Ivan leans against the eastern wall of his house with his arms folded against his chest, looking out to the village, its buildings bathed in the light of the early morning sun. The other farmers are here, but not to toil on his father's land—they're here to protect it. At the boundary of the weakened wards, the strongest of their number patrol with pitchforks in hand, while those with some skill with the bow—Erik included—linger some distance away. They take shifts protecting the land, just as their counterparts in the village proper do. Ivan can see them patrolling the perimeter in the distance, like tiny ants around a colony.

But it's the pair on the main road that catches his eye. A hulking figure, accompanied by someone smaller, softer. Tim and Rosie.

No, Jim and Rosie.

Tim carries himself with bravado, all brute and no brains. Jim is less pronounced in his movements—much more natural. A gentle giant. He walks with a stride that has to be twice as long as his sister's. He's almost comically slow for her sake, but in her defence, they both seem laden with an overabundance of... whatever it is they carry.

Many people have come to Ivan's home to drop off medicine, food, tools, and weapons. Most of these things are for Sylfir. Things that can lessen her pain, clean her wounds, and stitch her skin back together. Others are for those who would defend his father's land. 

Things have changed so quickly over the past couple of days. Sylfir's disappearance and her later return seem to have instigated a palpable shift in urgency. The threat of the beast is far more tangible, and the recent memory of its initial attack on the village tears its way through the minds of the people like it happened yesterday. There is no more room for complacency now.

But for Ivan, the feeling is more visceral. He's looked the beast in the eye twice now. First when it threw itself against the walls of his house that night more than a tenday ago, and then three days before in the forest, when he was the only thing that stood between it and Khaliss and Sylfir. To recall its features makes him sick with anxiety.

He wonders how Khaliss can be so strong in the face of such a foe. He wonders what terrible things she's seen to have willingly faced the creature with her sword in hand, standing before it in defiance, mirroring its movements as it stalked the edges of the wards. Then an insidious thought claws its way into his mind—did Sylfir have that same courage facing the beast when it gave her that wound?

Perhaps she did, but perhaps she was just as afraid as him. She seemed to regret ever having the bravery to traverse the forest alone when last they talked. It didn't seem like she was strong in that moment. It reminded him of the night they shared beneath the stars when she opened up to him about her ill-fated adventures farther west in Womford. She showed the same vulnerability.

His thoughts circle back to her, sitting there on his bed, her once-vibrant eyes dull, her skin a little too pale, and her cheeks a little too gaunt. She wasn't quite herself—too fragile, too easily taken by the lingering corruption of her wound. It cut short their time together, stealing her breath but somehow leaving her with enough to beg for mercy. He knows Khaliss tends to her now, having spent the night by her side. He has to believe it's only a matter of time before Sylfir is better. The next time he holds her in his arms, it won't be to hold her up.

He shakes his head. When did his thoughts grow so... warm? Events of the past few days have left him high-strung, but as some of that tension bleeds away, he realises those feelings were always there, lurking beneath the surface the entire time. They were driving him. Could he really say that he would have braved the dangers of the wilted forest for any other bounty hunter? 

The longer he ponders the question, the more embarrassed he feels. It's only when Jim and Rosie approach that his thoughts dissipate, broken by the sound of their footsteps, too loud to ignore. He flicks his gaze between them, then goes to the door, pushing it open. Jim looks like he could walk another thousand miles, but Rosie doesn't fare so well.

Ivan goes to her, relieving her of her bounty, their fingers brushing against each other. Her skin is always impossibly soft, and as he draws away with her basket, she smiles with saccharine sweetness.

"Ivan," she says.

He nods. "Rosie."

"Still not getting any sleep, lad?" Jim says, hiking up his giant wooden crate. Ivan can scarcely believe he carried it all this way.

"It's hard to get any when the best bed you've got is a depressed couch," he says, flicking his head toward the door. Jim takes it as a cue to enter, and Rosie follows him before Ivan follows, too. Once inside, they pass the stairs and walk through the living room until they get to the kitchen, where the remnants of breakfast remain. Ivan hurriedly clears the table and places the basket down on its surface, while Jim walks farther ahead, placing the crate by the open front door overlooking the road to the west. 

Dana enters the kitchen through that doorway, coming to inspect the source of the noise, and the moment she sees Jim her tail wags and her tongue lolls as she vies for his attention, pawing at his legs. Being the animal lover that he is, he can't help but give her what she desires, ruffling the fur on her head.

He laughs. "Good girl! Now, why don't you take me to Wolff?"

