In all my lifetimes, I don't think I have ever been in such good shape as I am now. I mean, yeah, what amounts to several months of constant training would get you there. But the results feel like I somehow got even more out of what I put in.

I'm more than just fit, I'm toned. I've gone down a size. Sure, there is this slight bump beneath my breasts from the new muscles I have connected to my wings, but I look pretty good. I feel pretty good. I can wield a practice sword like it's an extension of my arm. I can fly like I can walk. Even the others have commented that it's almost too easy to get into good shape in Haven.

Combat training has gone well. Not just my own ability, but my coordination with my wings has reached another level. Each blade defends their quadrant around me, forming a near-impenetrable shield on either side and letting me focus on blocking the very centre and striking my foe. As much as I'd love to claim credit for pioneering the nine swords style, it's not exactly something easily replicated, unless there's someone else out there with enough hands to hold nine swords.

Yet, despite all my hard work, day-in and day-out for a few weeks now, every time I step into the ring against Vann or Rann, I find my arse kicked squarely into the mud.

Speed isn't what I'm lacking. It's power. While my wings can easily deflect weaker blows, stronger hits just power right through them. I have the bruises on my arms to show for it. I can train my bodily strength all I want, but I can't exactly train my wing-blades to get stronger. We have tried a few methods; using multiple blades to block a heavier blow, or drawing my wing-blades more inwards to increase their strength, but there's no one-size-fits-all solution. It's just practice. Painful, arduous practice.

Life hasn't been solely devoted to practice, though. The second group of Wolf Pups arrived last week, five in all, led by Jackhorn and Bear once again, and they brought news from the wider Abyss. Mixed news.

The Bone-Breakers were active in the southwest of the Abyss, bordering on the frequent hunting grounds we use to hunt smaller animals. This had displaced the other nomadic groups of the region, and the Pups had to avoid several other groups on their long trek to Haven. While they intend to send groups more frequently now, they are under strict orders to avoid leading others here.

Which, by extension, worried the Chief considerably about bringing up where the Capital is to the Keepsguard, but Jackhorn and Bear laughed it off. Their scouts had indeed spotted the Keepsguard in the west of the Dead Hollows, cluelessly hacking their way through the increasingly thick wall of trees that met them, potentially even losing some of their number to the hungry Fool's Gums that they blindly walked into. The Keepsguard, as they were, were no threat to the Wolf Pups; since Crow's capture, they knew to give them a wide berth to avoid detection, and no other Pup had been captured since.

It was business as usual for Haven. The new Wolf Pups were settling in, the combat training was coming along well. There was little to complain about.

Or so we thought, until the next routine town meeting came around.

At the moment, the tavern is silent, with all eyes fixated on the Chief, staring down at a piece of paper that had just been handed to her across the table by Anton.

"Inventory is not normally handled during town meetings, Anton." The Chief comments, without looking up from the paper.

"This isn't inventory." Anton clarifies, taking his seat at the Council table down from the Chief, looking forward. "This is an estimate."

"I see. An estimate of how long our food supplies will last, accounting for what we can produce in Haven." She raises an eyebrow. "By your calculations, anyway."

"Do you take issue with the calculations of the man in charge of handling everyone's food, Chief Lichtrufer?" Anton asks, his gaze remaining fixed forward.

"Of course not, Anton, that falls within the purviews of your position. The suggestions listed below to remedy this estimate, however…" Her gaze sharpens as she side-eyes Anton. "Do not."

"They are simply suggestions, Chief Lichtrufer, made in the interest of Haven. It is not up to me if they are followed through on or not." Anton shrugs his shoulders in slight indifference.

It's worth noting the seating arrangement of the council's table today. From left to right facing the room; Vann, Rann, the Chief, Tiff, and Anton. Tiff is unfortunately in the middle of this argument waiting to happen.

"I take it your primary area of concern is the recent combat training led by Rann and Vann, yes?" The Chief pushes, reading over the sheet of paper again.

