Ivan pans his gaze across the fallows. Torgrim and Sonja are looking over the bones like a couple in the markets choosing what to cook for dinner. Sonja points at an unconsolidated pile of bones and Torgrim shakes his head, to her dismay, a feeling Ivan shares, although to a milder extent. He doesn't like remaining idle in times like these.

At Khaliss' request, some farmers—including him and his brothers—have joined the effort to collect bones for this ritual Torgrim would perform. Jim was kind enough to lend his strong back to the effort when asked, and together they have already seen some bones to the western edge of the crop fields. It's repetitive work, and it helps to keep Ivan's mind off things, but now that there is a lull in activity, he finds his head turning toward the Weary Wanderer. His eyes focus on the entrance, hoping to glimpse a flash of copper, or the pale green of summer grass.

"Do not worry. She will come to you when she is ready."

Ivan almost jumps out of his skin. He turns around to find Khaliss bearing a gentle smile, almost sympathetic as she watches him with knowing, lavender eyes.

"I wasn't—I mean..." He shakes his head. "Is she all right?"

Khaliss nods. "She claims a task that requires her attention. I did not probe her on it. I doubt it will take too much of her time."

Ivan looks back at the entrance again, but sees nothing. "Well, if that's all..."

"It is sweet of you to care so," Khaliss says. Ivan can hear the subtle laughter in her tone; he recognises it as the amusement a parent might have for a child who tries to hide something from them. It makes him a little bashful as he turns to face her.

"She would do the same for me," he mutters. Or, at least, he hopes so.

Khaliss hums. "I suspect she would. But come. Torgrim needs your help."

Ivan sighs. He can't say he enjoys being relegated to a pack mule, but if it will help kill this beast, he won't waste his breath complaining. He follows Khaliss deeper into the fallows without protest, treading over corrupted and defiled land to the pile of bones Torgrim, Sonja, and Arfin are fussing over. Erik and Artur are already heading up the main road with their share, while Jim remains nearby, looking out to the ruined trees at the edge of the forest. He happens to turn his head in Ivan's direction, breaking away from his daydream as a friendly smile takes shape on his lips, and Ivan nods in greeting as he and Khaliss approach.

"Getting to be back-breaking work, eh?" Jim says.

"Thought it'd be a walk in the park for a sturdy pair of hands like yours," Ivan says, humour laced into his tone.

"Maybe... but it's not the toiling that's getting to me. Tended to a lot of these animals myself. Now I'm tending to barren bones."

Ivan frowns as Jim's smile fades.

"They serve a noble purpose in death," Khaliss says, "Let that bring you a measure of peace."

Jim's burden doesn't seem to be lessened by the cleric's words, though he nods all the same, and joins them as they make their way to Torgrim and the others.

"Just how many do ye need? Ye'll see the fields barren at this rate!" Arfin says.

"I don't want to take any chances," Torgrim grumbles, "We may only have one chance to perform this ritual."

Sonja huffs a sigh through her nostrils, shaking her head as she signs. Her lips move too quickly for Ivan to follow, but he can see that her words turn Torgrim pensive. He hums as he considers his options.

"No. By all accounts, this beast is the most powerful we've ever faced. I'm not taking any chances—it's all or nothing," he says, "We take the bones."

"Our well is soon to run dry, so to speak." Khaliss looks out to the fallows. The soil is nearly picked clean of bones, with most of what remains now lying in a pile before the Uthgardt trio.

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," Arfin says, glancing sidelong at Torgrim, who huffs.

"This is necessary," he says, "The bones at my feet will do. We should be able to carry them between us."

Arfin huffs but is the first to pick up his share of the bones. Torgrim and Sonja follow soon after, and Khaliss, Ivan, and Jim collect the rest before they head for the main road. It doesn't take long for the Uthgardt trio to pull ahead, though, leaving Khaliss, Ivan, and Jim behind, their conversation growing more inscrutable with every yard that stretches between them.

"I'll be glad to see this work done," Jim mutters, "I'm better suited to caring for living things."

"And I'm better suited to tending to crops than animals, but if it'll see this beast dead, then so be it," Ivan says.

"Aye. Not sure the animals can take much more of it, much less the people. Even Sylf's steed is bothered, and he must have seen all kinds of things."

"There is nothing quite like this beast, as you well know," Khaliss says, "Bob is right to worry."

Ivan frowns. "I thought Sylf would have gone to see him."

"She did. He was soothed for a time, but it didn't last. Was still agitated enough to frighten Rosie."

Ivan's frown deepens. "Rosie was there?"

Jim nods. "Aye. Guess she figured a little friendly company couldn't hurt. She was all caught up wondering about Sylf's condition ever since you brought her back."

Ivan hums, stealing a glance at Jim, but the man operates in blissful ignorance. The last time Ivan saw Rosie, she seemed more concerned about his time alone with the wood elf rather than her welfare. It's then that he remembers the feeling of Rosie's fingers running down his arm, reaching for his hand and forcing their way between his fingers, and he feels a shiver run down his spine.

"Hopefully, she realises she need not worry any longer. Sylfir will make a full recovery," Khaliss says, "There are more pressing matters she can turn her attention to. The children will want for comfort."

Jim hums. "Aye, it'll be good for her, too. Something to keep thoughts of the beast at bay."

