More Than Words

The fire burned low, throwing flickering shadows against the trees. The night air was crisp, the scent of pine mingling with cooling embers and the faint smell of fresh-cut lumber stacked neatly by the porch, waiting for morning repairs. No tension hung between them now—just the quiet weight of men who had walked hard roads.

Clyde sat back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but lacking its usual edge. Tyler sat to his left, staring into the flames, silent but not restless. Ethan leaned forward, turning a stick over in his hands, the firelight catching the side of his face. Ted, as always, was steady, his presence grounding them all.

For a long time, none of them spoke.

Then Clyde cleared his throat, voice gruff but not biting. “So. This… covenant thing.”

Ethan glanced up.

Clyde’s gaze stayed on the fire. “It ain’t just some sentimental nonsense, is it?”

Ethan’s lips quirked. “No.”

Clyde nodded once, like that answer was good enough for now. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling slowly. “So explain it to me.”

Tyler looked over, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

Ethan turned the stick in his fingers, thoughtful. Then he spoke, steady and sure. “Covenant’s not just about loyalty. It’s about belonging. It’s saying, ‘I see you. I walk with you. I fight for you.’ It’s not built on obligation—it’s built on choice.”

Clyde was quiet, absorbing that.

Ethan looked into the fire, voice steady. “The world tells men like us that closeness always has to mean something else. That brotherhood can’t be deep without crossing lines. That we’re always missing something.” He shook his head. “But that’s a lie. The enemy wants us to believe it, because it keeps us from stepping into the love God actually designed for us.”

The fire crackled, sending sparks spiraling into the dark.

Clyde exhaled slowly. “You really believe that?”

Ethan met his gaze directly. “Yeah. I do.”

Clyde studied him, searching for something—maybe weakness, maybe hesitation. But there was none. Clyde’s jaw worked subtly, his eyes narrowing not in judgment but something closer to respect, a quiet acknowledgment of truth landing deeper than he’d expected.

Tyler shifted slightly. “And that’s enough?” His voice was low, uncertain, as though afraid the answer might actually matter.

Ethan’s brow furrowed slightly. “More than enough.” He hesitated, then added softly, “It’s better.”

Tyler looked away, his fingers flexing restlessly against his knee.

Clyde let out another slow breath, eyes drifting back to the fire, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t argue. Didn’t scoff. Just sat quietly, wrestling silently with something he’d spent years pushing away.

Ted, who’d been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “Funny thing about truth.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You don’t have to rush it. Just gotta let it do its work.”

The fire burned lower, glowing embers pulsing beneath the ash. One by one, the others started shifting—Ted stretched with a quiet grunt before heading toward the cabin, pausing to glance at the stack of lumber, making a silent note of tomorrow’s tasks. Ethan finished off his coffee before following, nodding toward Clyde and Tyler as he passed.

Clyde stayed put, kicking at a loose log with the toe of his boot.

Tyler grabbed a stick, prodding at the fire, sending sparks up into the night. Neither spoke for a long while.

Finally, Clyde grunted. “You gonna sit there, or you gonna help me put this thing out?”

Tyler huffed softly but stood, grabbing a bucket of water from beside the porch. He sloshed some over the coals, steam hissing up between them. Clyde nodded in quiet approval, kicking dirt over the rest.

They stood there in the fading glow, watching the last embers die.

Then Tyler muttered, “We’re not friends.”

Clyde let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Didn’t say we were.”

Silence stretched again. The wind stirred through the trees.

Clyde exhaled, voice quieter than before. “But maybe you’re not as lost as I thought.”

Tyler glanced over, studying him briefly, then smirked faintly. “Maybe you’re not as certain as you thought.”

Clyde snorted, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t argue.

They didn’t shake hands. Didn’t nod in silent truce.

But when they turned toward the cabin, they walked back at the same pace.

(Chapter from Beyond Ourselves in the Ethan and Ted series, contact me if you’d like to read the full story)