Symon stared at the elf, and the elf stared back at him. Her thin, dark lips were drawn back in a snarl, exposing her sharp teeth. Every single one of them were canines, even those in the back, which he had an uncomfortably detailed view of.

"It's alright," he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you." She continued staring angrily at him, but he didn't hold it against her. She didn't seem to understand Common, for one, but he also would have been very concerned if he were in her shoes. Something horrible must have happened to her to cause her to end up in the state he'd found her in, and now she'd woken up to someone she'd never met speaking a foreign language.

Oh, and he hadn't removed the chains around her legs when he'd put her in the bed.

Dammit, it's a wonder she isn't freaking out more.

He wasn't worried about her attacking him. It was certainly possible, but she was obviously still very weak, even though he'd healed her as far as his magic could. Something must be preventing her from getting back to her full strength.

"I... don't really know how to get you to trust me when we don't share a language," he said, still trying to keep his tone gentle and reassuring.

"Saerhssk vozzhaar!" she demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at him at the same time. The nail looked more like a claw.

"See? That's exactly what I mean," he sighed. "Um, how about this?" he said, bending slowly to pick up the apple that had fallen off the nightstand and rolled towards him. "You must be hungry, right?"

Predictably, she just glared at him.

Undeterred, he continued. "They're tasty, you should have one." He was in the doorway, too far away to reach her, but he still held the apple out with a smile.

The moment he moved his arm forward, she flinched back as if struck before scrambling backwards into the far corner of the bed. He straightened back up and moved his arm back to his side.

Hmm, maybe charades will work better than just speaking at her.

First, he pointed to the apple, then to his mouth. He mimed chomping on it a few times, exaggerating the movements to make it clear what he meant, then let out a happy sound and contentedly patted his belly. "Now you try, okay?"

When he held the apple out again, her reaction was more positive. Instead of fear and anger, she had a confused expression on her face. Symon viewed it as an improvement, although he was a bit confused why she was confused. Maybe she'd never had an apple, but surely she understood the concept of food.

Slowly, he went through the motion of throwing the apple onto the bed next to her. He wasn't sure if it was more reassuring than just walking up slowly, but it was what he decided to try first. Her eyes tracked the apple as he mimed a gentle underarm toss, her face slowly growing more confused as she followed the motion.

When he released the apple, sending it sailing through the air before landing softly on the bed next to her, she seemed to understand. She picked it up and eyed it suspiciously for a few moments before giving it a sniff. Her eyes darted back and forth between the apple and Symon.

He gave her an encouraging nod, which finally tipped her over the edge. The apple rose towards her mouth at a glacial pace, her large eyes still locked onto Symon. She opened her mouth wide — far wider than a human could — exposing her sharp teeth, and took a single, massive bite out of it. All at once, she gagged, coughed the apple piece out, then threw the main piece at him.

Her strength was lackluster, the apple barely even reaching him, but her words were vehement enough.

"Saerhssk vaer ssaazh!" she complained, angrily pointing at the apple on the floor, then back at Symon.

Okay, so she doesn't like apples.

Symon was back in the main foyer of the manor. He'd decided that trying to learn the elvish language from scratch wasn't the most productive use of his time. The Languages passive would help, but it would still be the work of weeks just for a basic level of understanding. Without a convenient spirit mentor to teach it to him, he'd be stuck doing things the hard way. The issue was only made worse by how uncooperative the elf was, being equal parts angry and scared. They hadn't made any progress after the apple incident. He didn't blame her, but he still needed a break.

Many people would have asked why he was still bothering with her, considering he'd done as much healing as was possible, but he still felt responsible. She wouldn't be able to find food, and in her weakened state was just as likely to be killed by a monster as soon as she stepped out as she was by whoever had hurt her in the first place. For that matter, he wasn't sure how she'd made it through the barrier in the first place, and wasn't sure if she could do it again.

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The manor was still largely unexplored, so he'd start there. He wanted to make sure something wasn't going to show up and kill her while she recovered, then he'd make a trip out of the mist wall and try to find something she'd eat. Aslan had promised — unprompted — to wait a hundred years outside of the barrier for his return, so he should probably return and let them know he was okay. Once he'd confirmed there weren't any more revenants hiding in the manor, he'd be able to either send the Dumosans back to the village or get their resistances up high enough to go through the barrier.

Damnit, I really wish I could ask her how she made it through. Oh, shit, I should probably free Keelgrave at some point too. I almost forgot.

He elected to clear the manor first, then try and speed up the vitality purification and awaken Keelgrave. It would probably take a bit of time, so he'd do that near the elf and hope it helped her get used to his presence. Eventually, she'd realise he wasn't about to attack her out of nowhere. Hopefully.

