his sadness in a cocktail of drinks strong enough to strip wood varnish. Of his swollen belly, of pink spider webs spreading across his skin. The empty look he sent across the table, as though he had words he was dying to speak past blue, parched lips but didn’t know how to.
Langdon didn’t look like him. He was a world away from looking like his uncle. A healthy blush had worked itself up his neck, to his cheeks, aggravated like his previous gestures now calmed under Abbot’s steady grip. He oozed serenity albeit strictly delivered. Though the look he sent Robby's way as he gently guided Langdon to the exit spoke of his displeasure. It was small, but it was there. A quiet exchange between the two eldest men before they walked off in opposite directions, the lumberjack joining back at the table...except he never really found the calm to sit back down.
Strayed from the path. That stuck with Dennis, unable to find any answers in what he watched unfold before him. He only realised the intensity he had been staring with when Robby had finally turned back around, marching towards him. The nervous gaze diverted downwards, to the walls, as if searching somewhere to latch itself on as though perhaps he wasn't supposed to see that very public display.
"Come. Kitchen duty will pick up after you - let's get you familiarized with the Fold," Robby pointed out, ushering the smaller man to get up from his spot and join him back outside. Dennis took a generous sip from his coffee as he was ushered onto his feet, snatching his jacket up just in time to scramble behind Robby. He glanced back with an inkling of guilt for leaving his dishes, but if Robby reassured him they would be taken care of, he could only trust him on the matter.
"Now that you're fed and hopefully not too cold, let me show you around," Robby started without any change to his neutral expression, pointing at the lodge they had just exited. "Communal kitchen, as you’ve seen. The four buildings we came past, including the one with your room, are housing," he added, nodding toward the west, walking across the now snow-cleared paths to the fire pit and main hall once more—where a couple of vehicles were parked nearby. Same as a couple stray members greeting them shyly on their walk.
"Our sacred hall, which also houses Abbot's personal lodgings and office."
The looming building had taunted him upon arrival. It was far too large, Dennis decided. Contemplations crossed his mind on how they heated it up in the first place and maintained the heat without a major energy loss, but considering they seemed fully set up with electricity and other means, he had no doubt that Abbot had thought out every detail. In fact, the tour confirmed that everything was well accounted for. He had to wonder how long they had been out there. It was difficult to tell from the wood on the lodges, as they were well maintained, and showed little wear. Enough to hint at their continued existence out there but not enough to grey and fade.
Robby continued like that as they moved through the Fold, pointing with short nods or the handle of his axe rather than using his words. At first, they passed the chicken coop, tucked close against its fence and with birds inside that burst into irritated clucking the moment they stepped past.
Beyond it, the ground opened into two wider pastures—one for sheep and one for cows with its grass snow-dusted from the night. Robby barely paused while gesturing toward their respective barns Opposite the pastures, a narrow trail led off toward the trees, disappearing into the woods. “The trail,” he said, pointing the area out, “Is where we gather firewood and plant snares. Keep to it when you go, it’s easy to follow once you understand the terrain.”
After that, the older man finally commented on a thin pipe running alongside the path they took for a brief stretch before disappearing underground again, “Water comes down from higher up in the mountain. Freezes sometimes, but we keep it working well enough.”
Shifting, Robby let the axe clink softly at his belt, then turned his head back toward the huge building at the far side of the clearing. “The Shepherd will hand you your first weekly schedule when we visit his office. It’ll let you know which tasks you take on and what time of day.” The tone he spoke with was steady and incredibly matter-of-fact. “Talked with him before your arrival, figured we start you off with something easy while you get settled. Though everyone pulls kitchen duty once a week,” he added, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of Robby’s mouth. “No getting out of that. But we’ll adjust things for those classes you attend. If we have to.” He nodded once toward the clearing, signaling their tour was done.
"My classes", Dennis echoed. The question pulled tension into his shoulders, so he rubbed his hands together, gaze flicking around the clearing as if searching for a way out of the conversation. Seeing as the conversation was unavoidable, he turned his head back towards Robby but kept his gaze low.
