BORROWED SEASONS

The Girl With One Hundred Goats

By the time the sun began its slow descent behind the hills, Avery had counted her goats three times.

There were one hundred.

There had always been one hundred.

That did not mean they were particularly interested in remaining one hundred goats in one reasonably compact group.

“Mabel.”

The brown-and-white goat stopped chewing.

Avery stopped walking.

Mabel looked at her.

Avery looked at Mabel.

“You know perfectly well you aren’t supposed to be over there.”

Mabel chewed once. Twice. Then turned her head away with the profound dignity of someone who had never been accused of anything in her life.

Avery sighed.

“Fine. We can both pretend that conversation never happened.”

She crossed the uneven grass, caught Mabel by the collar beneath her chin, and guided her back toward the herd.

Mabel resisted for exactly three steps before deciding resistance was no longer worth the effort.

“Thank you.”

Mabel bleated.

“I don’t care what your opinion is.”

The goat bleated again.

Avery gave her a suspicious look.

“You’re getting bossier.”

Mabel continued chewing.

There were days Avery suspected the goat believed herself to be in charge. There were days Avery was certain of it.

The rest of the herd spread across the hillside in a loose, constantly shifting mass of wool, horns, ears and inconvenient decisions.

Pickle was halfway through squeezing beneath a fallen section of fence. Avery spotted him from twenty paces away.

“Oh, no.”

Pickle froze. He looked back.

Avery pointed at him.

“Don’t.”

Pickle blinked.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Pickle looked toward the gap. Then toward Avery. Then toward the gap again.

Avery started walking.

Pickle made his decision. He ducked.

“Pickle!”

The goat disappeared beneath the fence. Avery broke into a run. A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

“Of course.”

Pickle emerged on the other side and immediately began trotting toward a patch of greener grass as though escape had been his intention all along.

“You are going to be the death of me.”

She caught him before he reached the ditch. Pickle gave a triumphant little bleat.

“You didn’t accomplish anything.”

Another bleat.

“You were gone for six seconds.”

He stared at her.

“Seven, perhaps.”

She tucked him back into the herd.

“And don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

The goat looked pleased with himself anyway.

Avery straightened and pushed a loose strand of dark brown hair away from her face. The wind caught it immediately and put it back. She stopped bothering with it. Her hair had been fighting her since childhood. There was no reason to expect it to surrender now.

The afternoon had begun warm, but the air had changed sometime in the last hour. Avery felt it along the back of her neck.

Autumn was arriving.

Not properly yet. The trees below the ridge were still mostly green, and the grass had enough life in it to keep the herd satisfied. But there was a sharper edge to the wind now. The mornings had started colder. The evenings came earlier. Soon the hills would lose their summer softness and the roads would turn muddy beneath a steady succession of rain.

Avery looked toward the western sky. Clouds were gathering there.

Not a storm yet. Perhaps rain tomorrow. Perhaps tonight.

She narrowed her eyes. Weather rarely bothered to make promises it intended to keep. That was one of the things Avery liked about it.

You could complain about it. You could prepare for it. You could curse it when it ruined a perfectly good road. But you could never order it to behave.

She preferred things that couldn’t be ordered.

A loud bleat came from behind her. Avery turned. Daisy was pressing her nose against Avery’s hip.

“Oh.”

Daisy bleated again.

“Yes, I know.”

Another nudge.

“I’ve been gone for almost half a minute. Terrible abandonment.”

Daisy followed Avery wherever she could, which meant that Avery had long ago stopped pretending she had any privacy. She scratched the goat between the ears. Daisy leaned into her hand.

“There.”

Daisy seemed satisfied. Avery smiled. Then she looked over the herd again.

“Brutus?”

A massive gray goat lifted his head. There he was.

Brutus was large enough to make strangers nervous and gentle enough to let children climb onto his back. His horns were impressive. His personality was not. He wandered toward Avery with the solemn expression of an animal who had been personally summoned for an important meeting.

“Hello, you.”

Brutus lowered his head. Avery scratched his forehead. He closed his eyes.

“You’re useless.”