"I am not the only one concerned with the emphasis on combat over hunting, Chief Lichtrufer." Anton raises his nose, crossing his arms.

I know the Chief well enough to see her momentary falters—her eyebrows raise, and she quickly scans across the crowded room to ascertain the truth of Anton's statement. Gazing around myself, I can tell by some of the worried faces that Anton wasn't lying.

"I am aware of such concerns, Anton." The Chief answers, trying to put it gently. "Naturally, candidates that show promise will be trained to hunt as well. It is just the reality of our situation, that it is better they be trained to fight any threat they may face, not just wild animals-"

"What is the primary guarantor of Haven's security, Chief Lichtrufer?" Anton cuts her off, staring at her across the table.

The Chief bites her lower lip, being forced to repeat her past words. "Its secrecy."

"The very secrecy that has been put at grave risk by recent events. I do not speak purely for myself when it appears that you are ready to abandon Haven's secrecy altogether. While the Red Wolves have confirmed that the Keepsguard have been chasing their own tails in the Dead Hollows, how long until they return to our gates with renewed hostility? Are you training our youth to meet them in battle?" Anton pushes, knowing full well he has the upper hand here.

The Chief remains silent for a long moment, before rising to her feet from her chair, casting her powerful gaze across the room.

"Everyone in this room who takes issue with our training program for our youths, please raise your hand." Her gaze narrows, her silver soulseer eye glimmering in the orange light of the nearby torch. "This is so everyone knows, mind you. I know how each and every one of you feels about this matter."

After a brief moment of hesitation, half the adults raise their hands. Some were expected; all of the kitchen staff except Minegumo raised their hands, along with the older artisans in town, including Yvonne the teacher, yet even Rob and Einar of the Expedition team raised their hands. A perfectly even split.

"I see." The Chief glances at each person with a raised hand, as if memorising and noting down their faces. "I take it your concerns align with what Anton has stated?"

Yvonne, the teacher and oldest living person in Haven, rises to her feet to answer. "I am just as aware of our current situation as everyone else is, Chief Lichtrufer. I just fear this emphasis on… combat may lead Haven back down the path it chose to abandon. You may be too young to recall, but we all made a decision. Haven would be a place of peace and safety for the children of the Abyss, not a training ground for them."

"If it would help smooth things over…" Vann rises, as the Chief takes her seat again. "I should remind everyone that this program of ours is voluntary. We're not forcing the kids to pick up weapons. Anyone who doesn't want to doesn't have to. Nor are we looking to expand the Expedition team, or the guards. In the future, maybe, but that's years down the line. We're preparing them to be ready for anything, just as you do, Yvonne, and all of the rest of us. It's our responsibility to raise them, so that when our time comes, they can carry on after us."

This thankfully does help soothe some worried faces, though it does draw a noticeable sigh of disappointment from some of the children that had been training.

"Sorry, kids." Rann chuckles. "None of you are getting on the team or the guards just yet. Wait til you're the twins' age, at least."

"W-what about us!" Crow yells, jumping to his feet, though he freezes the moment all eyes are on him.

"What about you?" Rann asks, tilting his head towards Crow and leaning over the table.

"Us Wolf Pups know the Abyss! We're capable of surviving in it, and we want to help Haven! We can scout, gather, and even hunt jackhorns!" Crow blurts out, nervous but determined.

"While wishing to contribute in such a manner is noble, it is pertinent for me to ask… how old is the oldest amongst the Wolf Pups present in Haven?" Anton directs his gaze at Crow, making him shrink back.

"Rabbit is!" Rabbit stands, holding her hand up proudly. "Rabbit just turned eleven last week!"

"I see. Carteren, the youngest member of the Expedition team is Marina at age…" Anton pauses briefly, giving me a slightly confused look. "Sixteen, yes? Though she is an outlier given her… condition."

"That she is. As I said, we're not taking on any new members for a while. Not even from the Pups. Sorry kids, but you won't be going out past Haven's walls for a while yet." Rann answers.