"You mentioned you were a med student, correct?"
"...My scholarship fell through. I re-applied, I'm not getting an answer any time soon, though. I can't continue my classes without it..." Eyes flicked up to meet the chocolate pair. He straightened up, puffing his chest. "But it'll be fine! I'll manage until then... Um, yeah, medicine. Med student... Uh-- The Shepherd? Who is the Shepherd?"
Both men stood close by the fire pit once more, now that Robby had ensured to show every nook and cranny to their new arrival, close to their main hall, which rose above the other lodges like the spine of the Fold itself. Where the smaller buildings were intended to be practical, this one stretched upward into a steep triangular frame, the roof sloping so sharply that from a distance it almost looked like the entire structure was made of dark shingles. Only the lower portion broke the shape: thick timber beams and panels made from wood so deeply stained it read nearly black against the pale winter sky. It looked older than the rest but not weathered. As if intentionally constructed there, and all else was encircling to its existence.
His gaze lingered for a long while before Dennis pulled his attention back into the present. Robby listened carefully, trying not to react visibly to the way the other fidgeted as he spoke.
"You will have to make sure that any of your physical mail will be rerouted to Abbot's personal P.O. box as per your new residence here. I'm sure they won't take but a few weeks." Robby explained, one hand resting on the cool iron of his axe. "The Shepherd—Abbot—is our guide. He built the Fold from the ground up." Robby smiled at that, eyes staring into the distance as if reminiscing about the past.
"Speaking of him, I'm sure he'll have some time in his office for you now. Let's go see him." The older man suggested, one hand patting Dennis' back in a silent gesture to reassure him.
Whatever he had thought of Robby crumbled easy with the melancholic smile and the sturdy grasp of the large hand on his back. He followed when guided into a small side door of the great, towering building. It had a rich wood smell, otherwise smelling… clean. That was the best to describe it; not soap but the place seemed somewhat sterile despite being made of wood and despite having a homely quality about it. Comforting. Unlike hospital rooms and labs. Not the same empty paleness. There wasn't dust in sight; the wooden surfaces shone and they seemed to be taking great care of the place.
Dennis' attention diverted to a large door that he could only assume went into the great hall itself. Closed as it was right now it only piqued his interest. The interest was undeniable, like a siren call. But when Robby ventured up the stairs, he simply followed along, using a guiding hand along the wall. The tight staircase opened up into a large floor layout, with various doors. The only one open was one that he assumed was the office, and upon crossing the threshold, it became apparent that it was.
The place was decorated with dark wooden tones and deep reds. Antlers were hung along the wall, next to photographs and a painting or two. There were two large shelves filled with a variety of books. There were a couple decorative items on the shelves, furniture pieces about the room, but Dennis did not quite notice them as his attention immediately drove to the man sitting before him at the desk. Abbot was looking over documents, a pale contrast to the dark rich wood that surrounded him. His hazel eyes had travelled from Robby with little interest onto Dennis himself. At that, his character changed entirely, and the man rose up calmly, discarding both glasses and papers onto the desk before him.
"Whitaker! Yes, of course. Your schedule—liking it here so far? I imagine Robby's been showing you around."
Robby observed from a distance as the two chatted. He stood behind Dennis where the young boy could take a seat, leaning on the backrest lazily to listen in without eavesdropping necessarily.
"Showed him around alright. He's eager to work for his stay," the lumberjack chuckled—a deep rumble in his chest accompanied by the smallest of smiles. "I'm thinking chicken coop for now is still perfect. Something easy to get him used to working in the cold."
Abbot's pale eyebrows rose, the eyes switching their gaze from Robby onto Dennis. There was a glint of affection in them. The rest was brought about by the tilted smile on his lips, the way it wrinkled his face like a pleased cat.
