He bobbed his head at the response, understanding. Many never do have a reason to leave, nor the desire to. Lives can be just fine in them little villages, where the home and the heart is.

But why was he asking? He shrugged at her counter, put on some innocence into his expression.

“ Curiousity. “ He begun, and felt himself genuine enough for it. Being one who much enjoyed knowing things. " I find it is easier to tend to people, or just talk, if we’ve better knowledge of each other. Guessing all these things is rather dull in comparison. “

And perhaps they were in agreement, as for what had been her prior employment. It sure felt like they were, as she kept on asking questions. Giving him a taste of how exactly that prying felt, when returned. Still, he smiled.

“ Must be six years ago now. Got into trouble. “ Both true, but he knew it a bullshit answer. A nothing, but sometimes that was all that time would provide. The red door at the end of the arching path was wobbling closer with every step. A pane of brilliant morning light splitting it in half.

“ So I chose. Or was saved, more like. “ It had become that, later. In more ways than one.

“ Now, I don’t think there are many other places where I’d rather be. “ Proper banality, that. But he smiled a little wider for it, slowing down as the archway with their destination begun looming over them.

“ This has not been a sales pitch. “ In a more serious tone he eyed the door, then her again. “ But I do hope you find your stay with us pleasant enough. However long it be. “

And whatever the purpose of it is. He’d not go so far as to ask her about it. Yet.

“ Have you friends or family to write to? We can arrange you the means, if you’d like. “
 
Willard grinned, all teeth and whiskers. 'Y'know, you didn't have to agree with me,' he said, taking back his burden with a grateful nod. His face no longer stung, but it hurt to be reminded of his mistakes, particularly by the Half-ear. A gripped shoulder, a patted cheek. Hair ruffled like they were siblings and not Sworn-brothers. Same difference.

'Alright! Away with you now,' he laughed, swatting Hector's hand away. 'See you at the baths, Heck!'

Tawny eyes watched the knight until he disappeared 'round the corner. Then, it was merely a matter of finding his key, stashed at the bottom of a saddle bag with the rest of his effects. Mementos of a family he had never really known.

Slipping the iron key into the lock, the dawnling gave the door a quick rap with his knuckles before stepping through, gaze sweeping the room yonder for ambushers. Or else more brothers lying in wait. He was almost relieved when he found the place empty. No-one about to hear him sigh as he flopped face first onto his bed, eyes closed, limbs weary from the road.

Fuck, but is it good to be home!
 
Venla walked quietly for a few steps, letting his words settle like dust on an old path. Six years. Trouble. A choice, or something like it. She didn’t press. Everyone had their own stories. Tavern life taught her that well enough. Folk told you what they wanted, when they were ready. No sooner. “Saved or not, a fresh start is a rare gift. I hope it’s treated you well”

She glanced up at him, a lighter smile this time “Not much of a sales pitch, no.” She smiled, honest and gentle. Just a warm, plain sort of teasing. The sort you’d offer a neighbour over a shared fence. “Letters…” she repeated softly, glancing sideways at him. “That’s kind of you, Syr Aarno. I’ll keep that in mind." But she wouldn’t. Not really. There wasn’t anyone she needed to write to, not now. And there was… best not to remind them she’d left. Paths aren’t always laid out clear, are they? And turning back isn’t always something the path lets you do.

Her green eyes watched the road ahead, watched the light shift across the path, and her thoughts drifted. To the steady sway of the tall grass, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, the birdcalls. The calmness of it whispered. You won't be here long. It reminded her. Best not let your heart settle. The ache took root somewhere behind her ribs, and she looked away from the green, to the door ahead.

Venla came to a stop before the red door, sunlight filtering through the leaves and dappling the worn stone beneath her feet. She turned toward Aarno. Her fingers brushed the door’s handle. "Syr? Is there anything I ought to know about this place? Anything that might keep me… out of trouble?”
 
It’d all seemed perfectly settled, then, with that promise that she would keep another offer in mind. He hadn’t any more to give for the moment, so he’d figured once they reached the baths they’d part with mere little farewells. It was a tiny silence, there at the door.

He’d already begun turning on heel, mouth ajar as he inhaled for the last niceties, but she beat him to speaking. Ah, naturally — He smiled and hummed, as if in thought.