While this draws another disappointed sigh from the children of Haven, the children of the Wolf Pups instead share a self-assured grin amongst themselves.

"And what are you all smiling about?" The Chief asks, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"We thought you might turn down our offer for that reason." Crow grins, rubbing his nose. "So we made sure we got some proof before we said anything. Calico! Otter!"

Right on cue, Calico and Otter come running up to the council table, carrying a large brown sack between them whose contents they deposit across the table; mushrooms, berries, fruits and nuts, all various shades of red, orange, and brown, many of which I've never seen before.

The council members are taken aback for a moment, but each can recognise what's been put in front of them; food, foraged from outside of Haven. Though, some of it needs identifying to ascertain if it's safe to eat or not.

"... And when did you sneak out of Haven to gather all of this? The last group of Pups didn't bring this much food with them." The Chief asks, scanning the array of food before her as Anton picks up a mushroom and inspects it.

"When didn't we?" Crow grins cheekily.

"Crow." The Chief furrows her brow at Crow, who quickly folds under her glare.

"W-we… um… over time! Y-you see, there's more than one way in and out of Haven…" Crow nervously twiddles his thumbs, avoiding the Chief's gaze.

"I thought we blocked that jackhorn burrow you used to get in." The Chief relaxes a little, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

"... There's more than one." Crow sheepishly admits.

"I've spent gods knows how many years living in this hole in the ground, and I don't recognise a good half of what you kids have put in front of us." Rann speaks, picking up what appears to be an orange, round root vegetable and holding it in front of his face. "But I'm guessing it wouldn't be much "proof" if you brought us a bunch of inedible plants."

"Hehe." Crow smiles proudly. "They're all edibibi- ebid- ebi… eatable! All stuff we ate at the Capital, cooked or raw!"

"The kitchen will decide what is edible or not, but we will ensure this food won't go to waste." Anton places the mushroom down on the table gently, before turning his ire to Crow. "However. That does not excuse any of you repeatedly sneaking out of Haven on your own, putting yourselves and all of Haven in danger!"

"Anton." Tiff speaks up. "The Wolf Pups did this because they wanted to help. Didn't you?" She smiles at the three standing before the table.

"All the complaining you do about Haven's future and our food situation, and you're scolding a capable group of foragers because they did it without your permission." Rann tilts his head, looking down the table at Anton.

"As far as I'm aware they had no one's permission, Carteren, but that is not my primary concern. My concern is Haven's security. Its secrecy." Anton chides back.

"They managed to keep it a secret from us, Anton. They got proof before they made their offer, even knowing they were breaking the rules. They've earned some credit." Rann sighs.

"I know the concept of rules have always been vague to you, Carteren, but no one gets "credit" for an accomplishment if they broke the rules to achieve it!" Anton raises his voice slightly, drawing an annoyed grumble from Rann.

"Enough, you two…" The Chief sighs, shooting both of them a look. "They haven't even explained where they got this food."

"We got all this in the southwestern bit of the Abyss. Nobody goes there, not even you Haven folk." Otter speaks up, resting his hands behind his head.

"We didn't leave a trace. Unlike the trees you chopped down south." Shrike adds, grinning.

Anton grumbles, sinking back into his chair and rubbing his forehead. "By the gods, am I the only person in this settlement who holds true to the tenets of its safety…"

"You're not." Crow answers, working up the courage to look Anton in the eye. "Foraging is how us Wolf Pups survived on our own, with Her Majesty's guidance and care. Secrecy is how we protect our home, too, and we know how to hide our tracks and make sure no one else finds Haven. You welcomed us here, despite… my mistakes, and it would be wrong for us to give nothing back when you've given us so much."

"Hmm." Anton sits up, staring down at Crow for a moment, watching to see if he'll crack.

He holds firm, despite how firmly he's squeezing his hand behind his back. He's grown a bit.

"I suppose this is your way of asking for permission to continue going on these… foraging expeditions, yes?" Anton relents, relaxing back in his chair. "I may acquiesce to it, so long as certain considerations are seen to."

