[Present].

When Adolpha awoke, her head was spinning with ill, and she groaned, frustrated with the early sunlight that beamed directly at her from a window. It seemed to purposefully aim for her eyes, worsening her migraine. There was a bit of ruckus coming from the kitchen; the sound of a pan on stove, and then of water — or perhaps oil, in hindsight — being poured into an enamel pot with a hollow sound.

Suspicious, Adolpha slowly pulled herself from the sofa, crouched, suddenly wishing for her sword at her side. As if on instinct, her hand touched her hip where its sheath should have been. But instead of wearing her familiar red cloak, she was wearing nothing but a delicate white nightgown, no armour intact. Her first thought rolled in a hurry, is it Virulent? Then, she quickly shook her head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. Still, her hair stood on end, lining her arms with nervous bumps. She found no sword at her side, but she knew well that her side-table's drawer contained a dagger. Beside the tanned leather couch was a short wooden side-table resting on four legs. It had a flat, shiny top, and beneath that a single small drawer. With light footsteps, Adolpha moved towards it, placing a quiet hand on the knob of the drawer and very carefully rolling it out. She was displeased with the soft sound it made, but the noise still came from the kitchen, unbroken, and she knew that she had not been heard.

Taking the gleaming silver dagger in her hands, she slowly turned, crouching behind the couch still. She did not lift her head to peak over it and see who was possibly in the kitchen; no, she was much too worried for that, much too cautious. Instead, she crawled from one end of the living room to the other, using the couches as her cover.

The sound in the kitchen moved, then, as footsteps heavy on the ball of feet. The footsteps turned down the hallway, ready to walk right in front of where Adolpha then hid. As the steps neared, she prepared. Finally, she leapt, raising, taking the intruder by the arm with one hand and pinning them to the hallway's wall beside the kitchen with a sharp thud, dagger to their neck in the other hand. She had pulled one arm above their head against the wall, keeping the blade to their throat, chin up stiffly. And she looked up at her.

As Adolpha's eyes quickly adjusted, she saw none other than Quince herself, and faltered, pulling away several feet with a horrified expression, eyes wide and brows furrowed. The dagger fell from her hand and clattered on the hardwood below. Quince gave a slight gasp as her tension released at Adolpha's retreat, and she slumped away from the wall, instinctively touching a hand to her throat, as if to ensure it was still there.

"Quince..." was all Adolpha could manage, hoarse and bitter, her mouth dry, her tongue feeling swollen. The dark woman caught her breath for a moment, placing her hands on her thighs and leaning down, then looked back up at Adolpha, straightening. "I'm sorry," Adolpha said, hating the lingering silence between them. More than that, she hated herself for being so rash; for suspecting the worst. She knew that Quince had slept in her home last night, and yet, the idea of her being there that morning had simply not crossed Adolpha's mind.

Quince chuckled, standing upright then, brushing off her slacks, "Well, I'm sorry for trying to cook you breakfast! I'll know better next time." She had meant it as a joke, eager to let Adolpha know that she was quickly forgiven; but to Adolpha, her words felt like a painful stab to the heart, and she fretted that Quince would no longer want to spend time with her. Quince noticed that dull expression, and took a step closer to her, softly saying, "Adolpha, it's alright." It was true; the swift panic in Quince's eyes had faded just as fast as it had arrived, and her posture was confident once again. Quince knew that there was no danger here, and the short moment of being pinned against the wall, blade to her throat, her best friend in front of her, was a memory much softer than any of her similar experiences. If she were to die to a blade, then it was only rightful that it was someone she loved to do it. Regardless, Quince knew very well that death was not an option for today. She knew that Adolpha had reacted on well-earned instincts, and not with emotion nor thought. She could easily forgive her for such a thing, as Quince knew she would have very well done the same.

"It's not alright," Adolpha insisted, angrily, "I could have hurt you. I could have-"

"But you didn't," she said, firm. "I've been exactly where you are now. I've been paranoid, fearful... What we went through was hard, and we both know it left some marks. You needn't feel bad of it. We're all going through the same thing right now."