“ The usual — Respect locked doors and your fellows, their duties and errands. Stay on the walkways and watch your step. “ Glanced down the paved path that arched away. “ There are small things that roam these grounds alongside the rest of us. The occasional tripping hazard. “

Loose stones, bricks and the wild roots of old trees. Dogs, cats, weirder critters yet. Household spirits, if one pays sly attention.

“ Oh, and— “ His tone hiked up with remembrance, face brighter.

“ Do keep an ear out for the bells. They mark the schedule as well as possible danger around here, as any monastery. “ Or a ship, I suppose. “ Someone else will probably fill you in, but it is quite straightforward. “ For guests anyway. Dinnertimes and the like?

“ Perhaps Syr Willard will, as you are already acquainted. “ A tilt of the head as he gave her a once more over, from the couple steps of distance. A bit of a promise.

That lad better seek you out to explain and apologize for what happened at the gates, or I’ll kick his arse.

“ With this I’ll have to leave you. Before I— “ Get slapped? The joke seemed a little too soon let alone contradictory to his earlier statement, so he resulted to just tossing his head as a proper princess, straightening up.

“ Get cozy, faffing around. Smelling the gardens. “ With that he struck one leg forth and gave an overly formal courtier’s bow to her. Spoke his farewells.

“ Please enjoy the baths and the rest of your day, Miss Venla. And don’t worry overmuch. “

If at all possible.
 
Venla had listened carefully, head tilting in that quiet, thoughtful way of hers, as Syr Aarno listed the small rules of the place. Stay on the paths. Mind locked doors. Watch out for loose stones and wandering things. Expect the last part, felt familiar enough. The bells. A simple thing, but she supposed she’d be listening for them now...

When Aarno offered his bow, formal but playful, Venla returned it with a small dip of her head. “Thank you, Syr Aarno. For showing me about. And for being…kind company,” she said, and meant it. Her smile then was small and tired but honest. And with that, she let him go.

"And don’t worry overmuch.“

“I’ll try, Syr."
It sounded light enough. Polite... and with that, she let him go. But her fingers curled absently around the bundle of clothing. Don’t worry overmuch. Easy for him to say. He hadn’t woken to strange whispers. He hadn’t watched roots twist wrong under his feet, hadn’t seen bark bleed when she touched it. Aarno hadn’t made a tower out of a creature without meaning to. He didn’t know what it was to be afraid of yourself. She felt a storm pretending at calm. And every step she took on these quiet paths felt like a lie she couldn’t sustain.

She slipped through the door. Venla didn’t linger in the baths. She didn’t soak. A quick washing, practical. Scrubbing road dust from skin and hair, working through the knots in her braid with careful fingers. When she stepped back out onto the monastery paths, her hair hung damp and braided down her back. Her cotehardie and the fresh linen underdress felt stiff against her skin, not yet softened by wear. The laces up the front of the woad blue dress were tied neatly, but she’d rolled her sleeves up past her elbows without much thought.

Her bare fingertips trailed hedgerows as she wandered, brushing the leaves, unsure whether she was meant to touch anything at all. Her feet wandered where her thoughts did not. She stepped through an arch that no longer led to anything, and told herself she wasn’t trespassing. The ginger wandered where the paths thinned and stones outnumbered footsteps. Along the outer edges of the monastery grounds, she found old walls, crumbling and moss-clad, where timothy and yarrow grew wild and the ivy climbed high. Sometimes she stopped to listen if she heard any bells.

Venla’s wandering steps led her past the stables, where the world smelled of hay and leather, warm manure and animal. The kind of place that felt honest, somehow. She slowed, drawn by the soft scuffle of paws. A grey tom with one torn ear, blinked up at her from a patch of straw. He didn’t move, just flicked his tail and gave a soft mewl of greeting. She crouched down to scratch behind his good ear. He leaned into her touch, purring like distant thunder. Thetomcat watched her go without so much as lifting his head from the straw.

A few steps on, a great chestnut horse leaned his massive head out over the stall door, ears pricked forward. Venla plucked a handful of stubborn dandelions from between the stable stones and approached slow, palm out. The horse chuffed and took them with gentle lips, warm breath curling over her fingers. The chestnut’s curious eyes followed her for a few steps as she left the stable behind, brushing dandelion dust from her fingertips.

