Saoirse had been saying it all morning. Every time Morwenna passed through the kitchen, sat down to rest her legs, or even glanced at the chair by the window, her aunt found another reason to remind her.
"You need to move. Walk somewhere. Do something."
Saoirse herself seemed to have endless energy, bustling between the stove and the larder. The white streak in her dark hair caught the morning light whenever she turned her head.
Morwenna stood in the doorway with her hands tucked into the pockets of her blue shorts. Cinder pressed his warm body against her leg, his ears turning towards Saoirse's voice. The fox seemed almost as restless as the woman, his tail twitching in small, impatient movements.
"I'm moving," Morwenna replied quietly.
"Walking from your bedroom to the kitchen doesn't count." Saoirse pointed her wooden spoon at her for emphasis, sending a small puff of flour into the air. "Go and see Margaret. She said you could come up whenever you liked. See the animals. Find something to do with your hands."
Morwenna looked through the window.
The morning sunlight was golden, and long shadows still stretched across the grass, which had finally dried after the early dew. Bess stood near the fence, her head raised as she looked towards the main house. Her dark eyes seemed fixed on the distant horizon, as though she were waiting for the day to properly begin.
Morwenna pulled on her trainers and tightened the laces around her ankles.
"Stay," she told Cinder.
The fox's ears flattened. He let out a quiet huff.
"I will come back."
He sat heavily on the rug, his paws sinking into its woven fibers, but his amber eyes followed her all the way to the door.
. . .
The path to the main house followed the fence before cutting across a field of long grass.
Morwenna walked alone.
Jack had offered to accompany her, as had Jane, but she had declined both offers. She wanted to see whether she could manage it herself, without someone reaching out to steady her every time she stumbled.
Her legs still felt heavy after several days of stiffness, and her calf muscles pulled with each step. Even so, walking was becoming easier. Her arms swung naturally at her sides, and she could keep her back straight without much effort.
The grass brushed against her knees, its remaining moisture dampening the hems of her shorts. She didn't mind. The air smelled of hay and earth, with a sweeter scent drifting from the orchard. It was fresh and pleasant, making her feel as though she could finally take a full breath again.
The main house came into view ahead. It was larger than their own farmhouse, with a barn set back from the drive and a chicken coop near the fence. A dog barked once from somewhere behind the barn, its sharp call echoing across the yard before falling silent.
Margaret was on the porch, her wide-brimmed hat pulled low to shield her eyes from the rising sun. She looked up when Morwenna came through the gate.
"Well, look at you!" she called, setting down a bucket of water. Some of it sloshed over the rim and splashed against the wooden boards. "Out and about at last."
Morwenna stopped at the bottom of the steps.
"Saoirse said I should move."
"Saoirse sounds like a sensible woman."
"She is loud."
Margaret laughed.
"Loud people can be sensible too. Have you come to see the animals?"
Morwenna nodded, her white hair shifting over her shoulders.
A door banged somewhere inside the house. A moment later, hurried footsteps sounded across the wooden floor, and a girl appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. She looked about seven or eight, with brown hair tied into a loose ponytail and freckles scattered across her nose. Her eyes widened when she spotted Morwenna.
"Grandma, is that the girl from the other house?"
"That's Morwenna," Margaret replied. "Morwenna, this is my granddaughter, Rosie."
Rosie hurried down the steps and stopped a few feet away. She stared at Morwenna's white hair with undisguised curiosity, then looked into her green eyes.
"Are you from London?"
"No."
"Where, then?"
"Somewhere far away."
Rosie seemed satisfied with that answer. Her attention quickly shifted to something else.
"Do you want to see the chickens? I have to collect the eggs."
Morwenna glanced at Margaret, who gave her an encouraging nod.
"Go on. Rosie can show you what to do."
The chicken coop stood at the edge of the yard. It was a low wooden building with a wire enclosure attached to one side. The air inside smelled of straw, dust, and damp earth. A few hens scratched around near the fence, their heads bobbing as they searched for grain.
Rosie opened the small door and ducked inside.
