Before noon, their corner of the city was packed. Nyla bartered bundles of dried fever-leaf for jars of honey and blocks of salt from a northern trapper. She exchanged tinctures for bolts of dyed linen. Alva managed to sell two jars of wound salve all on her own, grinning proudly as she tucked the coins into Nyla's palm.
Even here, people sought her out. A shepherd hobbled forward on a swollen ankle, and Nyla knelt beside his cart to bind it properly. An older woman offered three silver pieces for a small bottle of cold draught; Nyla only took one, and pressed the bottle into her hands for free when she heard the young girl cough like an old man, beside her. "For your daughter," she said gently. "It'll ease the coughing."
By late afternoon, the low sun had turned the snowmelt on the cobbles into a sheet of gold and Nyla had made a steady profit. As everyone finished up for the evening and began to celebrate, from behind her cart, she counted her darics, "How much did we make today, Nyla?" Alva asked.
Nyla poured the coins into the leather pouch. The mix of silver and dark bronze gleamed in the lantern light.
"Eighty-seven darics," she said, satisfied. "Not bad for the first day."
Alva leaned closer, eyes wide. "That's a fortune!"
Nyla smiled, counting out a few smaller coins. "It's a start. Here, ten for you. You've earned it."
Alva beamed, tucking them away as if they were treasure. "What will you do with the rest?"
"Buy more supplies, it's still cold and we're gonna need to keep our stocks up. If you're good you could earn some helping around the village," Nyla said. "And maybe something sweet when we get home."
A handful of villagers had gathered by the fire pits, tankards in hand, voices rising with the music that spilled from the square. Laughter drifted through the air, brittle at first, then real, as if the whole world was remembering how to breathe again after three long years beneath the ice.
Alva tugged at Nyla's sleeve. "Can we stay?" she asked, her eyes following a group of children chasing paper lanterns through the crowd. "Just a little longer?"
Nyla smiled, soft and apologetic. "Not tonight. We will return in a few days, there will be many festivals to come and the cold will be on us before we reach the valley."
Alva's shoulders slumped, but she didn't argue. She knew better than anyone the price of staying too long in the chill.
They packed what remained of their wares and loaded the coins and barter goods into the back of the cart. Villagers called their farewells as Nyla flicked the reins and steered Anya toward the city gate. Today, the work was done.
Lanterns bloomed to life along Eodwyn's streets, and the festival roared on around them, lutes and drums singing, laughter, the clink of tankards and smell of roasted meat hanging heavy in the air. Some from the village stayed to drink and dance, some had already left but Nyla had no appetite for revelry. The cold was crawling back into the bones of the evening, Nyla was already thinking about tomorrow's workload, and Alva was drooping beside the cart, exhaustion softening the edges of her solemnity.
"Up you get," Nyla murmured, helping the girl climb into the back. Within minutes, Alva was bundled under furs and dozing off in the back of the cart against stacked crates, her breathing deep and steady amid the gentle sway of the wagon. The air turned fresh and chilled, a reminder that they will still not out of winters grip just yet.
Nyla secured her gloves, and her heavy woollen cloak around her, clicking her tongue and flicking the reins. "Home, Anya."
The mare snorted, tossing her head before setting into a steady trot. The road out of the city wound through frost-damp fields and past skeletal trees still heavy with winter's ghost. The sky above was deepening to violet, and the last traces of festival firelight flickered behind them.
It was quiet now, only the sound of insects and wind around them and the wooden creak of the cart as it rolled along the half-mud, half-frozen earth. Lanterns swung from the back of the wagon, their light catching on patches of ice as Anya's hooves struck a steady rhythm against the ground.
But only an hour in and the mare's patience, much like Nyla's, was wearing thin.
"Come on, girl," Nyla coaxed, clicking her tongue. "Just a little farther."
Anya snorted in protest and stamped at the frozen mud, refusing to budge. The cart creaked as Nyla tugged the reins, but the mare stood firm, head tossing in defiance. The cold had sharpened into a biting wind, and the stars were already beginning to pierce the darkening sky.
