In the aftermath of the Haunted Caravan, the lifeless hosts faded away. Just as they had arrived in silence, so had they left; and now the fairgrounds where they once congregated lay merely as a barren patch of land on Koschei Isle, with no evidence to suggest a prior gathering. Yet while the dead took their leave, the dying – or at least those under the suspicion of death – remained.
 
Natsumi was among this group left behind. The burning she had felt in her skull and spine during the festivities never abated after their conclusion, and this symptom eventually grew into a fever. Gaston had been taking care of her at the camp in Virens Forest in an attempt to control her high temperature as best he could, but his medical supplies and abilities were limited. Each day the apparent illness progressed despite his efforts, and each day he would become even more desperate for a cure.
 
This endless struggle could not last. The sentient mole knew that, but, with no way to draw the attention of humans so deep into the forest, he couldn't bring a more qualified priest to his patient. Up until the fifth day, he also didn't want to move Natsumi for fear of worsening her condition; but, once the girl began sweating profusely, he decided to risk the trip. It was the only chance left, he felt, to save his friend.
 
Because of this desperation, Li, Rauru and Gaston all took Miss Yamauchi from the camp on the afternoon of the fifth day, and moved her further into human territory to the west. Taking care not to be seen – no small feat for a bear as large as Li – they traveled under cover of night until they were able to set her down next to a prominent inn that lay along a main trade route in the southern Plains of Bohar. Then, after Li and Gaston made themselves scarce, Rauru knock-ditched the main door with his beak to summon the owner.
 
"Oi," the large, middle-aged woman said as she came out from the well lit lobby, "This ain't no courtesy estabishment. Yeh come in on yer own. Ain't no time to answer well-to-do knockin." She was about to slam the door shut on her non-existent client, until she noticed that no one was standing up in front of her. Her old eyes gradually fell on Natsumi, at which point her irritated demeanor turned to worry over the half naked girl dumped on her door step. "Oi, girleh, yeh alright?" She touched the unconscious druid's forehead with the back of her hand, only to recoil from the heat. "Tree's mercy! Ye's burnin' up!"
 
"Mama," a younger man spoke from inside the lobby, "What's wrong?" He walked to the door and stopped when he saw the matron's guest. Out of sheer embarrassment from the woman's lack of proper clothing, he immediately blushed and almost moved to cover his eyes before the Matron slapped him.
 
"Don' jus' stand there like a slack-jawed idiot; git a cleric!"
 
"Right!" The man ran off past the two women, and headed down the road to the nearest cleric. While he was doing that, the Matron remained behind, carefully lifting Natsumi up off the ground before bringing her inside. Since the inn was also part tavern, she had to carry the ill girl past some drunken men that were more than happy to stare. The Matron's own gaze, which was quick to appear, rapidly silenced theirs, but lecherous thoughts would continue even after Natsumi was out of the main lobby and into a spare room.
 
"Ye's lucky, girl," the caretaker said while placing the sickly woman down onto the bed and covering her in blankets. "We rarely has rooms lef' this time o' year, and we also has one of the bes' clerics in the area living nearby. Yeh should be fine."
 
Little did the innkeeper or her family members know that the mentioned cleric would be unable to help. A few miles away, his clinic was already being swamped by people wounded from a recent skirmish at the Adeluna border. He wouldn't be able to leave even if he wanted to. As such, no doctor would be coming for Natsumi – at least none that were expected.    
 

There was no use in trying to sleep that night.  Everyone’s thoughts were too scattered, too loud, and the amount of bloodshed mere miles away had his skin practically burning from how badly his daemon was trying to get out and add to it all.  Hands cupping over his ears did nothing; meditation did nothing; even submerging himself in the bath did absolutely nothing. 
 
Just when he thought his body was going to give up and pass out he heard the main entrance door open, soon followed by the irritated below of the owner.  Why…?  He was so tired.  Two months had gone by without an attack, without Minasé escaping from within him, but each day was wearing on him to the point that he was about ready to just release him so that he could have some peace.  It would never happen.
 
Minutes turned to an hour and he found he could no longer stand it.  Maybe it was time to invest in a more physical remedy, though elixirs and herbs hardly worked on him due to his metabolism, he was starting to grow too desperate to wave them off.  He sat up on the edge of his bed, his hair sticking to the back of his neck from sleep deprived perspiration, and he peeled his shirt of and let it fall to the floor with an unenthusiastic thud. 
 
