Agnes awoke—not in a bed, not in her house, but in a clearing just a few steps away from the forest. She’d been standing upright, staring at the ground until some movement pulled her out of her stupor. She lifted her head and saw Bran, her adopted little brother, waving his hand.

Some instinct compelled her to turn her head, to observe a small hill behind her. She recalled they had split up at one point; she stayed behind at the top, waiting, while the boy descended ahead of her.

“Agnes! Hello? You okay?” the boy asked.

“Oh. Yeah.” She snapped her head back. “I... I spaced out for a bit. I think.”

“So?”

“So, what?” She furrowed her brows.

“The message! Hollow’s message! What’d he say?”

At the mention of the name, empty air faded into purple mist near the boy’s face. It swirled and condensed until it settled in the form of a bird. A raven. It felt around with its legs, kneading Bran’s shoulder until it found the most comfortable spot for itself.

The bird had been around as Bran’s companion for as long as she could remember. In fact, ten years ago, when the adults had sent a searching party to a nearby village ravaged by heretical raiders, it had been Hollow’s cries that led them to the lone survivor. A young boy whom the raven had been guarding.

Only after witnessing Hollow reappear, did Agnes remember what they’d been doing. Testing the bird’s powers, for Bran had been adamant that his pet could do ‘things,’ as he had put it.

Agnes recalled a blurry image she had not seen before. A mess of incomprehensible events; the knowledge that something had happened despite never taking place, only she couldn’t recall any details. She tried to concentrate, but only a tiny piece of the puzzle revealed itself.

“A cat. Brown cat,” she said.

“Yes? And? What did the cat do?” Bran asked, bouncing on his toes as if ready to jump in celebration.

“I don’t know. Something? I think... I know it was doing stuff, I just... I can’t remember anything other than it was a brown cat.”

Bran’s shoulders dropped as the excited stiffness left his body, his feet planted firmly back on the ground.

“The brown cat feasted merrily on Mrs. Miller’s freshly churned butter,” he said.

“And you expected that to work?”

“I kinda had this feeling it would.”

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“Even I would’ve forgotten all that by the time I got to the top! Let alone a bird!”

Hollow let out a short, indignant shrill. Whether the raven took offense at Agnes’s words, or agreed and meant to reprimand Bran, she couldn’t tell.

Hollow could indeed deliver messages, as Bran suggested, although it was limited to two words. No, not exactly words, though. More like a scene? Agnes pondered for a moment. And I feel like there was something more. Something telling me to get back to Bran?

She didn’t spin that thread further, a part of her realizing that such details didn’t matter in the end. They shouldn’t matter to her. She shouldn’t think too hard on it. She should not.

On the way home, they agreed to do another experiment again soon, but with a shorter, three-word phrase. Neither of them felt compelled to talk further details, so Agnes allowed Bran to bluntly steer the conversation to a different topic. Something of much greater concern to him.

“You should make some clafoutis. Just pit the cherries this time,” he said while petting Hollow, still comfortably settled on his left shoulder.

“Oh, silly Bran. The seed’s where all the flavor comes from! You wouldn’t like it half as much without that aroma. A tiny seed can go a long way, you know.”

“Fine, whatever, I don’t need another baking lesson.”

“Then how about a lesson on economics?”

The boy’s annoyed grunt brought her immense joy. Two years his senior and—unlike him—officially an adult, she’d often talk with pride of topics Bran couldn’t have had any knowledge of, or matters as yet beyond his understanding. He’d listen patiently and even with a hint of respect and admiration in his eyes. But never hiding his pout, though it only ever made the experience sweeter for Agnes.

“So, our parents provide property for the operation, inventory, and equipment—”

“The house, the ingredients, and an oven,” Bran said.

“And I provide my know-how and labor. But you contribute no value, yet you still always eat the most.”

“What about my opinions? I always give you advice to improve the recipe! That’s gotta be valuable!”

“Yes, like making clafoutis without pits. Invaluable advice, that. And I haven’t even told you about opportunity costs.”

“All I’m getting from this economics is that it ruins dessert. Where’d you even hear all this?”

“The lady paladin told me about it. Lord Ainsleigh. She studied at the university, you know.”

“You talked with the paladins?” Bran’s eyes widened.

“Just the lady. Ran into her while she was walking about, and she seemed bored. You should stop being so shy and ask Father Alphus to let you speak to them too, seeing as you’re aiming to become one. They won’t eat you, trust me. But don’t ask them about economics. It’s too much to grasp for a little kid who still hasn’t even had his Blessing.”

“Oh, come on. It’s only two months until Solstice.” Bran shrugged. “What’s it like anyway? The Blessing.”

Agnes wondered how much she should tell him—how much she could even explain. She had to remind herself that it wouldn’t do to coddle Bran too much. Especially when her advice could do more harm than help. Father Alphus had good reason to warn her and others not to share any details with children.

“You’ll see.” She twirled her peach-colored hair. Another couple of inches, and it will reach to her shoulders again. “All you have to know is that Father Alphus is not nearly as gentle with the shear as I am.”

She reached for Bran’s head and grabbed hold of his brown—unblessed—mane. The prize she’d been eyeing for a good month now. Soon, she’ll have her satisfaction. As long as she can keep their mother from stealing her prey.

After a short chase, she fended off Bran’s attacks, stopping him from pulling her hair in retaliation. When the two paused for a short break just before reaching the village proper, a figure emerged as if it had been waiting for them. They recognized Sandor, the church groundskeeper, waving his hand.