Despite the fairly early hour of the day, the town was alive with people. Here, the earthiness in the air fell away, replaced with both the pleasant aromas and stench of people. 
	But Nikita paid none of the townsfolk any heed. She nearly barreled into a bakers’ apprentice delivering a basket of goodies. She bumped into a few others, but didn't bother with apologies. A couple of them shouted after her, some jeers about wearing ‘man’s’ clothes, others with expletives from nearly being bowled over. Others, even some who simply recognized her as she streaked past, cross themselves, hoping her family’s curse wouldn’t pass on to them from her proximity.
	Cursed indeed.
	She sped down the familiar paths, turning from a main cobblestone road onto an earthen backstreet. Penelope would be home at this hour, not at the shop.
	The houses were packed together like gossiping crones. The houses were narrow, but two or even three stories tall. She skid to a stop in front of one of the doors. Panting heavily from the run, she pounded on it desperately.
	It was only a moment before someone opened it, but to Nikita, it felt like hours. A girl a couple years older than Nico stood in the doorway, her dark hair piled atop her head in a tight bun. The skirts of her plain dress were hiked up so they didn’t brush the ground, and an apron protected its front. 
	Her blue eyes widened as she took in Nikita. “Mom!” she called over her shoulder before Nikita could speak. “It’s Kita! Something’s wrong!”
	A woman who looked exactly like the girl, but somewhere in her late thirties rather than thirteen, rushed to the doorway.
	“Kita!” The woman stepped out and grabbled the panicked girl’s shoulders with a firm gentleness. The scent of fresh herbs wafted from her. “What’s wrong?”
	Nikita managed to tell her what had happened between huffs.
	The healer wasted no time. She disappeared inside for a heartbeat, reemerged with a satchel slung over her shoulders, then raced off down the street. Nikita hurried after her. The younger girl hesitated, but then followed, too.
	Nikita fought against telling the slower Penelope to hurry up.
	“Should I… get Dr. Ashdown?” she asked instead, passing the older woman. She hated having to deal with him, but his sciences did have their useful moments.
	“Not yet!” Penelope puffed. 
	Nikita took the woman quickly to Nico’s room. To her relief, he was still breathing.
	Though sparsely furnished, the room wasn’t lacking its own spice of décor. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, some half-plucked and others still leafy. Different stones Nikita had found and brought back to him decorated shelves their father had put up long ago. Books and stray papers piled high on his nightstand and small desk.
	Penelope hurried to his bedside and placed a hand on his forehead. Her daughter hesitated at the doorway, shifting her weight and glancing about nervously. 
	“He doesn’t have a fever,” Penelope muttered. She tried to lightly shake the boy awake. This time, Nico groaned softly, but still didn’t open his eyes.
	“I [i]tried[/i] that!” Nikita snapped, fingers tangling in the short spikes of her hair. 
	“I’m aware, love.” Penelope said, her voice calm and soothing. She took his wrist and checked his pulse. “It didn’t hurt to try again.” She leaned down to him to better listen to his breathing. After a moment, she straightened and reached into her satchel. “Walk me through your morning with him. Leave nothing out.”
	She told the woman every detail as Penelope pulled a bundle of herbs from her bag. She went to the desk, uncovered a singed plate, and lit the bundle on fire. Blowing it out, she sat the smoldering herbs on it, then brought the plate to the nightstand.
	The scent of rosemary, cinnamon, and minty sage filled the room. The smoke coiled and spun in a gentle breeze from the open windows on either side of Nico’s bed.
	She scowled as Nikita mentioned the child’s insomnia. “I’m only hearing about this now, why?” She gave Nikita a parental glare. 
	Nikita blinked at her. “He said he’d mentioned it to you already.”
	She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Hasn’t said a thing.” She dug back into her satchel. “It’s quite likely his body is just forcing him to catch up on his sleep. Everything seems normal enough for him.”
	“Besides not waking up, you mean?” Nikita growled.
	Penelope sighed, then stood. Her gaze flicked to her daughter, who had begun to fidget nervously, glancing frequently toward the front door. “Celest.”
	The girl stopped fidgeting, and focused on Penelope. “Yes?”
	“Can you handle the shop today?”
	Her face lit up with excitement. “Yes! I can do that!”
	“Good. If anything comes up, I’ll be here.”
	“What are you talking about?” Nikita asked as Celest rushed out of the house, spurred on by more than just her eagerness to show her independence. 
	The woman placed a gentle hand on Nikita’s shoulder. “I’ll stay here with him today, love. Keep an eye on him, so you can do what you need to do. There's else you can do for him right now. If anything changes that I can’t handle, I’ll fetch Ashdown.” The name came out laced with bitterness.
	Nikita looked to her slumbering brother, and tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. “But don’t you have—”
	“The only appointment I need to worry about today is Mrs. Woodsworth, and she won’t be by until after sunset. Celest can handle the rest until then.”
	Nikita took a deep, steadying breath, then nodded reluctantly.
	Penelope’s expression softened, and she pulled Nikita into a tight, motherly hug. Nikita returned the gesture, burying her face in the familiar scents of the woman who had become like a mother to her and Nico.
	“He’ll be fine, love.” Penelope squeezed her a bit tighter. “Go, check your traps. Feed the chickens. Whatever you need to do. And”—she released Nikita to pull a compressed, earth-toned pellet from a hidden pocket in her skirts—“give this to Oscar for me.”
	Nikita took the pellet. About half the width of her palm, a few stray bits of grass poked out of it. “What is it?”
	“A special sugar cube mixture.” Penelope smiled, then went to a rocking chair in the corner, its seat stacked with spare blankets.
	Nikita left, habitually closing the door half-way. She hesitated outside on the back porch. She gripped the rails hard, taking deep breaths. Her teeth clenched in her fight against her tears.
	[i]Just sleeping,[/i] she told herself. [i]He’s just sleeping![/i]
	She took another deep breath, squared her shoulders, then made her way to the caravan-shed. She’d taken care of the animals already before the sun had fully risen, but Penelope was right; while she didn’t have any paying work today, she did need to check her traps. She had a few simple ones set up about the woods. It had been a couple days since she’d last checked to see if they’d caught anything.
	Over the years, she’d managed to shove her fear of the forest and the elves it concealed to a nagging echo in the back of her mind. All the same, all but two of her traps were just barely far enough from town for smaller animals to abandon some of their caution.
	A part of her had always longed to venture further, had missed the roaming freedom when she'd lived in the caravan, never knowing what kind of magnificent view she would wake up to next. She wished that Nico could've had the same. But the chains of the town's "common sense" tethered her closer to home.
	She strapped both a dagger and a machete to the belt of her pants, then grabbed a sled from where it leaned against one of the walls. 
	She dragged it toward a path her boots had worn down between the trees. She stopped at the stables to give the tablet to their horse, Oscar. They greeted each other as old friends, the horse the last living creature from a past perhaps best forgotten.
	She patted the side of his neck, then headed into the woods. Though it was a bit warmer between the trees than out in the open, she shivered as she entered the shadows.
	She took up another song, this one in a language she didn’t know. Her mother had always worn a secret smile when she’d sung it, though, and claimed it came from across the oceans. Now, its sorrowful drone would hopefully alert any potential hunters in the area that she was not wild game romping about.
	With the sled dragging noisily behind her, she made her way to the first of her traps.