"So… you…" Crow falters, trying to figure out if that was a yes or no.

"That's as close to a "yes" as you'll get from Anton, kid. You can breathe now." Rann chuckles, and Crow lets out a huge sigh of relief.

"I will also agree to it, with a few rules." The Chief nods. Crow nods, and all the Wolf Pups lean forwards. "You shall only set out when approved to do so by a member of the Council, with all the Council being aware of this approval. You may only take the five eldest Wolf Pups with you, and you may not take any children of Haven with you. You will be foraging only, and only where it is safe to do so. Hunting shall be left to the Expedition Team. If you spot any tracks of dangerous animals… that is to say, most animals in the Abyss, or the place you wish to forage in is currently occupied by such animals, you are to head straight back and let the Council know. Do you understand and accept these rules?"

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The Wolf Pups all exchange looks and nods amongst themselves, before Crow steps forward, nodding confidently. "We do."

"Then that's another issue resolved." The Chief sighs with a weary smile, and the mood of the room lightens for a moment, before she turns to ask Anton. "Should I bring up any of the other concerns you so thoughtfully listed out for us?"

"They are not pressing issues." Anton responds, picking up another vegetable on the table before him and inspecting it. "I believe the best use for my time would be seeing what we can do with the goods the Wolf Pups have brought us."

"So you're saying this meeting can finally be adjourned, Anton?" The Chief raises an eyebrow, and everyone holds their breath.

Anton turns to the Chief, with that usual slightly aloof look on his face, and simply shrugs his shoulders. "The only ones kept here by protocol are the ones seated at this table. Anyone else may leave if they wish."

The whole room lets out an exasperated sigh, and many get up from their tables to stretch their legs and leave.

"Honestly…" The Chief sighs, leaning forward over the table as the kitchen staff come up to collect and carry off the foraged goods.

"Another issue resolved, isn't it?" Tiff smiles awkwardly, patting the Chief's shoulder, who grunts in response.

"The five oldest Pups…" Vann ponders, rubbing his chin. "That'd be… Rabbit, Crow, Shrike, Otter, and… Gecko, from the second group of Pups."

"Well then." Rann stands, stretching his shoulder. "Bring the five of you out behind the barracks, Crow. If you're to be a team, you'll be needing a name."

Crow and the five chosen Wolf Pups quickly gather up and storm off towards the barracks, and Vann follows behind Rann as most of the room has filtered out now, the main noise now coming from the kitchen as they start to get ready for lunch. Really, it's just me sitting in the tables arranged before the Council table now.

I haven't been told to do anything, so…

"Marina." The Chief looks up across the table at me. Darn.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Your combat training has been coming along well, yes?" She asks, organising the small stack of papers before her.

"I'd… say so. I've got plenty of speed, and I'm getting stronger every day. Maybe one day I'll be able to handle Rann taking a swing at me."'

"Well, you needn't worry about that today. Rest is an important part of practice and improvement." She nods, picking up the papers and standing. "Take the rest of the day off."

"... I get days off?"

"Are you complaining about that?" She side-eyes me with a raised eyebrow.

"N-no."

"Good." The Chief takes her leave.

The day off… I don't remember the last time I had the day to myself. There's always something the Chief or Rann or anyone on the Council or the kids or just… anyone in town needs me for. My usefulness has its drawbacks, clearly. Even more so now that I can fly.

"Actually, Marina, could I have a moment of your time, please?" Tiff asks, appearing beside me. I didn't see her get up from the table, jeeze…

"Sure. For once, I have nothing else to do."

"... That makes it sound like I'm bothering you, Marina." She pouts, puffing her cheeks out.

"You're not! I just… the Chief told me to take the day off, and I don't think she's ever done that before. I'm free, yes. I have plenty of time. You may have as much as you need."

"She does tell others to rest, now and then. I just wish she'd get some rest herself." Tiff sighs wistfully, leading me out of the tavern.

I did not expect her to lead me straight down the road… to Ingrid's smithy, with the sound of metal clanging on metal coming from the workshop behind it.