"Good, we can use all the help we can get," he emphasised. There were various papers on the desk. Amongst them, there was a stack with blue slips intertwined. The colour caught Dennis' eyes, naturally. In such a warm toned room, they contrasted vividly. Abbot moved a pile atop it, which instantly brought Dennis’ attention back to him. Before him, the schedule was presented. Dennis leaned forth in his chair as he took the paper in his hands, examining the material on it slowly.
"The chicken coop is a great start—"
"I can do more," Dennis cut in. The two seemed surprised by the interruption, or at least Abbot did. Robby's reaction was a mystery to him, given he was positioned behind him. Like a shadow. A great looming shadow. There seemed to be an exchanged look at a minimum, given what he saw unfold on Abbot's face. "As I mentioned, I worked at a farm back in Nebraska. I grew up in it," he corrected himself, "I can definitely handle more."
Dennis curved the paper into itself, fiddling with it.
"If...you... trust me to do so."
Abbot smiled again.
“We would like to,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Just show us what you can do first—the coop’s the usual beginner’s task. I have no doubt you’ll blow our minds.”
Robby shifted his weight from one foot to the other, picking up the thread before the moment could settle into silence.
“Trust is earned,” he said simply. “No one here is put under a magnifying glass, but you do have to give us time to get to know you.”
Dennis glanced down at the paper again as Robby nodded toward it.
“Do well with the chickens and I’ll move you up. Sheep, maybe. Or woodwork.” A quiet hum left him as he tapped the schedule with a finger. “You can pin that to the corkboard in your room. We hand new ones out every Monday after breakfast.”
For a moment that seemed to close the matter. Abbot leaned back in his chair, satisfied, and stretched his muscular arms behind his head until his shoulders gave a small pop.
“Well then,” he said with a groan, rolling his neck once. “How about a smoke? I need some fresh air before I really crack down on these forms.”
Robby perked up immediately at that, interest flashing across his face. “Yeah–absolutely, of course.”
Dennis looked down onto the paper in his hands. He had to wonder how much time was spent preparing the schedule, or if it had been spontaneous. He didn’t get to linger long on that thought as the Shepherd’s hand firmly squeezed his shoulder, urging him up from the chair and toward the door. In a silent manner, he told him to follow, and Dennis did. How could he decline the invitation to join the two outside? Besides, it wasn’t his place to linger in another man’s private office.
Robby gave Dennis a brief pat on the back before digging a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, already sliding one between his teeth as he headed downstairs and out, the other two trailing after him.
Once outside, the two older men fell into an easy synchronicity. The box was extended, Abbot plucked one easily and brought it up to his lips. It lingered there as he waited for Robby to breathe life to it with his lighter. Robby then glanced down at their new member.
“Want one?” the lumberjack inquired, shaking the remaining couple sticks at Dennis.
Which would only occur once Dennis stopped gawking. So, without thinking, the young man took one of his own and held it awkwardly to his lips. The lighter flicked on and he drew in a sharp inhale, attempting what he had seen so many times done. The smoke was sharp in his throat, stung at his eyes, and before he knew it, Dennis was choking it out into the crisp air.
Abbot's eyebrows shot up, followed by a rumbling chuckle and a shake of his head.
"Spare him, yeah?" he knocked his arm into Robby.
Robby’s eyes widened briefly as his brows lifted in mild surprise. For a moment he simply watched, making sure the younger man managed to catch his breath before reaching over to give Dennis’ back a gentle pat.
Just like that, his attention drifted back to Abbot. A small smile curled around the cigarette between his teeth as he nodded, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke slip out through his nose. The cigarette was plucked from his mouth between two fingers so he could flick the ash into the snow at their feet. "Mhm," the lumberjack hummed, the sound simple and acknowledging.
