Rick breathed by the churches large and looming doors, as if they were staring down at him. Church empty, the morning routine kicking the kids out, the owl girl with them, Noah just behind. Rick breathed in, breathed out. In and out, repeated ad infinitum. He’d already stood there for several minutes, reaching deep within, searching for the bravery that had let him stand before monsters, only finding an unwillingness to move. An unwillingness like tendrils holding him back, like rope around his neck, trapping him inside the church of charity.

Rick wanted to go out. The planks from Noah wasn’t enough anymore. Rick needed wood, he needed better wood, wood that could speak to him, wood that would give Rick passion and drive. Yet, yet. The comfort of the church of charity was holding him back. Outside was cold and dangerous, inside was warm and safe. Outside was failures and pain, inside praise and comfort.

But he’d received so much from the church of charity that Rick felt as if he couldn’t ask for more. At least not without losing face, not without being shameful. No, if he’d need something, he’d have to get it himself. Breathing in again, Rick tensed, searching for the iron within, steeling himself.

He put a lightly shaking hand on the gate. Cold and hard. Breathing in, breathing out. Rick peeked down in search for comfort, seeing Bob hidden behind many layers of clothing, Bob laying still in his chest pocket, giving Rick warmth even if he was unmoving. Then Rick pushed, pushed hard against the looming doors. Tendrils of light searching inside. Wind of cold gushing against him, stealing his breath away.

Rick pushed through it, out and closing the doors behind him. Covering his eyes and mouth from the surprisingly bright, and cold outside. As the wind ebbed to nothing and light into normal. Rick let his arm fall down, having to blink twice, thrice at the sight.

Sights of white upon white, like the biggest cloud having fallen on earth. Each house having fluffy white hair, each building lightly covered with see-through icicles like canines on a cat. White roads padded down surrounded by walls of snow, white roads coming out from each building’s door. All coalescing into a larger white road lightly peppered with sprinkles of pebbled rocks.

Rick had to breathe out, not aware that he had held his breath. He looked down, down on his borrowed woolen jacket, borrowed woolen pants and his old trusty shoes, and Bob burrowed deep within. He breathed in, then out, a cloud of wet smoke coming out, out to soon join the rest in the sky. Rick looked up, seeing nothing but a blinding fire and blue skies. Stretching out into infinity, like the ocean beneath it, like the black at night, endless yet beautiful.

Looking down again, Rick noticed the wooden walls in the distance, seeming sturdier and larger than when he first came to the village. The walls seemed closer than he remembered, but recalled that he’d been very tired and exhausted when he had first come. Many new impressions probably making memories larger than they actually were.

He looked from side to side, the church of charity stretching out on each. Beyond, he saw houses upon houses on top of houses. Going far and presumably even beyond the wooden walls. To Rick’s direct right and left, the wall stretched a little further than in-front. He assumed the walls would stretch further somewhere behind him, behind the church. A task set in his mind, a task of finding wood, a task hopeful yet doubtful he would find.

Deciding to go right, Rick took his first steps, slow but steady. The crunch of wet snow echoing out satisfyingly, as if walking on dry leaves or burnt branches. Rick walked with his head turned up, watching the sights. Seeing few people walking about, most having something in their hands, spear, axes, or both.

Avoiding most eyes, sticking to the sides, Rick looked at the buildings. Seeing mostly shops, he assumed, at least if the strange numbers or letters plastered on top of the houses were any indication. He gazed into these shops. Shops of clothes, of food, of trinkets and baubles. All different things. All things Rick watched through tinted windows, watched with wide eyes, intrigued and forgetful of his environment. A task set, momentarily forgotten in the daze of things.

Then his eyes caught something in the window of a shop. A big shop, bigger than most, holding all kinds of things, nothing sticking out to give the shop a certain theme. But in the window's corner, standing against the tinted window, proudly standing in front of a displayed axe, there was a small wooden statue. A statue Rick remembered carving.

