[Present].

The group exchanged a few silent, awkward glances, and immediately, Mayor Kelo sensed that something tragic had happened to Yakob and Ware. He sighed heavily, glancing down at his hands, and then apologising genuinely.

"Well, that's quite alright, Mayor Kelo," Quince said, smiling softly for comfort.

He nodded, "It is so good to see you in such good shape." Adolpha knew he was lying, for each of them had lost several pounds. "And Danica, I am so glad to see you joining us. I heard so much about you whenever Adolpha was little. Such a good pair of sisters!"

Danica flushed a little, laughing shyly, "Why thank you, Mayor."

"Oh, please. You four have more than earned the right to call me Kelo."

"Kelo," Danica rephrased.

Quince said again, "We brought you a jar of marmalade jelly."

"Or at least, what's left of it," Ajax snorted, amused.

Adolpha glared at him, "It's from my Pa, so it's very rare!"

"And very delicious," Quince added. She placed the jar on the desk with a clink, and Kelo admired it with appreciation.

He spoke, "Thank you all so much. One of these days, I will take you all to the pub and order as much beer and cake as you'd all like!" They cheered in jest. "For now, I have plenty of work to do. After the war, our supplies is depleted, and we are in desperate need of metals. But of course, the Felines in Adam's Peak took quite a heavy blow, and importation is out of the question. Hold on to what silvers and metals you have, as we may not have any more for a while."

A little too excitedly, Ajax piped up, "Well, if mighty fine, Sir, I could travel as messenger to Adam's Peak and explain the situation. We may be able to offer men to help with the mining."

Mayor Kelo nodded thoughtfully, "Good mind, Ajax. I know you're eager to meet your people, and so I'd grant you permission for this quest. But do not give Adam's Peak the impression that we wish to lend aid; we lost hundreds in the war, and are short of numbers and supplies as well. Though, we may be able to offer trading routes or small numbers."

"Understood, sir."

Danica's mouth was wide open, "But Ajax! You mean you wish to leave so suddenly, for no reason at all?"

"There's plenty good reason for my leave," Ajax said. "And I shall only be gone for a week or two. In fact, you could come with me. Adolpha and Quince could come with as well." Adolpha and Quince gave each other a confused look. Ajax continued, "We fought in this war. Now, we can help with repair efforts. It's only right."

"When would we leave?" Adolpha asked.

Mayor Kelo answered, "You could leave as soon as next week if you become prepared. You will need food, lots of coats and hides. You could take mules, but they will need cloaks as well for the cold."

Sensing Adolpha's hesitation, Quince calmly said, "If you don't want to go, then you do not have to go."

"I don't want to leave May again," Adolpha admitted.

"Then stay."

Adolpha then remembered something a friend once told her. If she was a good person, then she would go with Ajax and Danica and help with the relief effort after the war. But if she was a good mother, then she would stay home with her daughter. The first time she chose wrong; she wouldn't choose wrong again.

"Then, I'll stay."

Quince nodded, "Then I could stay, too."

Mayor Kelo, "So Danica and Ajax will be going, then?" The two both nodded, glancing at one another for confirmation, and he responded, "Excellent. We could certainly use the help. If you have any others you'd like to recruit, you are more than welcome to do so."

"Yes, Sir," they said.

"It was so wonderful seeing you all," Mayor Kelo said. They all thanked him and said their thankful goodbyes, and then exited out back onto the busy street. Adolpha was a bit stunned and rather dumbfounded; how had Ajax and Danica been so quick to say yes to yet another exhausting mission? Weren't they ready to live their lives again?

"I'm so excited now," Danica said, a gleeful smile on her face pointed in Ajax's direction.

"Me, too. It'll be nice to be back out on the open road," Ajax replied. Adolpha glanced sideways at Quince, who was smiling, too, which boggled her mind. How in the world were these three excited about such a mission? About leaving home and family once again? She couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness that built within her, as if she would once again be dragged away against her will from May and River's Bed for several years.

