## Chapter 437 - Two Names on the Deed

Morning at the Reed and Wheel arrived without gods, which improved it immediately. The inn had settled into its ordinary rhythm below them: doors opening and shutting, water being carried somewhere along the corridor, the first low conversation from the common room and the smell of bread warming in the kitchen. After the previous day's argument with the Lifegiver, even somebody dropping a bucket in the yard and swearing at it sounded reassuringly mortal. Lethira was dressed before the knock came at their door.

The note bore the mark of the records-and-contract shop near the western market road. She broke the seal and read it once quickly, then again with more care.

Vale's written inspection had arrived and matched what he had told them in person. The final title and access checks showed no new debt, dispute or hidden claim. The recorded household water right and shared-track access matched the documents they had already read. Ian's identity chain was complete: Aelira's attestation, the civic witness record and the Guild's confirmation all pointed to the same Ian Kirk who had already signed the provisional offer. The deed was ready.

The seller had been told to attend in the late morning. If the buyers still intended to proceed, the final transfer could be witnessed and entered that day. Lethira lowered the note. For days the house had existed behind qualifications. Possible house. Provisional offer. Accepted in principle. Subject to inspection. Assuming the roof was merely expensive rather than disastrous. Assuming the town agreed Ian existed in a sufficiently bureaucratic sense. The clerks had finally run out of reasons to use *if*.

"Everything cleared," she said. "Inspection attached. Title clear. Access and water rights agree. Your absurdly complicated proof that you are a person has survived the final clerk."

Her expression softened before she reached the last part.

"The deed is ready."

"Yes, let's go!"

Lethira's answering grin made the whole morning brighter. They were on Bridge Street soon after, joining Merrowford as it settled properly into the day. Carts moved through the broader streets. Shop shutters stood open. Somewhere a carpenter had begun hammering with the conviction that anyone still asleep had made a personal mistake.

The records-and-contract shop smelled of paper, sealing wax and old timber. The same grey-haired intermediary who had first warned them not to fall in love with sale notices had already laid the final documents out on her broad desk. The seller was there as well, the woman who had moved into town with her sister at the end of winter. She greeted them without ceremony and looked relieved in the way of someone nearing the end of an administrative process from the opposite direction.

"Everything has cleared," the intermediary said. "But you will hear the whole thing anyway."

Lethira approved of that.

The deed described the holding by boundaries and recorded rights rather than by any of the things they liked about it. The public track. The shared cart access along the northern edge. The legal line that no longer quite followed one old stone boundary. The stream crossing the lower corner. The house. The garden. The collapsed outbuilding footprint. The water right allowed ordinary household drawing but no substantial diversion; rebuilding the outbuilding remained subject to the work filing and drainage requirements they already knew.

The sale price matched the provisional agreement. The ownership did too. **Lethira Dawnleaf.** **Ian Kirk.** Jointly, in equal interest.

Lethira's eyes stayed on those two lines while the intermediary moved through the remaining terms. There was no tenancy, grazing lease, retained room, concealed debt or new restriction. Vale's report sat beneath the deed and remained exactly as unromantic as it had been the day before: sound visible structure, an ageing south-west roof section requiring proper work, chimney cleaning and checking before regular use, smaller mortar and sill repairs, and no structural reason to abandon the purchase.

At the end, the intermediary turned the document towards them.

"Payment is witnessed here. Transfer becomes binding when seller and purchasers have signed, payment is acknowledged and I enter the registry copy under seal."

She placed the pen beside the deed.

"After that, the holding is yours."

Lethira went very still.

"I'm ready to sign."

"So am I."

The intermediary indicated Lethira's line first. Lethira wrote her full name carefully, then her usual signature beneath it. The intermediary compared the mark to the records already in the file and added her witness notation. For a moment Lethira simply looked at her name on the deed. Not an inn register. Not a Guild form. Not a field report. A house. Her house. Half of it, exactly as she wanted. She passed the pen to Ian. Ian signed in his usual native signature.

The unfamiliar compact mark matched the signatures already witnessed in Merrowford. The intermediary checked it, added her notation and moved the deed to the seller, who signed her own part. Lethira handled the payment from her funds. She counted the agreed amount once because happiness was not an excuse for bad arithmetic. The seller counted it as well, acknowledged it aloud and accepted the transfer. Wax came last. The intermediary pressed the civic seal into it, waited, then lifted the stamp cleanly away.