Brutus remained blissfully pleased. Avery glanced past him.

“Nettle?”

A smaller dark goat stood several yards away. Nettle was staring at the stranger.

Avery followed her gaze. There was no stranger. Only an empty stretch of road beyond the pasture.

“Nettle?”

The goat’s ears flicked. She continued staring. Avery frowned.

Nettle was suspicious by nature. She distrusted unfamiliar dogs, carts, children, rain barrels, chickens, new fences, unfamiliar smells and once, for reasons Avery had never discovered, a perfectly harmless cabbage.

Still, there was nothing there. Avery crouched and checked Nettle’s front hoof.

“Nothing.”

Nettle pulled her leg away.

“Hold still.”

Another tug.

“Nettle.”

The goat stared at her.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Nettle bleated.

“That wasn’t permission.”

Avery checked the other hoof anyway. Fine. No stone. No split. No swelling.

She rose. Her knees complained. She ignored them. There were worse things than tired legs. There had to be.

She had spent most of her life walking. Walking was simply what life looked like when you didn’t have a house.

Avery had no front door. No kitchen table. No bed that belonged to her for more than a few nights. No little patch of land she could point to and call hers.

She had roads. Fields. Villages that sometimes welcomed her and sometimes didn’t. She had a worn cloak, a sturdy shepherd’s coat, a knife at her belt, a cooking pot that had been repaired more times than it had any right to survive, and one hundred goats who considered personal boundaries an optional concept.

It was enough. It had to be.

Her parents had taught her shepherding before they died. Afterward, there had been no older sibling to take over. No aunt who could keep the herd. No uncle waiting somewhere with a spare room.

There had only been Avery. And the goats.

For a while, that had frightened her. Then it had simply become life.

She had learned which villages sold grain cheaply. Which streams stayed full late into summer. Which roads flooded after heavy rain. Which farmers would let her graze along the edges of their land in exchange for cheese, wool, labor or a promise to keep the herd away from their vegetable gardens.

She had learned which people lied because they wanted something and which people lied because they were afraid.

She had learned that most kindness was smaller than stories made it sound. A piece of bread. A dry corner by a fire. A warning about a washed-out bridge. A handful of salt. Someone watching the goats while she slept.

She had learned to give those things when she had them. Not because the world always gave them back. Because someone had to begin.

Avery glanced toward the western sky again. The light had turned gold. Time to move.

“Come on.”

The herd began to gather. Or, more accurately, most of it began to gather.

Avery whistled. Daisy came first. Brutus followed. Mabel wandered over as though she had decided the entire process had been her idea. Pickle arrived from an entirely unnecessary direction. Nettle came last.

Avery counted.

“Eighty-seven…” She moved her finger along the herd. “Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine…”

A goat stepped behind another. Avery shifted position.

“Ninety.”

She counted the next cluster.

“Ninety-one, ninety-two…”

A brown goat wandered away.

“Don’t.” It stopped. “Thank you.”

“Ninety-three…”

Avery counted faster now. She knew them all. Not merely by name. By gait. By bleat. By the particular shape of their ears. By how they reacted when startled. By which ones would follow and which ones needed convincing. By which ones ate first and which ones waited. By which ones would wander toward danger simply because danger happened to have interesting grass growing beside it.

“Ninety-nine.”

Avery stopped. She looked over the herd. One goat was missing. She closed her eyes.

“Of course.” She didn’t have to ask which one. “Clover?”

A small bleat came from behind a cluster of rocks. Avery smiled despite herself.

“There you are.”

Clover emerged carefully. She was smaller than most of the herd and had a white patch along one side of her face.

She had been born during a winter Avery remembered mostly as cold. Cold in the mornings. Cold at night. Cold inside the empty house after Avery’s parents were gone.

Clover had been tiny. Too tiny. Her mother had been weak, and Avery had spent nights wrapping the newborn goat in whatever cloth she could spare and holding her close to the fire. There had been a point when Avery had stopped expecting Clover to survive until morning.

Clover had survived anyway. Stubbornly. Almost offensively. Avery had respected that. She still did.

