Dusk was about to turn to night when brother Aymon came back from the village. Without the ring of a bell it had felt like the day had not finished, yet men knew it was well past the time to sleep.
With her at the abandoned farm were only sir Corentin, his new knight sir Frederic and herself.
She had lit the hearth at the center of the living room and even though no wood had been thrown in for a while, it still burned bright in the growing darkness.
Likewise she had cooked a porridge with broth, oats, herbs and cuts of what tasted like chicken meat.
The two men had spent their time outside, allowing for all of this.
They found themselves eating between the hearth and the bench, the priest still silent even after his return. He seemed even more pitiful in the early night than during the whole day.
"How weird." Sir Corentin noted. "This morning I was a noble, by night I'm a farmer. And yet, this hay may beat a leather mattress."
He turned to brother Aymon, just for small talk.
"What about the altar?"
"Going well, milord." The priest promised. "A day or two at most."
"Then why this long face? You should rejoice, brother, the saintess is favoring you."
"Yes." He lied, but couldn't hide his feelings. "It's just... milord, who? Who would... do this..."
"Whoever it is, a fate worse than death awaits them. They committed the worst crime there is, drew blood on the saintess herself and she will not forgive."
Sir Frederic nodded silently.
They would have continued talking but music took them by surprise. Joan had abandoned her own bowl to start playing with her flute and sir Corentin was certain it was not the one she had left at the castle.
Yet it looked the same raw craft that at her mouth still carried a soft melody.
He smirked at that, almost sneered and went back to eating. Aymon, in turn, had lost his appetite. She noticed it but kept playing all the same.
"Lovely music," the falsely cheery voice of the hunter chimed in, "mind if we join?"
Grisval had pushed the door, followed close by the gray mantle of Brenin.
"I'll be damned, I may well be, we forgot to take bet on whether you two would come back!"
"Sorry to disappoint you, milord, but my friend here tasted grape and I had to tend to him for the rest of the day."
"Yeah. The grapes made my stomach bleed."
"Enough details. Take place, eat while the food is hot."
"Mh!"
Grisval had taken one whiff of the cauldron to recognize the smell of rats. It amused him enough to taste directly from the ladle.
"Look at that, Brenin! Have you tasted chicken stew before?"
"Yes I did, and I would rather avoid meat." He groaned in response. "My stomach has suffered enough."
His eyes kept returning to the woman who, sit aside, kept playing, eyes on her instrument.
They were now six people near the fireside, throwing joke at the damnation that waited for all of them. Three did most of the talk while brother Aymon barely chimed in and the knight mostly kept it to himself.
All of them were either pretending that she did not exist or did not want to disturb her tune.
"You are headed for a rough winter, milord." Grisval noted. "You have thirty, maybe forty people to feed and what little harvest was brought in is rotting."
"That won't be my first famine, hunter."
"What about hunting?" Brenin offered. "That's your specialty, why not get parties and hit the woods?"
"Traps would serve you better, but hunting won't do much for you, especially in the cold season. Animals, too, dislike the cold."
"So the plan is to starve?"
"Are you a noble?" Sir Corentin inquired, forcing the woodcutter to shake his head. "Then just do your part. What were you again?"
"I am a woodcutter, milord."
"Then you should cut wood, nothing else. The saintess will provide wealth and the bear protection. Right, brother Aymon?"
Once more the brother nodded without daring to say more. The heavy burden on his heart was truly leaving him a wreck.
So Corentin abandoned his bowl to get up.
"It's getting late. I would rather wake up early tomorrow."
"We will leave you to it, milord." Grisval said.
He had got up himself, followed by near everyone else. As was human custom, they would leave that room for their noble and seek another place for themselves.
Brother Aymon left first, followed soon by the knight errant. But the two remaining men stalled a bit, with Brenin giving looks that made Joan excuse herself and follow him outside.
There, at the door, Grisval abandoned them to join the others at the workers' space.
She grunted. She had wanted to talk with him about those spores.
But Brenin seized her arm.
"It's getting worse." His tone got somber. "I attacked Grisval. If he had not been here..."
"But he was here."
"I'm not going to last two weeks! Or however long remains. I can't, I can't control this, thing!"
She easily broke off her hold.
"Turn and travel the domain. Seek metal that turned white and mushrooms..."
"You are not listening!" He growled.
Then the man clenched his teeth, a headache tearing his mind.
"I can't turn, I can't. I will lose it tonight and kill."
"If you don't turn, it will be worse tomorrow."
"It's going to be worse anyway! Help me already. Do I have to beg? Do you want me to go on a rampage?"
"I would rather you go mad with hunger than see you cower at my feet."
"Because I'm only a man! I can't do your miracles, you... what are you even? Toying with people's lives like a devil, was there a shred of humanity in you, ever?!"
She glanced behind her, checking if inside sir Corentin showed signs of hearing them.
He understood and lowered his voice.
"Kill me now or stand by my side because tomorrow I will lose my mind regardless. When have I last slept... You are asking too much, Joan."
"Then go to sleep."
And she approached him until their forehead touched. She locked him with her hand.
Her eyes were those of a beast.
"And tomorrow, deal with it on your own. Do your worst."
"You..."
"When I order you, I shred your soul. Ten days of that would leave you a hollow shell. You are cursed, Brenin. Do you understand? My blood wants dominion on you. So stop asking me for help."
He wanted to protest but all that came, not from his mouth, were tears.
She had, in his mind, been his last hope to endure. Now he could conjure no other path but death. Because that human was truly at the end of his rope, facing a chasm he could not cross.
Getting wider each day.
He got away from her, paced a few steps and hesitated between the wild night and the workers' building. As if drunk, the man walked in that warmer, comforting direction.
"Brenin!"
He turned to her with desperate eyes.
"You think about others too much. As long as you do that, your heart will be wide open. If you want to survive, you need to get a lot more selfish."
Had those words reached him, she could not really tell, nor did it really bother her. She watched him walk away and into the building to seek some rest.
Tomorrow, doubtless, he would turn. He would go wild.
And she wondered if she would have Grisval kill him for her.