“I wouldn’t count her out,” Juana said, chirpy. “You can still see the scar, look! I’ll always have that.”

In the shadows outside, Orfeus curled up small and bit her lip.

“She healed me with her magic!” Juana continued. “So quick with her magic, and not bad with her knives! I hope Faol takes it easy on our new Fox.”

Orfeus blinked.

“Alas,” Tai said, “our brother the Wolf isn’t known for choosing the easy path.”

“But we can keep an eye on her.”

“Of course, if she survives.”

A few other murmurs, then a solid thump, and Tai’s laughing protest. “Ow! I’m not sparring, I’m tinkering, look.”

“In battle, you must be ready for anything!”

Orfeus walked a few quiet steps back, smiling. Then she approached the training room again, with bootsteps loud, to join them.

Here in the den of hunters and wildfolk, despite the bridges she’d thought burned for good, she wasn’t alone or unloved. Orfeus didn’t feel like who she used to be, but she wasn’t devoid of allies. Faolan was monstrous, Luga unreadable, but many of them had not forgotten kindness.

She had changed so much, even if it was for the worse. Surely it couldn’t be that hard for this place to change for the better.

From her bike, Orfeus rummaged out the plant she had brought up from Weingart’s manor, scraping as much of the soil into her cloak as she could to spirit back to her room.

There was nothing pot-like around the base, not unless she yanked random pipes off the walls, and maybe they had more purpose than they seemed. Better not to risk it. Orfeus fetched out her herbs, all her dried plants and potencies. One was a small jar of lavender, and she emptied it carefully onto a clean cloth, then transferred her new plant into the jar, scraping the soil in carefully and patting it back down around the seedling. Only a small plant, barely into sprouting, twin leaves growing out from the stalk. Hard to determine the species yet.

Orfeus sat back on her heels and inspected it. No hole at the bottom for proper soil drainage of course, but the plant looked fairly lively … She poured some water into the cup of her hands and trickled it carefully in. Yes, the plant would survive for now, and she could fetch more soil and a proper container on the next trip down.

She flinched at the thought of another trip like the last one.

She tucked the herbs into the pockets of her cloak, swirled her cloak around her and went out into the base. It was early morning and all was quiet, the morning meal and routine not yet begun. If anyone asked her purpose here, she could turn out her pockets and claim gardening.