The darkness around him waned slightly from the soft glow that came from his eyes and he moved up from the bed and left his room, trying his best to ignore the growing volume of chatter as he moved down the stairs.  His nose wrinkled: something was off.  That smell, he recognized the sour scent of a body in distress far too well.  Someone was sick, sick with something awful.  Minasé’s interest piqued and he quickly quashed it back down as he moved into the tavern.  Alcohol made normal people pass out, maybe if he had enough of it he’d drift off for a few hours.
 
Just as he sat at one of the stools, hand poised in the air to call the tender over, the owner moved into the space.  Her head was bent, muttering something to herself in irritation that he tried to ignore but found himself unable to.  A cleric had been sent for, but had still yet to make it.  Immediately his thoughts turned to the violence that had been tempting his daemon so. 
 
“Oi!”
 
He nearly jerked off of the stool, not only from how sharp her call had been, but from how it managed to lower everyone’s speaking to a dullness that couldn’t be overlooked.  It would have been impressive had it not sent his heart racing.  She had his attention,
 
“A girl’s been brought ‘en.  Real sick.”   She spoke in a tone so direct you’d think everyone in her establishment was under employment by her, “Cleric’s been sent for, but seein’ as he’s yet tah come by, time to show yer hand if yeh’ve any trainin’ in healin’.”
 
Her eyes narrowed as she walked slowly around the room, eyeing each person as if they had reason to be suspicious of.  His own eyes moved down.  He had the training, more than enough to help with illnesses, but his own energy was so low that he doubted his own abilities at the moment.  Still, with his supernatural affinity it would probably still be better than the average healer, should there be one here.  When she was only a few paces from him he resigned himself to his decision and barely turned his hand from its beckon to the tender, and instead rose it up to offer himself.
 
She stopped in front of him, her hands moving to her hips, “Yeh can heal?”
 
He hesitated only for a heartbeat before nodding wordlessly, feeling guilty for a crime he hadn’t even committed as her eyes narrowed on him.  For just a moment she stared him down, what she might be judging him for he wasn’t sure, “Well don’ just stand there!”   Her hand moved out and grabbed him by the back of his neck, pulling him off of the stool and leading him. 
 
His eyes widened and he hunched himself so as not to be taller than her as she did so, ignoring the laughter that followed them and trying to convince himself that the only reason she did so was because he had no shirt to grip and drag him by.  Somehow he couldn’t help but think he’d just made a huge mistake.
 
When they got to the room his lips parted.  He hadn’t expected someone so young, well…not too young, close to his own age it seemed, but still.  She was buried under blankets and even from here he could hear the faint flutter of her heart and the strain of her breathing.  His eyes weakened and he moved towards the bed she was on when his neck was let go, “Showed up on tha doorstep she did.  Dun know who she is, but yeh’d prob’ly need to start sooner rath’r than later.  And eh,” She tapped the back of his head lightly, “Nothin’ funny.”
 
His cheeks warmed immediately and he shook his head.  He would never.  She was right though: he needed to get started soon.  Where to start though…?  Whatever it was she had, he had yet to see it before, and as far as he knew there wasn’t a sickness spreading around.  With the upmost gentleness he drew back the layers of blanket to her hips and paid no mind to the state of her clothing.  This wasn’t good…Best to just cleanse her completely rather than try to figure out what was causing it.
 
Rubbing his hands together, he closed his eyes and tried his best to concentrate and build his energy.  It flowed through him, as constant as water, but his well was nearly running on empty due to his lack of sleep, even for something this simple.  All of it gathered down to his hands, filling them with warmth, concentrated health.  When he had brought as much of it as he could muster his eyes opened, shining brighter; the usual emerald having shifted to a soft lit white as he rested his hands over her chest.
 
He could feel the energy leave himself, flow into her…yet nothing happened.  The white of his eyes flickered for a moment of doubt.  No, he’d done everything the way he was meant to, so why wasn’t it working…?  There was nothing unholy surrounding her: no dark aura radiating from her body…so what was this?  In vain, he brought his hands together and tried again, pulling from his gut’s chakra where the highest level of soul rested…but even then when he laid his hands on her heated skin, nothing changed.  
 
What was going on?  A low chuckle whispered in the back of his head and his jaw locked against it.  Something was wrong.  This was new, something he’d never seen before, never experienced.  Whatever was happening to this girl he was unable to fix. 
 

And worst of all, he’d spent almost all of his energy on it.  Minasé had every right to gently rejoice.

