Lysandra led Lucian gently by the arm to what appeared to be a room dedicated to entertainment. There were various chairs laid out around the space, and a large wooden table dominated one corner of the room. It was oddly shaped, with ivory slabs embedded in the wood. He wasn't sure of its purpose, but assumed it was some sort of game board or perhaps a sculpture.

Lucian sat in one of the available chairs, and Lysandra sat down beside him. Olivia arrived holding a blanket, which she draped over his lap before sitting down near-by. With every passing moment he grew more uncomfortable, if only because he didn't understand what was happening. Edith limped into the room and spoke with Olivia for a moment, before the younger women jogged off into the hall. It wasn't long after that before Devyn entered holding a very finely decorated cup and saucer, fashioned from some kind of dazzlingly white, smooth ceramic.

Lucian accepted the cup when offered, peering into the contents suspiciously. Inside was a dark, rosy liquid. The smell was odd, reminiscent of mushrooms or the forest after heavy rain. "What is this?" he asked.

"It's thea," she replied, using a word which Lucian wasn't familiar with. His confusion must have been evident, because she clarified. "An infusion of leaves, it's good. Healthy."

He took a sip, just to be polite. It was savory, complex, and it developed over time. Lucian noticed hints of sweetness and some floral notes on the tongue only after he swallowed. The taste was mild, but surprisingly pleasant. He took another sip.

"Is there a person that we could get in touch with for you?" Lysandra asked. "Someone near-by?"

He shook his head, resting his cup on the saucer. "No, I travel these lands by myself."

"That's dangerous," Lysandra admonished him. "You don't have guards, or friends with you?"

"I travel alone," Lucian repeated, a little more firmly the second time. "You still haven't answered my question. Where are we? Is there a town near here?"

Lysandra spoke with her mother and father briefly before replying, Lucian got the impression she was more or less just translating what he’d told her. "Our home is on the outskirts of a village called 'Hopewell'," she told him. "We're about a week's ride from the capital of 'Newport', and there are many other villages in the area."

Exceptionally odd names, Lucian thought. Whatever meaning they held was completely beyond him, but he wasn't there to make fun of their hideous language. "And who rules these lands?" he asked.

Lysandra looked at him with a mix of confusion and concern, but nonetheless answered his question. "Queen Marilyn, I think she's the fourth or fifth. With her sisters' help. Are you sure that you're not injured?"

"I'm sure," he replied, sighing wearily as a picture began to form in his head.

The way the women treated him, their evidently long line of female rulers, the... impracticality of what little clothing Devyn wore. Lucian was beginning to suspect that these people were the followers of some barbarian god after the fashion of Cybalia or her son and husband Atysius, whose priest made eunuchs of themselves during ecstatic rituals and who prostituted themselves in women's clothing.

He was far too attached to his penis, literally and emotionally, to throw it away on behalf of some foreign goddess.

Lucian felt a hand rest upon his shoulder, and looked up to find Lysandra staring at him with obvious concern. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her. "I should apologize," he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. "I took your bedsheet off the clothes line."

"That doesn't matter," Lysandra replied, smiling ruefully. "I understand why you did it, nobody wants to present themselves naked to strangers."

"Would I be able to borrow some clothes, something practical for the road?" he asked, hoping beyond hope that she provided him with something far removed from whatever abomination it was her father wore. "I would also benefit from a bath and a shave, if you know somewhere that offers such services."

Lysandra convened with her parents for a moment, and they went back and forth before eventually she turned to Lucian. "We probably have some clothes that you could wear, but unfortunately bathhouses haven't quite caught on here like they have in the capital. The best we could do would to put the kettle on and fill a washbasin. As for shaving, my father has what you need."

"That should more than suffice," he assured his host. "I think the ritual of it would give me the time I need to clear my head and get my thoughts in order, if you don't mind. This experience has been overwhelming."

The pity with which Lysandra looked at him made Lucian’s skin crawl. He didn't need these people's pity. Yet, he did need their charity, and so he kept his mouth shut.

Lysandra spoke with her mother and father briefly, and then stood up. She gestured for Lucian to follow, and so he did. She led him up a flight of stairs into a rather richly appointed bedroom, with fine hardwood floors and thick rugs decorated with interesting, floral patterns. The room was dominated by an enormous bed elevated on a frame with a post at each corner, and the bedding was in wild disarray. For a moment, Lucian felt guilt at waking these people in the middle of the night.

