He stood behind Nezael and pressed close as he wrapped his arms in front to help Nezael take the axe with both hands. Nezael knew how to hold an axe—it wasn’t hard—but his body gave out a delighted shiver as the arms closed around him. With Yorick’s body molded against his so closely, Nezael felt the steady heartbeat deep within his chest.
Then Yorick moved away and Nezael tried his best not to sulk. Yorick picked up a log and set it on the stump.
“Go on; try it,” he said and stepped aside to watch Nezael. “Aim for the center.”
Nezael pulled the heavy thing aloft, mimicking the motions he’d watched Yorick make just before, and brought it down. The log didn’t split at all; it went sideways instead and fell off the stump altogether. Nezael’s entire face blazed with embarrassment.
Yorick was snickering and covered his wide smile with his hand as Nezael shot him a look. “Not as easy as you thought, is it?”
Nezael huffed. “You made it look effortless!”
Yorick righted the log and Nezael gave him the axe. In one strike, the log was bisected and Yorick shrugged. “It is for me,” he teased and Nezael pushed his shoulder. “I’m sure that lightning you did would have done it in half the time.”
“Or set it on fire.” Nezael snorted. “I’m not quite that exact with it yet.”
“It’d be a sight to see.”
Yorick set the axe back in its home and gathered the fallen firewood. Nezael quickly bent to help and with both of them working, they’d soon twined the bundles together and loaded them into the cart.
“Want something to eat?” Yorick asked. “I’ve got a stew simmering.”
Nezael sniffed the air. Beyond the crisp autumn wind, he did smell something delectable wafting from the cabin. He eagerly nodded and followed Yorick around to the door. He’d walked in before his rational side told him perhaps this was too much of a distraction and that whisper was buried as Nezael took in the cabin around him.
Even from the outside, he’d knew it be small—barely enough space for one person—but now being inside, the size only made it cozy. Warm honey hued wooden walls were covered in thick tapestries woven with triangle and diamond shapes, all sorts of different earthy tones against a cream color that brightened the space. Right inside, the floor was made of stone and led into a kitchen nook on one end fashioned around the black oven and stove. There was a pot atop the stove and the aroma of stew floated throughout the cabin as it cooked. Windows surrounded the kitchen and peered out toward the trail coming by the cabin.
Past the kitchen, the cabin was raised up by one step with wooden floors aplenty. Rugs of all sorts of muted colors lay across the wood, some more worn than others, but it reminded Nezael of the tower. The ceiling beams were exposed up top and the roof slanted down farther on one side than the other. A bed covered in pillows and quilts was beneath the slanted side and lay horizontally to the window above it. At the foot of the bed was a wooden chest carved with a branch design on all sides.
Across the room was a small sitting area complete with a wooden dining table, a couple of chairs on one side, and a thin couch pushed against the wall on the other. Spread across the table were playing cards, books, and candles not yet lit. In the farthest corner of the house was a stone hearth, a fire gently crackling within behind a metal grate. On the stone mantel around the hearth were little wooden knickknacks of animals, each one lovingly carved. Nearby was a single arm chair facing the hearth and it looked about as comfortable as the couches in the tower’s library if Nezael had to guess. He was tempted to curl up in it, but refrained.
More than anything else, beyond the aroma of stew, Nezael smelled cloves and cinnamon, even the dried flowers hung from the rafters above. He loved it all and breathed in deep.
“It’s not much,” Yorick said as Nezael studied everything to memorize it so it may grace him in his dreams. “But it’s home. A lot of it was already here when I showed up—I just made it more mine.”
Nezael had drifted closer to the hearth and touched one of the wooden figures. A doe still smelling distinctly of wood like she’d just been made. “Everything’s lovely. Did you make these?”
Yorick glanced over from the kitchen. “Usually in the summer,” he said. “Kids like them, so they’re something easy to make and sell.”
“They’re well crafted.” Nezael left the doe with the fawns nearby and continued peering across the room. The books on the shelves near the back were all read through, spines cracked with age, and Nezael held back from pulling them out to gaze upon the pages himself.
