The air always smelled of brine and earth. It was an odd combination, but one that Nikita had long since grown to consider as the smell of home. She opened the last of the windows in their three-roomed cottage. Summer's heat had been teasing them lately, but the cooler weather of spring wasn't quite ready to let go yet. A chilled wind blew in off the sea, staving off the waiting summer and flooding the stuffy cottage with its freshness.
	Penelope, the town's healer, always claimed that the fresh air would do Nico good, and the more the better. Besides, having the windows open made the heat from the stove almost bearable.
	The sunlight caught in her eyes, intensifying their already vivid green. The silver specks in them glittered as if competing to outshine the sun’s brilliance.
	She hurried back to the wood-burning stove. Eggs sizzled on the skillet. She’d even managed to purchase a few slabs of bacon, which already sat separated on two ceramic plates at their table. 
	“You up yet, Nico?” she called, stirring the eggs.
	An indistinct grumbling floated from behind the half-open door of what was once intended to be a ‘nursery.’ Now, it was simply Nico’s room. 
	She’d gotten the same answer when she’d gone in there to open his windows. 
	“I’ve got to get some wood split today,” she went on. “Feel like coming out with me? You could do with getting some sunshine.”
	“There’s [i]already[/i] too much sunshine.” This time, she made out his whining answer. “Sunshine belongs [i]outside,[/i] not [i]inside![/i]”
	“Your windows face North.”
	“Bright is bright in every direction! …Do I smell bacon?” His tone changed instantly. 
	“Get changed, and you’ll find out!” Satisfied the eggs were done enough, she took the pan to the table and dished them out on either plate, one more heaping than the other. “I put your clothes on your—”
	“I [i]know,[/i] Kita.”
	“Then shut up and get ready for the day!” She placed the now empty skillet back on the stove. “Just because the moon’s asleep, doesn’t mean you should be, too!”
	“Yeah, yeah.” 
	She pulled one of the four chairs out from the table. Though once a fairly fine thing, time had worn it down, and its wood glistened from the oil of many hands and meals. She paused, listening to the rustles of Nico getting out of bed. Rather, listening to make sure it didn’t sound like he needed her help.
	She bit her tongue to keep from asking if he needed help. He'd been getting testy lately about her always asking. Not that she could blame him, really. 
	It always took him a while to get ready. She stepped to his door at the familiar tap of his crutches on the floor, then opened it wide as he reached it.
	The boy limped into the main room and to the table, his weight supported between all his limbs using the crutches. He was short for his age, and, while his clothes hung loosely, his skin clung tightly to his fragile-looking form. Nico sat in the chair she’d pulled out, then leaned his crutches against the side of the table.
	Nikita joined him. She sat across from him and pushed the fuller plate toward him. No matter how much she fed him, she could never get the skeletal ten-year-old to gain weight.  
	He reached for one of the wooden utensils in a cup at the table’s center. He eyed the food suspiciously, then poked at one of the thick slices of bacon. “How’d you afford this?”
	Though having meat on the table wasn’t a surprise in itself, it was always from the local game Nikita hunted. Pork was much harder to come by here in Baxtree. The only farmer nearby with pigs for slaughter was, on the best of days, a greedy man—even when dealing with people who [i]weren’t[/i] believed to be cursed. 
	She shrugged, selecting a spoon of her own. “Sold my soul to Mr. Grayson.”
	“I [i]knew[/i] he was a demon!” His coffee-brown eyes widened in exaggerated shock. His thin lips formed into an almost perfect O, creating darker shadows in his already sunken cheeks.
	Nikita laughed at the ridiculousness of the expression. “Steven gave me some hours unloading cargo at the docks. Felt like celebrating.” She pointed her spoon at his plate. “Now stop complaining, and eat before it gets colder!”
	He rolled his eyes, but tucked into the mound of scrambled eggs. She watched him for a moment, making sure he actually ate. The circles under his eyes looked darker than normal; he’d been having troubles sleeping lately.
	As thin as he was, she could see the shadow of their late father in his features. A strong jawline, with soft, hooded eyes. His pale brown hair matched hers, though he wore his longer than Nikita’s messy pixie cut. But he was as pale as their father had been (and Nikita was) tan, as frail as the man had been burly. Though they came from different mothers, even Nico's mother’s physique didn’t explain his fragility.
	When they’d finished breakfast, Nikita helped him to the bottom step of the back porch. There, the stairs were half in the sun, half out. Their plot of land stretched out from the steps, partially hemmed in by the thick forest.
	“Would you grab my book?” Nico asked, settling himself on the stair in the warmth of the sun. “The top one on my nightstand. Penelope said she was going to quiz me tomorrow,” he finished through a groan.
	“Good, wouldn’t want you mixing up hemlock with basil!”
	Nico glared at her. “Those don’t look [i]anything[/i] alike!”
	“Exactly! You just answered question one correctly!” She winked at him, then rushed inside to collect the book of herbs the healer had given him.
	A couple years back, when Nico had first begun to show interest in learning herbal remedies, Penelope had taken him on as a sort of second apprentice. Nico had shown an aptitude in learning and memorizing, and took to the title with gusto. 
	She returned and handed him his book. The amethysts on the ring she always wore glittered in the sunlight as he took it. Not wanting to ruin the ring by wearing it while working, she twisted it from her finger and reached for the chain around her neck. Noticing Nico watching her, she paused. "Hey." Instead, she handed the ring to him. “Keep an eye on this for me, would you?”
	He blinked at in in surprise, then, with a proud smile, took it and slipped it onto his thumb. Though it snagged on his knuckle, it hung loose beneath it.
	Though she felt strangely naked not having the ring on her, she fetched the axe from the old caravan that had once been her home. Now, it was used as nothing more than a shed rotting beside their cottage. She paused only to slip on a pair of tattered work gloves.
	Back outside, she glanced to Nico, who already had his nose in his book. She rested the axe on her shoulder and began to sing as she headed to the tree stump turned chopping block and pile of dry wood waiting for her. The pile was a lot smaller than she wanted, but it was all she’d managed to collect last year to let dry out for this season.
	She could only hope she could either find more, or make what they had last the winter. But that was a worry for later. Right now…
	“[i]O out in the emerald wilds,[/i]” she stepped over one of their free-roaming chickens as it darted in front of her. “[i]There once lived an old man strong.[/i]” She placed the first dried, cut log onto the stump. “[i]His axe was sharp and polished[/i],” she heaved the axe to her side, ready to raise it, “[i]But it sung a sorrowed song.[/i]”
	[i]Tha-crack![/i] The axe split part of the dry wood with one hefty, practiced swing.
	[i]“For the blood of the trees, it cries out,”[/i] she whacked the log a second time in-tune, and it split in half, [i]“It begs for life restored.”[/i] She tossed the wood into a bin opposite the log pile. [i]“But winter’s breath was nearing;”[/i] She thumped another log atop the stump, ever in time with the song, [i]“Time, he could not afford.”[/i]
	[i]“So chop! chop! went his sharp axe,”[/i] Nico chimed in from behind her, his wispy voice a bit off-tune amidst her sweet notes. Smiling, Nikita brought the axe down, accenting the slight pause in his words. This one split enough in one swing for her to pry it the rest of the way apart. [i]“And the cries of nature’s skin—”[/i]
	[i]“Rang loud in the emerald wilds,”[/i] she continued with him, bringing her axe down again. [i]“Spreading word of the strong man’s sin.”[/i]
	She paused in her work, turning to Nico as they took the first refrain together:

