The cottage of Samorix is small, but cozy. It's nestled in the shade of a large oak tree, and the scent of woodsmoke wafts from the chimney. Samorix pushes the door open, calling out.

"Oi, Layla! We'ves gots us a guest!" Oleksandr follows Samorix inside, ducking to avoid knocking his head on the low-hanging doorway. The inside of the cottage is dimly lit, but clean and warm. There are a few chairs in the room, arranged around a low table. A small boy of about six years old peeks out from behind the armchair, peering at the new guests. This is Samorix's son, Ragnar. Samorix turns to his son.

"Ragnar, that's no way for ye to greet a guest. Give him a proper hello like a good boy, eh?" The young boy mumbles a few words of greeting, his cheeks coloring from embarrassment. He's clearly shy around strangers. Samorix grins at Oleksandr, then calls out to Layla. "Oi, Layla! We've got a visitor here! Come out and show some manners, woman!" There's a brief shuffling sound from the bedroom, followed by a sharp rebuke.

"Manners, you say? Who are you calling woman, you old goat? Do you always have to yell so loud when I'm just trying to clean your messes?" The bedroom door swings open, revealing Layla. She's a short, curvy woman with long brown hair and sharp, dark eyes under an embroidered headscarf. She glares at her husband with a mix of irritation and affection. Samorix chuckles.

"There's the lass! Aye, I'm always yelling, ye know that. It's what I do best." He looks at Oleksandr. "This here is my Layla, my fiery, stubborn, pain-in-my-arse wife.” She turns to Oleksandr, studying him with a slightly suspicious gaze.

"Who's this, then?"

"This here is Oleksandr. He's a friend of mine from the Varangian Guard. We fought together many a battle, and he's more of a son to me. Oleksandr, this here is Layla. She cooks a mean stew, but don't let her sharp tongue scare ye." Layla raises an eyebrow at Samorix, then looks at Oleksandr with a more appraising eye.

"Well, you certainly are a big one, aren't you? What brings you here, then?" Oleksandr bows slightly, being careful not to bang his head on the low ceiling.

"I'm planning a mission to the north, and I was just stopping by to... catch up on some things with old Sam here." Layla nods, coming over to Samorix with a rag to wipe down the soot of his arms.

"You bring in so much dirt, you silly bear." She mumbles with a mixture of endearment and irritation.

Samorix chuckles. "Aye, but you like me for my dirt, darlin'. Wouldn't have me any other way." Layla rolls her eyes, then turns back to Oleksandr.

"So, a mission in the north, you say? Sounds cold and treacherous."

Oleksandr nods. "It is both of those things. And more. I'm hunting down a man up there, a slave trader who's caused my king much trouble. I need to find him and bring him back, dead or alive." Layla raises an eyebrow, taking off Samorix's blacksmithing apron for him.

"A slave trader? Why didn't your king send a proper army, then?"

"Because he's not trying to start a war with some northern savages in the midst of all that's going on down here. Consider me a bit of a bounty hunter." Layla nods, seemingly satisfied by his answer.

"Ah, makes sense, I suppose. Are you really going up there alone, though? Sounds like a death wish to me." Samorix shoots Oleksandr a look.

"Yeah, I'm planning on doing it on my own. It'll be a stealth mission, I won't be drawing too much attention to myself. I'll be able to move easier and more quietly that way. And I'm familiar with the territory, I have experience in the north."

"That's all well and good, but it still sounds awfully dangerous to me. What if you get injured or ambushed or something? You'll be out there on your own, with no one to have your back."

Samorix buts in. "What's that yer cookin, missy? Smells like heaven." Layla rolls her eyes at him, but there's a fond look in her eyes as well.

"It's rabbit stew, old man. You know very well what it is, I make it every week." Samorix grins, his hands rubbing his stomach.

"Aye, me favorite! Nothin better than yer rabbit stew, lass. Makes a man's heart happy, it does."

Layla swats at him with the rag. "Don't you try to flatter me, old goat! You just know how to turn on that charm whenever you want food. You're no good, that's what you are."

"Well, can't ye see Sasha and I here are hungry? Go on, sugar, finish it up quick, will ya?" Layla huffs, but she can't help but smile, a little flustered by his charm.

"Alright, alright, I'm working on it. Go sit down, you old bear, and leave me alone so I can finish." Samorix grins and smacks her behind as she walks off, before turning back to Oleksandr with a smirk.

"Ah, never gets old, makin' her bashed like that. She loves it though, ye know she does." They take a seat at the dining table, where Samorix resumes smoking his pipe.

"How'd a man like you get yourself a woman like that?"