"You have to be quiet. They get nervous if you move too quickly."
Morwenna followed her into the dim, warm space. Straw crunched beneath her trainers, and the quiet clucking of the hens filled the coop. Wooden nesting boxes ran along one wall. Three of them held pale, smooth eggs resting in yellow straw.
"You can take that one." Rosie pointed towards a nest near the end. "The brown hen. She is broody, but she won't peck you if you are quick."
Morwenna crouched down, feeling a slight pull in her knees. The hen watched her with one round, dark eye, tilting its head as she approached. Morwenna slowly extended her hand, allowing the bird to see her movement. The hen clucked once, making a low, vibrating sound, before settling back into the straw.
Morwenna reached into the nest and carefully lifted the egg.
It was surprisingly warm in her palm.
"Good," Rosie whispered. "You aren't scared of them."
Morwenna looked down at the egg. Its brown shell was smooth and faintly damp. She held it carefully between both hands, almost as though she were protecting something fragile.
"They feel different from the ones in the shop," Rosie remarked, already reaching into another nest. "Warmer. More real."
Morwenna turned the egg over in her hands. It really did feel warmer.
They collected four more. Rosie carried hers in the front of her apron, which she had folded into a makeshift pouch. Morwenna held her egg in both hands and walked carefully, concentrating on keeping it steady. Every step was deliberate. She didn't want to drop it.
After collecting the eggs, Rosie led her to the vegetable garden behind the house. A wire fence surrounded the plot to keep the chickens out. Neat rows of vegetables filled the dark soil. Beans climbed wooden poles, carrots showed their feathery green tops, and broad cabbage leaves spread out like pale green bowls.
"Mum says I have to pick the beans before they get tough." Rosie knelt beside one of the rows and pulled a long green pod from its vine. "Do you want to help?"
Morwenna knelt beside her. The soil was dark and cool, packed firmly between the rows. She reached for a pod and pulled. It came away with a satisfying snap.
"Not the fat ones," Rosie corrected. "Those are for seeds. You want the thin ones, like this."
She held up a slender, bright green pod.
"They are tender. Good for dinner."
Morwenna worked her way along the row, checking each pod before picking it. Her legs began to ache from crouching, and her fingers grew damp with moisture from the plants, but she didn't mind. It felt good to have something to do, something other than lying on the sofa or sitting at the table and counting the hours until she could sleep again.
"You are quiet," Rosie observed after a while, though her hands never stopped working.
Morwenna looked at her.
"I'm watching."
"Watching what?"
"How you pick them. Which ones are right."
Rosie nodded thoughtfully.
"My granddad used to say that. He said quiet people notice things other people miss."
She pulled another pod from the vine and dropped it into the basket.
"He died last winter."
"I'm sorry," Morwenna said.
Rosie shrugged, though her expression tightened slightly.
"He was sick for a long time. Grandma says he isn't hurting anymore."
They continued picking in silence for a while. The sun climbed higher, warming the back of Morwenna's neck. Her white hair was beginning to feel warm, too. Dirt had gathered on her knees, and her fingertips were stained green from the stems.
When the basket was full, Rosie stood and stretched her arms above her head.
"We have to take these to the kitchen. Mum is making pies."
Morwenna remembered the pies they had delivered to the neighbors.
"Apple?"
"Apple. And blackberry, if we have enough." Rosie glanced towards the bramble patch at the far end of the garden. "We might need more. Do you want to help pick some?"
Morwenna looked at the brambles. Their branches were tangled together along the fence, covered in sharp thorns. Dark berries hung in heavy clusters, glistening in the sunlight. Some were black and ripe, while others were still red and firm.
"Your hands will get scratched."
"I know." Rosie was already heading towards the patch, her steps quick and carefree. "That's how you know you have done some work."
The brambles grew thickly along the fence, their branches woven through the wire. Rosie showed Morwenna how to pick the berries without crushing them, cupping her hand beneath each cluster so the fruit wouldn't fall into the dirt.