Adolpha shook her head, "But I..." She wasn't sure of what else to say, but the pang of guilt still weighed in her gut, her feet and eyes glued to the floor.

Quince smiled softly at her, reassuring her, "It's alright. It's a long day ahead; we should finish cooking up breakfast, yeah?"

She hesitated, daring to glance up, "I suppose." Quince led Adolpha back into the kitchen, where a steel pan sat on the cast iron stove top, oil sizzling in it. There, then, stood Quince in front of it, wearing Adolpha's clothes, which Adolpha had just promptly noticed. She wore a pair of tanned slacks that were a bit small on Adolpha, and a white collared shirt, tight along her broad chest, loose at the collar with an unbuttoned slip down to her collar bone, and rolled up halfway along the arms. There was exact brown stitching along the slip, collar, and front. Adolpha focused strongly on these simple features, trying desperately to avoid the conflict waging in her mind of what had just happened moments before. She found the effort to be futile.

Noticing the uneasy silence, Quince spoke, "I was going to fry us up some eggs."

"I'm not sure I have any," Adolpha said, "All I've got is preservatives and bread that May left. I haven't had a moment to restock my kitchen since we've gotten back."

"Well, why don't we do that today?"

"We're already meeting with Mayor Kelo today," Adolpha protested, "Is that not enough of a schedule for you?"

Quince chuckled, "Alright. Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow, then."

She continued, "Why don't we toast a bit of bread?"

"Oh, yes," Adolpha said, "And we can use some of my Da's old marmalade jam."

Quince turned to her with a shocked expression, "My, you haven't eaten them all yet?"

Adolpha chuckled, "No, Quince. I've been saving it."

"Oh, and you want to use one for some off day's little breakfast?"

"It's the least I can offer you."

She nodded, "I will not argue with eating marmalade jam. I do admit I've craved it!" Above Quince's head on the wall was a cupboard alongside many others, to the right of the stove, and there she opened the wooden door and investigated for bread. Finding it, she pulled the glass top from the container and took the half-loaf of bread from within, setting it aside on the counter. Taking a knife from a top drawer, Adolpha walked to Quince's other side and began slicing the bread into thick pieces, handing them one-by-one to Quince. With a smile, Quince took the slices and gently placed them in the pan, where the yellow bubbling oil sizzled beneath them, turning their edges a warm shade of gold. The aroma was savoury and alluring, filling the kitchen's air. Adolpha allowed herself to inhale and then exhale deeply, releasing tension from her body.

She laid out two ceramic plates from a shelf along the counter beside Quince, and Quince prepared them with salted, buttery toast while Adolpha retreated to the pantry to gather her Da's familiar marmalade jam. Gabriel had always been one to cook, especially sweets and preservatives. After his passing, Adolpha had taken fine care to only open jars of his famous jam for special occasions, such as holidays, or even funerals. To her, on this seemingly ordinary morning, the day felt as if it was a special occasion or a holiday. For she was cooking a hearty breakfast in the kitchen with her friend, Quince, and neither of them were dead. Both were alive, and that was a good reason to celebrate.

And partially, Adolpha still felt wrecked over her rash behaviour that morning. As she had said, offering Quince some of her Da's famous jam was the least she could offer to apologise for what she had nearly done. Still, Adolpha wasn't sure that any form of apology could make such a thing better. True, Quince did not seem much bothered from it, but Adolpha certainly was, for she had held a blade to a loved one's throat; the same blade that had been used to slaughter enemies. Adolpha felt a strong inner bitterness towards herself, and towards her actions. She could blame no one but herself, and it ate her alive. She could never have thought of Quince as the enemy, and yet, there she had been, with Quince pinned against the wall, a blade to her throat. She'd watched as Quince gulped, saw the movement beneath her skin along her neck, and that familiar tang of fear. Oh, putrid fear, and how all too familiar it had become. Adolpha was nearly friends with it, then, as it stuck around quite so often. The only other thing she was friends with was hate; not towards Virulent, or Nautis, or even Mother Nature, but hate towards herself, both present and in the past.

