Take Flight Chapter 3

The ringing of the bell seemed to come from miles away, as did the frustrated grumbles from the other side of the room. Ferron rolled over, trying to sink back into a deeper sleep. The sound of Colin’s voice seemed determined to prevent that though, as he seemed to be demanding Ferron rejoin the waking world.

Finally Ferron sat, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes and blinking as he glanced around the room. Something darted under the edge of Colin’s bed. He blinked, looking again, but whatever it was had vanished.

“As I was saying. If I’m not allowed to laze about and sleep I don’t see why you should be. At least you get to play and lollygag about. I have to climb the keep and do whatever wretched chores father deems training!” Colin groaned, sitting heavily on the edge of Ferron’s bed and buttoning his shoes.

“But I didn’t sleep so good. I’m still a kid, you yell it at me all the time. I say that means I get more sleep.” Ferron dropped back into the bed, pulling the pillow over his head.

“I say it because you are a bumbling idiot! Get up before I drag you out in your skivvies!” Colin ripped the pillow away.

The black and gold of his uniform was bold against his fiery red hair. He grabbed Ferron by the foot, yanking him from the bed. Ferron let out a cry, grabbing the back of his head just before it hit the floor. Colin dusted off the front of the doublet and knelt to finish tucking the gold breeches into the polished black boots.

“There, I helped with the worst part, you made it off the pillows. Not I got to go or I’ll be late reporting in.” Colin started out the door.

“And after that you got another date, don’t you.” Ferron teased, “Or are they coming to meet you up at the tower?”

“It’s not like I ask them to follow me around. Really it’s a bother most of the time. I just can’t seem to shake them.” He shrugged, “Now get dressed before someone walks in with you like that.”

Colin grinned, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him.

Ferron sighed, sitting up and wrestling the sheet away from his legs. It seemed determined to keep hold on him, as if begging him to crawl back into the silky cocoon. He staggered to his feet and stretched, yawning. The evening’s adventures had certainly taken their toll. The tiny figure darted across the room again and vanished into a small crack in the wall. He watched for a moment hoping to get a better look at it before crawling over to peer into the space in the wall, but there was nothing to see.

Finally he gave up and found his shirt, making his way into the common room the family shared. Lady Rowe was sitting in her usual seat by the window, needlework in hand. She greeted him cheerfully, offering the trey that sat on the table beside her. He nodded, gratefully grabbing a biscuit and starting out the door.

“Goodness, Ferron, I know you are so busy protecting the fort from dirt, bugs, and dragons but can’t you spare a kind word for your own mother?” She grinned.

If they boys had gained anything from the raven-haired lady it was her quick wit, imagination, and mischievous grin.

“Sorry, Ma.” Ferron bounced back across the room.

“And what battle are you facing today that you would forget your own mother?” She teased.

“I was going to see if Tristian got caught! And I heard that the cooks son and a few of the huntsmen’s boys play behind the kitchen. I was going to see if they were a better army then Tristain.” He said around a mouthful.

“Not that isn’t so nice. Young Lord Tristian is in the same place as you. Of the three families in Belladu there are almost all girls. If anything the poor child has it worse, as you have Colin and that fairy friend of yours. Tristian doesn’t have that. The Du’Mort family isn’t so open to the childhood dreams as we are.” She gently scolded, taking his hands.

“Ma, Chenoa isn’t really a fairy! She is a girl who is scared of the sun. Her pa is a huntsman and she says she is a serf, that she is owned by Belladu Keep. Ma? Can a fort own a person?” Ferron tilted his head slightly, waiting for her answer.

“So,” Lady Rowe turned the idea over in her head slowly. “Chenoa, you call her? She isn’t imagined? Are you so sure? A girl with silver hair, purple eyes, and who is scared of the sun. This is all a little odd. Is it possible that I meet her then?”

“I suppose. I’ll ask her and see. But, Ma, can a person be owned by a fort?” He asked again, pulling his hands away and grabbing another biscuit, tucking it into his pocket.

“Well, you may do well to sit, as this will take a while. You used the word surf.” She leaned back into her chair.

“Yes.” He sat against the edge of the chair across from her.