Robby settled down on the steps of the main hall, patting the dark wood beside him to signal Dennis to take a seat as well. His gaze wandered across the Fold while they smoked. The paths had been cleared now, and people were already busy with their daily work: cleaning, hauling scraps to the compost, moving in and out of the barns to tend to animals. A few figures moved along the forest’s edge, gathering firewood—not too deep in the trees, but far enough out that they seemed to be searching for decent, dry timber. Further off, shapes shifted beneath tarps or inside the open workshop buildings, hands busy with what looked like thick fabrics or blankets being stitched together.
Dennis couldn’t make out every detail from where he sat, but the place had clearly settled into its rhythm. Everyone seemed to know where they were meant to be.
Abbot looked to Dennis with fondness. It strangled what humiliation Dennis felt, but nothing quite diminished the acidity of the smoke still burning up the inside of his throat. He watched the two men, grateful they didn't break out into a parade of utter mockery. In fact, when it didn't come, instead the gentle looks, the encouraging pat on his back, and the chance to let him try again with the cigarette, Dennis was confronted with the great discomfort of what had become normality. The spiked cortisol, buried in a blushing face and the pinch of his nails in his palm. The mockery chewing at his self-esteem. Here he was, with the possibility to join this private ritual on the steps of the main hall.
Dennis assumed his seat besides Robby. He let the cigarette burn between his fingers, watching it miserably ash itself out in his grip. There was a certain tranquility to watching it consume slowly, the smoke drifting up before him, vanishing into the crisp air above. It twisted, catching the smallest breeze; from pale white to a near transparency, particles becoming one with the hot breaths they exhaled. It was then when following those trails exhaled by the two men that he noticed he was still being watched. Abbot’s beady eyes were trained on him, not shying away from being noticed. Any consideration of trying to smoke again entirely left him at that moment. Dennis tucked his chin downwards, putting out the cigarette into the snow. Once cooled, he pocketed it.
When his cigarette burned down to its end, Robby pressed it out against the sole of his boot before flicking the butt into the snow. Rising again, he nodded down the path for Dennis to follow. Before heading off, he clasped Abbot’s hand and pulled him into a brief sideways hug, clapping him firmly on the back.
"Come," he said at last, glancing toward the coops. "I’ll show you the chickens."
Just as Dennis passed Abbot, a gentle hand extended, the back of it pressing onto Dennis’ chest. It slid up towards his shoulder. It pinned him there, forcing him to turn towards him.
"You're in the right place, Dennis," he said, speaking with an honesty that shook the self-doubt that rose to challenge it. The hazel eyes searched the blue, flicking between the two. "I'm glad to have you here with us. I hope you'll find what you need here. Truly. Take your time, you know the door is always open."
Dennis stared agape at him, like a fish. Denial came first, and acceptance followed. The pinch of his heart settled on gratitude.
"Thank you. I... hope so too," Dennis replied. "I think I will," he attempted to reassure, when kept under Abbot's unshakeable gaze. The older man released him, shrugging as he finished his cigarette.
"We all function differently... But we can only try to help you find what you need. It's that same individuality that makes you so special. So you, Dennis—" Abbot leaned down a little, eyebrows rising, "—Whatever you decide... Don't forget it. Now, go. Those eggs won't collect themselves." All Dennis could do was nod, turning to follow Robby down the path.
When they were left alone on the gravel path leading to one of the fenced fields, Dennis couldn’t help but notice the shifts in Robby’s expression, like he was trying to decide on whether to speak or to stay quiet. Regardless, he carried the silence with him until he reached the gate, holding it open for Dennis to pass before following and guiding them toward the chicken coop.
"He’s right, by the way," Robby said quietly, his voice low and careful, trying not to let too much judgment slip into his tone. "The Shepherd makes it one of his priorities to help our people pursue their goals and dreams. That will include yours. Your personality, your uniqueness… they’ll be respected here. Given a place to exist, not shaped into uniformity like society out there expects of you."
He opened the automatic lock on the coop, deliberately showing Dennis how the mechanism worked so he could manage it himself later, then handed him a basket from the nearby window.
