Someone having just recovered their senses and ability to sit up on their own was likely someone who had also been placed on a carefully regulated diet during the worst of their long illness. Thus with the scholarly training he had undergone at Saint Teresa, the foremost medical school for the past one hundred and fifty seven years regardless of what the fools at Roserwick or Church-of-Takesea believe, Mister Frederick had ensured to write a prescription of the food for her to eat (or rather be forced to drink) as she laid largely unresponsive.

‘Beef broth, strained very thin, mixed with bread, a small amount of oatmeal, and a thimble of fortified sherry, all boiled together, in the morning, at night a mixture of arrowroot, cod fish oil, tansy, water, and lamb fat also all boiled together’

It was just as known however that someone who was recovered enough from illness to be conscious and walk was still in quite a fragile state and therefore their food must be considered and carefully selected in light of this. Thus for the morning breakfast, Mister Frederick had proscribed the following;

‘Clapbread, a small bowl of oatmeal with gently boiled milk, a slice of day-old bread with a thin spread of marmalade, and a cup of soluble cocoa (Tales Patented Formulae, if possible!) kept warm to prevent a nervous imbalance or gastric distress’.

Olli, who had been unknowingly eating nothing but a mixture of various products boiled to the consistency of thin greasy mush, was quite unaware of all of this prescribing and planning. She just felt strangely happy to be eating anything solid. Back with her parents she remembered breakfast being a poptart or sometimes even fruit gummies, there had never been a time in her memory that they all sat together at a table for breakfast. But at the table in the crowded room with the dim late morning sunlight falling upon the spread and even making the thin sheen of marmalade look more like a glittering jewel… Olli felt quite fancy indeed.

The food itself was not terrible. There was a strange smoky flavor to the thing she was told was ‘clapbread’ by the lady who placed the food on the table. The oatmeal could be charitably described as ‘milk flavored’, while she quite liked the marmalade on the oddly stale bread. The cocoa tasted just odd, almost like hot chocolate but not very sweet, but Olli finished it all anyway with the nagging desire to have something warm in her stomach.

The lady who had brought the food over had introduced herself as Jane, she was much younger than Motzy and less talkative. She had set the food before Olli and then apologized since she had to return to the kitchen which meant that Olli had eaten her food alone.

So after she had finished eating she hopped off her chair, the wooden bottoms of her new ‘shoes’ clunking against the floor, and walked slowly over to one of the rows of shelves to peer up at its contents. One shelf held seven wooden figurines, each stained a dark black color, with small clear glass beads for eyes. They were all shaped like people, in different forms and in different stances. One held its arms up to the sky, head held backwards. Another was doubled over, gripping its stomach as though it were sick. Yet another had its head in its hands, squeezed tightly. Right beside them was a different figure, this one was a small white marble statuette of a woman but Olli kept finding her eyes would sweep away from looking at its face. No matter what she did, looking at it from the side, or moving a few feet away, she still could not look at the statuette’s face.

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She turned away from it, half-unwillingly and half out of a sense of unease, to instead direct her attention over to the window.

The window showed a view that was quite a bit different from the window in the bedroom. There were still the somewhat crumbling moss covered walls with the looming trees behind them, but closer were rows of well tended vibrantly green bushes, flower beds, a vegetable patch, and sequestered into its own small section was a group of trees with drooping leaves. Another interesting thing was a small wooden hut, with chickens happily pecking at the ground around it, kept enclosed by a few wooden posts hammered into the ground and connected with small planks.

This tranquil scene was somewhat ruined by the sight of a man dashing across it, a rake held in one hand and a rope in another while a bushy tailed fox dashed away with a lump of yellow feathers in its mouth. Olli followed the two, pressing her face to the window to keep following the chase until they had disappeared.

At least for a moment, because soon after the man and the fox had reappeared, and now there were two foxes.

“What are you watching out there, dear?” Motzy asked. Olli froze in her spot in shock of the lady coming into the room so suddenly,, a tension building in her chest before Motzy continued, “oh! That’s Mister Harper, what is he doing?” Motzy’s reflection appeared in the window above Olli’s as she also peered outside. “Oh goodness he’s going after the foxes again.”

“Why?”

“Because the foxes keep eating our hens, or our chicks,” Motzy explained, “also fox skin is very popular right now, his lordship said that Mister Harper can keep any foxes killed so long as they are on the property since he does not want to upset the Neighbors.”

There was that term again, ‘Neighbors’. Olli was not quite sure where any neighbors were, much less why a fox dying on their property would upset them. She wondered if she should ask Motzy, but Motzy had already moved on to something else.

“-food? Was the food decent, I hope? I wanted to add radishes but I was firmly told it would be too hard on you.”

Olli turned to look up at the older woman, who was smiling down at her. “Oh. It was good. Thanks,” she mumbled.

Motzy remained silent for a moment, clearly thinking, before she nodded. “Well, I am quite happy! Jane will be happy too, I am sure! Now come, Mister Frederick also said you should have a walk too.” Then she added, “not a long one, a short light one.”

Olli stretched her left leg, the weight of the petticoats hanging over it. Thinking about it, she actually found her legs rather stiff. "I want a long one."

"A long...? Good Void no! You just got up, a young lady needs gentle exercise after a long period of being an invalid. What if you fall, or get too hot?"

"Mrs Holder?" A voice leaked out from around the door, which then creaked open for a tall gaunt faced man to step in. His clothes were dusty and sun-faded, hanging on his narrow frame like a coat hanger.

"Oh, Mister Burke!" Motzy greeted cheerily. "We are about to go out for a walk, would you like to join us?"

"Tis kind of you," he said gratefully. "But I came to ask if it would be possible to ask Miss Goddard and Miss Drew if they could spare some of the kitchen's coal."

"Ask them yourself," Motzy laughed.

"It feels rude for me to intrude in the kitchen in that way," Mister Burke mumbled. Then he looked at Olli, giving her a short bow while dull yellow eyes continued staring at her. "You look very well, Miss Olli."

"He is the one who found you in your delirium!" Motzy loudly whispered to Olli. "Give your thanks!"

"Uh, tha-"

"Burke!" A person sharply called out.

"Ah, I must go, thank you Mrs Holder! Good day Miss Olli!" Mister Burke said as he scampered after the voice like a dog with its tail between its legs.