Though she heeded her dear daughter's words, and suddenly recalled that it was, in all of its essence, her decision to initially leave. She would never make that mistake again, and it would haunt her for the rest of her days.

The group of four began a long conversation about various subjects; they talked about their gratefulness to their Mayor Kelo, and then about their excitement for the days ahead, including Ajax and Danica's newfound trip. Then, they chatted about the nice weather and what to eat for lunch. Afterwards, they dispersed, and Adolpha was suddenly alone once again.

Although it had felt right and comforting to spend the good part of the day with her friends, Adolpha now felt alone in her cottage all by herself. The silence was deafening, and she couldn't help but consider that it was all her fault. Everything always seemed to be.

She wanted to bang her head against the wall, sitting there in the dark and still and quiet of her livingroom. Her stomach growled, as she had not eaten after breakfast, and the light outside dimmed into a cold night. The nights had always been cold, but just then they seemed colder, chilling her to her bones. Her scarred arm ached, and she remembered what it had felt like to have been there. She recalled the fear, the treachery, the skull-pounding anxiety. And again, it washed over her in a panic like ice over fire. Her heart ran fast, breathing shallow, and cold sweat lined her hairs.

It was cold, and it would stay cold. The air shivered, the floors were ice. Winter was here.

With a fallen tear or two, right there on that couch Adolpha fell asleep as the sky became dark, and she huddled upon herself as if she was still sleeping on the floor of the forest.

Quince had gone back to her lovely abode and with her dear family. Her little brother and her parents alike welcomed her with a hearty lunch and then dinner. Their home was kept warm by their fireplace, which crackled beautifully and illuminated the living area with dancing orange light. It was very comfortable, very safe. Quince relaxed on the sofa as her brother played with toys on the floor.

"It's time for bed, now, Osbourn," Quince's mother said in a soft, cooing voice. She was always so gentle like that, and Quince loved her dearly for it. How she loved her family. It had been such a terror, and much too difficult for her whenever she had to leave on their quest. She thought of her family constantly, and even more now that she was back home.

Quince found herself thinking of Adolpha, curious if she'd felt the same way about her daughter. Quince found herself thinking of Adolpha quite often, too often, now. Like she was family. But after all they'd endured together, Quince wasn't hesitant to say that they were.

She glanced out of the windows in the kitchen, out onto the street which reflected the moonlight. Adolpha's home was in sight, and Quince could see her pipe was not smoking.

Well, surely she'd have started a fire on a night so cold, Quince thought to herself, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "It's probably just not lit all the way yet," she said quietly to herself, trying to reassure herself that Adolpha was okay. But truth be told, Adolpha clearly wasn't okay. She clearly hadn't been okay for a very long time.

Quince fought the urge for a while, and then broke, finally deciding to just trot on over to Adolpha's place and check on her. She thanked her mother for dinner, who nodded, and explained where she was going.

"In this weather?" Her mother protested.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, but if Adolpha didn't light her fire before going to bed, then she will be frozen solid by the morning! And I didn't stay with her at the inn on our first night... I must make it up to her." She glanced at the floor apologetically.

"I understand. Shoo, shoo."

Quince chuckled, "Thank you, Ma". She draped a wool coat over her shoulders, and then opened the wood door, gently closing it behind her. The air outside was bitter cold compared to the warm, heated air inside of her cosy home. It hit her like a whiplash across the face, like ice being poured over her, and she shivered. Her breath billowed in white, puffy clouds. She was already looking forward to spring.

Quince took her time, admiring the stars, moon, and wavering clouds overhead in the dark sky as she walked to Adolpha's abode, smiling softly. She reached it eventually, knocking on the fancy door with a hand that was practically numb from the cold.

Adolpha stirred, a bit of spit down her chin. Her body was stiff, aching with the cold and from her weird sleeping position. She shook her head, combed a hand through her tangled hair, and then stood and drowsily answered the door, shivering while she did so. She creaked it open slightly, peeking out into the darkness with a single eye. She saw Quince's dark form and black hair, and let out an exhale of relief with breath she hadn't realised she was holding. This was something unusual for Adolpha. Growing up, Adolpha was mostly blind, and yet, she could see farther than anyone else could. Now, she could see, and yet she felt blind. But unlike her friends, Adolpha had a secret. Although she had lost her blessing, she still had magic— and a lot of it, too. She was the only reason why the world was still spinning, and she couldn't tell a soul about it. In a way, the weight of the world was still on her shoulders alone. She was exhausted.