Lysandra directed his attention to a vanity arranged in one corner of the room, dominated by a small brass basin and an enormous glass mirror. It must have been three or four feet tall, and the reflection it rendered was astonishingly clear. There were none of the imperfections or distortions that he was accustomed to seeing in the glass or bronze mirrors he was familiar with.

It also made Lucian realize just how terrible he looked. Gracious gods but he was haggard. He found his fingers running through his hair, pushing the mass of greasy black strands out of his eyes. Eyes burdened by dark, puffy bags. If his mother could have seen him she would have been furious, she was always so obsessed with appearances.

Lucian buried that thought as soon as it occurred to him.

"What do you think of this?" Lysandra asked, holding a loose cotton shift up to his torso. It had panels cut out of the chest, the fabric replaced with some sort of see-through mesh.

"I'm quite capable of picking out clothes," Lucian replied, voice colder than he'd intended. "I think I can handle it from here, thank you for your help."

Lysandra frowned, and then her brow knit together in confusion. "Won't you need water to wash?"

"I'll figure something out," he replied.

Lucian waited until he heard the door close before unfastening the brooch clasped at his shoulder. Leaving the bedsheet where it fell, he stepped up to the vanity and sat down upon a squat stool in front of it. He'd said that he could handle it, but honestly the array of tools laid out before him was unfamiliar. There was a rectangular, single-edged blade, a cup, a stiff brush of coarse hair, various combs, vials filled with all manner of cosmetics. He certainly did not have this handled, he barely knew where to begin.

Reaching out hesitantly, Lucian opened a few vials and sniffed the contents of each until he found what smelled like sandalwood oil. He poured a little into his palm and then rubbed it into the dark hair sprouting along his jaw. That done he concentrated, channeling deitas to draw moisture from the air. It accumulated into droplets which rained down into the small brass basin, filling it gradually. With a gesture Lucian manifested a flame underneath to heat the water, and only once steam rose languidly from its surface did he extinguish the fire. His mastery over the element ensured that he avoided scorching the wood of the vanity.

Next he picked up the sharp blade, clearly a razor of some sort though not in a familiar form. Lucian had thought perhaps the ritual of shaving would bring him peace, but he'd pictured something very different from what he now faced. Something that involved a slave doing all the hard work while he relaxed after a few hours spent in the baths. Sighing, Lucian set the razor down. Instead of risking injury, he simply used Earth magic to sever the hair on his chin at the root. It fell away in a wiry, black mass, which he promptly reduced to dust.

There was no olive oil amidst the various cosmetics, nor could he find a strigil anywhere, so Lucian assumed they washed themselves in some other fashion. Searching the cabinets of the vanity, he eventually found a coarse cloth rag. With seemingly few other options, he soaked it in the warm water and used it to scrub himself.

The entire process felt somewhat pointless, but by the time he was finished he did feel better. Then Lucian wet his hair and used a bar of what he was pretty sure was soap to free it of the mass of accumulated oil. Then he very carefully, very conservatively removed a few inches of his overgrown hair. He was no barber, and even with all his magical talent shaping hair was a difficult task. He did his best to even it out, but honestly didn't accomplish much. Still, Lucian felt much more human, more civilized, once he'd finished his routine. Of course it didn't compare to a proper bath, but it was better than nothing, and it was the first real opportunity he'd had to wash in months.

Lucian cleaned the rag as best he was able in the hot water, and then stood up to inspect himself. He'd lost a lot of weight while he was imprisoned, and at least some of it had certainly been muscle. He felt weak, and he was so emaciated that he could easily count each and every one of his ribs. His collarbones, his hips, his shoulders, every bone in Lucian’s body seemed like it was straining against his skin. The sharpness of his jaw in particular struck him. He'd always had angular features, but with his cheeks caved in by starvation his head seemed downright skeletal.

It was in that moment that Lucian realized how hungry he was. He hadn't had a real meal, a substantive meal, since he was caught by the guards trying to make his escape. The slop they'd fed him hardly counted, just a cold slurry of barley meal and water. Gods, what he wouldn't have done for a roast of wild boar, wrapped in bacon and slathered in a sauce of honey and wine. Or slow roasted dormice stuffed with pork and pine nuts and slathered in garum. "Shit," he muttered to himself, stomach growling.

