Nura doesn't waste a moment of time as the sun brightens the village and dries the muddy roads. She dresses in an oceanic blue cotton dress, the material just reaching her ankles, preventing it from catching too much mud. She slips her satchel over her head, waving a hasty goodbye to a tired-eyed Calla before jogging into the street.
Rephas already waits by the horses, finishing buckling their saddles as Nura reaches him. His brown tunic is tight across his broad shoulders, the man built for his trade as a smith. His time in the army taught him how to use the weapons he crafted.
Sometimes Nura catches a glimpse of the man he was before soldiering. They're brief glimmers, like trying to spy the moon through dense trees on a cloudy night. But Nura knows that softness is still within him. It's why she agreed to move so far away from the only home she ever knew.
"I try to beat you," Nura says with a huff as she moves to his side, "but you're always up before me."
A small smile twitches at the corner of his lips, a hint of mirth in his gaze as he looks down at her.
There it is.
Nura pushes herself up onto the balls of her feet to brush her lips against his, a featherlight touch that unravels the tension still built from their disagreement last night.
"That's because your snoring wakes me," he murmurs as he leans back.
Nura laughs and swats his arm with a shake of her head. Her smile doesn't stray from her lips as she looks at him, emotion swelling in her chest to see the softness around his eyes linger.
It doesn't last. But this time it's her softness that slips away.
"I need to buy a couple of things before going back to the cabin. Don't wait for me."
A crease forms between Rephas' brows as he looks at her, removing his hands from the saddle of the horse. "I don't want you to ride alone."
"It's daylight, Rephas, and I won't go wandering into the forest." She offers him a gentle smile, trying to ease the worry that shines in his dark eyes. "I'll be back before you even get a chance to miss me." Nura slips away before he can argue, knowing that he won't convince her not to go. There are things she needs to do, things she doesn't want Rephas to know she's doing.
Her pace quickens as she walks down the street, her gaze straying to the forests at her right, shadowed even in the morning light. Each time she looks into those trees, she expects to find another villager stumbling from them, a bloody trail snaking across the earth behind them.
Nura drags her gaze away from the trees to instead turn her sight to the fields ahead, lush with produce and busy people, the time of Harvest still ending.
It should be a time of celebration and joy, instead the villagers are wracked with sorrow for those they've lost and those that have been mauled, still lying in their sickbeds. Nura tends to them as much as she can, but most of their fates are left to the Spirits.
"Nura!" someone calls, and she glances to one of the wood and thatch homes to see a woman on her porch, waving. The infant tucked in her arms has a wide smile gracing Nura's lips.
"How are you?" Nura asks as she climbs the steps to the woman.
"Good, good," she replies, swaying the baby in her arms, allowing him to suckle on her thumb.
Nura brushes her fingertips to the baby's rounded cheeks, glittering brown eyes staring back at her. "And him? How's he faring?"
"He's precious," the woman says with a slight smile as she gazes down at the boy. "He has a set of lungs on him though. I swear he keeps the whole village up some nights."
Nura chuckles and takes a step back, glad to see the duo happy and content after Nura helped her deliver the child.
"Will you be at the Harvest ceremony?" the woman asks.
Nura glances towards the fields again where the ceremony will be held. Her heart aches at the possibility of not going but with everything happening, her hands are already so full.
"I'll see if I can make it," Nura replies, knowing she can't promise such a thing. She departs from the woman with quick goodbyes and continues down the street, fisting her hands in her skirt as she jumps over puddles from the recent rain that has bombarded the village.
Nura enters a shop on the streets, instantly flooded with the heavy scent of herds and plants. She breathes it in, calmed by the familiar smell.
"Nura!" the loud voice belongs to a man of light brown skin and eyes too large for his angular face. He greets her with a grin, his lips painted a shining purple, the matching colour lining his eyes.
"Aurmir," Nura says, unable to help her small laugh as the lanky man embraces her.
He steps back, clasping her shoulders to inspect her face. "I'm sensing some nerves from you, my white bird."
"Oh, you know me, always thinking about everything."
"Ah," he says, his bony features becoming stern. "Tell me, do they threaten you for being an Elf or for being a Witch today?"
