Chapter Three - A visit to the village

"Are you sure no one will fear me in the village?" Cassiel asked, shuffling nervously in his now cleaned up robes.

Morrigan didn't turn around to face him, continuing to apply her makeup with the help of her positively antique mirror. Coal-black symbols randomly drawn onto her face. It was important to maintain her image with the villagers whenever she visited. That's also why she didn't allow any villagers to visit her unless they had some pressing matter.

She was genuinely a little hurt that no one tried to check up on her when Cassiel had fallen from heaven, but they probably knew she was okay when she had sent a raven to the seamstress a week ago.

After a few more seconds and one last symbol on her cheek, she washed the rest of the coal away in the bucket of water left over from their breakfast. "You're with me. I've already brought weirder stuff into the village. You're just gonna be an oddity."

"What sort of stuff did you bring into the village?"

"Uhm," Morrigan stopped with her hand in the bucket, turning her head away only to find Soot sitting next to her with that wolfish grin of his like he knew. She couldn't help a blush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks as she quietly answered with the hope that maybe he would take the hint and not ask any further questions, "I might have brought some monsters to the village that... did some damage?"

"Could you repeat that?" Cassiel asked innocently. His wings, carefully folded on his back, adjusted themselves like they had a life of their own.

Morrigan took a deep breath, steeling herself as she turned back around to Cassiel, her hands on her hips as if to challenge him to ask again. "I-" Her voice caught in her throat. She quickly cleared her throat, the heat in her cheeks rising even quicker. "I used to take care of hurt beasts the villagers considered monsters and brought some with me on my visits."

Staring at Morrigan for a few seconds, only one question rose to his mind. "When did you do the red makeup? It's not- like blood, is it?"

"Shut up! Ughhh!" Morrigan snapped, quickly standing up and walking across the room to grab her satchel. Once on the other side of the room, she turned back around with a soft glare. After all, it wasn't his fault that he didn't know. "It's not makeup. I... People blush for many reasons. Embarrassment is one of them."

Cassiel took a moment to think back on their conversation before nodding, self-satisfied that he had figured it out himself. "Alright. Thanks."

"Let's just go," Morrigan sighed before patting Soot and climbing atop him.

While Soot was large, he wasn't entirely large enough for Morrigan to sit on him comfortably while he was running, but she could lay down on his back and nuzzle into his fluffy fur on the back of his neck. "Go, boy."

The walk to the village gave Cassiel plenty of time to worry while Morrigan kept to herself while surveying the world around them from Soot’s back.

His wings were folded as tightly as possible against his back, hidden beneath a cloak Morrigan had cobbled together from an old blanket and some leather straps. It was bulky and awkward, but it mostly concealed his divine appendages- assuming no one looked too closely at the odd lumps beneath the fabric or asked questions.

"Remember," Morrigan said as they crested the hill overlooking the village, "you're my... cousin. From the northern provinces. You've been sick or cursed, which explains why you look like you've never seen sunlight."

"I haven't seen much sunlight," Cassiel pointed out. "Heaven has its own illumination."

"Well, don't mention that to anyone." She adjusted her satchel strap, trying to ignore what he meant by heaven's illumination. "And try not to be so... formal. You sound like you're addressing a celestial tribunal every time you speak."

Cassiel attempted a more casual posture, which mostly involved hunching his shoulders in a way that made the cloak bunch oddly. Now, he looked more like a monster or some sort of cursed monstrosity she could theoretically have made. "Is this better?"

"You look like you're trying not to sneeze. Just... be yourself. But quietly."

The village of Millbrook was exactly the sort of place that had probably looked identical for the past hundred years in the eyes of travelers- thatched roofs, cobblestone streets, and the kind of residents who noticed when strangers walked through but pretended they hadn't. Cassiel found himself fascinated by everything: the way smoke curled from chimneys, the sound of a blacksmith's hammer, children running between houses with wooden swords.

"It's..." Cassiel stared down at the village, at a loss for words.

He had been in hundreds of places- cities, villages, hidden creeks, and even desolate landscapes- to help souls pass. Yet, there was something about this little village that was different from all these places.

It might just be his new perspective. He was so used to flying above cities, to only care about his goal and nothing around. Now, he found himself fascinated by the way the roofs curved, how the wooden swords of the children were crudely carved from sticks with stones. None of them were neat enough to be made with knives, probably because none of them had access to them.

Why did that roof have a patch of black stuff atop it? What are those delicious smells that tantalised Cassiel with every step he took?

