Mrs. Gable
Mrs. Gable quickly made her way towards Milla's bakery, the large bundle in her arms clutched to her chest as if it were a lifeline.
Every few steps, her eyes darted toward the shadows of the alleyways.
She reached the back entrance of the bakery, her breath hitching as she shifted the weight of the brown-paper package.
It was tied with coarse twine that bit into her fingers, containing a wool travelling cloak that had sat at the bottom of a cedar chest for five years.
As she pushed open the heavy oak door, she was met with the comforting, domestic roar of the ovens and the sight of Milla wrestling a massive tray of cinnamon buns.
Milla looked up, her face flushed from the heat, and smiled.
"Eira is in the back," Milla said, her voice dropping as she gestured with a flour-caked chin toward the pantry.
Mrs. Gable nodded and moved past the cooling racks.
She found Eira sitting at the small prep table, her fingers stained green from crushing dried herbs for a remedy.
The girl looked up, and for a moment, Mrs. Gable saw the ghost of Master Elian in her determined expression.
"Eira, dear," Mrs. Gable said, clearing her throat as she set the bundle on the table with a muffled thud. "I was cleaning out the back room of the apothecary and found this. It belonged to Noa's older brother before he moved south. It's a wool travelling cloak. It's... quite substantial."
Eira stared at the package. She didn't reach for it. "Mrs. Gable, Noa would drown in a cloak that size. He's all elbows and knees."
The older woman didn't flinch. She stepped closer, invading Eira's personal space until the girl was forced to look her in the eye.
Mrs. Gable's gaze was weary, seasoned by years of watching the village's secrets pass through her shop.
"I know," Mrs. Gable whispered. Her hand went to the collar of Eira's tunic, her thumb brushing a stray, bright orange hair that clung to the fabric. A hair from a fox. "And I know why your apron smells like the damp stone of a cellar instead of the gardens."
Eira's breath hitched. She opened her mouth, a lie already forming on her tongue, but Mrs. Gable squeezed her wrist, cutting her off.
"Don't," Mrs. Gable said. She pulled a chair out and sat heavily.
Her mind flickered back to Elian. She remembered the quiet, youthful crush she had once harboured for him, and how that had changed and matured into a steady pride for the woman he eventually married.
She had traded her early heartaches to become one of his closest, most trusted friends. Mrs. Gable grimaced. She couldn't think of that here. Not now.
She focused on the figure she had seen in the shadow
"I saw him, Eira." Mrs. Gable whispered.
It hadn't been a single slip-up, but a trail of them.
"Two nights ago, I had walked past the bakery's side alley well after the lamps had been extinguished, and seen a shadow hauling a crate of firewood."
"Then there has been the time when I caught you taking double the amount of numbing salve and anti-infection wash, claiming you were "restocking her personal kit".
"That wasn't the first time I saw him," Mrs. Gable continued," The first was two years ago, on those cold rocks." Mrs. Gable murmured, "I didn't forget that face. I spent a year praying the Wardens would catch the boy who broke our Healer."
Eira let out a broken sob, the green herb-stains on her fingers smudging as she wiped her eyes. "He didn't mean to do it, Mrs. Gable. The river... it just happened."
"But I've watched you these last few weeks, Eira," she continued, her voice trembling. "You were a shell when you learned about what happened to your father. You were cold. But lately you're starting to burn again. With purpose. If you, of all people, can look at him and not see a monster, then I… I have to trust that judgment. I have to believe Elian taught you more than just how to mix salves."
Eira's eyes welled with tears, a single drop splashing onto the green-stained table. She leaned forward, burying her face in Mrs. Gable's shoulder. The older woman held her, rocking her slightly as the ovens hummed in the background.
"He's not a monster," Eira sobbed into the wool of Mrs. Gable's shawl. "He's just... he's just so tired, Mrs. Gable."
"Then we make sure he stays warm," Mrs. Gable said, pulling back to pat Eira's cheek. She pushed the bundle across the table. "Make him wear it. The nights are turning, and I saw Warden Kaelen's men marking the drainage pipes near the square this morning. They are hunting, Eira. And they are hunting close."
Mrs. Gable stood up, her knees popping. She had seen what she needed to see. As she walked back out into the crisp morning air, she felt a strange, quiet lightness in her chest.
She hadn't forgotten Elian. She never would. But for the first time since the accident, she felt like she was honouring his memory.