I woke to the pale insistence of morning light, thin and washed, pressing against the canvas of the tent. A drizzle followed it—soft, patient rain tapping like fingertips, neither hurried nor heavy.
"Are you awake?" I asked, turning toward Heiwa.
She was awake. Very awake. Determinedly pretending not to be.
"Good morning," she murmured at last, rolling to face me, her voice still wrapped in sleep.
"Good morning. How was your night?" I asked, sitting up and adjusting my blankets as the drizzle continued its quiet percussion overhead.
"It was improved by the light shower," she replied, eyes closed again, lips curved faintly. "Rain makes everything feel briefly forgiven."
We stayed like that for a while, doing nothing of consequence. Listening. Breathing. Letting the morning arrive at its own pace.
Eventually, Miss Li Hua's voice carried through the thinning rain.
We stepped outside to find the drizzle already gone, as though it had only stopped by to announce the day. The forest had changed—leaves darker, bark polished, the air sharpened and clean. Everything smelled alive.
"Good morning, ladies," Miss Li Hua greeted, her voice hoarse but calm, still half-owned by sleep.
"Good morning, Miss Li Hua," we replied. Heiwa's gaze drifted immediately toward the structure in the distance—the cabin now clearer in daylight.
"Victoria," Miss Li Hua said, stifling a yawn, "see to bathing and breakfast."
Then she turned and wandered back to her tent as if she hadn't just assigned us a problem.
I looked at Heiwa. She looked at me. Then both of us looked at Miss Li Hua's tent.
"…What exactly do we do?" I asked.
"We can use the utensils from last night," Heiwa said thoughtfully. "We just need ingredients."
"Yes," I agreed quickly—until I looked around. The fire pit was bare. The pot was gone. Everything was gone.
"…Did she get rid of the pot?" I muttered, glancing toward the tent with a sigh.
"We could hunt," Heiwa suggested mildly. "Miss Li Hua did say the forest had wildlife."
"Yes," I said. "But we still need a pot."
The morning was aging rapidly. Sunlight crept higher. Hunger sharpened thoughts.
"She wouldn't tell us to do something impossible," Heiwa said slowly. "Would she?"
That question lingered.
I paced, thinking—really thinking—replaying every moment I had ever cooked, every time I had reached for something that wasn't there and made it be. Heat. Weight. Shape.
After a moment—
Clang.
An empty pot dropped onto the forest floor.
"Don't touch it," I blurted, half-laughing, half-startled.
Heiwa raised an eyebrow, one hand settling on her waist.
"It might still be hot," I added lamely, smiling now despite myself.
She shook her head. "So. We have a pot."
"Yes," I said, emboldened. "I can do a drum. Or a tub. Possibly both."
"Breakfast first," she said, amused.
"I don't trust myself *that* much," I admitted. "But we can manage."
We returned later—dirty, scratched, and quietly proud—with three rabbits.
Miss Li Hua sat across from us as we ate, her plate already half-finished.
"Good effort," she said after a few bites. "But the rabbit was mostly wasted."
I stiffened.
"Learning to properly drain the blood would improve both taste and texture," she added calmly, glancing at me. "Something to practice."
After breakfast, a bathtub appeared—assembled, filled, and steaming—despite the fact that I could have done it myself. She knew that.
After bathing, she handed us clean clothes. Even perfume.
"Marigold," Heiwa noted, dabbing it delicately at her inner elbow.
"It smells like a wild garden," I murmured, surprised by how grounding it felt.
When Miss Li Hua emerged, fully dressed and alert at last, she clapped her hands once.
"Alright. Let's go."
We followed—until I hesitated before the tree.
Without turning, she said, "It's fine now."
She walked past it.
Heiwa took my hand. "Come on."
The cabin revealed itself fully at last—humble, solid, and alive. Around it spread an orderly chaos of plants: herbs, flowers, greens I didn't recognize but felt purposeful.
"So… now what?" I whispered.
"Mum," a clear, lovely voice said, "the strangers are here."
A little girl stood among the herbs, butterflies hovering lazily around her as if she were part of the garden itself.
We barely had time to react before the cabin door opened.
A woman stepped out—white blouse, deep red skirt, black hair neatly tucked behind her ear. She looked composed, domestic, dangerous in the way only certainty can be.
"Good morning," Miss Li Hua said warmly. "Apologies for the disturbance."
The woman returned the greeting politely—but her eyes were already measuring us.
"If it's no trouble," Miss Li Hua continued, "I'm looking for a Mr. Hugh."
The girl had already moved to the woman's side.
"I never caught your name," the woman said instead, her gaze narrowing slightly.
"I am Li Hua," Miss Li Hua replied, smiling. "And you are?"
"You may call me Miss Hazel."
Miss Li Hua laughed softly. "And what kind of magic requires a witch to pay with her gender?"
For a heartbeat, Miss Hazel looked confused.
Then her expression hardened into offense.
Then her hand slipped from her pocket.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
Witch? I thought, glancing at Heiwa.
The butterflies tightened their circle around the child.
The garden held its breath.
And the forest leaned in to listen.