Morwenna reached into the tangle of branches. A thorn caught her thumb, leaving a thin red line across her skin. She pulled her hand back and looked at the small bead of blood for a moment before reaching in again.
The sting didn't stop her.
"That's the way," Rosie said, still concentrating on her own handful of berries.
They continued until the bowl was full. Morwenna's arms had several small scratches, and her fingers were stained purple with berry juice. The bowl was heavy with fruit, and Rosie looked thoroughly pleased with their work.
"Mum will be happy. She said she didn't have enough."
They carried the bowl back to the kitchen. A woman stood at the counter with her hands covered in flour. She had the same brown hair and freckles as Rosie. When the two girls entered, she looked up, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Goodness. Look at you two. You are covered in dirt!"
"We picked loads!" Rosie said, placing the bowl on the table with a dull thud. "Morwenna helped."
The woman looked at Morwenna's scratched hands and dirt-stained knees. Her expression softened into a smile.
"Thank you, dear. That was very kind of you."
Morwenna shrugged, feeling her cheeks grow warm.
"I wanted to."
"Then you must stay for some pie later," the woman suggested. "Once it comes out of the oven."
Morwenna glanced towards the door. Through the kitchen window, she could see the path leading back to their farmhouse, the sunlight shimmering faintly above the warm ground. She had already been away for quite a while and thought she should return.
But the kitchen was warm, and the smell of apples and pastry was beginning to fill the air. Rosie had already dragged a stool over to the counter so she could watch her mother roll out the dough with a heavy wooden rolling pin.
"One slice," Morwenna decided.
They sat on the porch steps when the pies were ready. Their slices were thick, with golden crusts that were still warm from the oven. Sweet apple filling spilled over the edges of their plates.
Rosie ate hers with her fingers, juice running down her chin. Morwenna used a fork, taking small, careful bites.
Margaret came outside with a cup of tea and settled into her rocking chair. The wooden frame creaked gently as she moved. She glanced at Morwenna's scratched hands.
"Did Rosie get you into the brambles?"
"I wanted to go."
Margaret nodded, rocking slowly.
"So you aren't afraid of a few scratches?"
Morwenna looked down at her hands. The marks were thin red lines, and most had already begun to close.
"No."
"That's a good thing. Nothing wrong with getting a few scratches while doing some work."
Margaret took a sip of tea, the steam curling above the cup.
"You can come back whenever you like. Help us with the garden. The apples will be ready soon, and we will need plenty of hands for the picking."
Morwenna thought about the orchard and the trees heavy with fruit. She imagined climbing a ladder and reaching for the higher branches, feeling the rough bark beneath her fingers.
"Yes."
Rosie grinned, a little juice still clinging to her chin.
"I will show you the big tree. The one at the back. It has the best apples."
Morwenna finished her pie. Her plate was warm against her lap, her legs ached, and her hands were scratched. But this was a pleasant kind of tiredness, the sort that came from doing something rather than waiting for time to pass.
She walked back down the path as the sun approached its highest point. The grass had dried, and the field was bright beneath the late-summer light. Cinder was waiting near the gate, his ears raised and his tail sweeping across the ground, stirring up a little dust.
Morwenna picked him up. He was heavier than he looked, but she held him close, burying her face in his fur for a moment.
"I found eggs," she told him. "And berries. There's a girl. Her name is Rosie."
Cinder's ears turned towards her voice.
Saoirse was waiting on the porch when Morwenna returned. She stood with her arms crossed, watching her approach.
"You were gone a long time."
Morwenna put Cinder down and climbed the steps. Her legs trembled slightly from the walk and all the work in the garden.
"Pie," she said. "Apple."
Saoirse looked at her scratched hands and dirt-stained shorts. Her mouth shifted into an expression somewhere between a frown and a smile.
"You look a state."
"I'm tired."
"Good. That's what happens when you actually do something." Saoirse held the door open. "Come on. Your mother saved you some lunch."
Morwenna went inside. The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and butter. Jane was sitting at the table with Jack beside her. Both looked up as she entered. The sunlight caught Jane's red hair and Jack's dark hair, making the silver-white streak in his stand out.
