“Hey!” Derek swung his hut’s door open with a big smile. “I’m back!”

“Hey dad,” responded Holly. She was using a round rock to squash some herbs on the table, as Murdock had told her to. She was working. And she was whistling.

“You look mighty happy today,” said Derek, rejoicing. Since the Jerry incident, as he called it, she had not smiled much. And now she was whistling. All his sorrows and worries melted away like snow in the spring. He smiled widely, grabbing his daughter in a bear hug.

“Dad!” she complained. “I will mess up the herbs!”

“So what? You can just regather them,” he responded playfully, letting her down so as not to disturb her work. “The forest isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah… I guess it isn’t.” She looked away reservedly, almost bashfully.

Wait.

This was no ‘almost’. She had looked away bashfully.

“Holly,” said Derek, frowning, “do you have anything to tell me?”

“No,” she responded immediately, “why would I?”

“Hmm.”

He went to the fireplace, pondering. He knew to always take his time with his thoughts; his mind had never been the fastest. He prodded the firewood, inspecting the fire his daughter had built by herself; it wasn’t bad. She was learning. She was growing.

“Do you like someone?” he asked suddenly.

“What?!” She almost jumped. “No!”

He smirked. Then he began laughing.

“My little girl is growing up!” he said loudly. “Who is it? George? Or John, the blacksmith’s son?”

“Dad!” She blushed. “It—I—I am not telling you!”

“Hohohoho.”

Derek sat on his soft chair, resting his feet on a three-legged stool he’d once picked up from a dead old man’s belongings.

“That’s alright, that’s alright. I will know when the time comes, no harm in that. Did you know your mother and I were eloping for quite some time? Her parents wanted to wed her to an ugly, weak man. Bah. Thank the Gods I was there. And then, after—”

“I know, dad.” She released a drawn-out groan. “And then you ran away, all the way to Pilpen. I’ve heard the story, like, ten thousand times.”

“Now you’re exaggerating.” He smiled. “It can’t have been more than a hundred. But yes, brave woman, your mother. She left everything behind for me… I hope you can grow strong like her, Holly—but you won’t need to run away from me. I will accept your choice, no matter what. Children are immature, but some risks should be taken.”

“Really?” She threw him a side glance. “No matter what?”

“No matter what.” He nodded. “It’s not like you’ll bring me a bandit or a beggar. Hoh, that would be rich.” Derek laughed, missing the sad glint in his daughter’s eyes.

“Just make sure he doesn’t treat you badly, okay?” he continued. “Or I will have to break both of his legs, and then you will be sad.”

“That’s not going to happen, dad.” She blushed again. She had long ago discarded her work and come to sit beside him. That made him happy; ever since he’d delayed their moving to Milaris, their relationship had cooled a bit. It was nice to see that his daughter still loved him, even if she couldn’t always have things her way.

He smiled.

Though he could feel her apprehension, she was clearly excited too. There weren’t many girls in the village, so she was in a clear lack of friends to confess to. For now, he would fill that spot.

“Not going to happen? Heh.” He frowned playfully. “What, is he stronger than me? I’ll have you know I beat John in last year’s deer-eating competition.”

“Well, he might be.” She straightened her back in pride.

“Bah!” He threw his hands up. “My daughter thinks I’ve gotten old. Soon, I’ll be a sack of bones and Jerry will be delighted to have me.”

Though he was joking, his eyes narrowed. There it was again. Holly had recoiled. The look in her eyes had grown glazed, like a trapped deer about to have its throat slit.

His heart ached at the sight. She knew that Jerry meant well, but his undead had truly terrified her, and there was nothing Derek could do to help. She would either get over it with time or she wouldn’t. Which was a shame, because Jerry was a good guy, one of the few in this village. He was young too. Perhaps the two of them could…

But no, Holly already had someone she liked, apparently. As strong as the urge to arrange her marriage was, he would resist it. His wife’s parents had made that mistake, and where had that led them? Their daughter had run away, and she now lay buried in some far-off mountain village past the Narrow Sea…

No. He had already lost one love. He would not lose another. No matter what.