Samorix chuckles, taking a puff of his pipe. "She's always had a fancy for bearded men, says it reminds her of her da. Plus, there’s not a soul alive that can wrangle me like she can. She’s a wee firecracker, that yin—always scoldin’, cluckin’, and fussin’ about me. But I love it, so I say. Wouldn't have it any other way." Oleksandr smiles, nodding in agreement.

"Aye, she's a feisty one, that's for sure. But I can see how she melts you. It's good to have someone who cares about you that much, even if they're constantly nagging at you."

Samorix takes another puff on his pipe, a sly grin appearing on his lips. "Oh, she's not always naggin'; just most of the time. The rest of the time, well, she's still nippin' at me, but in a different way." He winks lasciviously. Oleksandr chuckles.

"You're a dog, aren't you? How'd you bag such a young woman, anyway? What is she, twenty years your junior?" Samorix grins, his one green eye sparkling with mischief.

"Twenty-two, actually. She'll be thirty-four this year." He takes a puff of his pipe and continues with a smirk. "And as for how I bagged her...well, let's just say I have a way with the fair sex. I wooed her with my charm, my wit, and my beard. That's all it took, lad." Oleksandr laughs heartily.

"Aye, I believe it. Must be a mighty convincing beard if it can snag a young thing like that for an old dog like you." Samorix chuckles, running his hand through the braided ends of his long mustache.

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"Aye, it's mighty convincing. And not just the beard, laddie. I have a few tricks up me sleeve, if you know what I mean."

Oleksandr grins, raising his eyebrows knowingly. "Aye, I can imagine. Seems like you got it all figured out, old man. Got yourself a pretty little slavic piece of arm candy." Samorix grins, taking pride in his accomplishments.

"Aye, that I do. She’s a braw lass, she is—strong as an ox with a heart o’ gold, even if she’s fussin’ at me. A grand mother too, she is. I’m a lucky man, no doubt. But, enough bletherin’ about me and the wife. Where’s that wee scamp, then?" Just then, as if on cue, the sound of a little boy’s voice can be heard in the background, whining and crying. Samorix looks up, rolling his eyes. “Speak of the devil…” He mutters before shouting out to the boy. “Oi, laddie, what’re ya cryin’ about now?” A small figure appears in the doorway, Ragnar. His eyes are wide with fear, and his lip is trembling.

"Da! There's a monster in the shadows! It's gonna get me!" Samorix raises an eyebrow, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

"A monster in the shadows, ya say? What kind of monster is it, lad?"

The boy looks up at his father with terrified eyes. "It’s big and slimy, with sharp teeth and glowing eyes. It’s been watching me all week! A strigoi! It's going to eat me, I know it! " Samorix exchanges an amused grin with Oleksandr, before gesturing for the boy to come over.

"Ach, come here, laddie. Let me take a look at ya." The boy waddles over to his father, still looking frightened. Samorix brings him to sit on his lap.

"Now, don't fash yerself about any beasties, lad. Not when yer da and ol' uncle Sasha are here. Hell, Sasha eats monsters like that for his breakfast, so he does!" The boy looks up at his father, a small flicker of hope in his eyes.

"Really, da? Uncle Sasha eats monsters for breakfast?" Samorix nods, patting the boy's head.

"Aye, he does. He's the bravest, strongest, most fearsome warrior in all the land. He's been fightin’ monsters and beasties since ye were a wee bairn.” The boy looks up at Oleksandr with wide eyes, his fear quickly turning to awe. His small mouth is slightly open, looking up at him in shock.

"Really? Even bigger monsters than the one in the shadows?"

Oleksandr leans in with a mischievous grin. "The biggest and the nastiest." The boy's small face lights up, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Wow... so can he fight the monster for me, da? Can he make it go away for good so it'll never get me again?"

Oleksandr nods. "How about I go beat up that monster right now?" The boy's eyes get even wider, and a bright smile spreads across his face.

"Really? Can you, uncle Sasha? Can you really beat it up for me? Please?"

"Yes, but the only rule is you can't watch, or else I'll get too nervous to fight." He winks at Samorix. "Can you do that for me, lad?"

"Yes! I won’t watch, I promise I won’t!" Oleksandr grins, getting up, and pulling out his scimitar, showing it to the boy.

"He'll taste my steel, then he'll know he messed with the wrong kid." Ragnar gasps in awe, his eyes fixated on the scimitar.

"Wow, that’s a big sword! You’re gonna slice the monster right up with that, aren’t you, uncle Sasha? You’re gonna show it who’s boss!”

"That's right." Oleksandr steps into the small room, disappearing around the corner. The boy stands in the main chamber, bouncing on his toes, anxiously awaiting the outcome. Samorix chuckles, ruffling the boy's hair.