Clover walked toward her now and pressed her forehead against Avery’s knee. Avery rested a hand on her head.

“You always make me count twice.”

Clover blinked.

“Don’t look innocent.”

The goat looked innocent. Avery checked her quickly. Healthy. Warm. Good.

“Ninety-nine…” She looked around. “Wait.”

Clover was not the missing goat. Avery’s smile vanished. She counted again.

Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.

She let out a breath.

“Good.” She looked at the herd. “Exactly one hundred. Nobody move.”

Several goats immediately moved. Avery stared at them.

“I said nobody move.”

They continued moving.

“Fine.” She reached for her pack. “Do whatever you want.”

The herd, apparently pleased by this concession, continued doing whatever it wanted.

~ 🌿 ~

By the time they reached the road, the sun had dropped lower.

Avery walked at the front with her staff resting across one shoulder. Her boots were dusty. Her trousers had collected burrs. Her cloak had a small tear near the hem she had been meaning to mend for three weeks.

The goats followed in a loose line. Avery knew she needed a place to stop before darkness.

There was an inn two hours east, but she would never reach it with the herd before nightfall. There was a village farther south, but the last time she’d passed through, a farmer had made it very clear that one hundred goats were not welcome near his winter stores.

There was an abandoned stone shelter somewhere beyond the next rise. Avery had used it once. It had a roof. Three walls. A fireplace. That was enough.

She turned onto the narrower road.

“Come on.”

The herd followed. Mostly. Pickle stopped to inspect a bush.

“Pickle.” He looked at her. “Move.”

He moved. Avery smiled. Progress.

They hadn’t gone more than half a mile when she noticed the wagon. It stood crooked beside the road. One wheel had broken. The horse was gone. The driver’s bench was empty. A canvas cover hung torn from one side, fluttering gently in the evening wind.

Avery slowed. The goats slowed with her. She studied the wagon.

Nothing moved. No sound. No voices. She approached cautiously.

There was no blood. That was the first thing she noticed.

The second was the scattered contents of the wagon. A sack had split open. A few pieces of clothing lay in the dirt. A wooden box had been broken. A leather strap trailed beneath the wheel.

Robbery, perhaps. An accident. Either way, someone had left in a hurry.

Avery stepped closer. Then she heard a cough.

She froze. The herd went silent behind her. Avery’s hand moved instinctively toward the knife at her belt.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Another cough. This time it came from the other side of the wagon.

Avery took one step around the broken wheel. And saw him.

A man sat against the rear of the wagon with one knee drawn up. He looked as though the road had personally attacked him and won.

His coat was dirty. His boots were coated in mud. One sleeve was torn. There was a bruise along his cheekbone and another near his temple.

His hair was white. Not gray. White. It fell in long, tangled strands past his shoulders, catching the last light of the day in a way that made it look almost silver.

Avery stared. The man lifted his head. His eyes met hers.

Silver-gray. Striking. Too clear.

For one brief second, Avery had the oddest feeling that she was looking at someone who was not quite what he appeared to be. Then he blinked.

He looked exhausted. And hungry. And utterly miserable.

Avery’s hand moved away from her knife.

“Are you alive?”

The man considered the question.

“I believe so.”

Avery raised an eyebrow.

“That’s encouraging.”

He looked down at himself.

“I’m not entirely certain.”

She studied him. He wasn’t much older than her. Perhaps around thirty. Tall, even sitting down. Lean rather than bulky. His face was angular, with a defined jaw and high cheekbones, but there was something unexpectedly soft about his mouth.

His eyes were the most noticeable thing. That and the hair. Mostly the hair.

Avery looked at it again.

“You know you’re going to be noticed with that.”

The man glanced toward his own shoulder.

“My hair?”

“Yes.”

He touched it as though he’d forgotten it was there.

“I was told it was fashionable.”

“By whom?”

He paused.

“Someone unreliable.”

Avery almost smiled. Almost. Instead, she glanced toward the road.

“Were you robbed?”

“Yes.”

“How many people?”

“I don’t know.”

Avery looked back at him.

“You don’t know how many people robbed you?”

“I was unconscious for part of it.”

