Hara and the Witch

Chapter 15: Everyone is Very Soggy and it Shows

'And oh heck, now it's raining and— I THINK I STEPPED ON A FROG ABORT OH LORDS PLIM IT'S MOVING DO SOMETHING!'

Needless to say the rest of their afternoon was more merry, Hara unintentionally bringing such lightness to the stormy day that her companions could almost imagine they weren't cold and miserable. Hara took a little longer to calm down, replacing her shoes and walking on with the utmost care, circumventing all the puddles she could and regularly wincing as the memory of the slimy thing between her toes flashed through her mind.

The rain hadn't let up a jot when a little cottage appeared on the horizon, abandoned and with only half a roof but a cottage! They ran to it with glee, Marigold helping Hara when she got her boot stuck in the mud and Plim screeching for them to catch up. Finally they did, the three crashing through the doorway, barely pausing to ask if any ghosts would allow them time to rest, and within seconds they were lying on the floor, moaning.

Hara, half asleep, got onto her knees and managed to start a fire in a corner of the one room cottage, the warm air sizzling away a little of the moisture on her face and clothes as she sat before it, yawning. Plim, snoring, she picked up and placed before the fire, fluffing up her feathers as best as she could - the dove cooed sleepily but otherwise did not stir - and as wiped out and peaceful as she looked, Hara couldn't leave Marigold to sleep in her own puddle, sodden and, if Hara was anything to go by, with a myriad of cuts to clean.

Nudging her, Hara had to grab the witch's hand and forcefully start dragging her over to the fire, which now crackled merrily, before she stirred, grumbling and trying to bury her face in the dirt floor.

'Stay away from me,' she groaned as Hara continued to drag her.

'No.'

Marigold turned her head and peeled open an eye, her face newly covered in grit. 'Leave me alone. I want to melt.'

'A quester,' Hara explained, stifling a yawn but continuing to drag Marigold until she got up herself, 'can't let a friend melt.'

'That,' the witch grumbled, limping dazedly to the fire and almost falling on top of it as she slumped to the ground, 'sounds like hero talk. Besides...' She looked at Plim for a long moment before gently stroking her head with a soft smile. 'We're not friends.'

Hara raised an eyebrow as she pulled off her boot and watched mud drip out of it.

'Well, we're not. I'm paying you!'

'Fair enough. But I'm still not letting you get sick. Plim's taken a shine to you and I'd hate her to wake up to a corpse.' Marigold continued to grumble, but she began to wring her hair dry and took off her cloak. 'Now I think...' Hara rummaged through her satchel, triumphantly pulling out a sodden blanket. 'I'll dry this, then you can use it to sleep. You better get undressed.'

Marigold glared at her but had to admit the sense of the suggestion, even if the idea of sitting half dressed, with Hara, in the middle of a storm, beside a fire was too odd of an idea to process. Even Hara's cheeks held a faint tinge of lilac as she slid out of her shirt and pants, although she acted as if it were nothing.

Wringing out her clothes and supplies, Hara sat beside the fire, her underthings soon steaming as the heat drew away the moisture. She hung up clothes, blanket, bags and Marigold's cloak as she worked and soon the small, run down shell of a building seemed almost homely with its array of drying decorations. She didn't notice Marigold until she was sitting beside her, hair all limp curls and face all disgruntled gratitude.

Hara eyed her sideways, confused.

'Let me see your stomach,' Marigold said and Hara continued to vacantly stare. 'Your wound, I want to make sure its not festering or torn. We've had quite a day and you should still technically be resting.'