"Hi Ingrid!" Tiff grins, bursting into the back of Ingrid's smithy with me close behind her.

"Did you bring her?" Ingrid asks, placing down her heavy tongs and taking off her gloves.

"That I did~" Tiff steps aside, presenting me to Ingrid.

"You needed me, Ingrid?"

"No." She frowns. "You need me."

"I do…?

"Yes." She nods, grabbing her hammer and holding her other hand out. "Wings out. Let's have a look."

"Do you need the hammer to take a look at my wings??"

"Do you want a new sword or not?" Ingrid stares at me in confusion like I'm the one not communicating properly here.

"So that's what I'm here for?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise, buuuut, it is about time a proper member of the expedition team had their own weapon, and given how much you've helped… everyone agreed to have Ingrid make you one!" Tiff grins sheepishly.

"I see."

Well, if that's the intention, out you come wings. She won't hurt you. Don't hurt her, you're more than capable of that.

My wings come out from under the cloak, slowly extending out their eight flat-tipped blades to their maximum length as Tiff moves to stand beside Ingrid, safely away from the sharp edges.

"Hmm." Ingrid squints, taking one blade on my right wing in her hand, tapping it with her finger. "Hmm…"

"Is there a problem, Ingrid? Shall I leave it in your hands?" Tiff asks, peering at what Ingrid's looking at.

"It's chipped." She frowns slightly.

"What's… the blade-feather's chipped? Seriously?" They can get chipped? I mean, they're metal sure, but I guess because I hadn't really been using them for hitting things or blocking hits, I didn't think they'd actually get… damaged like this.

"They all are. Especially this one-"

We all hear a noise that's somewhere between a snap and a crack, and the sound of something metal hitting the ground.

"What… was…"

"It snapped." Ingrid states matter-of-factly, staring down at the ground.

"Marina, your wing-sword broke!" Tiff gasps, also staring down.

"It…" I also stare down at the shiny, thin sheet of metal that Ingrid just picked up, which does in fact look like a piece of a blade-feather. "It broke?"

"It was a clean break. Should be easy to fix-" Ingrid says, only to be cut off by another clink of a metal object hitting the ground.

A piece off the end of one of my left wing's blade-feathers had fallen off, looking noticeably chipped along the edges.

Then another piece hits the ground. And another.

All eight blade-feathers rattle against themselves as my wings shake and shudder, each dropping the outermost section of their metal blades to the ground. Each piece is at most three inches long, but it's still… a lot to just be suddenly doing this.

Finally, with a shiver, my wings settle down, apparently content with whatever they just did.

"Are you done?" Ingrid stares blankly at me.

"I think so- huugghh…" I stumble forward, feeling a strange shudder and a pain shoot through my wings.

"Marina…?" Tiff takes another step back, but looks at me with worry.

"I think… something's… coming?" I feel… dizzy.

A throbbing pain pulses down my back from each wing, suddenly jolting me forward, as my wings splay out to their full length, all my feathers and blades shivering, then—

With a drawn out, slightly wet sound of metal scraping against metal, and this godawful, indescribable feeling of pushing something out of my wings, all eight blade-feathers extend back out to their original full length, as good as new, like they'd never just lost about three inches of length at all.

"Huh. She can grow swords." Ingrid nods, apparently impressed by this.

"Good to… know…" Dizzy…

"Marina!" Tiff catches me as I slump forwards, losing my balance on my feet. "You're pale…!"

"Hmm… not nearly enough metal to make a sword, it's enough for the crossguard at most. At least I can use them for referencing the width and thickness…" Ingrid thinks aloud as she gathers up the fallen bits of metal around me.

"Are you going to help me carry her, Ingrid? She needs to lie down somewhere…" Tiff asks, keeping me upright in her soft, yet remarkably strong arms…

"You're strong enough to carry her." Ingrid bluntly responds. "I have a sword to make."