	[i]“But warmth and light is worth the fight
	Before Winter’s callous cold.
	For in the blight before the light
	Our hope’s worth more than gold.”[/i]

	He met her gaze, and they shared a warm smile. She winked at him again, then set back to work. She sung all the while, the tale of the woodcutter long and filled with both horrors and joys. Each time she reached the refrain, she stopped singing, letting Nico take up the lyrics.
	Then, as she paused for him near the end, his voice didn’t pick up the song.
	“Nico?” She stopped and looked over her shoulder. Her heart jumped into her throat.
	Nico had slumped bonelessly against the railing of the stairs, eyes shut. His book laid on the ground, splayed open.
	She tried to swallow her panic as she dropped her axe and rushed to him. He needed sleep, and she’d been singing, after all. But still, fear churned in her stomach.
	“Nico.” She shook him gently by the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you inside to bed.”
	But Nico didn’t stir.
	“Nico?” she tried again, breathlessly. She shook him harder. “Nicodemus Norman!” Panic squeezed her chest and narrowed her world to include her brother, and nothing else. “Nico, if you're messing with me, this isn't funny!”
	But it wasn't a joke. He was breathing, that much she could see. But no matter how hard she shook him, [i]he wouldn’t wake up.[/i]
	She easily scooped him up in her arms, his body so thin she could feel his ribcage though his tunic. “Come on, Nico, stay with me!”
	She needed the healer. And maybe the doctor, too.
	She rushed into the house, kicking the door open, not caring if it damaged the jam. Not wanting to risk jarring him by running him to Penelope’s house, she placed him gently in his bed, then raced out of the cottage, praying to whatever higher power would listen that Nico would still be alive when she returned.

[hider=A Note About the Song]
If you want a tune for the song, I wound up writing it with the tune to Ed Sheeran’s rendition of “Hands of Gold” in mind. xD I was listening to it being sung by Peter Hollens, and the tune got stuck in my head.[/hider]