“Mm,” Linden said doubtfully. Orfeus, in a daring move, scooped her hands under the cat’s soft belly and hefted it onto her lap. Splodge nyaowed in complaint, and then settled down. It wasn’t a young cat. Linden picked a hammer up and then put it down again. “Fine, but sit in the corner. And I’ll be talking to you every few minutes to make sure you’re not asleep yet.”

Orfeus picked up her armful of Splodge and went to the bench in the corner, rough-hewn but at least sturdy. “Good,” she said. “Very good. Regale me with carpentry.”

Linden picked up the hammer again, turning his back on her. “I listen to you when you talk about your interests.”

“My interests are interesting,” Orfeus said instantly, and then shook her head. “I don’t mean that. I know you’re passionate.” Certainly not skilled at carpentry, but undeniably passionate.

Linden had an excellent head for numbers, and plenty of other skills. But he spent most of his spare time inexpertly sticking bits of wood together. Found wood and fallen wood, he was perfectly ethical, but he did all that work for no profitable trade at all and no discernible gain. Orfeus didn’t understand it at all. She wasn’t sure she could do something reliably and for enjoyment if she wasn’t very, very good at it.

Her fingers itched for music. Her stomach hurt, her forehead burned. “I really don’t mean any harm,” Orfeus said. She felt immensely weary. Splodge curled up on her lap, nudging insistently at her hand, and after a moment Orfeus resumed the pets. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you don’t, Orfeus,” Linden said. He sounded almost fond, like they were friends instead of friendly neighbours. “It’s not like you to apologise. I’ll make you some tea.”

Orfeus opened her mouth to turn it down, then closed it again. It wouldn’t be like the tea Maylis used to make, always exactly the perfect brew. But it would be hot and a little like being safe again. She imagined wolves howling outside.

“Yes, please,” Orfeus said. Linden beamed at her. Perhaps she didn’t say please often enough, either.

After a few hours, Orfeus shifted the sleeping cat off her lap and went home, grabbing an hour or two of sleep herself. She woke with the birdsong and a pounding headache. Willow bark helped a little, even if she needed to be sparing when her back wasn’t fully scabbed over yet.

She whistled back at the birds, taking little pieces of melody and altering it, then sung soothing nonsense words as she washed her face and hands and had a cup of tea for breakfast. Her mood was much improved as she tucked an apple into the pocket of her cloak for later and strode out into the morning.