The morning broke pale and brittle over the valley, sunlight spilling thin and cold across thawing rooftops. Frost still clung to the shadows, but the air carried the scent of wet earth, that unmistakable promise that spring was finally on its way.
"Bring the satchel," Nyla said as she fastened her cloak. "And the small bundle of birchroot, just in case."
Alva scrambled to gather everything, determined to be useful. Her hair was still mussed from sleep, but her eyes were bright and green like water-drops on pine leaves. "Do you think Maris's baby is coming?"
"Not yet," Nyla said. "But she said she's been having pains. Remember what I showed you last time?"
Alva's face lit with that rare spark, excitement wrapped up in responsibility. "You said if her belly sits lower, the baby's nearly ready. And when the pains come, the skin goes tight and then soft again." She held her hands out, showing the shape of it. "If the pains keep coming in order, not just once, that means it's real. And if she says her back feels heavy, that's the start."
She glanced up, proud of herself, then added in a rush, "And I can use the warming spell to ease her pains, and the soft-light one so the baby stays calm."
Nyla gave a small smile, "We can practice, yes, but we have to be gentle today. The baby's still finding its way, and even a small spell could rush it."
Alva's excitement dimmed only a little, replaced by the careful focus Nyla had been teaching her. "Right," she murmured. "Gentle first."
"I know you will be. You're a great student, Alva."
Alva smiled, picking up her basket and tying her bonnet under her chin. Golden hair spilled out the back.
The village was already stirring when they stepped into the morning chill. Chickens scratched through muddy snowmelt, children ran along the lane tossing sticks for a scrappy-looking dog, and the faint tang of forge smoke curled through the air. Life - slow and familiar - was unfolding as it always did.
Maris lived on the far side of the square, so they took the long path past the baker's ovens and the weaver's shed. The smell of hot savoury bread wafted from the bakery, and Nyla realised how little she'd eaten over the last couple of days. She'd been so busy prepping for the festival it just simply wasn't on her mind.
Alva walked close beside Nyla, watching everything with a student's attentiveness, the gait of an old man leaning too heavily on his cane, the rasp in a woman's breath as she hauled firewood. All of it, Nyla had taught her, was part of a healer's work.
The ringing of iron on iron reached them as they rounded the corner. The forge stood ahead, sturdy stone walls and an open-fronted glowing orange in the cold light. Sparks flared, briefly bright as stars, as Valtor's hammer came down on a glowing horseshoe.
Alva slowed. "He's already working."
"He's always working," Nyla said, though her own steps had unconsciously faltered.
Valtor didn't look up immediately, but when he did, his eyes found hers across the distance. For a heartbeat the world seemed to still, the sound of the forge dimmed, the clatter of village life faded.
Valtor was stripped down to his work, sleeves rolled past his elbows, suspenders clinging to his shoulders from the heat of the forge. Soot dusted his forearms, darkening the pale scars that crossed them, and sweat had gathered at his temples, catching the orange light.
His hair had come loose from its tie, falling around his face as he leaned over the anvil, the muscles in his back shifting with every swing of the hammer. She'd seen him a dozen times before, but something about the way the light hit him now, the warmth on his skin made her pulse stumble. He looked too good for someone doing such hard...dirty work, all raw strength...and focus.
Nyla forced her eyes away, but it didn't help. Every time she looked back, he was still there, still impossibly calm, still completely unaware of the trouble he caused just by existing. There was nothing overt in his expression, just a quiet steadiness, a flicker of warmth beneath the soot and the silence.
"Are you going to talk to him?" Alva asked under her breath.
"No," Nyla said quickly. "We're late."
"We're not late."
"Alva."
The girl smirked but obeyed, trotting to catch up as Nyla tore her gaze from the forge and kept walking. She could still feel the weight of his eyes as they passed, and when she glanced back, just once, she found him still watching, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across his mouth before he returned to his work.
By the time Nyla and Alva reached Maris' household, the light was bright, painting the Hollow in shades of bright white. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and Maris answered their knock almost immediately, her round belly leading the way as she ushered them inside.
"Come in, come in, I've been pacing half the morning waiting for you," Maris said, though the relief in her eyes outweighed any impatience. Alva darted forward to help her to a cushioned chair by the hearth, and Maris sank into it with a grateful sigh.
Ewan appeared from the back room, wiping his soot-stained hands on a cloth. "About time you showed up, Healer Nyla," he teased warmly. "I was about to start boiling water myself."