Dana barks, then turns toward the door again, heading outside. Jim follows, but just before he leaves, he turns to Ivan. "Just need to hash out a few things with your old man."

Ivan nods as Jim leaves the kitchen. Then, it's just him and Rosie. She turns to him with the remnants of the smile she greeted him with. Her eyes are almost timid as she regards him.

She's a winsome sight, as always, but Ivan finds that he's not so inclined to stare anymore...

"Anna and I thought we'd make you and the family something," she says, nodding to the basket. "There's enough there for Sylf, too."

Ivan hums. "Kind of you. Thank you." He peeks at the contents of the basket, peeling away the cream linen cloth to reveal baked goods—mostly bread, but sweet treats as well, bearing the fruits of the Tapper orchards. The air carries their scent straight to his nose and almost makes his mouth water.

Rosie smiles. "Any time. I'm sure Anna will have more on the way. You know how she is—it's how she keeps herself distracted."

Ivan hums ironic laughter. "I don't blame her for being anxious, having two children to care for amid all of this."

Rosie hums in agreement. "Right... you must be having a hard time, too. I heard the beast almost took down the ward here."

Ivan nods. "Another reason for sleepless nights. We've got people patrolling, aye... but that beast..." He stops his gaze from growing too distant just in time to see the frown that mars Rosie's fair face, and he stems the flow of words from his lips before he says something too distressing. "Well, let's just hope it doesn't come knocking again. It'll probably need time to tend to its wounds. Hopefully, Sylf's allies will be here by then."

Rosie nods. A silence hangs between them for a beat too long, and Rosie starts to fidget with her hands, drawing Ivan's attention. He can tell she's nervous.

Her eyes grow timid again as she looks at him. "Have you spoken to her? Sylf, I mean. How is she?"

Ivan grows still, then looks away. Suddenly, her blue eyes are too striking to look at, like little blue suns burning holes into him. "I did. She's still unwell. Khaliss is taking care of her."

"I heard the beast hurt her badly. As badly as Tim." She shakes her head. "I just hope she didn't suffer as much."

Ivan grits his teeth. His reaction surprises him as he realises what it is: anger. He was the only one who fought to get the council to bring Sylfir home before his father stepped in. Rosie had looked at him with pleading eyes—begged him not to go, and now she wants to stand in his kitchen and say that she hoped the bounty hunter who risked life and limb for this village didn't suffer. Of course she suffered. She suffers still. A part of him wants to tell Rosie that. He wants her to feel bad.

And then another part of him remembers the glare her father gave her. The curl of his taut lips as he conveyed the silent message. Ivan knows the man held her feet to the flames in doing that. He knows Rosie didn't have a choice but to say the words she did. That truth bleeds the anger from him just as soon as it comes. It should be reserved for Old Joe, but the bastard is near-untouchable.

Ivan softens. "She's doing better now. Don't worry. She'll appreciate what you've done for her."

"I hope so... I didn't want to leave her there in the forest, but I have no power. I knew no one on the council would listen to me if I said anything." Her eyes flick to him, then away again, but he doesn't miss the glimmer of worry in her eyes. She wants him to believe her. Ivan realises he never had to wish for her to feel bad about what she said that day at the council meeting; she already does.

"No one's blaming you, Rosie. Your father's a cruel man. He should never have put you in that position."

Rosie huffs. "My 'father.' In moments like that, I hate him." She presses her lips into a thin line, but the waver of her voice tells Ivan that it's more from desperate misery than anger. She can't look at him, but he knows tears well in her eyes.

His overwhelming pity urges him to go to her. He brings her into a gentle embrace, and she holds him tight. He can tell she's fighting tears at once, and as she buries her face into his chest, he feels sympathy for her, but it's... hollow.

He's done this for her so many times now, ever since they were children. And he knows it always means more to her than it does to him, but she never seems to catch on. Maybe it's because she simply doesn't want to.

Still, he lets her remain in his embrace, stroking her hair, though his thoughts centre not on the woman in his arms, but on the one who now occupies his bed. He quietly contemplates Sylfir's behaviour from the day before. There was a moment it seemed she didn't want his attention or affection, but there were times she seemed to accept it. Invite it, even. He received too many mixed signals for him to be certain, a little too much hesitation, but he could have sworn that, before her pain grew unbearable, she was about to—

Rosie sniffles, then pulls away from him, and he's broken away from his thoughts. She sighs as she wipes her tears and looks up at him with apologetic eyes. It's only then that he realises his shirt is damp.