“That would explain the bruises.”

“Yes.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where are your belongings?”

He gestured weakly toward the wreckage.

“Somewhere around here.”

Avery surveyed the scattered items.

“Doesn’t look like much.”

“I didn’t have much.”

She crouched beside him.

“Can you stand?”

The man looked at her.

“I haven’t attempted it.”

Avery stared. He stared back.

“You haven’t attempted standing?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I thought it might be difficult.”

Avery’s mouth twitched.

“You’ve been sitting there waiting for the problem to solve itself?”

“I was considering my options.”

“Which were?”

“Continue sitting.”

That did it. Avery laughed. Just once.

The man looked startled. It was such an open reaction that she found herself studying him again. He wasn’t pretending to be helpless well. Or perhaps he was.

Either way, he was strange. Very strange.

Behind Avery came a deep, indignant bleat. She turned. Nettle had moved closer.

The goat stared at the stranger. The stranger stared back. Nettle lowered her head.

Avery sighed.

“Nettle.”

The goat did not move. The man looked at Avery.

“Is she dangerous?”

“Usually.”

Nettle took another step. The man’s posture changed. Only slightly. His shoulders tightened. His eyes clicked toward the goat. Avery noticed.

“You’re afraid of goats?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly. Avery looked at him. He looked back.

Nettle took another step. The man’s gaze remained fixed on her.

“You’re afraid of that goat.”

“I am not afraid.”

“Nettle bites.”

The man’s face went still.

“I see.”

Avery stood.

“Usually only when she dislikes someone.”

Nettle bleated. The man glanced at her.

“She dislikes me.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve known her for less than a minute.”

“She makes decisions quickly.”

Nettle took another step. The man shifted backward. His shoulder struck the wagon.

Avery folded her arms.

“You’re doing very well.”

“I am injured.”

“You weren’t injured five seconds ago.”

“I’ve become worse.”

Avery laughed again. This time she couldn’t help it. The man looked mildly offended. That made her laugh harder.

The sound surprised her. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d laughed at a stranger.

Nettle seemed pleased with herself. Brutus wandered forward. The large gray goat stopped beside Avery.

The man looked at Brutus. His expression changed. Avery recognized relief.

“You’re kidding.”

The man said nothing.

“You’re afraid of Nettle but not Brutus?”

Brutus lowered his head. The man looked at the enormous horns.

“I find him reassuring.”

Avery stared.

“Brutus once walked into a stream because he thought his reflection was another goat.”

Brutus bleated.

“Don’t defend yourself.”

The man slowly moved closer to Brutus. Avery watched him. He stopped behind the large goat.

“Are you hiding behind him?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I am assessing the situation from a safer position.”

“That’s hiding.”

“I disagree.”

Avery shook her head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

The man looked at her. Something softened in his expression.

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

Avery crouched beside the scattered belongings. There wasn’t much. A small pack. A water flask. A folded shirt. A piece of cloth. A broken compass. No food.

She looked toward him.

“You really were robbed.”

“Yes.”

“You have no food?”

dishonesty.

“No.”

“Water?”

“Some.”

She held out her hand. He passed her the flask. She shook it. Barely anything.

Avery frowned.

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Since today?”

“Yes.”

She studied his face. He looked exhausted enough that she believed him. She pulled a small piece of bread from her pack.

The man looked at it. His eyes widened. Avery noticed.

He was hungry. Very hungry.

She broke the bread in half and held one piece out. He accepted it carefully.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He took a bite. Stopped. Looked at the bread. Then took another bite. Avery watched.

“You’ve never eaten bread before?”

His eyes lifted.

“Of course I have.”

“You looked surprised.”

“I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“That explains it.”

He ate quickly after that. Not greedily. But with the unmistakable focus of someone who had spent too long without food.

Avery looked away. She had seen hunger before. It was not something she enjoyed watching.

She turned toward the herd. Daisy was chewing on something she shouldn’t have been chewing.

“Daisy.”

Daisy froze. Avery walked over and removed a strip of cloth from her mouth.

“You’re going to eat someone’s saddle one day.”

