u/Flat_Package9668

Until evening, the peasant girl stayed among the stone floor and walls, studying them as thoroughly as her height allowed. By the time the rays of the Sun Palace began sinking toward dusk, she had only just finished with the first room. She didn’t enter the second one, simply not wanting to wake the owner.

Even with all the stone, the room had grown hot. The dark-skinned girl had to take off her shirt and roll up her breeches, turning them into something like shorts. With her first pay, she would definitely buy new clothes. And food for Archie.

After the inspection, the peasant pulled a metal bowl and several small sacks out of the large bag. Judging by the smell—materials for mortar. She also found water and a spatula. Mixing everything the way she remembered—since she couldn’t read—she managed to make a fairly decent paste. Fortunately for Ivy herself.

Setting the bowl on the floor, she began sealing the small cracks and the places where the stone threatened to chip away. Later the walls would be covered with wallpaper, but the peasant still tried to make sure the place would hold for several more years after the repair. At the very least, she worked skillfully. So much so that her hands were smeared with mortar, and the mixture began drying on her fingers in places. She had to scrape the excess off her skin before it hardened completely.

Because of that, she had to leave the building for almost an hour—to wash in the river and rinse the dirt off herself. On the way back she stopped by Archie, spent a little time with her pet, and then returned. Back to work.

When the sunlight had nearly vanished, she finished almost everything, moving on to the last section of wall near the door behind which Yanael slept. She stood there with fluffy, uncombed hair that hadn’t quite dried at the tips. She smelled faintly of river water and grass.

By that time, the elf had already woken up. She hadn’t even gotten off the cold floor—only stretched as far as she could. The first thing she heard was the faint rustling sounds beyond the door. She didn’t know whether it was her new little worker or someone else, perhaps a thief trying to steal something. It didn’t seem to matter much.

Yanael simply rolled across the floor, as if bathing in the last rays of the Dragon of Light. Surprisingly, she could remain silent when she wanted to. But she always decided when that moment ended. The elf didn’t plan to leave the room yet, so she slowly stood up and began pacing the space, occasionally glancing out the many low windows.

Meanwhile, Ivy continued sealing the remaining chips in the stone with what little plaster she had left—the ones her short arms could reach. When the last one was finished, the peasant walked along the wall again, using up the final bits of mortar. Then she finally let out a relieved breath and set the metal bowl aside so no one would knock it over.

Straightening up, the dark-skinned girl began stretching her stiff limbs. Fingers first, then her hands, shoulders, back, and legs—one after another. Finally, she rubbed her neck, grabbed the shirt lying nearby, and threw it back over her shoulders. She picked up the broom, opened the front door to let fresh air flow through, and began opening the small windows around the room.

Once most of them were open, she gripped the broom more comfortably and started sweeping the dust mixed with dirt.

The sounds from the other room grew quieter, as if whoever was there had moved farther away from the door. Yanael eventually grew tired of walking in circles, so she finally decided to open it. The blonde approached quietly, pressed the handle, and slowly pushed the heavy door open.

She peeked around the corner like a spy who didn’t want to reveal herself. Her large gray eyes immediately spotted the peasant girl fully absorbed in her work. For a minute or two the owner simply watched her. Then she opened the door wider and, hands folded behind her back, walked toward Ivy with long, slow steps.

Ivy kept sweeping the dusty floor, trying not to leave piles of dirt behind. Used to working as well as possible for others, she probably wouldn’t have bothered this much in her own home. But in the end, she would be paid for it. However little it might be.

Her hands worked with eager determination, though her shoulders trembled slightly from the strain of the day. Sleeping would be uncomfortable tonight—and morning even worse. But that was the price of work. Nothing unusual.

Her body moved smoothly, with a faint, half-hidden grace, more like that of a wandering dog than the peasant girl herself. Only her hips moved with confidence, swaying with every step. She seemed not to hear anything around her, fully immersed in the uneven trails of dust she kept sweeping here and there. The broom was actually quite good. Yanael hadn’t been stingy buying it. That was pleasantly surprising.

The elf came close enough to stand directly behind her worker, almost touching. She folded her arms across her chest like a satisfied owner, clearly pleased by someone else’s labor.

"You know, my hardworking little burrow rat, I really like this view. Watching you work is actually damn attractive, so…"

The slender elf suddenly paused, thinking about what to say next.

"You worked well. Maybe as a bonus you’d like to… service an elven pussy?"