"Of course you do…" Tiff sighs, as she effortlessly scoops me up into her arms; one under my knees, and the other holding my shoulders. "Let's get you to bed, Marina."

"Okaayyyy…" I groan, resting my head on her shoulder, her red hair tickling my nose.

"Don't drag her wings through my smithy." Ingrid points as she places the gathered bits of metal that… used to be part of my body… on her anvil.

"... Right. I need to scoop them up too." Tiff reaches down, wrapping her arm around my wings and pulling them up to my back, awkwardly bunching them up behind me.

At some point on the journey back to my room, I think I fell asleep, or rather passed out from the lack of blood growing metal swords inflicted upon me. Doesn't help with how soft and secure Tiff's arms feel…

…

I think, judging by the dimmed light outside, it's evening when I start to stir.

Not on my own accord, mind you, but from the commotion happening right outside my door, which reaches a crescendo when Ingrid suddenly bursts into my room, covered in soot with several golden chains wrapped around her.

"Ingrid! I told you, she's resting until supper! Do not go stomping into her room while trailing soot everywhere!" The Chief growls, storming in after Ingrid holding up her staff, trying to pull Ingrid back with her chains.

"It's close enough. Besides, I need her to test the sword before I continue work on it." Ingrid explains calmly, even as she struggles to approach my bed as the Chief's chains slowly drag her backwards.

"I-I'm awake now, Chief, you don't have to…" I go to sit up, but I immediately feel dizzy and slump back down onto the bed again.

"You need to be laying down until supper! Don't make me chain you down too!" The Chief scolds me, still fighting to pull Ingrid back.

"Just… let her hand me the sword. She's already here…" I sigh, rubbing my forehead to try and focus. I would not be surprised if growing several inches of metal out of my wings gave me anaemia…

"You cannot "test" a sword if you can't even sit upright, Marina." The Chief sighs, lowering her staff as the golden chains around Ingrid disappear, nearly sending her tumbling as there's nothing holding her back anymore.

"I can sit up! Slowly…" I protest, slowly, carefully, pushing myself upright on the side of the bed, though my limbs feel weak even as I move this slowly.

"She's up. Here." Ingrid stands in front of me, holding out a metal thing in the shape of a sword for me.

It's clearly far from finished as I shakily reach out and take it, but even in my weakened state, it's surprisingly light, and very well balanced.

"Double-edged, with the same reach as your wing's blades, but with a sharpened tip, and almost as light. I lengthened the grip so it can be held one or two-handed, so you can use it for blocking, slashing, and thrusting. If you're happy with how it feels, I'll continue as is." Ingrid explains in the longest sentence I've ever heard her speak.

"I'm happy with it. I'm surprised you've done so much in just one day…" I hand the half-finished sword back to her.

"It's a sword. I'll have it done in a couple days at most." Ingrid gives a thumbs up and goes to leave, only to find the Chief still blocking the doorway.

"While you're here, Ingrid." The Chief speaks, waving away her staff and crossing her arms. "Tiffany informed me you plan to make… use of the excess pieces of Marina's blade-feathers, yes?"

"... If you want them back, I've already recast the metal." Ingrid freezes in her tracks.

"That's fine, I know you're using them for her sword." She sighs, raising an eyebrow. "Just remember, the next time this happens, to ask Marina about using the… metal she's shed before you snatch it up to melt it down into something else."

Ingrid immediately turns to me. "... Marina, can I use any metal you drop for—"

"Not now!" The Chief raises her voice.

"Look, if this happens again… which it probably will, I'll bring the metal to you, Ingrid. After I recover."

Ingrid nods, and the Chief steps aside to let her pass, though not before looking down and scowling at the black footprints Ingrid's left in her wake. "Gods, I'll need to clean this up before dinner…"

"I'll get the scrub…" I say, as I shakily try and stand up from bed.

"No you most certainly will not!" The Chief suddenly rushes over, stopping me from standing and placing her hands on my shoulders. "You're staying in bed until you've had something to eat. You were passed out when it happened, but you did bleed from the base of your blade-feathers when Tiff brought you here. Not to mention the strength your body spent when you regrew part of your blade-feathers…"

"Alright, if you insist…" I don't exactly have the strength to argue otherwise.