Daisy looked offended.

“Don’t.”

The goat nudged her. Avery scratched her ear.

“You’re forgiven.”

Behind her, the stranger finished the bread.

“Thank you.”

She turned. He was watching her.

“What?”

“You gave me half.”

Avery shrugged.

“You were hungry.”

“You’re traveling with one hundred goats.”

“Yes.”

“That seems like a difficult number.”

“It is.”

“You could have eaten it yourself.”

“I have more.”

It wasn’t entirely true. But she had enough. For tonight. Probably.

The stranger looked at her for a moment longer. Avery became aware that his eyes were unusual again. Not merely the color. The way he looked at things. As if he was paying attention to something everyone else missed.

She didn’t like being studied.

“What’s your name?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. Then he smiled.

“Lucian.”

Avery nodded.

“Avery.”

“Avery.” He said her name carefully. She couldn’t explain why, but the sound of it in his voice felt oddly deliberate.

She dismissed the thought.

“You need help getting to the village?”

“No.” The answer was immediate. Avery raised an eyebrow. Then he glanced down at himself. “Yes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I would appreciate assistance.”

“Can you walk?”

“I believe so.”

“Try.”

Lucian placed his hands against the wagon and pushed himself upright. For one second, he looked perfectly steady. Then his knee buckled.

Avery caught his arm. He caught her shoulder. They steadied each other.

His hand was cold. Not freezing. Just colder than it should have been. Avery noticed. Lucian noticed her noticing. Neither said anything.

He straightened.

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly.”

“I can walk.”

“Probably.”

“I can.”

“Then walk.”

He took a step. Then another. His balance was slightly uncertain, but not terrible. Avery watched him carefully.

Something about the whole thing didn’t fit. His clothes were worn. His face was bruised. His story was plausible. But there were details.

His hands. Too clean. No calluses. No deep marks from hauling luggage or working with horses.

His posture. Even exhausted, there was something graceful about the way he stood.

And his eyes. She had met travelers from half a dozen regions. She had seen strange hair, strange clothes, strange accents and stranger habits. She had never seen eyes quite like his.

“You said you were traveling alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you going?”

Lucian looked toward the road.

“I haven’t decided.”

Avery stared.

“You were traveling without knowing where you were going?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked at her.

“Curiosity.”

That answer was so sincere that she didn’t know what to do with it. She looked away.

“Right.”

Behind them, Mabel bleated. Lucian glanced at her.

“Is she always like that?”

“Yes.”

Mabel bleated again. Lucian nodded gravely.

“I understand.”

Avery looked between them.

“You understand what?”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

Avery went still. Mabel was simply staring at him.

“You’ve known her for less than ten minutes.”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Lucian looked at the goat. Then back at Avery.

“She has a particular expression.”

Avery glanced at Mabel. Then at Lucian.

“You’re observant.”

“I try to be.”

There was something strange in the way he said it. Not boastful. Not proud. Almost thoughtful. Avery filed it away.

She did that with people. She collected small things. The way someone held a cup. Whether they looked at the door when they lied. Whether they stood too close. Whether they watched your hands. Whether their smile reached their eyes.

Lucian was difficult to read. Not because he was hiding fear. He was. Not because he was hiding hunger. He wasn’t. But because his reactions didn’t seem to belong together.

He looked helpless. Yet he watched everything. He seemed inexperienced. Yet he spoke with an odd certainty. He was clearly uncomfortable around Nettle. Yet there was something about him that made Avery feel as though he had never been uncomfortable anywhere in his life.

It was an irritating contradiction. Avery liked contradictions. They usually meant there was something worth discovering.

She looked toward the hills. Darkness was approaching. The abandoned shelter was still ahead.

She looked at Lucian. Then at the herd. Then back at Lucian.

“No.”

Lucian blinked.

“I haven’t asked anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was.”

“No.”

He looked almost disappointed. Avery pointed down the road.

“There is an abandoned shelter ahead. You can stay there.”

His expression changed.

“You’re going there?”

“Yes.”

“With the goats?”

“Obviously.”