Though an introvert, that young girl and strong mother that had left River's Bed so long ago was strife with a vengeful confidence. Now, however, she felt like crumpled foil beneath someone's shoe, collapsing in on herself and giving way to darkness. The worst of it was that nobody seemed to notice.

But Quince noticed, as much as Adolpha could not tell. Quince stood there, letting the toast turn gold in front of her, sitting in that delicious sizzling pan. But her eyes were not on it; her eyes were watching Adolpha as she tenderly took beautiful ceramic dishes from a top shelf, stepping onto her tip-toes in a struggle to reach it, and yet being so lovingly cautious so as not to clink them or break them. It took a real skill to be so thoughtful, so considerate for an inanimate object; to appreciate its beauty so. The delicate plates were immense with their beauty and design. The shining glass was white with lines of engraved, deep blue swirls and foliage, like vines climbing along the rounded rim of the plate. Adolpha looked at them thoughtfully, her eyes so gently soft, her lashes low. With a careful precision she set the plates on the marble counter, so as their bottoms did not clink against the hard surface. She was oh so careful, so tender, her hands soft and secure and certain.

Quince admired to see her like this, in these small, illuminating moments, the morning sun draped over her back, streaming in from a clear window. Adolpha still held her familiar confidence, although frizzled, and it showed in these moments as she set out those fragile ceramics to dine upon. Her carefulness, the particularises with which she moved her fingers and hands, keeping a grip so perfectly strong that the plates did not move from it, and keeping a grip so perfectly tender that the plates did not crack from it. The edges of her orange hair were softly frizzed from a good night's rest, and the slender strands turned white along the edges beneath the overexposed light. Like a fountain on gold, the light poured over her, and her blue eyes were like vibrant water beneath the surface.

Quince still watched with affectionate blue eyes as she placed a buttery slice of fresh toast on one of the dishes, and Adolpha watched her do it, eyeing how her hands worked the tan spatula she used. But more than this, Adolpha watched peculiarly as Quince set the toast on the plate, as if judging her for her brashness, ensuring that Quince's movements did not nick, clink, or tip the plate in any way. Quince didn't think that Adolpha even realised she was doing it, guarding over those plates with those observant eyes like a faithful watchdog over his master, making sure that he does not get threatened.

It reminded Quince of how Adolpha would tend to her garden with the hands of a mother; gently digging up dirt, gently placing little seeds an inch below the dirt, and then patting them like a good dog once covered again. Gardening was a strong passion of hers, and Adolpha was so careful when doing so. It was that expression of softness, gratitude, and protectiveness that Adolpha wore when tending to the things that she loved, carefully ensuring that they were well cared for and could thrive. Quince had seen her wear this tender expression many a time before, and especially whenever she was caring for May. Even now, with May being the defensive teenager that she was, Adolpha always had that softened, almost saddened expression when talking of her or when near her. Quince could not seem to understand such a thing, as she had no child of her own, and yet, she did understand it more than she yet realised. It was an everything kind of love, as if Adolpha loved her daughter, and her garden, and those ceramic dishes with her every being.

It wasn't as if Adolpha would choose one over the other, though, and this Quince knew well. Adolpha clearly loved her daughter more than anyone and anything else, and even here on this tranquil morning, she knew that worry hidden behind Adolpha's eyes. She knew that Adolpha wore a constant fear behind them, and it was all for her daughter.

But fear was just another form of love, wasn't it? Fearing to lose something— or someone— was just as expressive of a form of love as Adolpha was hovering over those plates, terrified of their breaking. Quince knew that whenever Adolpha loved or cared, she did so with her entirety, no matter who or what it was.

Quince couldn't help but chuckle, thinking of how ridiculous it all was, to which Adolpha looked up at her with a wide-eyed, frozen expression, and said with spite, "What've you got to be laughing at?"

"You really don't know, do you?" Quince asked, shaking her head with a smile of delight. The image of Adolpha hovering over those plates, and then her shocked expression thereafter, was more than enough to get Quince laughing.