"And ruin all my work? Not likely," Nyla replied, hanging up her cloak.
"I'll leave you to it, then. I've got to get back to work," He leaned down to kiss Maris' temple, his hand lingering protectively on the curve of her stomach. "Take good care of her, will you?"
"Always," Nyla said.
Ewan grinned. "And if you don't mind my saying, it seems to me someone has caught the eye of our new blacksmith."
Maris gasped and swatted at him. "Ewan, honestly. I told you not to start."
"Valtor and I are nothing more than neighbours. Thank you kindly."
"Neighbours, are you?" Ewan's grin widened. "Man's barely said more than five words to me in a year. The moment you and little Alva walk past the forge, he's suddenly got opinions on everything from iron tempering to weather patterns. I heard what he did in the marketplace too...very valiant..."
Maris shot him a look, trying not to chuckle. "And they say Lila's the worst gossip in town."
"Well," Nyla said with a measured smile, "I'll let Valtor be the judge of that."
Ewan barked a laugh and raised his hands in surrender. "He'll come to his senses soon enough." He kissed Maris once more, touched her belly gently, and stepped out into the chill dusk.
When the door closed, Maris turned a sly, knowing smile toward Nyla. "Don't tell me you don't see it."
"See what?"
"The way he looks at you when you're not watching," Maris said, settling deeper into the chair. "It's quite romantic, really."
"Oh, not you too." Nyla snorted softly, shaking her head, as she and Alva set their baskets aside. Alva began stewing willowbark in some water over the firepit, while Nyla made Maris comfortable in her armchair.
Her hands were already moving, practiced, efficient, checking Maris' pulse, the firmness of her abdomen, the position of the baby. "How have you been feeling? Any changes?"
"The baby's been restless," Maris admitted, her voice a blend of exhaustion and joy. "Especially at night. I feel well enough, but the waiting is...long."
Nyla nodded, fingers steady and sure. "Everything seems to be progressing perfectly. Strong heartbeat, good position. You're healthy, Maris, and so is this little one. Shouldn't be long now."
Alva brushed up beside her and placed a steaming mug next to her. "Is it still okay to practice my warming spell?" she asked softly.
Maris smiled, gripping Alva's arm affectionately. "Of course."
Alva exhaled, straightening her back the way Nyla had shown her. Her small hands hovered above the blanket where Maris's knees were. For a moment, the air around them stirred faintly. Then she whispered the incantation under her breath, soft, unsure, and warmth began to spread, shy at first, then steady.
The heat sank deeper, soothing rather than stinging. A faint shimmer rolled off her palms, like sunlight through morning mist. Maris's sigh of relief was instant.
But Alva didn't stop there. Something inside her guided the motion, instinct more than memory. She shifted her palms slightly, circling her fingers, letting the warmth pool and settle where the pain pulsed strongest. The glow dimmed on its own, soft and clean, leaving the skin warm to the touch.
Nyla watched from across the hearth, saying nothing. She'd meant to remind her to be gentle, to not reach too far but Alva already had. She stepped back of her own accord, cheeks flushed from effort, eyes bright with quiet pride.
"You've gotten so good! I can't even feel the chill anymore." Maris said. "What a good teacher you've had."
"Better student, I don't think I could do that at your age," Nyla replied, unable to hide the warmth in her voice. "Remember to rest as much as you can. Brew these in the evenings, only once a day, they'll help soften the womb. And send for me at the first sign of anything unusual."
Maris's hand rested on her stomach as Nyla did her last check-ins, her expression soft but distant. After a long pause, she said quietly, "Truth is, Nyla, I'm afraid."
Nyla looked up, catching the tremor in her voice.
Maris swallowed hard, tears glistening at her eyes. "I've lost two before. Early. Before they were ready. I keep wondering if I did something wrong, if it's my fault."
Nyla reached across the small space between them and took her hand, firm and sure. "No, Maris," she said, her voice gentle but unwavering. "It isn't your fault."
Maris blinked, the tears she'd been holding back glinting in the lamplight. "Then why does it happen?"
Nyla drew in a slow breath. "Because nature isn't perfect. Because not all beginnings are meant to last. Sometimes the balance between life and death is too fine to hold." She squeezed Maris's hand, grounding her. "But hear me, it's not the mother's fault. You didn't cause it, and you couldn't have stopped it."
