Fresh and Basil stand there, holding a set of poles that they’ve submerged into the water of the river. Basil had asked if this was really a priority task right now. Her question received no more answer than the, perhaps, most venomous glare from Fresh that the priestess had ever received.

Obviously, this is a critical task that needs to be taken care of immediately. It’s already long overdue.

Fresh pulls the hooked pole of the water, hoisting another water-logged sheep out of the river. She holds it in front of herself, seeing if it’s okay. The sheep kicks its soggy legs, trying to walk in mid-air. The floating iron-ring that was fastened around its leg is missing, together with the rest of the leg. Frowning, she sets the poor thing down next to all of the others that they had pulled out of the water. There are really a lot of them. All of them are missing legs, eyes, bits of their bodies and bits of fluff. Most of them, far-past waterlogged, are covered in burns and blemishes.

One particularly unfortunate specimen has simply been cut in half, right down the middle. Tragically, that one still tries to walk with its two legs. She had to put it at the bottom of the pile, so that she wouldn’t start crying out in public.

“I think that’s about all of them,” says Basil, pulling her empty hook out of the river. Fresh sighs, scraping one last time around the grate with her hook to be sure, but she thinks Basil is right.

“What do you think happened to them?” asks Fresh, setting her hook down and bundling the wet sheep up in a fabric bag. “Why would somebody do this to them?” she asks, rubbing one’s eyeless head consolingly with her thumb, as she sets it into her bag.

Basil thinks for a second. “I don’t think it was anyone in particular, maybe it was just everyone.”

“Huh?”

Basil points up the river, back towards their home. “They were using them in the dungeon. Maybe when they set off some traps, they got knocked into the dungeon-river and got carried out of the instance-gate?”

Fresh blinks. “Does that work like that?”

Basil crosses her arms, thinking. “It’s my only idea. I doubt there’s a sheep-killer around town,” she says. “That would be… odd.”

Fresh isn’t convinced. Could these just be sheep that were used to trigger traps? Perhaps. Could there be a devious sheep-killer, running amok in the city in the dead of night? In her eyes, this is equally as probable.

Basil takes the hooks and Fresh hoists the wet bag, full of sheep over her shoulders and the two of them make their way back, stopping by a baker’s cart to get some fresh, still hot seed-bread and a dark, floral honey for their breakfast.

“Do you want me to go with you later?” asks Basil.

“To the magistrate’s?” Fresh considers it for a moment. “I think I can manage, thanks Basil,” she declines. “I really need you to help the fairies today. Please~”

Basil fidgets with her fingers, playing with the rim of her sleeve. “You’re really taking this whole fairy situation seriously, huh?”

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night for the rest of my life if I didn’t,” replies Fresh.

The two of them get home. There is already a group of fairies floating inside of the storefront. Surprisingly, they are well-behaved. They sit in a large, quiet group all around Jubilee who, to Fresh’s surprise, offers no protest at their presence. Maybe because they’re all sitting quietly and behaving. Or maybe because they have apparently brought Jubilee a flower as tribute and it now sits tucked into the side of their hood. Jubilee is standing there, reading a book and some of the fairies are perched on their shoulder and arm and stare down with them. Fresh thinks this is unusually cute, that they actually went out of their way to do that. She’s a little jealous though.

Veli flies over. “I brought everyone, we’re a little early.”

“That’s okay,” says Fresh. Veli hasn’t been informed about the situation yet. As far as he knows, he was just running errands and getting an education. “You ready, Basil?”

Basil nods to her with a smile. The priestess straightens up, lifting her head upright and standing tall. She claps her hands together once. “Okay everyone, follow me please,” instructs the priestess. “Veli has told you about our day already, yes?”

“Yeah,” says the green-haired fairy that Fresh recognizes. She and her group have been diligently bringing them deliveries of herbs. Several more baskets are here already, apparently. The group of fairies all rise up and follow after Basil to the far side of the counter, where Shamrock has prepared everything for the lecture.

“Thanks,” says Basil to Shamrock, placing a hand on his arm as she scoots past him. “Okay everyone, pay attention. In the next few days, I’m going to show you how to make simple creams, medicines and salves out of the plants that you’ve been gathering.” She taps a metal can. “Today, we’ll start with the easiest thing - ”

Fresh smiles, setting the bag of sheep down. “I’m going to the magistrate’s in a minute, Jubilee,” she explains. First, she heads upstairs and cuts the bread, smearing it with a generous amount of honey. Together with some dried fruits and some sweet-tea, she makes a small platter which she then brings downstairs, so that everyone can have some breakfast.

She holds it out to Shamrock who takes a piece of the bread.

“Thanks,” is all that he says, as he slides the food into his helmet.

The rest of it, she sets down next to the ‘class’ of fairies and Basil. “Eat up, guys. You can’t learn on an empty stomach,” she smiles. The fairies, previously paying close attention to Basil’s lecture, all jump up to their feet and rush the platter, apparently more than hungry. Fresh apologizes to Basil for the interruption and quickly scoots away. “I left your plate upstairs, Jubilee,” she says, sneaking away from the chaos.

“Thanks,” says Jubilee, waving her off as they stand there, reading their book.

Fresh grabs her bag, scooting out from behind the counter. She grabs some coughee as her bribe to get inside of the city-hall and makes her way through town.

“We took care of the sheep,” says Fresh first thing as she enters the city-hall.

The old woman looks up at her from behind the counter. “Good morning, you’re a real darling.”

Fresh beams at the praise, sliding the woman her coughee. “Is the magistrate here?” she asks.

The woman takes the bottle. “You know the way. He might be asleep though, so knock first.”

“Okay, thank you!” says Fresh, heading up the staircase and towards the familiar door. She knocks on it.

No response.

Fresh knocks again.

Still no response.

She looks around the hallway curiously. Shrugging to herself, she slowly opens the door and peeks inside.

The room looks far different during the day than it does at night. The prismatic, pastel glow of the many crystals is sparse and hardly visible beneath the radiant, orange glow of the autumn sun which shines down through the glass of the windowed walls and ceiling.

“Excuse me?” asks Fresh, looking around for the magistrate. She steps inside of the room. “Hello?” she asks. Down near the raised telescope platform, she sees a figure, laid out over a crystal-drakonium mattress. The man lays there, asleep in his work-clothes, surrounded by her sheep on all sides. The anti-dream ram stands on top of his chest, looking around from its high perch. Occasionally, it will run down the length of his body, up onto his arched knee or over to his shoulder as it charges towards something that she can’t see, some invisible force that it keeps at bay with its stubborn assaults.

She nods to it, feeling like a proud mother as she watches it at work, fulfilling its mission with dignity and purpose.

Fresh closes the door behind herself, wondering what she should do? Should she wake him up? The man clearly needed as much sleep as he could get and she doesn’t want to rob him of that, but at the same time, she needs to talk to him. It’s important.

Deciding that she has time, she quietly walks past him, heading up to the platform. Fresh wonders if he’d mind if she looks through his telescope, at least until he wakes up? She kind of wants to.

For one reason or another, as the tempting idea came to her, she remembers the vision in her mind’s eye of the fairies in their store this morning. All of them were sitting quietly, all of them were behaving themselves, because they were guests. Because they wanted something. They had even brought a gift. Rather spontaneously realizing that she may have learned something today, Fresh quietly sits herself down on a chair near the door, setting the bottle of coughee down to the side.

She waits quietly, hoping that this isn’t a creepy thing to do. She’s trying to be better, after all.