Lucian could fantasize about food later. Far more important was finding something to wear. Digging through the wardrobe along one wall of the bedroom, he unearthed a pair of tight trousers that, though short on him, seemed practical enough. They were cotton he believed, dyed a dark red. The only problem was that they lacked a crotch entirely. In trying to solve that mystery he discovered the wide arrange of codpieces, in a wide variety of styles and sizes, hidden in one of the drawers. Lucian wasn't quite going for the 'fully erect' look, so he quickly abandoned that option.

It took some digging, but in a disused cabinet he found a pair of fairly regular pants. They were tight through the calf, but looser through the thigh, at least until they reached the groin. The fabric around the crotch seemed extraordinarily tight at a glance, and he would confirm that suspicion when he tried them on. It felt like someone was squeezing his balls in a vice. Still, prominent bulge aside, they were the best thing he'd found up to that point. They were actually quite loose on him in the waist, but ridiculous creature that he was Devyn didn't seem to own a belt.

Shirts were a simpler matter in the end. Though many were deeply cut, excessively frilly, or simply missing large chunks of material, Lucian was able to find a plain, white cotton shirt at the back of the wardrobe. It laced at the front and at the wrist, and was far too large for his frame, but that was easily fixed by tucking the excess fabric into his borrowed trousers. He was a little surprised to find a garment so downright conservative by the standards of his host, but relieved nonetheless.

Unfortunately he couldn't find any shoes that fit him, it seemed Devyn's feet were much smaller than his own, but overall he considered himself presentable. Lucian anointed his hair with a little bit of scented oil, and then discarded the contents of the wash basin out one of the bedroom's windows. After removing the washrag, of course. That done he stepped out into the hall.

Lucian found Lysandra outside speaking with her sister Olivia, the latter of whom had changed at some point. She wore a pair of sturdy-looking trousers fashioned from an unfamiliar, course material dyed blue and she paired it with a plain brown shirt buttoned down the front. Excess material around the neck was folded over, possibly for decorative purpose. Over it all she wore a long leather coat, and a sturdy pair of boots completed the outfit.

Truthfully, he was a little bit jealous of her. She looked comfortable in her own skin, he certainly wasn't.

Whatever conversation the two sisters were having died when he emerged from the bedroom. They glanced him over, and then shared a look. "Rather feminine, don't you think?" Lysandra ventured.

"I wanted something practical," Lucian replied, ignoring the oddity of the idea that what he wore was somehow more effeminate than anything else in their father's wardrobe. "Tell me, is there anyone you can think of who's likely to journey to the capital in the near future?"

Lysandra turned to Olivia, and the two of them briefly exchanged words before Lysandra returned her attention to him. "There's a family, the Wheelers, they make jewelry and watches. I think they usually go down to the capital once a month. I don't know if they've got a trip coming up, but it's possible. Most people only make the trip around harvest, or to get their livestock slaughtered, or if they need something they can't find anywhere else."

Olivia rested a hand on Lysandra's shoulder, kissing her on the cheek before heading down the stairs. "Where's she going?" Lucian asked, once the older woman was gone.

"She's going to take one of the stlopeta and a horse to patrol around the edge of the property," Lysandra replied, shrugging her shoulders. "Just to make sure there's no bandits or other unsavory characters loitering around."

"I can't say that I'm familiar with that word, stlopeta," he replied. It was odd to be sure - 'place of the sound of a slap', yet from context it was some sort of tool. "Is it a weapon?"

Lysandra sighed, running a hand down the side of her face. "I'm probably using the wrong word. Long metal tube, you hold it to your shoulder and pull a tiny lever and bullets fly out. Know what I'm talking about?"

He did indeed know what she was talking about. He'd spent a significant portion of his life trying to create such a device, one which took advantage of the explosive power of salignis. How could these people, who seemed so magically illiterate, possess such a device when he had struggled for years to create something similar?

"Yes, but I call the device I believe you're speaking of a 'necamentum'," he replied. Instrument of death was a much more appropriate description of the device's function and purpose. "Regardless, would it be alright if I were to stay with your family until the Wheelers depart for the capital? I'd pull my weight, of course. I could pay you once I've secured funds, or work on the property, or heal your mother's leg."