Inside, the temperature was noticeably warmer. Soft clucking filled the space from every corner. A small, private smile tugged at Robby's face as he reached out to gently pet one of the hens resting in a nest at chest height.
"I trust I won’t have to explain how animals should be handled?"
“No, sir, I know well,” Dennis reassured immediately, already stepping deeper into the dim interior.
"Good. Whenever you're done, you can leave the basket in the kitchen back at the dining hall so the morning shift can make breakfast with them," Robby explained, finalizing Dennis' task.
There were more chickens than he had expected, the coop alive with soft rustling and low clucks as the birds shifted in their nests. Still, he supposed it was proportionate with how many people lived at the Fold. Moving carefully between the rows, Dennis began his work. His hands were gentle and practiced—two fingers easing beneath warm feathers, lifting eggs one by one and placing them into the basket with steady care.
The rhythm came back to him faster than he thought it would. Check the nest. Lift the egg. Move on. Over and over again until the quiet repetition let his thoughts drift. Robby didn't have to supervise his work either, leaving him with a silent squeeze of Dennis' shoulder after a couple of minutes had passed.
By the time he finished the last row, the basket had grown pleasantly heavy in his hands.
Dennis straightened slowly, stretching the stiffness from his back while the hens settled again behind him. The coop was warm enough that he hadn’t noticed how cold the outside air had been until he pushed the door open and stepped back into it.
For the first time since arriving, the knot in his chest had loosened just a little. Maybe—just maybe—he could make this work.
He shifted the basket in his arms and headed to the dining lodge to hand over his basket, the quiet clucking of the coop fading behind him.
At around noon when the sun was sitting over the clearing of the Fold and gave off the most warmth they would be getting all day—which was by far not a lot, but in comparison to this morning it felt at least comfortable— Dennis was a lot more at ease with the flow of things. Sunlight reflected off of the dark roofs of barns and he could even hear a couple of late autumn insects buzzing in the air accompanied by the smell of pine and smoke.
People were hanging laundry, he could hear tools clicking in a workshop and sheep bleating from their pen. The paper schedule in his pocket that Abbot had handed him earlier gave him some much appreciated routine and guidance. It was printed out, not handwritten, but still a lot of care seemed to have gone into it. Chicken coop, fire pit prep—both low risk tasks intended for newcomers like him. Apparently, anyway. It was supposed to ease him in, despite his skillset. He would have argued on it, but ultimately it wasn’t worth it.
For now, all he had to do was clear some old ash and move leftover charcoal. The scent wasn’t as intense as that of a fresh, crackling fire, missing the heat and the beautiful flickering colors of it, yet Dennis didn’t mind. He stacked some dry kindling, nudged some debris from the edges of the pit and dusted ash off himself every now and then.
All things considered, any task that had to do with the fire pit—despite the tall lodge looming behind him—were favorable to him. There was a serenity in the process of preparing it, which Dennis found calming and thoroughly enjoyed.
It made the chicken coop fade into the back of his mind, left him working until sweat was staining his forehead.
It also granted him the possibility to look around while working, taking in his surroundings, the people that passed him, and those that swung by to chat briefly. Sometimes he heard them speak about the Fold like it was something truly sacred—which he didn’t fully understand yet, but he felt quite aware of how the others perceived it.
The people here were working together effortlessly. No arguments aside from that situation in the dining hall. The flow of tasks was clear and no one seemed too lazy to do as they were told. Discipline and routine were established. It comforted Dennis in a weird way.
Once he finished, Dennis sat back on his heels to catch his breath and look at his work, arms covered in dark soot up to his elbows. He was beyond ready to get a shower and put on some fresh clothes.
Dinner passed quietly, despite the fact that people still kept glancing over at their new member every now and then. It didn’t bother Dennis as much as the first time this morning, but the unease clung to his chest regardless. Especially given that he sat alone this time, without Robby shielding him.