"Transfer complete."

The quiet sentence landed with more force than any ceremony could have managed. The seller reached into her bag and set the heavy iron front-door key on the deed. Ian and Lethira already knew it from the viewing; now it came without a token, without permission attached, and without any obligation to give it back.

"I hope you're happy there," she said.

Lethira looked at the keys. Then at Ian.

"We own a house."

The intermediary began preparing their sealed owner copy. Lethira looked at the key again.

"We actually own a house."

"What are you waiting for, let's go see our home."

The seller laughed and told them to go before the intermediary found another clause to explain. Outside, Merrowford remained offensively normal. People bought bread. A wagon blocked half a junction. Two labourers argued about where a stack of timber belonged. Nobody stopped to announce that Ian Kirk and Lethira Dawnleaf had acquired a piece of the world together. Lethira kept touching the key inside her coat.

The town thinned around them. Familiar roads led towards the western gate and then the quieter country beyond. The final approach became earth and gravel beneath mature trees. The pale-grey house appeared where it always had, low stone and dark timber beneath the branches, with a roof that still wanted money and a chimney that still wanted work. Lethira stopped at the edge of the holding. The previous time they had walked up this lane, they had been prospective buyers carrying somebody else's key. Now there was nobody to ask.

She selected the heavy iron key and put it into the front lock. The mechanism resisted slightly, as it had during the viewing. She lifted the key a fraction, turned it, and the old lock gave its solid internal clunk.

"Our door," she said.

Then she opened it. The entrance hall waited beyond, cool and mostly empty, carrying the scent of stone, timber and a recently vacated house. Lethira crossed the threshold and turned with both arms spread.

"Welcome home."

Ian took the invitation exactly as offered. He stepped into her open arms and embraced her.

"It's good to be home with you"

Lethira folded herself around him. The key pressed awkwardly between them near his shoulder, but she made no attempt to move it.

"It is."

She held him tighter, then looked around the entrance hall from within his arms. Empty hooks waited near the wall. The front room beyond still had its hearth. Bare boards and quiet rooms waited for all the decisions they had postponed until the place actually belonged to them.

"We have a home," she said, laughing softly at how impossible the words still felt. "Our home."

She kissed him and then, inevitably, practical reality returned. There was no bed. Very little useful furniture. No food. The chimney was not to be trusted. Most of their possessions were still at the Reed and Wheel.

"I'd like to move in, but that requires"—he waved his hands—"activity."

Lethira laughed.

"Terrible thing, activity."

"Or we could... Temporarily... cheat. Just enough to be able to sleep here?"

That made her consider the empty house more seriously. When they had first found it, one of the attractions had been that it already existed: awkward rooms, old trees, a leaking roof and all. They could learn what actually annoyed them before changing it. Sleeping here tonight, however, did not require an ethical theory of furniture.

"All right," she said. "Small cheat. One room for sleeping. Enough light, basic kitchen things, somewhere to sit. Temporary. Nothing built into the house. We still repair the roof properly, and we still go shopping for the things that are going to become ours."

She glanced upstairs.

"I would very much like our first night here to be tonight."

"I could give you the power to cheat, just this once."

Lethira looked back at him.

"You could give *me* the power."

Interest immediately complicated her caution.

"Temporarily? And when you say *the power*, do you mean enough to make us a bed, or enough that I should be extremely careful what I think while holding it?"

"no ending reality, just interior decor"

That reassured her considerably.

"and I suggest just some basic things I want to go shopping with you for each thing, we can replace them."

"Yes. Good. Nothing permanent. Enough to live here tonight, and then we choose the real things together."

Lethira held out one hand.

"All right. Give me enough power to furnish one house badly and temporarily."

Ian stepped in front of her and embraced her.

"there is a transfer process"

Suspicion reached Lethira a fraction too late. Ian's hands travelled down until one palm rested on each cheek of her backside. He squeezed.

"There you have the power of omniinterordecorpotentcy"

Lethira went rigid. Her ears coloured with astonishing speed. Then she stared at him.

"You transferred cosmic decorating authority through my arse."

There was no visible flare of magic. Lethira looked towards the front room and a plain wooden chair appeared there. She stopped breathing, walked around it, sat, stood again, and made a second chair appear beside it. A simple table followed. Two cups. A lamp. Whatever Ian had passed to her seemed content to remain exactly as ridiculous and bounded as promised.

