Beyond furious over what had happened during the meeting, Anastacia swore vengeance on the spirit that had trampled on her friends. Even if Sorbus had technically swung first in the situation, she thought it well justified and would have done far more had she been there. It didn’t help that Acacia had just riled her up for no reason before she arrived to the scene, and it took a non-insignificant amount of convincing by Xamiliere to make her understand that turning Ocotea into a smoldering bear-shaped crater wouldn’t have solved anything.

Familiar with the procedure because of the few times the spriggan had gotten injured before, Anastacia picked up a few small branches from a nearby tree and stared grafting them onto Xamiliere’s limbs. It would have been possible to grow new ones from what was already there, especially within the grove, but it would have left a more noticeable scar and the spriggan was fairly particular about how she wanted to look – not to mention she enjoyed the attention her perceived helplessness brought her.

While working on clearing out some of the broken bits of the old limbs, Anastacia’s hands were covered in the clear, viscous sap with a greenish tint to it as well as a strong sweet scent. Without thinking much of it, she dipped her pinkie into it and stuck it in her mouth. The taste was incredibly sweet, as one would expect, but also had a noticeable alcohol-like burn to it that numbed the tongue and throat. “You know, I’ve never thought about it before, but wouldn’t this go well in coffee?” She pondered innocently.

At first, a delighted and far less innocent smile grew on Xamiliere’s face, but it then turned into a more serious realization as she thought about it more. “As into that as I would be, I’ve seen how you treat your coffee and I don’t want to be bled dry… Not to mention the fact that it will have an effect on people if they take too much – there’s a reason alchemists and the like can’t get enough of it. With your history of not handling that sort of thing too well, I feel like we should err on the side of caution on this one.”

Slowly moving what would have been the fourth scoop of sap at that point away from her mouth, the necromancer had to agree. “Wh… what sort of an effect?” She worried and wiped her finger on some moss.

“Nothing you need to worry about. I’ll tell you about it later, but it’s probably not something to experiment with in Valor.” The spriggan sidestepped the issue.

Giving the necromancer some peace to work in, Xamiliere laid still and focused on regrowing some minor injuries elsewhere in her body. There were several matters she wanted to discuss, some of which she was excited to bring up, others less so, but it didn’t take long for her earthly worries and the pressing news to get completely drowned in yet another pleasant moment between just the two of them. Getting to work with her hands even calmed the barely subsided rage inside Anastacia as she picked out the splinters that were still barely hanging on, tidied the injuries and otherwise put far too much unneeded effort into the whole thing, simply because she wanted to do a good job. When she was finally content with the quality of the grafts, Anastacia laid down next to the spriggan to wait as the green energy began flowing into the grafted pieces and grow them into the shape of the missing limbs. To avoid anything getting stuck on her sap-stained hands, she lifted them up towards the treetops and started to pick off nettles and other things that had already caught on.

Seizing the opportunity, Xamiliere lifted up her remaining hand and quickly moved it around the necromancer’s arm to grab ahold of her hand. Anastacia responded with a tight squeeze of her own, weaving their fingers together. Having lacked sufficient points of comparison, the necromancer had never actually noticed how oddly pleasant Xamiliere’s bark was to touch. It obviously still lacked the springiness of skin, but compared to Sorbus’ bark, it was much smoother and consistent in its feel. It also lacked the warmth spread around the body by the flow of blood, but also the coolness of stone and metal. Even after being in cold or when heated by sunlight, it felt the same almost immediately after touching it. Unlike King’s body, which retained heat and cold for hours, Xamiliere’s didn’t seem to do so at all – which the necromancer thought was nice in its own way. A feature she was much more fond of was the pleasant flowery aroma forever hanging around the spriggan, not quite strong enough to compete with the food or tobacco smoke in the inn, but quickly filled out a room when left on its own. Being extremely near her added another layer to it, which strongly resembled the sweet but earthy scent of a freshly snapped branch. Again, absentmindedly comparing the spriggan to King, she could only count this as a win for Xamiliere, as the simulacrum was odorless at best and at worst something had gotten stuck in his body and was either slowly rotting or cooking in whatever seam she didn’t clean properly. Another difference between them was that Xamiliere was extremely expressive even by people’s standards, whereas King was most definitely active – for a rock. While there was charm to the mysterious, quiet and stable character the knight had, and over the months Anastacia had learned to read much more from his behavior than was apparent to anyone else, it still sometimes felt almost lonely to be the only one with even a hint of initiative. Necromancers like Anastacia, whether they meant to or not, often began to read other people’s emotions and intentions from physical signs only really apparent to them. Heightened pulse, tensed muscles, twitches and ticks all served as signs to them to make up for what often were, at best, lacking social skills. However, when she was alone with Xamiliere, who had all the mannerisms, habits and expressions of people, Anastacia thought she felt what it must have been like to be just a normal person. She had to figure out the spriggan’s intentions and feelings with nothing but the usual tools people had to work with. This brought with it quite a bit of mystery and intrigue, which the necromancer was only now beginning to realize she valued greatly.

