The people of Eldegard breathed grey air. In the following days since the first wagons rolled in, a game of chance had begun for many awaiting mothers and daughters. Would they return? Would their son's or husbands? Brothers or uncles? or even close cousins; come back on their feet...or their backs. A gasp of short breath, a shiver of excitement, and a thundering of hearts would accompany those that approached the door. Half the celebrations were false adverts because many men-like Mr Burton-were not returning as victors, but as message bearers - carrying the last words of their brother-in-arms.

Such were the circumstances that had created the greyish air amongst the people of Eldegard and many people coped with it differently. Some cried the first few days and several remained in grief for the several next, only to go away without notice. The remaining few met for dinner, finding solace with their remaining friends or family.

Those with children were obligated to remain strong in the face of the bad news, but many were unable to. Those with mothers were obligated to remain passive, even if their heart hurt worse than theirs'. Some, who were able, fell into a routine of sorts; taking care of the children, cleaning the house, shopping etc. it occupied the mind from the painful reminder outside the window. It was the children themselves - that understood what’d happened but were too young to put it into words - that found it best to move on, for amongst the sadness of loss laid the comfort of routine and the support of strong pillars.

Perhaps it was for the reason of empathy which they came over or was it worry for the sort of presence their children would be subjected to now that Henry Kressler had died which called them to visit or maybe a mix of pity and compassion drove Margret and Anthony Kressler to visit the Kressler Household.

Hastille and Bastille were ecstatic when the familiar bell chimes of their father’s carriage played outside the house. But that ecstasy was quickly robbed by the sullen atmosphere haunting the downstairs. Doubts began to seem into their minds. Could the brothers be allowed to feel, and much more so, to express such happiness when they’d just lost a relative? Was it appropriate to feel such emotion in a household ridden with its antithesis? These questions, ultimately, were laid to rest when Mrs. Kressler approached the door.

It was a quiet affair; hugs and kisses went around as smiles were overlaid with tears for the late Mr. Kressler’s. Mr. Anthony Kressler and the children sat over by the fire while both Mrs. Kresslers brought the refreshments over.

“They’re behaving themselves here?” Mr. Anthony asked Miranda after she handed him a plate.

“They are, sir,” Miranda smiled.

“Don’t call me that,” Mr. Anthony Kressler said, waving his hand.

“It makes me feel like you’re a client waiting for a check-up. I’d rather you call me uncle or something ...you know what, if your feeling really formal and insist upon it you can call me by my clinic name."

"What's that?"

"What people usually say once they've been cured, it goes a bit like this; ‘oh my good sire of perfect teeth, groomed hair, and clean wares’ followed by some pleasantries and gratitudes.” That earned him a torrent of giggles and a snort from Melissa and George.

“They’ve been delightful to have Anthony,” Mrs Kressler said quietly.

“Do we have to leave for home?” Hastille asked.

“Um, we’ll talk about that later,” Mr. Anthony said with another swish of hand.

“Penelope, where did you get those figurines? I don’t remember seeing them last,” Margret asked, nodding towards a row of odd shapes on the mantle of the fireplace.

"Obviously in the time in-between those visits," Mrs. Kressler said.

Her words fell on deaf ears as they focused on the figurines.

Six figures adorned the stone mantel. A bear, twisted from its stomach to roar at the sky. A ram with horns, twisting three times out of its head. A bee with a 2-inch long sting. Two flamingos joined their heads to create a heart with their necks and finally a shoebill looking straight ahead.

“Miss Arterofortuna gave them to me, they’re gifts. They soothe me, so don’t break them,” she said sternly.

“Oh come on, Penelope, we won’t do anything of the sort-”

“Then why are you going towards them.”

“To look?”

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“You can look from Mr. Kressler’s seat, thank you very much.”

“Okay...”

The wave of sadness returned to the youth, sitting witness to the biting reminder of Mrs. Kressler's sudden personality change.

Mr Anthony leaned back on his seat and after partaking in some refreshments, maintaining his large gut, began with a clap; “Did I even tell you the tale of the Bo’hr Tree?” Upon denial he continued; “It was a story my brother and I used to listen to as kids. On those long nights on the ship, coming over to this new land. A tailor, a jeweller, a woodcutter and a beggar decide to spend a night in the woods...”

He continued for the next 2 hours, telling of some fantasy stories and some personal experiences he and Mr. Kressler shared. Dinner came and went, but Mr. Anthony Kressler continued with his stories. Eventually, when the youngest of the children, Jameson, began to doze off he switched to a lullaby and finally stopped when the child had been put to sleep in the nearby cott.

“Gone before us all,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m going to miss him.” He cut off the sob before anyone could hear and closed his eyes as he let the tears fall.