Nura bites her tongue to bury her snort, both of them finding both frustration and amusement in how they're treated for their Elven heritage. Aurmir also has the misfortune of dealing in medicine and elixirs. Though Witch Hunters haven't been to this village in many years, the unwarranted prejudice still lingers for those who so much as sniff an herb not recognised by those less knowledgeable.
The ignorant will always rule.
"No, nothing like that. Just need to replenish my stock." Nura pats the satchel rested against her hip and Aurmir nods, taking up his mantle behind his cluttered bench, shelves stocked with an assortment of colourful and intriguing items behind him.
"Now, what is it that you're looking for?" he asks.
"Blackbane," she replies, her gaze trailing over the supplies he has, avoiding his eye.
"What would you need that poisonous stuff for?" he questions with a raised brow.
"Haven't you heard? It tastes excellent in blueberry pie," she replies with a flash of her teeth.
Aurmir stares at her for a heartbeat before shaking his head and lowering it. "Sometimes I can't tell when you joke," he mutters, flipping through the pages of the ledger before him. "I have a few in stock. Is there anything else you need to grab?"
"Lily leaves and Grim dust."
Aurmir sends her another look with his gaze narrowed. "What are you up to?"
The door opens before Nura can answer, sending a gust of flower-scented breeze into the small room. She glances over her shoulder to see a hooded man stroll in before she turns her attention back to Aurmir.
"Like I said, I'm making pie."
"Pie," he grumbles, observing the shelf behind him. "Pie poisonous enough to kill an ox." He places the ingredients in a basket as Nura watches, her hands clenched around the strap of her satchel.
She trusts Aurmir, especially when it comes to their area of work. They have to trust each other, they're the only two of their kind in the village and they were both desperate to make an ally that understood them. Rephas tries to understand and at times he does, he understands so well that Nura begins to question who he was before she met him.
But this he doesn't understand. The medicine, the elixirs, the herbs, the constant wariness of being doused in boiling tar for supposedly being a Witch. That fear her husband will never understand, and she hopes he never has to.
"Here," Aurmir says, breaking her from her thoughts as he sets the ingredients on the table. "I keep the Blackbane in the back." He wrinkles his nose before slipping through a door to his side, leading to many more plants and tonics, his rarer kinds.
Nura's light gaze travels along the many vibrant coloured bottles of tonics lining the shelves, books and scripters stuffed into every nook and cranny. Her gaze strays to the man who entered earlier, a mere shadow in the corner that Nura had forgotten about. He has a book in his gloved hands and is flipping through the pages, a hood obscuring his features, but she spies skin as pale as snow. Either he never enters daylight or he's an Ice Elf. Nura swallows at that. An Elf in the Human lands is a bad omen, she'd know.
He must feel her eyes upon him because he speaks before she has a chance to look away. "I do hope you're not planning to serve any of your pie at the Harvest ceremony."
Nura's lips curve as she glances back to the shelves, hearing Aurmir clattering about in the back room. "No," she replies. "I was going to gift it to the Shadow Elves in the forest."
"Ah," he murmurs, snapping the book shut. "What are you really using the poisons for?"
Nura's brow arches as she spares the stranger another glance. "I deal with poisons, sir, so I'm certain you don't wish to become involved in my private business." She continues to study him, observing his reaction.
He hums in response before sliding another book off the shelf and flipping through that.
Aurmir strolls back into the room, halting Nura's scrutiny of the man. He sets the Blackbane on the bench with the other ingredients but wraps it in cloth, smothering the strong stench of the plant, an innocent looking flower of rustic orange and soot black tips. Nura knows it's anything but innocent.
She smiles at Aurmir as he tallies up the cost of the items and she begins placing them at the bottom of her satchel.
"Please be careful, Nura," Aurmir says, lines creasing the corners of his large eyes. He grips her hands when she hands him the coins, keeping her close. "I don't know why those savages are here, but I don't want you involving yourself in needless danger."
"I'm always careful," she says, trying to keep her smile in place but it begins to slip.
"No, you're not." He smiles sadly and pats her hand. "You're always putting others before yourself."