Lysandra’s eyes went wide at the last suggestion. "You're a healer?"

"Yes, and quite a good one, though there are certainly better," he told her. "Just at a guess, she broke her leg at some point and the bone never healed correctly. Is that accurate?"

"Yes, she fell off her horse some years ago and landed oddly," Lysandra answered.

Chewing his lip, Lucian considered whether he ought to tell her the truth of his talents. A simple injury like that, it would have taken him perhaps ten minutes to restore full functionality to the woman's limb. However, there was no doubt that they'd realize his magical power if he were to give such a demonstration.

"It will take time," he lied. "But I believe just a simple routine of stretching the joint once a day for perhaps half an hour should restore most of her range of motion in the course of a week or two. I'd be glad to oversee the therapy."

Lysandra looked suspicious, and rightfully so. Stretching would do nothing for her mother's leg. Most likely Lucian would be required to reconstruct the area around the fracture, restore lost cartilage to the joint, and readjust the position of nearly every bone from her hip to her toes. They might have even warped over the course of the last few years, and if they had that would be a real chore to fix.

"Are you sure about that?" the girl asked. "She can't move the leg at all, though that wasn't always the case. I'd say that in the last year it's become a lot more severe."

"And you're sure she didn't break the bone a second time?" he asked. "No falls, or other incidents of trauma?"

Lysandra scratched her chin thoughtfully, cocking her head to one side. "Well, I guess there was a period where she couldn't put much weight on it, it's been kind of intermittent actually for the last year where she'll just get out of bed in the morning and by the end of the day she can't walk."

"It could be the case that she's had repeated fractures, probably from incidents of fairly mild trauma," Lucian ventured. "That could be a sign that the root cause of her continued immobility is more complicated than a poorly healed fracture. I can certainly look at it, and I think the chances are good that I can heal her, but the therapy required might be more extensive."

Lysandra shrugged her shoulders. "I can ask her if she's willing. For now though, we've already talked it over and it's fine if you need to stay with us for a few nights, or even a few weeks. There's a spare bedroom that you can use and if you wanted to help my father out around the house then I'm sure he'd be grateful."

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"Thank you, I really don't know what to say," and that was the truth. Lucian certainly wouldn't have gone through all this trouble for a naked stranger stumbling up to his doorstep. He would have let his guards and servants handle the matter. Barbarians these people may have been, but none could claim they lacked hospitality. "Your family's been very kind to me, I hope that I can repay you one day."

Lysandra only smiled. "There's no need, it's the least we can do."

"Which room will I be sleeping in?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just the one down the hall," Lysandra informed him, turning to point out a door at the end of the hallway on the right. "It used to be my uncle's, but he's moved out, so we've just had it sitting."

"I think I'm going to get some rest," Lucian told her. "I suppose once the sun rises we can go and speak with the Wheelers, to determine when it is they intend to set off for the capital?"

"Don't worry yourself over those details, we'll take care of all that," Lysandra assured him. "Just get some rest, alright?"

He nodded, though it left him ill at ease to leave his fate in the hands of strangers. Marching down the hall he pushed open the last door on the right to find a much more cramped bedroom than the one Edith and Devyn shared. There was a glass window set in each of the exterior walls, covered by sheer white curtains, and a narrow bed adorned with all manner of blankets, quilts, and comforters pressed into a corner. A chest was arranged at the footboard, and a wardrobe was tucked into the corner opposite. Other than that, the room was unfurnished.

Lucian shut the door behind him and then disrobed. Exhaustion washed over him as he climbed under the covers. The mattress was exceedingly comfortable, and it seemed as though no time passed at all between his head hitting the pillow and the light spilling through the windows rousing him awake. He'd slept deeply and dreamlessly.

When Lucian emerged from his bedroom after getting dressed, he wandered the house aimlessly to familiarize himself with the layout. He happened upon Devyn in the sitting room, dressed slightly more reasonably that day than he had been the night prior. He wore one of those ridiculous pairs of trousers designed to attach a codpiece and a frilly red shirt. The man sat quietly, reading a book, with a cup of that 'thea' stuff placed on a squat table beside his chair.

"Do you mind if I cook something?" Lucian asked.

Devyn startled at the sound of his voice, jerking upright in his chair. He sighed once he realized it was Lucian, placing a hand against his chest to steady himself. Then he babbled something in his hideous language.