Reality moves at a constant rate; regardless of what inhabitants wish for. Many are those who wish to turn back the clock, usually to reclaim some lost treasure that time has taken from them. Every one of their ventures ends in failure, though, because time is ruthless. Time is ceaseless in its advancement, and it does not stop even for the likes of immortals.
 
Yet, despite this all powerful nature, the 4th dimension is mutable depending on an observer's location; and the most common area of distortion - where the illusion of time deceleration occurs - is in something that every sentient creature possesses: the mind. For every external moment, there are infinitely more internal moments. Thoughts are fast and rapid. A century of conversation can be had in mere seconds if done through purely mental synapses; and such capability is merely expanded upon when a subject's life is in danger.
 
As it happens, while Natsumi was not actually ailed by malignant curse or disease as the half demon suspected, her life was indeed threatened in her comatose state. An egregious miscalculation had been made by her handler, one that had warranted direct intervention. The coma was manufactured, induced as a protective measure as something to keep Natsumi from thrashing about during her metamorphosis gone haywire. While it was present, all healing energies would be returned to the clerics that cast them, and Natsumi's mind would be spirited away to another world. Her body still lay in Revaliir on Canelux, but her mind, at the same time, lay in the company of the infamous Controller: a person she still blamed for her instructor's death.
 
"Why haven't you spoken this whole time?" Natsumi asked after Naota had attempted his fruitless healing.  To her, she was speaking to her handler in a foreign environment. That was what her eyes perceived, but her voice still carried between the two worlds. Naota could hear her just as much as the Controller could. "All you've done is kept me here while you play with that chess table without relent. Why do you not speak and at least tell me why you let the professor die?"
 
From the young woman's perspective, the feeling of captivity she experienced had held her for nearly a year; and, during that year, the handler had merely been reading the same book and playing the same, perpetual match. An elaborate, multi-level chess board had been permanently seated in front of this strange, raven haired woman. It seemed to be her only form of entertainment, even as she held Natsumi captive in a strange, slender bed. She never spoke, not even once. The only time she bothered to acknowledge the presence of her guest was during her occasional glances and intermittent uses of healing magics.
 
Yet, on that final day when Natsumi mustered the courage to ask her question, this lack of communication ceased. With an audible clack, the handler took a white queen off the board and placed it on a low-rise table between her and her patient. Across the base, Natsumi's full name was embroidered in gold filigree, and, while the druid went into shock from seeing this, a note materialized underneath the piece.
 
'My gift is not for everyone,' read the immaculate handwriting in Natsumi's native language. 'Mr. White was my portal, my forward base in the storm of your synthetic tyranny. Yet he was already dying by the time we met. You expect reason for death, something to comfort your mind: you will not find it here. Every mortal dies, and my killing your professor early was the only mercy I was prepared to grant him, just the same as my allowing him to lure you to the carnival was out of mercy.
 
Natsumi, on the day you actually hear my voice, it will not be for small talk or simple comfort. Either it will be the day you die, or it will be the day I call you to a new home. Until then, grow stronger and learn what there is to know about this world. You are too young to give up, so I suggest you awaken. Get up, my Queen of Revaliir.'
 
Extreme pain; burning pain; pain worse than the young, Nisshoki outcast had ever felt: it wracked her body after she finished reading the note in that far-off place. Mind and body instantly melded back together in its wake, just as body began thrashing about. The blankets around Natsumi flew off as she screamed with her eyes still closed, and her limbs flailed about with great ferocity until she gripped the crown of her head. This continued for a solid half minute, until both pain and fever disappeared.
 
Natsumi opened her eyes once the symptoms subsided, weak but forever changed. During that period of intense agony, she had grown both a pair of fox ears and a longer than usual fox tail. The transformation had been performed rapidly, even going so far as to rip open the back of the young girl's waist band. The growth of these appendages had been the cause of her anguish all along, and so her "illness" vanished just as she regained her senses enough to retrieve the blankets and hide herself from the shirtless man lurking in the room with her.   

Blinding pain shot up his spine into the back of his skull, flowering over his crown to the backs of his eyes until he had to jerk away from her.  It was happening, and he was having an increasingly difficult time holding it back.  The far off chuckle rose in volume until it was a near hysteric cackle deafening his thoughts.  “Noooow it’s my turn!”   He shook his head violently, painfully, and gripped tightly at his hair in a weak effort at keeping him in.
 