“At least tell me you’re thinking about me.” Xamiliere suddenly said after watching Anastacia just stare at their hands for minutes on end without saying anything.

“Yup.” Anastacia nodded.

“Wait, really?” The spriggan gasped.

“Yeah, I was thinking about your bark and it kind of spiraled out from there. I thought about why it’s so nice being with you and stuff like that.” The necromancer admitted, not really meaning anything with her words but just relaying her thoughts.

Xamiliere frowned. “Am I dead? Did that fucker actually kill me? What’s going on? Is this like a reward for a good and virtuous life before I fade out or something?” She questioned the universe about the favorable turn of events.

“Since when have you been virtuous?” Smirked the necromancer. “Don’t mind me. Guess I’m just winding down from the whole meeting thing and now this. Just happy thoughts and all that.”

“You shouldn’t believe anything those three pieces of wank told you, and certainly never even wonder if you owe something to their ideals.” Xamiliere warned her friend in the unusually serious tone she had been using a lot during the visit. “They see all necromancers as nothing but tools for whatever stupid goals they’ve come up for themselves, because that’s what they see everyone as, including themselves. There’s no provable connection between spriggans and necromancers, or spriggans and the balance, or anyone and the balance. The balance is just our fancy skeleton on a throne, but since it isn’t a literal thing, no one can just come along and get rid of it.”

“Trust me, I’m here just to learn, not to be tasked with anything. I do wonder if I should tell Iris about this though. It’s up to Mournvalley to decide what necromancers are up to, even if I’ll have no part in it.” Anastacia pondered. “Though maybe it’s not the time to give that one any more burdens.”

“As long as you don’t get involved, I’m fine with whatever.” The spriggan said and slowly swayed their conjoined hands in the air.

Anastacia lowered their hands to rest them on her chest. “They did suggest I get involved with you though…” She said and closed her eyes.

“They might be off their rockers at times, but they are wise ancient beings with plenty of experience, you should listen to them when it comes to advice like that.” Xamiliere immediately turned around on her opinion about the trio.

“I’ll take it under consideration.” The necromancer giggled playfully, with her mood cured for the time being. Suddenly, using the hold she had of the spriggan’s hand, she levered herself up and partly on top of her friend. Gazing into the almost panicked-looking green eyes for a moment, she leaned down and gave a quick kiss on Xamiliere’s forehead before letting go and turning away to hide her own embarrassment.

Wholly unprepared, Xamiliere couldn’t get a word out as new leaves started to pop up randomly on her body and the green energy fueling her began to run rampant within her.

“That’s for not being a total ass to Sorbus. I know it’s hard for you to even pretend being decent to anyone here, but I think they’re genuinely trying to better themselves. We’re both hateful pricks when it comes to some folks, for a good reason too, but I think being like this suits you much better.” Anastacia explained, still hiding her red face from the spriggan.

“Th… thanks…” Xamiliere uttered an awkward and unfitting response.

For the few moments it still took for the rest of the spriggan to grow back, both of them spent in silence, at least externally. Inside Xamiliere’s mind raged the largest and loudest celebration in centuries – likely ever. Though Anastacia tended to be fairly resistant to embarrassment, for some reason, it was slowly killing her on the inside as she tried to make the tingly feeling in her chest die down.