"Cook?" Lucian repeated, miming as if he were stirring something in a pan.

The man stared at Lucian for a moment, but then realization dawned in his eyes. He carefully shut the codex he'd been reading, saving his place with a strip of cloth, and then stood. Lucian followed him into the kitchen, where Devyn opened up a door on the front of the enormous iron contraption that dominated the room to reveal a bed of still-warm coals. Then he pointed at Lucian, and pointed at the wood piled in a corner. The message was pretty clear.

Lucian spent the morning, or more appropriately the early afternoon, being taught to work the device which Devyn called a 'stove'. Then Devyn showed him how to make 'cornbread' using predominately some sort of coarse yellow flour he called 'cornmeal' mixed with only a small portion of more familiar wheat flour. He started by placing milk in a pot on the stove, then added butter, a generous portion of salt, and some kind of thick black goo called 'molasses', which Lucian found excessively sweet. Once the milk was warmed through he poured it into the mix of cornmeal and flour, and mixed the resulting batter thoroughly.

Once the batter was mixed, Devyn turned it out into a large, flat bowl greased with an inordinate amount of butter. He placed the pan in the oven, and while that baked set about frying some bacon in an iron pan. Once the fat had rendered off and the bacon was crisp, he removed it from the pan and cooked two eggs in the leftover pork fat. Lucian ended up with very little to do, and so contented himself with watching Devyn work.

About a half hour later Lucian was enjoying the fruits of Devyn's labor - an interesting, extremely dense bread that crumbled apart under his fingers. It was a little bland, but Devyn had prepared a sauce to go with it consisting of molasses cut with butter and vinegar that went well with the flavors of the cornbread. They didn't have wine, barbarians that they were, so instead Lucian paired the meal with a dark drink he mistook for thea at first, but which Devyn called 'coffee'. It was bitter, but not in an unpleasant sort of way, and left Lucian feeling quite energized. A very satisfactory lunch, all things considered.

After he finished eating, since there seemed to be little for him to do around the house, Lucian headed out the back door to get a workout in. Devyn tried to stop him, but since the two of them didn't share a language Lucian couldn't exactly communicate that he wasn't leaving the property. Eventually Devyn gave up trying to keep Lucian indoors, and instead followed him out into the yard.

Lucian started to take his clothes off, but that really set Devyn off. Lucian couldn't understand what the other man was saying, but he jogged in place and jumped up and down to illustrate that he intended to exercise. Still, Devyn started scolding him when he tried to strip. Frustrated by the language barrier, and determined to work up a sweat, Lucian threw his hands up in surrender and started to stretch. Devyn watched him until he started to jog along the fence, and only then did he retreat back inside content in the knowledge that Lucian’s clothes were staying on.

He did a few laps, taking breaks between each to catch his breath. The fenced in area immediately surrounding the house wasn't massive by any means, but even doing one lap left Lucian panting and out of breath. Once he started to sweat, his borrowed clothes clung to his skin in a manner Lucian found most uncomfortable, but apparently the locals took a stronger stance against nudity than his own people. Odd, considering the way their men dressed.

After he finished jogging Lucian searched the yard for something heavy that he could lift. In the end he settled on a particularly large stone, which he hoisted up and held in place above his head until his muscles burned with the effort. Only then did he drop it once more to the grass, resting before he repeated the exercise.

After perhaps an hour Lucian was caked in sweat and dirt and he reeked of exertion. Heading back inside he found that Devyn had returned to his chair after leaving him to his exercise. Lucian fixed himself a snack using some of the leftover cornbread paired with the sauce of molasses and vinegar, and then just... waited. There wasn't much for him to do. No books to read, no instruments to play, and to exercise again so soon would only risk injury. Devyn wasn't precisely a riveting conversational partner either.

Lucian sat across from his host sighing periodically and fidgeting in place until Devyn snapped his book shut and stood from his chair. He motioned for Lucian to follow, and then led him down into the basement. A basement, Lucian realized, that was in total disarray. Cobwebs were strung from the rafters, junk strewn all across the area, the only halfway organized part of the space was a workbench tucked against the wall.

Devyn gestured to the room, and said something in his own tongue. The word sounded... vaguely familiar, despite his accent. It sounded like the word for organized, so Lucian guessed Devyn wanted him to clean the basement.

