After the fiasco surrounding lord Calmbank’s ghost, Arnath hadn’t visited Crow in the tavern for an entire day.
When he was done with all of the day’s responsibilities, like bringing in the game, sweeping the floors, or even feeding the chickens, the Undead felt like he wanted to climb the walls. He took every tiny thing that Tedrick needed to have done to ease the waiting for the Deathspeaker to show up, but it was still late morning when he was finished. The only thing that was left now was boredom. Crushing, debilitating boredom, that felt as if someone hit him with something blunt in his head, slowing his thoughts and his body. Or maybe it was speeding him up instead and it was the time that was slow? Crow looked towards the sun through the tiny window of his claustrophobic room. It hadn’t moved even a millimeter across the horizon since the last time he checked. Yes, it must’ve been the time.

He had no idea how he managed to exist like this so far. Oh, how much could two days change! Instead of feeling happy that he was alone and safe, now he craved human contact. He’d even take Arnath getting angry with him over his hotheadedness rather than this. It wasn’t that loneliness wasn’t unpleasant before – but now that he knew something, anything else, it cut him deeper. Like a thousand ice-cold knives to his stomach.

“Why don’t you go to visit him?” – His shadow, sprawled out on the floor with his arms outstretched, just like Crow was outstretched on his bed, proposed. - "Who said we have to wait restlessly for Arnath to show up? We have legs, you know? We could go to his cottage, and…”

“No! We can’t possibly do that!” – Crow protested. – “You remember how disappointed he was yesterday! I bet he doesn’t want to see me at all. Ever. This is it. We’re alone again.”

He groaned in embarrassment at the mere thought. When he collapsed to the ground after leaving the manor, Arnath held his hair as he threw up. Crimson pulp of the bloodmoss first and then a stream of foul, black bile. It hurt his stomach as he strained to expel it, and burned his throat as it went through, but the sensations were distant, as if he was only watching someone else go through it. Because his mind was in a different place completely – in Calmbank’s study still, watching that nasty chair which soaked up the lord’s remains. He couldn’t shake the thought that parts of him must’ve looked just like what was coming out of his mouth before the body was taken away. It was terrifying, but it just wouldn’t leave his head no matter how hard he tried. And when he picked himself up from the ground and wrapped his scarf back around his face, his legs were so shaky that he could barely walk. It took an awfully long time to get back to Khaede, and only when they finally made it to the Deathspeaker’s house, Crow realized that he didn’t even have the bag he was meant to be paid for carrying.

“Shit! Your brewing kit! I forgot to grab it when we were running away from the ghost!” – He exclaimed, and feeling slightly better by then, was ready to run back for it at that very moment.

“It’s alright.” – Arnath said with a sigh. – “We can fetch it another day. I doubt anyone will dare to come close enough to the manor to steal it.”

“But… Won’t it get damaged by the weather?”

“I said it’s alright. Goodnight, Crow. I need time to think, please.”

And it seemed that Arnath was still thinking. What about, Crow wondered? Maybe about how he rushed in like an idiot and gulped down that moss? Maybe about how he screwed up the talk with the ghost, because he was high as a kite? Maybe about the lost bag and its precious contents, after all? Or maybe all of those at the same time? Whatever it was, the Undead was convinced that the old man wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

“I think you’re being a little bit dramatic here.” – His shadow whispered, shaking its head disapprovingly at him.

“No. I’m being realistic. I wasn’t the best friendship material even before I turned out to be a walking disaster of an apprentice.” – Crow mumbled, his voice shaky from trying to hold back tears and turned around on the bed to face the wall.

“You’re impossible today. All the progress I’ve had to practically force into your thick head and now I feel like we’re back to the beginning, only worse!”

“Nobody ever asked for your help, you know? I only made a fool out of myself by listening to you!” – He grumbled, wrapping himself in the tattered duvet like in a cocoon.

“What are you doing? Wait… No! You’re absolutely not going to sleep right now, mister! It’s not even noon!”

But Crow could fall asleep on command, so he didn’t even hear that last part.

In his dreams, the beautiful woman came to him again. He was content to lay on her lap and listen to her read just for a moment, before he started feeling restless. He was a new Crow now, after all, one that was willing to allow himself the luxury of being a person. And that person, he realized as he felt annoyed instead of cozy when she stroked his hair, wanted answers.

“Who are you?” – He asked, daring to open his mouth to her for the first time since she appeared in his dreamscape. It wasn’t long after he has risen in the Red Forest. Maybe she was already there on his first night spent asleep? He couldn’t quite recall. That time felt hazy, as if his mind woke up more slowly than his body.

The book fell from her hands to the floor with a loud thud, and she brought them up to her mouth.

She started weeping. Sniffles and sobs at first. Then, loud, unconsolable wailing.

Crow managed to connect the dots. She was crying, because he was supposed to know her. Why else would they share such tender moments? A stranger doesn’t let you rest on her thighs for hours on end.