He stood there, watching it. Pondering it. A simple statue, a statue of a man with an axe. Numbers or words written underneath it, Rick couldn't tell which. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet, it stood as if the proudest display, the best of items. Rick narrowed his eyes, pondered further. He turned his head, turned it to the side, the side facing the church of charity. He blinked at the large stone walls, the doors now out of sight. He turned back to the statue and stared at it again.

Then he continued his walk, Rick let the mystery drip out of his mind. Drip like the slowest honey. He had a hunch, but did not want to dwell on it, did not want to know. For it did not concern him, he already had everything he needed. He would not jeopardize that, not for anything in the world.

Rounding the church and walking to the backside, Rick felt the tug of an eyebrow raising up. For it was smaller here, closer to the walls. But a large area seemed opened up, weird for how closely built everything else seemed.

Walking a little closer, Rick saw what it was. It was a lumbermill, strangely barren for such a prominent vocation. Where one usually would see large saws and houses, there were only nothing and many, many kinds of woods. Logs, planks, trees and trees stacked upon one another.

Rick walked towards it, seeing a few people strewn about. Most with saws, one with an axe. Each person hard at work, clothed from top to bottom. Thick and warm, like fur on a bison, like fat on a walrus.

As he came closer, one of the people using a saw noticed Rick in the corner of his eye. He turned his head up, raising a brow upon seeing Rick’s lack of things, and stopped working. Rick met his eyes, nodded at him and kept walking. The worker stared intently at Rick, Rick keeping an eye on him too. The two in ballet of stares, one staring openly, the other beneath eyebrows. The two only stopping once Rick was a mere two legs-lengths away and the worker asked.

“Aint ya the lad who came here like a month ago? Comin here spooking up poor lill Baldur some mighty, making him waste a perfectly good runic spear. That I hear he did.”

The man spoke eloquently with a rough voice, as if he’d eaten nothing but rocks for his entire life. Rick turned to him, seeing a man of big statue but small height, still staring at Rick with a raised eyebrow. Rick took a second to respond, a simple nod as he reflected on the question. The man smiled upon seeing Rick’s response, speaking while turning around.

“Ye are? There’s been mighty talks about ye ya hear? Coming outta de wood like a fricking ghost at midnight! Ooooi, Torbjörn, ya gotta come here and listen to this.”

The supposed Torbjörn responded with a loud grunt, the one with an axe, turning around with a slight frown on his face. A big man, about the same burly size as the worker, but larger, looming up and above Rick, resting his axe on his shoulder.

“What you going on about now you daft bacraut?”

“This here lad be saying he’s da monster ghost from earlier this month. You know, the lad who’s been holed up in the uuuh, church of caringfree?”

Torbjörn turned from the man to Rick, his frown melting away into one of admiration, one brow raised and the glimmer of a smile forming. He let his axe fall down, leaning on it as he spoke up, voice softer than the worker, still rough, as if he’d only eaten rocks for half of his life.

“It’s the church of charity ya lombungr. And damn, seriously? This here lad? Who’d thunk. Where’s your toy lad? Heard from Hilda that she realized you being a human after seeing that toy.”

“Aye aye, dat one be a mighty fun tale. Oh, how de long stormy night’s have been spent in laughter wit that story. Hehehe. Good times.”

The other man cut in, not giving Rick a moment to respond. Torbjörn not seeming bothered, turning to the man as he gave him a slap on the shoulder.

“Shut it ya lombungr, let the lad speak.”

Torbjörn said, turning back to Rick with a warm smile, warm enough to melt the surrounding snow. Rick stared at Torbjörn, opening his mouth to speak, wanting to speak, gesturing that he could not. Torbjörn kept looking at Rick, his smile fading into one of slight confusion. The other man spoke up as the silence reigned for longer than comfortable.

“Cat got ye tongue?”

Rick pointed at him and nodded quickly, opening his mouth and wheezing out soundless air. Torbjörn and the man looked at Rick, both now wearing highly surprised faces. The same face a child would wear when one sees an animal for the first time. Torbjörn being the first to speak, a sympathetic voice mixed in with slight sorrow.