Morrigan stopped Cassiel, carefully sitting up on Soot's back to rummage around her satchels.

"Focus," Morrigan said, pulling a small wrapped bundle from her satchel and sitting up on Soots back. "You're staring at everything like you've never seen a village before."

"I haven't," Cassiel said absently, still watching a woman hang laundry on a line. "Not like this. Not from... ground level."

"Well, try to look less amazed by clotheslines. People will think you're simple." She unwrapped the bundle, revealing several small glass vials filled with various powders and liquids. "We're here for supplies. Stuff like salt, iron filings, maybe some decent bread if Martha's been baking. Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking."

She downed one of the vials, but put the others back into her pouches. It wasn’t any potent potion, but it helped her create the appropriate image of the wicked witch.

It made her look kind of sickly and produced a mild magical effect.

As they approached the first shop, Cassiel tried to follow Morrigan's advice about being casual, but everything demanded his attention. The way the blacksmith's apprentice wiped sweat from his brow, how a cat stalked something invisible in an alley, the complex layering of scents that seemed to tell stories he couldn't quite interpret.

"Morrigan!" A voice called out from across the square. An elderly woman approached, her grey hair pinned back severely and her apron dusted with flour. "Haven't seen you in weeks. And who's this?"

"My cousin," Morrigan said smoothly, sliding down from Soot's back. "Cassiel. He's been... unwell. Needed some fresh air."

Martha's sharp eyes took in Cassiel's pale complexion, his awkward posture under the bulky cloak, and the way he seemed to be listening to conversations happening three shops away. "Unwell, you say? He looks like he's seen a ghost."

"Something like that," Morrigan muttered. "Do you have any of that herb bread? The kind with rosemary?"

"Fresh this morning." Martha's gaze lingered on Cassiel, who was now staring with fascination at a child's spinning top. She turned around to walk back to her stall. "Your cousin doesn't talk much, does he?"

"The sickness affected Cassiel’s... social skills," Morrigan said, dragging Cassiel along with her.

Cassiel, hearing his name mentioned, turned toward them with a smile that was perhaps too bright, too perfect. "Good morning," he said, his voice carrying that formal cadence despite his efforts. "Your village is quite remarkable. The architectural consistency suggests a planned development, yet the streets indicate-"

Morrigan stepped hard on his foot.

"-it's very nice," Cassiel finished weakly.

Martha raised an eyebrow. "Northern provinces, you said?"

"I didn't, but yes. Very northern," Morrigan said quickly. "They talk differently up there. More... educated. Lots of books. Not much social interaction."

"Clearly." Martha wrapped the bread in cloth, but her eyes never left Cassiel. "That's an interesting cloak he's wearing. Looks like it's hiding something bulky underneath."

Cassiel's hand moved instinctively to adjust the cloak, which only made the wing-shaped lumps more obvious. "I have a... condition. Growths. Very unsightly."

"I'm sure," Martha said, a small smirk on her lips. She handed over the bread and grabbed two desserts filled with jam, handing one to each of them. "Here, take this as a gift. Please watch out for Morrigan."

"Oh... How kind of you," Cassiel said, grabbing one of the treats with reverence. He didn't trust himself to bite into it without prompting more questions from Martha but made sure to smile widely. A second later, he added a bit too quickly “I’ll watch out for her.”

Martha chuckled, turning back to Morrigan. She held out a hand for Morrigan to pay as she commented "What a handsome cousin you have. A shame about his condition."

"Yes, a shame," Morrigan said as she counted out the coins. She handed them over and grabbed her treat, taking a small bite. She didn't like the jam filling as it was too sweet for her, but she didn't want to disappoint Martha. "Very good. Is Eryk in town?"

"Ah, yes..." Martha said, stroking her chin in thought and leaving a streak of flour behind. "I do believe he is using his sister's stall again."

"Thank you," Morrigan said, tapping Soot's flank to get him to move. "Have a nice day."

As they walked away from Martha's stall, Morrigan could feel the baker's eyes following them. She waited until they were well out of earshot before turning to Cassiel.

"Architectural consistency?" she hissed. "Really?"

"I was trying to make conversation," Cassiel said defensively, still clutching his jam-filled pastry like a precious artifact. "You said to be myself."

"I said to be yourself quietly. There's a difference." She navigated through the market square, Soot's footfall quiet. "And what was that about growths? You couldn't think of anything less suspicious?"

