Nicolo-3

Crecyda caressed Nicolo's neck. She enjoyed the feeling of his mane brushing through her fingers, especially on clear days when the sunlight streamed into the small mountain village. She would imagine herself finding those golden particles of light among Nicolo's mane. There was always a scent of earth about him. No matter how strong the wind blew, the smell wouldn't dissipate, but she didn't mind. It wasn't the kind of mud that hindered one's steps. It wasn't the tainted soil carried by the Western Plague, emanating the smell of burnt flesh. It was the soil that could nurture seeds, the soil that loved to be watered, the soil that retained the imprints of people's footsteps. Lately, she felt it seemed much stronger than when they first met by the seaside.

"Good boy," she said, lifting her head to look at Renner on horseback. He smiled at her. It wasn't quite the same as the smile Crecyda remembered from before they set off to the Western Plague, but she had no complaints.

"I'll be back around six," he said.

"I'll take it as half-past five then," she replied. "After all, you always come back earlier than you say."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course, it does. You come home and I haven't even started dinner, it's not like it hasn't happened before."

"I can wait."

"I don't want you to wait. Men who sit dumbly at the table waiting always look lonely."

"Then half-past five it is."

Renner bent down, and Crecyda kissed him.

"Take care," she said.

"Don't worry."

After Renner rode off on Nicolo, Crecyda returned to the house. She picked up the mirror from the bedside table and held it up to herself, turning her head slightly. Her hair was almost long enough to cover her neck. The way she looked now reminded her of when she first started working at the tavern over twenty years ago. Working tirelessly every day, saving up money without knowing why she had to. Hearing the students from the military academy at the tavern endlessly talk about a new play being performed at the theater, she decided to spend three months' worth of savings on a ticket, only to be turned away by the gatekeeper, who suspected her ticket was stolen. Returning home alone, she carved figures from posters she remembered on a piece of wood. Daytime. Nighttime. Just like this. Occasionally, a distant memory revived from the tips of her hair.

Nordved had once been just a farm, then it became the headquarters of the Syndicate, and later the soldiers of Stromgarde drove out the Syndicate, turning it into a small village. Even Crecyda, who knew little about farming, could quickly see that the land here was barren. This, coupled with occasional bandit disturbances, made the villagers display an almost pathological wariness towards outsiders—cautious would be an understatement. Even after Renner resolved the most troublesome bandit group, some suspected him of being an accomplice, while others simply thought that a person who could easily deal with ten or so bandits was suspicious in itself. But regardless, they both received a small cabin, food, and water. Now, Renner not only patrolled daily but also hunted, because they couldn't rely solely on the villagers' gratitude to get by.

Crecyda knew she had to find other work as well, but there were evidently no job opportunities in this secluded little village. She started learning to grow some crops, but it would be a long time before she saw any results. She had other plans, partly for survival and partly to pass the time. She took out her small knife and sat on a low stool, carving small sculptures. The wood was brought down from the mountains by Renner.

Around noon, someone knocked on the door. Crecyda stood up, holding the knife in her hand, and walked to the door, peeking through the crack before opening it. Standing outside was a middle-aged man carrying a large parcel on his back.

"Madam," he said, removing the parcel and taking out a small cloth bag from it, handing it to Crecyda. Crecyda took it and looked inside.

"Hmm... couldn't sell a single one?"

"No way. I've tried my best to find buyers for you. Everywhere's in a war now, and nobody needs handicrafts. If it were somewhere like the Elwynn Forest, things might be better, but I'm not going to run that far just for your goods."

"Can't you give it another try?"

"You think I'd leave business on the table? Even if I can't make much money, it's always good to meet more customers. But there's just no way. I really don't want to run around for you in vain."

"I'm sorry."

"Madam, why don't you do something else, something useful?"

"Like what?"

"Like... wooden combs? Ah, I don't know what else you can do, you'll have to figure it out."

"Alright then. Thank you."

After bidding farewell to the traveling merchant, Crecyda tossed the nearly finished sculptures into the cloth bag, tied it up, and kicked it under the bed. The merchant was right; all the things she had made before were sold in Elwynn, she couldn't help but laugh at herself. I really didn't think it through. I've never made a wooden comb, but I can give it a try.

At night, Renner returned at the agreed time. Crecyda had prepared dinner for both of them. Sometimes at the table, she would find herself staring at him, forgetting what she was eating. The previous Renner was someone who had a lot to say at the dinner table; he would tell her interesting things he encountered during the day—interesting things were not common in the life of a military officer, so he often looked to his memories for material. Now, he didn't speak up during meals; this was just one example of how he was different from before. Crecyda preferred not to think about it, but couldn't avoid the fact that Renner was learning how to be with her again. Instead of being a married couple of many years, they now resembled lovers who lived together because of a sudden impulse but were suddenly confused about life. She wanted to know how much of his memory had returned, but couldn't muster the courage to ask.

These troubled thoughts often ended with Crecyda feeling she asked for too much. He was still alive. They were both alive, and living together. She never even thought this could happen. Their life had begun anew, albeit in a form that couldn't shake off worries. To be able to appreciate the present, she first had to forget everything that happened in the past few years. Nothing outside this cabin mattered anymore.