"Did you have a good morning?" Jane asked, her voice carrying its familiar, gentle French cadence.
Morwenna sat down. Her legs felt heavy, and her fingers were still a little sticky from the berry juice.
"Yes."
Jane exchanged a glance with Jack. He gave a small shrug before reaching for the teapot.
"Did you promise to go back tomorrow?" he asked.
Morwenna stopped chewing. She thought about the porch steps, the warm plate in her lap, and the juice running down Rosie's chin.
"No. Margaret said the apples will be ready soon. She said she will need help picking them, but not tomorrow."
She took another bite of bread, its crust crunching between her teeth.
"Later."
Jack set his cup down.
"Well, if you are free tomorrow, we can go to the forest."
Morwenna's hands stopped moving.
"The forest?"
"The one at the edge of the field. You wanted to see it."
She looked towards the window. The trees stood dark against the bright sky, their branches casting deep shadows beneath them. She had been watching the forest since their first day at the farm. Twice, she had asked to visit, and twice she had been told to wait.
"What will we do there?"
Jack leaned back in his chair. His expression remained calm, but his eyes took on the familiar look he wore whenever he was deciding how much to tell her.
"What do you think we will do?"
Morwenna frowned. Several books she had read came to mind, filled with forests, hidden paths, and mysterious things lurking among the trees. She also remembered the stories Lucien had told her about the spring in France and the Veela who watched from the woods. Even the memory of the creature meadow seemed close, a warmth she could almost feel.
"We will walk," she answered slowly. "We will look at the trees and find paths."
She paused, thinking further.
"Maybe there will be animals. Things we can't see unless we know where to look. Maybe a stream, or a clearing. Or something that was there before the houses. Something old."
Jack didn't move. His expression remained unchanged, but his eyes grew very still as he watched her.
"Will we find all of that?"
He reached across the table and ruffled her hair. His hand was warm, and his fingers caught in the white tangles.
"That's a secret."
Morwenna's mouth fell open in surprise.
Jack was already standing, carrying his cup towards the counter with his back to her. Jane smiled into her tea, while Saoirse grinned openly.
Morwenna huffed and picked up her spoon, returning to her soup with exaggerated annoyance. Beneath the table, however, her foot was already tapping with excitement.
She scraped the last of the soup from her bowl and reached for another piece of bread.
= = =
There's image below
---
I just woke up, haha.
Right after I posted the update notice, the moment my head hit the pillow, I was out. Completely gone. The sleep felt amazing, honestly. I think I even made few islands.
When I woke up, wiped my mouth, and got myself together, I did a bit of polishing on this chapter and posted it. And now… here we are.
I also want to share something that isn't really a spoiler. Just the volume titles for this fic:
Volume 1: Before the Stone — Just born until age 7, after her 3rd magical maturity
Volume 2: Beneath the Magical Veil — Right after 1st volume until she get the letter
Volume 3: The Mirror of Truth — Philosopher's Stone
Volume 4: The Serpent's Chamber — Chamber of Secrets
Volume 5: The Prisoner's Shadow — Prisoner of Azkaban
Volume 6: The Cup of Ashes — Goblet of Fire
Volume 7: The Phoenix Flight — Order of the Phoenix
Volume 8: The Prince's Secret — Half-Blood Prince
Volume 9: The Graves We Carry — Deathly Hallows
That should cover everything up to the end of the original canon story. I'm still not sure if I will continue beyond that.
I've also planned out the main storyline and rough outlines for Volumes 2, 3, and 4 already. On top of that, I have mapped the plot and tropes for the four of Nimue's love interests.
Yes. Four of them.
Do not ask how it suddenly became four.
Let's just say… certain voices kept insisting I add those girls too.
Well, they are all pretty popular in the fandom. One of them even falls into the rival or enemies to lovers trope, which should be fun.
That's all I have for now. I'm still a bit sleepy. I kept yawning while finishing this chapter and writing this note.
Anyway, see you later. Ciao~