The sweet aroma of boiling meat and vegetables permeated the home alongside the pungent scent of a fire. The house was warm compared to the outdoors, making Rayadell realize how chilly it had been outside for a spring evening.
	Rayadell tugged her hood from her head as she looked around.
	Movement in a doorway to her left made the girl spin toward it as she gripped the staff in both hands. Her body hunched and ready to fight or defend, with a gentle magical push, two silvery blades sprung from the ends of her staff as she turned.
	A plump woman with short curly hair gave a surprised shout and stepped back, her eyes wide. “My land, girl!” The woman placed a hand over her heart, her gaze on Rayadell’s weapon. “You trying to give me a heart attack? Put that away, would you? You’re in no danger here.” She gripped the stained apron wrapped around her plain skirts and flicked it irritably at her guest.
	Rayadell eyed the woman for a long moment. She looked somewhere in her late twenties to early thirties. Her lips were pursed into pale lines, and her dark hair curled closely into her tan oval face. Her warm brown eyes held an air of kindness and hardship in almost a motherly sort of way.
	Slowly, Rayadell straightened, though her grip on the staff did not waver. “Mrs. Carish?”
	“Call me Thea, hon.” The woman’s lips pulled up in a nervous smile. “Would you prefer Rayadell, or... what was it you’re going by? Tarora? Or perhaps--"
	“Rayadell’s fine,” she snapped. “Since you know it, anyway.”
	“As you wish. Now, if you would be so kind as to--” Thea gestured to Rayadell’s staff. 
	“[i]How[/i] do you know it? I haven’t used that name in years.”
	Thea gave a kind, yet sorrowful smile. “We did our research, hon. We’re rather good at it. Alas,” she gave a sad sigh, pain shimmering wetly in her eyes, “when a life hangs in the balance, one can take no chances. We need the best, and only the best. But that’s a story to be told once Calanon arrives. He, too, must have plenty of questions.” She glanced to the door behind Rayadell. “Hopefully he won’t be too much longer.”
	Rayadell’s gaze darkened. She had not expected to have an adventuring partner.
	“Come, please.” She gestured toward the room beyond her, where an iron stove with a pot was just visible through the gap. “I have a nice pot of stew on. It should be about ready, and I imagine you must be famished after your journey. My husband’s just around back collecting more wood.”
	The plump woman turned and headed into the kitchen, casting Rayadell only a reassuring glance before heading to the stove.
	Slowly, Rayadell held her staff vertically in front of her and, with another magical push, the blades retracted into the staff, leaving only the metal tips on either end. Ever wary, she entered the kitchen.
	A small, simple room, it had a couple cupboards on the walls. An iron stove rested near the far wall with a water basin beside it. Off to the side was a table with four chairs.
	“Have a seat, if you’d like.” Thea gestured toward the table with a wooden ladle.
	“I’m fine.” She paused, watching Thea stir her stew. She cast a quick glance around the room, looking for any potential eavesdroppers. “Your letter. It said you know about my... [i]predicament.[/i]”
	“Yes, hon.” Thea glanced toward Rayadell pityingly.
	“Then you’ll take no offence when I say I work alone.”
	“You’ve worked with others before.”
	“Yes, but--”
	“So you have the experience needed to watch for the signs your curse is affecting someone else.”
	“Yes.” Rayadell looked at her suspiciously. “How do you--”
	“We were research experts in another life.” Thea turned toward Rayadell and crossed her arms, the ladle still in hand. “If there’s even the slightest shred of information out there, you can bet we’ll find it. But that’s beside the point right now. This isn’t something [i]anyone[/i] could do alone. It requires at least two. That’s a part of our conditions. But that's all to be discussed with [i]everyone[/i] over dinner.” The woman gave Rayadell a stern look, telling the girl that her word was final.
	Rayadell jumped and held her staff defensively when the back door opened, and a bare-chested man with dark, weathered skin entered with an armful of cut wood.
	“Oh!” he said over his pile in a deep voice, looking to Rayadell. “Good!” He crossed the room and deposited the wood as Rayadell stepped a bit closer toward the door to avoid being cornered.
	The man brushed his hands off on his tattered trousers, then thrust a hand toward Rayadell to shake. “Merek Carish. You must be Farrodane.”
	“Rayadell, dear,” Thea called over her shoulder as she once more stirred the stew.
	Rayadell nodded in greeting, but ignored his hand.
	“Go watch for Calanon, won’t you?” Thea requested sweetly. “Hopefully Salven found him before he could get too badly lost.”
	Merek chuckled. “I’m sure he’s fine.” All the same, he gave a nod at Rayadell, then hurried behind her through the doorway to the front door.
	Rayadell stepped around the table to stand closer to the back exit. She stood there, still as a statue, her staff gripped tightly in one hand as she watched Thea. Her senses were on alert, and her gaze stony as she waited for this mysterious Calanon to arrive. Rather, to get the answer she truly wanted: did they really know of a way to cure her of her curse, of a secret to succeeding in the very task she had devoted so many years of her life to, only to fail, or was this indeed some sort of trap?