Chapter 173: Chapter 173

The smell of fried eggs and toasted millet lingered in the air.

Morning light filtered through the windows, soft and pale, brushing the wooden floor like a whisper.

Billy stood at the counter slicing fruit while Artur handed out plates.

At the table, Mr. Dand sat already spooning honey into his tea with slow, distracted movements.

They hovered around the table in that quiet rhythm unique to early hours — the kind of silence no one feels the need to break.

Billy sipped water, glancing outside. "Sky’s clear this morning."

"Mhm," Artur replied through a mouthful of yam. "Feels like it’ll stay that way."

Mr. Dand grunted softly and stirred his tea again — still without sipping. His brows were knit like he was listening to something far off.

"Something wrong?" Billy asked.

"Hm?" Mr. Dand blinked, finally tasting his tea. "Oh. No, no. Just thinking."

Artur raised a brow. "Thinking about what?"

Mr. Dand set his cup down with a gentle clink and rubbed his jaw. "The elders sent word last night. Might be a meeting later today. Something about the festival."

Billy paused mid-bite. "What about the festival?"

"They’re worried," Mr. Dand muttered, eyes narrowing toward the window. "The rainforest’s been rumbling... That old priest who reads the winds says it’s shifting. Could be rain on festival day."

Artur leaned back. "Every year someone says that. Last time, skies stayed clear."

"This year’s different," Mr. Dand replied, not argumentative, just certain. "The air feels heavier. And that owl’s been hooting at odd hours again."

Billy tilted his head. "So they might change the date?"

"Maybe push it forward a day. Or split it — half in the square, half under the hall’s roof. They’ll decide."

Artur let out a soft breath. "Would be strange not to see the lanterns floating under open sky."

"Strange or not, if the rains come, it won’t matter much," Mr. Dand said, reaching for bread. "A good festival’s one that doesn’t drown your shoes."

Billy smiled faintly. "Then I hope the owl’s just bored."

Artur chuckled. "If it starts speaking in riddles, I’m leaving town."

They laughed lightly — the way people do when something familiar is shifting, not badly, just enough to notice.

Mr. Dand rose, collecting his cup. "Meeting’s in the afternoon. Meantime, fence on the east side still needs checking."

"Right after we clean up," Billy said.

"Rain or not, the work’s the same," Artur added.

They moved in tandem — plates stacked, crumbs brushed, tea refilled.

Morning began just like that: old concerns, soft laughter, quiet preparations for a day that felt ordinary... yet not quite.

By the time they reached the east side of the property, the sun was higher. The old wooden fence ran along a sloping stretch of grass, half-covered in wild vine. Billy tugged on a loose plank, frowning.

"This one’s going," he said, giving it another wiggle.

Artur knelt, brushing dew from the base. "Knew it wouldn’t last the season. Too soft." He pulled a hammer from his pouch. "Pass me a nail."

Billy reached into the worn tin and handed one over, their fingers brushing. It was nothing, barely a second — but it made Billy pause.

He crouched beside Artur. "We’ve done this before, haven’t we?"

"This exact spot? Probably three times," Artur said without looking up.

Billy smiled. "Back then I didn’t know the difference between a nail and a screw."

"You still don’t," Artur murmured, lips twitching.

"Rude," Billy laughed.

Artur tapped the nail in, wiped his forehead. "But you learned. That’s the thing."

"Yeah," Billy said softly. "I guess I did."

They sat in a pocket of silence, the kind that didn’t feel empty.

Just the rustle of trees, the occasional bleat from the sheep beyond the next fence, and the whisper of wind brushing the hill.

Billy inspected the next board. "You ever get tired of this?"

Artur glanced at him. "Of what? Fixing fences?"

"No." Billy’s voice dipped, thoughtful. "This life."

Artur stood, testing the plank. "Sometimes I think about what else is out there. But mornings remind me... not all peace is boring."

Billy grinned. "That was almost poetic."

"I’m not just biceps and calluses, you know."

Billy chuckles."Could’ve fooled me."

They shared a look, teasing giving way to quiet understanding. Billy rose, brushing dust from his knees. "Let’s finish before My. Dad yells about lazy hands."

"Race you to the corner post," Artur said.

"No cheating this time."