"Oh."

The word came out with the delighted horror of someone who had just discovered a new vice. A cushion appeared in her hand.

"I can see why you have trouble behaving responsibly."

She threw the cushion lightly towards Ian, more test than attack, and then immediately restrained herself.

"No. Basic things. We agreed."

She turned towards the stairs. As she walked away, Ian's eyes dropped to her behind.

"it very much is wonderful"

Lethira stopped halfway to the stairs and looked back over one shoulder.

"I heard that."

Her ears coloured again, although the smile made the effect rather less threatening. Another cushion appeared. This one came at him with considerably more precision.

"I see the power is corrupting you into unleashing the near superhuman Elven agility combined with soft furnishings into a weapon"

"Corrupting me?"

Lethira replaced the cushion with a larger one, considered the angle and sent it past him as a warning shot.

"I had the agility before the corruption. The corruption is giving me ammunition."

"bedroom, my lady"

"Oh, now I'm *my lady* again."

She went upstairs smiling. The largest room still had the two windows they had liked during the viewing. The stream could be heard faintly beyond the rear of the house. Nothing about it had changed except ownership. Lethira stood in the middle.

"This one."

A bed appeared. It was broad enough for both of them without anyone needing to negotiate territory, built on a simple temporary frame, with clean sheets, blankets and pillows. Two small bedside tables followed. Lethira sat on the edge to test the mattress, changed its firmness, frowned, changed it again, then moved one table slightly left. She stared. Moved it back. Left again.

"This is terrible."

"I can see the evidence of my frivolous use of power on heart shaped missives"

Lethira turned from the bedside table.

"Those were not frivolous."

A pause weakened the defence.

"The excessive number of them may have been. And I distinctly remember one of my copies being covered in declarations of love in every language that has ever existed."

Her mouth curved.

"I kept them. So I suppose they are evidence against both of us."

Ian nodded solemnly. Lethira matched the solemn expression for three seconds before laughing. The bedside table moved a finger-width.

"Unlimited power isn't dangerous because of conquest," she said. "It is dangerous because you can spend eternity deciding where the furniture goes."

"I'm glad your understanding the terrible position I'm in"

Ian leaned down and kissed her where she sat on the bed. When they parted and Lethira stood again, Ian's attention travelled down her legs.

"I was just considering what other designs of Elven boots there were"

"Of course you were."

Lethira folded her arms.

"For purely architectural reasons."

There were, she informed him, more varieties than he had so far encountered, including several Wood Elf designs that she suspected would make him insufferable. None of them were needed to furnish a kitchen. She stepped past him towards the stairs.

"If you behave, perhaps we can go boot shopping later."

Ian's enthusiasm renewed instantly.

"I've always loved decorating especially kitchens!"

Lethira stopped and looked back.

"Remarkable. One mention of Elven boots and you discover a lifelong passion for kitchens."

Downstairs, she produced only what they actually needed for the day: a temporary table and two chairs, lamps, basic plates, cups, cutlery, a heavy pot, a chopping board and a small set of cooking tools. Nothing tried to become their final household. Ian took her hand.

"We don't need to solve everything now"

He held on to her.

"I'm also excited to move in"

Lethira's expression softened.

"So am I. We can make it ours slowly. Buy a table because we like the table. Find chairs we argue about. Discover one cupboard is in exactly the wrong place and complain about it for twenty years."

She looked around their mostly empty kitchen.

"Tonight we have enough."

"Done for now?"

"Done for now."

He answered by giving her behind a playful spank, the contact meeting the understated firmness of Elven muscle beneath the curve. Lethira's ears snapped upright.

"First I've taken the power back before I regret creating a monster. Now you're just the normal stronger, faster, more agile normal you."

Lethira turned slowly, wearing a smile that suggested removing supernatural assistance had not improved Ian's immediate safety.

"Ah. So you've deliberately returned me to the version capable of retaliation without supernatural help."

Ian continued before she demonstrated.

"Maybe town to collect our things from the inn and buy some food to cook later?"

"Yes. Our things first. Then food. Something nice for our first meal here. Something we actually carry through that door."

"Oh. I just remembered"

Lethira looked at him.

"What?"

"I have zero cooking ability. In any world."

She stared. Then she laughed, delighted rather than cruel.

"None?"

