Every morning for the past week had brought something new to Fletcher’s doorstep. 

Early dew seemed like jewels on the thick window panes of his home, visible behind dark curtains.  Much larger than the cabin, the structure was made of mostly pale stone with a shingled roof.  A covered porch wrapped around the outside. Windchimes twinkled with each passing breeze. 

The inside was once quite cozy with room for a family of eight to sleep comfortably. It had fallen into disrepair in the past decade.  The walls were shabby in places and most of it could use a good cleaning. Like a diamond surrounded by a tarnished silver band, the family home used to be a place of comfort.

Fletcher was thankful he had told Hazel to meet him outside instead.

But he was not quite ready. He still sat at his kitchen table, nursing a headache and strong coffee. Slept had evaded him the night before. His hands shook around the mug. Anxiety rippled like something alive under his skin,familiar and foreboding. 

He took a deep breath in. And then out. If his emotions boiled over everything he had built would be gone. There was a danger of being around Hazel. The ways they caused his breath to catch and heart race had made things difficult. He flexed his fingers, focusing on the heat of the drink through the stoneware and trying to forget the feeling akin to rustling under his flesh. 

Fletcher had never fancied himself a strong man. He was a coward in ways that kept him awake at night. So he would indulge in Hazel’s company for a week of travel. Then ,he would come home alone again. It was enough. 

Finally, Fletcher stood and got dressed. He had so many scars at this point that he could almost start a collection. There were deep silver bites from a mouth larger than a bear’s along the left side of his torso. His spine bore the worst one.  A large shining divot was carved into his back, palm-sized with trails of snake-like scarring coming off of it. 

 His clothes were simple, a black jacket with a few thick layers underneath and topped with a scarf. He opted for a leather bag thrown over one shoulder. Inside was some of the essentials, Reaper’s Landing whiskey, a bit of emergency rations and bedrolls. There were plenty of places to stay along the road but he did not want to risk it. 

The daggers of his were in fine form. He had been careful to sharpen them the night before, when sleep slipped from his grasp like smoke. They were deadly sharp,  serrated along one side near the bottom. There was a hand carved into the hilt that cradled the spark stone there. The sheaths were nothing special comparatively. Just ebony leather. 

Fletcher was out the door, latching it behind him as he checked his pocket watch. Half past eight. They were behind schedule. 

~

Hazel stood holding their suitcase with both hands, leaning against the wall of a building just beside the Black residence. Their hood was down and revealed carefully plaited hair.  

The makeup they had done that morning was bolder than usual, a bright crimson lipstick and charcoal kohl around the eyes.Lastly the scent of pink roses, Veridia’s own personal creation, drifted through the morning air. 

Hazel smiled as Fletcher emerged from the door. “Good morning, Mr. Black.”

“Good morning.”

The storm from the previous night had waned. In its wake it left deep snow and frost. 

His breath curled out as mist as he exhaled. “Did you sleep well,” he asked. 

“It took some time, but once I did, my sleep was sound,” they said. 

Hazel couldn’t tell him that he played a part in that. Or that the thought of ‘Would Fletcher like this?’ crossed their mind as they chose their lipstick. True, they had no way of knowing, but it did not stop them from lingering on their morning makeup choices for longer than usual.

“You look well today, Mr. Fletch-“ Hazel froze and blushed.  “...Mr. Fletcher.”

Fletcher’s own face matched their’s at once. He was quick to glance away,covering his flush with the back of his hand. 

“You can call me Fletcher, if you’d like,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the breeze. 

Hazel pushed off the wall. “That...that would be nice.” They averted their eyes as the heat continued to burn in their face and their heartbeat pounded mockingly loud in their chest. 

Were they really so starved for the kindness that Fletcher had shown? It reminded Hazel of their sisters and years spent in the cottage in Bila, but not quite the same.

“Do what you wish,” Fletcher smiled softly. “You are not in my employ. There is no need to treat me as such.” 

He covered his red face with a shaky laugh. “If anything, maybe I’m the one in your employ. Since I'm going to escort you.”

“I would like that,Mr. Fletcher.” Hazel stifled a laugh at his embarrassment. “Shall we be off then, my escort?” Bowing, they took a step to the side to allow Fletcher to lead the way.

And he did. 

The morning was crisp,frost settling over the trees that framed the path out of town. There were few people on the road once they had put Maple Hollow behind them. As they passed through town, many of them threw up their hands. Friendly greetings were called out. Fletcher returned them politely, avoiding the eyes as they walked. 

The carriage house sat on the edge of town.  It was a small structure, just a ticket counter and porch. There were several carriages,manned by large horses. 

Along one wall was a large technicolor map. The country name of Fjorden was written in pretty script along the bottom. 

They were in the Ursleen region, cold and unforgiving as it stretched far north to touch the Bladed Sea. Their destination of Briargarth was neighbored by the royal city of Risenwald, where the King Christian Von Risenberg lived in his palace. 