"You better not be peekin’ out there, ya wee scoundrel. Remember what uncle Sasha said, ye can’t watch." Suddenly, there's a bang and a scuffle in the room. Oleksandr lets out an animated yelp and a quiet, playful battle cry, and imitates the sounds of a fight and a monster growling. The boy's eyes grow even wider, and his mouth drops open in shock. He grips Samorix's sleeve, his small hands shaking a bit in excitement.

"What’s happening, da? Is uncle Sasha winning? Is he beating up the monster?"

A pillow goes flying across the doorframe, and Oleksandr calls out, "take that, you foul beast!" The boy's eyes light up, and he lets out a small giggle, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"He's winning, da! He's beating it up good! Can I look now? Pleeeease?" Oleksandr steps back into the doorframe, leaning against it, panting exaggeratedly. He sheathes his sword, looking at the boy with a playful smirk, before he sees Layla standing in the doorway to the kitchen across from him, watching, unimpressed. He freezes, his smirk quickly morphing into an awkward smile. She has her hands on her hips, a disapproving look on her face.

"And just what do you think you’re doing, you great oaf?"

“Oh, uh… Fighting monsters for young Ragnar, here…”

"Uh-huh." She turns her attention back to her husband and son, saying something in Serbian before disappearing back into the kitchen. Samorix smirks at Oleksandr.

"Looks like ya got caught by the missus, eh? She's not too pleased that ye got her boy all worked up." Oleksandr strides back over, ruffling the boy's hair before sitting down again.

"Yeah, well, at least I whooped that monster, didn't I, Ragnar?" The boy grins, bouncing up and down in his father’s lap.

"Yeah! You whooped it real good, uncle Sasha! I heard you yelling and the monster growling and everything! You beat it up so good that it’ll never come back, right? It’ll stay away for good?" Oleksandr grins down at the boy, nodding in confirmation.

"That's right, lad. That monster will think twice before it ever shows its face again. It'll know better than to mess with you after getting a beating and a half from me. He knows that if he tries again, he'll get beat by your father." Samorix grins, clapping a heavy hand on Oleksandr’s shoulder.

"Damn right. No one messes with my boy and gets away with it. And now that yer uncle Sasha’s here, ye got nothin’ to worry about. You’re safe from any monsters now, whether real or imaginary." Layla steps back into the room, bringing a few bowls of her rabbit stew, and setting them down at the table.

Oleksandr’s mouth waters, the rich, savory aroma filling the room. He rubs his hands together eagerly, eyeing the steaming bowls of rabbit stew. "Mmm, Layla, you’re an angel. That looks amazing," he says with a grin.

Layla sits down and looks at Oleksandr with a curious expression. "So, Oleksandr," she starts, her voice taking on a slightly serious tone. "How long are you staying with us? You're welcome to stay as long as you like, of course, but it would be nice to know how long you plan on staying." Oleksandr's gaze flickers over to Samorix briefly, considering her question.

"Well... I'd say it's up to Samorix, really..."

Samorix meets Oleksandr's gaze, understanding the subtle cue. He looks back down at his bowl, pondering, stirring his stew. "Well, love... I'd say a night or two."

Layla raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting a more concrete response. "A night or two, huh? That's all?"

"Sasha here's got places to be, Layl. He can't be hangin' about, doin hee-haw like a wee bairn! He’s got folk to see, foes to bash, and ale to drink, aye?"

Oleksandr laughs as Samorix ribs him, nodding an agreement. "Aye, that's true enough. I've got a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of work to do. Can’t just spend my time eating this delicious stew and playing with this one all day," he says, ruffling Ragnar's hair affectionately. Ragnar grins up at Oleksandr, clearly thrilled to have some attention from his uncle.

Samorix chuckles, patting his wife on the shoulder. "Don’t worry, love. He’ll be out of our hair soon enough, back to his adventures."

Later that night, Oleksandr lays on the floor of the cottage, staring up out of the window, lost in thought. He can feel the weight of the mission ahead of him, hanging like a cloud over his head. He knows that it will be dangerous, that there is a good chance he could be hurt or killed. Despite that, he can't help but feel hopeful, the promise of his bride giving him a sense of excitement.

As Oleksandr lies there listening to the conversation coming from the other room, he can hear the sound of Layla’s voice growing more and more distraught, her tone becoming worried and upset. He can’t make out all the words, but he can get the gist of the conversation.

It’s clear that Samorix has told Layla about their plan, and she’s not happy about it at all. The sound of her raised voice and Samorix’s firm but reassuring tones continue, the conversation growing more intense. Oleksandr can hear snippets of Layla’s frantic voice, expressing her worries and concerns about her husband going off on a dangerous and long quest with him. He can also hear Samorix trying to appease her, his voice low and steady as he reassures her that they will be fine, and he can take care of himself, that he'll earn back all the wealth he lost in Constantinople, something to leave to his son once he's gone. Oleksandr feels some guilt, having come here to take this man away from his family.