"You can alter reality. You can make roads through a goddess's past. You can lend me interior-decoration omnipotence. But if I hand you an onion and a knife, we're in danger?"

Her laughter settled into practical consideration.

"I can cook well enough. Camp food, ordinary food. I'm not secretly a master chef. We can start with something simple."

"please teach me"

Lethira's face softened.

"About cooking I mean"

One eyebrow rose.

"Mostly"

She needed half a second before laughing again.

"Mostly?"

She stepped close enough to tap two fingers against his chest.

"I can teach you cooking. The rest of your education appears to be progressing adequately without formal instruction."

Her hand slid down to find his.

"Stew. Meat, onions, roots, herbs. Bread from town because I am not teaching you baking on the same day you learn which end of a knife to hold."

"sounds perfect, lead on"

Lethira locked the door behind them with visible satisfaction. The trip to the Reed and Wheel was the first time they walked back into Merrowford not because the inn was where they lived, but because their belongings were still there. Their room looked temporary the moment they entered it.

They had less to move than a house made it feel as though they should. Lethira had spent much of her life travelling. Ian's possessions in this world had accumulated only recently. Clothes, papers, equipment, a few private things and the objects neither wanted entrusted to casual handling made up most of it.

They packed what they could carry and arranged the awkward remainder for later collection. Lethira told Caswick they would be giving up the room sooner than expected once the remainder had been collected, and thanked her properly. Caswick accepted the news of the house with the practical satisfaction of an innkeeper who had already watched the property papers multiply for days. The market came next. Lethira began with vegetables.

"First lesson. Never begin with the knife. Begin by buying things that will still be edible when you want to cook them."

She indicated a basket of onions.

"Choose four good ones."

Ian looked at the onions as though she had asked him to define love or solve the meaning of life. This was not a core skillset. He thought about the colour of white onions he had bought before and discounted anything too far outside what he remembered. Obvious damage removed several more. Then he picked up an average-sized onion and gave it a squeeze. No movement. He returned it. Too much movement. He returned that one as well. Anything in between he kept.

He repeated the process until four onions sat in his hands and then, with genuine uncertainty, presented them for judgement. Lethira inspected the first and looked at him.

"You rejected the firm ones."

The onions in Ian's hands became immediately less convincing. She picked up one of the specimens he had returned.

"Firm is good. Soft means it's starting to go. Dry outside, firm through, no wet patches, no rot around the root, no growth from the top."

Of Ian's four, one survived. Lethira chose three more slowly enough for him to see what she checked.

"One out of four. Not terrible for a man beginning from first principles."

The stallholder tried not to listen and failed.

"First time buying onions?"

"First time understanding onions," Lethira said.

The woman accepted the distinction. Ian breathed out, preparing himself for whatever came next. Lethira moved to the carrots.

"These are easier. Firm. No soft patches. No black spots. Bad splits are worth avoiding unless you're using them immediately. Dirt is fine. Shape matters less than people think. Bent carrots remain carrots. Six."

Ian smiled a little at the term when she added, "Show me what you've learned, apprentice." He looked around the basket rather than taking the nearest ones. Some market sellers had a tendency to place their best produce where it showed, and some did the opposite once a display had been picked over, so he checked farther back as well.

He chose an average-sized carrot, tested its firmness, looked for soft areas or black spots and rubbed dirt from suspicious patches to make sure it was not concealing cuts. Anything doubtful went back. He repeated the process until he had six. Lethira checked them one by one. All six passed.

"Good."

Her approval was genuine. Ian sighed in relief.

"You did make the carrots a bit easier, do you perhaps have a soft spot for your pupil?"

Lethira looked at him over the basket.

"A terrible weakness. I find him rather attractive."

Then she straightened before he could become too pleased with himself.

"Also, he looked genuinely betrayed by the onions."

Ian smiled.

"mercy is for the weak"

Lethira reached down, caught the front of his shirt and pulled him **up** just enough to kiss him.

"Good. Because onions were mercy."

Ian followed her to the less stressful world of meat. The butcher's stall occupied a shaded part of the market. Lethira selected a shoulder cut suitable for slow cooking after checking it herself and asking when it had been butchered. She explained only what Ian needed: stew did not require the most expensive cut; tougher meat with enough fat improved under long, slow heat. Their purchases accumulated: onions, carrots, a couple of turnips, herbs, meat and a loaf of bread. At a drinks stall Lethira considered a bottle of ale and another of red wine.