"Sorry. The past few days have been hell. My father seems to get more and more bitter with every passing council meeting, and there's no one else besides me and mother for him to take it out on."

Ivan frowns. "He's not hurting you, is he?"

Rosie shakes her head. "Only with words." She sighs again. "Anyway, I didn't—I shouldn't be making this about me. I just wanted to do my part in bringing some food, but I suppose I really needed to talk to someone." She brushes her knuckles against his forearm, her touch feather-light and impossibly gentle. "Thank you."

Ivan nods. "Any time."

He expects her to pull away, but to his surprise, her fingers still brush his skin. He's completely still as they trail lower, brushing over the back of his hand. Despite his growing discomfort, he doesn't have the heart to pull away, and he simply watches her fingers reach for his own, parting them as she snakes her way through the gaps.

It's only then that his barely frowning lips part to say something, but no words form on his tongue. She looks at him with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, and he realises she is completely oblivious to his growing unease.

The sound of footsteps makes her flinch, though, and they turn their heads toward the living room. The creaking of old wooden planks tells Ivan that someone is descending the stairs, and the ring of sonorous metal against dull wood tells him it's Khaliss. He pulls away from Rosie, just as she withdraws her hand, and moments stretch on for aeons as they wait for the drow to appear in the kitchen doorway.

Ivan has to stifle a sigh of relief as she walks into the kitchen, fully armoured. She's taken to remaining in her breastplate and greaves, even in meditation, from what he can tell. She seems surprised to see Rosie there, but she soon adopts a reassuring smile.

"Rosie, it is good to see you," she says.

"Likewise," Rosie says, with a typically sweet smile. She gestures to the basket on the table. "I was just dropping off a few things with Jim."

"Most kind. Anything you can provide is sorely needed here."

Rosie nods. "We have some baked goods, and in the crate over there, Jim's brought some medical supplies, courtesy of Vira."

Khaliss hums. "Her skill with alchemy is exceptional. Her medical supplies are proving more effective than I could have hoped. Please, let her know I am grateful when you return, and that I will see to it personally that she is properly remunerated."

"Of course," Rosie says.

"How's Sylf?" Ivan says.

Khaliss turns her sympathetic eyes toward him, the hint of a knowing smile on her lips. "She is well, Ivan. It is too early to tell, but I suspect I have cleansed the corruption of her wound. She needs rest now."

He can't help the sigh of relief that slips past his lips. Suddenly, he feels Rosie's eyes on him.

"No doubt the medical supplies brought by Jim and Rosie will play an important role in her recovery," Khaliss continues. She sniffs the air, heading for the table and peeking into the basket. "And the food. In fact, I could benefit from some myself."

"Please!" Rosie says, reaching for the basket and taking out the foodstuffs inside. "What would you like?"

Khaliss ponders the selection for a moment, spoiled for choice, and before she can decide, Jim returns, but not with Dana. Instead, it's Ivan's father that accompanies him. His eyes flick to Ivan first, then Rosie, then Khaliss. He nods to them in greeting, then sniffs the air‌ as his eyes trail over the basket on the table.

"You've outdone yourself this time, lass," he says.

Rosie shakes her head. "It was mostly Anna. She sends her regards."

He nods again. "Thank you." He turns to Khaliss. "How's the redhead?"

"Sylfir is recovering well. I believe I have purged the corruption, but only time will tell."

"Glad to hear it—her friends are due any time now. Wouldn't do for them to see her in such a sorry state."

Ivan shakes his head. "She won't be able to fight so soon."

"No one's expecting that of her, lad. Not after the mess she was in when you brought her back. Besides, we don't know when that blasted beast is going to show its face again."

Ivan hums. He's not convinced.

"Since you're so worried, you can take up your bow and patrol with your brother," his father says.

Jim hums. "It's about time Rosie and I got going, too. Still have things to do down at the church."

"Don't let us keep you, then," Ivan's father says. He looks at Ivan with an expectant gaze.

Ivan beckons Jim and Rosie to follow him. "Let me see you out."

He leads them out of the kitchen and through the living room until they reach the eastern door. He steps outside, looking toward the village where farmers still patrol like little ants.

"We'll be seeing you," Jim says, and Ivan turns around to see his smiling face. He nods.

"Come down to the Wanderer some time," Rosie says, "You deserve a break—more than most."

"...I'll think about it," Ivan says.

Rosie's smile is subtle as she nods. "See you later, then."

Ivan watches as she turns toward the main road with her brother, her dress caught in the gentle wind. In moments, he's alone again, and he turns back to his home to collect his bow and quiver.