“I’m sorry…” - He muttered. Before anything else could be said between the two of them, knocking on his bedroom door woke him up.

He reached for his scarf instinctively and took a glimpse at the sky as he was wrapping it around his face. It was darker than when he fell asleep. Evening? Or maybe morning? It wouldn’t be unlike him to sleep through so many hours. And Tedrick’s rooster did end up in the Sunday broth, so it would explain why he didn’t wake up at the very break of dawn.

“Crow, are you there?!” – It was Arnath’s voice coming from beyond the door, and Crow felt a spark of hope at the sound of it. It was warm and not disappointed or angry at all.

“I thought you were done with me for a moment…” - He said shyly as he opened the door for the old man, but it was obvious that it was needless worry now. Because in his hands, the Deathspeaker was holding a lute. Pristinely new and made of shiny, lacquered wood, with tautly strewn strings that seemed to be begging him to touch them. His eyes shot wide open in utter disbelief. - ...Is this for me?

“Why, of course it is! Why else would I have it? Personally, I am completely devoid of any and all musical talent. I hope it’s up to your standards? We did agree that I would reward you with coin, but then I thought that it might be a problem for you to buy it, since no one is selling instruments in Khaede. I figured you might not be very keen on going shopping to Turnstone.”

“No, not really.” – Crow smiled wobbly underneath his scarf. – “Sharpest pitchforks in this part of Perin. Probably because they have a proper forge.”

“Must be.” - Arnath agreed with a little chuckle. - “Can I come in? I'd like to talk a little if you don't mind. About our adventure together.”

“Oh.” - Crow's gaze wandered to the floor. Maybe the old man was disappointed after all? And he only brought the lute because he was a decent person, true to his word? - “Of course.” - He muttered weakly, moving aside for him.

But then, as Arnath sat down on Crow's bed with a little huff brought forth by his achy joints, he said something that the Undead would never had expected.

“I came here to apologize, my friend.”

“W-what?”

“For the way I've treated you.” - Arnath continued. - “I’ve put way too much on your shoulders. I promised you a completely different job. Carrying my bag and protecting me, not having to talk with a nasty, rude ghost yourself.”

“I grabbed the moss before you could do anything, Arn…” - Crow whispered in shame.

“And I should've told you that we're going back to my cottage at that very moment. But I took the advantage of the circumstances, because I knew that particular ghost would drive me crazy. It was selfish and unfair to you.”

“So… You're not mad at me that I screwed it up?” - The Undead asked carefully.

“I'm trying to tell you, I'm the one who screwed it up, Crow! Sure, maybe you're not the best with your manners, and the conversation went roughly, but it was me who blew up at the end.” - The old man let out a long, shaky sigh of someone battling with their guilt. - “I should've known better. I've never had this happen to me before, but the Calmbanks… I've always had a complicated relationship with them.”

“I don't think you did anything wrong.” - Crow protested. - “He was taunting you on purpose.”

“Irrelevant! I'm the Deathspeaker, I should be able to keep my cool!”

“But you're also just a man. Were you supposed to smile and nod as he insulted you?”

“That's the idea, yes…”

“Well, it's stupid!” - Crow exclaimed bluntly, crossing his arms.

That threw Arnath into a fit of hearty laughter. He looked at the Undead with mirth in his eyes once he calmed down a little.

“Oh… I really needed that. Thank you, Crow. Now, how about we get you out of this terrible excuse of a room?”

“What do you mean?” - He raised his eyebrow in confusion.

“I have a perfectly good guest room back at my cottage. It's not much bigger than this one, but there are no rats, the window actually lets in a decent amount of sunlight, and best of all, Tedrick will no longer have an excuse not to pay you. Before you say that you don't want my charity, I'll have you know that I have a ton of chores around the house that my body can barely keep up with anymore. It would be so nice to have someone young and lively around to weed my garden or bring me a cup of hot tea in the evening.”

“Lively? Really?” - Crow asked with a snicker.

“Well, you are, aren't you? A bit hot-headed, too quick to act for your own good, but also… A joy to be around. I would've never told before we went to that manor, but it's true. And let's be frank here, my friend… We will both be safer if you move in. Aren't you ever afraid that someone will glance under your scarf while you're asleep?”

“You know, I never really thought about that… I usually sleep with the scarf off.”

Arnath groaned quietly.

“Well then, I implore you, my friend. For the sake of our shared survival, do come live with me.”

Crow didn't need the old man to ask him a third time. The room was decrepit, he could see it now, and it did sound very tempting to be offered to leave it for good. He packed up his only belongings quickly - the two things he woke up wearing, but which he had since stashed away safely since they proved to draw too much attention from bandits seeking a quick coin in the days when he still wandered aimlessly around Perin. A cloak made out of deep indigo velvet, embroidered in a silvery thread in the image of a bird mid-flight and a peculiar crystal ring that felt warm to the touch. They weren't much, especially the cloak, since it was used up and tattered, but they were his treasures nonetheless.