Then Devyn left Lucian there in the basement alone. It was dark, and musty, so he navigated the maze of junk to reach a pair of double doors at the top of a stairwell. Opening them revealed the yard, and allowed fresh air to flow into the dank pit. Reluctantly he turned back to face the basement, debating whether he ought to use magic to speed his task along.

In the end, he decided against using his abilities lest Devyn or someone else pop their head in to find him moving boxes and miscellaneous farming equipment with nothing more than a thought. Tedious though it was, the exercise was good for him, and piece by piece he moved the contents of the basement out into the yard. The best way to go about his task, in his mind, was to move everything out first and afterwards decide to replace or dispose of the items individually.

It was several hours later that Lysandra, Olivia, and Edith returned to the ranch. The sun was just beginning to set, and Lucian was taking a break in the yard when he saw them approaching on horseback. They dismounted some distance away to lead their horses into a large structure he presumed to be a stable. Then they made their way up a dirt path to the house. Lysandra cut away from her sister and mother to join him in the yard.

"Does my father have you cleaning the basement?" she asked.

"Apparently," Lucian replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "Where have you been all day?" he asked.

"We went to visit the Wheelers, then ran some errands," Lysandra explained. "They're fine with you joining them for the journey to the capital, but since they just made the trip they probably won't be departing for another three or four weeks. Is that alright?"

Lucian shrugged. "It makes no difference to me really, as long as your family allows me to stay until the Wheelers depart," he told her. "Want to help me move a plow?"

"Sure, I've got nothing better to do," she said, slipping off the duster she wore and tossing it on the back of a broken carriage wheel. The two of them plodded down the stairs to each grab one end of a rusted iron plow, and together they were able to haul the heavy farming implement up the steps. They dropped it in the grass, and then Lysandra leaned over and slapped Lucian on the shoulder. "You're pretty strong for a man," she complimented him.

"Weaker than I used to be," he said between panting breaths, leaning his weight against the plow as his head swam. "Men in my homeland are not the meek, passive creatures that they seem to be here."

Ignoring the black dots swirling in the corners of his eyes, he forced himself upright. "Did you talk to your mother about my healing her?"

Lysandra nodded. "I did, and she said that she may as well let you try. You certainly couldn't make the pain any worse."

"Wonderful," Lucian replied. "Is she ready now?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but we can go ask her if you're wanting a break."

"A break would be most welcome," he said, and then the two of them proceeded indoors. There they found Edith in the sitting room, quietly discussing something with Devyn.

Lysandra spoke with her mother for a short while, and then turned her attention to Lucian. "So what should she do?" she asked.

"Just have her lay down on the floor, it's important that it's a flat surface," Lucian explained. "I'll handle the rest."

Lysandra communicated this, and reluctantly Edith laid down on the carpet of the sitting room. She seemed hesitant, and truthfully that was understandable. "She understands what's going to happen, right? I'm going to stretch out the joint, and it may be painful."

Lysandra nodded, and so Lucian crouched down beside her mother and laid his hands on either side of her knee. Channeling the divine power coursing through him, his magic flowed into the woman's limb. Immediately it became clear that something was wrong. Bone, immature and poorly formed, had sprouted all around her knee. It was that which had ultimately immobilized her leg. There were also multiple poorly or incompletely healed fractures in her femur. Lucian was surprised the bone wasn't split entirely in half.

Fortunately it was a simple fix. With a combination of water and earth magic he was able to dissolve some of the excess bone, just enough that Edith would have a limited degree of mobility. He also restored a little bit of the cartilage in her knee, which had been worn away almost to nothing, and strengthened the poorly formed bone mending her various fractures. That done Lucian carefully, gently raised her right leg up into the air.

He felt Edith's muscles tense as he tried to bend her leg, but she cooed in pleasant surprise when he proved able to bend the joint several inches. He moved it until she sucked in a pained breath, and then straightened the leg again. He repeated the process, healing her just a little bit more each time so that the range of motion she enjoyed increased incrementally. He bent the leg to the left and right, and generally contorted it in every direction.

After a few minutes of this, Edith was clearly in a lot of pain. She was sweating profusely, and her teeth were grit with exertion. Lucian slowly lowered her leg to the floor, and she sighed with relief. Then, he turned his attention to her daughter Lysandra. "I think that your mother suffers from a cancer of the femoral bone. It's treatable, but it will take some time to fully break down the growths sprouting around her knee, and I'll need to devise a solution to prevent it from returning."