At least Holly seemed to have someone now. Perhaps that man could help her if things got rough, or if something happened to Derek. Perhaps he would be a man accepted by others, not an outcast like himself. Derek closed his eyes, reclining in his chair.

He would not pressure her; when she was ready, she would tell him. He believed in her choice, whoever that man was.

He trusted Holly.

***

“Honey, I’m home!” Ashman opened the door of his house and walked in.

“Welcome,” came an indifferent voice from the kitchen, and his heart clenched. Already, he knew what would follow.

“Are you okay?” He approached, stepping into the room. It smelled of deer meat and herbs and fire.

“I’m fine,” she responded, hunched over her pot. She did not turn to look.

His heart bled. His lips formed a straight line of sadness.

For the last few months, Melissa had been… different. She used to love him. She used to greet him at the door, hugging him tightly. She had always been an affectionate woman.

Now, she barely looked at him anymore.

Ashman approached, intending to hug her, but held himself. She would not enjoy it. Although she never openly spoke about it, Ashman believed that their failure to have a child—his failure—had struck her hard. She had changed, gradually, and one day she was no longer the woman he’d fallen in love with.

But that was okay. People change. And he would still love her, through thick and thin, as she would love him. They had promised, after all, sitting on a low tree branch under the summer moon.

It was funny. She had talked him into making that promise before they got married, and now, sometimes, the burden of upkeeping it fell on him…

But no, he shouldn’t have these thoughts. It was hard for her. Even if she didn’t show it as much anymore, she still loved him, and cared for him. He was sure of that. He cared for her too.

At least her recent venture into herbalism gave her some joy. It was like a ray of sun through the rain, and seeing his wife occasionally smile while mixing herbs warmed Ashman’s heart.

Discarding his previous apprehension, he walked up and hugged her from behind.

“It will be okay, Melissa…” he whispered, leaning into her dark hair. “Everything will be okay. I love you, and I always will.”

She grabbed his hand, silently giving it a light squeeze, and he let go, then walked out of the room and left her to her task.

She never did reply.

***

As it turns out, Jerry enjoyed lying on the grass very much. Despite the chill, or perhaps exactly because of it, he liked it more every day. There was just something about resting on the soft grass and closing your eyes…

The timelessness returned. With reasonable breaks, Jerry spent three entire days lounging. Others may have gotten bored, but Jerry was a simple man. Power, wealth, shoes, and bones, they could all wait. If something was nice, it was nice.

But on the third day, Boney stepped up to him.

“Excuse me, master,” he said, spurring Jerry to open his eyes, smiling calmly.

“What is it, my dear butler?”

“We have a guest, master. I know him, actually. He’s—”

“That’s alright. I like surprises.”

Jerry raised his head to take in his guest, then squinted. Once again, this was a person he did not recognize.

A young man, blond and handsome. Not that Jerry swung that way, but the man’s beauty was easily noticeable. His feet were covered by well-maintained leather boots and he wore a white vest that displayed his well-trained chest, while he also had a thin sword—a rapier—hanging from his hip.

Jerry wanted to groan. His experience with the Billies had taught him that people who carried swords rarely were customers.

“What can I help you with?” He stood up, dusting himself. “Your boots look mighty fine. Where did you get them?”

“Milaris.” The man smiled. “But I am not here for your—” he gazed at the tower’s wooden sign— “shoemaking expertise.”

“Is that so?” Jerry opened his arms wide, clearly oblivious to a bunch of skeletons and zombies hard at work building a fence. “What else is notable about me?”

“Are you not a necromancer?”

“I am.”

“Then why do you claim to be a shoemaker, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Because I am. Necromancy can’t make me a living.”

The man looked at Jerry as if he was an idiot. Jerry thought the man could be a bit more discreet about it, but then again, it wasn’t Jerry’s business.

