Chapter Six - Harvest Festival

Cassiel stared at the cloak, now hung over the chair he usually sat on during dinner- like it yielded all the answers if he just kept staring. He sat on what was usually Morrigan's assigned chair, his elbows on his knees.

Maybe it could actually help him. Persistence had yielded a lot of results for him these past months, but that one might still be beyond him. Still, he kept staring.

"You should take it with you," Morrigan said, stepping up behind him, between his wings. She stepped onto the back stretcher of the chair and rested her hands on his shoulders with a grin.

Cassiel didn't flinch, he knew that she was there from the moment she stopped to pet and scritch Soot. "What? Why?"

She raised her right hand to run it through his freshly cut hair. She really did need some more practice cutting people’s hair. "Because you should show up in your usual disguise, then hold a big speech before tearing the cloak off in a huge reveal," she said, "I'll even use some of my moonstone to make mist- you know, so the atmosphere fits."

"What? No," he retorted, craning his head back to look up at Morrigan.

She grinned down at him, her dirt-blonde hair falling in loose waves around her face. "Come on! It would be dramatic. Memorable. The children would love it."

Cassiel felt his stomach twist- not hunger this time, but something else entirely. Something that had become increasingly familiar whenever he thought about the teaching position Father Marcus had suggested. But he didn’t have a name for it yet.

"That's why I don't want to do it. I don't want to frighten the children."

"Frighten them?" Morrigan's hands stilled in his hair. "Cassiel, you spent twenty minutes yesterday explaining to Tommy Fletcher why his wooden sword wouldn't actually cut through stone, no matter how skilled of a swordsman he was. The boy was fascinated, not frightened."

"That's different. I was just explaining stuff- still hiding beneath..." He turned back to stare at the cloak. "This. Now... The job is standing in front of a room full of children and pretending to be something I am not."

Morrigan's weight shifted as she leaned forward, her chin nearly resting on the top of his head. "What would that be?"

The question caught him off guard. He hadn't expected her to follow up. Cassiel had been cataloguing his concerns methodically: his formal speech patterns, his tendency to over-explain, his complete lack of experience with mortal children, the way his wings made even simple movements complicated. But underneath all of that...

"Someone who belongs here," he said quietly.

Morrigan was silent for a long moment. Then she climbed down from the chair and moved around to face him, settling cross-legged on the other chair. It was a position that had become routine during their evening conversations- her having to look up at him, close enough that he could see the faint freckles across her nose that her makeup usually hid. Usually they sat on opposite chairs.

"You know," she said, picking at a loose thread on her skirt, "when I first started going to the village, I used to practice my 'wicked witch' voice for hours. Made Soot howl in protest more than once."

Cassiel blinked. "You did?"

"Mmm. Had to sound mysterious and dangerous, didn't I? Couldn't let them know I was just some girl who talked to her wolf and grew mushrooms." She glanced up at him. "Took me years to realize that Martha saw right through it from the beginning. She still bought my herbs, still asked about my health, still saved me the day-old bread I couldn't afford when I was having a hard winter."

"But you kept up the act."

"For a while. Until I realized the act was just... exhausting. And unnecessary." She reached out and touched one of his wing feathers that had drifted to the floor. "People don't need you to be what they expect, Cassiel. They need you to be what you are."

He considered this, watching her gentle handling of his molted feather. "And what am I?"

"Someone who spent five minutes explaining to Helga why her thimble was the perfect weight for precision stitching, then helped her reorganize her entire thread collection by color gradation." Morrigan smiled at the memory. "Someone who notices when Soot is limping before I do. Someone who makes terrible bread but keeps trying because he knows I like the smell of it baking."

Cassiel stared past Morrigan at the cloak. "What do you think is gonna happen if I just... walk in? Like, without the cloak?" He eventually asked.

She didn't want to tell him what she thought was going to happen. She knew the villagers were more accepting than she feared, but she didn't want to test just how accepting they were.

"Well... It might cause a bit of a commotion," Morrigan eventually settled on, shifting on her seat. "I'm sure that I can deal with everything they might throw at you though."

"You think they're going to become violent?" Cassiel gasped.

"What? No!" Morrigan quickly replied. She sat up straighter. "They're not violent, Cassiel. They're just... curious. And maybe a little surprised at first. The kids might be grabby."