"It's not entirely untrue. My wings could be considered growths, from a certain perspective." He took a bite of the pastry, a huge grin spreading on his face before he quickly ate the rest in three huge bites.

Morrigan stopped walking and stared at him. "Do not use logic to justify terrible lies. That's not how this works."

"Then how does it work?"

"You keep your mouth shut and let me handle it." She spotted a familiar stall across the square. "There's Eryk. He's got the metal supplies I need. Just... stand there and try to look normal."

"What does normal look like?"

"Less like you're cataloguing everything for a divine report."

They approached a weathered stall where a man in his thirties was arranging various metal implements and raw materials. His dark hair was streaked with premature grey, and his hands were permanently stained from his work. When he saw Morrigan, his face lit up with genuine warmth.

"Morrigan! About time you showed up, witch. I've got those iron filings you wanted, and some decent copper scraps and flowers that might interest you." His gaze shifted to Cassiel, taking in the awkward posture and bulky cloak. "And who's your friend?"

"Cousin," Morrigan said automatically. "Cassiel. He's visiting."

Eryk extended a hand toward Cassiel, who stared at it for a moment before carefully reaching out to shake it. The angel's grip was too firm, too precise, and he held on just a beat too long, but Eryk shrugged it off.

"Pleasure to meet you," Cassiel said. "Your metalworking skills are quite impressive. The consistency of your filings suggests excellent technique."

Eryk blinked, then looked at Morrigan with raised eyebrows. "He knows metalwork?"

"He... reads a lot," Morrigan said weakly. "Very scholarly. Lots of books about... metal."

"Fascinating," Eryk said, though he looked more puzzled than convinced. "Well, any cousin of Morrigan's is welcome here. Though I have to ask-" he leaned closer to Cassiel, studying his pale complexion, "-are you feeling alright? You look like you haven't slept in days. She isn’t messing with you too much, is she?"

"Sleep is..." Cassiel began, then caught Morrigan's warning look. "...difficult for me lately. The sickness affects my rest patterns."

"Poor fellow." Eryk began packaging up the iron filings in small cloth pouches. "Morrigan, you're taking good care of him, I hope? Maybe some of your healing brews?"

"I'm doing what I can," Morrigan said, accepting the packages. "You know how stubborn northern folk can be about remedies."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"Don't I just." Eryk counted out the coins Morrigan handed him, then paused. "Say, Cassiel, that's an unusual name. Foreign?"

Cassiel's mouth opened, and Morrigan could practically see him preparing to explain celestial naming conventions. She quickly stepped on his foot again.

"Family name," she said hastily. "Traditional in the northern provinces. Very... biblical."

"Ah, religious family then. That explains the formal way of speaking." Eryk nodded approvingly. "Good to see young people maintaining their traditions."

A commotion from across the square saved them from further questions. A group of children had surrounded something, their excited voices carrying over the general market noise.

"What's all that about?" Morrigan asked, grateful for the distraction.

"Oh, that." Eryk rolled his eyes. "Some traveling merchant brought an 'exotic creature' to show off. Probably just a painted goat or something equally ridiculous. But it's got the kids all worked up."

Cassiel's head snapped toward the crowd, his expression suddenly alert. "What sort of creature?"

"Why?" Eryk asked, noticing the angel's sharp interest.

"Cassiel's always been fascinated by... unusual animals," Morrigan said quickly. "Northern provinces don't get many travelers."

"Well, you're welcome to go look. Just don't get too close- merchant's charging two coppers just to touch the thing."

"Let's get down to business first," Morrigan said, pulling out her coin pouch and pointing to the filings.

Eryk and Morrigan quickly descended into a tense bartering session that left Cassiel struggling to follow along.

He found himself caught up between their rapidfire arguing, snipes and swipes at each other, promises of quality and callbacks to prior transactions between the two that he had no context for. He could swear that they just insulted each other for a short time, but they somehow ended up at a price for filings and other supplies that seemed to satisfy them both.

And just like that, Morrigan pocketed her supplies and turned to leave with no goodbye.

As they walked away from Eryk's stall, Morrigan could see Cassiel practically vibrating with curiosity about the crowd. His steps quickened, and she had to hurry to keep up with his long strides.

"Slow down," she muttered. "You're supposed to be sick, remember?"

"But what if it's actually something significant? What if it's not just a painted goat?"

"Then it's still not our problem."