One thing brought him back, a voice, a voice he’d never heard before and so out of place that he had no choice but to be briefly distracted.  It was the girl on the bed.  His eyes opened weakly, pained tears pooling at the corners as he watched on.  Was she awake?  He took a half step towards her but froze, watching her lips as they continued to move in conversation.  Conversation with who?  His hairline was wet, soaked with sweat that ran down between his shoulder blades, as if he were the one grown ill with fever.  It was his body temperature rising, fighting the daemon trying to force himself out.
 
Maybe she was dreaming…?  People could talk in their sleep couldn’t they?  His younger brother did, though it was in nonsensical mumbles that he’d outgrown by now.  This was something entirely different.  Either way, he stepped back from her until his back connected with the wood of the wall next to the door.  Not a minute later did it happen: the scream.  The scream of a person pushed to their body’s limit.  He’d heard that scream; he’d caused that scream.  Minasé reveled in that scream.  Her blankets sprung from her body, landing against the opposite wall and sliding down into folds against the floor.  That wasn’t what worried him most, no, what affected him more than anything else was seeing her body flail about.
 
Eyes widening, he instantly moved his hand to retrieve a blade at his hip that wasn’t there.  All of his weaponry was back in his own room and while normally he’d rely on magick or psionics, he was too drained to do so.  “Daaaw, see?  She’s doing a fine job killing herself!  You wouldn’t even have to worry about me getting this one!”   He tried his best to ignore Minasé as he mutely watched on, taking in the changes of her body: the ears, the slight arch of her back to suggest something growing from behind her.  What on earth?  This wasn’t his doing, this was something else.
 
As suddenly as it had started, it stopped and he found that his own breathing had deepened and quickened in pace as if he had just run some great marathon when all he had done was stare and look on.  It was quiet now, too quiet with the contrast of the previous screaming.  To be honest he was surprised that every person in the inn hadn’t burst into the room.  As she moved to retrieve the blankets he instantly averted his eyes, almost too shocked at her sudden strength to do so.  But she was too indecently dressed, it wasn’t her fault, but still.
 
He lifted his hands up, palms out towards her to show he meant no harm and stayed in his spot, “S-Sorry.  I was brought to heal you, nothing more.”   The words were fast as they left his lips.  Only then did he realize the burning was gone…all of it.  There was no disappointed quip sounding off in his head either.  Hell he didn’t even feel tired anymore.  What in the world…?  He moved his eyes forward, not to her though, to his hands.  What had caused that…?  The same thing that had done this to her?  He moved his eyes away again, hands staying up in peace, “She thought you were sick-You were asleep.  You’re not anymore, but you were.  What were you dreaming?  What was in your head?”
 

It was all so fast and there was a small pit of guilt in his stomach from throwing so many questions at her after she’d just regained consciousness, but he couldn’t help himself.

Hidden eyes ; hidden form. Natsumi took care to not reveal herself even as her unwelcome guest explained his presence. While fully aware of the surroundings in the Handler's abode, she hadn't witnessed the course of reality. Gaston had, apparently, gotten desperate and took the young Miss Yamauchi into human lands: a move that made her uncomfortable at best. Despite her reservations, though, she remained grateful to her companions for their actions, and quietly pulled the blankets down just enough to let her look upon the face of a man she recognized instantly.
 
"You; I've seen you." She spoke in her native tongue, a language Naota no doubt recognized. This man, this half-demon, was familiar to her through the machinations of her controller, and that fact surprised the druid enough to temporarily wrest away control of her language facilities.
 
During the initial parts of her internment, Natsumi had seen a picture of Naota and his sister hung on the far wall. Seemingly transfixed by the portraits, she had stared at that wall for prolonged periods of time in between fits of fevered dreaming. In exchange for her observation periods, she received various bits of information about the subjects contained within. The exact mechanism by which this data transfer occurred, Natsumi couldn't say, but it certainly seemed to be the case, now, that the Handler had planned this meeting all along. She planned for Naota to meet her black queen, but to what end?
 
Natsumi wondered up until the point where the awkward boy asked his first question.
 
"Everyone has their own demons," she said after a thoughtful pause, "and they are not confined to waking hours. You know better than most what that's like, Naota."  Pointing at his head and back at hers, Natsumi continued. "The difference between us is that I don't have a name to give to my version of Minase. I can only refer to her as The Handler."
 
It was at this point that the young woman finally noticed her new acquisitions.  Her tail had a mind of its own and began batting her in the face like a plushy pillow.
 
