Arsa and Circe carried Acadian back to the cart, trying hard to avoid looking at the pile of bodies by the front door. Flynn followed, gripping his wound tightly and wincing. He was beginning to sweat, his mind becoming cloudy.

Frank stayed back with Gostor to remove the hands of the Tailor like Morgana had asked of them. Without Circe nearby to stop him, Gostor removed the head and carried it proudly out of the house. As they loaded into the cart, Circe held out her hand and commanded the wagon forward.

They raced through the forest at as fast a speed as Circe could will it, the others holding onto the sides and their sick passengers. The cart bounced over roots and under branches, splashing over the river and sending cold water into the bed of the vehicle. Acadian was growing more pale and Flynn had finally faded from consciousness as well.

Finally, Circe scraped the wheels against the cobbled path in front of Morgana’s house. The door was already open and the woman stood, stern-faced, beckoning them inside. The healthy carried the poisoned into the house where Morgana had already prepared makeshift sickbeds for them.

Frank stared at the tables in the living area that had been set up with blankets and plush headrests.

“How did you know we would need…”

“Lucky guess,” Morgana interrupted.

The group laid Acadian and Flynn on the tables as the witch grabbed a jar of the same paste she had used on Frank from the kitchen. She commanded them to remove the men’s armor to expose the wounds. Acadian’s leathers were simple to remove, but Flynn’s metal suit was taking more effort. With a grunt, Morgana waved her hand. The metal around his torso splintered out like a blossoming flower, revealing his blood-soaked undershirt.

Circe grabbed a knife to cut off Flynn’s sleeve while Arsa quickly untied the straps of Acadian’s tunic. Frank’s magic had stopped the bleeding, but the poison radiated through the veins beneath the skin, a dark discoloration spreading from their gashes.

Morgana took a wooden spoon and smeared a generous amount onto Flynn’s arm. Immediately, the paste began to sizzle and the knight lurched awake from the pain. He shouted from his chest, but Frank and Gostor held him down on the table while Morgana wrapped the wound in a cloth bandage.

The witch moved quickly to Acadian, surveying the deep cuts across his clavicle. The dark veins beneath his skin pulsed with a decaying heartbeat. Arsa stood beside him, holding his shoulders.

“It got him in the back too,” he said, eyes pleading with Morgana to save him.

She nodded and took the jar. With a single smear, she applied the substance to his shoulder. Acadian’s muscles twitched at the contact, but he did not wake. Morgana looked at both Circe and Arsa.

“Sit him up,” she commanded them. They followed her orders, lifting Acadian upright.

At the sight of his back, Morgana’s eyes widened momentarily before returning to their previous severity. Acadian’s head slumped forward onto Arsa’s shoulder as Morgana painted the deep cuts that ran along his spine. His body convulsed while they wrapped bandages around his chest and shoulder.

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When both men had been tended to, they all laid them down and let them rest. Morgana, Circe, and Frank sat on the couches in the living room while Arsa decided to stay near Acadian. Gostor had climbed the ladder to go upstairs.

Arsa laid a damp cloth on Acadian’s head and moved his hair out of his face. He examined his chest, watching his breathing steady. A wave of relief washed over him - even Zaun began to relax.

Frank reached into the pocket of the navy coat he was still wearing and pulled out the stiffened hands of the Tailor. He leaned forward and handed them to Morgana.

“Well done,” she smiled. She turned them over in her lap, letting the light glint off the bladed fingers.

Circe crossed her arms, “What do you want them for? And why did you need us to get them?”

“Assurance,” she said quickly. “And, surely, you can see I would have been no match for that thing all by myself.”

“I think you would have been,” she cast a knowing glance at Frank’s neck, then back to her. “I don’t make a habit of entertaining liars.”

Morgana’s courteous smile faded, “I have saved your friends three times now. If I harbored ill intent, would I not have already exercised it? I thought I made that perfectly clear last night. To both of you.”

Frank clasped his hands and leaned forward, “Who are you?”

“Currently,” she responded through low eyelids and arched brows, “an ally.”

The house was silent for a long while. The pained breaths from Flynn and Acadian had ceased and they were resting. Circe had gone upstairs, uninterested in speaking with the drow any longer. There she found Gostor, kicking the Tailor’s head around like a toy ball.

Frank was reclining on the couch under the watchful eye of Morgana. He traced the fine trim of the coat with his fingers. Covering up in thick clothing was not a favored sensation for Frank, but the soft inner lining and well-tailored fabrics were rather comfortable.

He played with the pockets a moment before feeling something inside one of the buttoned patches. It was something small and hard wrapped in a wad of paper. He pulled it free and opened the package.

It was a bright stainless silver ring wrapped in what appeared to be a letter. He kept the ring in the palm of his hand as he straightened out the parchment.

Doran,

Please, darling, return home. There have been reports of orc attacks on the southern trade routes. I am certain you can handle yourself, but I feel helpless not accompanying you this time around. The museum will be fine without another Urixian acquisition. I understand your appreciation for the exotic, but the world is a far more dangerous place than it was when we were young. We are safe here in Hirondale. Please come home as soon as you can. I regret not preparing a Homeguard Scroll for you to take. Perhaps consider taking the path through Woodrand’s Growth rather than the Danheim. It might be safer. I love you.

Always,

Zander.

Frank examined the ring, its gleaming glancing off a light that wasn’t there. He took a deep breath.

“Well, this day just gets cheerier all the time.”

Morgana smirked, “You took a coat from the house of a monster wearing a jacket of skin and expected it to be accompanied by an uplifting tale?”

He gave her an exhausted look. He folded the letter neatly and placed it back in the buttoned pocket before slipping the ring onto his finger.

“A bit tasteless, don’t you think?” Morgana teased.

“I don’t want to lose it before I can return it.”

“Return it? You plan on heading to Hirondale to give back this person’s dead love’s things?”

Frank stood up and took the jacket off, folding it neatly before placing it in his bag beside the couch.

“Whoever Zander is, they deserve to know what happened,” he said. “Wouldn’t you want someone to tell you?”

Morgana pursed her lips and crossed her legs. Her eyes went blank like she was looking at something that wasn’t there.

“No,” she whispered.