For Yanael it sounded perfectly ordinary. Yet on her cheeks there appeared—and just as quickly disappeared in the dim light—a faint blush.

"So you like animals. How cute."

Ivy smiled, stumbling in after the elf and almost dropping the sack with a crash. Instead, she carefully set it down as if it were a child and then collapsed onto the floor herself as her back suddenly relaxed.

Lifting her head and spitting dust from her mouth, the peasant raised a fist with her thumb up and rasped with a crooked grin:

"I’m alive. Thanks for the concern!"

After that she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath. She hadn’t carried anything heavy in a long time. Give it a couple of days, and she’d get used to it again—she’d just grown lazy. Archie used to haul everything for her. She promised herself she’d visit her pet in the evening.

"You could say that. Unlike fucking humans and elves, animals usually behave… well. They don’t screw you over. And they don’t fuck you either. Mentally or physically—doesn’t matter."

The blonde seemed to drift toward the sack and dived into it almost headfirst, rummaging around for nearly a minute before finally pulling out two chicken legs. She spun them in her hands with satisfaction and headed toward the cage.

On the way, Yanael leaned down toward Ivy and casually kissed her on the lips.

"Thanks, quick little troublemaker."

She added with a smile.

Then she turned away at once and hopped over to the table, slipping the meat through the cage bars to the eagle. The bird immediately began tearing into it, holding the bone steady with one claw while ripping off small pieces.

Ivy blinked, slowly getting used to the spirited elf’s behavior. The warmth lingered on her full lips for a few seconds more. Nice woman. Didn’t seem to worry about much. Loved animals. A real elf—just without the royal manners, which Ivy found oddly refreshing.

Feeling a bit recharged, Ivy pushed herself up and sat, looking thoughtfully toward the table. She remembered the ranger’s words—that one chicken leg had cost him nearly a fortune. Either the elf was rich, or she was damn good at bargaining. Both options were good, so Ivy didn’t dwell on it.

She crouched beside the sack, untied it, and opened it wider to inspect the contents. Time to get to work.

Yanael placed the second chicken leg into the cage and spent a few more minutes watching the eagle eat with clear enjoyment. Then she shook herself like a wet cat, ran a hand through her curled hair, and walked toward the inner door of the building.

The structure was shaped like a right angle, with two rooms of equal size separated by a white wall and a heavy door. The second room was completely empty—not even an old table inside.

Without a word, the sharp-eared elf disappeared into that room, leaving Ivy alone with the half-hungry eagle.

Ivy jumped to her feet, pulling only the broom from the sack and propping it against the wall. Cleaning had to come first the moment she’d inspected the place properly and spotted the obvious problems.

Even yesterday she had noticed several small cracks in the far corner. Those would need to be filled with proper mortar.

Walking toward the door, Ivy began moving along the left wall, examining it carefully and noting small scratches. In some places the stone had chipped. She memorized each spot so she could start there later.

After the cleaning, of course.

The day promised to be… long.

Yanael, just like yesterday, simply flopped onto the floor on her back and started thinking about that man who had turned out to be alive. It didn’t worry her much—it mostly surprised her.

After lying there for about twenty minutes, the elf fell asleep in the middle of the day. Apparently hauling that heavy sack earlier had been unusual enough to exhaust her quickly.

But that meant only one thing: by nightfall the blonde would be bursting with energy again.

And if she didn’t decide to wander off somewhere instead, Ivy would probably have a very hard time.

For now, though, the elf slept deeply.

Ivy staggered hard under the weight of the sack, nearly toppling to the ground, but somehow managed to steady herself and heave it onto her shoulder with a grunt. The elf’s behavior didn’t irritate her in the slightest—if anything, it amused her. After adjusting the sack so it wouldn’t slide off, she glanced around and hurried after Yanael, unable to quite match the elf’s brisk, energetic stride.

The day promised to be long.

She carefully stepped around the stone Yanael had tripped over.

"Want me to remind you who said she’d carry everything herself?"

Ivy smirked, trudging along obediently and trying to get used to the sudden weight. She almost managed—even straightened her back—but then bent forward again like an old woman. The load was serious, though complaining never even crossed her mind.

"And I did offer to go with you from the start."

She caught up within a few steps of the elf.

It wasn’t complaining—Ivy was smiling, ignoring the crooked looks from passing elves. They probably assumed she was Yanael’s servant. Which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth.

"So… anything else we need to buy?"

Her voice came out slightly strained under the weight, though still cheerful.

"I think I already got everything. Or is the bag too light for you? We could always buy something else."

