May 1st, 2027
Under Mikken and Martha's gentle tutelage, Brenda began to thread civility back into the tapestry of her character. She was a far cry from the carefree spirit she had been before the collapse, yet she had managed to cultivate a tableau of normalcy that put others at ease. In rare moments like this, a feeling of genuine joy managed to break through.
"Is that Dante?" Brenda exclaimed, her smile unrestrained, as the horse came into view.
"I'd forgotten you two were acquainted," Mikken replied, his pipe emitting wisps of apple-scented smoke that mingled pleasantly with the air.
"Acquainted? I was there when he was born. Gave me a crash course in the birds and the bees at the tender age of seven," Brenda recounted, her eyes alight with amusement.
Despite her evident joy, Brenda approached the Rottaler horse cautiously. Dante, with his majestic poise and compact, powerful frame, commanded respect—his dark coat seemed to absorb the surrounding light, giving him an air of mystique. The wilderness had taught Brenda caution; anything that didn’t instinctively flee could pose a potential threat. She may have known Dante once, but her trust wasn’t easily given.
"Quite the specimen you've got here, Mikken," Brenda remarked, taking a fistful of feed from him. Extending her hand to Dante, she inquired, "Do you remember me?" Her touch was gentle yet reserved, prepared for any unexpected response.
Mikken's laughter broke through the brief lull, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he secured Dante to the cart. "Indeed, he's something. Much like yourself, Brenda—strong, resilient, and surrounded by an aura of mystery."
Raising an eyebrow, Brenda responded playfully, "Comparing me to a horse, are you, Mikken? I can't decide whether to be flattered or offended."
"None taken, I hope. It's just an observation. After all," Mikken said, his smile conveying a mix of respect and affability, "you've faced down much worse."
As Brenda fed Dante, the horse's warm breath on her palm reminded her of the bond they shared, transcending mere words. The relaxed banter with Mikken, alongside the simple joy of caring for Dante, wove together a moment of peace—a testament to the subtle power of companionship amidst the challenges ahead.
Mikken examined the cart's linkages after prompting Dante to take a few steps forward.
"I can't believe I'll be home in just a few hours," Brenda mused, her gaze surveying the cart.
"It might be wise not to think of it as home," Mikken advised cautiously.
"As long as I breathe, it stays my home," she paused, then asked, "You want me riding shotgun or covering our rear?"
"I'm not expecting trouble. This route's been trouble-free a dozen times over. I'll get you as close to the estate as I can, then continue on. I'd rather avoid introducing you to whatever state it's in," Mikken explained apologetically.
"No need for apologies; just traversing this distance is a privilege I don't underestimate," Brenda assured him.
Mikken acknowledged her gratitude with a nod.
"Considering you have Stefan looking out for the missus in your absence," Brenda pointed out, "precautions seem reasonable."
"One can't be too careful," Mikken conceded.
"Exactly. Hand me a shotgun and tell me where I'm likely needed most."
Sighing, Mikken acquiesced, "I'd enjoy your company, but best you set up under a tarp in the back."
Brenda accepted the well-worn shotgun, the familiar heft of it oddly comforting. She nestled herself beneath a coarse tarp among the sacks of grain and tools, creating a hidden vantage point with both concealment and sightlines.
As they embarked, the rhythmic cadence of Dante’s trot and the cart’s creaking lulled Brenda into a heightened sense of vigilance. The landscape, both known and altered, unraveled slowly before her. Vast fields, once teeming with life, now lay fallow, bearing the scars of abandonment—a mute testimony to the upheaval that had ravaged the land.
Brenda’s grip on the shotgun was unyielding; Mikken’s assurances did little to dampen her alertness. The solitude of the wild had instilled a persistence of caution, a reminder that tranquility was often ephemeral.
Their journey progressed uneventfully, the calm belie the underlying tension. As they drew nearer to the estate, a tumult of emotions surged within Brenda—anticipation mingled with anxiety and a lingering anger over her losses.
Mikken’s voice pierced the quiet as they neared their destination, laden with somber reality. "We're close now. Remember, Brenda, what's ahead may not be the home you recall."
Brenda's heart tightened. She nodded silently, her resolve hardening. She was prepared, fueled by memories of what had been—and the hope of what might still be salvaged.
As the sun set, casting long shadows, they arrived at the property's edge. Brenda lifted the tarp, steeling herself for the sight of her once-grand entrance—now a mere shadow of its former glory.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stepped down from the cart, shotgun in hand, ready for whatever awaited. This was more than a return; it was the start of her reckoning.
Mikken watched her for a moment, his weather-worn face softening with a mix of admiration and concern. "I'll be back in three days. It may be a foolish hope," he confessed, his voice tinged with sincerity, "but I pray you find some peace here, Brenda."
The manor itself was still over a kilometer away, hidden from view. This part of the road, once clearly marking the boundary of her family's property, now served as a reminder of a world that had irrevocably changed. Beyond this lay a sparse forest, a swath of tall grasses that encircled the Manor on all sides, and then the massive hedge maze—a labyrinth Brenda knew as intimately as her own reflections. Concealed within that maze was the courtyard and the Manor itself. By sticking to the cover provided by nature, Brenda could approach undetected, using the maze as camouflage. But the question that weighed heavily on her mind was what next? Would she storm the Manor unannounced, or attempt diplomacy, a role she was admittedly unprepared for? Despite her exhaustive journey, she found herself without a plan.
Deciding to gather intelligence before making her approach, Brenda spent an hour skillfully navigating the tall grass, inching closer to the edge nearest the Manor. Once in position, she carefully extracted the binoculars—a loan from Mikken she intended to return, just like the shotgun. Mikken had insisted that simply adding the Manor to his trade route would be thanks enough, but Brenda felt a debt of gratitude for his generosity.
Settled in for the duration, Brenda dedicated the long afternoon and evening to vigilance, observing the Manor and its surroundings. Through the lens of her binoculars, she sought to uncover any hint of activity, any clue that might inform her approach. As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with strokes of orange and purple, she found herself wrapped in a blanket of solitude, her mind busy with plotting and planning.
This watchful solitude offered Brenda not just strategic insights but a rare opportunity for introspection. As she scrutinized the Manor, the stronghold of her youth, a myriad of emotions surged—the longing for a home that might no longer exist, the steely resolve to reclaim what was hers, and an underlying current of apprehension about the unknown challenges that awaited. Each moving shadow and rustling leaf was a potential signal, feeding into the intricate web of plans forming in Brenda's determined mind.
In this tense balance of observation and reflection, Brenda prepared herself for what lay ahead. She knew the risks involved in confronting the Manor's current occupants, the possibility of facing hostility, or worse, indifference. Yet, the determination that had carried her across mountains and through wildernesses pulsed strong within her. Whatever tomorrow held, Brenda was resolute in her mission to confront her past and, hopefully, find a path toward reclaiming her future.