“It takes many jobs and many stations to keep our country running. You understand your father is the Captain of the guard here at Belladu, and that, though I am now Lady Rowe, I used to be of the house Ferasol of Bristaill County. I was only allowed to marry your father because of his design alterations to Belladu tower, and his service in the guard. He was born of a merchant so had he not made such an impression I never would have been allowed to be with him, especially as I was the only child born into our house. It is the merchants and artisans who keep the wheels turning. They run the mills and shops, the inns and taverns. Below them are the servants, and that is most of the staff in the kitchen, the stable, and the staff that travels with us. Many of the foot soldiers are also of that station. Many of the watchmen are merchant, and only lords can become officers. Your father was granted special privilege. Now, after the servants are the surfs. They are a part of the land. They are what keep our country breathing, so we need them. But they are also at the bottom of our society. They hunt the forest, work the land, and clean the stables, pens, and coops. They do the work that others would never consider. They do not own land, or houses, but live solely by the graces of the lords whose land or keeps they work. Do you understand?” She raised her eyebrows, seeming slightly frustrated as if she hadn’t wanted to explain.

“But can serfs be in the watch?” Ferron asked, sliding into the chair.

“No, not unless there is express need, as in times of war.”

“So all they do is farm? Can they move if they don’t like the lord they serve?” He asked, his heart sinking.

“No, Ferron. They cannot. Not without permission from the lord whose land the wish to move to.” She frowned.

“That isn’t right! They are people too, can’t we teach them? What if the lord is mean, like Tristian is, what if he teases them or hits them? What then? Who do they go to?” Ferron leaped from his chair, his fists clenched in anger. “How can we accept that? They feel, they think, they fear and cry, they bleed if they fall, and they dream when they sleep. They talk, and sing, and dance. How can we let them live like that? They are the same that we are, and they are better people! How can we be okay with that?”

“Ferron! Please wait!” She reached to grab his arm as he fled from the room.

He didn’t stop running until he was tucked safely in the tiny abandoned work room he and Chenoa called headquarters. It was where they made their plans, where they shared the spoils of his raids, and the trinkets she found. Where they hid their treasures under the loose slat in the floor. And it was where they were equal. They one place they could always be friends. Even if the lord of Belladu didn’t like it, even if the entire world didn’t like it. He reached in his pocket and felt the biscuits he had grabbed for Chenoa, remembering she wasn’t going to come.

He leaned back, not sure what to do. There had been many days when she wasn’t able to sneak away, and on the days she did it was just a matter of time before the stable boys would go searching for them. It was as if their friendship was forbidden. Was his mother going to do the same now that she realized that Chenoa was real? Would they be ban from seeing each other? Was their friendship really such a bad thing? Something scurried across the floor, at first he thought it was a rat, but any company was better than none, so he bulled one of the bus cuts from his pocket and pinched off a crumb. He dropped in on the floor and waited.

Sure enough it came back, at first staying in the shadow, then cautiously it worked its way closer, pausing to look up at him after each step. It seemed like a mouse, small and furry with a long tail and pointed nose, but it was wearing a button as a hat, and had on a small vest. It glanced at him one last time before snatching up the crumb and running back into the shadows.

He was at a loss as to what he had seen. Reluctantly he placed another crumb, hoping it would return so he could look closer.

Sure enough it made its way back to the crumb, snatching it up and vanishing. This time there seemed to be another watching from behind the leg of the old workbench. This one was paler, though still mouse like, it was certainly had human qualities.

“What are you?” Ferron asked, offering another crumb.

It let out a cry of surprise and ran under the bench vanishing from sight.

“Wait! I have more, I just wanted to talk to you.” He sighed, standing and dusting his trousers. It wasn’t going to come back.

He wandered back towards the house, maybe Tristian would want to play.

 

He found Tristian fighting a fruit tree at the back of the house. The boy bounced back and forth, swinging the wooden sword wildly at the trunk, ducking invisible attacks, his chubby cheeks bouncing with his movements. His sandy hair ruffled and drenched with sweat.

“Hey, want a real opponent?” Ferron asked, picking up a decent sized stick.

“I don’t have time for dumb kids like you.” Tristian snapped. “I am training for when I am a knight.”

“I see, but isn’t it better if your dummy can hit back?” Ferron asked, swinging the stick a couple of times to test it out.

“Why, do you want to get beat up? You could never hold your own against me. You’re just a small fry. You just get to marry Janeen and live in your brother’s shadow.”