"But you said you could deal with everything they might throw at me-"

"Figuratively! I meant questions, stares, maybe some pointing." She ran a hand through her hair, looking exasperated with herself. "I'm not explaining this well."

Cassiel tilted his head, studying her expression. "You're worried too."

It wasn't a question, and Morrigan's shoulders sagged slightly. "Maybe a little. Not about violence or anything like that, but..." She trailed off, picking at that loose thread again. "The thing is, they've accepted you as my strange cousin from the north. That's a safe story. Familiar. But an actual angel who is now my brother?"

"Fallen angel," Cassiel corrected automatically.

"Right, fallen angel. That's... that's asking them to rearrange their entire understanding of the world." She looked up at him. "And I'm not sure if that's fair to dump on them all at once, especially with children in the room."

Cassiel was quiet for a long moment, his wings rustling as he shifted in thought. "So you think I should keep wearing the cloak."

"I think," Morrigan said carefully, but the disappointment in his voice decided it for her. "You shouldn't wear the cloak anymore. No brother of mine should have to hide his true nature."

"What about the children?" Cassiel asked, his worry shining through in his tone. He didn't want to frighten anyone, especially the children he was supposed to teach.

Morrigan stared at him for a moment, not even thinking that he might be able to frighten the children of Millbrook. It took her a solid five seconds to figure out what he was actually worried about. "You are still you. They will bombard you with questions about your wings and what the goddess is like, then... probably keep pestering you for a few weeks and poke your wings from time to time."

"You truly think-" Cassiel wanted to ask before noticing the time. "Oh, we have to go! I don't want to be late to my... outing? My grand- or not so grand reveal?"

Morrigan jumped up, turning to look at the clock on the wall, permanently crooked. "Oh, yeah. Damn, I've never been late to the Harvest Festival."

She rushed around the hut, grabbing her festival shawl and the small pouch of moonstone powder she'd prepared, just in case. She also picked a few small catalysts to entertain the children. Cassiel stood more carefully, his wings spreading slightly as he stretched, then folding back against his shoulders.

"Morrigan," he said, watching her hurried preparations. "Are you sure about this? About me going without the cloak?"

She paused in her rushing, looking at him with that expression he'd come to recognize- the one she wore when she was being completely honest. "I'm sure about you, Cassiel. I'm sure that you belong here, with us. And I'm sure that hiding who you are isn't going to help anyone learn to read."

He nodded slowly, then looked down at himself- at his usual simple clothes that Morrigan had tailored to accommodate his wings, at the feathers that occasionally drifted to the floor, at the hands that had once held divine purpose and now kneaded terrible bread.

"I suppose if I'm going to be their teacher, they should know who I really am."

"Exactly." Morrigan grinned, some of her earlier confidence returning. "Besides, if anyone gives you trouble, they'll have to deal with me. And I haven't used my 'wicked witch' voice in ages- I'm probably due for some practice."

Cassiel found himself smiling despite his nerves. "I thought you said that voice was exhausting and unnecessary."

"For daily life, yes. For protecting my family?" She shrugged, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, that's different entirely."

They stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, Soot trotting alongside them as they made their way toward the village. Cassiel's wings caught the light, no longer hidden beneath heavy fabric, and for the first time in months, he felt like he was walking toward something rather than away from it.

After a while, Cassiel turned to Morrigan.

"Morrigan?"

"Mmm?"

"Thank you. For calling me your brother."

She bumped his shoulder with hers- although she really just bumped his biceps- careful not to jostle his wings. "Thank you for being my brother, even when I'm being ridiculous about dramatic reveals."

"I still think the moonstone mist is unnecessary."

"We'll see about that," she said, patting the pouch at her side. "A little magic never hurt anyone's Harvest Festival."

"There are probably some recorded cases where a Harvest Festival was disturbed by a troublesome magic caster... maybe a certain witch who tried to uphold an image?" He hedged, looking down at Morrigan with a tentative smile.

Morrigan's mouth dropped open, her steps stopping as she turned to Cassiel. For a moment, she just stared at him before slapping his shoulder. It didn't hurt. "What's that supposed to mean!?" she said, unable to keep herself from giggling. "And since when do you make jokes at someone else's expense?!"

Soot bounded off into the forest.

"I thought the joke was good," Cassiel chuckled, turning to keep walking towards the village. "Was it too much?"