"No," Adolpha said, "I don't." She crossed her arms over her chest, as if she was upset with Quince; but Quince knew that she wasn't. There it was again; that confidence of hers, buried so deeply that it only showed in playful moments like these. Moments like these. Quince considered it for a while, admiring the beauty of it all; the beauty of everything, just then, in that very split second of time. It was a reason to celebrate, wasn't it? That moment then was surely a reason to crack open a pint jar of Mayor Gabriel's famous marmalade jam.

Chuckling, Quince told her, "Why don't you gather the jam from the pantry?" And Adolpha frowned, but went anyways, walking to the pantry, which's door was the first to the left of the hallway. Adolpha winced as she walked by, thinking of that morning once again. The thought kept bouncing back, tugging at her brain in a terrible way. She knew that she would never forget it; that flicker of wide fear in Quince's eyes, the slow motion of a gulp beneath her chin, her dark brown skin, dark as the night, in such a heavy contrast with the white glint of the dagger; the sheen that had been along her forehead. Adolpha thought of what a horrible morning it had been so far, and she was rest assured that the day could only get worse. She always thought the worst, and Quince could see it spewed across her face upon her return to the kitchen, a jar of vibrant orange jelly in her hand. The pint jar was decorated neatly with the emblem of some grapes along the side, raised on the glass. She placed it on the counter firmly, and yet with the same delicateness that Quince had observed with her plates.

As Quince watched with comfort, Adolpha used a knife to spread the jelly on the toast. She looked down as she did it, almost shadowed in her face, soft in features; a rounded nose, low eyes, and a soft line along her jaw, and Quince could not help but think of what a remarkable morning it had been so far; she knew beyond a doubt that with Adolpha at her side, the day could only get better. The two then sat at the dining table beside the kitchen and ate their tart jam on toast with pleasure, the toast crunching with each bite.

"It's even better than I remember," Quince remarked through a delightful mouthful. Adolpha nodded with enthusiastic agreement, eagerly finishing her plate. She returned to the kitchen alongside Quince to carefully wash the two plates, replacing them at the top of the cupboard once again; and then, she lidded what was left of the marmalade jam and placed it in the stone of the sink, allowing it to remain cool. Then, Adolpha made her way to her bedroom, still painfully aware of her nightgown's informality in the presence of another. Quince found her flustered look amusing, and chuckled to herself about it, patiently waiting in the living room on the couch for Adolpha's return.

Adolpha considered for a short while, standing in her bedroom and staring at the clothes hanging in her closet, and thinking of the ones folded neatly away in the dresser at the foot of her bed. Thinking of familiarity and comfort, she chose a tighter pair of dark pants and a red tunic, tied at the waist with a belt. Although her usual red and white robe was not yet washed and ready to wear, her tunic was a similar form of clothing and therefore comforting. It didn't take her long to slip from her nightgown and into her daily wear. Then, satisfied, she returned to the livingroom.

She turned to Quince, as if waiting for direction; but Quince knew very well that Adolpha was well aware of what to do and where to go next. It was that hidden confidence of hers, the one that Quince had seen so often during their trip, but which had nearly disappeared upon their return home.

Playing along, Quince stood from the couch and said, "It ought to be a decent time of day to find Mayor Kelo, then."

"I think you're quite right," Adolpha said, nodding. "Shall we bring anything?"

"As in, a gift?"

"Yes," Adolpha glanced at her hands with thought, "I thought perhaps it might be polite of us to give a gift to him. For letting us go, after all."

"Well," Quince said, glancing past her, "We didn't eat much of that marmalade jam, did we?"

"No, not too much of it, then."

Quince smiled, "Well, then. It seems Mayor Kelo may be receiving a tasty treat!"

Adolpha smiled, too, "That sounds fine!" Adolpha was the one to return to the sink and retrieve the jar of jam, a brightened look of delight on her face, as if she was so very pleased to have such a wonderful gift to give Mayor Kelo, despite it being a half-eaten jar of sweet. Quince nodded her approval, and without a word, turned and opened the front door; Adolpha went out first, thanking her, and Quince second, shutting the door behind her.