“It can. You can have them hunt, or forage, or, even better, steal things for you,” said the man with the nice boots, seeming interested in having a conversation. Apparently, he was not familiar with how comfortable grass could be, or he would not be demanding Jerry’s attention for any more than strictly necessary. The necromancer could only look at the ground with longing.

“That is true,” Jerry responded, “but if all shoemakers went off to become necromancers, who would make shoes then?”

The man blinked. “What?”

Jerry sighed, understanding that he would not be enjoying his grass again anytime soon. He stepped forward, extending a hand at the man. “I am Jerry.”

“And I am Brad.” Brad gave Jerry a perfect smile, gripping his hand a bit too tightly. Now, Jerry wasn’t the most perceptive of people, but something felt off. This man, Brad… he made Jerry feel uneasy. Just to be sure, he mentally called Axehand back from woodcutting. The world’s best lumberjack could live with one fewer log.

“And how can I help you, Mr. Brad?” asked Jerry, playing it cool—and immediately discovered that, for necromancers, playing it cool was a tad more difficult than usual. By the side, Boney’s joviality had jumped out of the window with an anchor tied to its neck. His empty eyes now looked at Brad in what was clearly a hard glare. Jerry could feel the skeleton’s tension.

Further away, the fence-builders had stopped working and were collectively staring at Brad. The man coughed.

“Ahem,” he said, a bit flustered. “There is no need to get upset, my good friend. I guarantee I have no bad intentions.”

“I am not upset,” Jerry said truthfully. “I just felt something weird about you, and it seems my friends agree.”

Brad’s eyes narrowed, taking a calculative look. He was clearly deliberating his next words, cutting and pruning them so they were perfect. Jerry never understood these people. Why go through all that trouble when you can just speak your mind?

“Allow me to be frank, Jerry,” began Brad. His current visage was sharp and unconstrained. It was different than before so it confused Jerry, who decided not to dwell further on the matter. If Brad wanted to hide who Brad was, then there was little sense in trying to figure out who Brad was.

“I am a bandit. A member of the Greenskin bandits, in fact. You have recently killed some of our people.”

“Did I?” asked Jerry. He considered lying, just to escape the annoyance of this man who talked in circles.

Brad stared at him blankly, again as if looking at an idiot. He pointed at Headless. “That one is still wearing his uniform.”

Jerry looked at Headless, who was indeed wearing the full uniform of a Greenskin bandit. Well, minus the helmet. The zombie raised a thumb.

“You must be very smart,” Jerry commented, nodding, and Brad’s gaze simply couldn’t get any more flat. “I have killed some of your people, but only because they attacked me. Are you going to fight me?”

“No.” Brad smiled, revealing an impressive set of perfect white teeth. “They died because they were fools. We—and I speak for the bandits as a whole—are wiser than that. You see, I have been sent here by our esteemed leader, Jericho the Green, to invite you to join our ranks.”

“Ah, that is delightful,” exclaimed Jerry, relieved. They didn’t want to fight him anymore. How nice that he wouldn’t have any more trouble with the bandits. Now, he could calmly focus on making shoes and exploring the depths of life and death. “Thank you, but I refuse.”

“Hmm? Just that?” Brad seemed confused, which quickly transformed into flustered.

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to hear our terms? Our offer?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Don’t you want to negotiate, not even a tiny bit?”

“No.” Jerry shook his head. Really, this man was quite persistent.

“But why?” asked Brad.

“Because I’m a good guy. Bandits are bad guys, right? That makes us natural enemies—or at least difficult to get along with.”

Brad’s eyes widened even more. Jerry chuckled. This man was a bit annoying, but he was fun too!

“Just because you are a good guy?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“But you—you—you’re a necromancer!”

“So what?” Jerry crossed his arms. “Necromancers can be good guys too.”

“They cannot!”

“Sure they can.” Jerry nodded sagely. “You see, if life is the shoe, then magic is only the sole on which—”

Unfortunately, Jerry’s wise explanation was interrupted by a number of terrified screams coming from the forest. He opened his mouth to comment on their rudeness. Then, before he could understand what was happening, a head went flying, and the entire world sprang into explosive motion.