Nyla had been born with the kind of magic that ran quiet, more instinct than spectacle, like most people. Her senses warned her when danger crept close, and her hands knew the finer workings of true craft: the binding of wounds with light, the coaxing of fever from flesh, the way a whispered word could still a racing heart. She wasn't counted among the powerful, not like the mages of court or the battle-singers of the north, but what she knew was old and steady, the kind of magic passed hand to hand, tested through centuries of need and faith.
Once she believed most animals held that same power...but it seemed to have completely missed Anya.
Alva stirred in the back, half-awake beneath a heavy wool blanket. "What's wrong?" she mumbled sleepily.
"Stubborn old tart," Nyla muttered. "Same as always."
She climbed down, boots crunching against the snow, and tried to soothe the mare with a hand against her neck. She even tried coaxing her with a treat but Anya all but refused. Nyla let a breath out of her lungs, "I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. You're tired, I'm tired, we're all tired, but we need to get home."
Anya tossed her head again and sidestepped. Nyla sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. They should've nearly been home by now. The road was too empty, too cold, and too dark for her liking.
"You're a long way from home to be arguing with a horse."
The voice came from just down the road, low, calm, unmistakable. Nyla turned and, in the dim lantern light, made out a familiar silhouette approaching on foot.
"Valtor?" she asked, surprised and thankful to every God it wasn't someone else.
He nodded, his breath fogging in the cold. "I was hoping that wasn't you on the road this late at night. Saw you stopped and thought something was wrong."
"Valtor!" Alva poked her head through the flap of the cart.
"Hello, little healer," he said. "What seems to be the problem?"
"She's decided she's done walking," Nyla said dryly, jerking her head toward the obstinate mare. "I've been trying to convince her otherwise."
Valtor stepped closer, slow and unhurried, his voice dropping into something almost gentle. "Anya, isn't it? She nipped last she was at the forge stables."
"She does that," Nyla said apologetically, "I'd apologise but she might do it again just out of spite."
"May I?" Valtor gestured towards her.
Nyla hesitated, then stepped aside. "Be my guest."
He approached Anya with an ease that surprised her, hands low, movements deliberate, voice a soft rumble. "There now," he murmured, resting a steady palm along her neck, mumbling steady calm words in a language Nyla didn't know.
Like magic, the mare tossed her head once more, blew out a breath and leaned lightly into his touch, ears flicking back and forth before she finally stepped forward obediently.
Nyla blinked. "You have a way with animals," she admitted, watching as Anya nuzzled his sleeve. He reached into his satchel and held out a piece of fruit in the palm of his hand. Anya took it greedily.
Valtor's mouth twitched into something like a smile. "It's a gift, passed on from my father. It doesn't always work, mind you." He stepped back and gave the mare's leg a quick, practiced glance. "She'll need new shoes before spring's in full swing. Bring her by the forge next week, I'll fit her properly."
Nyla met his gaze, the corners of her mouth lifting. "I'll hold you to that."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The cold bit at the air, but she felt oddly warm, the kind of warmth that settled low, quiet, and unexpected. His shoulders caught the last of the moonlight, his sword glinting faintly at his back. There was something steady about him, solid as stone, yet softer in the eyes than she'd imagined.
When his gaze lingered, hers lingered back.
"Did you walk all the way from the city?" Alva interrupted, her voice breaking the stillness like a snapped thread.
"I like to walk." Valtor glanced up at her, the faintest hint of amusement ghosting across his face. "Helps me think."
"In this cold?" Nyla asked , folding her arms as the breeze nipped her neck.
"Your thoughts must be freezing solid." Alva said.
That earned a quiet huff of laughter, brief but real. He adjusted the strap of the pack slung over his shoulder. "It's not far. Though, the thought of you and little Alva travelling alone does not fill me with ease. You two must be off before it gets too cold and much too dark." He held out a hand for Nyla to use to lift herself up onto the cart.
The movement was smooth, unthinking, the kind of courtesy bred, not learned. He offered his hand to her without a word, as if the gesture were second nature.
"There's room up here if you'd like a ride," she said before she could stop herself, heart jumping. There must've been something in her voice that made him pause and she hoped she hadn't betrayed how warm her cheeks were.
"You can fight off the bandits with your sword!" Alva said delighted.
"Alva," Nyla said exasperatedly. "Forgive her."
Alva rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away and she dipped back below the carts flap.