Maris shook her head weakly, dashing away the tears on her cheeks. "But it's always the woman they blame. Ewans been so patient..."
"Because they don't understand," Nyla said. "They still think women bear all the burden alone. But I've seen enough to know that's not true. The men's health, their vitality, even their moods, all of it affects the process as much as the mother does. What the father carries in his blood and body affects you too. And sometimes, even then, fate decides for us."
Maris frowned, searching Nyla's face. "What of the pain? What if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing will go wrong because I will be here with you, hm?" Nyla nodded, her voice steady. "I was trained by the very best. Do not fear the pain, embrace it, think only the very best thoughts. I've seen women give birth with laughter on their lips, because they were guided, not broken down by fear."
Maris blinked, her surprise softening into something like wonder. "Laughter?"
A small smile tugged at Nyla's mouth. "It can be that way. Birth isn't meant to be torment. It's meant to be power, a surge, a crossing. Your body already knows what to do. My job is to make sure it remembers."
Maris let out a long, shaky breath. "You make it sound...beautiful."
"It is," Nyla said gently. "When it's nurtured to be."
Maris smiled faintly. "You always know what to say."
Nyla's tone softened as she began packing up her bags. "Not always."
Maris's gaze lingered on her. "And you? Do you dream of children in the future?"
Her hands stilled where she'd been gathering herbs into neat bundles. For a moment, the crackle of the hearth filled the silence. Alva seemed to pause too and glance over at her.
"Maybe," she said at last, with a small, wry smile. "If the right man came along and showed me he was worthy," Her eyes dropped to her work again. "But I've never been one to picture it. I see enough births to know it's not for everyone."
There was no sadness in her voice, just honesty, a quiet acceptance that life had shaped her differently. But the image of Valtor - strong, steady - standing in her cottage, holding a child, their child, filled her with a foreign unfamiliar, frightening feeling. She wasn't sure if she could ever imagine it being any child of her own.
Maris studied her for a moment, then nodded, a soft understanding passing between them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled softly, filling the silence with warmth.
They lingered a while longer, talking softly about the coming weeks, Maris voicing her hopes and her fears in equal measure, Nyla offering quiet reassurance.
"You're going to do beautifully," Nyla said, brushing her friend's shoulder with a reassuring hand.
Maris smiled faintly. "I almost believe you."
"Good. Then I've done my job."
Alva helped gather the satchel, slipping the leftover herbs into her pocket for study later. As they stepped outside, the Hollow was dipped in soft dusk, that quiet, golden hour before night took hold. The air was cool and damp, laced with woodsmoke and the faint tang of iron from the forge.
They walked in companionable silence for a while, the path winding past gardens still stubborn with frost and shuttered windows glowing with lamplight. Then, as they turned the corner toward home, Nyla nearly collided with someone coming the other way.
"Easy there," Valtor said, steadying her with a gloved hand.
"Oh—" Nyla blinked, startled, then quickly found her footing. "Sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."
He righted her on her feet, a warm smile on his lips, "It seems fate has decided we must keep crossing paths."
He was still in his forge clothes, soot on his jaw, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the faint scent of smoke clinging to him. There was a softness in his eyes though, the kind that always made Nyla feel slightly off balance.
"Seems so," Nyla chuckled, looking away to hide the fact he could see how flushed her cheeks were, but if he did he made no indication.
"Heading home?"
"Just finished with Maris," she replied. "False alarms, thankfully. She's anxious."
"She's in good hands," Valtor said. "There's not a soul in this valley who doesn't trust you with their life."
"You're too kind."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite moving to leave. Alva had already wandered a few paces ahead, chasing the faint swirl of smoke from a neighbour's chimney. Nyla glanced after her, then back at Valtor, and before she could overthink it, the words slipped out.
"Would you like to come for dinner?"
His brows lifted slightly, as if the offer had taken him off guard. "Dinner?"
"It's nothing fancy," she said quickly. "But it's warm, and we'd enjoy your company."
For a heartbeat he hesitated, she saw the flicker of uncertainty cross his face, the instinct to retreat behind his usual quiet. Then he nodded once, almost to himself.
"I'd like that," he said. "Thank you."
"Good," Nyla said, trying not to sound too relieved. "Then it's settled."
Nyla spent the better half of the afternoon preparing dinner and cleaning the cottage for his arrival and by the time dusk settled over the Hollow, the cottage smelled of rosemary and woodsmoke. Nyla had set a pot to simmer hours before, a rich, spiced stew with wild mushrooms and tender vegetables.
