I was just beginning to wonder if I should clear away the mess my entrance had made when the door swung open with a crash. I whirled around to find the man standing in the doorway, eyes flashing, ax hanging from one hand, and absolutely soaked in what I could only assume was blood.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He walked past me, barely sparing me a glance, and placed his bloody woodcutter's ax on the table. Grabbing a dingy cloth, he wiped the worst of the blood splatter from his face before turning to face me with a cold expression.

“Now,” he said, “who are you?”

“I-I...who are you?” I shot back automatically.

The man snorted in response. “You're the one who fell through my roof. I don't think you're at liberty to ask questions like that,” he pointed out.

“I didn't mean to fall through your roof! I was trying to avoid being eaten! And how did you... did you really... I mean all those...” I motioned uselessly at his entire body. 

He glanced down at the bloodstained clothes. “Name first, story time later,” he ordered.

“I... fine,” I consented. “My name is Rikki Collins.”

“Uh-huh.” The man gave me a look that made me feel decidedly guilty, even though I'd done absolutely nothing wrong. “And what exactly were you doing leading a pack of wolves to my door?”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” I said fiercely, and then clutched at my side with a gasp of pain, my impassioned response sending a painful stab right through me.

The man winced, then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “All right, it doesn't matter now. Just... come sit down or something, before you manage to break something else.”

“I don't think I broke any bones.”

“I was talking about my house,” he said. He pulled up a straight backed chair, and I tottered into it. These few moments gave me a good chance to get a proper look at him for the first time.

He couldn't have been much older than myself, not past his early twenties. His features were sharp and serious, which made him look older than he probably was. He stood only a few inches taller than me, and though his cheeks were a little hollow as if he hadn't had a good meal in a few days, his calloused hands and the tensed muscles in his arms gave the impression he fought off rabid wolves on a regular basis. His hair was sandy, and hung long and choppy in his face. If I had to guess, I'd wager he cut it himself, and not very expertly. He glared at me with bright eyes the color of the autumn leaves, almost golden in the flickering light of the fireplace. I shifted under his disapproving gaze, and looked away.

“I'm, uh, sorry I crashed into your house,” I said, a little awkwardly.

“No point in being sorry; it won't fix my roof,” he grunted.

I frowned. “Yeah, you're welcome, it was nice of me to apologize for something I did on accident while trying to save my own life,” I snapped, then instantly regretted it. He did have a point, after all. 

He didn't seem to be bothered by my outburst, however. He turned from me, and began shoving things around on the table, searching for something.

“Don't worry about it,” he said, without looking at me. “You'll have plenty of time to clean up your mess and patch that hole while you wait for your ribs to heal. My name's Erik, by the way,” he added, completely ignoring my outraged spluttering.

A few minutes later, Erik had found a slightly grimy looking wrap bandage among the clutter on the table, and started tending to my sore ribs in terse silence. I was in no position to complain, especially since I had gone a little woozy when I first lifted my torn and stained shirt to expose the already purpling bruises that were spreading across my ribs and back.

"Alright," he finally grunted, knotting the bandage in place. "That will have to do for now. You'll have to go to town if you want proper care." He gave me a hard look. "You're not from town, are you?" he asked, in an almost accusing tone. "I don't recognize you. Where are you from? And what were you doing out here with a pack of mongrels on your heels?"

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I, uh... no, I'm not from around here," I began slowly. True enough. As for what I had been doing out in the middle of the forest, running for my life from hungry wolves? That was going to be a little harder to explain. "It's kind of a long story," I said, lamely.

"I've got time," Erik replied impassively.

I squirmed under his icy stare. "Well, I was... I mean, I guess..." I floundered for an excuse. The truth wouldn't do; at least, not the whole truth. "I got lost while traveling; managed to lose the path, you know? I was wandering around the woods, calling out and stuff, which in hindsight was a pretty stupid thing to do, but I was hoping at the time someone would hear me and come help. Instead, I managed to get some much less welcome attention. The wolves, I mean. And they started coming after me, so I ran, and ended up falling through your roof," I finished, a little proud of how well I handled Erik's scrutiny: completely honest, and utterly vague.