"She should eat plenty of figs, prunes, leafy green vegetables, and red meat," he told Lysandra, spouting off the top of his head something he’d read once about the treatment of putrefied black bile through mundane means, written for those who couldn't afford the services of a magus. "She should also drink a small cup of oxymel once a day after her last meal. That's one part vinegar, two parts honey, and four parts water boiled down by a third, with the foam that forms skimmed off the top. If that's too acidic, add more honey. If it's too sweet, more vinegar."

Lysandra translated for him more or less in real time. Maybe it was the confidence with which he delivered that nonsense, or simply their lack of education in the medical arts, but neither Lysandra, nor Devyn, nor Edith questioned him. In fact Devyn scribbled down Lucian’s crude recipe on the corner of his page.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. After treating Edith's knee, Lucian made his way upstairs to grab a cloth out of Devyn's vanity and then fetched a pail of water from the well. He washed himself as thoroughly as he could in his room, using magic to infuse the well water with a pleasant warmth. Once clean he headed down to the sitting room and loitered there with little to do except listen to the conversations of others. The more he listened, the more he thought he might recognize certain words, but they were too few and too far between to grant him any real grasp of the language.

Eventually Devyn prepared dinner, and everyone sat down in a dining room to eat. They sat upright, for some strange reason, instead of reclining to eat. It was little wonder that Edith's black bile putrefied - sitting upright was terrible for one's digestion. Nonetheless Lucian enjoyed the meal that evening. Devyn had prepared a fish that he was unfamiliar with, covered in a crust of breadcrumbs and fried in oil. With it he served a white, starchy sludge, some sort of green steamed seed pod, and a bowl of dark beans.

Everything tasted... acceptable, if somewhat bland. Lucian would have preferred a sauce of some sort, but he wasn't going to complain of the cooking when the family had been so kind to him. After everyone had eaten their fill, the table was consumed in what he guessed was polite conversation. He and Devyn adjourned briefly, and Lucian showed the older man how to concoct oxymel for Edith. Then Devyn retrieved a bottle of some sort of dark liquid while the two of them were in the kitchen, and everyone, including Lucian, received a glass once they returned to the table.

On the nose it smelled strongly of alcohol, bringing to mind aqua vitae and other distilled solutions of wine. Normally Lucian wouldn't consider a distilled spirit fit for consumption, but everyone else seemed to quite enjoy it, so he saw no reason not to partake as well. The first sip was pleasant on the tongue, almost sweet, with notes of burnt sugar and pepper, but also something bitter and astringent. Then it burned terribly as he swallowed, almost slithering down his throat. Lucian had to school himself lest he gasp for breath after it finally settled in his gut.

His hosts seemed to take immense pleasure in Lucian’s discomfort, and yet he found himself taking another sip. He drank more cautiously throughout the rest of the evening, nursing his drink until eventually Edith and Devyn excused themselves for the evening. Olivia soon followed, leaving only Lucian and Lysandra at the table.

"I wanted to ask you something," Lucian told her, as she poured her fourth or fifth glass of what they called 'whiskey'. "Would you be willing to teach me the local tongue?"

"Well I can't promise you we'll make much progress in the three or four weeks you'll be with us, but I can certainly try," she replied, words slurring together. She extended her glass towards him, sitting up a little straighter as she theatrically declared, "A toast, to good health!"

"To good health," he replied, pouring out a small measure of whiskey onto the table. Lysandra looked at him oddly after the fact, and then gently clinked the edge of her glass to his before downing her drink all at once.

Lucian reluctantly followed suit, wincing as the alcohol burned its way through him. Evidently, a toast meant something different to these people than it meant to him. "I should probably retire for the night, lest I sleep the day away tomorrow as I did today."

"Aww, you're leaving me all alone then?" Lysandra complained, picking up the bottle and sloshing its contents back and forth. "We should at least finish off the whiskey, there's hardly any left."

"Fair enough," he sighed, and with a grin Lysandra split the bottle between her glass and his. True enough, there was barely enough left for the two of them to have one more drink. "Why don't you tell me about this land I find myself in, so long as we're sharing a drink?"

