When in doubt, there is always something to get done. Work. Tasks. Every little thing ticked like a seconds hand on a clock face to pass the time. Horseshoes. Nails. Drawer handles. There were things that Maple Hollow needed that only Fletcher could provide. 

He was happy to count the minutes with each order filled.

Roland’s axe had been easy enough to repair. A quick polish afterwards and it looked as good as new. The blade was beautiful to begin with, no doubt the pride of some city blacksmith. With Fletcher’s care it became something of dignity once again.

When Roland had picked it up he had come alone, much to Fletcher’s disappointment. His delight at his prized weapon’s repair and genial cajouring softened the blow. 

Hazel had not shown their face since that evening in the tavern. The conversation had played over and over in Fletcher’s mind as he tried to sleep. It was easy to recall the delicate quirk of their smile and the way their mahogany hair looked in the lantern light. Like spun copper. Like strong coffee. Like cold beer on a hot summer day.

Rings above, he hoped they took his advice and left the perfume behind. 

It was the afternoon after they departed for the fort that Fletcher saw the smoke rising from the southeast. No amount of tasks left undone stopped him. 

He had ceased and left at once, barely remembering to grab the pair of daggers from his home. They were simple things with handles wrapped in brown leather and bearing Apollo Black’s smithing seal.

 It had been a while since he had fought werewolves.

He hoped he did not have to.

 The path to the cabin was well worn under his boots. There were years of experience surrounding the Viotto family cabin. Memories of Hunters passed were woven into the very enchantments that surrounded the clearing. They all ended with Ellen Black. She took her husband’s name, untraditional for the women of prominent hunting families. The Viottos became the Blacks and then became nothing when the family business withered away in the forest snow. 

Night began to fall across the trees and sent long shadows across the snow. Fletcher did not shiver, though the chill cut through his coat like a blade.

The cabin was set in a clearing. Large Lyfe crystals sat erected in a circle around it, glittering green and blue in the fading sunlight. The ancient runes burned his skin as he passed by them. Fletcher paid them no heed, halting just outside the door.

Wind chimes, made of vampire bones and crystals chattered in the breeze. A distant owl hooted. There was nothing else. 

But the smell of werewolves was strong, fading with time. The breeze carried the stink of blood, fur and perfume across the threshold. 

Fletcher swallowed, knocking on the door. “Miss Hazel?”

For a moment there was nothing. The sound of the wind and rustle of tree branches were all that filled the air.

Click. The latch came undone.

“...Mr. Black?”

Hazel cautiously opened the door. Bloodstains covered their hands, one clutching an unfurled whip. Their hair fell from their braid in haphazard stray stands. 

Relief washed over their eyes. “Oh, it is you! Hurry! Inside-” Hazel held open the door to let Fletcher in.

The first thing Fletcher noticed after he stepped over the threshold was Roland, covered in blood and leaned over against the far wall, red-soaked bandages strewn about the floor around him. 

“O-Oi. Blacksmith.. Good work on that blade. M’fraid I lost it though,” he wheezed,dabbing the sweat from his forehead, “Buried it in the shoulder o’ one of those bastards and well, it got stuck there.” His laugh was weak but unfaltering even as he winced from the pain.

It looked bad. Fletcher could not deny that. The scent of blood hit him like a hammer to the gut. “Damn,” he murmured,clenching his hands at his sides. 

   

The front room was usually quite cozy, all polished wood. There was a large red rug in the center of the floor with a rocking chair on one corner. Trophies from successful hunts, crystalline claws and pelts, hung from the walls. A fire was already roaring in the fireplace. The room was warm, the stuffy air and blood making his head swim. 

“No matter, Hunter,” Fletcher forced a smile, “You look in fine form at least.” That was a stretch. Roland was alive at least. When he saw the smoke rise, he thought the worst. “Once you three are back in town you can lament the loss.”

Roland froze, the smile that had formed when Hazel resumed tending to him fading.

“W-we lost Logan,” he said, grimacing. “I think he’s still alive but he cut the ropes on the bridge after we made it ‘cross. Last we saw he was facin’ down one of ‘em alone.” He winced and fell silent with a troubled scowl.

Hazel quickly moved to alleviate the sudden pain, worry spreading quickly over their face. “Please don’t move. You got hurt defending me.” Their voice was high with anxiety,the accent bleeding together. It had been subtle before, a strange way to how they held their ‘r’s in the back of their throat and left certain letters off the end of words.

Roland weakly waved a hand. “Logan never should have used you as bait in the first place. It was my job to make sure you didn’t get hurt because of it.”

Fletcher swallowed hard, throwing his pack down onto the rocking chair. 

That would explain the perfume. 

There was a little voice in his mind that told him Logan deserved it. It was foolhardy and risky. But that's not fair. Going out alone was a common fate for Hunters. But it was not a sacrifice to be looked at lightly. 

“Did you get bitten,” Fletcher asked evenly. Roland did not smell any different, but the scent usually did not change until after the first transformation. 

“No,” Hazel shook their head, “I only found slashes. I can keep the wounds from growing worse, but I worry about the damage already done.”

Whether that was a blessing or curse remained to be seen. If bitten his wounds would have started to close up on their own but Hazel’s Lyfe magic would have been rendered impotent. 

Roland coughed out a smile. “Cheers, love. It’s thanks to you I’m alive at all.”

“You’re lucky,Roland,” he murmured. 

Hazel attempted to return the smile, and then turned to Fletcher. “The one that followed us stopped trying to force their way in about an hour ago. Did you encounter anything on your way here?”

“I did not,” Fletcher turned from them, staring into the fire. If he had he would have not been happy. He was quite fond of this jacket. “I saw its tracks though.” And smelled them. “How long do you think before he can be moved?”