The sun set earlier than in the city. Or so Dennis thought at first once he stepped outside; without a lamppost in sight, nor the general glow of light pollution, darkness consumed the mountain at a surprising rate. The temperature dropped equally as fast, with the cold biting under his nose, where humidity from his breath had collected. Every laboured breath from the inhabitants of the Fold became a gentle cloud of white, and that alone was a marker of their presence there. Especially since, as the work stopped, silence overcame the safe burrow. Tools didn't clang any longer, people spoke less with diminishing energy levels and retreated into the lodges and to their hearths. Those puffed and huffed out tall pillars of smoke, glowed with a fury that aspired to be that of the sun but dwindled down into a gentle warmth, akin to an embrace.
With most folks now inside, Dennis paused. His body was exhausted. A little murmur, like ants, crawled through his limbs. He smiled, a welcome feeling he had long missed that couldn't be found amongst medical papers and thick books. He was beat. But the world was silent. And as the cold trickled into his moist nape, he came back to reality. Blue eyes opened again, the pebbled ground scrunching under his feet.
He was deeply curious about the daily routines at the Fold, so with the lack of permission nor someone like Robby prohibiting him from wandering on his own to familiarize himself with the place, Dennis stepped away from the kitchen lodge to explore.
He rounded the corner of the building and spotted a few people herding sheep toward one side of the pasture, guiding them into the barn where large, unlabeled feed bags were already waiting. A little farther down the path to his left, near the cow enclosure, the situation looked much less organized: a single resident—small and scrawny, even more so than Dennis himself—was struggling with two heavy feed sacks, dragging them across the ground instead of lifting them, the weight clearly too much for someone their size.
Grain dust was filling the air around them, causing the person to cough into the crook of their armpit, clearly straining from effort. For a moment, Dennis considered stepping in to help out, knowing exactly from experience how to hurl around those burlap sacks, but he hesitated. He had no idea if it was his place to step in, whether it was okay to offer help to them, whether it was against rules or if it was expected of everyone to tend to their own tasks and if he would be crossing a boundary by offering assistance and—
And then all that tension broke when the person suddenly toppled over, their grip slipping as their body tumbled to the ground with a small noise that echoed all the way up to where Dennis stood. He decided then that he should step in and help after all. Before he could even move, someone passed him from a few feet away, making a direct beeline for the fallen person.
Upon second glance, Dennis realized he had seen that man before. Tall, broad, and shirtless, with an axe looped at his belt that gently smacked against his leg. Robby. He had not seen him all day after they had split up at the chicken coop. Every now and then he found himself wondering where the older man might be, what tasks had kept him busy.
Watching that same quiet, stoic, and expressionless man suddenly stride toward the smaller person made Dennis pause, his eyebrows furrowing. But then Robby simply offered them a hand, hauling them back onto their feet—perhaps a little too fast, the other nearly tipping the opposite way—before effortlessly grabbing both bags, slinging them over his shoulders like they weighed nothing. Just like that, Dennis and the other member could only watch in silence as Robby carried the feed sacks into the barn with casual ease, probably too stunned to even thank Robby.
A man of his size, his intimidating build, didn’t seep an air of kindness. Large hands, that hurled an axe down on wooden logs with impressive strength, that could enact such force with them—enough to pull the sacks onto his muscular shoulders—had shown such care for the minute man. Abbot was right, after all, he was the protector. In the curve of his naked back, Dennis could almost make out the weight of that obligation Robby took upon himself. He knew the type well; no nonsense, caretaking, taking responsibility not only for himself but for all those around him. The kind to notice problems before even being asked. The very same who would not expect any recognition whatsoever.
That was truly admirable.
Once Robby made his way back out of the barn, Dennis was already hiking further along the path that rounded the various dirt fields, intended for the cultivation of various vegetables. Curious, he sparingly glanced to watch the lumberjack fist bump the other member before leaving them behind too, likely on his way to actually feeding the cows.
Dennis eventually spotted a marked trail that disappeared into the forest between two large hemlock trees. Their bark had been sprayed with white paint in the style of Appalachian trail blazes: three stacked lines marking the start of the path, followed by another blaze just beyond them indicating a left turn right behind.
