It took until sundown for Mistress Red to be satisfied of Stray’s recovery.

It also took until sundown for Stray to accept that this so-called Company of Miracles weren’t going to throw her out into the snow- At least not yet.

But by the time the sky turned dark and the apothecary left her a small spark of hope was burning in the girl’s chest, a spark which had been noticeably absent in months after her flight from her village. Someone Red referred to as Remy had apparently expressed an interest in having her as an assistant in his fortune telling show; Someone called Kitty had said she would be happy to have an extra pair of hands in the kitchen tent. The white-clad woman who had helped rescue her- Ororo, the apothecary called her- had even offered to train her in the use of the bow, the better to defend herself. And the better, according to Mistress Red to keep her from getting into any more trouble with wolves. To Stray’s exhausted mind it seemed like a miracle: After months of rejection, of living on her own wits and facing danger at every turn she would have a family to take care of her. People to keep their eye on her and whom she could protect in turn. It would be like the last few months, the flight from her family had never happened-

And if she was careful then the Company of Miracles need never know what had happened to her in Illunis. The trouble she’d left buried in her hometown could stay there, and she could begin a new life despite her Curse.

So it was with a lighter heart that she slipped out of the medicine wagon where they’d left her and went to find some food and water. The crescent moon shining brightly down on her, the sounds of the camp merry and near. Stray wandered shyly out, following the smell of cooking. Her bare feet- she couldn’t find her boots- making her teeth chatter in the cold. There was enough light from the campfire to her left that she did not need a lantern, though she still felt the night pressing in against her as she weaved her way through the camp. She didn’t pass anyone except a stray fox, its eyes blinking red rather than the more usual brown. It stared at her for a moment, seeming to consider her with almost human self-containment- And then with a sniff and a whoosh of its bushy tail it disappeared into the night, leaving a set of even, precise tracks in its wake. Stray couldn’t help but somehow feel that she had been inspected and found to pass muster, and the thought made her smile more widely despite her shivers-

“What is it with you and wandering around in the snow?” Logan’s voice sounded behind her then.

If Stray could have jumped out of her skin she would have. She spun on her heel to see him silhouetted against the snow, massive arms crossed against his chest, a crossbow leaning against the wheel of a nearby wagon. His face was only lit slightly by the dim flame of a cheroot and despite herself she stared for a moment, agog at the sight. Stray had seen plenty of the men in her village smoke but none of them had ever been so… careless about it. None of them had ever made it seem as if they were only complete with that tiny, docile bit of flame and tobacco between their lips. She blinked, a sudden and inexplicable desire to reach out and touch that little flame, to taste it- or maybe to taste him- making itself felt. The fact that there was no polite, innocent way to do that something which barely registered in her mind. Stray reached a hand towards his face and Logan half-moved away, the action doing nothing more than bringing his jaw into contact with her hand. The bristles of his beard protecting him from the worst of her skin’s pull. As if she were watching someone else she saw her fingers trail lightly across his cheek, making their way towards his lips with an almost unthinking eagerness-

And then just as suddenly he coughed, pulling away from her. Throwing his cheroot down and grounding it out in the snow. Stray blinked as if waking up from a daydream and suddenly, for no reason she wished to fathom, Logan wouldn’t meet her eyes.

A very long, very awkward beat.

“You should go back to the medical wagon,” he growled then. He seemed fascinated by his hands: He was staring at them very hard in the campfire’s golden light.

“I was- I was hungry,” Stray stammered. “I thought I might be allowed to cook some food-”

Logan snorted. “Hands like those, you definitely can’t cook.”

“What do you mean, hands like those?”

She held up her pale, small hands before him. There was nothing wrong with them that she could see.

Logan leaned into her. “They’re soft, girl,” he muttered. “I’ve known the hands of enough women to recognise when they’ve never done a day’s work-”

Stray tried to blink back a sudden tightness in her throat. “I worked with my hands every day, Master Logan,” she said softly. “Everyone in my family did-”

“Oh, and what business could keep those little fingers as tender as that?” He was growling now.

“Silk,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Silk,” she said softly. “We were silk merchants. I-” Suddenly she was fascinated by her toes. She hadn’t spoken of Illunis or her family for so long… “I have been working with my hands since the day I was born,” she told him. “Soft hands are best when deciding the value of silk.” And she forced herself to meet that disconcerting, hazel-eyed gaze. Her fingers curled in against her palms of their own accord. Though shallt not touch… “Give me cloth and thread and there is nothing I can’t do,” she told him. “My father made sure I would be able to earn my keep. Just as he insured that I knew how to cook-”

Just for a second the two shared a tiny beat of a smile. Logan’s was apologetic.

Another, gentler beat.

“All the better to marry you off with, my dear,” Logan said then, shaking his head to himself. It sounded like he was making a joke only he understood.

“All the better to take care of myself with, my dear,” she countered. The urge to reach out and touch him returning with a vengeance. “And I would thank you to ask me before you make assumptions about where I come from.”

His eyes flicked up at that. “You would tell me, would you?”

“I might.” Without her really deciding to she took a step closer to him. His smile widened a tiny bit. “Would you do the same?”

He shook his head, ducking his gaze. For a moment he looked much younger than his years. “We don’t ask questions, here in the Company of Miracles,” he told her. “If you want to stay with us you had best learn that.” Her surprise must have shown on her face because he shrugged. “Everyone here is running from something,” he continued softly. “It’s why you’ll fit in here.”

“Is it why you fit in here?” She held her breath, there under the silk-spun moon.

As suddenly as it had arrived his smile disappeared.

“Men like me don’t fit in anywhere, Mistress Stray,” he said abruptly. Moving away from her, making as if to leave. Something silver flashed in the light, something he was wearing around his neck. Stray couldn’t get a good look at what it was. “You would do well to remember that too,” he snapped, “And leave those who do not wish fer company alone-”

And he swooped down to pick up his crossbow. Dismissing her in all but word. Stray reached out instinctively to stop his departure and her fingers found the cuff of his shirt: It was ragged and tattered, the frayed edges spattered with blood. Logan growled, hissing at her to stay back. Any welcome she had felt in his presence suddenly, irretrievably gone. “Keep your hands to yourself, woman,” he snarled, “Don’t make me tell you again-”

“I can fix this,” she muttered, “Just give me needle and thread and I can fix this-”

He shot her a look that froze her in her tracks.

“Some things can’t be fixed,” he said.

And with that he stalked away from her, swinging the crossbow behind him. His form rapidly disappearing into the darkness, swallowed up by the night. Stray stood for a few moments, heart hammering in her chest, not sure quite what had happened-

And then, as if summoned by her thoughts, the hazel-eyed wolf that had saved her padded by, carrying Logan’s damaged shirt in its jaws. Its loping gait somehow mournful, or maybe just embarrassed. The beast’s hazel eyes staring at her with something that in a human would have been regret. It dropped Logan’s shirt at her feet and then disappeared into the night, its shadowy, elegant form as insubstantial as the air. Only its tracks proving that Stray had not imagined the entire thing. The girl knelt down to pick up the shirt, all thought of food forgotten; It had been of a fine fabric once, she noted, but too many winters and too much use had dulled its quality to nought. She padded back to the medical wagon, shirt in hand, inspecting it already in the pale light. Trying to guess what sort of beast had torn that shirt- and its owner- to shreds. Because the more she looked at it the less she wanted to meet the creature that had done this kind of damage to the garment- Or the man who wore it-

And as she sewed she wondered, despite all her skill, whether she had finally encountered something which truly couldn’t be fixed.