Eventually, once the moment had passed and the two had calmed down, Xamiliere spoke up. “Speaking of Sorbus, did you know they’re just madly in love with some guy that moved into their glade?”

“HOLD THE FUCK UP!” Sorbus suddenly screamed and rushed out of the cover of the ferns, back in their normal fox shape. “That is NOT what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.” Xamiliere shrugged.

The necromancer seemed worried. “H… how long have you been there?” She asked from the fox, knowing they were followed from a distance at all times but not really comfortable with the idea of someone having listened to them from up close.

“I got back here before you did. I was about to say something like five times but the mood seemed nice so I didn’t.” The fox immediately admitted.

Anastacia let out a muffled scream and laid back down to the ground to await death. Once the overly dramatic stunt was over, she was brought up to speed with what the two spriggans had planned in her absence. Finding the whole thing adorable, she was more than glad to help, but did ask for a moment to sort her outfit and freshen up in the nearby stream. Getting to and back from the glade was a simple matter using the same method Xamiliere had used to get her to the grove in the first place. However, Xamiliere had to stay behind as to not interrupt the workings of the grove to reclaim her body from the curse.

The whole thing moved from planning to execution very quickly, as it would get done based on the necromancer’s schedule, and she was very eager to put a bit of distance between herself and Xamiliere after what she had done. Even if pretty much everyone would have seen it as an innocent gesture, to her it was the most scandalous thing she had done. She had no recollection of what had happened between her and the statue on her brief, drunken venture, and with King, giving him a peck on the cheek elicited next to no response. What made it worse was that she had originally intended to aim a fair bit lower on the spriggan’s face, but when the moment came and she was face to face with Xamiliere, her courage had failed her. The reason she had come up with was almost entirely an excuse as well, and in reality, she had no idea why she had done what she had done, outside of getting swept by the mood. Xamiliere on the other hand was doing her absolute best to play it cool in front of Anastacia, but couldn’t wait for her and Sorbus to leave so she could celebrate without being mocked.

Sorbus guided them to a bit more secluded space with a suitable tree that had a suitable arching branch they often used as means to travel to and from the several different areas under their care. Anastacia and Xamiliere awkwardly waved at each other before the necromancer closed her eyes and got taken elsewhere by the mysterious forest magic she couldn’t see or feel.

Immediately upon arrival, the necromancer realized that she hadn’t taken the weather into account at all, but to her surprise, summer was in full swing in the glade she found herself in. Wherever it may have been located, it must have been far, far away from Valor. According to Gilbert, the season far in the south of the continent was always the opposite of the northern parts, which had always seemed like bullshit to Anastacia, but it appeared to be true after all. Opening her eyes, she could see the red sky that signaled the last hour or so of sunlight, and with some calculations, she figured that the time of the day was at least close to what it should have been in Valor.

The warm, moist air wasn’t all that different form the grove, but even the small difference was a huge relief once it hit her. The trees and plants around her were largely unfamiliar or slightly different from the ones she had learned to recognize on her travels so far. The sounds of birds and insects were all completely foreign to her as well, but they did make her realize how utterly quiet the mother grove was. It also took a moment to get used to having living beings around her again.

“Pretty great, isn’t it?” Sorbus said, proud of their work – and to their credit, it was a very pleasant place to find oneself in. Secluded opening with a few spots of sparse trees, surrounded by thicker forest and a lake in one direction. Berries, mushrooms, wild flowers and several other kinds of plants that made it a suitable place to live for quite an array of creatures.

Anastacia kneeled to face the little fox. “Sorbus, thanks.” She said and squeezed their wooden cheek.

“No problem, I’m pretty proud of this one, so I’m glad I can show it to a necromancer! I could show you other things I’m working on later?” Sorbus suggested excitedly.

“Not that – though I think I’d like to see some… I mean what you did back there when I was in the meeting. I know she’d never say so, but it really meant a lot to Xammy that you stuck around, so I’m saying it instead.” Anastacia expressed her gratitude.

