A small huff of a laugh slipped past her lips. “Oh, so I’m a faerie now?” she said lightly. The fire cracked pleasantly, and the smell of roasting hare reached her as she walked into the clearing. Her damp chemise clung in the wrong places, and maybe all the right ones too. Her hair slithered like dark ribbons down her back. Still dripping from the stream and smelling of river water.

She found her dress lying in a pile on the grass. The green wool looked darker in the moonlight, almost grey, but it was dry and warm when she slipped it on. Tonight, everything felt a little slower. Like the night was trying to stretch itself out, just a little longer. She smoothed the fabric down over her hips and stepped barefoot to the fire.

Venla lowered herself beside Willard with a soft exhale and folded her legs beneath her. “That smells lovely.” she smiled softly “Thank you for starting supper. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.” Sharing food at the end of a long day was a small ceremony. No need for grand words or fine wine, just the honest warmth of company and the comfort of breaking bread together. It was a humble feast, but in it was the taste of care.

The fire crackled softly, sending flickers of embers up into the air. She reached out and rested her hand on his arm. "I’ve already started to miss you." fingers resting lightly against his skin. "Even with you right here." That feeling crept in, soft, not sharp. Like the way autumn air hints at winter long before the first frost. Their looming goodbye settled in the edges of the silence between them. Not heavy… just present. Inevitable.
 
'Oh, don't go thanking me just yet,' the dawnling grinned, shifting slightly as the redhead sat down beside him, seeking comfort where she could. 'Like as not you'll be crying out for your ma's cooking, once you get a taste of mine.' Firelight reflected from eyes focused on the task at hand. Windows to the soul, they flickered at Venla's touch. Willard hummed in agreement as he added butter to the pan. 'I know the feeling,' he responded, just as tenderly, tears in his eyes.

From the smoke and onions. The lump in his throat was entirely unrelated.

'We've a whole night ahead of us,' he promised, returning his dagger to its sheathe with practised ease. 'Time yet to enjoy ourselves.' Glancing at Venla, he smiled knowingly, before settling down on his elbows to watch as the fire worked its magic. Sizzle sizzle. Silence.

'You do realise our threads are entwined now?' Willard spoke softly, almost wistfully, as if bearing witness to a future yet to unfold. 'I don't know about you, but I'd like to see where this road takes us, be it one way or t'other,' he shrugged then, a flush of embarrassment creeping its way up his neck to colour his face red. Still, he had courage enough to meet Venla's gaze.

'If'n your of the same mind, of course?'
 
"I did spot some wild rosemary and thyme by the creek..." Her eyes flicked back to the fire where the hare sizzled and popped.

Venla smiled as he spoke, but her heart tugged sideways with every word. Entwined threads and futures not yet written. She wanted to believe in that, she did believe in that ... but reality was quick to rise in protest. But how would it even work? she wondered. He belongs to something larger than both of us, something with oaths and land to protect. And I…

Her gaze drifted past the fire, past the line of dark trees. To where she knew the city of Drachenberg awaited. The thought of him leaving and her staying… it did not sit right. Two roads, running in opposite directions. Before she could gather the tangle of emotions into something rational, the words slipped out. Leapt out like sparks, bright and reckless.

“Then take me with you.”

She blinked, surprised at her own words, and her heart jumped up into her throat. Her pulse thundering, already feeling the weight of what she’d said. Fool. You don’t know where he’s going. You don’t even know what he is, not really. You barely understand what you are anymore.
 
'Then take me with you.'

A blink. A pause. 'I'm sorry?' Sitting up straight, Willard looked to Venla, confusion and surprise warring upon his face. His heart beat a battle-rhythm in his chest. Had he heard her right? Surely, she did not mean what she had said. Unless. Following her gaze, Willard's expression drew tight, as if struck by guilt.

Drachenberg was little more than a smattering of lights in the distance. The tower and the castle were its two defining features, but even they appeared cold in the half-light of dusk. More like prisons than homes.

'Venla, I-' Willard paused again. His thoughts raced. Was that really what she wanted? To go back with him to Astenvale? To the Order. His family. I suppose it's only fair, he mused, the slightest of smiles gracing his lips. The pan sizzled and spoke as he pondered Venla's words. His belly was starting to have thoughts of its own, but he put his hunger aside for a moment. To say he had not considered the idea already would have been a lie. A big one at that.

Breathing in through his nose, the knight exhaled deeply, smile renewed.

'Okay then.' Looking to Venla, he nodded, pulled her close. 'I'll take you with me. To meet the family,' he grinned. 'It's only right. Hel. It might even be what's best.' Of all the people he could count on for help, the brethren were the most reliable. Dawn and Dusk. Sworn and Pursuant and Master. Centuries of knowledge and experience. And Willard knew for a fact that they would never turn away someone in need. Especially one who arrived in the company of a fellow knight.

