The Hut

The carriage door opens. It's dark now, but Osric sees the flicker of candles behind windows, familiar windows. He's back home.

"Well, Elayne, Helen, this is your home as of today — I guess." Osric sticks his hand out, presenting the house.

The two-storied, wooden-framed house is filled in with off-white stone, the shingles almost shimmering in the moonlight. Next to it, a wooden hut, much like the others in the village, with a thatched roof.

Before they can say anything, the front door flies open. Catalina charges down the dirt path, past the fence, and into the carriage.

"Mother — oh!"

Osric's words are squeezed out of him as Catalina picks him up, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so glad you're okay!"

"Please put me down," he croaks.

"Oh — I should prepare something to eat," she exclaims, setting Osric down.

She jumps out of the carriage, rushing back towards the house.

Randolf and Osric file out.

Osric waits for Helen and Elayne to follow.

"What's wrong?" he asks, poking his head back in.

"Is it really alright for us to stay here, Master?" Helen asks.

"Why wouldn't it be? And don't call me Master, just call me Osric."

He steps out of the carriage, ushering them over. "Come on."

Helen steps out of the carriage. Elayne hesitantly follows, holding her mother's hand. He watches them meander toward the house before turning to the front of the carriage.

Peering around the corner, there she is. Cinder sits there on the carriage bench, the reins in one hand, her head in the other, staring stoically down the dirt path.

She didn't know the extent of my plan, but she risked it all for me... I gotta thank her, right? Osric thinks, still scratching.

"Hey, Cinder, I—I, uh." He scratches the back of his head.

Cinder looks down at him, her ears swiveling back and forth as he stammers.

"Thank you, Cinder," he eventually spits out.

"Gratitude is not needed. My master told me to aid you. I simply did what he asked," she replies, bluntly.

"Yeah, but you did something crazy without a second thought."

"If my master asked me to die for his grandson, I would gladly oblige," she replies, turning away.

"Sounds like you really respect Angus. Is he that good of a guy?

I mean, I get he's rich and fancy, but is he really good enough to die for? he thinks.

"He’s the only master who treats me with dignity."

Osric can only stare at her after that response.

She whips the reins, the horses neigh, and she's off.

>>>

Now pitch black outside. Osric sits at the dinner table. Chewing a bite of his meat pie. His gaze goes beyond the table, past the chatter, past the empty chair across from him. His eyes follow the wooden cabinet against the wall. Ingredients still strewn across the top; half a loaf of bread next to a jar of spices... Continuing, He hits the corner. His gaze travels leftward, until it rests on the stone fireplace. Staring at the smoldering fire. He tries to distract his mind.

Why was I so off my game in that city? What's up with me collapsing like that? He doesn't want to speculate, but the thought won't leave his mind.

He swallows his over-chewed mush. There's a sharp pain in his throat — it goes down the wrong pipe. He tries to cough, but he can't. He grasps the wooden cup in front of him, swigs down the contents, and then coughs violently.

Randolf, next to him, starts to smack him on the back.

"You alright, dear?" Catalina stands, peering over Randolf's head.

"I'm good, I'm good." Osric waves his hand for Randolf to stop.

Everyone's eyes return to their food after, and the chatting continues.

"Then I went down to the tailor and had some absolutely adorable outfits made for her," Catalina explains.

"Like the one she's wearing right now?" Helen asks.

"Yes!"

"She looks so cute in it," Helen says, looking down at Elayne next to her, funneling meat pie into her mouth.

"You think so too?" Catalina leans in.

"Yes, the black and the red go so well together," Helen adds.

"I'm so glad you get it!" Catalina almost squeals. "I went with this outfit so that she and Osric would match."

"Right, because she's his assistant now. What does that entail exactly?" Helen asks.

"I'm not sure... Osric?"

Their heads snap to him.

Don't look at me. I'm not sure what it means either. He twirls his wooden fork between his fingers. It was just a silly little lie I made up. But it seems like it's stuck. It would be too awkward to try and explain it away now...

"As my assistant, she will aid me with my magical research... of course. She'll hold—"

"What's this stuff? I like it," Elayne interrupts him.

She shoves her cup in her mother's face.

"It's apple cider, sweetie," Helen answers.

She turns to Catalina. "She loves apples."

Elayne's loud gulping fills the room. Dribbles land on her red undershirt as she downs the cider. They both reach down, grabbing their napkins from their laps. Helen starts to dab her shirt as Catalina reaches over the table to do the same.

"Oh, sorry." Catalina backs off, resigning herself back to her chair.

Osric goes back to picking at his meat pie.

>>>

Catalina walks over and picks up Osric's plate, looking at the half-eaten slice of meat pie on it.

"You didn't like it?" she asks.

"I'm just not hungry."

She cleans his place, the hint of a somber look in her eyes.

"I'll set some bedding out for you in the hut," Randolf says, walking down the stairs, carrying an armful of white sheets.

"Why are you doing that?" Osric asks.

"For Helen and Elayne to sleep."

"You're telling me they're going to sleep in that nasty hut outside? You know, there's mold and moss growing on the roof," Osric says, recoiling.

"That's where slaves sleep," Randolf says, opening the front door.

"There are three rooms up there," Osric argues.

"You mean the storeroom? There's not enough room for two to sleep in there."

"Oh." That's right. The room at the end of the hall is just a tiny closet, Osric remembers.

"That's quite alright, we can sleep outside," Helen suggests from across the table.

"No, you can have my room. I'll sleep in the closet," Osric declares.

>>>

Osric walks down the hallway, slipping his head through his white chemise, eyeing the small door at the end. He swings it open. He's greeted by a small box of a room. The room is rather tall, with three rows of wooden shelves on the back wall: wooden buckets on the first shelf, folded white sheets on the second, rarely used wooden cookware on the top. The length of the room, however, is not impressive.

Ugh. I forgot how small this room is. Can I retract my earlier statement and go back to my room, maybe? Osric thinks, stretching out his arms to measure the room.

The wooden boards creak behind him. Something soft press into his back. It's Randolf holding a white sheet.

"You should apologize to your mother tomorrow," he says, handing Osric the sheet.

Apologize for what exactly? Osric wonders as he watches Randolf blow out the lantern hanging from the wall.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he watches Randolf walk away. He opens the door to his bedroom, stepping in.

I have to apologize for not knowing about her mother... I don't get it. His gaze switches to the slightly swaying lantern. The bronze ring at the top clacks as its position shifts on the metal hook.

He closes the door and spreads out the sheet. I mean, I only said I wanted to apologize because I thought it was the right thing to do. He shimmies under the sheet, stretching out his legs.

The room is not much longer than him, his toes almost touching the wall.

Sleeping on the floor is gonna suck. I hope I don't wake up with back pain like my old body.