And just like that, they moved side by side — steady in the bond that work always seemed to deepen.

The afternoon passed in pieces — fixing a gate latch, checking the grain shed roof, shoveling mulch behind the vegetable rows. Billy rolled his sleeves higher as sweat traced his neck. The sun softened, sky turning hazy blue streaked with gold.

Artur exhaled and stretched his arms overhead. "Let’s call it," he said, tossing his gloves onto the nearby bench.

Billy followed suit, rubbing his sore shoulders. "If we do one more thing, I might start charging by the hour."

"You’d still be underpaid," Artur smirked.

They laughed and wandered toward the old tree beyond the shed — its wide belly rooted deep, shade cool, dirt beneath holding the day’s chill. They sat shoulder to shoulder.

"Remember when we sat here after rebuilding the goat pen?" Billy asked.

"You mean when you hit your thumb and cursed in five languages?"

"Could’ve fooled me. Mr. Dand nearly came running."

Billy snorted, leaning back. Leaves whispered overhead, birds calling, sheep in the distance, the low hum of earth beneath it all.

"Days ," Billy murmured, "they settle somewhere inside you."

"They do," Artur agreed.

No more words were needed.

As evening neared, they rose, dusted off, and walked home along the quiet path lined with fences and the scent of warming grass.

Rounding the final bend, Billy noticed movement.

Up ahead, near the wooden fence, stood Mr. Dand — bike leaned against a post, cap askew, one hand on the seat. Beside him, the village principal in his dark vest spoke with slow emphasis.

A few elders lingered, murmuring as they drifted away from what had clearly been a meeting. Some nodded as they passed.

Billy and Artur approached quietly.

"Evening, Dad," Artur greeted.

Mr. Dand turned, smiling. "You two look like you’ve been wrung through a wringer."

"We were," Billy said with a grin. "Fence held better than we thought."

The principal nodded. "Evening, boys."

"Good evening, sir," Billy replied.

Artur’s eyes flicked from his father to the principal. "Long meeting?"

"These ones always are," Mr. Dand said. "Important things don’t like being rushed."

Billy caught the faint seriousness still on the principal’s face.

The principal turned to Artur. "You know, I never forgot our last conversation about the school."

Artur’s posture tightened slightly. "I remember."

"Back then, you said it wasn’t your path. That you had your hands full here," the principal said, glancing at Mr. Dand, who gave a small nod. "Your mother had just passed. Everything changed too quickly."

Artur’s throat worked around a tight swallow, his gaze drifting down for a moment.

"I didn’t think you were wrong," the principal said. "But we kept that post open longer than we should’ve. Hoping."

Billy stayed silent, listening.

"We’ve been short a full-time English homeroom teacher since," the principal went on. "Volunteers come and go. But no one grounds them like she did."

Artur’s fingers flexed.

"You’ve grown into something solid. The kids respect you, even if they only know you as the quiet man helping his father at the field’s edge."

"I’m not her," Artur said quietly.

"No," the principal replied. "But you’re her son."

That hung in the air.

The elders had gone. Mr. Dand stayed silent, letting the moment breathe.

Artur finally looked up again, meeting the principal’s eyes. "And you’re still offering?"

The man gave a half-smile. "I wouldn’t bring it up if I wasn’t."

Artur’s gaze drifted to the slope beyond the house. "I didn’t want to step into her shadow before. I wasn’t ready."

"I don’t know". He said honestly. "But maybe... I could think about it."

The principal nodded, not pressing. "That’s all I ask. Just give it a real thought this time. Talk to your father. Talk to him too—" he motioned subtly toward Billy, who blinked in surprise but didn’t interrupt.

Artur glanced at Billy, then nodded. "I will."

"Good," the principal said, straightening his vest. "We’ve got time. But not too much."

The principal straightened he offered one more respectful nod to the group, then turned to head down the path, leaving behind a silence filled with quiet echoes.

Billy looked over at Artur. "You okay?"

Artur didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, "I haven’t thought about that room in years."

The breeze stirred dust around their boots.

Mr. Dand finally spoke. "It’s not about replacing her, son. It’s about continuing something she believed in."

Artur didn’t answer — but this time, he didn’t walk away from the thought either.