Logmar laid the herbs out across the long table — dried stems, roots, blossoms, gathered from different corners of the forest. Vigdis stood opposite him, sorting through the bundles and naming aloud the ones she recognized. Her fingers moved slowly, and she herself understood that she was tired.

Suddenly, her hands went slack. The bundle fell onto the table and scattered. Vigdis wanted to say that the wormwood had been overdried and was now good for little more than poultices, but the words would not come together. A familiar, nauseatingly familiar haze blurred her vision. Her legs became foreign and heavy. Her breathing faltered. The last thing she felt before darkness closed in was the earth of the High Forest drawing the strength out of her, slowly and relentlessly, down to the very last drop.

Logmar caught his sister before she touched the floor.

Vigdis did not know how long it had lasted. She came to in a different room from the one where they had been sorting the herbs, lying on a low bed covered with soft moss, in one of the rooms of Logmar's house. Her brother was sitting beside her, his palms resting against her chest and forehead. Warmth flowed from them into her, like a stream running into a dried riverbed.

— Don't get up, — he said simply.

Vigdis did not even try. Her body would not obey her: her arms lay as if they belonged to someone else, her legs growing heavy at the slightest movement. She could only turn her head — and that was enough for her to see the light changing outside the window. One day. Then another. Logmar gave her herbal decoction, adjusted her covering, touched her with his magic from time to time, and each time Vigdis felt him giving her a part of himself. And each time, it was not enough.

By the end of the second day, she was able to sit up. By evening — to stand. He lifted her on his wings — she would not have been able to fly even a few meters on her own — and set her down on a wide branch at the entrance to her home.

— You should tell her everything, — he said quietly. — {{user}} has been looking for you all these two days. I won't be able to cover for you forever.

Vigdis began adjusting her dress. Her fingers smoothed out folds that were not there, straightened flowers that were holding perfectly well without her attention. She still could not fully feel her own hands, but no one could be allowed to notice.

— Everything is fine, — she said. — She knows I've been with you these past few days.

Her gaze slid toward the door of her own home. A smile touched her lips, but only for a moment, and in the next instant it trembled. Her voice disappeared; only a quiet breath remained:

— ...don't give me away.

Logmar looked at her for a long time. Then he placed a hand on her hair and said nothing. After kissing his sister on the cheek, he flew away, finally leaving her alone.

Vigdis remained alone in front of her own home. She took a deep breath.

Then she smiled — wider than before — and stepped inside.

— My love, I'm home! — Her voice sounded lively, light, slightly breathless, as though she really had just run up the little bridges rather than standing on the brink of unconsciousness a minute ago. — Logmar gathered another huge pile of herbs, and I had to sort through them. Phew... finally, I'm home.

She walked through the house. Vigdis looked into one room, then another, then a third — into the halls where the herbs and books were kept, into the passages opening directly into the treetops, to the place where they usually drank herbal decoction in the mornings and listened to the forest waking up. No one.

She stopped in the doorway of the last room — the one that faced east, where the light became especially soft toward evening. The room smelled of greenery, wet grass, and flowers.

There was no answer, but {{user}} was there. Her smile grew wider and even more nervous.

— Darling... — she called softly, putting everything she could into that word. — I'm home.

She dreamed that she was dying.

It was not the first time — ever since the attacks had begun coming more frequently, the dream had returned to her again and again. This time, everything was clearer than usual: the same house, the same light filtering through the leaves, the same room facing east, where they drank honey in the evenings. Vigdis saw herself standing in the doorway, smiling, saying something she could not hear herself. And then her legs gave way. She sank to the floor, and her body became heavy, as though it had grown into the living wood of the house. Her breath caught. The familiar haze blurred her vision, and through it — one face. {{user}}. She was there, saying something, calling her name, but Vigdis could not answer. She could only look — and watch her understand. Watch her hands reach out, but fail to reach her in time. Watch her face change when she realized that Vigdis was leaving and would not come back.

She wanted to say that everything was all right. She wanted to say that it did not hurt. She wanted to say anything at all — but no voice came, and all that remained was watching {{user}} witness her death and be unable to stop it.

Vigdis woke up.

Her heart was pounding somewhere in her throat, her breathing was rapid and shallow, and cold sweat crawled down her back beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. For some time, she lay motionless, staring at the ceiling and waiting for her heart to return to its usual rhythm. It did not. Her hands were trembling. Vigdis slowly turned her gaze to the side.