She leaned forward, popping her elbows on the edge of the table and holding the rim of her glass poised at her lips. "What do you want to know?" she finally asked, taking a sip.

"What a broad question, there are many things I'd like to know," he replied. "I guess to start: what's your family name? I noticed that you refer to the 'Wheelers' collectively."

Lysandra smiled. "We're the Sewards. Is it my turn to ask a question?"

"If you like," he shrugged, sipping your drink. "I'm happy to answer if I can."

"You've talked about your homeland a few times, but never actually mentioned where it is exactly," she said, swirling her drink contemplatively. "What's it called?"

"The official name is the Anthvean Empire, but most people simply refer to it as Anthvea," he replied. "I doubt you've heard of it."

"I haven't," she admitted, raising an eyebrow. "Is it one of the realms of the Old World?"

Lucian frowned thoughtfully, scratching the back of his head. "I'm not really sure what you mean by 'Old World', but it's certainly old. The Empire has reigned for thousands of years. Lesser civilizations have risen, collapsed, and risen again only to be subsumed by my people's armies. Recently we've been somewhat reduced in grandeur thanks in part to the aggressions of a rival power, but I would still say with confidence that there is no greater state in all the world."

"Huh," Lysandra grunted. "Can't say that rings any bells, honestly, and I'd like to think that I'd know about an empire which has ruled for thousands of years."

Lucian shrugged. "That was two questions, so I'll ask two. Why is it that your people coddle their men so?"

"Men are a rarity," Lysandra said, squinting at him from across the table. "You think we coddle our men just because we don't let them run about the yard naked?"

He laughed. "I do! Because apparently you're fine letting your men wander around with their cock out except for a thin patch of fabric. It would be less obscene to simply be naked."

"That philosophy certainly served you well," she replied, pointing at him with the hand which held her glass and spilling a bit of whiskey in the process. "Remind me again who came stumbling up to a stranger's door, naked except for a bedsheet?"

"I fail to see how my supposed lack of modesty is related to my present circumstance," he replied, craning an eyebrow.

"Maybe if you'd been a little more modest, you wouldn't have woken up naked on a hill on the outskirts of town," she slurred. "Traipsing about like you do gives a woman the wrong impression."

Lucian wasn't really sure how to take that. He was still processing the implications when he heard himself saying, "What impression have I been giving you then, Lysandra? The sort that makes you want to strip me naked and haul me off somewhere private?"

"Uh," Lysandra grunted ineloquently, a blush coloring her cheeks. "No, listen, that's not what I meant, I just, well, it's dangerous for a man to travel alone."

"Is it?" he asked. "I suppose I'll keep that in mind. I wouldn't want your self control to fail you."

"Maybe we should retire for the night," Lysandra proposed, her voice hesitant. "I think we've both had too much to drink."

He finished off the contents of his glass before replying, "Perhaps you're right."

Lysandra followed suit, and they both rose from the table. Lucian found his vision swimming and his head suddenly heavy. He stumbled on his way towards the door, catching himself on the frame.

"Let me help you," Lysandra insisted, stepping up behind Lucian. Though she'd had more to drink, her own footing was more stable. He got the sense that she was used to consuming such strong spirits, and felt her wrapping an arm around his waist for support. "Come on, the last thing we need is you falling down the stairs and hurting yourself."

"I'm fine," Lucian insisted, drawing himself up as straight as he could manage. "I wouldn't want to give the wrong impression, would I?"

He said it with a venom he didn't really feel, and could tell Lysandra was hurt. She shrunk away from him as if he'd struck her. Truthfully he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he didn't apologize. Why did her misconceptions bother him? Why didn't he simply correct her? These questions simmered at the back of his mind as he forced himself forward on unsteady legs.

Down the hallway and to the stairwell he walked, and with the railing locked in an iron grip Lucian began to climb. Lysandra trailed some distance behind as he stomped step by step towards the second floor. Thankfully he kept his footing, despite missing a step or two along the way. Once he reached the top Lucian was finally able to relax, his knuckles trailing along the wall as if to keep his path straight while he made his way towards his bedroom door.

"Goodnight," he heard a voice behind him, quiet and full of fear. "Sorry, if I said something wrong."

"Sleep well, Lysandra," he tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder as he slipped into his bedroom, the door shutting with a click behind him.