Sayori awoke to the aroma of herbs and burned wood.
Her head was covered by a low, thatched roof, with time keeping the ancient timbers in place as they intersected like a forest. Her body seemed strange to him, as if it were composed of silence, pain, and somehow heavier.
A piercing sound interrupted the fog as she attempted to sit up.
"Lay down." Unless you want to reopen your side and bleed all over my nice blankets.
Sayori turned her head slowly. A man was sitting at a low table close to the fireplace, crushing dried leaves into a pulp. He had a completely human appearance. The soot under his fingernails, the delicate lines at the corners of his eyes, and the absence of glitz and glamour to hide behind.
"You're awake," he said. "That's great. I wasn't sure you'd live through the journey." The majority do not.
"Where am I?"
"Hollowmere." If you ask the werefolk, it's the "Village of the Lost;" if you ask us, it's the "Village of the Left Behind."
He was named Alder.
He had once worked as a surgeon in a war-torn monarchy. He was now the only healer left who would treat a person like her.
"They say the cursed Alpha sent you," he mumbled as he labored, "which means you must be someone important."
"I'm not. I'm a servant," Sayori said, blinking.
"Then why are you still alive?" Alder retorted. They wouldn't dispatch guards and carriages for "only a servant."
She remained silent. Words are not enough. Her thoughts were all over the place, like feathers in the wind, and her ribs were hurting severely.
He carried the poultice to her.
"This will hurt."
He was correct.
When he pushed it against her side, she screamed out involuntarily, her voice gasping. Alder didn't flinch. He moved with silent accuracy, as if accustomed to both inflicting and experiencing pain.
After finishing, he gave her water with honey.
"Take a sip. Slowly."
Her hands were holding the cup, which was warm. She had a drink.
And for the first time in days, Sayori experienced something other than terror.
She had the sensation that she was a human being.
--
The days went by in a peaceful manner. No screaming. No orders. No penalties or spells.
She slept on a straw mattress covered with mended quilts. I ate a bone and garlic-flavored soup. I could hear the laughter of the village kids playing outside as it drifted through the window.
Some were folks who had never left the community, who had never seen a castle or a vampire in their lives, who came to see her. They were inquisitive, but they were also polite. One youngster brought her wildflowers. A youngster presented a wooden sculpture of a fox.
With gentle grins, Sayori expressed her gratitude to them. She didn't say much. Her recovery from injuries—as well as from other things—was still underway.
She thought of Fenris's eyes as she looked at the ceiling at night. Not the rage they contain. The silence.
After naming her, the manner in which he had looked at her.
Sayori.
She didn't believe it would make a difference.
She was now unsure of what she would do if she never heard him say it again.
---
Alder was cleaning a scalpel by her bed one night.
"I asked why they call him cursed," he exclaimed out of nowhere, referring to "your Alpha."
Sayori glanced upwards.
"They said his mother passed away giving birth to him. That his father never wailed once more."
She didn't say a word.
"They claimed he's never had a partner," Alder said.
Sayori's heart skipped a beat.
At that point, he gave her a knowing gaze.
"They say he sent his wolves into the mountains. The fact that they're headed this way.
Sayori gasped.
"But Hollowmere is safe. Alder said softly, "No magic here, not even his."
She asked, "So, what will he do then?"
"If he really wants you back?" Alder shrugged.
He made eye contact with her.
"He won't need magic."