He glanced at the herd. One hundred goats stared back at him. Mabel looked unimpressed. Pickle was attempting to climb over a rock. Daisy had positioned herself beside Avery. Brutus stood nearby. Nettle was still watching Lucian like she was waiting for a reason. Clover was quietly grazing at the edge of the road.

Lucian looked back at Avery.

“You travel with all of them?”

“Yes.”

“All one hundred?”

“Yes.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yes.”

He seemed genuinely fascinated. Avery frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t. She could tell.

“You can come as far as the shelter,” Avery said. “You can have the fire if you gather the wood.”

Lucian looked relieved.

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

He nodded. Then walked toward the nearest fallen branch. Avery watched him pick it up. He held it incorrectly. Not dangerously. Just strangely. Like a person who had seen someone carry firewood but never actually done it.

Avery closed her eyes.

“Give me that.”

He handed it over. She took it.

“You’ve never gathered wood.”

“I have.”

“When?”

“A long time ago.”

“How long?”

He hesitated.

“Some time.”

Avery stared at him.

“You’re very bad at lying.”

Lucian’s expression became oddly serious.

“I wasn’t lying.”

That answer stopped her. She looked at him. He looked back. For a heartbeat, neither moved.

Then Pickle bleated loudly. The moment broke. Avery sighed.

“Come on.”

Lucian followed. The herd began moving again.

Avery walked at the front. Lucian stayed several steps behind her. Nettle kept watch.

The sky darkened by degrees. A few leaves skittered across the road. The first cool drop of rain landed on Avery’s cheek. She looked up.

“Perfect.”

Lucian looked at the sky. Another drop struck his face. He blinked. A third landed on his hand. He stared at it. Avery noticed.

“What?”

Lucian looked at the rainwater on his palm. Then at the clouds. Then back at Avery.

“It’s cold.”

She stared at him.

“Yes.”

Another drop landed on his nose. He frowned.

Avery laughed.

“Welcome to autumn.”

Lucian looked up again. For the first time since she’d found him beside the broken wagon, his face lost every trace of helplessness. He simply looked amazed.

Avery couldn’t explain why. It was only rain. She had seen rain thousands of times. But Lucian watched the sky as though it had done something extraordinary.

Avery turned away before he could catch her looking.

“Keep walking.”

He did. The rain began falling harder. The goats complained immediately. Avery pulled her cloak tighter.

“Come on, everyone.”

Mabel bleated.

“I know.”

Pickle ran in the wrong direction.

“Pickle!” He turned around.

Nettle shoved past Lucian. Lucian stepped aside so quickly that he nearly slipped. Avery caught his sleeve.

“Careful.”

He looked at her hand. Then at her. Avery released him.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know.”

She gave him a sideways glance. He smiled. It was a small smile. Tired. A little crooked. And, despite everything, strangely warm.

Avery faced the road again.

She didn’t know who Lucian was. She didn’t know where he’d come from. She didn’t know why a traveler with no belongings had silver eyes, white hair, perfectly smooth hands and the expression of someone seeing rain for the first time.

She only knew three things.

He was hungry. He was hurt. And leaving him beside a broken wagon in the dark didn’t sit right with her.

That was enough. For tonight.

The road stretched ahead beneath the gathering rain. One hundred goats moved along it. Avery walked beside them. And behind her, the strange man called Lucian followed.

Neither of them knew it yet, but the road had already changed.

Welcome to the journey of Avery and Lucian! 🌸

Thank you so much for opening Chapter One of Borrowed Seasons. This story is a deeply personal labor of love, built on slow-burn connections, unique high-stakes fantasy world-building, and... well, one hundred very unruly goats who refuse to make anyone’s life simple.

I am committed to providing a clean, sweet, and plot-focused reading experience with zero explicit spice, focusing entirely on the emotional magic between our characters.

📌 I will be updating with a brand-new chapter every single Tuesday and Friday!

To help me out with the app’s algorithm, please consider adding this story to your Reading List, and leave a comment below letting me know: What are your first impressions of Lucian? Do you think Avery should have left him behind on the road?

I read every single comment and can’t wait to chat with you in the next update!