But even as she said it, Morrigan found herself curious too. In her experience, when people gathered to gawk at something "exotic" in small villages, it was usually either completely mundane or genuinely dangerous. And given her luck lately, she had a sinking feeling it might be the latter.

They pushed through the crowd of children and curious adults until they could see the merchant's display. In a makeshift pen sat what appeared to be a small dragon- no bigger than a house cat, with scales that shifted color in the sunlight and tiny wings that fluttered uselessly at its sides.

Cassiel's wings immediately bulged outward in an attempt to catch wind and flee at the sight of the little draconic creature, his robe shifting dangerously. A loud rip sounded out as two tears opened on his sides. He immediately grabbed the insides of the cloak to try and cover himself, pulling it closer around himself.

The small dragon's head snapped up at Cassiel's sudden movement, its color-shifting scales rippling from deep blue to alarmed gold. It let out a sound somewhere between a chirp and a hiss, pressing itself against the far side of its pen.

"Well, well," the merchant said, his voice carrying the practiced showmanship of someone who'd spent years working crowds. "Looks like we've got ourselves a sensitive one here. The little beauty can sense things most folk can't." His eyes fixed on Cassiel with sharp interest. "What's got you so spooked, friend?"

Morrigan slipped off of Soot and smoothly stepped between Cassiel and the merchant, her hand finding his elbow and squeezing hard enough to ground him. "He's not used to crowds," she said, her voice carrying just enough concern to sound believable. "Gets overwhelmed easily since his... accident."

But the damage was already done. Several people in the crowd had noticed the bulging fabric, the sound of tearing cloth, and now Cassiel stood frozen like a deer caught in torchlight, his hands clutching desperately at the sides of his cloak.

"What kind of accident leaves a man afraid of a little dragon?" Martha's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. She'd followed them, apparently, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of Cassiel's panicked state.

The dragon chirped again, more insistently this time, and began pacing in its small enclosure. Its scales shifted to a deep violet that Morrigan recognized as a color associated with magical distress.

"Fascinating," the merchant continued, stepping closer despite Morrigan's attempt to block his view. "You know, in my travels, I've only seen reactions like that from..." He paused, studying Cassiel's pale face and the way his shoulders hunched forward. "Well, let's just say certain types of beings have strong reactions to dragonkind."

Cassiel's breathing was becoming shallow, rapid. Whatever instinct had triggered his wing response wasn't subsiding- if anything, it was getting stronger. Morrigan could see sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool morning air.

"We should go," she said firmly, tugging at Cassiel's arm. "He needs his medicine."

"Medicine?" The merchant's eyebrows rose. "What sort of medicine helps with... whatever this is?"

Soot stepped in between Morrigan and the merchant, growling. "It's a magical remedy," Morrigan said curtly, glaring at the merchant.

A few people in the crowd murmured, seemingly satisfied with that answer coming from the witch.

The merchant's eyes narrowed at Soot's growl, but he didn't quite back down. "Magical remedy, you say? And what exactly did that accident cause that needs help from a witch?"

Morrigan's mind raced. The crowd was pressing closer, drawn by the drama but currently held at bay by her reputation. She could see some people pointing at the tears in Cassiel's cloak. The little dragon was becoming increasingly agitated, its scales now cycling rapidly between colours.

"He needs air," she said sharply, then reached into her satchel with practiced ease. Her fingers found one of the small vials of powdered moonstone she'd been saving. "Everyone step back. Now."

"Or what?" The merchant challenged, but there was uncertainty in his voice.

Morrigan pulled out the vial and held it up, letting the silvery powder catch the sunlight. "Or I'll show you exactly why I get paid to keep monsters away from Millbrook."

The villagers immediately backed away, recognising her threat and not knowing what exactly Morrigan was capable of, but the merchant remained sceptical.

"You'd cast spells on those you swore to protect?" the merchant asked, a smug grin spreading on his face.

Morrigan's grip tightened on the vial, but before she could respond, Cassiel's voice cut through the tension- quiet, but carrying an authority that made everyone instinctively step back.

"She protects everyone," he said, his formal cadence returning in full force. "Including those too ignorant to recognize when they're provoking someone far more dangerous than they can comprehend."

The merchant's smug expression faltered slightly. There was something in Cassiel's tone that suggested he wasn't making an idle threat about Morrigan's capabilities.

"The creature is distressed," Cassiel continued, nodding toward the little dragon, whose scales were now a frantic crimson. "Your enclosure is too small, and you're using iron bars. Dragons- even small ones- are highly sensitive to iron. You're essentially torturing it for entertainment."

