Chapter 4: Blackberry Jam
After returning home, Alan saw Hills and John standing at the door of his house.
When Alan had first settled in Green River Village, Hills and John had still been nothing more than two scrawny little brats.
Yet in just two short years, both of them had grown into the kind of big, solid builds Alan couldn’t help but envy.
The moment he caught sight of Alan, John jumped up.
“Hey, Alan, where did you go?! We’ve been waiting for you!”
He was only fifteen, but when he stood up, he already looked like a brown bear.
His older brother, Hills, shot John a cool glare, then stepped forward and bowed politely to Alan.
“Mr. Alan, things haven’t been very peaceful around the Green River lately. The village chief has declared martial law, and I’m afraid there won’t be any fresh meat in the village for a while. Mother was worried about you, so she specially asked us to bring you a cured pork leg. But you weren’t at home, so we waited here for a bit.”
Hills was only two years older than John, yet he appeared far more steady and composed. He concisely explained the day’s major news to Alan. It wasn’t just hunters like the two of them who had sensed the changes in the dense forest—after contacting the other villages throughout the river valley, the village chief had very cautiously ordered a lockdown, forbidding anyone from crossing the river so as not to disturb “that one” in the forest.
Such incidents had occurred from time to time in the past, and the villagers weren’t particularly nervous. Based on experience, those powerful creatures never stayed long in a place like Green River Valley. Mrs. Pan, however, clearly had her own ideas—she felt that Alan was far too frail, and that no matter what, he needed to be nourished with her specialty pork leg.
“Don’t worry. The village chief has already found people to deal with this sort of thing.”
Alan’s brief moment of blankness misled Hills, and the young hunter hurriedly added a line of reassurance.
And when they learned that Alan had just come back from the dense forest, the hunters’ eyes flew wide in shock. They then issued frantic warnings, urging Alan never to rashly enter the forest again.
“If you need it in the future, I can go in with you,” Hills said calmly.
“And me! I can go with you too!” John added eagerly.
Faced with two bears—no, two young men—overflowing with earnest goodwill, Alan felt his cheeks warm.
He was never very good at dealing with such straightforward kindness. Amid a mix of flustered gratitude, Alan invited Hills and John to stay for dinner at his place.
Naturally, their meal consisted of Mrs. Pan’s cured pork leg.
It had to be said—Mrs. Pan had every reason to be proud. That cured pork leg was truly delicious.
Alan simply used a small knife to slice the leg into pieces as thin as cicada wings. The peach-pink marbling looked like fine cherry agate, releasing the aromas of fat and nuts. More importantly, Alan didn’t waste the wild berries he had brought back from the forest at some “risk”—under normal circumstances, humans couldn’t obtain berries this perfect. He crushed the delicate, tender berries and heated them, and when small bubbles appeared along the edges of the purple-red juice, he added fresh herbs, maple syrup, salt, butter, and a generous spoonful of meat drippings.
The lightly salty, sweet-and-tart berry sauce paired beautifully with the cured pork slices. Together with goat cheese and his lightly sparkling homemade grape wine, it made for an almost perfect meal.
Hills and John ate with great enjoyment—perhaps a bit too much enjoyment. John gulped down his third glass of wine of the evening, his eyes already hazy with drink. He licked his fingers, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Alan across the table.
“Alan, this is really too delicious!” he shouted. “Be my bride, Alan! I’ll treat you really well—hic—”
The very next second, he let out a yelp. For no apparent reason, he toppled off his chair and hit the floor hard.
He lay there in a sorry heap, howling in pain. Hills rolled his eyes and hauled his brother up off the floor with a firm tug.
“Sorry about that. He must be drunk.”
The older hunter said this to Alan with a livid expression. John’s behavior had embarrassed him deeply, and he hadn’t missed the stiffness in Alan’s reaction just now.
Alan was very popular with men—sometimes a bit too popular. There was something about him that set him apart from everyone else, an aura that made people’s hearts itch without them quite knowing why. Hills’s meager literary instincts left him unable to find the right words to describe the strange attraction Alan possessed, but there was one thing he was certain of: Alan had been pestered by more than a few men like this before.
“Believe me, John doesn’t have any blasphemous intentions toward you. He’s just… just an idiot.”
As they were leaving Alan’s house, Hills stammered out another explanation on his brother’s behalf.
“It’s all right. I understand.”
Alan watched the Pan brothers depart with a wry smile.
He knew his reaction that evening had been somewhat inappropriate—at the very least, Hills would probably overthink it.
But what could he do? Alan himself didn’t know why he always attracted the pursuit of men. Take that arrogant little noble from Valley Town, for example—if not to escape his relentless advances, Alan wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of moving to the more remote Green River Village in the first place.
Because of those lingering psychological scars, the moment someone said something strange, Alan felt uncomfortable all over.
Alan let out a sigh.
After seeing off the Pan brothers, he turned the remaining blackberries into jam.
He crushed the blackberries, pressed out the juice, added sugar, and simmered it until it grew slightly thick. Then he returned the pulp to the pot, poured in a small cup of apple juice, and added a short stick of cinnamon…
As the sweet fragrance of the jam slowly filled the room, Alan’s mood gradually settled as well. After sealing the jam into small ceramic jars, he scraped together the remnants left at the bottom of the pot with a spoon and transferred them into a shallow dish filled with clean water.
The purple-red jam stained the water a lovely pale pink.
Alan sprinkled just a tiny pinch of sugar on top.
He set the dish by the window.
It was food for the fairies.
In the outside world, few mages paid any attention to the frail, almost invisible fairies. Offering food to them was considered something only old-fashioned country women would do. Yet Alan took great pleasure in it, even though the fairies had never given him anything in return.
“May any intruders in the forest leave soon, and may everyone’s life return to peace.”
Alan offered the prayer half-heartedly, but he soon realized that such a wish might be too difficult for those tiny fairies to fulfill.
He quickly changed his wish.
“…May I find green lime leaves soon.”
Then he closed the window and fell into a deep sleep.
The next day, Alan was surprised to find the dish of jam completely empty—and, beneath his window, a large bundle of green lime leaves had appeared.
Soon after, he also learned that the village chief had, almost effortlessly, found an adventurer to act as a forest ranger, tasked with protecting the village from disturbances within the dense forest.
Though the village chief’s florid descriptions—how the adventurer was unbelievably formidable, and just seeing him would inspire complete reassurance—were hardly credible, in a way, it seemed that Alan’s wishes had all come true.
The fairies, this time, had been unexpectedly generous.
Alan couldn’t help but think so.
— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —
Author’s Note:
I stole the baked apples.
I secretly caused a human to fall.
I took the fairies’ food.
But I know I’m still a good dragon.
