Sourdough and Savages

By week three, the dynamic had shifted. The "War" had become a "Detente."

The kitchen became the neutral zone. It was the warmest room in the house, thanks to the massive iron stove that Elsie kept stoked 24/7. The scent of yeast and rosemary permeated the stone walls, fighting back the smell of damp.

Elsie was kneading dough. Sourdough. She had named her starter "Bubbles."

Bram was sitting at the kitchen table. He was supposed to be brooding, but he was actually shelling peas. His massive claws were surprisingly delicate, popping the pods with surgical precision.

"Why do you bake so much?" Bram asked, watching her flour-dusted hands. "It is inefficient. We have a pantry full of preserved hardtack."

"Hardtack is for sailors and people who have given up on joy," Elsie said. "Baking is... warm. It makes a house feel like a home."

"This is not a home," Bram corrected. "It is a fortress of solitude."

"It’s a fortress of drafty windows," Elsie countered. "Pass the salt."

Suddenly, a loud *BOOM* shook the front door.

Bram stiffened. His ears, pointed and furry, twitched. "Intruders."

"Couriers?" Elsie asked hopefully.

"No," Bram growled, standing up. He ripped off the tea towel he had tucked into his collar. "Heroes."

He stormed out of the kitchen. Elsie wiped her hands on her apron and followed.

In the Great Hall, the heavy doors were shuddering under the impact of a battering ram.

"Open up, foul beast!" a voice cried from outside. "We have come to rescue the maiden! Surrender her, and we shall grant you a swift death!"

Bram sighed. "Every winter. They get bored in the village, drink too much mead, and decide to come 'slay' me. It is exhausting."

He prepared to roar. He puffed up his chest, his horns looking magnificent and terrifying.

Elsie walked past him. She marched to the door and threw the bolt.

She swung the door open.

Standing there were three men in dented armor, holding swords and shivering violently in the snow.

"Halt, fiend!" the lead knight shouted, raising his sword. Then he paused. He looked down at Elsie. "Wait. You aren't a fiend. Are you the damsel?"

"I am the lady of the house," Elsie snapped. "And you are letting the heat out."

"We're here to save you!" the knight proclaimed. "From the monster!"

Bram loomed up behind Elsie, shadow stretching over the snow. He opened his mouth to deliver a bone-chilling threat.

"He is not holding me hostage," Elsie interrupted, pointing a wooden spoon at the knight. "He is my husband. And we are in the middle of lunch."

The knight blinked. "Husband? But... he has horns."

"And you have a very rude habit of banging on doors," Elsie said. "Look at you. You’re tracking mud on the foyer. I just mopped."

"But... the glory..." the knight faltered.

"There is no glory here," Elsie said. "Only sourdough and a very grumpy beast who needs his nap. Go home to your mothers. Go!"

She waved the spoon threateningly.

The knights looked at the seven-foot beast. Then they looked at the five-foot woman with the spoon.

They decided the woman was scarier.

"Right. Sorry, ma'am. Wrong castle," the knight mumbled. They turned and fled into the snow.

Elsie slammed the door and threw the bolt.

She turned around. Bram was staring at her. His mouth was slightly open.

"You..." Bram started. "You chased them off."

"I don't have time for heroes," Elsie said, heading back to the kitchen. "The bread is rising."

Bram watched her go. For the first time in a century, the scowl fell from his face. He touched the spot over his heart, where a strange, warm rhythm was beating against his ribs.

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