Yanael mused.

She was still walking barefoot, even though she could’ve easily bought shoes by now. Maybe she just didn’t care. Her long, slender legs carried her down the path in wide, confident strides. Every now and then she winked at random passersby, flirting shamelessly.

"And hey… what about my stupid instructions? Did you follow them all?"

Their building was already close. Surprisingly, Iran’s place was barely three hundred meters from Ivy’s new workplace.

"If we bought everything, then we’re good."

Ivy answered quickly, chuckling to herself. She didn’t mind hard work, especially physical work, but her own reaction had amused her.

At the elf’s last question, the dark-skinned girl snorted. She hadn’t thought Yanael would actually remember that. Apparently the woman’s memory was sharper than she let on. Ivy hitched the sack higher on her shoulder and licked her upper lip where sweat had gathered.

"Except the blowjob part. Too proper for an elf. But yeah, we talked. Pretty well, actually. Heart to heart. He’s not holding me back; he understands everything. I guess I got lucky with a friend. Or a lover. It depends on how you look at it. He considers us friends."

"Tsk, what a dumbass."

The blonde muttered about Iran.

"As long as he doesn’t break your heart, the rest doesn’t matter. Shame about the blowjob, though. But hey—someone's getting their pussy eaten today, right, my clever little raccoon?"

Yanael half-turned her head toward Ivy and winked playfully. In her gray eyes flashed the predatory glint of a wild cat—a Felurian of the water. Then the owner hopped up onto the familiar doorstep and started unlocking the door to the recently purchased building. She seemed to live by one rule: never take questions too seriously, and never wait for answers.

Ivy didn’t reply. She understood perfectly well that none were expected. Holding the sack with both hands, she finally reached the building and waited for Yanael to open the door. Still, curiosity got the better of her.

"So what kind of eagle is that, anyway? Your pet?"

She shifted her grip on the fabric, trying to hold it more comfortably. Her shoulders already ached, and her back threatened to collapse mid-step. Still, Ivy wouldn’t complain even if she were dying right there. Her mind was already racing through plans for where to start the repairs.

"It’s a broadwing eagle."

Yanael replied, finally opening the door.

"Dickling isn’t my pet. I found him in the forest recently. His wing’s a bit messed up—fuck knows why. Can’t really fly properly. I grabbed those tiny clawed feet of his and took him to a friend. I asked him to keep the bird until I bought a place of my own. That’s the story."

Yanael burst inside and inhaled the stale air deeply through her nose—then immediately started coughing from the dust and mustiness. Her enthusiasm faded a little as she stepped further in.

The anger inside her faded quickly when Iran looked at her. Too soft. Too perfect. Too right. And that overwhelming understanding in those sad blue eyes.

Ivy moved closer and reached out, her palm brushing gently over the spot she’d struck. Then, following another impulse, she shifted nearer, resting her free hand on the ranger’s knee and pressing her lips lightly to his cheek. Careful. Unobtrusive. A silent apology. After that, she settled back on her knees in front of him.

"And you’re a painfully proper, hopelessly anxious, slightly stupid elf."

She smiled sincerely, feeling her heart twitch. Something tightened in her chest, forcing her to grin like a complete fool.

"There wasn’t a brothel, Iran. I found an elven woman who needs help with repairs. If she’s satisfied, she might even pay me."

Her dark fingers slid along his sleeve, brushing his hand without taking it—giving him the choice to pull away.

"And right now, the proper elf needs to sleep and stop ruining his perfect schedule."

"It’s not about whether there was a brothel or not, Ivy."

He replied quietly.

"It’s about your decision. You made it. It was real. I… like that you can be yourself. Do what you want. We’re just different. I’m happy for you. Truly. We just can’t be… well… together. I’m still your friend, Ivy. A friend."

He rose from the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I’m going on a solo patrol. That’s what I want."

Iran crossed the dim room, lifted his massive bow and the quiver filled with arrows, slung it over his shoulder, and headed toward the door.

"Stay here if you want. Though I doubt you’d agree to live in someone’s storage room for nothing."

He smiled sincerely.

"It felt important to clarify. You were jealous yesterday."

Ivy shrugged, then sprang to her feet and crossed the room in long strides. She grabbed her bag but took only a wooden comb from it. She deliberately left the dagger behind, as if leaving a piece of herself with him.

"Besides… good sex doesn’t ruin a friendship."

She gave him a sly grin and headed for the door. She needed to get back to Yanael—the elf was probably already back.