Each carriage house along the path was marked with a little green horse. If they followed the path to the Lord’s town of Briargarth they would stop first in the village of Dunworth.

“Dunworth, first,” Fletcher said,pointing to it on the map.“We can get a carriage there and stay the night if you wish.”

Hazel peeked around his hand. “Dunworth is on the way, and positioned favorably on the path to Briargarth.That sounds like a good plan. We should arrive before evening falls.”

Fletcher nodded. Then he left in the direction of the ticket counter. He was back a few moments later carrying a pair of embossed tickets and steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “Our carriage leaves in fifteen minutes.” 

Their driver was an older man, grooming one of the enormous horses with a brush. The carriage was small, built for four people at the most. It would be cramped if Fletcher had not bought out every seat. 

“I thought something warm would suit this morning,” He said, looking down at the drinks with uncertainty 

Hazel took a cup gratefully.“I suppose there’s not too many people leaving today.” They raised the mug to their lips and sipped the steaming chocolate tenderly, careful not to get burned.  “Mmm...lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Hazel,” he said, averting his eyes. “Let’s get settled in. The ride will be long.”

   

The carriage was a deep red wood, simple in design with enough space to comfortably seat them and their belongings.

The coachman held the door open for Hazel, holding their hot chocolate with a smile. “There ya go, Miss,” the scruffy old driver said through the thick cigar in his mouth. 

Placing the bag opposite them, Hazel settled into the carriage seat. They took the hot chocolate back carefully, taking another sip as Fletcher slid in next to them.

Hazel smiled. They.were a bit close, but not uncomfortably or awkwardly so.

It was not cramped inside of the carriage by any means. The seats, crimson velvet, were plush and wide. Curtains hung over the two windows. 

“We’ll be stoppin’ in Dunworth. If ya need anything please lemme know.” The coachman closed the door with a nod.

They were alone once again, their legs near touching in the carriage seat. 

“You’re wearing different perfume,’ Fletcher blurted out suddenly.

He noticed...

Hazel nodded, brushing their braid into place. “It’s my sister’s specialty. Pink roses.”

The carriage began to creak into motion,jolting under them.

Hazel leaned over a bit towards Fletcher and smiled. “I hope it is to your liking?”

“It’s lovely, Miss Hazel,” he answered, running a hand over his hair. ”Your sister is a talented woman. My own brother isn't interested in anything but magic and chasing men across Fjorden.” 

“Veridia always was amazing. She took care of all of us after Mother passed away when I was a child. She taught me so much,” Hazel sighed.

How long had it been since they had seen her?

Wistful, Hazel looked out the window. “Such a life certainly has its appeal but if you must shirk responsibility to your family to do so. I do not think it's right.”

“Don’t think too badly of my brother,” Fletcher smiled softly. “He falls in love with every man he meets. It is only natural to follow those you love. Taking that freedom away would be cruel of me.”

Perhaps. 

It was hard for Hazel to imagine willingly leaving your family behind so flippantly. 

They turned back to Fletcher. “Have you ever been to Dunworth? It will be my first time.”

“I’ve been to Dunworth once when I was a child,” Fletcher stared out the window. The countryside rolled by slowly, hills and forests passing by like paintings in the sunlight. “My embedding was done there. Their Spark crystals are renowned.” 

“Spark. I did hear that some had taken the most war-like of all embedding and used it to create wonderful food.” Hazel’s enraptured expression did not falter. “I am glad this turned out to be true!” 

“I wouldn’t know,unfortunately.” 

Hazel took another drink from the mug to drain the rest of the hot chocolate. Then, pulling open their bag,they  removed a small mirror and the tube of red lipstick. Carefully, Hazel filled back in the places drinking out of the mug had faded, before closing the mirror and the tube and putting them away.

Hopefully that wasn’t too forward? It was a trick for getting someone’s attention that Melody had told them once. The middle sister, who, granted, had always been something of a flirt, insisted that both men and women enjoyed such a sight.

The motion had sure caught Fletcher’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, averting his gaze..

Fletcher’s flustered response did not go unnoticed to Hazel. They felt their own heart accelerate in turn. Never had they been on their own away from a client, let alone with one such as Fletcher. Hazel had never honestly felt like this before.

Most of the time, they hoped to pass beneath others’ notice. But Fletcher...Hazel wanted Fletcher to look.

“We can visit a restaurant if you wish,” he rasped, “I admit that I did not get much sightseeing done the last time.” 

“A restaurant? I can’t remember the last time I was able...” Hazel mused fondly. A dinner with Fletcher. A real meal, not rations hiding away from the howls outside. “This will be wonderful.”

“It will be my treat, Miss Hazel,” Fletcher breathed leaning in as he smiled. Immediately he settled back in, ducking sheepishly