Adolpha quietly let Quince into her home. Quince gave her a warm appreciation, smiling at her as she walked in. The room was pitch black, and it was just as cold inside as it was outside.

"Well," Quince said, walking into the living area, "There goes my hope of warming up after walking here." She chuckled.

Adolpha's eyes widened, "Oh, well how rude of me," and she scrambled to get a fire going, running to the fireplace and chucking kindling into it.

Much more calmly, Quince walked over to Adolpha, who was crouched in front of the stove, and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Let me." She crouched beside her, taking a shard of flint and steel from the tool bucket and hitting the stones together with a clack; sparks scattered across and into the square fireplace, and the kindling ignited into flames. Adolpha sat on the floor, still shivering, watching as Quince pulled firewood from the wood boxes to the underneath of the stove, tossing the lumber on and watching as the flames slowly grew from beneath it, licking at the bark and turning it black. The warmth quickly coated Quince and Adolpha like a blanket, then spread to the rest of the room.

Adolpha sighed, relieved, "Thank you." Her shivering slowly stopped, but she wasn't sure if it was from the fire's light and warmth, or from Quince's arm around her shoulders.

"It's quiet in here," Quince observed, glancing around the black living area. Only a peek of moonlight shone through the windows, and the fire illuminated their faces and a square of the floor in night orange, but aside from this it was pitch black, every shadow impossible to see behind. The fire crackled and popped in front of them, their shadows dancing alongside it, but besides that and their breathing, it was utterly silent.

"I know," Adolpha responded wistfully, staring into the dancing, licking fire. It shone in her blue eyes. "Since May has been gone, it has been nothing but silent in this house."

"Well," Quince said, "Maybe she will come around more often, very soon."

Adolpha scoffed, "I doubt it, but I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad to be here."

Adolpha thought for a moment, and then shook her head, her curls waving, "Why is it you came here? It's quite late."

"I noticed your fire wasn't going," Quince replied bluntly. "I thought you might have forgotten to light it before bed. But now that it's lit, I'll go ahead and head out." Adolpha was saddened by her words, but she couldn't quite place why. She didn't understand yet why she wanted Quince to stay. But then it hit her. The loneliness, the silence. After years of travelling with a funny, rowdy group, it felt intense. She craved companionship, no matter who it was.

"Alright," was all she said, although her voice was a bit lower than she'd intended.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm very fine," Adolpha forced a bitter smile, and stood from the fireplace. "Thank you very much for coming."

"It's not any problem, honestly," Quince said, following her lead and standing, taking Adolpha's hand to help her up. Adolpha felt Quince's hand in hers, and her skin suddenly felt hot. They walked rather slowly to the door.

"I will see you tomorrow?" Adolpha asked.

"You will see me tomorrow," Quince repeated, smiling. With that, she slipped out of the door, and softly closed it behind her with a click, satisfied to see the smoke pooling from Adolpha's chimney. But as the door closed and she was put into the moonlight illuminated dark of the night, she walked away from the steps of the abode at a fast pace with a pertinent mission in mind. Her feet crunched on gravel and frosted dirt underfoot as she travelled from Adolpha's front yard to her home. From there, she walked to the side of the small building and roped up a mule, hopping up onto its bare, brown back and then trotting into town.

Being late at night, River's Bed was silent and asleep. The moon was bright overhead, casting a glow on the stone, wood, and straw roofs of the town's buildings, and casting long, blue shadows along the town's streets. A few houses stirred, townsfolk getting up in the night to pump their fires or check out their windows; if they did, they would see Quince, well known and trusted in the town, riding her mule down the street at a gentle canter, its hoofs hitting the ground with evenly paced clicks and thuds. It was almost satisfying, and even after so long of riding on mules, Quince still enjoyed the feeling of it and of the animal moving, swaying to and fro, beneath her. The appreciated the trust these animals had in their people, and she liked the snorts of appreciation they made during feeding time. She'd often let the mules eat right out of her stretched palms, and giggle at the tickling feeling.

