Joyous Hunting

Morning light slants through the barn slats, laying gold bars across the hay and the stacked crates. Hunter and Joy sit close together with a simple meal, and for once the barn only sounds like settling wood, a soft chew, and distant birds outside.

Joy says it with serious certainty, then grins around a bite. Nora stands a few steps away near the worktable, pausing her sorting to listen with a small, tired smile.

Nora laughs under her breath and leans one shoulder against the table, looking more settled here than she did yesterday. She folds a cloth around a jar lid, then glances toward the lane and back again, as if measuring how far the world can stay outside.

Joy perks up at once, already picturing chalk and board space. The three of them sit in a quiet pocket of sunlight, with fresh hay behind them and the sale still only a plan.

Hunter rises with Joy and crosses to the wall, where the largest board leans half-hidden behind folded tack and a spare rake. He tests the grain with a thumb, then lifts it free in one clean motion.

Joy steps in close, both hands already out, and Hunter lets her steady one edge while he turns the board toward the light. The old chalk marks on the back show where it has been used before, neat and practical.

Nora straightens from the worktable, interest sharpening as she sees the size of it. She reaches for the chalkboard prop leaning near the wall and nods once, satisfied.

Hunter carries the board back to the table, and the front edge of it knocks aside a loose strip of nailed wood. It drops to the dirt with a soft crack, revealing a brighter patch of daylight through the barn slats behind it.

Outside, a distant engine coughs once from the lane and rolls away. Joy pauses, board in hand, and looks toward the sound while Nora follows the noise with a quick, wary glance.

Hunter shifts the board in both hands and angles it toward the barn opening. The bright face catches the aisle light, and he lowers it onto the sawhorses with a solid thump.

Joy leans back to check the view, then grins when the board sits square in the gap between the door and the stacked crates. One corner of the chalkboard skids and taps the worktable.

Hunter adjusts the angle once more, and the grain rasp takes a thin slice out of his palm. A faint smear of blood dots the board edge, and he wipes it on his already ink-stained cuff without breaking pace.

From outside, the distant engine sound returns, longer this time, lingering at the lane before fading again. Nora glances toward the door, her relief tightening into caution.