"What in?" Another whack. "Stop it!" And another whack. "Blasted varmint!" She grabbed the swaying tail, thinking it was some fox that had snuck into her bed. Rather than wrench out the unwelcome visitor, though, Natsumi's inevitable pull only caused the hair on her own head to stand up. "…Ow." She looked in the only available mirror within her room to spy the ears next, wiping the tears of pain from her eyes. "It seems that my Handler's enchantment has finally given me physical mutations that are visible. I'll be needing a sewing kit to fix the resultant damage to my clothing."
 
An honest request, but one made without the knowledge that a storm was already coming upstairs at the behest of the matron: a petite, firebrand, female type of storm. The footsteps of a titan echoed down the hallway seconds before a quiet knock rang on the door. One would expect a brief delay following such an occurrence, a chance for the inhabitants of a room to respond. There was no such thing. The door simply flew off its hinges with hurricane force the likes of which Natsumi had only seen large animals pull off.
 
"What in blazes is going on in here?!" shouted a feminine voice from the hallway as the door literally hit the opposite wall and split in two. The source was a five foot tall woman with blond hair, fair skin, olive green eyes, and Herculean strength. Those same eyes scanned the room, moving between the awoken, wide-eyed Natsumi and the sweating, shirtless Naota before focusing squarely on the latter. "I do believe that mama told you to HEAL our guest, NOT give her new features like a bad, beauty mage."
 
This fight would continue, but Natsumi was too petrified to move or say anything in Naota's defense. Contrary to common preconceptions, however, her fear did not stem from the woman's strength so much as her face. This human girl - she possessed the face of a portrait found in a locket on the body of a dead hunter: a hunter that Natsumi had killed for trophy hunting in Virens Forest months ago.
 

His lips parted when she spoke to him.  Not because of her words claiming to have seen him before –though that did gather his attention firmer- but because of the fact that despite speaking a language he didn’t know, he understood every word as if he’d spoken it fluently his entire life.  What was going on…?  How could he know a language and yet not know it at the same time?  His hands slowly lowered as he listened to her speak, now in the common language.  The more she spoke the faster his heart pounded in his chest.  How could she have possibly known this much about him…?
 
The idea that a person could know so much about him without having ever shared a conversation made him more than a little uncomfortable.  Almost more unsettling was how much better she was; seemingly instantaneously at that.  He took a step back as her tail started to beat against her, his heel connecting with the wall of the room as he could do nothing more but watch on.  How was she so calm?  Had a tail sprung from his hindquarters he’d be in at least a brief state of panic.  He thought instantly of the blood red daemon markings that formed on his skin whenever Minasé took over and wondered if this “Handler” had similar intentions with her forced changes on the woman’s body.
 
Thundering and hastened footsteps brought him back to what was happening and he had only a second to look towards the door before it flew off of its hinges and against the wall.  What in the world?!  Small flames flickered around his knuckles immediately in defense but dispersed when he realized it was nothing more than a young woman of the house.  He parted his lips to speak and try and explain but before he could get a word out she was fussing at him.  How could he explain that he hadn’t been the one to change her body?  Even he was still trying to wrap his head around it.  And even though their circumstances were very different, there was still something tying them to one another and he wasn’t eager to give that kind of information up just to try and explain.
 
“N-No, you see, this had to do with her illness.  I’m not sure how but I can assure you that I haven’t done this to her.”
 
She eyed him, her gaze practically dripping in skepticism.  What could he say…?  He’d probably sound mad, and even more so, it wasn’t even his story to tell.  But now her gaze was changing, her eyes moving up and down his body, over to the woman, back to him.  What…?  His eyebrows furrowed, feeling guilty and not even knowing why.  He could barely take that look and not know the source of it.
 
Her hands moved to her hips, that pointed gaze never leaving him as if he were the source of danger in the room, “Well then, since you’re so innocent, you shouldn’t have any qualms making sure she has proper clothes.”   His lips parted, if he didn’t know any better he’d think she was blaming something on her, “I…I guess I wouldn’t mi-”
 
She moved closer to him, her eyes narrowing as she arched a challenging eyebrow, “And her stay here for the night.  This room.  You couldn’t possibly mind paying for that either, now could you?”   All right, what was going on…?  Of course he wouldn’t let someone go without a room, though he doubted they would have charged a sick woman in the first place, but still…The usual softness in his voice began to fade, “I’m…sorry, perhaps I’m mistaken, but is there something going on that I’m not aware of?”
 