Given all my symptoms, I'm fairly certain that I have anaemia, not that the others would understand that diagnosis. While everyone gets the idea of losing blood being a bad thing, the understanding of iron in the body and the various forms of anaemia… it's not my last life I knew that from, but the life before.

The more concerning realisation is that not only are my wings truly connected to my body, including my cardiovascular system, but even the four swords attached to each of my wings, replacing some of the outermost pinion feathers, are… literally growing out of them. My body, through my wings, grows swords. It turns the iron in my body into… swords. Well, iron, and who knows what else. There could be any number of other metals and molecules that go into my blade-feathers to make them so light and flexible. Weirder than the fact that I have wings, or that my wings have an attitude, or any of the other changes the Abyss has inflicted upon my body, my body grows swords!

Which is… a problem in of itself, given these swords seem to extract the iron and whatever else straight from my body, leaving me anaemic. If one of my blade-feathers are ever snapped in two in combat, and my wings just… try to regrow them on the spot, that's going to leave me seriously disadvantaged.

A small giggle from the Chief pulls me from my thoughts, though.

"What…?"

"Watching that flowerbed of yours bloom and change colours so rapidly as you race through your thoughts is just amusing, sometimes." She smiles, leaning against my doorway.

My flower… oh, right. That's how she sees my emotions above my head. A flowerbed.

"I'm just coming to terms with the fact that these swords attached to my wings can be regrown… and the adverse effects that regrowing them have on my strength."

"It seems, much like how you occasionally moult feathers, your blade-feathers act in a similar way, only instead of dropping off entirely, the ends break off and they regrow to their original length…" The Chief muses, bringing her hand to her chin. "Truly, Marina. We learn something new about you every day."

"... I moult feathers?"

The Chief's eyes go wide in apparent disbelief. "... You didn't realise?"

"No! I've never even seen any of the feathers I've dropped!"

"That's because people tend to… collect them…" Her gaze drifts away, almost like she has something to hide.

"Which people, Chief?"

"... Your dinner's here. I'm going to get mine." She suddenly turns to leave, hurrying out the front door.

"Chief!!" I yell, as Anton steps into my room, carrying a wooden bowl loaded with a meaty stew.

"I am the Chef, Miss Retali, not the Chief." Anton corrects me. "Sit up. You need something hearty to replenish your strength."

I sit up as best I can, taking the steaming bowl and holding it close to me. It smells good, but I'm somewhat off put by how closely Anton is observing me.

"Hmm… you are certainly pale, yes. And given you supposedly regrew part of your swords, that would likely inflict you with anaemia due to lack of iron in the body." He ponders to himself, paying no heed to if I hear him or not.

"Anaemia…?" I repeat. Anton knows what that is?

"Consider it a lack of healthy blood in the body. It is a condition that is best remedied with correct eating and hearty food, hence as a chef of some standing, it is important I know of it to assure the health of my clients." He explains succinctly.

"I see… so, you know about the… blade-feather incident…"

"Everyone knows." He shrugs me off. "Miss Valm did carry you through the middle of town. I just inquired as to what caused such a state."

"Right, so, another question then… are you aware of people… collecting my moulted feathers, Anton?" He's the most likely to give me a straight answer, I suppose, so I may as well ask.

Anton stands up straight, peering down his long nose at me before speaking. "Of course I'm aware. The kitchen uses some of your feathers for basting. Minegumo made the brush herself."

"You WHAT?"

"After cleaning them, of course." He explains, as if that was my primary concern. "You weren't using them."

So. There is an illicit trading ring going on in Haven.

Trading in none other than my moulted feathers.

I am putting a stop to this, the second I have the strength to get out of bed. I know exactly who to start with, if Minegumo has collected so many she's made a brush out of them. They can at least ASK before using my body… products for their own ends!

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