"Mm hm," he said, clearly not believing a word. "And where is it you were traveling to before you got lost?"

"Uh... west?"

"West. Of course." Erik wasn't convinced in the slightest, but to my relief, he didn't press me any further.

"Look," I said, changing tack. "I need to go... that is, I need to find... well, I'm not entirely sure. Where are we, exactly?"

Erik raised an eyebrow at me. "My house," he replied.

"That town you mentioned; how soon can I get there?" I asked instead. Maybe I could find a witch or a fortune teller or something in the town. Did witches live in towns? Or would I have to go searching around enchanted groves until I stumbled upon a tiny cottage? Surely some witches had to prefer city life.

"It's only about a half a day's walk from here," Erik said. "Since you seem to have such a difficult time staying on paths," he went on, shooting me an accusing look, "I can show you the way. After you repair my roof, of course."

"Oh. You were serious about that."

"Of course I was. I rarely kid."

"See, the thing is," I replied, trying to look as pitiful as I could, "I can barely make a birdhouse that doesn't collapse in a strong wind. I don't really think I'll be of much help; I'll probably do more harm than good if I try."

It wasn't that I didn't feel bad for causing such a problem in this young man's life—I just didn't much relish the thought of having to stay alone with a man I didn't know, while doing a carpentry job that I didn't know how to do, all while I didn't actually know where I was or how I got there, or how I was going to get back home. Wherever home was.

"How about you let me be the judge of that," Erik suggested, obviously not about to let me worm my way out of this. "Unless your pockets are full of gold and you can pay to have it repaired, of course."

It was clear from my expression that this was not the case.

"I don't have time to spend the next week fixing the roof, I've got too many jobs as it is. So it's either pay up, or get to work."

I glanced up at the hole. It was pretty big. I glanced down at my feet. It was mostly thatch, which didn't seem like it would be too hard...

I let my shoulders slump. I didn't really have much of a choice, did I? I wouldn't be able to find my way to town on my own, and even if I thought that maybe I could, I wasn't willing to try now that I knew what sort of things were out there. "Okay, fine. Deal."

Erik grunted with what I assume was approval. He crossed the room and from under a pile of what appeared to be dirty clothes, he pulled out a handmade broom and tossed it to me. I barely caught it, it was difficult to raise my arms without my chest and ribs singing in pain.

"What's—?" I started to ask, but the words died on my lips as Erik gestured to the pile of thatch at my feet.

"You can start by sweeping all of that up," he said.

I was almost furious, given the fact that he was putting me to work almost immediately after I'd fallen through his freaking roof, but some of my anger faded when I realized that he wasn't going to just laze about, gleefully watching me toil for him.

While I did my best to sweep the worst of the straw and wood out the front door, Erik went out around the back of the cottage, returning with what looked like heavy canvas. He very carefully climbed up the side of the small house and, standing on the edge of the roof so he wouldn't follow my example and fall through it, he covered the hole with the canvas and used heavy stones to weight it down. That done, he headed back inside and started rifling through the piles of papers and other crap on the long table, evidently searching for something.

I swept out the last bit of debris over the threshold, and pushed the pile to the side of the front path with the broom. My shoulders ached painfully after even that meager effort, and I figured I must have bruised my shoulders and upper back pretty badly when I hit the ground.

Dragging the broom behind me, I went back inside and closed the door. Night had definitely fallen by now, and despite it still being warm for late summer, there was the slightest hint of a chill in the air.

Erik was still intently searching for something on the cluttered table, somehow making even more of a mess than there already was. "What are you doing?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"None of your business," he snapped almost automatically, but before I had time to feel offended, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry," he grunted. "I'm looking for a contract. It's a parchment rolled into a scroll, with a red wax seal with the mayor's stamp. Seal's been broken, obviously. I think it's in this general direction..." He waved a hand vaguely over what appeared to me to be the entirety of the table.