"No, it's good! It's good!" she quickly insisted, following after Cassiel. "That's kind of what siblings do. It's great that you're feeling comfortable enough to insult me. Wait, that doesn't sound right..." she lowered her voice, mumbling as she tried to think of a better way to put it.

The sound of music and laughter reached them long before they could see the village square. Fiddles and drums mixed with the chatter of voices, punctuated by children's delighted squeals and the occasional bark of a dog.

Cassiel's pace slowed as they crested the small hill that overlooked Millbrook, his wings rustling with nervous energy. The moment he noticed his pace slowing down, he sped up, almost leaving Morrigan behind before slowing down again.

"It's... very loud," he observed, watching the colourful ribbons and garlands that decorated every building.

"That's the point," Morrigan said, though her own voice had grown quieter. Or maybe it was just the constant background noise that made her seem quieter. "The Harvest Festival is supposed to be joyful. Overwhelming, even. It's the celebration of abundance, an entire year of labour put into a day."

Cassiel nodded, cataloguing the scene below them. Tables laden with food, children weaving between adults' legs, young couples dancing to the music, elderly villagers sharing stories on benches. It was chaotic in a way that Heaven never was- messy, unpredictable, gloriously alive. It was great.

"I can see why you wanted a dramatic reveal," he said, "It would really fit in here..."

They made their way down the hill, and Cassiel noticed the exact moment when someone spotted him. A woman carrying a basket of apples paused mid-step, her eyes widening as she took in his uncloaked form. Then another person noticed, and another.

"Morrigan," Cassiel said quietly, his wings instinctively folding closer to his body. "People are staring."

"They're curious," she replied, but her hand found his elbow in a gesture of support. "Just keep walking. We'll find Father Marcus and-"

"Is that Morrigan's cousin?" someone whispered, loud enough to carry.

"Those can't be real wings, can they?"

"Look at the size of them!"

“There’re six?!”

Cassiel felt his chest tighten, but before he could say anything, a small voice piped up from somewhere near his knees.

"Cassiel! You're not wearing your cloak!"

He looked down to find Tommy Fletcher beaming up at him, wooden sword in hand and face smeared with what looked like honey cake. The boy's eyes were bright with excitement rather than fear. Like he already knew.

Stolen novel; please report.

"No," Cassiel said carefully. "I'm not."

"Are those really your wings? Can you fly? How many feathers do you have? Are they soft?"

The rapid-fire questions were so familiar, so perfectly Tommy, that Cassiel felt some of his tension ease. "They are my wings, I cannot fly very well anymore, I have never counted all my feathers, and they are reasonably soft, yes."

"Can I touch one?"

Before Cassiel could respond, Tommy's mother appeared, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Tommy! You can't just-" She stopped mid-sentence as she really looked at Cassiel, her eyes widening.

"It's alright," Cassiel said gently. "He's just curious." He extended one wing slightly, letting a few of the softer feathers brush against Tommy's reaching fingers.

"They're warm!" Tommy exclaimed, delighted. "And they're really soft! Sarah, come feel this!"

And just like that, Cassiel found himself surrounded by a small crowd of children, all chattering excitedly and reaching out to touch his feathers with the kind of reverent wonder that made his heart ache. Their parents hung back, uncertain but not afraid, watching as their children peppered him with questions.

"Are you really an angel?"

"Did you come from heaven?"

"Why did you fall down?"

"Do you know the Goddess?"

Cassiel glanced at Morrigan, who nodded encouragingly. He cleared his throat, trying to find words that would be honest but not overwhelming.

"I am... I was an angel, yes. I came from heaven, but I can't go back right now. I fell because..." He paused, thinking of how to explain it simply. He did not want to explain the exact reason why he fell, they were too young for that. "Because I needed to learn something I couldn't learn up there. And yes, I know her, though perhaps not in the way you might think."

"What did you need to learn?" asked Sarah, Martha's granddaughter, with the kind of serious yet innocent expression that only children could manage.

Cassiel looked at the faces around him- curious, accepting, completely unafraid- and then at Morrigan, who was watching him with quiet pride.

"I needed to learn what it means to have a family," he said. "What it means to belong somewhere. What it means to be cared for, and to care for others in return."

An older woman in the crowd- Helga, he realized- stepped forward with a knowing smile. "And did you learn it?"

"I'm still learning," Cassiel said honestly. "But yes, I think I did."

