She opened her eyes. Blinked few times. It was startling, almost unnerving to see blackened wood above her instead of open sky. First morning of her new life. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Smooth feel of clean wooden floor met her toes. She could hear people outside, walking past her house. Some of them laughing, some of them arguing and haggling over prices at the marketplace. Children crying and laughing, running around.
She had been lucky. Salem was a small, welcoming community, filled with artisans of every possible trade. There had been an empty hut right next to blacksmith’s shop. Previous occupant, a baker, had died just few weeks ago, and his family had been more than willing to sell the hut and small plot of land it stood upon. When they had asked what she was planning to do, she had been hesitant to answer at first. Then, remembering that not everybody were as big bigots and ignorant as the people in her home village had been, she had told them that she was a candle maker. Family of the baker had gathered up quickly a small crowd of helping hands, other artisans from the district, and they had helped her to put up the shop and everything needed to start her business. They had even furnished her small apartment at the second floor of the hut.
“Good morning, neighbor!” Blacksmith bellowed from where he sat at his porch when she opened her front door.
“Good morning!” She answered to his greeting, wide smile spreading on her face. She had taken instant liking to the man. He was a giant compared to her, actually he was a giant compared to anybody around the town, but to her he looked like a gentle and caring man. All day along she had seen kids running around at his feet, several times nearly tripping him over, but not once he had raised his hand, or even his voice. He had been patient and answered to her several questions about the heath at her new home. He had replaced rusted hinges on the windows and doors free of charge.
“Settling in?” Mick asked with his deep voice. She couldn’t help noticing how much he reminded her of Logan. Wide, muscular body, black hair tied back with a leather cord. Hazel eyes that felt like they looked straight inside of you.
“Settling in. I was wondering… There are some things I need. Tallow, beeswax and wicks, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find those?” She asked. Mick gestured towards the swirling mass of people in front of them.
“Traders are open for business already.”
“And I’m going to need a good pot for melting the wax. You wouldn’t happen to have…”
“Actually I do. And you’re welcome to go through my shop. See if there’s anything else you might need,” Mick said, pushing open the door behind him. She nodded and stepped in.
Mick’s wife was there, arranging the newest batch of goods to shelves and dusting off oldest.
“Hi, Annabel. Mick told me you might have something I need. You have some pots around here?” She asked, scanning the shelves with her gaze, admiring silently the fine craftsmanship. Annabel nodded and wiped her hands before she picked up a sturdy looking, thick bottomed iron pot, more of a cauldron from the corner.
“I can give you this with two copper. We have bigger one at the back, for one silver,” se said.
“That looks good. And I’m going to need a knife. Not too sharp or big, just something small to collect herbs…”
“Oh, hush! No knives for herbs! Here. This’ll be just perfect. One copper,” Annabel said, placing a small, sharp looking sickle in the pot.
“And you’ll be needing this, as well. Free of charge,” she said, looking at Marie pointedly and handing her a dagger.
“Salem may seem like haven, but we have our fair share of drunkards and troublemakers. Keep this at hand.”
“I…”
“And I won’t take no for an answer. Young pretty lady like you, all alone… Keep it, and use it if anybody gives you trouble,” Annabel whispered when Mick stepped in.
“Found what you need?” He asked, towering over both of her and Annabel.
“Yes. This sickle… It’s beautiful,” she said, trailing her fingers over ornate carvings of the wooden handle.
“Should be. Alaric, my eldest son made it,” Mick said, practically beaming from pride.
“I was hoping he would take after me, but it looks like he’s more in to carpentry than smithing…”
After she had spent good part of the day tending her horse and gathering supplies to her shop she was exhausted. Sun was still up and it felt somehow wrong to go to sleep this early. She made herself some tea and went outside to drink it. It was nice just to sit and observe people. Many of them already knew her, and greeted her when passing by. Some of them were complete strangers, just passing by.
She had been busy earlier. Too busy to think about things. Too busy to think about certain feral creature, and the way their lives had parted. Now, as she started to relax and unwind, everything started to trickle back. Everything from the very beginning. Logan, Wolverine, everything they had gone through together, and last but not least, hateful, insulting way she had treated him before he left. Yes, she had been tired. She had been bored. She had been dissatisfied, but it didn’t give her the right to say those things she had thrown at his face.
He hadn’t asked to become a werewolf. He hadn’t asked to get stuck on that form. And all along the way, everything Logan had done was directed to keep her safe and happy. Now that she thought of it, even his reluctance for closeness with her… He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She could see it clearly now. Feel it clearly. Coarse skin scraping against hers, drawing blood. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He had kept her at arms length to protect her.
“Oh, Goddess…”
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