I didn't exactly have anything else to do. "I'll help," I offered. I picked a spot at random and began gingerly picking through Erik's accumulated crap, some identifiable, some... not so much.

"Is this it?" I asked after five or ten minutes, holding up a slightly wet piece of parchment, the ink smeared and bleeding from a liberal application of what smelled like beer.

Erik snatched it out of my hands and inspected it, but then tossed it to the floor with a frustrated expression. "No, that’s one for the giant I routed out last month. The one I need is the bounty for those wolves."

"For... for the ones that were chasing me? The ones you...?" I trailed off. I hadn't, after all, actually seen what had happened out there.

"The ones I killed? Yes," Erik replied, returning to his search.

"What do you mean exactly by contract, and bounty?" I asked, suddenly worried that I had gotten myself involved with some kind of hitman or something.

"I'm the resident exterminator," said Erik, and I caught a touch of bitterness in his tone. "The mayor puts out bounties for small, general problems, but the big stuff he brings to me personally. The wolves around here have been worse than usual lately. It's always been a problem—the occasional little girl or grandma getting eaten, goat families terrorized—but recently... those out there, chasing you, weren't the normal wolves we get around these parts. From what I've heard, things are coming down from the north. Not just wolves, either. Things that are bigger, and meaner, than the garden variety trouble we get around here."

I was glad his attention was focused on the cluttered table, because I couldn't repress the shudder that ran through me.

"So, I guess you were lucky that I came crashing through your roof after all. I practically led them right to your door," I pointed out.

He shot me a dark look. "I prefer to be prepared when I take care of a job, with preset traps and proper weapons, rather than just a rusty old ax."

Ah. Well.

"Well, you're never going to find it like this," I said, waving at the mess on the table. "And you're just making it even worse." I glared pointedly at the old parchment he had just thrown onto the ground. "You have to clean as you go, or you'll never be able to find anything."

Erik looked doubtful, as if I was suggesting we use witchcraft to summon the contract out of its hiding place, but we spent the next two hours sorting papers and dishes and spilled ink pots into semi-organized piles. Most of the garbage was thrown into the fire of the huge iron stove, which crackled happily and filled the small room with warmth.

It couldn't really be considered "clean" by the time we found the right contract, but it no longer looked as though it needed to be condemned.

"Ah ha!" Erik finally cried triumphantly, holding the unrolled parchment up to read. "Fifteen silvers a head! And I can sell the pelts for nearly as much." He re-rolled the parchment and tossed it haphazardly back onto the table before heading over to the stove and peering into the contents of a cast iron pot heating on top.

I grabbed the parchment, unrolled it, and left it in an obvious place, weighted down by a cup so it wouldn't get lost again.

"Hungry?" Erik grunted, ladling something suspiciously grey and chunky into the first bowl that was within his arm's reach. I was extremely hungry, but the contents of that pot and what I had seen in half of the bowls I'd come across so far made me seriously reconsider how hungry.

"Uh, give me a minute." I searched for the cleanest bowl I could find, which took more than a minute. Eventually I passed an acceptable specimen to Erik, and he sloppily spooned a serving into it. I peered into its lumpy depths. "What... is this, exactly?"

"Pease porridge," he replied.

"...Huh." That sounded familiar. Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot, nine days old."Is it usually that color?"

Erik glanced into his bowl, as if he hadn't really looked at the contents before. "Well, it's the end of the week," he said.

I blanched, but I wasn't in much of a position to be picky. I brought a similarly clean-ish spoonful up to my mouth and took a tentative sip.

It wasn't... terrible, but I definitely got the sense that Erik spent about the same amount of effort in cooking that he did cleaning. I gave him a weak smile, but he didn't seem to be looking for praise. He wolfed his own meal down in record time, and tossed the bowl back where he had found it.

Then he disappeared through a door at the back of the cottage while I did my best to scarf down the rest of my measly dinner. I placed my bowl on top of his, with the mental note to try to teach Erik a thing or two about hygiene.