Her mule clacked his hoofs for quite some time in the cold night air, down that street and through a turn. It was then that Quince found herself right in front of the student's community home, where May was residing. She hitched her mule on a post out front, one made just for mules, and then quietly entered the front door. Nobody was at the front desk, so Quince took matters into her own hands. Leaving the front door open, letting the cold air spill into the entry room, she used the dim blue light of the moon pouring in to find her hands and the front desk's top. She shuffled behind it, digging through the drawers and finding an old papyrus scroll. She held the flat side towards the moon, squinting her dark eyes as she scrolled the names and room numbers.

She quickly found May's name and number on the list. Smiling, satisfied, she re-rolled the yellow paper and placed it back in the drawer she found it in, laying it neatly on its side along the wood. Then, the woman held out her hands to find the walls of the community house, and began to walk down the corridor. Her fingertips drug against the walls, which were cold, and the farther she walked, the dimmer the moon's light became until it was just pitch black.

Being honest with herself, Quince admitted it was a little creepy. She also knew that she was the only thing the residents here should be afraid of. Quince couldn't help but recall the terrible things she'd done while on her journey, and somehow felt she was stopping that low once again. But she thought of Adolpha and her grief, her loneliness, and knew that she had to do this.

By now, Quince couldn't see a thing. It was all dark, and her skin was chilled. Goosebumps creeped up her arms and spine. Still, she felt blindly with her hands along the cool, rough edge of the wall to find the room numbers; she kept tracing over them, recognising the numbers, until she came across the one of May's room. Then, she gently knocked with a closed hand. Silence followed, so she knocked again, and then heard a bit of shuffling from behind the door. A drowsy and begrudging May creaked open the door to take a peek, and then wiped her groggy eyes. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess atop her head.

"Quince? You're my mom's friend," she said, voice low and raspy, still filled with sleep. "What are you doing here at this time of the night?" She crossed her arms over her pyjamas top, clearly a bit cold from the air flowing in from outside.

"Yes, that's me," Quince said. She forced the nervousness down her throat, and instead spoke with a strong, confident conviction, chin high and chest straight. "I'm here because of your mom, Adolpha."

May groaned exasperatedly, "She did not send you, did she?"

"No," Quince replied, calm and cold, calculated, "She is not even aware that I am here."

May's face grew a little more serious as she began to wake up, "Why are you here?"

"Your mother hasn't been feeling well. She does not want to admit it, but she is ill, in body and mind. She needs company, and her sister and Ajax are leaving town for a few weeks, so it will only be up to me and you to keep her company. You need to help her out."

May glared at her then, fury rising within her, "My mother abandoned me years ago! She made the decision to be lonely then."

"Your mother did not make any decisions," Quince snarled, suddenly furious, her entire body igniting in anger. "She thought that if she did not go, then you would die. And she was right! During our entire quest, she thought and spoke only of you. During our entire quest, you were her motivation, because she wanted you to live. She sacrificed the thing that means the most to her— giving you an amazing childhood— in order to preserve your very life, the very air you now breathe!"

"It was my childhood, that's damn right!" May snapped, slamming the door shut with a loud crank, her hair flying in the process. Admittedly, she was jumbled on the other side of the door, leaning her back against it in the dark and slowly sliding to the floor with shaking hands. But Quince did not know this, and, a bit defeatedly, left May alone, walking back down the hallway that she'd came from, and finally closing the door on her way out with a soft click. She'd hoped they'd not awoken anyone else in the community building, but she was certain they had.

Still, with a bit of faith still sprouting from her chest, Quince mounted her mule and trotted back down the street upon him, back to her home, and then inside where it was safe, warm, and bright. Her mother had since gone to bed, but Quince went to her room to tell her goodnight anyways.