"Good," she said simply. "That's what we all need to learn, isn't it?"

The crowd murmured agreement, and Cassiel felt something settle in his chest. The stares weren't hostile- they were curious, welcoming, the same way the villagers had always looked at Morrigan's various oddities. He was just another part of their strange, wonderful community.

"Cassiel!" Father Marcus's voice boomed across the square as the priest approached, his face lit with joy. There was a bit of surprise in his eyes, like he hadn't known what exactly Cassiel was, but there was not a single hint of disappointment. "There you are! And without the cloak, I see. Excellent!"

"Father Marcus," Cassiel said, inclining his head respectfully. "I hope I haven't caused too much of a disturbance."

"Disturbance? My boy, you've given these children the most exciting Harvest Festival in years!" The priest chuckled, ruffling Tommy's hair. "Though I suspect you'll have quite a few more questions to answer when you start teaching."

"I welcome questions," Cassiel said, and realized he meant it. "I've found that curiosity is one of humanity's greatest gifts."

"Speaking of which," Father Marcus continued, "I was hoping you might be willing to give a small blessing for the harvest? Nothing elaborate, just a few words about abundance and gratitude."

Cassiel blinked in surprise. "I... are you certain? I'm not exactly... divine anymore."

"Neither is Helga, and she did it last year," Father Marcus said with a wink. "I think you're more qualified than even me. You've seen both sides of the divine. But seriously, it is more about you and Morrigan having done the most for our little community this year."

Before Cassiel could protest further, he found himself being led to a small platform at the center of the square, Morrigan taking a spot in the front row just as Soot reappeared. The crowd gathered around, faces upturned expectantly. Morrigan gave him an encouraging nod from the front row, her hand resting on Soot's head.

Cassiel spread his wings slightly, feeling the evening breeze ruffle his feathers. He looked out at the assembled villagers- these people who had accepted him, who had made room for him in their community. Well, most of them.

"I am not accustomed to speaking at harvest celebrations," he began, his formal tone clearly across the square. "In heaven, I was the Guardian of Sacred Transitions- births... uh... passings, the movement of souls from one state to another. I thought I understood the sacred nature of transformation."

He paused, his eyes finding Morrigan's. "But... I think I was wrong. The most sacred transformations happen here, in the small moments." He paused for a moment, struggling to figure out a metaphor to use for the Harvest Festival. "In the way a seed becomes grain, the way grain becomes bread, the way Martha sells bread to everyone. Well, I think everyone gets their bread from Martha..." He trailed off, glancing at Morrigan again. "At least I think there isn't another baker in Millbrook."

"You're damn right there isn't!" Martha shouted, chuckling with a glass of white wine in her hand.

A few people nodded or laughed, following her words.

"You have shown me that abundance isn't about having everything you want," he continued, "It's about recognising what you need. It's about the metaphorical harvest of small kindnesses, daily choices to care for one another… Well, that’s what the festival is about, abundance is not quite so open for interpretation."

He gestured to the tables laden with food, the children still sticky with cake they had most definitely stolen earlier, the couples holding hands as they listened.

"This- all of this- is sacred. Your lives, your community, your willingness to make space for someone like me. You have taught me that heaven isn't a place you ascend to. It's a place you create, together, one shared meal at a time. We make our own slices of heaven."

The crowd was quiet for a moment, then clapped politely. It started with Father Marcus, then spread through the gathered villagers until the entire square was filled with gentle applause.

Cassiel stepped down from the platform, his wings folding back against his shoulders. He felt lighter somehow, as if speaking those words had released something he'd been carrying without realizing it.

"That was beautiful," Morrigan said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Though I'm a little disappointed you didn't use the moonstone mist."

"Perhaps next time," he said, smiling. "Though I suspect my teaching career will provide plenty of opportunities for dramatic gestures."

"Oh, absolutely," she agreed. "Especially once Tommy Fletcher starts bringing his friends to class... or his dragon."

They were interrupted by Martha approaching with a plate piled high with food. "You must be hungry after that speech," she said, offering it to Cassiel. "I saved you some of everything."

"Thank you," he said, accepting the plate gratefully. "Though I should warn you, I'm still learning to judge proper portion sizes."

"Nonsense," Martha said with a wave of her hand. "You're far too thin. Both of you are. I'll be sending extra bread home with you."