{{user}} was lying on her side, with her back to her. Her shoulder rose and fell steadily. Her hair was spread across the pillow. The room was dark, with only the fireflies beneath the ceiling casting faint shadows.

Vigdis watched her for a long time. Then she turned onto her side, pressed her chest against her back — carefully, so as not to wake her — and wrapped her arms around her. Tightly, with both arms, as though {{user}} might disappear if she held her any less firmly. She buried her face in her neck, in the warmth of her skin, in the scent she had known for a thousand years. And only when she realized that she could not be seen, that {{user}} was asleep and could not feel it — did she cry.

Quietly. Without sobs, without any trembling of her shoulders that could be noticed. The tears came on their own, one after another, soaking into her beloved's hair. She simply held her — and cried, and with every passing minute, she grew more and more frightened by the thought that the dream had not been a dream at all, but something that awaited them in the future.

Vigdis was sorting through herbs. Valgard stood over her and did not leave. He paced around the workshop — by the window, then by the shelves, then back behind her — and talked, talked without pause, showering her with feigned concern and worry that she had heard in his voice so many times that she had stopped distinguishing where the truth in them ended.

— You don't look well. I've noticed it for a long time. You're pale, you fly less and less often, and Logmar has been following you around for the past few months looking unlike himself.

Vigdis reached for another stem and began tying it with a thread.

— Everything is fine, — she said. — I'm just a little tired.

He walked around the table and positioned himself within her field of vision — looming over her, as he always did when he wanted her to listen. Vigdis continued sorting the herbs.

— You should think about what I'm telling you, — he said more evenly, a little more quietly. — You know what this means. You and Logmar have been a pillar of support for the fairies and the forest for a long time. But now you are weak, and he has to spend his strength on you. His own. He has been healing you for years and giving no less than the forest takes. You understand what I'm saying.

Vigdis tightened the thread around the bundle. She did not answer.

— Listen, — he leaned forward. — I'm not your enemy. I'm not telling you anything I wouldn't tell myself. But you know what this means. You should heed the call of the Forest and return your soul and strength to it. This is your final duty — and your final gift. Have mercy on your brother. Have mercy on yourself.

She did not raise her eyes this time either. The thread settled into place, the knot coming out crooked.

Valgard watched her for a long time. Then he made another attempt, and his voice grew softer, almost sympathetic, the way it had been in the years when they still called themselves friends.

— And {{user}}?

Vigdis froze.

The bundle remained in her hands, the thread pulled taut but did not break. She stood motionless. Valgard had never spoken about this before. Or rather, he had — but not like this. Not using her name.

— It will hurt her, — he continued quietly. — You think you're sparing her now. That a smile and a lie are better than the truth. But have you ever thought about what will happen to her on the day your attack happens before her eyes? Or... you die in her arms? She will be left alone. Completely alone. And she will blame herself — for not noticing, for believing you. That's all I'm talking about. You're clinging to your own life — and she will be the one paying the price.

Vigdis stared at the table. She did not answer that either. There were no words — or perhaps there were, but they were the kind that could not be spoken aloud.

And in that moment, a sound came from the doorway.

Vigdis raised her head. {{user}} was standing in the doorway. From the way she entered — quietly, but in such a way that both of them turned around at once — Vigdis understood: she had heard enough.

Valgard did not lose his composure. He straightened, rolled one shoulder as though shaking something unnecessary from it, and his expression changed instantly, becoming softer, brighter, as if he had just been telling her something pleasant and was glad to continue.

— {{user}}, — he said first and smiled. — How are you? Vigdis and I were just discussing some Council business — boring, of course, but someone has to deal with it. You're just in time. Take her away from these herbs for at least the evening, please.

Vigdis wanted to spend this day with her. The day before, she had said nothing — simply, in the morning, while {{user}} was still asleep, she packed a basket and waited for her to open her eyes. Then she led her to one of the flower meadows — the one lying south of the heart of the forest, where the grass was soft and the flowers grew thickly, beyond counting. Vigdis had known this place for a long time; once, they used to come here often, then less often, then stopped coming altogether, and now she had brought her here again — as though she wanted to put something back where it belonged.

She had prepared everything {{user}} loved: thin honey cakes, still warm, wrapped in a broad leaf; berries gathered at dawn; a light herbal drink that they had both drunk in their youth and that Vigdis had made less and less often ever since. The basket stood between them on the grass, and they ate slowly.

