To him Joan must have looked like she was asleep.
Head rested against the stone she remained undisturbed even with the water trickling on her hood and cape.
But she was about done.
Spirit walk.
The first house had only a couple that huddled together in a corner. One had been a guard, the other probably someone he met. In the other house, they were four. Two more warriors, a young woman and some craftsman.
Their tabards were gone but she could easily assume they had come from Cormoran.
When she opened her eyes, noon was approaching. She turned to Brenin who, for better or worse, was trying to keep his tunic dry.
"There are six of them." She started.
He got startled, looked at her and saw she was awake. Joan continued:
"In the other houses. Two in one, four in the other. They are bandits and all they have to eat is one chicken."
"And you know that how?"
The rain roared at the open door, throwing gusts inside and forming a muddy puddle that gained ground every minute.
He sighed, looked at the entrance too and shook his head.
There was some fatigue on his face after being forced to stay awake all night, but also hunger that should have warned him how noon approached. Once it had passed, the moon would force him to turn.
So the man stayed silent there, hidden under his hood. Restless. He looked toward the outside again, almost got up but gave up, then looked at his hand.
Then he abandoned his axe on the ground, got up and turned to her.
"Wait here, I won't be long."
She almost smiled for that weakling giving her an order. Her instincts had been right. The man departed, carrying food with him and she knew he was going to share it with the bandits.
Even more so now that he had been made a monster, Brenin had the urge to feel human.
Joan went to work the moment he had left.
She picked nothing but dirt and started to rub it with both hands, rapidly, then more dirt and continuously until it turned into a black dust.
Her human hands could not handle that heat, forcing her back into a more bestial shape.
But soon enough she was spraying that dust on the wall, low at first, almost to the ground until stems burst and ran up the wall. They were turning into a rough, dry ivy on which she kept throwing the dust she formed in her rubbing hands.
When Brenin came back, drenched, soaked to the bone, his first surprise was how warmer the half-broken ruin felt.
Then he saw the plants that had grown, now frothing some white mass that looked not far from a soap's foam.
She noticed he didn't have the sack anymore.
"What... is happening now?" He almost resisted approaching.
But she turned and gestured for him to approach. Under her mantle had not immediately noticed her bestial form, which looked to him both more honest and familiar: the true shape of that devil.
"You made this plant grow? I wasn't gone for that long!"
She indicated for him to get close with her finger: "I said I would feed you."
Closer was warmer and so he didn't hesitate. Even with the water dropping on the plant it felt like sitting near a bonfire.
She gathered some of the froth and offered it to him.
At his puzzled look, she frowned.
"It's food."
"Tastes like... dirt." He tried another bite. "What's it supposed to taste like, you know, normally?"
"Anything not bloody is meant to taste like dirt."
Brenin rolled his eyes, tried to pick some more foam himself but quickly retreated his hand when feeling a burn. Still, he could collect as much as he wanted. No matter how bad it was, the human still needed to eat.
She watched him stand his meal.
"Why did you send me to feed those people?" He finally asked.
He was trying not to sound serious yet could not help it. His mind was running in circles trying to make sense of that beast's motives.
"I didn't."
"Yeah you did! Come on," he almost joked, "you mentioned a chicken and then made this while I was gone! That's clearly what you wanted!"
"No, it was what you wanted." She coldly corrected. "You want to help those people. You are the one craving company. Right now you are wondering how to bring the warmth to them."
Brenin tried to retort something. Nothing came.
It was uncomfortable for him, this feeling of someone being almost able to read his mind. But to Joan it was just humans being so open, showing their hand plain for others to see.
And if she wanted attention, that man only thought of others.
"How long before I turn?" He asked.
"It's noon. Another hour before the curse manifests."
"So, they invite us to join them. But I suppose you had planned for that too."
His tone had softened. Maybe the perspective of being with humans or maybe her not ordering him around had put the human less on edge.
They braved the storm and to the first house, to tell the isolated couple about what food the other group had got. Then all of them ran into the ruin where the four had already started eating.
All of them, for bandits, proved amicable enough to their new guests.
"So you're not nobles?" They asked.
And Brenin again: "No, just merchants! What about you, you don't look like bandits!"
"Nobody told us what to look like!" The younger woman among them complained. "What should a bandit have, other than weapons?"
They had, with the fall of Cormoran, been embroiled with the following chaos. What men-at-arms had survived found themselves without a lord and without a lord looting started.
It was simply better to steal than count on a flawed harvest to survive the winter.
"That's what happens without the bear." Another bandit surmised. "The saintess refused the crown to the Pivert, so we steal to survive."
"It's not really different from serving a lord." Brenin noted.
"I guess not!" They laughed. "But I would rather eat soup in a barrack than watch us slowly die in a ruin."
"I don't know." Another said while holding a woman's hand. "It let me meet her so, it's not all bad."
"Yeah sure!" That woman mocked. "You were singing a different tune earlier!"
"That was earlier!"
"Nothing beats a good laugh to stay warm!" Brenin cheered. "Who knows a good song? Ah, what we need most is beer!"
They had naturally got closer, if only for warmth, and now started to sing in a choir.
Joan was dissecting them with her eyes.
Her silence and cold looks had naturally pushed her out of their group. They all acted as if she wasn't there, which let her observe those two couples, their every word and gesture.
She couldn't see it. If those people were in love she could not tell.
It seemed to her, rather, that they would break the moment circumstances would change. No matter how much they laughed together and hugged, however long their hands grasped, their eyes only longed for comfort and nothing else.
So, she thought, to bring comfort to others could lead to love.
Only humans knew.