"For the stew, either works."

"I... Don't drink. And yes, this makes me unusual in every world, as it's not healthy or religion. In food matters less as it cooks off, so choose what you prefer to drink. Unless .. I recall that in the history of ... My country... Water was less trustworthy so people would drink mead and ale, as it was considered safer. So I guess which ever has less alcohol, if I need to do that."

Ian looked at her somewhat lost and over-analysing. Lethira lowered it.

"You don't need to drink anything here because history in your country once made water complicated. Our water is fine. And wine in food is optional."

She studied him for another moment.

"Also, not all the alcohol necessarily disappears merely because something is cooked."

"If that's ok with I don't mind food cooked with it, it's not a morale objection so get some wine or ale if you prefer it that way. I'm also curious how effectively elf's can take their drink."

Lethira's eyes slid towards him.

"Ah. So this isn't really about stew anymore."

She chose the red wine because she preferred it with the meat.

"There isn't one answer for Elves. People vary. Size matters. Experience matters. Whether you've eaten matters."

She stepped closer.

"I can drink. I have been drunk. And I have, on at least one occasion, regretted being very confident about the difference between those two statements."

Her smile became suspicious.

"Do you want to know academically how well Elves tolerate alcohol, or have you developed an interest in seeing *me* drunk?"

Ian smiled.

"it's always about you Lethira. Whatever the topic."

That stopped her. The teasing softened out of her expression.

"You cannot say things like that while I'm trying to be clever."

She leaned down and kissed him in the middle of the market, brief and uncomplicated.

"Then you may conduct your entirely scientific investigation at home."

Ian followed her home. To their home. Their key opened their door. Their purchases crossed their threshold. Their footsteps moved through their hall. Lethira hung her coat on an empty hook and then stared at it.

"My coat is hanging in my house."

She looked at Ian.

"Apparently this is going to keep happening."

The groceries did more to make the kitchen feel inhabited than the temporary table and chairs had. Food occupied the work surface. Bread had somewhere to sit. The bottle of wine stood beside the herbs. Then Lethira brought out the temporary kitchen knife. The humour faded enough for safety. She washed one carrot and showed Ian how she wanted the work approached: make round food stable before cutting, keep the holding hand out of the blade's path, curl the fingertips back, and care more about roughly equal cooking size than elegant geometry.

Then she slid the board towards him. Ian placed the carrot on the surface, cut the top off and took a little from the narrow end. Holding it carefully, he set the knife into the wider end and brought the blade down and through towards the smaller tip, dividing the carrot lengthways. Lethira touched one half and rolled it onto the fresh-cut side.

"Good. Stable now."

Ian held the carrot with one hand, fingernails perpendicular to it. He cut down close to his nails without touching them, producing a semicircle about half a centimetre thick. With Lethira's blessing he repeated the movement, moving his holding fingers down first each time. The first row of pieces was not perfectly even. Lethira dropped them into the bowl anyway.

"Dinner, not geometry."

Ian repeated the process for the remaining carrots, carefully refusing to let success go to his head. By the last one, the movement had become smoother without becoming careless.

"Good," Lethira said. "You didn't get faster simply because you thought you had it."

Then she brought the onions forward. Lethira demonstrated a quick way to halve and dice one, keeping the root intact until late in the process.

"do you want the diced into little cubes, or to retrain their half-circle shape?"

"Little pieces. I want them to mostly disappear into the stew. They don't need to be perfect cubes."

Ian chose his own route. He sliced carefully along the onion, producing a number of semicircular cross-sections about half a centimetre thick. Taking one or two at a time while the layers still held together, he sliced horizontally and then vertically, ending with small cubes and avoiding the less edible pieces. Lethira watched for a while.

"That works. It isn't how I do it, and you're handling it more than you need to, but you're getting what we want and you're watching the knife."

Then the onion reached his eyes. His expression changed.

"this is not my favourite form of punishment"

Lethira's smile became entirely unsympathetic for a moment. Then she opened the kitchen window and moved the remaining onions away from him.

"Finish the one you started. I'll do the others."

Her fingers brushed one tear from his cheek.

"You've proved you can do it."

"thank you my lady"

He carefully finished his allocated onion while Lethira dealt with the rest much faster. By the end, his board held a respectable pile of diced onion. His eyes were still watering. Lethira kissed his damp cheek.

"Very heroic."

