"Hello? Is someone in there?" called a cheerful voice. "I saw someone making a commotion and running in here from my goose, and I thought I should check—"

"Yer goose?" Thristle called back, turning to see Rose leaning against the doorframe with that same knowing smirk she'd worn since they were children. "Rose, please tell me that menace isn't yers."

"Thristle! His name is Fluffy," Rose said, stepping inside in her herb-stained apron, a basket of dried plants in hand. She hadn't changed much – still the tallest girl in the village, Mother's student, still with that look of someone who knew exactly how ridiculous life could be and enjoyed every minute of it. "And yes, he's mine. Though I suspect he thinks he owns the place by now." She set her basket down and opened her arms wide. "Still not a hugger?".

"Nooo, but Fluffy?" Thristle called back while shaking her head. She peered through the window at the militant goose patrolling the overgrown garden path.

"Well, I couldn't very well name him 'Terrifying Guardian of the Herb Garden,' could I? Though he does live up to that title." Rose stepped inside, setting her basket down. "You could have told me you were coming back, you know. I'd have called off the guard duty."

The goose – Fluffy – waddled in behind her, looking pleased with itself.

"You know," Rose continued, "when your mother asked me to watch over the house before you all left, I don't recall her mentioning I'd need military-grade poultry to keep it safe. But here we are. I Needed something to guard the herb garden after old Mrs. Whiskers passed." Rose's voice softened. "Your mother would love him. Remember how she used to say every healer needs a good guardian?" Rose's eyes flickered between an old bite mark and the green blemish on Thristle's arm, visible where her tunic had pulled back.

"She meant a cat," Thristle said dryly, tugging her sleeve down with practiced casualness. "Not a feathered menace with delusions."

Fluffy pressed against Thristle's leg in what might have been meant as a comforting gesture, though it felt more like being gently headbutted by a feathered battering ram.

"He likes you," Rose said with a grin. "He usually bites people he doesn’t."

"Like someone else I remember," Thristle replied, rubbing her arm where Rose had once bitten her during an argument about who got to pick the first blackberries of summer. She was eight at the time.

Rose laughed. "That was one time! And you deserved it – half those berries were mine and we both knew it—" She stopped, her smile fading. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It's fine" Thristle grinned, a feral glint in her teeth.

"Tea?" Rose offered, gesturing to the workshop building nearby. "You can tell me what brings you back, share some alchemist secrets, and maybe explain what 'the turnip third shelf behind the cat' means because that note of your mother's has been driving me mad for years. And what’s with that accent?"

“Um, I’m forgettin’ meself; master was a dwarf-”

"Stop." Rose's eye twitched "I know you. And I've met plenty of dwarves in my time. None of them talked like that."

Thristle felt a flush creep up her neck, and let her shoulders drop, along with the pretense. "It's... complicated," she said in her normal voice, studying the ground like they held answers.

Fluffy waddled behind them. Then he settled himself by the hearth like he'd been doing for years. Which, Thristle realized, he probably had.

Rose moved through the kitchen, pulling out the old kettle and reaching for the jar of tea leaves on the highest shelf.

"You haven't touched anything," Thristle observed, "Except the workshop, I mean."

"And the herb garden," Rose added, lighting the stove. "Had to keep those going. But the house... well, your parents said they'd be back once they found answers. Seemed wrong to change things." She paused, kettle in hand. "Though I did have to move your mother's more volatile potions to the workshop. Safety reasons."

"I received their last correspondence two months ago," Thristle began formally, trying to sound educated. However as anxiety crept in, her control slipped. "They think they've found somethin' in the archives- something," she corrected, seeing Rose's knowing smirk. Her cheeks burned at the obvious shift in her speech.

Rose set two cups on the table – Thristle's old favorite with the chip in the handle, and her own that she'd always used when studying here. "And that's why you're back? Because of what they found?"

"Because of what they didn't say," Thristle corrected. "Mother wrote about everything except what they actually found. Three pages about the capital's weather, but nothing about..." She gestured vaguely at herself. "You know how she gets when she's avoiding something."

"Mm. Like that time she spent hours explaining the proper way to dry lavender instead of yelling at us when we broke her favorite mug?"

"Exactly like that."

The kettle whistled. Rose poured the water and the familiar scent of Mother's special blend filled the kitchen. They sat at the old table, worn smooth by years of elbows and herb-chopping, while Fluffy preened himself by the fire.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"So," Rose said finally, "the turnip, shelf?"

