The morning is chilly enough for Yoshiki’s breath to mist in the air, although spring is almost here. ‘Almost’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting, with the way winter is still clinging on — he sees it in the frost still creeping up their windows and feels it in the frigid bite of the wind. There’s a song lyric in there somewhere…

“Yoshi? Are you still out here?”

By the time Yan Ran’s voice snaps Yoshiki out of his thoughts, he’s filled half a page with scribbled notes, and his fingers are freezing. From the narrow-eyed look Yan Ran gives him as walks over to stare him down, he isn’t impressed. “Yoshi! How long have you been out here anyway? You look half-frozen, idiot.”

“I just got caught up for a moment,” Yoshiki protests, but doesn’t object when Yan Ran walks over to pull him into a hug, snuggling his very cold nose into Yan Ran’s sweater with a contented sigh. “I was thinking of a song…”

“Think of it inside. Ezra’s going to kill me if he comes back and finds you sick.” Yan Ran ruffles Yoshiki’s hair, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Have everything?”

“Yeah, I’m good — ” Yoshiki has only just tucked his notebook back into his pocket when the sudden weightlessness makes him yelp, and he has to throw an arm around Yan Ran’s neck to steady himself as he’s lifted into the air. “Ranran! You could have warned me!”

“Another second outside is another one for you to freeze in! Don’t complain,” Yan Ran retorts, but leans down to kiss Yoshiki anyway. His lips are warm and faintly sweet, with a hint of chocolate. As Yan Ran sweeps back indoors, Yoshiki’s already reaching for his notebook again, an unconscious smile tugging at his lips. A kiss like that will be the perfect note to end this song on.

Breath, plume. A cloud like the clouds drifting along the valley slopes.

Cold. Not really cold, in the shadow of sheltering mountains, just a distant defanged version of it. Frost silvers the trees, delicate as any work of Amaktai artisans, the first frost of the season come to lay its gentle hand upon her shoulder, whispering - it’s time to sleep.

(Not that she doesn’t spend most of her time sleeping, now. But summer-dozing is soft and fitful; winter lulls her deeper, and in the moments before everything slips away, there’s a glimpse of cool clarity.)

It’s been one of her better times, and she can pull herself together enough to make the walk down to the bridge, and enjoy the view down the valley and the distant hazy lowlands. She pauses there, for a few minutes; and then she traipses slowly back uphill, and curls up in her den, and sleeps.

There was something calming about the outskirts of Meridell. Rolling hills overtaken by green, farmland visible in the distance and the castle standing proudly just beyond. Of course, there wasn’t much out here but a few abandoned farmsteads, their walls and ceilings caved in leaving only bones overgrown with ivy to stand against the dimming afternoon light. Greenery sprouted up through cracks in the ruined floorboards, its inhabitants’ footprints long since lost to time and weather. It certainly felt… haunted, in a sense.  Len studied the view for a few minutes, turning back to Angelica with a curious blink.

“Your queen believes there might be fewr here?” He watched her as she picked her way over the ground, clearly worried she might suddenly find a cellar through splintering wood and a long fall. With gentle ease, he reached out and took her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles. She shyly peered up at him through her eyelashes.

“Sarah does, which means that Her Majesty does as well. Or at least, some traces of them… Trys had thought the same when she visited some time ago, right?” Angelica slid into place beside him, glancing around at the ruined home that surrounded them. All signs of life had long since faded from the walls. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Yes. She believed it was an artifact of the sorceress, but supposedly they took care of it already,” A frown began to twist onto Len’s face. “At least, I thought they did. If there’s still remnants of the magic here, then maybe it’s something different…”

A silence fell over the pair. Unfortunately, they had almost no idea what they were looking for, as Sarah’s conclusions had come from some vague feeling rather than any physical evidence. Fewr magic was fairly distinct, but how it had ended up here was a mystery considering Luccia was miles and miles away. Either there was an artifact here, or someone had made these empty ruins their home.

“Who do you think lived here?” Angelica asked quietly, stirring Len from his thoughts. With his eyes he followed a trail of ivy across the ground, watching it curl up and around what was left of an outer wall.

“Well… it was a farm, wasn’t it?” The farm they had walked through to get here. The fields were overgrown, but their old borders had been marked by stone walls and so were still visible despite the decay. “Their land wasn’t extensive, but big enough. It was probably a small family,”

The thought seemed to stir something in Angelica, her expression growing mournful. Len immediately regretted his straightforward observation, though he knew Angelica would’ve come to the conclusion regardless. Still, he didn’t like being the source of any ache in her chest. “I wonder why they left it behind, then? It’s not like this is a bad place to live…” She said, her eyes drifting downward toward the floor.

“People leave their homes all the time. Maybe they found something better, or wanted to live closer to Meridell proper?” Len offered, a little too quickly. Of course, that was entirely possible, or it was entirely possible some tragedy had befallen them. Who would know, with time having reclaimed this place so much? In an effort to find something to prove his point, Len stepped forward, beginning to scan the ground for any artifacts not yet destroyed by nature.

Carefully searching between the greenery and moss on rotten floorboards produced almost nothing. Clay shards of some bowl or pot had survived in a hidden nook, and a few unidentifiable pieces of furniture had scattered their parts across the house. Angelica watched him, her eyes tracing paths much as he was, though she looked even sadder every time he produced some ancient sign of life. Then, suddenly, Angelica sat up straighter, her expression flashing with shock. “Len! Look!”

She was pointing into the next room– or at least what the frame of the house implied was the next room. Underneath a pile of wood, just visible from Angelica’s perspective, was a worn handle just peeking out. Len carefully made his way to it, shoving the wood aside with a rough grunt so that he could pull the handle free.

It was a brush, its bristles worn down almost to the body. Made of wood, the brush was carefully carved with intricate markings that appeared to be some ancient runes. It took a moment, but suddenly Len registered the markings as fewr.

“This is it,” He said, holding out the brush toward Angelica. “This is the source of the magic,”

Angelica tilted her head, ears twitching as she studied the artifact. “That? It doesn’t look very… magical. It just looks like a normal brush,”

Pushing himself up off the ground, he returned to her side, turning the brush over in his fingers. She was right– dust had settled in the runes, and the handle was bent and warped by years of neglect. But, it was unmistakable.

“It’s old, but it’s definitely of fewr make. I’ve seen these letters before… though admittedly only on old gravestones,” Len stared down at them, eyebrows knitting together. “Doesn’t seem fitting to be on something as mundane as a brush?”

Once again, Angelica fell quiet, though her mournful expression had become one of contemplation. She held out a hand and Len placed the brush inside, letting her fingers drift over the ancients and the worn handle on the brush. “It’s a name,” She murmured, almost under her breath.

“But it had to have been here for years. It’s not being used now,” Len observed, lifting his head to glance around just in case some mysterious resident had materialized from the overgrown wheat fields to welcome them into their abode. There was no one, only swaying stalks dyed red by the sunset.

“No,” Angelica let her fingers slide over the old wood, holding it in her hand as if she intended to use the brush for its purpose. “It’s as old as the house, I’m sure,”

Len looked back at her in surprise, blinking a few times. “You’re sure?”

There was a sorrowful expression in her gaze, though something more delicate lay beneath it. A slow, sad smile lifted her lips. “You once told me that we and the fewr don’t often mix, but Ash said that’s not strictly true. There are legends, as he’s heard, of fewr falling in love with those across the veil, and leaving behind their court to pursue a romance,” She delicately pressed a nail into one of the runes, brushing out the dust. “I wonder… I wonder who lived here,”
Len watched her reminisce, her eyes distant. He rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze of assurance. “Someone in love, I suppose…”