For the first time since yesterday, she could breathe fully. The familiar lightness returned.

"Alright then. Just don’t die."

She rose onto her toes but ended up kissing only his shoulder. Missed.

"Thanks for the offer, but you know me too well. Don’t worry. I’ll pay off my debt and disappear from this town completely. The local elves don’t like me. Though two of them very much do. Isn’t that happiness? For me, yeah!"

Cheerful, she slipped out the door like a fox.

Iran smiled again, lowering his gaze. Maybe he had wanted something more. But from the beginning, he should’ve known Ivy wasn’t made for his quiet, orderly life. He stepped out after her, closing the door behind him.

Outside, it was bright. Almost hot. Close to midday.

Near Iran’s house stood several market stalls. At one of them, a familiar elf was busily bargaining with a vendor. Yanael flashed a cunning smile and dropped a handful of coins for her purchase. Then she grabbed a broom and awkwardly shoved it into a large, simple sack, tying it tightly and wiping sweat from her forehead.

Spotting her, Ivy smirked and waved warmly to Iran before darting toward the elf, weaving between customers without bumping anyone. Her boots tapped sharply against the stone, almost dancing to their own rhythm.

She stopped beside Yanael, tilting her head out of habit, long chestnut hair swaying in the wind.

"Oh, not just a broom—a whole damn brush bundle. You’re a master negotiator. Need help?"

She cast quick, warm glances back at the departing Iran.

"Oh! Meet my mischievous little rodent"

Yanael said to the vendor, gesturing toward Ivy.

The elf wrapped both arms around the sack and, with effort, lifted it. She bent slightly—then abruptly tossed the heavy bag straight at the peasant girl.

"You carry it. I’m fucking done."

The blonde grunted, clutching her side.

"Lounging around while I do all the work. Move it! You could've bought everything yourself instead of making me handle it!"

She turned, chin lifted proudly, and strode toward her building—only to trip over a stone and nearly fall. Yanael doubled slightly, her hair falling into her face. She straightened, flicked her head to toss the pale strands back, lifted her chin again—and continued forward, hips swaying as if nothing had happened at all.

The walk wasn’t long. The hard part was knocking.

Ivy lingered around the house, shifting from foot to foot, unsure how to start or what to say to Iran. She circled the place several times under the sideways glances of passing elves and finally knocked, an involuntary smile tugging at her lips at the memory of yesterday.

Well, if Iran yelled at her too, she wouldn’t mind much. He’d promised her a fight, after all. And she’d left her things here — though she had almost completely forgotten about them.

The door opened, as it always did.

The young elf saw Ivy — but his face didn’t change. He didn’t say a word. He simply left the door open and returned inside, sitting down on the bed.

In his hands was a photo drawing, framed carefully. It showed the ranger’s family. Five elves: father, mother, older brother and sister—and Iran himself. The smallest. Almost a baby in that image.

Ivy stepped inside and closed the heavy door behind her. Almost immediately she moved to the window and cracked it open slightly, as if unwilling to stay completely sealed inside a room already thick with emotion.

"You know, I envy you, Iran. You have a family. People you hold onto. People you love that much. Someone once told me love is weakness—but it depends how you look at it. For some, it only brings pain."

She looked at him, then stepped closer, stopping a pace away from the bed. She didn’t sit. Didn’t loom. Didn’t glance at the picture. She just stood there.

"Did you sleep?"

"I didn’t. I was thinking." The elf answered with a sigh.

"Maybe that someone was right."

Iran gripped the drawing tighter. After a moment, he shook his head.

"You envy me? Because I have a family? Where is it? You humans only know how to envy. My older brother… He was sent here too. Served in another city. He died, tricked by organized bandits from the Deer Province. He thought they were good people. They deceived him. Brutally killed him because he was an elven ranger and a threat to them. My parents. I haven’t seen them in decades. Just occasional letters. Do they really need me? Feels like we’re strangers now. All because elven rangers were transferred to Homeland to maintain these lands and help the people of Deer Province. And my sister… I barely remember her. She didn’t like humans. And when we were separated, she hated them completely. She never saw me again. And I never saw her. So no—I don’t have a family."

He set the drawing aside, hesitating for a second as if considering tearing it apart. Then he buried his face in his hands, fingers pressing against his pale brow.

"I understood why other elves disliked humans. I always tried to stay apart from it. But in the end… every misfortune in my life is tied to humans. I’m not trying to hurt you. It just feels more and more like that’s the truth."

Ivy listened without interrupting.