The children hugged each other and also cried in silence. But Mrs. Kressler remained as impassive as when they first arrived. She chose to focus on her figurines as she let Margret sob into her shoulder.

“Is there a point to this?” She said monotonously, after a few minutes of silence.

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere Margret quickly asked the kids to show her the upstairs. When finally alone Mr. Anthony asked; “Excuse me.”

“Your visit? All you’ve done is remind them they are no longer with a father. Now they just have more things to remember him by, more things to remind them he’s no longer here.” She continued emotionlessly.

“...I told them these stories, not for a wish to see them cry Penelope but to remember him in more than just their years. To know his childish behaviours and to love the man he'd grown into. If I've given you something more to mourn over know that was my intentions, that was simply how I wished to honour him - making sure he’s not forgotten,” he waved his hand. “Anyways, when do you want to hold his funeral?”

“I need some time-”

“Look at me, Penelope. I'd like to see you as we talk."

Penelope glared at him and spoke with a high and commanding voice. "As I said before I need more time."

"Penelope," Anthony looked troubled, he stroked his stubble as he sunk into the familiar seat. "I don’t want to push you but it’s been a month. His body isn’t getting any better.”

“A week or two, Anthony. Just a few more.”

Anthony Kressler remained disapproving but admitted to giving her some space. Mr. Kressler on the other hand was given very little space. Considering he was enclosed in a small box in Miss Arterofortuna’s basement.

When Penelope took a carriage ride with Mrs. Ouxfore and other neighbourly women to the army outpost she denied the army’s cortege and funeral service for her husband, instead choosing to collect him at a later time. Wanting silence she walked her way back and along the way she came upon the shop of Untold Secrets and Blessings of Beings. By a twist of fate and a desire to put her mind elsewhere, she walked in. Whatever occurred behind closed doors of Miss Arterofortuna led to the newly widowed Penelope Kressler marching back to the army outpost and demanding her husband’s body be sent to Miss Arterofortuna’s shop. Of course, none of this ever made it to anyone outside the army. Like everyone else, even Mr. Burton assumed her grief had overridden her and she was hurting inside.

But what no one could fathom was she was nursing a new hope. Something she’d gift to her children in the few weeks she’d garnered from Mr. Anthony. She could see him moving his mouth again and was promptly broken out of her recollections.

“Excuse me, I didn’t hear you,” she asked.

“Would it trouble you much to continue looking after them? My wife would never ask you, but things back in Gusparand are not well. The savages have broken into New Chimera’s main settlements and I fear it is only a matter of time before everyone in Gusparand has to be conscripted. Hopefully, by then, I’ll be too old to be considered, but Hastille and Bastille will still be young enough to join. For the same reasons as I didn’t want Henry to go, I don’t want them in Gusparand in case conscription happens.”

“You know their wishes were to join their uncle in battle,” she asked lightly.

“Obviously,” he snorted. “That display of power would capture any young one’s attention. They’re just too blinded by the shiny coats and bits of metal. By camaraderie and a feeling of belonging. They’re getting exactly what they want here with their cousins just as well they would in the military but without the danger of dying anytime soon.”

“Of course, they can stay here. But...the money-”

“Taken care of,” he said, bringing out a small bag of coins. “This should help for the next few months. By then, hopefully, we’ll have moved down here.”

“Thank you, I do hope to remain in this house though. I’ve already set this as his resting place.”

“You intend to bury him here?” He asked in surprise.

“No, not here. But nearby,” she said, staring at the flamingo figurines. “But his spirit will rest here.”

“Hmm, Okay...,” Mr. Anthony said nodding to himself. He stood up. “I’ll just go and get Margret to tell her the plans.”

“Do you wish to stay the night?”

“...Yes, that would be lovely.” He said, staring at her.

“When you wish to leave?”

“I-uh-I get the feeling you don’t want us here, Penelope,” he smiled approachingly.

“I don’t, I’d rather be alone if at all possible. I’ve tolerated your presence till now Anthony, not liked it.”

Mr. Anthony Kressler stood for a moment, slack-jawed in his expression. He grimaced and nodded to himself a few times as if accepting it. He looked up at the stairs leading and then back at the Penelope a few times before he whistled till his breath finished and climbed up to the first floor.

Perhaps it was what she’d said that made him so quick in his judgement but that night he told his son’s that they were going to stay with Mrs. Kressler for a while longer, and smiled at their excitement while hiding the pain in his chest. His wife and he argued that night, but thankfully even they had to sleep sometime. By the following morning, everyone knew Mr. Kressler wanted to leave as soon as possible for it showed in the manner he conducted his business. Fortunately for the adults, the children remained happy and paid it little interest.

If only they hadn't.