Morrigan looked up at Cassiel, who by now wasn't as thin anymore as when he had crashed into her. He was still tall, and now with his wings quite literally towering over them all.

As the evening wore on, Cassiel found himself at the center of countless conversations. Children continued to ask about his wings, adults inquired about his teaching plans, and several elderly villagers shared their own theological questions and observations. He answered each query with the same methodical patience he'd always possessed, but now it felt less like inventory management and more like... community.

"You're enjoying this," Morrigan observed during a brief lull, appearing at his elbow with two cups of spiced cider.

"I am," he said, accepting the drink with surprise. "I didn't expect to, but I am."

"Good. Because I think you're going to be very busy once word spreads beyond Millbrook. Nothing travels faster than news of a real angel who's willing to answer questions."

Cassiel considered this, watching as Tommy Fletcher demonstrated some elaborate sword technique to a group of impressed adults. "Do you think they'll all be as accepting as these folks?"

"Maybe not all," Morrigan said honestly. "But most, I think. People want to believe in something bigger than themselves. You're proof that the divine isn't some distant, untouchable thing. You're proof that it can come down to earth, learn to make terrible bread, and still be sacred."

"I'm also proof that angels can fall," he pointed out.

"You're proof that falling doesn't mean failing," she corrected. "Sometimes it means finding where you really belong. Once you find it, you just have to work for it."

They stood together in comfortable silence, watching the festival continue around them. Children ran between the tables, their laughter mixing with the music. Adults shared stories and food with equal generosity. The elderly dispensed wisdom and received respect in return. It was chaotic and beautiful and perfectly imperfect.

"Morrigan," Cassiel said eventually. "Thank you."

"For what this time?"

"For not letting me hide. For pushing me to be honest about who I am. For teaching me the difference between performing and simply being."

She bumped his shoulder affectionately. "That's what family does."

"Is it?"

"The good kind, anyway."

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, the villagers began lighting lanterns and torches. The warm light danced across faces, creating a glow that Cassiel thought might rival anything heaven had to offer.

"Should we head home?" Morrigan asked as the music shifted to something slower, more contemplative.

"Soon," Cassiel said. "I'd like to stay a little longer, if that's alright. I want to remember this."

"Remember what?"

He spread his wings slightly, letting the warm evening air flow through his feathers. "The first time I felt like I truly belonged somewhere."

Morrigan smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "We can stay as long as you want, brother."

And so they did, standing together at the edge of the dance floor, watching their community celebrate the harvest. Cassiel's wings caught the lantern light, no longer a source of shame or something to hide, but simply part of who he was. Around them, the people of Millbrook continued their ancient ritual of gratitude and joy, welcoming their newest member into the fold with the same generous spirit they'd always shown.

As the evening wore on, Cassiel found himself in deep theological discussions with Father Marcus and several other villagers, while Morrigan seemed to be making her way through what appeared to be every cup of spiced cider and honeyed ale the festival had to offer. He kept catching glimpses of her laughing loudly with Martha and the other women, gesturing wildly as she told some story that had them all in stitches.

"Your sister seems to be enjoying herself," Father Marcus observed with amusement as Morrigan's distinctive cackle carried across the square. It sounded like she might be showing off her witch voice.

"She is," Cassiel said, though he was beginning to wonder if perhaps she was enjoying herself a little too much. "I should probably check on her."

When he found her, Morrigan was swaying slightly as she attempted to explain something to Helga, her words running together in a way that suggested she'd sampled quite a bit more than just the cider.

"Cassiel!" she exclaimed when she spotted him, throwing her arms wide and nearly toppling over. "There's my beautiful brother with his beautiful wings! Did you know your feathers shimmer in the lantern light? Like... like moonbeams!"

"I think perhaps it's time to go home," he said gently, steadying her with one hand.

"But the night is young!" she protested, then immediately contradicted herself by yawning. "Well, maybe not that young. But I'm having fun! When's the last time I had fun, Cassiel? Really, properly fun?"

"I'm glad you're having fun," he said, carefully maneuvering her away from the crowd. "But I think Soot is getting tired." This was a lie- Soot was currently being fed scraps by a group of children and looked perfectly content- but Morrigan nodded solemnly.

"Can't let Soot get tired. He's family too." She stumbled slightly, and Cassiel caught her elbow. "You know what? I think I might be a little bit drunk."