"Now see here-" the merchant began.

"Furthermore," Cassiel pressed on, his analytical nature taking over his panic, "charging people to touch a creature that's clearly in magical distress is not only cruel but dangerous. If it lashes out, those children could be hurt."

Morrigan stared at him. Somehow, his complete inability to lie or dissemble was actually shining through and working in their favor. He sounded like exactly what she'd claimed- a scholarly northern cousin with an encyclopedic knowledge.

"How would you know all that?" The merchant asked, though her tone was more curious than suspicious now.

"Books," Morrigan said quickly. "I told you, he reads everything. Practically memorized my entire library about magical creatures while he's been recovering."

The little dragon let out another distressed chirp, and several people in the crowd began murmuring about the iron bars. One woman stepped forward.

"Is that true? About the iron hurting it?"

Cassiel nodded gravely. "The magical resonance creates a feedback loop that-" He caught Morrigan's warning look. "It causes them pain. Constant pain."

The crowd's mood began to shift. These were people who, despite their wariness of magic, generally didn't approve of animal cruelty. The merchant seemed to sense the change.

"Well, perhaps we could discuss alternative arrangements-" he began.

"Release it," Cassiel said simply.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Release it. Now. Before it injures itself trying to escape the iron."

The merchant laughed nervously. "I can't just release a valuable specimen like this for free. Maybe I could get a better cage for it... a bigger one." He looked up at Cassiel, a spark of interest in his eyes now. "What metals would work?"

"Literally anything else," Morrigan cut in, slipping the vial back into her pouch. "I'd recommend against using wood though, or it will escape."

With that, she grabbed Cassiel's arm and started to pull him away. Thankfully, he recognised that as his cue to leave and so he did, sparing Morrigan the embarrassment of struggling to move the large angel.

"I wish you all a good day," Cassiel said before turning around and following Morrigan. Soot nudged his waist, herding him along.

They made it three blocks before Morrigan finally let go of Cassiel's arm, though she kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. It was way too far and they'd need to turn back around to get to their next destination, but she didn't want people to follow them.

"That," she said, stopping beside a weathered stone wall, "was a disaster."

"I thought it went rather well," Cassiel said, adjusting his cloak to better hide the tears. "We helped that creature, and I managed to... what was the phrase? Keep my mouth shut?"

"You called out a merchant in front of half the village, gave a lecture on dragon biology, and nearly revealed your wings to everyone." Morrigan rubbed her temples. "That's not exactly keeping quiet."

"But it worked," Cassiel pointed out. "They believed the story about books and northern education."

Morrigan had to admit he had a point, though she wasn't about to tell him that. "We still need to get you proper clothes. Those tears in your cloak are going to draw attention if we stay much longer."

She led him down a narrow side street toward a small shop with bolts of fabric displayed in its window. The sign above the door read "Helga's Fine Needlework" in faded paint, and the sound of a spinning wheel could be heard from within.

"Now," Morrigan said, pausing at the door, "Helga is... different from Martha and Eryk. She doesn't ask many questions, but she notices everything. Try not to stand like you're about to take flight."

"I don't stand like-"

"You do. You stand like you're ready to leap into the air at any moment. It's very obvious once you know what to look for."

Cassiel made a conscious effort to relax his posture, which mostly resulted in him looking slightly constipated.

"Better," Morrigan lied, then pushed open the shop door.

The interior smelled of wool and dye, with shelves lined with every type of fabric imaginable. Bolts of cloth were stacked floor to ceiling, and finished garments hung from wooden pegs along the walls. Behind the counter, a woman in her fifties looked up from her work- a partially completed dress spread across her lap.

Helga was small and compact, with silver-streaked hair pinned back in a practical bun and fingers that moved with the precise economy of someone who'd spent decades working with needle and thread. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, took in both visitors with a single glance.

"Morrigan," she said, setting down her needle. "Heard you were in town. And this must be the cousin everyone's talking about."

Morrigan's heart sank. "News travels fast."

"Martha stopped by not ten minutes ago with my order. Said you had a relative visiting who needed... discrete accommodations." Helga's gaze settled on the tears in Cassiel's cloak. "I can see why."

"He needs proper clothes," Morrigan said, pulling out her coin pouch. "Something that fits better than what he's wearing now."

"I can see that too." Helga stood and walked around the counter, studying Cassiel with a professional eye. "Turn around."

Cassiel hesitated, glancing at Morrigan.

