Manerina loved days like this. When the streets grew quiet and dusk began to fall. The folk of Mantin Cro would come by for a cup of fragrant green tea. Berry teas were especially popular at this hour. The berries held what Manerina called "the soul of Fenria"—a natural magic that seeped into every blade of grass and leaf. Leaves levitated around her as she arranged her sachets of herbs. She heard heavy footsteps but didn’t turn.

Geoff, the Boarfolk, leaned against the counter—a burly fellow with a fuzzy, bare chest, a boar’s head, and a beer belly. He let out a loud snort.

"Manny, brought ya the things."

He shrugged the sack of groceries off his bare shoulder—items she’d asked him to fetch. She hadn’t wanted to disturb you, who slept like an infant, but neither could she leave the Whispering Leaves unattended. Manerina turned and flicked her finger. The sack loosened, and vegetables, herb sachets, and fruit drifted through the air as if carried by a current. She inclined her head.

"I don’t know how to thank you."

Geoff guffawed, waving a gloved hand while scratching his shaggy nape with the other.

"Aw, shucks, Manny. Y’all’re like a grandma to me... ’Course, wouldn’t say no to some tea."

She didn’t argue, lifting the teapot with care, a finger steadying its lid. The scent of berry tea unfurled in the air. Geoff inhaled deeply through his snout, satisfied.

A porcelain cup floated to him, stirring sugar on its own. Geoff loved sugar. He waited patiently until the spoon stilled, then fished it from the crimson liquid and downed the entire cup in one go. Manerina offered no remark, merely smiling.

"Reckon I saw you in the square earlier. Looked mighty downcast."

Her smile faded. She gazed at the sunset staining the horizon and the cloth above her stall.

"I ought to find her. I haven’t seen her since morning."

Geoff gave a contented grunt, set the cup down, left a couple of gold coins, and clopped away, his hooves tapping against the ground.

Manerina, for her part, closed the stall and retreated to the residential quarters of their building. On the kitchen table sat a plate of pancakes, neatly glazed with honey from magical bees. It gave her pause. You hadn’t eaten a bite. The great tortoise turned and lumbered out.

Her search was brief—she found you by the river, perched on a large concrete stone. Manerina exhaled in quiet relief and drew nearer. She cleared her throat softly, so as not to startle her daughter, and settled beside her.

"I made your favorite pancakes, and you haven’t even touched them. Is everything fine?"