“So do you.” Ferron snapped.

“I won’t marry Janeen.” He hissed.

“No, but you are the youngest too.” Ferron said, holding the stick before him, ready for the challenge.

“I’m going to be a brave knight!” Tristian shouted, swinging at Ferron.

Ferron danced backwards gracefully, his father had drilled him many times on form. Tristian jumped forward again, swinging with all his might, landing the flat of the wooden blade across the back of Ferrons knuckles. Ferron cried out in pain, dropping the stick.

“That’s one for you!” He bent to pick up the stick and Tristian slammed the flat of the blade down across his head.

Ferron stood fast, stick in hand and swung hard, hitting Tristian across the ribs.

“Two for you and one for me. Next time remember it’s dishonorable to catch your opponents back.” Ferron said, stepping back into stance.

Tristian spat on the grass and lunged again. Slamming the sward hard against Ferron’s stick. The stick cracked under the force, splintering when Ferron used it to block a second blow that was aimed at the head. A third swing came down hard across Ferron’s arm.

“Come on, that’s not fair!” Ferron jumped backwards.

“You said you would be my dummy. Shut up and be a dummy!” Tristian swung again.

“I thought you wanted to be a knight! There is no honor in this.” Ferron shouted.

“If I’m a knight I can do as I want! Anyways, what would you know? Your father is only a lord because he married your mother. He’s a farce!” Tristian said, bringing down the blade on Ferron’s shoulder.

Ferron snapped, his temper flaring. He leaped forward, slamming his head into Tristian’s chubby stomach. Tristian yelled out, falling backwards and grabbing a handful of Ferron’s hair on the way down. The two tumbled across the grass, punches flying as the two tore at each other.

“What the hell is this?” The familiar voice called.

Strong hands pulled them apart, holding them both by the shoulders. Ferron took another swing at Tristian, but was stopped by a firm hand.

“Look at the both of you! Ferron, you have got to keep that temper in check. Now who started it?” Lord Rowe stood between them, a firm expression on his kind face.

He was a tall and muscular man, pale gold threads ran through his red main, deep blue eyes watched them carefully. “Well?” He demanded.

“He was fighting a tree and I wanted to play because it’s too sunny for Chenoa. He wasn’t playing with honor, and then he insulted you, Pa, so I hit him.” Ferron shrugged, whipping his face on his sleeve. He could feel the blood trickling down the right side of his face.

“Even if he did insult me you have no cause to hit him. What do we expect of you, Ferron?” He asked, his voice firm.

“To walk away from a futile quarrel, to act with honor and chivalry.” Ferron pouted.

“Right. You’ll do well to remember that. No go sit over there. I’m going to get Lord Tristian cleaned up and talk to him about manners, and then we have words, don’t we.” He gave Ferron a sharp glare as he lead Tristian towards the kitchen.

Ferron dropped back into the grass, rolling on his stomach to look for bugs, if he ran it would only be worse. Better to face it now. A hedgehog darted across in front of him, dropping something as it ran.

He picked it up turning it over in his hand. It was a little helmet carved from an acorn. He placed it on his finger, holding it out to see if the hedgehog would come back for it.

Sure enough moments later it came scurrying back, looking at the ground.

“It’s right here.” Ferron whispered, lowering his finger into it’s line of sight.

It turned to him, shaking it’s tiny fist madly. It did look like a hedgehog, in that it had a tiny black nose and quills down it’s back. It’s skin was a speckled grey, but aside from the quills and the short wiry hair that covered it’s head, it didn’t seem to have any fur. It was dressed in armor that was fashioned from nutshells and twine. It was shouting at him an a high squeaky voice that made it hard to distinguish, though he was sure it wasn’t saying any words he knew.

“You dropped it, and I didn’t want you to lose it, so I waited for you.” Ferron whispered, moving his finger a little closer to it. It snatched it away quickly and started to run, but paused to turn and bow towards him, before vanishing into the roots of the tree.

“Okay, Ferron.” His father sat down on the grass beside him. “Enough pouting. Did you say that it was better to fight a living dummy?”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean he can talk about you.” Ferron sat up and pulled his knees against his chest.

“True, but if you said that you can’t really expect him to follow rules. I know it’s still not right, but you did give him permission, so I can’t take pitty on you.” He ruffled his son’s hair.