The cabin was secure. Two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room made it a cozy little place. There was a stock of dried meat,fruit and wine in the cellar along with a sealed room from any prying eyes. But that was deep underground, behind a lock and protected from Hazel’s amber gaze. When it came time for him to abandon the smithy, it would be the perfect place to live in solitude. 

“We can stay here for a few days if needed. There are supplies. The enchantment will last as long as we do not open the door.”

“The werewolf has been gone for a while now. Probably looking for Logan since we escaped its reach.” Hazel folded their hands in their lap, on top of the whip, black-blue and wrapped about like a snake over the floor.

“I can walk. Hazel’s kept me together so I can make it.” Roland said confidently. “Logan’s a big boy. He’ll make do on his own.” Whether this was determination in Logan or just to convince himself was unclear. 

“Mr. Black? What should we do?”

Fletcher flinched from Hazel’s look, covering it up with a cough. The plea in their eyes struck him like an arrow. “First. It will be dark soon. We cannot travel by night.” He would be fine in the dark, the dim light from the rings above enough for his keen eyes. But he doubted Hazel and Roland had the same boon. 

“Then-,”he continued,”We leave in the morning. I can look for Logan after we get you both safely tucked in at Angela’s” He knew these woods. If Logan was still among the trees, alive or otherwise, he was certain he could find him. The man’s scent was faint in the air even with the blood and two other humans stifling it. 

The bridge they spoke of had to be the one over the Hollowed River. It was treacherous to cross in most places but there was more than one cobbled together bridge along it.

Hazel nodded. “Alright. Roland? Let’s get you to bed.”

With Hazel’s help, Roland began hobbling towards one of the other rooms. It appeared his claim was bravado at the moment,as he had to lean heavily on the cleric to walk. Granted, that could have worked, but their pace would have been slowed.

After a few moments getting the weary man taken care of, Hazel went to wash the blood from their hands. Then, they foundFletcher, placing their cloak over one of the chairs.

Fletcher was stroking at the fire with a poker. The last time he had been up here he had had enough forethought to cut a few logs. There were more in the pile outside but opening the door was not the best idea.

“I’m glad to see you are whole,” he murmured, casting them a sideways glance.

“If only by your kindness.” Hazel approached slowly, hands clasped together and avoiding his gaze.

“Logan assumed that only one wolf would come. We were not prepared for the second,” they said,quietly,”Logan drove it back enough for me to take Roland beyond the bridge. He knew we were headed here. If he never showed that must mean-”

“It’s the life of a Hunter,”Fletcher turned to face them fully. “Dying under the jaws of a beast is how most wish to go. But do not give up on him so easily.”

The lump in his throat was hard to swallow around. “Maple Hollow is cursed. I beg you to leave here as soon as Roland is able.” 

The Viottos were cursed by the Gods. His mother had told him that. There was nothing that indicated it was an exaggeration. 

“C-cursed?” Hazel looked up at him. The stains of red near the hem of the skirt and the ends of the sleeves were more obvious in the flames’ glow.

“Did they tell you what happened ten years ago,” Fletcher asked. He had taken his jacket off,hung it on the chair opposite Hazel's. “There was a whole pack that destroyed half the town. Killed twenty people. Infected three.”

He took in a sharp breath. “All because of my mother.”

The hidden scar along his side ached with the phantom teeth sunk into his side a decade ago.

“I heard about the attack but not why your mother would be involved. She was a monster Hunter, correct?” Hazel took a step closer. “Wa-was it revenge?”

“It was.” He avoided their gaze. “My mother was not in town when they attacked. But they came for her at my family’s home in town.”

His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, jaws set hard. “I-“ 

Vivian was with him the night the werewolves attacked. The image of her broken at his feet had hung over him like a guillotine. 

“I had thought I’d driven them out of the forest that night. I was wrong so-.“ He took in a shaky breath.  “I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”

Hazel let their eyes fall away, an arm slowly rising to hold the other at the elbow.

“Why are you so concerned for my safety? Clerics of Garth are expected to serve and soothe both the body and heart.” Their voice faltered, “W-We are replaceable very easily.”

“People aren’t replaceable, Miss Hazel,” Fletcher faced them with a soft smile. “No matter the profession.”

He cleared his throat. “And I once knew a gentle woman who died because of a beast. I would not want the same to befall you.”

“That is kind of you to say. I am unaccustomed to such kind words.”

“That’s a pity,” Fletcher was closer to them than he had ever been. They were a head shorter than him,even in heels.“You deserve better.”

Words were the only comfort he could offer. A backwater disappointment had little power to console anyone.

Hazel looked up at Fletcher. “I...um..,” they stuttered.

He traced the gentle curve of their lips to their eyes with his gaze. 

“I-“ Fletcher ducked his head and stepped away to poke at the fire once again. “I apologize.” Though he was not sure who or what he was saying sorry to. “The master bedroom is at the end of the hall. You can take the bed there. I’ll sleep in here tonight.” 

Sleep was something he was not sure he was capable of that night. But he would try.

“T-thank you.” Hazel folded their hands over one another and gave a bow. They paused at the frame of the door looking back at the man overlooking the flame.“Good night... Mr. Black.”

Fletcher gazed over his shoulder at her. In the firelight their hair had turned to copper. Their eyes stared back with glints of soft caramel. 

For a moment he could pretend he was allowed to look at them,something tight clenching his chest like a vice. But that was all someone like him could manage. It was all that he deserved.

“Call if you need me. I’ll surely hear you.”

Before the squeezing in his lungs could suffocate him,he looked away. “Goodnight Miss Hazel.”