She caught the sound of voices ahead, low and steady, like the hum of a river far off. The Great Hall, she guessed, though no one had shown her there yet. She hesitated, but then let her feet carry her forward.
 
Eyes like three moons, chatoyant and cold in their brightness peered out from within a stone's shadow.

Watching. Watching. She was always watching.

What. Who. Where. All as different as the ripples come crossed across a pond. Undulations varied.

"You are like me," the three eyed girl said to the copper haired woman. "Different," her own voice like those gossamer wings that so fanned to quickened stillness over all the mirror and bend. Caught the wind. Covered distance. Still easy to miss.
 
Two starlit eyes traced behind the moon-child. Selene of Dusk, a tall figure dressed in navy robes, was not far behind the strange girl. She did not have her walking staff with her, and she ambled down the stone path, slower for the stiffness in her step.

"We must work on our greetings, dear." A hand placed on the girl's shoulder, and slight glance downwards. "Next time, try walking down the middle of the path, and starting with a goodday, to announce your presence." Selene's voice was too placid to be anything other than earnest, no mockery or impatience in her cadence.

Tucked under one of Selene's arms were rolls of parchment, a leatherbound book, and some long-feathered quills. The parchment looked like it was getting wrinkled by her grip.
 
Walking the sun-dappled path that wound between weathered arches and stone walls. The stepping stones beneath her feet were warm from the morning light, and behind her, the low nicker of a horse still echoed softly from the stables.

She was halfway past a stumble on an ivy-choked stone when the voice came. Not from behind or ahead, but within the wall. Almost. A breath of silk and moonlight, barely heard, and yet it shivered across her skin like a draft through a door. Venla turned, gaze catching on a pale figure half-shadowed in the ruins. A girl, pale like moonlight in a still pond. Venla came to a slow stop, linen skirts brushing against her calves.

“Am I?” she wondered. She gave the moon-eyed girl a gentle nod, then Venla turned slightly as Selene drew near, instinctively, the ginger made room on the path. There was something about the tall woman’s presence that reminded her of twilight, still and deep. She looked up and met the woman's gaze, and there they were: star-filled. Tiny galaxies, soft and ancient, glittered in the dark pools of Selene’s gaze.

“Well now,” she said, glancing between the girl and the tall, star-eyed woman at her shoulder, “No need to fret on my account, Syr. She didn’t give me a fright at all.” Smiling gently at the girl. Venla straightened up, smoothing the folds of her cotehardie with careful hands. “I’m called Venla. And what might your names be?” She asked with soft cheer and tucked a stray damp strand of red hair behind her ear.
 
Those eyes of three hid not what they did see.

Full on the stranger. A gentle nod in turn. Shift, like a mirror of the woman, and found the darksome one come up the path.

Captain. "Selene," she greeted her. "Good day," she tried with a bow of the head. Eyes never blinked. Pupils too still, shift back to the woman.

Kind. Warm. Like some part of her she had never had. Just a memory, there at the bottom of a lake she could not know existed. "Venla," she tested the name, still there in the shade. Tongue sharp with the sounds it pushed out. Cold whispers. "Might be, my name is Mina," her own long fingers trailed up to the curls of stark white. Too short to tuck back, but she tried all the same.
 
What a charming young woman, Selene thought as she smiled down at Venla. Mina would learn quickly from being around her.

"It's just as Mina says, my name is Selene." For Mina's sake, she made a show of bowing properly. One foot crossed behind the other, and a light tap of fingers to collarbone punctuated the bob of head. "Ah, but she is right - you do have a strangeness about you."

Selene tilted her gaze up into the branches of a nearby plum tree that shaded the path. A few fat plums dangled from thin branches, blushing glossy red beneath their dusty blue skin. The wind shift through dark purple leaves in a rough whisper. Selene reached her palm upwards, as if she were testing for rain. A heartbeat later, a plum fell into her curved fingers, coming to rest unbruised in the cup of her palm.

Eager to be off the branch, aren't we?

"I don't mean to intrude," Selene gave another little nod to the newcomer. Her hand dropped unceremoniously, holding the fruit at her side in an ordinary way. "But have you come recently into your magic?"
 
Venla had not expected such company on the path. Certainly not a girl with three moon eyes and a voice like wind glancing over still water. Nor a tall woman with star-speckled eyes, her robes flowing like clouds on the midnight sky, arms full of parchment and scrolls. This place wasn’t just full of knights and stone paths and rules about bells. It held stranger things. Maybe even answers.