Thristle smiled into her tea. "There aren't any turnips. Mother... she must have left something here. Something she didn't want to write about directly."

"Ah. You don’t say" Rose nodded slowly. "That's why you came back.”

"In that last letter, she mentioned I should return and get something since I should be big enough".

"If she only could see you~"

"Don’t start," Thristle said. When I imagined coming back home, I never thought I'd need to negotiate with a goose."

"Life's full of surprises," Rose replied sagely."Like finding out your best friend's secret, inheriting a healing practice, or discovering that geese make excellent security personnel."

"Excellent is a matter of opinion," Thristle muttered.

They sat quietly at the old kitchen table, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the dusty windows. Thristle traced the familiar chip in her teacup's handle.

"You should stay the night in my house," Rose said suddenly, setting down her cup. "Your old place hasn't seen proper life in years, just my weekly checks. The beddings might be all musty, and honestly, the whole house needs a good airing out."

"Cleaning layers of dust, you mean," Thristle corrected, looking around at the kitchen that seemed smaller than she remembered. "Besides, isn't this one still technically my house too?"

Rose snorted. "Your house? In custom, it was passed on to me after you left. Anyway Fluffy considers everything around here his by now."

The goose honked in plain agreement.

"I know, I'm messin' with ya," Thristle said quietly, then caught Rose's knowing look. She took a breath, consciously smoothing out her accent. "I'm not staying long anyway." The familiar comfort of Rose's presence made it easier to drop the affected speech. "A day or two at most. Once I check what Mother left me, and I think it’s her old herbal, I'll head to the capital. I should know what they found, and..." she traced the chip in her teacup with one finger, "well, it's been three years. Maybe it's time I helped them."

Rose nodded slowly. Something in her face suggested she'd been expecting this. "Then tomorrow we'll clean this place up. You can't leave it full of dust, and I could use the help getting it properly sorted." She hesitated. "When do you think you'll be back?"

"I don't know," Thristle admitted. "Depends what they've found, I suppose. Or what she left me with."

Rose's face frowned a bit. "B-by the way your mother left me her book, so that isn’t it."

Thristle's hands stilled on her teacup. "She what?"

"Left me the herbal," Rose said, observing her friend's face. "Said I will need it more, being the village healer now and all." She hesitated. "Though I'll admit, the riddle has had me searching every shelf in this house for those years."

"Of course it did," Thristle muttered, but there was no real bitterness in it. "Mother always liked riddles. Remember when she made us search the entire garden for a 'magic remedy herb' that turned out to be regular mint?"

"To be fair," Rose said, "we did learn to identify every plant in that garden by the time we were done." She stood, gathering the cups.

"Wait here." She disappeared into the workshop, returning moments later with a well-worn leather volume, its pages thick with pressed flowers and handwritten notes in the margins.

Thristle ran her fingers over the familiar cover. She knew every recipe and remedy in this book by heart – she had spent countless hours watching her mother write in it, add to it, and revise old entries. But there was something else...

"I was wondering—" Thristle said carefully. "Maybe you have some spare seeds of Sun Dewdrops Mother kept us away from."

Rose shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't. King's decree – all potion-grade healing flowers and their seeds are under strict control now, due to the fighting in the north. Even village healers have to account for every petal. And since it only grows here..."

"Fighting in the north?" Thristle frowned. "I’ve heard it’s not that bad."

Rose shrugged, her usually cheerful face serious. "Well, let's just say I've had to register every piece of it, and it’s under guard day and night. I wonder what they ask us when I will have to replant them?"

Thristle let out a deep sigh and looked at her old friend.

"Oh, come on. Don’t sulk. Let's get you settled, and tomorrow we can check what treasure is waiting for you. Together. Like we used to face everything else."

"Everything except the high shelves," Thristle muttered, but she was smiling as she stood.

Some things had changed in three years – Rose was the village healer now, the house stood quiet and empty, and life had moved on without her. But some things hadn't changed: Rose still knew exactly what she needed, even before she did it herself, just like when they were children.

"Fine, I need a bath too," Thristle said, "but if you snore as badly as you used to during our study sessions, I'm coming in there, dust and all." she pointed to her old house.

Rose laughed, the sound filling the quiet kitchen like it used to years ago. "I do not snore that loud. And at least I’m not night walking like certain someone."

Thrisle looked at the floor.

"Thristle? It's good to have you home. Even if it's just for a little while."