The strangers had brought with them a refreshing burst of productivity to the farm. It was bigger than it had been before Wenzel had left the beach, which he found out when he'd walked along an old path which had become a field and tripped over a strange auburn-haired woman who was crouched down in the dirt who growled at him over watching where he stepped. Maybe she should watch where she knelt on her hands and knees. Wenzelslaus had said nothing, and merely scurried along, taking in the vague notion of the size of the farm, of people working and toiling under the sun. He squinted, which maybe made the foot or so in front of him vaguely more in focus?
It was impressive, or at least Wenzel thought it must be. He still hadn’t found his glasses that he’d abandoned during the Beast’s attack. There were many moving shapes among the rows of green, which he assumed were people. There were goats that baa-ed somewhere to his left, and trees that had hanging from them blurs of yellow. He'd already had a well-fed meal, and it warmed Wenzel to know that he didn't need to worry for food for the near future, that this need of his would be cared for.
As Wenzel gawked, or attempted to gawk, he was vaguely aware of one blur-person who strutted about with authority. He watched them idly, as they bent down and picked up something, and as the blur-person began to come more and more into focus. Walking towards Wenzel. Carrying something.
Wenzel cleared his throat (though he was not close enough to hear that) and quickly turned on heel, doing his best to carefully slink away from the person who carried something and walked towards him. If the person wasn't walking him, the person would think nothing of it, and if the person was coming to him, perhaps Wenzelslaus could successfully dodge them.
Arden had come to the bazaar with a selection of herbs hoping to trade for some new books. It wasn’t her intention to seek Emre out, even though she sorely missed him. Ever since Iyaz had disappeared and their common thread had been cut, Emre had been distant and flighty. He never lingered long if he has to visit the Medicenter and any witty banter had long since been abandoned.
She knew he was grieving his lost brother and she had to admit, there was a chunk of her heart that followed Iyaz. It had been a true pleasure to share the workload of the island with him. She missed his dry humor and calm demeanor. She missed having a colleague to turn to for a second opinion. Most of all, she missed her first real friend on the island. It would be nothing compared to the size of Emre’s grief, but still it ached.
So Arden was caught off guard to see Emre standing there. For a moment, her breathing was at a standstill. There were so many words clawing in her throat. I’ve missed you. I miss him too. Don’t be alone wading through this mire. I know what it’s like to lose someone who makes you whole. I know what it means to be broken beyond repair.
But all that came out was a simple statement. “You’ve been avoiding me.” It was said without judgement or anger, accompanied by a soft smile. 
Fishing wasn't for Mik. For one, it involved a lot of waiting. Mik wasn't good at waiting, wasn't good at inactivity, being quiet, or sitting still. Taking up a fishing pole had been a pointless exercise. Mik had gotten distracted (for a moment) and in that time a fish had eaten the hook clean of bait.
He liked watching Nick getting ready to spearfish, stripping down to his shorts and holding his spear all manly. The actual spearfishing wasn't that interesting to watch from above the waves. Mik couldn't get the hang of opening his eyes underwater, especially in stinging saltwater. It felt like every time Nick went under he was gone for too long, but something about his attunement (magic water powers apparently) meant that he was fine. He was certainly happy swimming in the ocean no matter the temperature. As Mik acclimatised more and more to the island, the colder the ocean felt. He could barely stand it for half an hour, let alone the hours that Nick happily paddled away.
With each meal, each portion of rations he was gifted, Mik’s stomach twisted tighter and tighter with guilt. He'd spent two years living on handouts, but that was when working had been pointless. All his money would have gone to debt collectors anyway. But here, on this creepy, slightly murderous island, there were no credit card debts hanging over his head. No debt collectors either, at least he hoped. It wasn’t a fresh start, it felt wrong to call it that, but Mik was gradually accepting that he couldn't pretend that this was a holiday forever.
That’s where the farm came in. Mik had never really been into gardening, Aunty Khatri had kept a small herb garden growing out the front of his block growing up, and he'd been to some places with gorgeous gardens (all maintained by a staff of tens), but Mik didn't get his hands dirty. He hadn’t really ever used a shovel, done weeding or planted anything. But he liked physical work, he liked doing something with his hands, and farming seemed to be the best fit for that here. Unless the other islanders wanted an (out of shape) personal trainer?