“Okay.” The fox said in a completely neutral tone, as if they didn’t get they were being complimented. “I’m just a slow little fox. I can’t protect ancient forests or vast tundras, but this much I can do.”

Anastacia shrugged. “And I’m just a slow little necromancer, so that doesn’t seem to mean much.”

In the other end of the glade, near the lake, was a humble little cabin that seemed to be built from lumber and stones from the nearby area. Barely bigger than Anastacia’s room back at the inn, it didn’t seem like it could have much in it beyond a bed and some kind of a stove based on the chimney built into its side. It also had a small shed built by it, as well as a larger fire pit, a tanning rack and other assorted signs of very self-sufficient life strewn around it. In the middle of it all, sitting on a rock and whittling away at a stick of some kind was the sole resident of the glade. Not much beyond their light grey shirt was visible in the limited light offered by the setting sun, but enough to see a vague outline from the thicket Anastacia and Sorbus were hiding in.

Slowly and carefully, they snuck closer in the surrounding woods, avoiding any clearer spots they could be spotted in until they were only fifty or so meters away. Anastacia had long since been able to tell that the briefing she had received was a little bit spotty and missing some key details, but over all the person seemed to be an elf of some kind, with a bit of something else mixed in and with an unusually dark complexion for one. She could also tell that the man had noticed something approaching him quite a while ago, which suggested either experience in the field or some kind of an arcane talent for it – which made sense for someone living alone in the wilderness.

Peeking from behind a bush, Anastacia and Sorbus could see the man stop what he was working on and put his hand on a sword dangling from his hip. “Mage! Come out from your hiding place and face me!” He yelled and frantically looked around for any kind of movement.

“You said he was a bit timid, pretty sure we’re more in the ‘paranoid’ level of things.” Anastacia whispered. “I think I’ll just head over since he’s expecting me.”

“Please don’t scare him away.” Sorbus pleaded and hunkered down to make sure they were impossible to see while the necromancer stepped out of the bush.

Immediately upon spotting her, the man pulled out his sword and made a small gesture with his free hand, which conjured up a vaguely shield-shaped thin cover of almost flame-like blue energy that was attached to his arm. Anastacia barely needed necromancy to tell that he was beyond agitated by her sudden appearance, his heart hammering away at a rapid pace, breathing heavily and constantly looking around for something. “How many of you are there?! STATE YOUR BUSINESS!” He commanded with a strong voice that still felt like it was on the verge of breaking.

Anastacia stopped, still a fair distance away. “It’s just me, and I’m here to simply to look into a few things.” She said as calmly as she could while getting a better look at the man.

The entire left side of his head was badly scarred, likely by flame, leaving the eye milky and blind, the skin discolored, the ear badly mangled and a part of the scalp unable to grow the short, jet-black hair the rest of it had. He couldn’t have been more than thirty years old at the most, which was almost nothing to elves, yet his face was weary to a point where it made him seem much older. The cold look in his other eye constantly bounced between the necromancer and the woods around them, keeping a watch on all of it. The loose-fitting light grey shirt hid away a considerable collection of scars as well, ranging from burns to every type of cut and stab imaginable. Both of his arms were covered in similar memoirs of healed wounds, with his shield hand missing a good chunk of its middle finger, the entire ring finger as well as the pinkie, last two of which were replaced with some kind of an expensive-looking magically operated prosthetic. Nearly all of the bones in his limbs had signs of poorly healed fractures, which must have ached constantly. His right foot was missing entirely from knee down, but had been replaced with a similar metal prosthetic that appeared to allow nearly normal movement and couldn’t have been cheap.

“WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT MASTER DO YOU SERVE?!” The man kept yelling questions, and pointing at the necromancer with an impressively steady sword in a had that shook uncontrollably.

“I am Anastacia, simply Anastacia.” She answered honestly, leaving out all of her grand titles in the hopes that it would somehow calm the man’s nerves. “I serve no one, but I am here on behalf of the owner of this area.”