'I didn't much go on this place anyhow,' he laughed softly, planting a kiss atop Venla's head before letting go to tend the fire. 'I could've saved us both some time and whisked you away at sword-point. Instead, I did the foolish thing and considered our options.' Willard sighed dramatically, hoping to rekindle some of the joy he had witnessed in her not too long ago.

'Oh well. Astenvale it is!'
 
Venla arched a brow at his surprise, her lips quirking with something between amusement and disbelief. Was he truly going to sit there and pretend he hadn’t just been waxing poetic about threads and fates? About roads and seeing where they led? It was easy to say such things, here beneath the stars, where their eyes held only the one and other. Easy to speak sweet nothings when there was a shadow of parting on the horizon. She had heard words like that before. Lovely words spun in candlelight, whispered before dawn.

I’ll come back.

Wait for me.

Venla knew better. She wasn’t a girl anymore, believing that love alone could hold someone close. She did not hang lace and hope on a man’s farewell. She had waited before for footsteps that never returned. Sat by the window and watched the roads. She had waited. Once. Twice. More times than she cared to name, for men who left with full hearts. Men promise things. Then they vanish. They die. Or worse, they forget. Maybe that was what he had wanted from her? To wait in a quiet, dusty library, smiling through seasons, waiting patiently behind stone and spellbook for his next return.

She was tired of being left behind.

"I mean it." she attests.

She leaned into him as he pulled her close, forehead resting lightly against his shoulder. The way he talked, it sounded like he was thinking he was doing her one big favour. That did not feel at all like threads intertwined or I'd like to see where this road takes us.

“I’ll fetch the herbs.” she added quickly and pushing herself up. Butter and onions in all glory, but the hare needed more flavour. Venla reemerged from the creek’s shadows, herbs in hand and a sly grin tugging at her lips.

“It would’ve been far more exciting,” she admitted. “But then I might never have had the chance to show off my excellent herb-gathering skills,” she teased, holding up the sprigs like a trophy. "Since you are a such noble man, I suppose I should thank you for sparing me the kidnapping.” She smirked and handed him the herbs.
 
'I believe you've thanked me enough already,' the young knight winked, taking the herbs from Venla. 'Though, I shan't complain if you wish to thank me again. Or again.' Smirking, he shook his head. For a second there, he thought he had seen something akin to annoyance cross Venla's face, as if she had cause to doubt his sincerity. Or his ability.

He couldn't fault her if she did. Not really. Promises, those made in the heat of the moment, rarely lasted. Life sought to that, one way or another. And when it didn't, fickle hearts were to blame.

Is that what she sees in me? Willard wondered as he prepped the herbs, a little bit of finesse speeding the process along. Rosemary and thyme. A fine addition to any roadside meal. 'A good find,' he agreed with Venla, cutting the canker from his thoughts before it could take root, and in so doing poison whatever this was. A fledgling romance, or else just an infatuation. Too early in the game to call it love, Willard mused, though, a small part of him wondered what it might feel like to share such a deep bond with someone.

Willard tried not to look at Venla as he added the leaves to the pan. His mind was already aflutter with fantasies and what ifs. What might still be, should he play his cards right.

'You do know I can feel you staring,' he said, smiling to himself, the earthy scents of sizzling meat telling him the meal was nigh done. 'Copper for your thoughts?'
 
She let out a soft laugh. “Alright, you caught me. I was staring,” she admitted, cheeks warming. Her fingers toyed with a loose thread on her sleeve. “Truth is, I’ve grown quite fond of you. I like you. Truly." He had a place in her heart now, whether he meant to take it or not. Maybe it was foolish to say it now. But it was true all the same.

They shared the meal without hurry after that. The meat, crisped with herbs, was simple but good, better than she had expected. A warmth that spread from the mouth down to the belly. Hunger was truly the best spice. Between bites, they shared a flask, apple wine that her brother had stuffed into her bag when he thought she wasn't watching.

Silence stretched peaceful and unhurried. When the last of the meal was gone and the fire burned low, she shifted closer, her voice gentle but eager. “Tell me about Astenvale. What's it like?"

His stories of Astenvale carried them into the night. Gentle things, half-spoken between the soft hush of the fire. She didn’t speak much. Only watched the way his mouth moved as he talked, soft and earnest, like a man remembering home after a long absence. At some point, her head found his shoulder. Her breath slowed. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, only to rest her eyes for a moment. But the warmth of the fire, the sound of his voice, and the slow, full peace of supper shared lulled her down like a lullaby.
 
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