The silence lingered for too long. She wanted to speak.

"Renner, about the merchant I mentioned earlier..."

Renner's right palm suddenly struck the tabletop, interrupting Crecyda. Soup splattered from one of the bowls. He lowered his head, closed his eyes tightly, his right hand slowly curled up and trembled uncontrollably.

Crecyda watched him. She knew what was happening. She could only wait, unable to do anything.

About two minutes later, Renner's right hand slowly flattened out, no longer trembling. He spoke, still with closed eyes.

"What did you say just now? I didn't catch it."

"I said, Tusha will be coming here again tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. That's the day."

Glocara tightened her grip on Elin's hand. She didn't know what to say. Strangely, after actually meeting Crecyda, she couldn't find the right words to say. Elin had never seen Crecyda before, but now he was the one talking to her, and Glocara became the superfluous guest. Initially, she carefully observed the interior of the house, trying not to stare at Crecyda's face, but later, she could only lower her head, her gaze mostly wandering between her knees and the ground.

As they entered the house, Glocara was the first to ask a question. "Is he with you?" she said. "He's not here right now," Crecyda said, turning away to pull out two chairs. From that moment, Glocara knew she could probably only remain silent. Next, Crecyda almost muttered to herself, "We've been living here all along."

"Did Tusha send you here?" Elin said.

"Yes," Crecyda said. "We didn't ask why at first. But later, I found out it was because there are medicinal herbs he needs on the nearby mountains. And it's nice here. No one has bothered us."

When she said "nice," she smiled. Glocara couldn't help but smile too, but it felt like a hot torrent suddenly rushing into her heart.

"This place is nice. I hope you two have adjusted. And..."

"Who are you two here for?" Crecyda interrupted Elin.

"Just the two of us. No one else," Glocara said, looking at Elin. "We just wanted to pay a visit," Elin said.

"Someone must have told you about us living here, right?"

"It was Tusha," Elin said. "He didn't say it directly. He hinted that there's a place called Nordved, and we should go take a look."

"How's Tusha now?"

"He... "

"Forget it," Crecyda said. "I don't really want to know what's going on outside."

"Did Tusha used to come see you often?" Elin said.

"I'm not sure if I should answer these questions. I don't want the Seventh Bureau people coming here."

"No, they won't. I'm here in a private capacity now. Otherwise, I wouldn't have brought only her, right?"

"Can you swear to that?"

"Swear? Crecyda, I understand your caution, but..."

Glocara suddenly squeezed Elin's hand harder. Elin looked at her, and she frowned slightly, her eyes filled with urgent self-reproach. This self-reproach was gradually transferring to Elin.

"Well, it's time to swear. I'm not very good at this. Let me think of who to swear by... alright, my daughter. I swear in the name of my daughter, Elaine Tias. Apart from me, no one from the Seventh Bureau, no, anyone except for me and Glocara, will know anything about this conversation."

Crecyda sighed. "Tusha used to come once a month."

"Was he here to assist you?"

"That's one way to put it. Mainly to help Renner."

"You mentioned earlier about the herbs Tusha needs around here."

"He wants to cure him."

"So... how's the situation?"

Crecyda didn't answer immediately. She smiled again. This smile wasn't meant for anyone. It was far from the usual meaning it conveyed.

Glocara couldn't stop herself from noticing the scar on Crecyda's face. It crossed from her jaw to her right cheek, almost extending to below her eye. Regardless, such scars shouldn't appear on a woman's face, especially not Crecyda's. Though it had grown, her hair didn't seem as thick as before, I mean, before I cut it all off. If it were then, she could find a way to cover this... No no no, I shouldn't be thinking like this, not on my hands or body! I even dislike the scars on my fingers, not to mention the face, Crecyda's face. I can't look. I was so happy to see her just now, but now I'm not. I can't let her know how much I care. I can't say it, but she must know. Who did this? I want to hug her, but I'm afraid. It's her face, her face. I can't.

She couldn't help but move closer to Crecyda, gripping her hands tightly.

"Tell me what happened. Where is he? Is he outside? If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. We shouldn't have come to disturb you. If you want us to leave, just say it, and we'll leave immediately. Tell me, Crecyda. Do you want to go home? Do you want to? Come back with us. I'll help you. Elin and I will help you. Speak, Crecyda."

Glocara knew she was speaking incoherently because she didn't know what she could do, what she should do. Outside the kitchen late at night, in front of the dressing table, inside the remote stone hut of the mountain village, Glocara felt like she was seeing a different woman every time, but they were undoubtedly all Crecyda. No one should endure so many changes within half a year, because it felt like a malicious, unpredictable punishment, with the executioner always hiding in plain sight. At such a close distance, Glocara couldn't even notice the scar anymore. All she could see were Crecyda's lowered eyes. She glanced back at Elin, who looked more uncomfortable than ever.

"I don't want to go anywhere," Crecyda said in a voice barely audible. "I don't want to."