Her arms crossed over her chest, her expression unmoving, “Well then I’m not sure.  After all, you were left in here with her for quite some time.  You’re still half clothed.  You wouldn’t happen to feel guilty about something would you?”   The green in his eyes shifted instantly to red and for once he felt anger, hard to do with him…but it was starting to rise, “You can’t really think that I’d…”  
 
His jaw locked and his fingers curled into light fists, despite this his face stayed calm –though any softness to it was gone.  She was also unfazed, “You’ve been in here with her for quite some time, in all of that time you didn’t once think to go put on some proper clothing?  You should pay for the door as well.”
 
That was it, and he held his hand up to signal her to stop talking, cutting her off before she could get another word in, “I was literally dragged from the tavern into this room by the lady of the house.  In that time I did what I could to heal a bedridden woman, who, now that I think about it, was screaming bloody murder for minutes on end with not a soul coming in to check on her.  So forgive me if I have to question how concerned you truly were.  While we’re at it, forgive me for not abandoning a patient that I worried we’d be losing at any moment for the absolutely and outrageously FRIVOLOUS reason of donning a shirt!”
 
The dark brown locks of his hair slowly bled their color into crimson starting from root and quickly spreading to the tips.  Too much anger, there was far too much, so much so that his head felt light and his vision began to blur.  The points of his canines sharpened to a razor’s edge and he could feel Minasé forcing his way out.  N-No…no no.  His eyes closed tightly and he took a step back even though his body yearned to charge forward towards her, it was Minasé and he wouldn’t let him have his way even if he wanted to give the girl a smack upside the back of her head.
 

Before he could make another move he teleported from where he was, reappearing in his room and crashing onto the bed; his head just barely hitting the wall but it was enough to knock him out of it.  Endless insults lingered on his tongue but he held all of them back even though he was back in his room.  Despite all of this he felt a pit of guilt from leaving the woman by herself down stairs and made sure to leave extra currency on his bed side table…hopefully she’d get it.  There was more than enough for her room, his own room, some clothing for her, and even a door…Though he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of having yet another imbecilic reason to put blame on him.  “Wooo that was a close one eh?”   He said nothing to his daemon as he gathered up his things and teleported away from this place.

Guilty consciences often lead to held tongues. Natsumi experienced this phenomenon first hand while observing Naota's berating at the hands of the matron's daughter. She had been hiding under the covers like a child, barely peeking over the edge to see the verbal fight. Yet, this fear was not long to last when she saw what ended up happening to her would-be cleric.
 
'Blackmail,' she thought sullenly. The woman who had supposedly come to her rescue – the same woman whose husband had been felled by Natsumi's own hand – had purposefully waited just to have an opportunity to rip Naota off. It wasn't obvious, at first, but her timing was too coincidental. Only later, after the half-demon had already left, did the druid discover that the woman of herculean strength had disobeyed her mother's instructions to watch over Natsumi and Naota until the former recovered. She had done this specifically to get money out of the impromptu cleric, a fact that became perfectly clear to Natsumi when the daughter tried to cheat her out of the silver that was meant for buying clothing replacements after Naota had already left. She actually only ever got a rushed patch job on her current garments, and never any new clothes. The daughter had made sure of that.
 
Given these conditions, it wasn't long before Natsumi herself left the inn. She much preferred the comfort of her companions in the wild, anyway; but just as she was leaving from the window of her inn room, the matron caught her.
 
"I knows who yeh are, girleh," she said as soon as Natsumi's feet hit the ground after descending from her rope of bed sheets. "Yeh killed meh son-in-law on a hunting trip, and then delivered his belongins back to us after da' murder." A brief pause and a sigh interjected. "And now yeh's leaving again without a word."
 
Natsumi didn't say anything. She just stared at the matron with cold, unflinching eyes until a sack of silver was tossed at her feet by the same woman she assumed was going to attack her.
 
"He was a right bastard, anyway," the mysterious, middle-aged matron said as confusion spilled over Natsumi's expression. "Look, I knows wha' meh daughter did, and I's disciplined her already fer it. That's most o' the crescents that the youngin' left before I could give 'em back. If yeh find him, see that he gets 'em and an apology from meh." Once more, the matron paused before heading back toward her inn. "Oh, and girleh? I forgive ya', but turn yer life 'round already. This world's dark 'nough without youngin's like you turnin' teh crime ter survive."
 
In utter bewilderment and gratitude, the young druid picked up the crescents and turned toward the North.
 
"Thank you," she said as she slung the sack over her shoulder before, finally, departing. It would be some time before Naota and she met again, but she would have those crescents to return to him once they did. As futile as the healing had been, Natsumi still owed a debt to the half-demon, and she intended to repay it in full.