The morning was quite beautiful, quite wintery, and quite wet. As it had rained the night before, the air hung heavy with humidity and dew littered the tall waving grass, which had begun to turn yellow and browned at the ends from soft frosts. Some tails of grass had bent at their base and laid flat in the yard, while others still stood upright, wavering in the wind like a flag. The wind was gentle, but crisp and cool, and a mist twinkled rainbow in the air overhead. The sky was nearly green with after-storm, or perhaps yellow, and mostly clouded, very bright and yet the shrouded sun nowhere to be found. The mud along the road was riddled with brown puddles and the sinking steps of those that walked along it, their footprints visible clearly in it and the surface reflected wetly. The air was clean and cold, sending a few chills down Adolpha's spine, and she was glad she had chosen the warm tunic for her outfit. She caught Quince rolling down her sleeves, back to her wrists, to block the bite of the cold.

The two made their way down the front stone steps coming from Adolpha's cottage; then, they walked down the street, already knowing exactly where Mayor Kelo's professional abode was. It wasn't quite too far down the lanes, but it was farther than Ajax's and Danica's house, and so it became a bit of a walk. The two opted for walking on foot rather than mule, knowing their tired mules could use a day of rest, but quickly regretted it as the soles of their boots became caked with sopping mud.

They arrived shortly at Ajax and Danica's house, which was a rather humble, rounded brick cottage sitting in the centre of town. It wasn't yet completely furnished, but it still had a small dining area, a couch, and a tea table. Quince walked in with confidence and familiarity, heading straight to the living area where Ajax and Danica were. Ajax was just finalising her outfit, clasping a necklace for her. She thanked him, and then turned to greet Quince and Adolpha. Adolpha was nervous, her heart pounding within her chest; and yet, Danica greeted her with the same affection and energy that she had greeted Quince.

"Hello, friends!" Danica welcomed them, "Are you two ready to go?" She glanced at Adolpha, "I wasn't aware you were coming." Adolpha froze, her heart stopping. Then, Danica continued, smiling, "How wonderful! All four of us, together again." Adolpha smiled in return, although she still felt out of place. Danica was so wonderfully beautiful, her hair silvery with a glimmer, her eyes a warm shade of brown, and her skin regaining its colour and complexion. Danica also wore an elegant white dress, lace along the rims, and a gleaming necklace to match. Adolpha felt that she had only paled in looks, and compared to her sister, felt even more so. But Danica did not compare the two; she merely greeted Adolpha as a friend, though not necessarily as a sister. Ajax, who was wearing his own dark tunic, greeted Quince with a quick hug, and then the group was on their way to greet Mayor Kelo, leaving Ajax and Danica's home just as quickly as they'd arrived.

Being out once again in the cool, open air, the scent of the bustling morning town riding the wind, helped Adolpha to calm, gaining control over her bundled nerves once again. She had been good friends and comrade with these three people for years, through thick and thin, and there was truly no reason for her to feel as insignificant and as burdened as she did. She was all too aware of this, and it merely made her feel worse.

They soon came upon Mayor Kelo's professional abode, which was quaint yet spacious, and quite well built. There, they walked up a few wooden steps and to a front door, knocking on it. The door opened and revealed an unfamiliar, young guardsmen in suit.

"What's your purpose?"

Danica was the one to first respond, "We're here to see Mayor Kelo."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Quince sighed, then, speaking next, "We don't need one. He's a good friend of ours. And—" she took the glass jar from Adolpha's hands, "We come bearing gifts!" The guard studied the four for a moment, then smiled softly, stepping aside and allowing them into the home. Each of them thanked him for the door as they entered, and were pleasantly surprised to find it cosy and warm, shielding them from the early winter outside.

Mayor Kelo sat at a desk to the right, studying something on paper and wearing a guardsman's armour suit; but upon the group's noise and chatter, entering the building, he looked up, confused for only a moment, blonde strands of hair over his eyes. Then, quickly, a large smile creased his face, and he stood from his chair animatedly.

"Welcome!" He said, excited, "I'm so glad to see each of you. I've heard you were back in town." He was met with excited chatter from the group, each of them welcoming him right back. Then, glancing over each one of them, aged lines beneath his eyes, the man frowned, "My, where are Yakob and Ware?"