His guest gone to bed without the promised stones, still Wren does his best to follow through on his promise. He sets stones, half bricks, really, from his fire into a metal bedpan and then wraps this in a thick cloth. At the hearth, Annie sets her nose to tail as if she were sleeping, though her eyes glitter in the firelight while she watches her master as he goes about his business. The main room of his small home crackles with warmth and calm now that his guest has left it and Wren takes a breath which he lets out over his tongue, calming himself. 

Wren leaves the cloth to warm and goes to the sidetable which he opens and removes one platter and table setting. These, he sets atop the sidetable and leaves as he dives back inside and withdraws a moment after with a heavy rye bread and salted meat in a small loaf. With his food out upon the top of the sidetable and without time to make it into a proper meal, he contents himself with opening the trapdoor which leads to the rope hung platform under his home, a miniature root cellar. This, he draws up and takes butter from the box he sets upon the floor. Making do with bread and butter and meat is not his usual, but the morning will prove to have problems aplenty for him to deal with and he does not look forward to meeting it without proper rest. 

Prior to settling into his meal, Wren goes to the fireside and tests the cloth wrapped bedwarmer. Content it is warm but not overly hot, he lifts it and walks into the back bedroom. He sets the bedwarmer upon the bedside chair and looks at the young man asleep on the coverlet. He is young, Wren realizes, and looks particularly so when he is in an exhausted sleep. 

Heaving a great sigh, the shepherd plucks a woven blanket from the chair, neither of which are not in full abundance in his home. Settling the warming pan beside the mage, he spreads the thick blanket out over the boy, then exits the room and closes the door so that his own evening activities will not waken Chall. 

Morning bursts into life through a deeply inset window. Sunshine curls contendedly on the sill and sprawls with lazy decisiveness across the wooden floor and the foot of the mage's bed. The shepherd is already at his chores many hours before and he stumps into the house with Baxter at his heels and Annie watching the flock's gate. He cleans his night's dishes and begins breakfast – a pan of mutton and eggs as well as parsnips sliced into pale moons and onions. The sizzle from the far kitchen keeps Baxter's attention and the dog's tail thumps in rythmic hope upon the floor. 

Wren sings softly to himself, a comfortable baritone rolling his r's in the traditional manner as he sings first one weaving song and settles into the next – his collection a formidable one. 

There are two settings upon the table with bread set and sliced, covered in a tea towel, as well as chilled butter in a dish and covered by a plate. Milk rests in a small pitcher and pepper beside it. Outside, a plough horse blows her breath through her nostrils and stamps the yard dust as she waits, tied to a small tree which grows just beyond the front door. 

All is prepared and Wren feels better for having organized it so. Now he needs only for his guest to waken.