When little Mina repeated her name, Venla stared, naturally. Anyone would, with eyes like big shining opals staring back at you. Those strange eyes so unlike her own, and yet not unkind. "My ladies, it is nice to meet you both." Venla’s eyes followed the plum as it dropped neatly into Selene’s hand. She tipped her head. “Ah, that’s a good-looking one,” she said, her voice soft and easy.

"Back home, we’d slice ‘em up and stew them down with a bit of brown sugar and a nip of cider vinegar. Made a fine jam. " She tipped her head, a smile warming her face as her green eyes turned to the three-eyed girl. “Have you ever tasted plum jam?” she asked gently.

And when Selene spoke, calm and gentle as the breeze, something inside Venla gave way. Like a heavy pot being lifted from the fire at last. She let out a breath, slow and steady. Gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

She looked between them, and her smile, though a small and polite one, was real. It was the smile of someone who’d been carrying a sack of stones uphill and was just now allowed to set it down. Rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “Magic, yes… or something like that." Venla did not rightly understand it. "Aye... Came on to me like a summer storm. Quick, loud, left a mess behind.” Her tone turned faintly sheepish.

“I’m here to ask for advice.”
Before I lose more than just sleep over it.
 
"Maladies," Mina echoed Venla, soft as the buzz of gossamer wings. Bowed her head out of some habit she had formed.

Eyes wide at the plum. Up. Down. Sit in the hand. Nod in agreement. "Looks good," she agreed. Little nods of the head. Turned her eyes unto Venla as she spoke. Clutched at the skirts of her cream colored frock, and adjusted them some.

Sliced. She had sliced.

"Plum... jam?" she looked to Selene, as if she might have the answers. Only a moment. Back to the woman with the eyes so green they looked they might grow over.

"No." she said flatly. Blinked as she watched her and Captain speak.

A smile at the telling. "Mess is good," she said with no shame. Recalled her own mess. With that strange hand she had been a thumb to.

That hand she had killed her kin with.

Was mess good?

She blinked.

Listened.
 
"Cider, I'd like to try that," Selene nod along, imagining the list of ingredients. "Edelbert makes his with lemon, and it's much too tart for me."

The plum was offered up to Mina with a casual lean. Fingers barely holding onto it as she slipped it into the girl's hand. "Here," she said, "Collect enough of these, and we can bother Venla for the recipie before she leaves."

Had the young woman ever said that she was only visiting? It seemed as natural a conclusion to Selene as the fruit falling from the trees.

"Advice is easy enough to give," she said. "You'll find it here and there, sometimes without looking." A funny squint of her eyes, like she was laughing at some joke left unsaid. "In your condition, a good seance might do you better. Or perhaps some ritual binding..."
 
“No plum jam?” she said smiling wide. “Oh, well then, that simply won’t do. We’ll have to fix that.” She didn’t say how much she missed home. The pantry with the wooden shelves stacked with jars, their cloth caps tied off with string, and the worst thing that could happen was running out of cinnamon.

Venla’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, the corners of her mouth still curved in that gentle, sunwarmed way. She gave a soft hum. “Aye, that’s the truth of it." Advice had a way of popping up like mushrooms after rain, whether you’re looking for it or not. And half the time, it’s from folk you were not expecting. “Still, I’ll take it where it comes. Never know what bit might stick."

“A seance?” she echoed, tasting the word she didn’t quite recognize. Wasn't there something about ghosts at a seance? She glanced between Selene and Mina. “I don’t rightly know what that is, if I’m honest. Nor a binding. Sounds like something you'd do to a roast.”

She smoothed her hands down the front of her linen dress. “If there’s a way to keep things from... gettin’ out of hand. I’m willing to try, though."
 
"Fix," she echoed. "Fix is good," the thought rippled, all weird whisper on her lip. Her three eyes staring, unblinking. As if they didn't remember how to blink.

Was she broken?

The word seance seemed to pull her back. She stepped back, further into the shadows. "Binding," the word cracked out of her like a split through glass. The shards of it, stuck through her ribs. Her head shook a no. Her eyes full on the captain.

And the light bent funny about her. Shadows rippling like the surface of dark lake water, lapping at her feet.

She blinked. And she was gone from their sight.
 
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