“I know, but when he said that-” Ferron argued.

“Ferron, Son, please listen. Think about what you say and how you say it. I know you want someone to play with, but if every time you two play together it ends in a fight then maybe you need to find a new playmate. And if Chenoa is scared of the sun why don’t you make her a hat? Wouldn’t that be better use of your time then fighting? Or maybe you could go down into Bristaill and make some new friends. Real ones.”

“But she is real.” Ferron sighed, standing up and turning away.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. I thing you can spent the rest of the day relaxing in our chambers and thinking about what you should have done.” Lord Rowe patted him on the shoulder and started towards the house.

“I guess.” Ferron mumbled, following. It wasn’t an offer, it was his father’s way of saying that he had messed up and needed to create his own punishment.

As they made their way through the great hall and started up the steps that lead to the family chambers he could feel his mother’s gaze. Her soft footsteps following them into the common room between the room that he shared with Colin and his parents private chambers.

He couldn’t bring himself to look back and see her face. He didn’t want to see the look of anger, worry, and disappointment he knew would consume her. He rant into his room slamming the door and leaning against it, carefully turning so that he was standing with his back against it. If he released the pressure now he wouldn’t be able to lean against it again. Once he stepped away his father would hear the click and suspect him of eavesdropping.

“I don’t understand why he even bothers to play with that boy.” Lord Rowe grumbled, his heavy boots falling in a tragic rhythm as he passed the room.

“He was fighting with Tristian Du’Mort?” Lady Rowe asked, pausing long enough for her husband to nod before continuing, “I see, did he start it?”

“No, it seems he just had bad luck, and too much trust in people.” The steps silenced and a chair creaked softly.

Ferron slid down the door careful not to make a sound.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Nathan. I pushed him to go find Tristian.” He could hear the frown in her voice.

“He needs friends, Alaeta. This Chenoa of his has gone too far. I thought it was a dream at first, but now… I don’t know if he is so lonely he is going mad, or if he is possessed. Either way, it’s been four months.” Lord Rowe sounded exhausted.

“We talked about her a little this morning and I’m not so sure she is imagined. He had some very unsettling questions about the serfs, and his reactions were every bit as unusual. I’ve asked him if he would be so kind as to meet her. He said he would ask her, but said that he wouldn’t be able to talk to her for a few days because she was needed at home.” His mother’s voice was soothing, but he could tell she was still uncertain by the sadness that clung to her words.

“And every boy would prefer to have a friend who was frightened of people and light. A girl who has white hair and purple eyes and talks to bugs, frogs, and rats. That is a very believable story, Alaeta. A girl who is a year and a half younger than he is, but looks like she is five or six. Think it over for a minute.”

Lady Rowe sighed. “A ghost child who is eight, but hasn’t aged past six. I know how it sounds, Nathan. You think I didn’t already see that? I was terrified that our sorrow had trapped her spirit here. Then I was certain that he had created her to fill the space that Moirin had left behind.”

“Maybe it would do him well to be away from it all for a while.” Lord Rowe’s voice cracked, “It can’t be good for him being isolated the way he is. The day he told us that he met her I was thrilled because I thought for certain he had actually socialized with another child.”

“Nathan…” Ferron could almost hear the tears rolling down her cheeks.

He pulled his knees up against his chest and buried his face in his arms. No one had said a word about her, not since that day. Not since they sealed her into that tiny box and returned her to the sea. That is what they told him, that life had begun in the sea. That the Goddess had fallen in love with a spirit of the land but was forever bound to the water. One night she managed to geather enough strength to hold him for a single night. That her children that came from that union were unable to live beneath the water, and so she was force to send them to the land, and that Moirin was simply returning home to the Goddess. A story they told over and over until he was numb to it. What could he say to them, that he wanted to face this Goddess himself? That he wanted to abandon the land because without his best friend and younger sister there was nothing for him on the land? He held his breath concentrating on holding the tears in.

“Is it our fault? Was I so selfish that we couldn’t see he was breaking away from reality? That he was in so much pain his mind couldn’t bear it?” Lord Rowe choked.

“Nathan, we can’t… Ferron didn’t play with the others before Moirin- Before she… He never got on with the others anyways. The only thing that changed was that he and Colin seemed to drift apart.” She was crying, her voice shaking as she tried to maintain her composure. “I’m going to clean up a bit and see to his eye. He seems to have taken a decent blow.”