Ivan turns his gaze to the main road as silence dominates between the three of them. Ahead, he watches Torgrim pull away with Sonja and Arfin, their heads swivelling as they turn their gazes to each other, then back to the road again as the white noise of their conversation barely reaches his ears. He notes their urgency as they walk—their eagerness—but he finds that he does not share it. He can't. Not when he's this distracted. He fights the urge to look over his shoulder and back at the village. Back to the Weary Wanderer.

The journey back home seems longer than usual. He focuses on each step to ground himself—the sound of grinding dust beneath boot soles reaching his ears, the smell of damp earth filling his nostrils, and the gentle caress of warm summer wind against his skin as he continues his moderate march. He turns his head toward the crop fields, gazing out to where they meet the forest. In these moments, he could almost believe he's cradling Sylfir in his arms instead of a pile of brittle bones, carrying her through the forest in a desperate dash for safety as the beast chases him.

A sharp turn of his head has him looking at the road again, and he squeezes the bones tighter. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be letting thoughts of the beast infiltrate his mind. A sigh pushes past his lips, and enough tension leaves his body that he's almost afraid he'll drop the bones in his arms.

"Is everything all right, child?"

Ivan scoffs as Khaliss' velvety voice reaches his ears. "Child?"

Jim laughs. "It's that pretty face of yours. Don't worry lad—another half decade and you'll look more like your Pa."

Ivan's eyes blow wide with shock. If his hands were free, he'd run his fingertips over his face, just to check his skin wasn't already turning leathery. He winces. "Half a decade? I've got longer than that before the sun tans my hide... surely."

Khaliss chuckles. "No less than a decade and half again before wrinkles worth mentioning grace your youthful face, I would wager. Come to me then, and I might call you a man."

Ivan parts his lips to protest, but as he catches the wry smile curling Khaliss' lips, he realises she is teasing him, and he huffs, shaking his head. Jim throws his head back in raucous laughter, and for a moment, Ivan almost mistakes him for his insufferable brother.

But silence falls upon them once more as the three of them approach Ivan's home, where some few farmers remain with improvised weapons; a paltry guard against the danger that lurks in the forest. Torgrim, Sonja, and Arfin are already turning to the edge of the forest beyond the crops, their footsteps softened by summer grass as they leave the main road. Ivan follows them, though he feels a pang of fear as he closes in on the ruined trees where the beast broke through. It comes to him as naturally as breathing now, much to his dismay.

He focuses on the gargantuan pile of animal remains instead. Half of Alfie's livestock, their flesh rent from bone or rotted away from it, a far cry from what they were in life. When Ivan reaches it, he relieves himself of his burden, then steps away to look at the result of his work. Khaliss and Jim are the last to contribute to the pile, with the latter dusting himself off with a great sigh. His burden seemed to be the heaviest of them all.

"That's me done," Jim says, "About time I tended to something that's living."

Khaliss nods. "Farewell, Jim."

Ivan nods his farewell, too, and Jim tips his cap in acknowledgement before turning on his heels and taking to the main road again.

"Well, that's the bones sorted," Arfin says, "Now fer the rest."

Ivan frowns. "The rest?"

Torgrim hums in laughter. By the sound of it, Ivan knows it's condescending. "A ritual like this needs more than bones, boy."

"No need to tease," Khaliss says, "He's not familiar with this kind of magic, as is true for most others in this village."

Sonja taps Torgrim on the shoulder and signs when she gains his attention. He nods in a subtle and slow motion, then looks at Khaliss. "Perhaps not, but you are, at least to some extent. Perhaps you have the things I need to perform the ritual."

"There remains the materials Sylfir collected from the forest, as well as incense I have made. Perhaps the village alchemist can provide as well. Any material wealth—gold and such—can be pried from the hands of the more fortunate."

Ivan snorts. "Good luck getting Old Joe to cough up his share. Was bad enough when we asked him for his share of the bounty reward."

Khaliss folds her arms across her chest. "I can be very persuasive."

Ivan hums. He believes her, but Old Joe is as stubborn as an ass. Still, he's happy to let her try in his place. He looks back to the pile of bones again, then to the east, where Jim still travels the main road to the village. Though clouds cover most of the visible sky, the dimming light of day betrays the waning sun to the west, sinking slowly toward the horizon. Any ritual will have to wait for tomorrow.

"Looks like I've done all I can for you unless you have something else that needs doing?" he says.

Khaliss shakes her head. "Nothing as of yet. You may return to your watch."

"See you, then." Ivan nods his farewell to Khaliss and the Uthgardt trio before he turns his back and heads for his home. His gaze lands on his bow and quiver, resting near the door, perched against the eastern wall. Farther afield are Erik and Artur, and as he closes in on his bow, he thinks of joining them in their half-hearted patrol, but he changes his mind just as his fingers wrap around its smooth wood. He opts to play the lone sentry this evening, lingering for as long as his eyes are useful in the dimming daylight.

He fixes his quiver to his waist, then takes a relaxed pace as his eyes flick back to the edge of the woods, raking over its ruined trees, a haphazard pyre for the remains of the beast's victims which now lie upon it. It won't be long now until someone takes a flame to it. That knowledge brings about a moment of clarity within him—enough for him to steel himself against a reality that is only inches away.

Soon the beast will come. And soon, this will all be over.