"She needs to see how clothes will fit," Morrigan explained. "It's normal."

Cassiel turned slowly, and Helga's eyebrows rose slightly at the odd bulges in his cloak.

"Interesting proportions," she said diplomatically. "Medical condition?"

"Something like that," Morrigan said.

"Can he remove the cloak? I need to see what I'm working with."

The color drained from Cassiel's face. "I... that might not be advisable."

"Helga," Morrigan said carefully, "he's very self-conscious about his condition. The growths are... unsightly."

Helga nodded understandingly. "I've worked with burn victims, war veterans, and people with all manner of deformities. Nothing shocks me anymore." She gestured to a curtained area at the back of the shop. "Privacy screen's back there if that helps."

Cassiel looked genuinely panicked now. "Perhaps we could simply estimate measurements?"

"Not for what you need." Helga's tone was kind but firm. "Those tears suggest your current garments aren't built to accommodate your... situation. I need to see the actual dimensions to create something that will work properly and look normal."

"How about you make him one garment for now, something loose that lets his growths breathe, and two more that could fit without taking the growths into account? I do plan on healing him after all," Morrigan proposed, stepping in to help Cassiel.

Helga stared at her for a moment before tossing Morrigan the measuring tape. "You take the measurements then. I assume you're treating him anyway so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Thank you," Both Morrigan and Cassiel said before going behind the privacy screen.

Morrigan didn't want to spend any more time in the village with Cassiel than necessary so she immediately grabbed Cassiel and pulled down his arms. "Stand still, just like in the hut. Don't move a muscle," she instructed, measuring his arms at first before moving on to his chest and back, calling out all the measurements to Helga.

She only stopped at his wings, thinking about what to say that wouldn't sound suspicious but would still fit. They were unwieldy, but she could cut holes into the back of whatever clothes Helga made. They just needed to fit good enough and the cloak was basically going to be a huge blanket anyway.

"I'm also gonna need more pillows and blankets, he needs even more than me to sleep comfortably," Morrigan called out.

Helga's voice carried clearly through the curtain as she moved to grab more cloths and get started on this job, her notepad laying open on the table as she kept note of Cassiel's measurements. "Extra pillows and blankets, you say? If you say he needs even more than you, it's gotta be at least five pillows and three blankets."

Morrigan glanced at Cassiel, who was standing rigidly still as she'd instructed, his wings creating an awkward silhouette against the fabric divider. "At least four- actually, make that five pillows and only two blankets- heavy ones."

"Mm." Helga hummed, looking through her supplies and orders that had been cancelled. "The kind of sleeping troubles that come with chronic pain, I'd guess... I've got some down pillows that might help- softer on sore muscles... and wool blankets that breathe better than cotton."

"That would be perfect," Morrigan said, surprised by Helga's understanding tone. She remembered how Helga reacted when she herself had asked about pillows and blankets.

She had been a lot curter, but maybe that was just because Morrigan had come inside stinking like a troglodyte. Or because Helga actually knew her now.

She finished measuring Cassiel's torso, carefully working around his wings without commenting on them directly and called out the measurements for Helga.

"The clothes will be ready in three days," Helga announced. "Two loose tunics, one fitted shirt, and a proper cloak that won't tear at the first sign of movement. The bedding you can take now- I prepared some when your bird arrived.."

When they emerged from behind the screen, Helga was already bundling soft pillows and thick blankets into a large cloth sack. She handed it to Cassiel, who accepted it with the same reverence he'd shown the jam pastry.

"Thank you," he said, his formal tone softer than usual. "Your kindness is... unexpected."

Helga paused in her work, studying his face. "You're not used to kindness, are you?"

The question hung in the air. Morrigan tensed, ready to deflect, but Cassiel answered with simple honesty.

"Not without conditions attached."

"Well," Helga said briskly, accepting Morrigan's payment, "consider this an investment in getting you back on your feet. Healthy customers are repeat customers."

"So the bed stuff is free?" Morrigan asked with a grin, but was already pulling out her coin pouch to grab the rest of the payment.

Helga put on a strained smile. "I like you, witch, but not that much."

As they prepared to leave, Helga called out one final piece of advice. "And Cassiel? Next time you're in the village, try not to look so surprised by everything. People will start to think you've never seen civilization before."

Cassiel's cheeks flushed slightly. "I'll... work on that."

"See that you do. Morrigan's got enough of a reputation without people thinking she's harbouring someone completely mad."