He had tried to understand. Tried to respect humans. And yet his life had twisted the wrong way—because of them.

She slid down to sit on the floor, leaning her back against the bed, glancing up at him.

"Oh no, my dear, if you want to compete over who’s suffered more, you’ll choke on a massive dick."

She snorted, though she had no intention of measuring whose life had been worse. Her own past wasn’t the point.

She looked at him long and hard. Then suddenly raised her hand and, following a sharp impulse, slapped him across his perfect cheek at just the right moment.

The crack echoed off the cold walls.

"Great. You vented. Did anything change? Did humans disappear? No. Because I’m right fucking here. How is your life or your people’s going to improve if you keep blaming everything on humans? Yeah, plenty of idiots insisted elves should live here. But was it against your will? Are you locked in cages? Used as meat and thrown into battles for sport? And what about your commanders? Your king, for fuck’s sake? What kind of ruler sends his people to foreign lands? Why don’t you blame him for everything? Or the elves who agreed? Zefiros takes you, Iran, if your parents stopped caring about you just because you live among humans, carrying out orders you can't refuse. Are those even sane parents? Sure, they raised you, your brother, and your sister—but that was long ago. Honestly, better no family at all than a bunch of assholes who turn their backs on their children for fulfilling their duty. Did you and your brother even choose this path yourselves? Or did your parents just let it happen? Maybe they couldn’t stop it. Maybe they didn’t try. Maybe it wasn’t their choice either."

She made a frustrated sound, crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, mirroring the fury beneath her skin.

The anger wasn’t at Iran. Not at elves. Not at humans.

At the situation.

"What are you trying to say? I know it’s not the fault of all humanity. But the thoughts come anyway. I’m not stupid. I understand circumstances are just circumstances. Still… Humans. Elves. We’re different. Humans are more chaotic. Unpredictable. Free."

He looked at her.

"Ivy. I understand that. I understand you. Your desires. But I’m different. Maybe I’m too proper to do what feels right. There are things I can’t accept. And I won’t cage you either. You need freedom. So I’m letting you go. I’d only restrain you. Do what you want. Follow your emotions. Your impulses. I’ll just be there if you need me."

Iran lifted his blue eyes to her, and in them was something genuine. Clear.

"You’re a free person, Ivy."

"Don’t mention it, boss. I’m afraid he would’ve taken the door down if no one answered."

Ivy smirked, glancing slightly away as fingers brushed her cheek. It was sweet. Almost funny—tenderness from such a domineering elf. The nicknames kept getting more creative. She wondered how long it would take before Yanael started repeating herself. The tasty little gopher was quickly becoming a favorite. Right after, filthy beaver. You’d think the woman had forgotten her real name — though something that sounded like an infant’s battle cry wasn’t exactly easy to forget.

Ivy glanced toward the cage, resting her hands on her hips—then seemed to reconsider and began wiping dust off her palms instead.

"Ugh. We need a broom… So, materials? I can help carry what I can. Or do you want breakfast first?"

"I want you ready on that table, sweetheart."

The elf licked her lips.

"But seriously, I’ll go get everything myself. Don’t worry. If you need something specific, say it. I’ve got it covered. No stress."

The blonde gave her a wicked wink and headed for the door in small, almost bouncing steps. Disheveled, like she’d just crawled out of a wild night. She suddenly stopped, bending down to inspect her bare feet. For some reason. There was probably logic there—somewhere.

"I’ll be waiting for you with the materials on that very table. Ready to work."

Ivy pulled on her boots and glanced around.

Her stomach still felt heavy from yesterday’s salad. She wasn’t hungry. Maybe just a quick bite before work — there’d be plenty of that.

"Me? From food, just grab one of those cheap Deshan pears and I’m good. Tools — more of everything. Hammer, saw, chisel, scissors, screws, nuts, bolts, and something to tighten them with. Definitely a broom—we're going to suffocate in here. Some rags. Glue. Machine oil to keep the tools running smoothly. That’s about it. I’ll be waiting eagerly for your return."

"Oh, right. Yesterday some asshole stole my shoes. Just remembered. Whatever. I’ll manage."

Yanael waved it off.

"You should go look for your lucky lover-boy. You’ve still got that gloomy vibe hanging off you. Anyway, I’m off. By the time I’m back, I hope you’ve at least sucked somebody off."

She kicked the door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges. Throwing her arms wide and arching her back, she let out a roar like a rabid bear—then leapt outside and strode off on her way.