Nura pulls her hand from his and brightens her smile. "That's just my job." She leaves with a wave, escaping his heavy gaze.
Nura grips her satchel as she walks to the bakery, the ingredients within heavier than they should be.
Should she have told Aurmir what she plans to do with the poisons? Should she have trusted at least one soul to help carry this burden?
Nura shakes her head, her answer firm in her heart.
She bears the blood upon her hands so no one else has to.
Nura rides along the dirt road, the cabin coming into view as she crests a hill. The cabin sits nestled amongst mounds of lush green, trees of both green and golds littered behind it before the land dips and leads into the forest. It's bursting with life and produce, a place of beauty and peace. It was a place of peace. Now the forest carries a darkness Nura hopes to rid.
She follows the winding trail to the cabin, smoke spiralling from the stone chimney, indicating that Rephas listened to her and went ahead.
For a brief moment as she rides towards the cabin with the sun warm upon her face, she returns to normalcy. She forgets about poisons and Elves and wounds. She forgets about everything else apart from the simplicity her and Rephas has built.
Then it all comes rushing back.
Nura sees the stark red before she registers the word. The crimson paints the side of the cabin, staining the wood. She knows it's blood. She's seen enough of it to know.
Rephas scrubs at the red, his sleeves rolled up and the bucket behind him filled with red water. He hears the snort of the horse and turns, his dark gaze clouded in a haze that Nura has never seen within his eyes. They clear when he sees her and he stands, dumping the cloth into the bucket.
"Nura, go inside." His command falls on deaf ears as Nura stares at the blood painted on the wall.
MURDERER!
Her stomach clenches and she swallows, tears welling in the back of her throat that she refuses to let spill.
"Do you know who did it?" she asks, her voice strained as she holds back her brimming emotions.
"No, Nura." He moves to her side, slipping the reins from her hands.
Nura's eyes settle on the mutilated carcass of a pig, lying within the grass with its intestines strewn across the ground.
"I want to know who did it." She jumps down from the horse, her glare on the writing once again, branding her, reminding her of what these people think of her.
"Let it go."
Nura whirls on him, her anger rearing its head, burning away her tears. "Let it go?" she seethes. "First you want me to sit idle as the villagers die. Now you want me to sit idle as they blame me for their deaths and vandalise our home."
Rephas wraps his hands around her upper arms, drawing her to him, his gaze boring into hers. "I want you to be safe." He pauses, his gaze flicking between hers, trying to read her like a book. "That's why I believe it's best we move away."
She leans forward, sparks in her gaze. "We were safe in the Hold, but we left there too. My father was buried there, and we left at your behest. Now you're asking me to leave again?" Nura shoves his hands from her and turns back to the damning writing upon the wall.
She's faced ridicule her whole life for having an Elven mother that she never met. But never has she thought to run from it when people need her help.
"What are you running from, Rephas?" Nura asks, glancing over her shoulder at her husband, his lips pressed together. "Just tell me what it is you're afraid of."
Rephas' deep brown eyes flick over her face as his throat bobs. Nura witnesses him struggling with his words, his rough hands clenched at his sides. But he doesn't reply. Instead he passes her, reaches for the wet cloth in the bucket, and continues to scrub the blood from the wall.
Nura stares at his rigid back, her chest aching with the words she wants to hurl at him. But she can't.
Rephas had darkness in his eyes when she met him, a darkness she was aware he'd carried for years. He'd experienced things before he enlisted as a soldier, things he's never breathed a word about, even when gripped by nightmares.
Nura understands he's afraid, but she also understands she will never allow herself to wallow in fear.
She looks to the foreboding forest, the writhing shadows within almost beckoning her.
Nura Wolfire isn't a woman that understands the meaning of 'idleness'. She thought she could make this work, that loving Rephas would be enough for her, that having children with him and living a simple life would be enough to sate her.
Serving the people of the village with her skills in medicine has proved difficult. Having children has proved harder.
Nura has learnt she isn't made for a simple life. She needs to stop moulding herself into something she's not. She can't continue holding onto her fears from the war like Rephas. She needs to do something and she already has what she needs to do it.