“Aaah, I see. Explains the rough welcoming to our fine little town, ey? Well, at least you can count yourself lucky that you survived the monster, few can say that.”

“Ay ay, dat lombungr of a monster been pestering us for ye bigger part of a year, less maybe. I tell ye Torbjörn, this town’s luck has gone to shite after we let them uskit’r church of carenotness build their sheit here.”

“Yeah yeah, I know what you believe Danne. But the church of charity isn’t that bad. It’s just that Arvid’s a drunken fool spouting nonsense when he’s drunk. You don’t have to listen to him just because he’s old. Not every old person is wise-”

The two started chatting, talking as if it to be the most normal thing in the world. Glancing over at Rick, making him a part of it, as if it to be the most normal thing in the world. Rick felt mildly surprised, surprised that they’d accept him so readily. Surprised that they seemed to enjoy his company, even if he said nothing or showed nothing, really.

The two speaking as if long-lived brothers, friends of a bygone age, lovers in bed. Torbjörn hitting Danne often, Danne often not caring, smiling wide, exposing slanted teeth. The two going from one subjective to the next with a fluency that Rick had a hard time following. Mostly because what they spoke of often made Rick’s head spin, spin in confusion. Then the two veered into a topic that took Rick’s attention, as they started speaking about the toymaker.

“Oi, ye two heard bout what ye toymaker did just south of us?”

Torbjörn shook his head, Rick did too, even as he felt sweat start forming just above his brows. Danne continued speaking.

“Well, there was this lad ye, mighty big lad I tell you, hair redder than any lasses vagina!”

He paused for dramatic effect, hoping for laughter, not getting any. He frowned at the lack of reaction, but continued never-the-less.

“Anyway, he told me and the other lads about ye toymaker. Told us he’d slain a fricking manticore! A manticore! Can ye believe dat? He apparently had help from the warrior in wood. But still. Damn. Wouldn’t ye mind some help from those two right now ay? Now would we Torbjörn?”

Torbjörn nodded his head in agreement, closing his eyes as if pondering what he’d just heard. Rick breathed out, happy that their talk of the toymaker didn’t wander closer to Rick. Then felt something tugging at his mind, something that he couldn’t quite place. He thought on it, felt himself flying away from reality. Torbjörn and Danne talking as if in another world. Rick in his own, deep in thought. He knew not how long he was gone, but eventually, his eyes lit up in realization. For the “warrior in wood” was the warrior! His warrior! Rick felt proud at the realization, then surprise. Should the warrior not be “dead”? Dead as in his internal life washed away with time, like an old man sleeping for the last time.

Yet another mystery to add to the pile of mysteries. Rick looked up again to follow the conversation, surprised to see yet another man walking towards them. This man clothed lightly even in the cold of whiteness, a bright smile on his face. A smile that said, don’t worry. Rick felt taken a back by the smile, turning his head downwards. Seeing the man’s feet, lacking any shoes, toes like pink berries contrasting the white snow.

“Gentlemen, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and began wondering. What do you know about the toys spreading around town?”

The trio turned to him, Torbjörn and Danne slightly taken aback by the sudden appearance of a new man. The two looking him up and down. Torbjön seeming slightly impressed, Danne’s face falling like dropped food, turning to a frown.

“Why d'you care? Ye church of svínaskít priest’s-“

His words cut off as Torbjörn hit him rather hard in the back of the head. Yelling out rather bad words in quick succession. Rick glancing at the priest, surprised to see him not bothered by the words, wearing the same bright smile. Torbjörn pushed Danne’s head down, then stated quickly.

“Sorry bout Danne, he’s a bit of a twat. Anyway, what do you wanna know, priest?”

“No problem, I’d not be a good “priest” of Carita if I couldn’t take a curse or two. Anyway, I was wondering if you knew when these toys first started appearing?”