The forest itself was much darker than he expected: an immediate pitch black that oozed out between those two hemlocks. He couldn’t see anything past the first row of pines, making it unable to spot any animals or tree roots jutting out of the ground like common trip hazards one would find when hiking in the woods. It was also incredibly quiet. No bird chirping, no wind rushing through the leaves, it was as silent as the sound of fresh snow falling. It sent goosebumps across Dennis’ pale skin, down his spine and up his neck.
This was very unlike the forests he knew back in Nebraska. Sure, there was dangerous animal life in their local woods too, but the way Robby had talked about this? So far up in the mountain with tree tops huddled close together. Like an impenetrable wall making it impossible to even be found by rescue operators. It left an eerie and uncomfortable feeling in the young man’s chest.
The wooden lodges felt strangely distant at that moment. Lost somewhere behind him, even that great hall, amongst fog and snow.For a moment he lingered just there, where the gravel path ended and entered into the forest, staring into that black stretch. If his eyes would eventually adjust to it, maybe he could make sense of the surroundings. But they didn’t. The darkness was thick—dense—and unforgiving. The makeshift trail disappeared past the first couple of painted trunks in such a sharp way that Dennis had to shift his weight from one foot to another, trying to shake that anxious sensation out of his body by moving.
All things considered, knowing forests from back home and how beautiful they could be even up here in the mountains, Dennis figured Robby had just exaggerated the ghost stories to keep Dennis away. Whether that was for an ulterior motive or just to keep him from getting lost he couldn’t decipher—but Dennis wasn’t dumb and he wouldn’t just wander off without preparations.
Yet here, standing right in front of that entrance, which resembled the maw of a wild beast swallowing the last remnants of light into its hungry body? The man wasn’t so sure anymore.
Dennis glanced over his shoulder at the nearest lantern—which was still far off, flickering in the distance at the main hall’s entrance, swaying in a mild breeze that never reached Dennis. He rubbed a hand over his arm, willing away the goosebumps that rippled over his flesh.
“Yeah,” the short man mumbled to himself. “No, thanks.”
In spite of all this, he turned toward the treeline one more time, squinting into the darkness because curiosity got the better of him, as if this time something would come into view.
Just trees. Tall, unmoving, trunk after trunk following upward into a canopy he was unable to see. The thick branches layered so tightly far above his head that the sky vanished behind them, so dark that if it weren’t for the stars above their tips, Dennis would have been unable to tell sky and forest apart.
The man took a breath, ready to return to the rest of the community, but then he paused.
Because something shifted. Not a sound, it was still deadly silent. A feeling. Like being watched, that prickle at his neck when first registering eyes on his body, the instinct that told a person they weren’t alone. Dennis frowned, squinting even harder, leaning forth as if that might help him make out anything in that void. Yet the darkness didn’t move. It was stagnant.
For a split second though, he could have sworn—
Two faint circles of light flickered somewhere between all those massive trees.
He froze. Blinked. Then the lights were gone, just as fast as they had appeared.
Dennis’ heart thumped hard enough inside his ribcage that it felt like it was about to burst open. “Okay,” he breathed. A dry chuckle followed. Probably just a trick of light. Must have been. The lantern behind him reflecting off of something. Leaves. Moisture on bark. Anything.
Frantic eyes kept searching that same spot over and over. Nothing stared back. As a matter of fact, the forest remained the same the entire time his body stood there, frozen, feet rooted to the uneven ground. Dennis let out a shaky breath, feeling stupid for psyching himself out.
And then a memory surfaced from this morning’s breakfast with Robby.
Wolves.
Dennis swallowed. Suddenly all that quiet and darkness didn’t feel so peaceful and calm anymore. It felt seriously dangerous. Like something in those shadows waited, watching hungrily.
So when he looked toward the trees one final time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was definitely staring back at him.