“This will be done soon,” Yorick said, giving the stew a stir. “Feel free to sit down and get comfortable.”
Nezael had never been anywhere that wasn’t his tower beyond quick visits to town. He didn’t quite know how to be comfortable anywhere else and he glanced at Yorick. The woodsman had taken off his boots, leaving them on the stone floor near the door. Nezael looked down at his own, embarrassed he hadn’t done the same, and hurried to do so. Yorick’s coat hung on a hook against the door and Nezael left his cloak and furs beside it. Mittens went around the hook as well and looked quite at home.
The cabin was plenty warm without all the layers and Nezael settled in at the table. Yorick continued fussing in the kitchen, humming to himself and Nezael was glad to listen to it. Nezael would have watched the man move, but he thought better about it and instead, brought the candles closer. Magic ignited the wicks with a pinch of his fingers, blooming little twinkling fires to life.
“Does anyone else ever visit?” Nezael asked.
“Sometimes in the summer,” Yorick said without much hesitation. “There’s this group of aunties who insist on giving me food.” He chuckled. “I make them tea when they come and we play a game of cards. Winter’s heavy on their bones, so they don’t come out this far now.”
“Aunties?” Nezael repeated.
“Ah… mothers who miss their grown children? They just tell me to call them auntie this and auntie that.” Yorick retrieved two bowls from the cupboards and placed them on the counter. “They’re sweet. Maybe they’re hoping one day I’ll have kids they can dote on or something.”
“Do you want children?”
“Hasn’t really crossed my mind.” Yorick shrugged and glanced at Nezael, lifting an eyebrow. “How about you? Forest nymph who’s not a nymph at all?”
Nezael chuckled. “It never occurred to me either. I don’t… I don’t interact much outside the markets in town and even then, I don’t take care to remember anyone.” Except for you. But he kept that part to himself. He turned away and watched the candle’s flames flicker. “I know I live deep in the forest, but I can assure you: I’m as human as you are.”
Yorick laughed. “Just what a nymph would say!”
“Oh! Come on!” Nezael couldn’t help the laughter bubbling out of his throat. “I’ve lived here ever since I can remember. I just know magic. Nothing else magical about me besides.”
Yorick hummed like he didn’t quite believe Nezael and Nezael sighed loudly, making the woodsman laugh again. “Never met anyone who could do spells like what you did,” Yorick added. “Charms and whatnot sure—there’s this passing sorceress who sells stuff in the summer—but no one’s shot literal lightning from their hand.”
Or raised the dead, Nezael added to himself and bit back from admitting it aloud.
“You’re just something else, you know?” Yorick whispered softly and Nezael chose to take it as a compliment, smiling again.
It wasn’t long before supper finished and Yorick brought it over. Two bowls full of stew seasoned with pepper and garlic, rosemary baked bread still warm from the oven, and two cups of mulled wine. Nezael took in the aroma and stirred his bowl; the broth had a thick consistency among the beef, vegetables, and dumplings. Agatha made something like it often when it grew cold. Always did the trick to warm him up. Maybe this would be the same.
“This all smells lovely,” Nezael complimented as Yorick sat beside him. “Do you cook a lot?”
“My ma was pretty good at it,” Yorick said and nodded to a well-read book in the kitchen. “When I left home, she made sure I took her recipes with me—she has them all memorized. Otherwise, there’s a tavern in town I can get something from if I don’t mind how loud it is.”
Nezael smiled, even if thinking of parents left him hollow. He brushed it aside and hoped Yorick didn’t notice as he happily dug in. The bread soaked in the stew and melted in his mouth as he took a bite and the stew itself went down warm, heating him up from the inside. They didn’t talk much as they ate, but Nezael didn’t mind. He enjoyed being in someone else’s company for once. Existing together and being content. Besides, while Carrow’s silence bored into Nezael like he’d done something wrong, Yorick’s was easy and soft. He liked it.
The meal finished too soon, drawing Nezael back to reality, but therein he found Yorick smiling softly at him.