Alva darted around the kitchen with eager purpose, laying the table and humming under her breath, though her occasional sideways glances and barely hidden grin made Nyla roll her eyes.
"He's just a guest," she said, more to herself than to Alva.
"Mm-hm," the girl hummed, arranging a small bunch of dried flowers in a chipped clay cup.
A light knock sounded at the door. Nyla's heart did a ridiculous little skip before she crossed the room and pulled it open.
Valtor stood there, and he had made an effort. The usual soot and ash that clung to him were gone, his hair still damp from a wash and swept neatly back. He'd traded his work shirt for a soft wool tunic and clean trousers, and he held a small bottle of something deep red and glinting in the lantern light, as well as fresh bread wrapped in cloth. "Evening," she said delighted, "I'm glad you could make it. You clean up well," Nyla said, a teasing lilt in her voice.
A hint of colour touched his cheeks. "I didn't want to disgrace your table."
"As if you could." She stepped aside to let him in. "Come on. It's warm inside."
Nyla shut the door behind him and the latch clicked softly into place.
"Sit," she said, brushing past him to lift the lid from the pot releasing a cloud of fragrant vapor. "Dinner's nearly ready."
Valtor placed the obeyed, moving with that careful quiet of a man unused to comfort. His eyes flicked across the room, the dried herbs strung from the beams, the kettle sighing on the hearth, Alva's mismatched place settings all lined up with precision.
Alva darted in to collect his cloak before he could protest. "You brought bread!" she said, already peeking beneath the cloth.
"And wine," he offered, setting the bottle on the table. "Though I can't promise it's good."
Nyla placed bread and butter on the table, "It is much appreciated, thank you."
"Can I help with anything?" he asked.
"No, please sit."
Alva's questions came fast, one tripping over the next, and Valtor kept pace without complaint.
"How tall are dragons?" Alva's first question began.
"Many tall enough to block out the sun." Valtor said.
"Did you touch it?"
"Not if I wanted to keep the hand."
"What color are they?"
"Many different colors."
"Have you ever killed a dragon?"
"I've fought a dragon, I wouldn't say that's the same thing though."
Each answer came with the faintest quirk of his mouth, the corners tugging as if against his will. He broke his bread carefully, offered her the crust, and when she wrinkled her nose at it, he swapped pieces without a word.
Nyla moved between table and hearth with an ease born of habit, the hem of her dress whispering over the floorboards. The stew had thickened just right, and she ladled it into three bowls—one generous, one careful, and one small with a slice of bread tucked along the side.
At the table, Alva sat forward on her stool, elbows propped, eyes bright. "Did you really fight bandits?" she asked, chin resting in her hands.
Valtor smiled faintly, the expression softening the stern lines of his face. "Fought them, outran them, occasionally got chased by them," he said. "Depends which part you'd like to hear."
"The best part," Alva declared.
Nyla set a bowl in front of her. "Eat first," she said gently. "The world sounds better on a full stomach."
Alva grinned but obeyed, spoon clinking. Valtor murmured his thanks as Nyla placed his bowl before him, and for a moment their hands nearly brushed. He looked up at her then, just a glance, quiet, unreadable, but it lingered longer than it should have.
Nyla busied herself at the hearth, pretending not to notice.
Behind her, Alva's voice piped up again. "And did you ever get scared?"
Valtor's answer came low, thoughtful. "Every time," he said. "But being scared just means you still have something worth losing."
The girl seemed to think on that. Nyla turned back toward them, wiping her hands on a cloth.
The lamplight caught on the line of his jaw, on the scar at his temple, softening what the world had carved there. He told them stories of his adventures south, of oceans and heat and of creatures he'd come across. "What of you, Healer Nyla, how did you come to be in the Hollow?"
"I used to work as a Healer in Eodwyn. I saw an advertisement in the newspaper of a small village suffering from a mysterious illness and they paid handsomely for healers to go and record and detail any possibilities for cures. It's what allowed me to buy my cottage, set up shop and hire staff." Nyla looked at Alva with a wink.
Alva grinned proudly, "I'm gonna be the best Healer in Eodwyn." she said.
"I'll be looking out for your brews and tonics then," Valtor's eyes brightened and a low chuckle slipped out, quick and unguarded, and Nyla caught it: the sound of a man forgetting, for once, to be made of iron.