“He’s a fighter, he hasn’t cried since that night. Not in pain or sorrow.” Lord Rowe agreed. “Perhaps he would do well to stay with Breena. She has boys his age, and perhaps it will help him to be away from the memories for a while.”

“Nathan?” Her voice was slightly more confident. “I asked him to let us meet Chenoa. I don’t think she is imagined. I think she is very real. If he had imagined her to be his sister then why would she talk about living in poverty? Why would he imagine her having a black eye for a week or two, or bruises on her neck? Why would he have to sneak out to play in the stables at night to see her? Wouldn’t she be more like Moirin, red hair, or dimples, or something?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Then,” Lord Rowe finally spoke, his voice dark and thoughtful, “You suspect that she is a fairy.”

“Or some spirit that our sorrow summoned. Nathan, he takes her food. He asks the strangest questions, and she tells him events that take place a week later.” Lady Rowe said, her soft steps moving closer to the door.

“And if you meet her? Then what?” Lord Rowe asked, the chair groaning as he stood.

“I will decide when that day comes.” She said, her voice coming from the other side of the door.

Ferron flew across the room, landing in his bed and rolling to face the wall, hoping that she didn’t know he had been listening. He closed his eyes, counting each breath. If she thought he had fallen asleep she would leave.

They were wrong. He had cried, he had cried almost every day before he met Chenoa. He just couldn’t let them see it. He clenched his fists trying to maintain the act. She had to go away.

The door closed softly, but he didn’t dare move. Not until he was sure she was gone.

He could hear the whisper of her skirts brushing against the floor as she crossed the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing his hair gently with cold trembling hands.

“Ferron?”

He concentrated carefully on the act. She needed to leave.

“To see those dimples again, I was give anything this world as to offer. Even if she is imagined, at least you smile again. I just wish I knew what I was supposed to do now.” She sighed, turning his face slightly so that she could look at him. It was all he could do to maintain his expression as she looked at his eye. “That is a lovely shiner you have there, dear boy.” He couldn’t contain the gasp as she dabbed it with the corner of her handkerchief. He knew she was putting the ointment on in and the burn was about to start.

“Ma, stop.” He muttered, pushing her away and turning back to the wall.

She sighed and stood. He could feel her watching him, and he was truly exhausted. It would be better if he was really asleep. He couldn’t cry if he wasn’t awake. He buried his face further in the pillow, blocking out the light. She carefully tugged the blanket out from beneath him and draped it across him before leaving, closing the door softly behind her.

“I bet you and Chenoa would have been best friends.” He whispered softly to the empty space where her bed once stood.

He could almost hear her agree as he drifted into sleep.

 

He lay awake for hours thinking about the awkward glances between his parents, the confused silence Colin maintained during dinner. About what his parents had said before he fall asleep earlier that day. About Chenoa. Finally the bell tolled the eleventh hour and he slid from his bed, taking his boots and slipping from the room as quietly as he could. Colin rolled over, snoring slightly as the door clicked shut. Ferron froze, waiting to see if he was waking up. After a moment of silence he made his way through the sleeping manor and through the kitchen, finally sitting on the garden steps to pull on his boots.

He ran as fast as he could, hoping she was waiting for him at the opening to the forest. Disappointment filling his chest as he rounded the corner to see the empty alleyway.

“Ferron.”

He jumped and spun around to find her looking at him, her head tilted slightly to the side, her lips pressed into a smug look of satisfaction.

“I scared you, did I?” She said. “Anyways, are you ready? We are going back to the tree tonight, right?”

“Yah.” He nodded, “But I wasn’t scared.”

“Sure. I suppose.” She walked over to the grate and waited for him to move it, something clutched in her hands.

“What is it?” Ferron asked, pointing.

“Just a mouse.” She said, as if he wasn’t supposed to have noticed. “Now please open the door.”

“Why are you bringing a mouse?” He insisted, trying to catch a glimpse of it.

“Because Ma tried to kill it.” She said, finally parting her hands enough he could peek inside. “It’s hurt and if I take it back then the others might help it.”

He leaned down peering into the crack between her thumbs, “I don’t think mice do that. Wait!” He gasped.