He'd already gone through all the rooms connected to the left hallway, the one that he'd found the elf in. It seemed to be the servant's wing, as all the rooms were simple bedrooms, storage rooms, and a single large kitchen. He didn't find anything particularly valuable, not unless he wanted to loot all the silverware. Granted, it was probably worth a decent sum, but he wasn't about to lug it around until he found someone rich enough to afford buying it off him. There were several massive ovens in the kitchen, which he hoped Atabek would be able to put to good use. He was craving some of those flatbreads he'd made, and the elf might like them.

The right hallway had collapsed completely, as well as all its adjoining rooms. He could only barely crack open it's entrance from the foyer. Clearing all the rubble and exploring it would be a lot of work, but wasn't impossible considering their improved Strength.

That left only the upper level, of which only the left side was uncollapsed. That included the squat tower, although oddly, he hadn't seen any entrances or even any windows from outside. The first floor hallway ended in a solid wall where the tower began, so the only entrance must have been on the second floor.

He crept his way up the stairs, sword in one hand and torch in the other. It seemed unlikely there were more enemies hiding upstairs — they would have noticed him by now, and the elf hadn't been attacked for however long she'd been here for either — but it didn't cost him anything to be vigilant. The layout was identical to the bottom floor: the right side was collapsed, while the left side was a single hallway with many adjoining rooms.

The search through all the rooms ended up being peaceful, and he managed to find a few interesting things. The bedrooms were a lot nicer looking, and a quick test confirmed the beds were as soft as they appeared. He'd been considering crashing at the manor instead of risking a return to town, so a nice bed like these would come in handy.

He also found an office room on the second floor. It had a beautiful large desk made of dark wood. He knew Lady Renske had left the Empire under less than ideal circumstances, so he had to wonder if she'd brought it with her or if it had been made here. He wasn't much of an artist, but the skilled craftmanship was clear in the fine silvery filigree, visible even through the thick coating of dust. The top of it was bare, save for a tiny ink pot and quill. The feather itself was a beautiful red colour that seemed to sparkle softly in the torchlight, while the ink was surprisingly still liquid, even after decades of abandonment.

Huh, must be a magical ink pot. That, and the rug... rich people love to enchant their stuff, I guess.

He added it to his mental list of possible valuables to take later, although he did have to question at which point reasonable treasure hunting transitioned into looting and graverobbing. It wasn't like the Lady had any relatives who deserved all her stuff, and he doubted someone who fled from the Empire would want her estate being given to another noble, but he'd leave most of the stuff with the villagers. Naturally, he'd take the first pick, but all the fancy silverware would be better used by the poor villagers instead of being horded and sold by him just for a few extra coins.

Even with the range of his draining quickly growing more and more cumbersome, he could juggle the IFF evolution to allow him to safely treat a single patient, as long as he was fine with having to wait a week between each person. That wasn't a great solution, but the fact that he had something he could do to control it was indescribably better than his usual risky and barely functional method of distracting the threads. It meant making money from his healing was still on the table, so he saw no need to scrounge for every extra coin he could.

The room also contained a single large bookshelf, the books it held in good condition. He picked one out at random and put it onto the desk, appreciating the smooth leather cover and thick pages. "Wouldn't want to be hit in the head with this," he smiled to himself. He'd spent a lot of his time as a child stuck in the hospital reading, so it was comforting to feel its familiar heft in his hands. Only now, he didn't have to struggle to lift it.

The front cover was clear of both title and image, so he opened it to the first page. It was there that he made a shocking discovery.

Oh, right, I can't read Common. Goddamnit.

Finding a convenient diary that answered all of his questions about the manor would have been perfect, but that wasn't meant to be. Keelgrave had gone over the Common alphabet for him, so he could confirm it was the language the words on the page were for, but he hadn't actually been taught how to spell. At least the passive was called 'Languages' and not 'Speaking', which implied there wasn't a separate 'Reading' skill. He wasn't sure why the Ledger chose to draw lines the way it did, but he was glad that it worked in his favour now.

He considered his metal pipe weapon, still strapped to his back. He'd been meaning to learn the passive for it, but what skill was it even going to be? Clubs? Was there a separate skill for Maces?

Even swords could be wildly different. His was short, straight, and dual edged with a sharp tip. If he replaced the handle with something longer, would it suddenly become a spear or a glaive and cause his passive would stop working? He had so many little experiments to run, although this new question could be answered just by asking someone with more experience. He had only just recently started living a life where he wasn't constantly focused on the struggle to survive and could afford to take his time to truly understand things.

"So much to do, but I guess I do have all the time in the world."

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