When Valtor smiled, Nyla caught a glimpse of teeth too straight for a man who worked with hammers. In Andris, that was a mark of good breeding, or good fortune. Either way, it made him a little harder to ignore. "Nothing to forgive. It'd be my honor to be your sword until we reach the village." Valtor said, pulling himself up next to her and settling into the seat as if he'd done it a hundred times.
"It's no trouble," Nyla said, clicking the reins once more. "After all, you just saved me from a very stubborn argument."
The cart creaked into motion again, the road stretching ahead like a dark ribbon under the stars. Valtor's shoulder pressed against hers, the rough outer fabric of his cloak as he placed his sword between his feet and rested it against his arm.
The night was quiet save for the rhythmic clop of hooves and the whisper of wind through bare branches. Nyla listened for Alva's breathing to deepen before saying, "Thank you...for what you did in the marketplace."
Valtor glanced over his shoulder at Alva sleeping soundly in the back, "To tell you the truth, I couldn't stand to see the light in her eyes doused by that Gorgish puff, especially after the trouble it took for that light to grow back. She seems happier these last months. I never thought I'd see her spirits lift."
"She's doing better," Nyla replied. "Better than most adults would, I think."
"She's lucky to have you."
Nyla glanced sideways at him. "I think we're lucky to have each other."
As the wagon rolled steadily toward home, Nyla felt something shift quietly between them. "I am curious to know about what you said - about people like me."
Valtor's brow quirked. "Do you not know much of your family?"
"My parents died when I was very young, I've been in the Northern cold since before I can remember."
"Ah," Valtor's face softened, "forgive me. That was careless-"
"There's nothing to forgive," Nyla smiled, and meant it. It'd been too long. She missed the possibilities, the future that was robbed from her but she also was exactly who she was because of it. She no longer mourned people she never knew.
"I don't know much," Valtor said after a moment, his voice low. "Your features are common near Raun. They say it's the land where the sun never sleeps. Funny thing, it's where Skyrifters come from too. That Gorg was likely a poacher, and a skilled one, if he managed to smuggle a hatchling this far north, especially now that it's punishable by death. They spent centuries fighting over Raun's borders until the Raunish drove them out for good. It's rare to see anyone from that far south up here," he added quietly. "Yourself included."
Nyla studied him, the way the firelight caught in his eyes. That was the most she'd ever heard him speak at once. "You seem to know a great deal," she said finally. "Where did you come from?"
Valtor's gaze flicked toward the dark line of the trees before returning to her. "I spent some time near the southern borders, years ago. You pick things up when you listen."
It was believable, the kind of answer meant to satisfy without saying much at all. But something in the way he said it, the faint shift of his tone, the distance in his eyes, told her there was more he wasn't saying.
Nyla didn't press. She only nodded, though the question lingered between them like smoke that refused to clear. "I've never known anything else. As far as I can remember, at least." Nyla admitted with a half-shrug.
The cart came to a steady halt, stopping by her fence and cottage. Valtor descended, boots planting in the snowy gravel, holding a hand out for her to jump down too. Nyla silently thanked him.
Valtor leaned on the fence post, "The Imperial City has a library as big as Eodwyn's west quarter. If you ever find yourself there, I have no doubt they will have information."
Nyla chuckled, "I have about as much chance getting to the Imperial City as Anya does. But...thank you."
"I'll have to take you, then." Valtor rested his hand the hilt of his sword as his gaze swept the darkened road. The comment made Nyla tickle, but he continued before she could process it, "And the frost will be gone soon enough. Gardens will need tending, fences mended...I can lend a hand if you'll have it."
Something in her chest fluttered. "You've done plenty already," she said, though her voice came softer than she meant it to.
"No, I haven't, but you're kind to say so." The smile he gave her was small, but it reached his eyes.
Heat touched her cheeks before she could stop it. She swallowed, forcing her composure back into place. "I'll be sure to give you a good discount for your hard work."
"Then it's settled..." the night's chill clouded his breath, as if he wanted to say more, but instead his face softened patiently, "I should be off. Thank you again for tonight. Goodnight, Healer Nyla."
Nyla swallowed hard. "Goodnight, Valtor."
Nyla watched him disappear down the road, the sound of his boots fading into the hush of the Hollow.
The cold crept back in, but the warmth he'd left behind stayed with her, stubborn as spring beneath the frost.