When I was young and in mi prime,

through the rock mi pick fair flew,

now the dust I breathed is killing me,

now mi hewing days are through, through,

now mi hewing days are through

*from the song Why aye I could hew.

Margaret quickly answered the door; she was incredibly spry for her age, and just seemed happy to have guests. Which was going to make delivering this news all the harder for Rowanne.

Margaret was quite a formidable looking lady, the result of which was she seldom had guests. “Rowanne, Mary, Haway in, divvent stand in the door, ye’ll let all the caud air in. I’ll hoy the kettle on, we can blether while I finish off these pies for church.”

“Mary kidder,” Rowe said quickly, “ye put the kettle on ye knaa where it is, and Margaret and me need to have a talk.”

With that, Margaret knew it was serious, and as if to delay the inevitable she went back to the kitchen counter and threw herself into her work rolling pastry.

“It’s about George,” Rowanne said softly. “Ye might want to sit doon.”

At that Margaret seemed to fold in on herself. The woman who had seemed as unstoppable as a force of nature just a moment before had gone, and in her place stood a vulnerable old lady, clad in a pinny whose entire life was about to change. “Ah was afraid ye would say that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I telt that silly aud fool to retire last year when he was offered it, why did he na listen yea ous. What do I dea now?”

“If he had retired last year ah’d be gone today. He saved mi life.” Rowe replied, gently guiding Margaret to a seat while Mary poured her a cup of tea, with the small addition of a generous nip of brandy from the bottle she knew Margaret kept stashed in the bread bin for “medicinal purposes” .

“Aye that sounds like him,” Margaret sighed, dabbing her eyes on the edge of her pinny. “Now can ye please tell me what happened?”

“Wyrmlings came into the workings while ah was hewing a new seam, George telt ous to stop there and jammed the entry.” The guilt became worse with each word and Rowanne's eyes swam with tears, but Margaret had to know, for George's sake. “Ah wish ah could have helped.”

A second later, she was gripped in a very damp hug. “Ye’re safe lass, ah divvent knaa how ye got out but ye made it back tea the light. Ah just wish ah knew what to dea now.”

“What we dea now,” Rowanne answered, steeling herself as best she could, “is what we dea on a neet like this, light a lowe, cover the mirrors, get a fire in the hearth and wait. Yan way or another he comes hyem the neet, and we divvent leave our friends and kin alone doon in the dark reet? We’ll wait through the neet with ye, and Mary will help with those pies. He always did love the smell of your baking, and the church still needs them. Though I warn ye ah’m fair paggered so may na be able to stay awake the whole neet, and will na be any use in the kitchen.”

So it was decided. Margaret’s daughter had long since moved away, and her room was empty, so it was the sisters' for the night. The pies were eventually finished and they sat down together. Margaret, as always, mostly talked about George, but that was nothing unusual for her. It seemed to comfort her tonight, as she puttered about the kitchen, doing her level best to keep herself in the well worn groove she had followed for years, even as life tried to throw it onto an unexpected track.

Rowe eventually fell asleep at the kitchen table, and was carefully woken and guided to bed half asleep by her sister, though what hour that was she had no idea. But at least she was too exhausted to dream that night. Though she could have sworn she felt somebody slip in and tuck her in during the night.

The next morning, she woke with Mary clinging to her arm. Well no matter, it wasn’t like the school would be open today anyway.

“Morning sis,” Rowe said softly, ruffling her hair and ignoring the halfhearted protestations. She got to her feet with a groan that would not have sounded out of place coming from an octogenarian. Judging by the sounds from downstairs, Margaret was either already up and about or had managed to stay awake the whole night in the hope that he would make it back. Probably the latter, Rowe thought sadly.

Rowe made her way downstairs, ignoring the creaks and groans from her poor battered body and slipped back into the kitchen. As she did so, she settled on a decision that had been forming in her hindbrain since yesterday. Reaching into her pocket, she pressed the final piece of her find from yesterday, a decent sized chunk of green wyrmbone spar into a gobsmacked Margaret’s hand.

“Ah can na tek this, lass," she stammered, "where did ye even get it-"

“Divvent worry about that,'' Rowanne interrupted. “Call it a gift from the Bwyca, and afore ye fash yourself ower it the company has nea claim to this. There was plenty mair where that came from though, which was turned in, so Mary and me are set for a bit an all. Now ah’ve had a word with Charles, he’s with the Association, and since George exceeded retirement age and was paid up nea matter what his pension is settled.

"It may tek a little while like, so that will dea to tide ye ower in the meantime. This is yours either way, George saved ous. Far as I’m concerned ye’re kin, so nea matter what if owt happens ye knock on alreet?”

For the second time in two days Rowanne found herself in a vice-like hug, and in the circumstances she was absolutely fine with that.