There in her hands was one of those creatures. It was so much like the ones he had seen earlier, Big round ears and brownish hair gave it a mouse like appearance, but it had a distinctly human shape, aside from the tail. And its face was certainly not that of a mouse, a tiny button nose and stubborn chin. It looked up at him with beady eyes, it’s expression filled with fear.

“It’s not a mouse,” Ferron stood to look down into Chenoa’s face, “What is it?”

“What do you mean?” She asked, shifting awkwardly.

“It isn’t a mouse. I have been seeing them all day. What is it?” He demanded.

“A piskie.” She said, looking down and stepping away. She did that when he scolded her, acting like he would hit her, or tearing up as if he was going to shout.

“There are lots of them, huh.” He said, lifting the grate away. “Let’s take it to its family then. Here, I have a biscut.” He reached into his pocket and broke off a small piece offering it to Chenoa.

She opened her hands again, carefully, letting him offer the crumb to the tiny piskie.

“Her name is Ninki.” Chenoa whispered, closing her hands and slipping into the pipe.

Ferron followed quickly. The tree forgotten as he followed Chenoa through the darkness and into the moonlit world beyond the walls.

“Where do we take her?” He asked, suddenly worried about the tiny creature.

Chenoa lifted her hands close to her face for a few seconds before shaking her head, “I think we need to go to the tree. We can figure things out from there.”

They slowly made their way down the trail, Ferron taking care to clear the path for Chenoa and Ninki. As he held a low branch for Chenoa to pass under he noticed the marks across the back and sides of her neck.

The urge to ask was almost overwhelming, but he wanted to be sure that Ninki was taken somewhere she could be safe. They carefully made their way up the path and through the door into the warm glow of the tree’s welcoming light.

Chenoa carefully placed Ninki on one of the cushions and knelt on the floor, whispering to her.

“She says that we can let her stay here, that she will heal on her own. She says to tell you thank you for the bread, and that she will be your friend and care for this place for you.” Chenoa grinned.

“I’m glad that she will care for this place, but it isn’t mine.” Ferron frowned.

“She says that this tree belongs to everyone, and that she will always be here so that if you need something she will find the answer for you.” Chenoa translated again.

“But I can’t understand her.” Ferron scratched his head. “And if I am in Belladu how can I ask her things?”

Chenoa just shrugged and wandered up the steps running her finger along the spines of the books.

They spent most of the evening sitting on the floor looking through the volumes, Ferron occasionally reading the descriptions on the illustrations that confused Chenoa.

It was warm and comforting in the hollow of the tree, Ninki sleeping peacefully and Chenoa and Ferron laying on their bellies before each other, the books spread between them.

Finally Ninki sat and yawned, saying something in her tiny voice.

“What did that mean?” Ferron asked curiously.

“She said it was the fourth bell.” Chenoa said, pushing herself to her feet and gathering the books. “We should go.”

Ferron nodded and followed her up the steps, sliding the books back into their spaces.

“Chenoa, what is the bruise on your neck?” He finally asked as they started back down the steps.

“Nothing. But I may not be able to come for a few days.” She said, looking away.

“Why?” He asked, looking carefully at the mark.

“I just can’t.” She said, pulling the ribbon out of her hair so it fell to cover the marks. “But in four days meet me at the pipe at the second bell. It’s really important.”

“Why? He asked following her down the steps.

“Goodnight, Ninki.” She said, slipping out the door, “Something good will happen, just promise you’ll come.”

“Good night, Ninki, Feel better.” He closed the door and followed her down the path. “But I won’t see you until then?”

“No.” She said. “And if you decide to meet Merla, don’t say anything about me. If you do they will know that I have been sneaking about. That would be bad.”

“I won’t.” He promised, “But, Chenoa, can you help me with something?”

She stopped in the middle of the path and looked up at him, for a moment before she sighed and started walking again. “I’m not a monster.”

“I know that, you are just strange. But can you meet Colin? I know if Colin met you he would like you. Then later, when you are not so scared of Colin, then you can meet Ma and Da.” He begged, stepping in front of the opening to the pipe so that she couldn’t run away.

“Once I can come back I’ll think about it. But not before the special thing in four days. Remember, the second bell on the night after four days.” She insisted.

“I promise, if you promise you will think about it.” He agreed, stepping aside to let her pass.

“I promise to think about it.” She said as she vanished into the shadows.