Violet opened the door, gesturing for Vael to come inside.
He stepped forward hesitantly, then stopped.
His grey eyes widened as he took in her face—the swollen cheek still red from Maria's slap, the puffy eyes from crying, the way she kept rubbing at her face like she could erase the evidence.
"What happened to you?" Vael asked, genuine concern threading through his voice.
Violet managed a weak smile. "Mothers are scary."
Vael's ears flattened against his skull. His tail went still.
"Scary how?"
"Just... trust me. Very scary when angry."
She led him inside. The cottage was warm again—the earlier tension had settled into something that felt less like a battlefield and more like the exhausted aftermath.
Maria stood near the kitchen counter, organizing dishes with mechanical precision. When she heard them enter, she turned.
And smiled.
But the smile was wrong.
Too wide. Too bright. The kind of smile that promised consequences for misbehavior.
Vael froze mid-step.
"Violet," he whispered, voice pitched higher than normal. "Why is she smiling like that?"
Violet was still shivering slightly from the emotional storm. "Just... just be polite. Very polite."
"Violet," Maria called sweetly. "Take your friend to the dinner table."
It wasn't a request.
Violet nodded quickly and grabbed Vael's arm, practically dragging him toward the table.
He moved like he was approaching a predator's den—slow, careful, ready to bolt.
They sat. Violet kept her eyes down. Vael copied her.
Maria moved to the stove and ladled hot soup into wooden bowls. Steam rose in gentle curls, carrying the scent of herbs and root vegetables and something meaty.
She set a bowl before Vael with exaggerated care.
"Eat up, Vael." Her voice was warm honey over sharp steel. "Can I call you that?"
"Y-yeah," Vael managed. His ears were practically plastered to his skull now.
He picked up the spoon with trembling hands and took a cautious sip.
Silence.
Then his eyes went wide.
"It's—it's delicious!" The fear melted from his face like snow under sun. He started slurping the soup eagerly, tail beginning to wag despite himself. "This is amazing! What's in this?"
Maria's smile softened into something genuine. "Just what we had. I'm glad you like it."
Violet ate beside him, slowly relaxing as she watched Vael's enthusiasm replace his terror.
He finished his bowl in record time, practically licking it clean.
Maria reached out and patted his head gently. "Good boy."
Vael's tail wagged harder.
Then Maria's expression shifted slightly. "Now, you should return home. Your parents must be worried about you."
Vael's smile died instantly.
His ears drooped. His tail went still. He looked down at the empty bowl.
Violet's stomach dropped. "Mama—"
"It's okay," Vael said quietly. Too quietly. "I don't—I mean, I should get back to Kari and Bara anyway. They're probably wondering where I went."
Maria's face changed as understanding dawned. Her hand, still resting on Vael's head, tightened slightly.
"Oh." The word came soft. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"It's fine." Vael forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Really. I'm used to it."
"Vael, it's okay," Violet said, running her hand along the back of his head in the way she'd learned calmed him. "You don't have to pretend here."
Maria's eyes were wet again. She pulled Vael into a sudden, fierce hug that made him stiffen in surprise.
"Sometimes life is harder when you're not even ready for it," she whispered. "But that doesn't mean you face it alone. You understand?"
Vael's throat worked silently. He nodded against her shoulder.
Maria released him and stood abruptly, moving to the shelf with purpose.
She rummaged through dried goods and preserved foods, finally pulling out several strips of dark, seasoned meat.
"Here." She pressed them into Vael's hands. "Take these."
"What are—" Violet started.
Maria gave her a look—sharp and warning. Violet shut her mouth.
Vael took a cautious bite.
His eyes lit up like stars.
"This is incredible!" He immediately grabbed two more strips, stuffing them into his pockets. "What is this? I've never tasted anything like it!"
"Just something my husband makes," Maria said with a small smile. "I'm glad you enjoy it."
Vael's tail was wagging again, the sadness temporarily forgotten in the joy of good food.
"Well then," Maria said, watching him with obvious fondness, "would you like to sleep here tonight? We have space. It's warm."
"I really want to!" Vael's ears perked up. "But Kari said to return and not trouble Violet too much." His ears drooped again. "She's already done so much for us. I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not troubling anyone," Violet said firmly.
Maria nodded. "And since you're staying nearby now, you can come by anytime you'd like. Our door is open to you."
Vael's smile was genuine now—wide and bright and young in a way it hadn't been since his father died.
"Thank you," he said. "Really. For everything."
He moved toward the door, then paused and turned back. "Violet? I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," she confirmed.
The door closed behind him. His footsteps faded into the night.
Violet turned to Maria immediately. "What did you give him?"
Maria was washing dishes again, humming softly. "Wolf Taming Strips. Your father's recipe. He developed it years ago for dealing with wild wolves near the village."
Violet stared. "You gave my friend wolf treats?"
"He seemed to enjoy them." Maria's smile was innocent. Too innocent. "And now whenever he needs cheering up or you need help with something, you have a way to make him happy. Practical, don't you think?"
Violet's mouth opened. Closed. "Don't treat my friend like an animal!"
"Well, he seemed happy," Maria said, thoroughly unconcerned. She was actually giggling now. "Besides, it's not treating him like an animal. It's treating him like family. We give treats to everyone we care about."
Violet wanted to argue, but the logic was sound in the most ridiculous way possible.
She sighed and slumped into a chair. "You're terrible."
"I'm practical," Maria corrected, still smiling. "There's a difference."
***
Far to the south, a carriage rolled through darkening forest.
Inside, Calla sat with perfect posture, reviewing papers by candlelight.
Her assistant sat across from her, carefully not disturbing the silence.
"How long until we reach Greyhollow?" Calla asked without looking up.
"Two days, my lady. Perhaps three if the weather turns."
"Mm." Calla made a note on one document. "And the reports from the valley?"
"Confirmed casualties in the thousands. Beastkin refugees scattered into the mountains.
Imperial forces are still hunting survivors, but most have likely perished from cold or starvation."
Calla nodded once. "Good. One less problem to manage."
She set down her pen and looked out the carriage window at the passing trees.
"I wonder how my little bird is doing," she murmured. "It's been too long since my last visit.
She must be so weak by now."
Her smile was gentle.
The smile of a caring godmother concerned for her fragile charge.
"We should bring extra medicine," she said. "Just to be safe. The winter months are always hardest on her."
"Of course, my lady."
The carriage rolled on through gathering darkness.
Inside, Calla hummed softly—a lullaby, sweet and poisonous.