Despite being cramped, the house bore the typical signs of a do-your-best attitude. A large crate was used as a table. The chairs, smaller crates. A carpet made from the lid of one of the crates. A small fireplace served as the only source of light. Above it, a surprisingly well-made pot. Its content bubbling contently inside. The fixture for the pot was made from dulled swords, whose blade bore the visible signs of too much exposure to blood and weather, chipped and cracked, and largely beyond repair save for a great smith or a well-known forge.

“Mama, I’m home!”

A female appeared in the doorway leading to the bedroom. She wore heavy woollen clothes and looked quite a few years younger in appearance, than her eyes would suggest. She stopped, and for what felt like an eternity, she appraised Mariel in detail.

“Welcome to our humble home… I, was told you would be coming. Please sit and make use of whatever comforts we can provide… Rilvi, could you go get us some water? Try to be quiet.”

Rilvi nodded and quickly left them alone. The female limped her way over and sat herself down heavily on one of the small crates. From what Mariel could tell, she could not possibly be as heavy as the sound suggested, appearing rather frail and worn. Having come closer, she could see that her clothes were ragged, a few gaps revealed some bestially mutilated skin underneath. One of her legs seemed to not be quite where it should be.

“I’m Cilvarvina…” She held out her hand, and Mariel reached out with her own. For a moment, she felt a jolt in her hand as the fire had revealed that the hand offered to her, lacked three of its fingers. Forlorn stumps occupied the spots of the ring, pinky and middle finger of her right hand. Hoping she had not noticed, Mariel shook her hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you… Time has perhaps not been as gentle with me as it has with my dear son and daughter.” She smiled under her woollen hood. “How is my child these days? I met him briefly yesterday. He spoke the world in a few minutes, spun in a flurry of action, and left just as quickly.”

Mariel began to relate parts of the journey. How they had met, what they had faced together and what was about to happen. She made a point of highlighting Siravin’s bravery and voice all the due praise she had never felt confident enough in sharing with him in person. Cilvarvina seemed to be soothed by her praise and at the end glowed as a mother should when faced with praise for her son’s dedication and effort.

“He has become so tall… Tell me, is he truly as stoic as he was yesterday?”

“Yes, he is, to my experience at least.”

“He takes after his father, he was a…” A series of violent coughs interrupted her sentence, a few wads of blood landing close or in the fire, causing a mild sizzle. Mariel got up and held onto her.

“This place… It will be our grave.”

After making sure she was still stable in her seat, Mariel rummaged through the small rooms and drew a couple of extra blankets which she put around Cilvarvina.

“Thank you. Now let us eat… I will also be needing a bit of a favour from you later… It was a request for my son, but seeing as he was in such a hurry, I will put it to you instead.”