The turnips were straightforward after carrots. Lethira handled the meat first, trimming and cutting the shoulder into rough stew-sized chunks, then set a heavy pot over the temporary freestanding cooking stove rather than touching the untrusted hearth. A little fat went in. She tested the heat with one piece of meat, waited for the immediate hiss and browned her first batch without crowding the pot.

"This part is mostly patience," she said. "Put them in carefully. Leave space. Don't keep moving them because you're nervous. If they're stuck hard, they probably aren't ready to turn."

She handed Ian the tongs. Ian followed the instructions carefully with the first piece, lowering it into the hot fat and leaving it where it landed. Lethira pointed to the smell changing before the colour became obvious.

"There. That's browning."

Ian dutifully followed the process. He waited, tested with the tongs, waited longer when the meat clung, then turned it when it released. The underside had developed a deep brown crust rather than blackening. He repeated the same patient sequence through the batch. By the time the meat was resting in a bowl, dark patches remained on the bottom of the pot. Lethira pointed at them before moving on.

"Leave those. That's flavour."

She lowered the heat and slid the prepared onions towards him. Ian tipped the chopping board slightly towards the pot and scraped the onions in, presenting the nearest edge first so they fell where intended rather than scattering across the kitchen. The onions hissed more softly than the meat had. Lethira replaced the knife with a wooden spoon. Ian stirred gently, a little hesitant about how long each round of stirring was supposed to last.

"Stir them, spread them, then let them touch the bottom for a while," Lethira said. "You're preventing them catching, not preventing them cooking."

He nodded like an attentive pupil. The sharp raw smell gradually mellowed. The onion softened and became translucent at the edges. Ian stirred when Lethira indicated, then waited again. She uncorked the wine once the onions were ready.

"Now deglazing. It sounds more dangerous than it is."

Ian smiled at her. Lethira caught it and smiled back, then poured a modest amount into the pot. Steam rose in a fragrant rush. She worked the spoon across the bottom as the wine loosened the dark residue.

"Good. You are still enjoying yourself."

The browned meat went back in, followed by the carrots, turnips and herbs. Lethira added water until the ingredients were mostly surrounded, seasoned cautiously and lowered the heat until the stew settled into a slow simmer. Then the frantic part of cooking ended. They stood side by side in their kitchen while the pot quietly worked. Ian put his arm around Lethira's waist.

"I liked cooking with you. And you teaching me. And having a home with you. And you."

Lethira leaned into him.

"I liked teaching you. And watching you take onions more seriously than most people take armed combat."

Her hand settled over his at her waist.

"I like our home."

She turned within his arm.

"And you. Especially you."

Ian rose onto his toes and kissed her.

"My calves are getting a good work out too"

Lethira laughed against his mouth.

"I know. I've been benefiting from this height difference for quite some time."

She bent enough to kiss him again without requiring the stretch.

"Better?"

"there is so much I like about this romance , about us, I don't even know where to begin"

Her expression softened.

"Then don't. We have time."

The stew bubbled quietly beside them.

"when do we get to eat this wonderful creation?"

Lethira checked the meat and vegetables under the lid.

"Not yet. Another hour, perhaps a little more. Stew is cruel. You do the interesting work first and then it demands patience."

She looked towards the loaf.

"We could tear into the bread like undisciplined animals while we wait."

"Then maybe we should go... Inspect... The bed"

The look Lethira gave him had nothing to do with furniture.

"We should be thorough."

The stew could simmer without them. Their bedroom waited upstairs, still mostly empty except for the temporary bed Lethira had created. Its first serious inspection involved no structural tools, no clerk, and no written report. Love found its expression there through closeness, laughter and the familiar private language of two adults who wanted one another and had finally carried that wanting into a place that belonged to both of them. Later, when they returned downstairs, the kitchen smelled rich enough to make the delay worthwhile.

Lethira tasted the stew, added a little salt, stirred and tasted again. Her eyebrows rose.

"That's good."

Not *good for a first lesson*. Good. They carried two bowls to the temporary table and tore bread by hand. The meat was tender. The carrots and turnips had softened without collapsing. Ian's onions, selected badly and cut heroically, had almost disappeared into the dark sauce. The roof still needed work; the chimney still needed cleaning; most of the rooms remained empty.

Lethira tore another piece of bread, dragged it through the last of the dark gravy in her bowl, and smiled at Ian across their first table.