That wasn't likely to happen any time soon.
Mik had made it to the farm, but now he was at a loss of how to go about finding work. It didn't help that he had no idea who was in charge, or what he could do to make himself useful. It looked like there were plants sprouting from the ground in neat rows? There were some buildings at the edge of the farm, so Mik started there. As he rounded the corner of one of the sheds, Mik collided hard with another person, sending them both to the ground, along with the items the stranger was carrying. In the chaos Mik reached out to steady the other person, touching their arm. “Sorry, I-” A spark shot up Mik’s back, and as he was sent into a memory that wasn’t his, he felt the stranger’s hand brush his forearm and-
She's awake, again. You knew you'd be in for a lot of sleepless nights, but really kid? You groan, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you swat a hand over to Nick, a non-verbal, 'I got this one.' He does a little confused hum, just cute enough to make you smile before Nova lets out another onslaught to really let you know she means business.
"Hey little diva," you coo on your way over to the bassinet, carefully picking up your baby as you move her into the living room, away from Nick. He needs all the rest he can get, he's still recovering from some pretty intensive surgery, on top of dealing with a whole bunch of shitty hormones. You can handle night duty.
You quickly change Nova, trying to stop the crying by blowing raspberries on her stomach, letting her grab onto your finger and wave it around. She's got a hell of a grip, just like her dada. She's still crying, but it's less frantic, tear-your-hair-out screaming. That, or you're just used to it now. It’s hard to tell, what with all the sleep deprivation. "I know, I get mad when I'm hungry too. It's why I could never be a bodybuilder," you ramble to Nova, and she energetically kicks in agreement. "Yeah? Aren’t you just like your da-da?" you hopefully say, trying to encourage her to say your name. Her little face wobbles into a frown, and you know she's not in the mood for first words tonight. Time for supper, then.
You can already see the bottom of the formula container. You sigh and scoop out a heaping for Nova, trying to not let it worry you, but it does. Your life now revolves around formula and diapers, and you didn't realise how quickly you'd go through them both. How expensive they were, how expensive everything was. The milk is ready just before Nova blows a gasket, and now comes your favourite part, well one of your favourite parts. You watch all her anger fade away in a heartbeat as she latches on and makes little happy grunts. Her face softens, and you watch her eat and you never got why people were obsessed with babies till you held little Nova, but now you get it. You and Nick made a hell of a cute kid.
Her initial exploration yielded mixed results. See, the whole area they consider the farm is a great deal bigger than she anticipates. Her fingers tingle, and she shakes it off until her element - her attunement, she corrects with another laugh - stops gnawing at her. Then she reaches for a tiny, sweet smelling bottle. Lemon, she thinks, though the other scent is harder to detect. Something... floral? A flower, definitely.
An exchange begins outside. Quiet, at first. Something her attunement picks up and carries to her with ease. Louder. Then louder. It grates, like music from a stereo blasting against her skin. “Shit,” she mumbles, rubbing her ear against her shoulder. For a second, as if hearing her, it does stop. Not a whisper, not a sound. Peaceful.
Someone screams. Bloodcurdling. Terrifying. Clementine jerks in surprise, turning sharply on her heel. The little bottle in her hand tumbles from slippery fingers, slamming against the cold, hard floor. A sharp scent rises up to her. “Hibiscus,” she says, annoyed not to remember what was once a favorite. The scream stops, returning to shouting. A fight, maybe. She tunes it out, stooping to pick up the broken pieces of glass. Well, at least whoever made this isn’t around to see it.
Stomping steps approach her. Clementine tenses. “Sorry. Didn’t think murdering people was on the agenda.” She blinks, looking up at them. “Oh. Oops. Look, I was just curious. Was this, uh, hard to make?”
“Uh, what? Are we not allowed in here?” she straightens, holding the broken bottle in her hands. “That’s silly. What are you going to do to people who are? Toss them in a hole? Feed them to the Labyrinth? I wasn’t stealing, or anything.” Though, in hindsight, breaking things isn’t much better.