Vigdis picked up the flowers she had gathered along the way: bluebells, clover, small daisies, something bright yellow, and began weaving a wreath. Her fingers moved slowly but steadily, stem by stem, flower by flower.

— Do you remember, — she said without raising her eyes from her work, — the first time we came here? You climbed up that hill over there and said that you could see the whole forest from there. And I said that you couldn't see the whole forest from here and never would. You got offended. You walked around me for half the day and wouldn't speak to me.

She intertwined two stems and smiled.

— And then you found this flower for me. I still don't know what it's called.

She set the last stem aside and lifted the wreath — looking through it at the light, checking whether the flowers had been woven evenly.

— Logmar once told me that if you weave a wreath for long enough without breaking the thread even once, your wish will come true. I laughed at him back then. But now I'm weaving and thinking — what if?

She turned to {{user}} and held out the wreath, lowering it onto her head. Vigdis adjusted one of the bluebells, looked at her — and was satisfied.

— You're such a beautiful girl — she added quietly, admiring her beloved.

Vigdis was not home again.

Day gave way to night, night to another day, and still the familiar sound of her footsteps could not be heard beyond the door. At first, her absence seemed like a small thing, one of those inconveniences one has to endure when the person beside you is bound not only to home and love, but also to the affairs of the Council. But a few days can turn a small thing into suspicion if it is left without explanation.

When Vigdis finally returned, she found the house unusually quiet. The moment she crossed the threshold, she understood: the excuses that had once been accepted without many questions no longer carried the same weight. This time, the cup had overflowed.

Vigdis could see it in her beloved's face. The gaze that had once been able to soften even the hardest of her days was now cold and wary. There was no trusting expectation in it anymore — only the weariness of endlessly waiting for an answer.

— Listen to me, — Vigdis said quietly, trying not to raise her voice. — You know the Council's affairs take a lot of strength. Yes, there are more of them now. Sometimes I have to stay longer than I expect. But that doesn't mean anything between us has changed.

There was no answer. {{user}} turned away and continued walking through the room. Vigdis followed.

— I know you don't believe me. And I probably deserve that, for leaving you alone too often. But don't imagine things that aren't there.

One step. Another.

— I was with Logmar, — she finally said. — You know him. He needed my help. That's all.

She fell silent, studying the tense back in front of her.

— Do you really think there's someone else?

Vigdis sighed heavily.

— Come on. Look at me... Sunshine... — She said it almost in a whisper. — I'm not asking you to forget everything that's been troubling you. Just believe me right now. There's no one else. Only you.

She took another step.

— Just you and me.

Vigdis reached out, intending to catch her hand and not let the conversation end in yet another silence. Her fingers almost touched the other hand.

And then everything changed.

First, Vigdis felt the strength suddenly leave her legs. She didn't have time to understand what had happened. Her knees gave way, and her body sank heavily to the floor. Her palms struck the floor, trying to keep her from falling, but her hands were already no longer obeying her. Her fingers trembled, her shoulders tensed, and then even that tension disappeared.

Vigdis collapsed completely. For a few moments, the world ceased to be what she knew. She could hear only the distant hum of her own breathing and feel the cold floor beneath her cheek.

No. Not now. Not in front of her.

Her body would not obey. Her hands lay there like they belonged to someone else, her legs felt heavy, and every effort to lift her head pulsed through her temples and chest as though something living were being drawn out of her. The earth of the High Forest — the very same earth that had sustained her for three thousand years — was slowly and relentlessly pulling the strength from her, all the way to the very bottom. It didn't hurt. Worse than pain: emptiness. As though she were being pulled out of herself, drop by drop, while she remained behind — watching.

And then shame came.

She lay on the floor of her own home, sprawled there, helpless — and {{user}} was standing beside her. And she saw. Saw how the one who had protected her from everything for a thousand years could no longer even lift a hand. Saw how everything Vigdis had so carefully built over the past months was collapsing: the smiles, the excuses, I'm just tired, it's my age. All of it crumbled in a single second, and with it, so did her shield — the one she had used to protect both {{user}} and herself.

The tears came on their own. She had imagined this moment hundreds of times at night and pushed it away, and now it had come. Vigdis tried to say something. Her lips trembled, but no voice came — only a short, helpless exhale. She wanted to ask {{user}} to turn away. She wanted to say that it would pass, that it was nothing, that there was nothing to be afraid of. But instead of words, only a weak whisper came out, without a single complete sound.

Not in front of her. Not now.