Most of the morning was filled with more coloring — portraits of Father Tilden, Sandy, R.S., Danni, and even Ol’ Greta. Annie insisted on giving everyone exaggerated smiles and heroic stances.
I picked up where Greta had left off in the storybook. It was about a Raccoonfolk from the country of Red Vine and his journey toward becoming a hero. I had heard whispers of the tale’s true inspiration. His real name was Heftavius Brute, and he was said to have broken a terrible curse that once plagued the land. If the rumors were true, he was still alive somewhere.
Annie listened with wide-eyed wonder as I read.
My stomach growled loudly enough that even she paused mid-color.
I stood and retrieved the basket from the pantry, bringing it to the table with ceremony. I lifted the cloth covering it.
Inside was a small cauldron and several neatly wrapped bundles.
“Danni knows how to feed a girl, doesn’t he?” I said, glancing at Annie.
“Did he give you any pastries?” she asked hopefully.
“Let’s find out.”
I began unwrapping the parcels one by one.
The cauldron held a leek and potato soup — thick, hearty, enough for several servings. That was clearly meant for dinner. I made a mental note to warm the hearth properly later.
The first cloth bundle, wrapped in the familiar cabbage-leaf style of the Cabbage Bar, held small folded flatbreads stuffed with pear and apple spread. Extra cinnamon and sugar dusted the tops.
My stomach begged.
I ignored it.
The next bundle was clearly meant for me. Danni was painfully aware of my “strict discipline.” Inside was a small bowl of fresh raspberries.
I smiled despite myself.
He always remembered the little things.
Another wrap held cut bread for dipping in the soup.
“I think Danni might think you’ve become a queen with all this food,” I said with mock jealousy.
The final two bundles contained dried venison — one glazed in maple with a rich scent, the other plain.
The plain one was for me.
Of course it was.
I carried the cauldron to the hearth and hung it carefully on the hook before kneeling to arrange the wood beneath it.
Stolen story; please report.
“What does that say?” Annie asked suddenly.
I turned.
She was halfway inside the basket, clutching a small folded piece of parchment.
I wiped my hands and walked over, taking it gently.
In quick, slanted handwriting, it read:
Before you defend your home and slay the beast
You must have your strength and enjoy the feast.
I cleared my throat and read it aloud in an overly dramatic, booming voice, as though narrating the fall of kingdoms.
Annie shrieked in delighted terror and leapt off her chair, running in frantic circles as though a monster were chasing her.
I laughed and set everything aside except one flatbread and the berries.
“Come on, Pidge. Danni will want your full review.”
She grabbed an entire section of tablecloth with the flatbread still on it and trailed after me, munching happily while I coaxed the fire to life.
Once the flames caught, the room began to warm. The smell of woodsmoke mingled with soup and fruit.
I sat back against the stone hearth.
Annie climbed up beside me without asking, still chewing enthusiastically.
I ate a berry.
It burst sweet and sharp against my tongue — infinitely better than the endless nuts I’d been forcing down for the past few weeks.
For a moment, everything felt simple.
Warm fire. Good food. Rain against stone.
Then Annie spoke.
“Why is Poppi so sick all the time?”
The question wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t loud.
It was just… honest.
My heart sank.
It took me a moment to realize my mouth was open from the shock of the question.
This was not the first time Annie had asked me something her parents didn’t want to answer. To be fair, I had been doing the same thing to her grandfather since I learned to talk.
I took a slow breath and fixed my face before she could see any worry settle there.
“Well,” I began gently, “your Poppi has been a hero for a very, very long time. Because of that, he needs rest. But he was so busy protecting everyone that he didn’t get nearly enough of it. So now… it’s catching up to him. That happens more and more when you reach your Poppi’s age.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“If he gets too sick, can Father Tilden fix it?”
The question hit harder than the first.
I knew better than anyone that Father Tilden was a miracle worker. I had seen him do things that defied logic. But when it came to Prosic’s age… most remedies simply weren’t advisable anymore.
And I could still hear Bruno’s rant as clearly as the day he gave it:
“You can cure blindness, stop disease in its tracks—hells, you can even bring back the dead if you’re quick enough. But there are some things that defy what we do. You can’t stop the sniffles. Some people will always be allergic to cats. And most importantly—time does not care how powerful we are. Time will always win.”
I sat with that memory for a long moment.
Then I chose the gentlest truth I could.
“Remember when I started calling you Pidge?”
Her face lit up instantly.
“You couldn’t say ‘pigeon’ yet. The way you said it was adorable. And you got the name before you ever had the chance to decide if you liked it or not.”
She nodded, delighted.
“That’s kind of what’s happening to your Poppi,” I continued softly. “Just on the other end. Things are happening to him because he’s older. And he doesn’t really get to choose them.”
She blinked at me for a moment.
Then, to my relief, she nodded in understanding.
But just as quickly, her attention shifted.
She began to giggle.
I followed her gaze down to my bowl.
Two raspberries were clutched in tiny paws.
One was already in a familiar red mouth.
“Tee Tee!” I shrieked.
Annie burst into laughter as I lunged uselessly for my pet companion. He bounded away effortlessly, vanishing into the next room to enjoy his stolen treasure in dramatic secrecy.
I stood there, defeated.
Annie laughed harder.
And despite myself, I joined her.
We finished what food remained, and I pushed the wood closer together so the embers would catch properly in the hearth. The fire crackled softly, warming the stone around us.
