The next morning the gentle warmth of the winter sun poking over the trees outside roused Hazel from their slumber. 

 

They pulled the outer layer of their dress over their head and quietly applied their makeup. Then taking the bottle of perfume their sister had given them, they sprayed their neck and chest. It was like clockwork now. Getting ready was as much a duty as healing had become. 

They emerged from the room, stepping lightly to the room Roland was in. His snores reassured them that he was, at the very least, alright. In the sitting room, Hazel found Fletcher slumped over in a chair by the fading embers. His hair was disheveled but his breathing was steady.  

Before they could stop themself, Hazel leaned in close to Fletcher’s face. 

 His stern features were softened in sleep, square jaw slack as he snored lightly. Under straight eyebrows his eyelashes were dark and longer than Hazel expected. Something sweet smelling lingered around him. A beard oil or cologne perhaps? His short beard and mustache looked well groomed,that was certain. 

They froze as the distance between them came too close.  Backing away and stepping over to their cloak, they pulled it free from the chair and gently covered Fletcher with it. Then, Hazel stepped away into the kitchen, looking for something, bacon perhaps, to cook for breakfast.

~

Fletcher woke like the sun breaking over the dawn, soft and slowly. The fire had smoldered down to almost embers. But the light was not needed with the morning sun peeking into the dusty windows.

He groaned, sitting up. It had been a long time since the cabin had been more than a lonely place. The cloak around him, soft and fragrant like being wrapped in a summer field, made his heart nearly stop. How long had it been since he had woken with such kindness? He stood up, careful to lay the cloak down on the back of the chair.

Then he went to the kitchen, following the rustling of soft hands like breadcrumbs in a forest. “Good morning,” Fletcher stifled a yawn with one hand. “There is nothing fresh here. There are some canned and dried goods in the cellar.”

Hazel smiled, closing the cabinet they were searching through for food. "Oh. Good morning, Mr. Black. I was going to prepare breakfast...but..."

They turned and bowed. "I do not know where the cellar is, but if there is food I can prepare, if you bring it to me, I can prepare it. It's the least I can do after your kindness saved Roland and myself."

“There is no need for that, Miss Hazel.” Fletcher said. He fell in beside them, reaching to the cabinet and pulling out a jar of ground coffee. 

“It's hard to do much more with beef jerky.” Unless they were a witch, making the meat anything more than peppery and tough was impossible. 

He busied himself with starting a fire in the pot-bellied stove. 

   

The kitchen seemed to be built as an afterthought, a room cobbled with stone on the back of the cabin. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling. The whole room smelled earthy, like rosemary and myrrh, even as the stove sprang alight. Cabinets lined one side of the room with a stone basin made of aquamarine crystals. Flow stones were rarely used outside of fishing and sailing but it had gotten popular to utilize their magic for plumbing.

“But I’ll be happy to go get us something to eat once I get some coffee going,” Fletcher quipped. 

Roland seemed like a coffee drinker. It would be better for him than whatever he kept in his flask.

Hazel stepped back as Fletcher moved towards the countertop. It was, after all, his cabin. They folded their arms behind their back and leaned back against the stone wall. “That would be wonderful.”

After making sure the water in the pot he put onto the stove had started to boil, Fletcher swept down to the cellar. 

The entrance was outside the cabin,a pair of large doors set directly into the soil. There was no scent of werewolves nearby, morning dew clogging his senses. At least it was safe for now as he closed the front door behind him.  A heavy padlock kept anything that could make it past the enchantment out. Fletcher took the keys from his belt and unlocked it. 

The smell of earth and spices hit him as he threw the doors open. There were many shelves filled with jars of preserved food. Hardtack and beef jerky  were stored in parchment lined boxes. Some of it was made by Fletcher himself, jams and vegetables carefully prepared with recipes left behind by his father. The rest was purchased in town. It was enough to feed a family of four for a whole winter. 

Fletcher studied the shelves, finally settling on enough jerky, hardtack and spiced berry jam for the three of them.

Then he left, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.

“Miss Hazel,” Fletcher strolled into the kitchen, arms full of his spoils. “I hope this will do.”

Hazel nodded, examining the ingredients Fletcher had brought back. 

“I’ll go wake Roland.” They stepped away and down to Roland’s room. After a few moments Hazel returned to the kitchen, where the scent of jerky was beginning to fill the air.

Fletcher turned to her as she entered the room,a full plate and steel mug of coffee in his hands. “This is for Roland,” he nodded towards what he held. “I don’t have any milk so I hope black coffee is alright with you.”

He had warmed the dried meat and hardtack in a skillet with butter from the cabinet. There was a heap of the jam on the side. 

The kitchen table was simple, mostly utility with its oak surface and matching benches on either side. Food and plates were scattered across the surface. 

Nodding, Hazel handed Roland the plate and drink. His hand trembled as he took it,even though he tried a jovial grin at the attention.

Hazel checked over Roland’s injuries, gentle hands lingering. The wounds would need further attention once they returned, but for now their biggest obstacle was managing to return to town at all.

“The werewolves… Would they still be roaming during the day?” Hazel asked.

“They can,” Fletcher sat into his own seat. “The sun does not hold any sway over them.” He took a bite of his jerky, chewing thoughtfully. “I did not see any sign of them near the cabin at least.”

Sugarcoating it would not do any good. They needed to be careful. It was a long hike in tip top condition. It would take twice as long with Roland’s injuries. 

“I can give you sachets to mask your scents.” 

Aconite and myrrh wrapped up were a keen combination, clogging the senses of any werewolf. He tended to not keep the two together but this was a unique circumstance.  “If we get separated it will be difficult but they won’t be able to track you.” 

Neither will I. 

If it came down to it he could take a leaf from Logan’s book.