"Just a little bit," he agreed, trying not to smile.

"I don't usually drink this much. But tonight felt... special. Like a celebration. A real celebration." She looked up at him with slightly unfocused eyes. "I'm proud of you, you know. For being brave. For showing them who you really are."

"Thank you," he said, warmth spreading through his chest. "Though I think you might have been braver than me. You've been showing them who you really are for months now."

"Have I?" She considered this with the serious concentration of someone who'd had too much to drink. "I suppose I have. No more wicked witch voice… most of the time…"

"No more hiding behind an act."

"Just... just us. Being us." She leaned against him as they walked, and Cassiel realized she was getting steadier, not less steady. "That's nice, isn't it? Being us?"

"It's very nice," he agreed.

They made their goodbyes- Morrigan's far more effusive and tearful than strictly necessary- and began the walk home. About halfway up the hill, Morrigan's steps became increasingly uneven, and she began to sway dangerously.

"I think," she announced with great dignity, "that I may have overindulged."

"Just a bit," Cassiel said, catching her arm as she stumbled.

"The ground is very... uneven tonight."

"The ground is the same as always. You, however, are not."

She giggled at this, then promptly tripped over her own feet. Cassiel caught her before she could fall, his wings instinctively spreading for balance.

"Right," he said, making a decision. "Up you go."

Before Morrigan could protest, he scooped her up in his arms, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. She was lighter than he'd expected, though she immediately began to squirm.

"Cassiel! Put me down! I can walk!"

"You demonstrably cannot," he said, starting up the hill with measured steps. His wings helped him maintain balance as he navigated the uneven path in the moonlight.

"This is undignified," she complained, though she was already settling against his chest. "I'm supposed to be the responsible one."

"You can be responsible tomorrow. Tonight, you're allowed to be human."

"Angels don't usually carry drunk witches home, do they?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never been around drunk witches before. Though I suspect angels don't usually learn to make terrible bread either."

She was quiet for a moment, her head resting against his shoulder. "Are you disappointed in me?"

The question caught him off guard. "Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed?"

"For getting drunk at my first real family celebration. For making you carry me home like a sack of potatoes."

"First," he said, adjusting his grip carefully, "you're much more pleasant to carry than a sack of potatoes. Second, I'm not disappointed. I'm... touched, actually."

"Touched?"

"You felt safe enough to let your guard down completely. You trusted that I would take care of you if you needed it." He paused, considering. "That's what family does, isn't it? Takes care of each other?"

"Yeah," she said sleepily. "That's what family does."

Soot had already bounded ahead and was waiting for them at the door of the hut, tail wagging. Cassiel maneuvered carefully through the doorway, his wings folding close to avoid knocking anything over- a skill he'd perfected over the past months.

"My nest or your bed?" he asked.

"My bed," Morrigan mumbled. "Your nest is too pretty to get witch drool on."

"I don't think you're going to drool," he said, but he carried her to her small bed alcove, settling her gently on the bed. She was already half-asleep, curling up with her festival shawl still wrapped around her shoulders.

"Cassiel?" she called softly as he turned to leave.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For carrying me home. For being my brother. For... for everything."

"Thank you for teaching me what home means," he replied, pulling a blanket over her.

"That's what family does," she murmured, already drifting off.

Cassiel made his way back to his nest of pillows and blankets. He settled into it carefully, his wings spreading comfortably in the space they'd created together. Through the window, he could see the last lanterns of the festival flickering in the distance, but the real warmth came from the sound of Morrigan's gentle breathing in the next room and Soot's contented sighs from his spot by the fire. The alcohol certainly helped with the warmth as well.

He no longer looked up at the night sky with longing. The stars were beautiful, but they were just decoration now, hanging over the real miracle happening here on earth. Home wasn't something you ascended to. It was something you built, one shared moment at a time. And he had helped build this one, feather by feather, loaf of terrible bread by loaf of terrible bread, drunken festival night by drunken festival night- well, one drunken festival night for now.

It was, he thought as sleep began to claim him, exactly what he was supposed to be doing. Right here, right now, with this family he had chosen and who had chosen him in return. Taking care of each other, in all the small and large ways that mattered.

The harvest was complete, and tomorrow would bring new lessons to teach, new bread to bake badly, and new moments of ordinary magic to share. But tonight, his family was safe and happy under the same roof, and that was more than enough.

It was everything.