The man showed no intent to calm down. “Anast… LIAR! This area has no owners or lords! TELL ME WHO YOU ARE, MAGE?! Were you sent here by The Arasi?! You can tell them there’s nothing that will make me come back!” He was clearly starting to struggled to hold his sword up, not because of its weight, but because his heart was beating far too rapidly for his own good. The only reason he remained conscious must have been the fierce physical shape he was in despite the injuries.

“I think you should lay down… You’re having some kind of a… thing.” Anastacia said, trying to speak as calmly as she possibly could. “No one is here to take you anywhere. How about this: we’ll both just sit down and breathe calmly.” She suggested and slowly sat down on the ground.

The man slowly slumped down on his knee, likely because he could no longer stand rather than listening to the suggestion. The magical shield sputtered out as well, but he never let go of his sword.

“I have no clue what this Arasi thing is, nor am I here to take you anywhere or make you leave.” The necromancer explained slowly. “I’m simply here because the one guarding this fine place asked me to greet you and see how things were. It’s true that I have some talent for elemental magic, but I have talent for many things and am not affiliated with any other mages.”

“I am… not going back…” The man gasped exhaustedly and sat down as his feet gave in under him.

“There you go. Keep breathing.” Anastacia nodded. “You’ve got a nice little hut there, by the side of a lake and everything. I see some ripe tomatoes over there in the garden and I think I’m smelling some kind of fresh bread too. Did you bake it yourself?”

Slowly but surely, he started to calm down as the necromancer kept occasionally chatting to him. Having heard that the man was supposedly the nervous type, she had expected to be at sword point for a while, but couldn’t believe how lucky it was that Sorbus didn’t decide to confront the man on their own. Not because a sword would have been of much danger, but because the fox might have well agitated the poor man to death with their lack of knowledge on people. She herself was by no means an expert on the subject of keeping things calm, but she knew an ex-soldier when she saw one and knew what made them nervous, after all, Valor was full of them. Gilbert had also occasionally mentioned seeing this sort of thing in some green adventurers after quests that had gone horribly wrong, and given some rough guidance on how to deal with it since it was more than likely that some witnesses who were holding key information on a quest could be in a very rough state.

“Should I get you some water or something?” She offered once a spark of sense had appeared again in the man’s eye.

“I… I think I would rather you stay there.” He gave a gruff and exhausted answer, still tightly gripping onto his sword.

“Alright, take your time.” Anastacia said nonchalantly. “Have you got a name?”

The man took a good long and this time much calmer look at the necromancer. “Hasta, that’s all you need to know.” He said after presumably deciding that no one had send this scruffy-looking girl after him. “Why… are you here?”

“It’s just like I said. I am in the temporary service of the one who presides over this lovely place. I came here on their behalf to see how things were, greet you and talk for a while.” Answered Anastacia.

Hasta’s joyless stare didn’t show a hint of what he was thinking, but it must have been hard for him to believe what he was hearing. The only response he gave was the expectant silence as he waited for the necromancer to elaborate.

“They’re not the owner in the sense you and I understand the word, but they are in charge of this place. Mind you, I’m not here to tell you that you have rent or taxes to pay or try and convince you to leave. I’ve only heard praise of how you’ve been treating the land here and my employer is quite happy to keep you around.” She continued to explain the situation in a way that didn’t make her sound insane. “Since you’re the only person here, they’ve sent me to tell you that they’d like to work more closely with you to keep this place as beautiful as it is. “

Despite her attempts, Hasta still glared at Anastacia like she was deranged. “Stay… there.” He eventually grunted and shakily stood back up to finally sheathe his sword. Without further explanation, he wandered into his hut with a limp in his step, only to come out dragging a chair. He took it all the way out of the immediate vicinity of his yard, maybe ten to fifteen meters away from where he had been whittling, but still closer than where Anastacia was. Keeping an eye on the necromancer, he returned to the cabin briefly and came out with two cups and a stick with dough wrapped around it which had then been cooked by a campfire. Placing the campfire bread and one of the cups on the chair, he returned to the rock and sat back down on it, something which appeared to cause some amount of pain to him.

“Sit.” He then said and pointed at the chair.