In a quiet house nestled between the hills, life felt much better than the chaos of the village.

Nolan sat cross-legged on a flat stone near the edge of the field, his harp resting against his knee. His fingers danced over the strings with ease, the notes floating through the air in a light, joyful rhythm. He was singing off-key, on purpose.

"The gods may rule the skies above, but I still burn for wine and love," He grinned, glancing at the quiet figure sitting nearby. "You like that one, Dorian? I made it up this morning. Honest art, straight from the stomach."

Dorian didn’t look up. He was lying on his back in the grass, one arm behind his head, the other shielding his eyes from the sun. His white hair glowed against the green. "You mean straight from your mouth. Which is unfortunately always open."

Nolan laughed, loud and easy. "You wound me. Truly. Just for that, I’m going to sing louder." He plucked the harp strings again, deliberately off-beat this time, just to be annoying.

A sudden bark broke the moment. Morun, their chocolate-brown shepherd, dashed across the field. He paused just long enough to nuzzle Nolan’s leg, then trotted over to Dorian and flopped beside him with a happy grunt.

Dorian shifted slightly but didn’t push the dog away. "You’re the only one here with good taste, Morun," he muttered, scratching behind the dog’s ear.

Just then, you stepped into view balancing a cloth-covered basket in your hands. Nolan looked up and immediately brightened, sitting up straighter. "Lunch! Finally! I was about to start chewing on tree bark," he called out, waving you over.

Dorian sat up slowly, brushing a leaf from his shoulder, his gaze flicking toward you without a word, but something in his expression softened the moment he saw you. And Morun barked once, then ran ahead to greet you, tail wagging like a flag in the wind.