The Dragon’s rays flooded through the entrance along with a sharp gust of wind, as if the world itself were pushing inward.

The bird in the cage hissed after the elf’s roar, clearly taking it as a threat.

A new, unpredictable day had begun.

Ivy took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it settle on her shoulders. Still, she headed for the exit.

She needed to talk to Iran. Or at least try to find him.

Whatever they had barely resembled a real story after yesterday’s conversation. And in her own way, the peasant girl was almost certain she wouldn’t even be allowed past his doorstep.

Still, she shut the door firmly behind her and, boots striking the ground in steady rhythm, made her way down the familiar street toward a no less familiar house.

The peasant gave the visitor a quick once-over, unable to help admiring the bird in the cage. Beautiful. Quiet. Calm.

What did Yanael need it for?

Not her business.

Her gaze slid over the elf’s face, pausing on the scar, then on the prosthetic where his arm should have been. Rusted. Could use some oil.

Blinking, Ivy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a shoulder against the door.

"You’re at the right place. The boss is here, just not in the mood to see anyone. But if it can’t wait—go ahead. Leave it on the table. You can try waking her yourself while you’re at it."

She pushed off the door and stepped aside. Didn’t go far — she still had to close it afterward. And honestly, the elf intrigued her.

The man entered, immediately noticing the sleeping elf. He walked slowly toward the table without taking his eyes off her. Then he set the cage down on the old surface and tapped the metal with his hand.

"Shitty place. Couldn’t find anything better?"

A rhetorical question.

He glanced at the sleeping elf again, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How can you be this careless… You, human girl, have no idea what you’re doing here. When she wakes up, tell her he’s still alive. I saw him."

He turned and headed for the exit. Passing Ivy, he nudged her aside to get through. He crossed the threshold—and slammed the door hard behind him, probably misjudging his strength.

"Come again anytime."

Ivy flinched, then shifted her shoulders uncomfortably and walked to the table, crouching near the cage.

Her head buzzed with thoughts. What exactly was going on? What was Yanael hiding?

Didn’t matter.

She was just a worker here. Not supposed to dig into anyone’s soul. Work. Get paid. That’s it. That’s what mattered. The rest — whatever. If the elf wanted to talk, she would.

Ivy studied the cage and offered the bird a faint smile.

"Hello there, little chick."

An understatement. That “chick” could probably claw her eyes out without much effort. Still, Ivy stayed calm.

The image of the strange elf with the rusted prosthetic lingered in her mind. His words too.

She looked toward the still-sleeping Yanael.

"Boss, they brought you a bird. Don’t tell me you forgot! What are you naming him? Come on, wake up! You had so much energy yesterday. Look at this handsome bastard!"

"It’s still so early… Why are you torturing me…"

The blonde rolled onto her back, rubbing her gray, sleep-heavy eyes. Her dress nearly slipped off her shoulder, but Yanael barely seemed to notice.

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked toward the cage. Squinting against the daylight, she broke into a grin.

"Oh! They already brought Dickling. Nice! Gotta go buy him something to eat later. Just wait till I stand up—everyone's going to lose their shit."

"That’s really what you’re calling him?"

Ivy laughed but quickly grew serious. She had to say it.

"Listen, Yanael. That elf with the rusted prosthetic was here. Said someone—probably someone you know—is still alive. He’s seen him. I’m not asking who. Just passing it on."

After that, Ivy turned back to the cage, deliberately blind to whatever reaction might follow. She didn’t want to pry, so she focused on the eagle instead.

Was it a he? She? Cute, in its own way.

Vince had once mentioned birds elves kept back in Homeland. What were they called again? She barely remembered.

Ivy stepped barefoot onto the table and stretched. Then she shifted back, appearing relaxed — but only on the surface. Suddenly she jumped backward and up, landing on her hands, holding herself steady, and keeping rhythm. Lowered, lifted — like a controlled pull-up from the ground.

Her limbs obeyed well, though she couldn’t hold it long. She dropped back to her feet and walked toward her boots.

Yanael finally rose from the floor and adjusted her dress properly. She looked at the cage again. Then out the window. Somewhere far away.

"Alive, huh. Well, fuck him then."

She laughed.

Her fingers brushed along the cage as she gave the bird a small wave, almost like greeting it. Then she turned, approached Ivy, bent slightly—and slowly, gently pressed a kiss to the dark-skinned girl’s cheek.

"Thanks for taking him in for me, tasty little gopher."

Yanael stretched, lifting her arms one after the other above her head.