The two men looked at the priest, one glaring, the other thinking. Rick wandering why the priest called himself “priest”. His way of saying “priest“ sounding more like an inside joke, as if recalling an old funny memory. The priest glancing at Rick, mostly looking at Torbjörn. His smile was warm. Yet, as he glanced at Rick, it seemed to have a spark of cunning hidden behind bright eyes. Rick didn’t know what to think of that, feeling himself taking a slight step backward.

“Uhm, huh. Wasn’t it like, three weeks ago? Two? Yeah, about the same time as the rumours of the toymaker started circulating. Heard of him?”

Torbjörn said, the priest nodding at his question. Seeming to dwell somewhat on the answer, his smile disappearing. The priest looking like a man dwelling on the taste of their bear, wondering if it was good or not. After a small silence, the priest spoke up with a new smile.

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard of him. Anyway, you know who’s been selling these toys?”

“Thas be the caravans. Not many comin but those dat are, come with lots of stuff. Interesting people I tell ye, too bad many of them believe in ye'r church of shittastes-”

“Danne, can you not be a twat for a single minute? Sorry priest, but yeah, Danne’s right.”

The priest nodded, not even slightly perturbed by Danne’s small outburst. His smile vanishing again, thinking, glancing up at Rick. Rick spotting him mouthing soundlessly a “interesting”, narrowing his eyes, pondering. Rick feeling himself taking yet another step backward, gulping, not knowing why.

“Then, do you know who made these toys?”

He asked suddenly, taking the trio by surprise. Rick feeling his eyes opening somewhat, the priest looking on, on Rick. He started smiling, then looked away as Torbjörn spoke.

“How’d we supposed to know that?”

The priest smiled further, looking as if a piece of the puzzle had fitted perfectly in his brain. Stretching his back up straight, talking with gravitas in his voice.

“Then let me tell you, fine gentlemen, that these toys aren’t just any mere toys. No. They are perfect replicas, if not the same toys that the toymaker has created. And if my rumours are to be trusted, these toys have been made and sold here, in this very town.”

The priest said, turning to look at Rick as he spoke, smile wide. Torbjörn and Danne gradually opening their mouths, ending with comically wide faces. Looking as if they’d found a golden nugget, as if seeing a treasure.

“Ye serius priest? Torbjörn! We have to find im! Ye’ve seen the bounty, right? We'd be rich!”

Danne said with a bright smile, grabbing onto Torbjörns arm. Torbjörn looked equally happy, smile fading away somewhat though as he kept staring at the priest. His smile replaced by skepticism. He asked with slight worry in his voice.

“Why d'you tell us this? What’s the catch?”

The priest’s smile disappeared somewhat, turning towards Torbjörn. A slightly mischievous smirk taking its place.

“Well, let’s just say that finding him would strike two birds with one stone.”

Torbjörn narrowed his eyes at the peculiar response. Danne not seeming to notice, staring up at the sky, already picturing what he’d do with the wealth. But eventually, Torbjörn shrugged his shoulder and mouthed a “whatever”. The priest nodding acceptingly, turning back to look at Rick. Rick had taken yet another step back, being further than an arm-length away.

“Gentlemen, if you find anything of interest, please come to the barracks and look for the red-haired man. He’s hard to miss.”

The priest said with finality, waving at the trio, moving away. Torbjörn nodding, Danne not realizing. Rick stared after the priest as he walked past him with a glimmer in his eye. Rick swallowed something sticky at the back of his throat. Staring at the priest as he strolled away, looking not even slightly bothered by the lacking shoes, as if walking down a particularly nostalgic road on a summer's day.

As the priest rounded a building and disappeared out from sight, Rick felt himself letting out a breath he’d unconsciously held. The duo speaking as if nothing of note had happened. Speaking about wealth not earned but soon too be. Torbjörn speaking more realistic about how they’d find the wealth-maker.

And Rick, Rick was just walking away. Walking back to the safety of the church. Outside being worse than he’d thought. A task he’d walked out to do, now being naught but a faint memory. Rick had worse things on his mind, things that probably meant yet another escape. Escape out into the scary world.

Rick really didn't want to leave the church.