Miss Evelyn tasked Marshall with making apple jam and left for town. With Muyang still absent after his sunrise watching trip, he had the house all to himself.
Standing by the stove, the disciple absentmindedly watched tiny bubbles forming at the bottom of the pot.
Just as the apple jam began simmering, he heard a few knocks on the main door. Miss Evelyn usually stomped her way toward the house, but he hadn't heard any approaching steps, so he assumed the little fox had returned.
Marshall muttered to himself, "Why's he knocking," then yelled across the corridor, "It's not locked!"
The disciple didn't turn around when the door creaked open, stirring the pot to dissolve the sugar. "Back so soon? Are you here to take a nap after tossing and turning all night?" he joked.
Instead of the youthful voice, a deep one called his name, "Marshall."
The spoon slipped from his hand, falling into the pot with a plop. His heart skipped a beat as he hurriedly picked the spoon back up, setting it on the plate by the stove.
He ran through a variety of emotions, from fear to relief and surprise. But a sense of bitterness sat on his tongue. Marshall didn't know what to think.
Instead of greeting the snow deity or telling him how glad he was to see him, Marshall reluctantly turned around, the corner of his mouth tightening.
His tone came out interrogative, "How did you find me?"
"I heard you ran into a few disciples. I did not realize you had left the cavern," Wyn explained, his voice as calm as ever. "As for how I got here... There were not many places I knew where to look, so I came to Chara town and asked around. Mrs. Edith told me where to go."
Marshall gave a short nod and turned back to the stove to focus on the task. Wyn caught onto his guarded demeanor, and pointed out, "You can use demonic energy now."
The disciple's throat went dry. He tried to read the snow deity's inexpressive tone to guess what he was thinking. Did Wyn disapprove or was he merely stating a fact? Why did he bring it up? What did he want to say with it?
"When did you leave the cavern?" Wyn questioned.
"A few days ago. Why?" Marshall's voice came out unintentionally defensive.
But the snow deity remained unmoved, "I am trying to understand what happened."
An uncalled chill seeped into the disciple's bones. "You know, there are some things I want to understand too," he muttered. "Like why your owl never carried any letter or note from you when it visited the cavern."
He looked at Wyn, brows furrowing. "Did you even send the owl or was it coming over on its own? Why is it that the bird cared more than—" he stopped mid-sentence, biting his tongue. Why was he acting like this? Pathetic and petty. Wyn didn't owe him anything.
"It's not what you think. I should have explained sooner," the snow deity started, a guilty tone crossing his voice. "That owl is—"
Marshall cut him off. Guilt was the last thing he wanted to hear. "Forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. You've helped me plenty already and we're not even close."
"Marshall, the—" Wyn began urgently but was interrupted again.
"Just leave it alone."
The snow deity shook his head and walked over. Marshall swerved, so Wyn picked up the wooden spoon to stir the jam that had boiled over.
The disciple hadn't even heard the sizzling of the jam behind his back. A bittersweet burnt smell lingered in the kitchen. The bubbling of the jam filled the uncomfortable silence.
Marshall wanted to say something, but Miss Evelyn barged in, stomping across the patio. "Lock that boy up or something, I can't handle it anymore! One day he weaves lopsided baskets that I have to remake, and now this!"
Marshall walked over to Miss Evelyn, puzzled. "What happened?"
She huffed, dropping her handbag onto the table with a thud. The table creaked under the forceful move, agreeing with the homeowner's frustrations. "The first thing I saw when I returned home was a bunch of kids running off into the bushes!"
"Kids?" Marshall echoed. "What kids?"
The elderly lady looked at the snow deity standing nearby, momentarily forgetting the squash issue. "Oh, dear, I didn't notice we had a guest!"
"It's Wyn, Muyang's brother," Marshall introduced the snow deity.
"Wyn, what a beautiful name. It's so pleasant on the tongue," Miss Evelyn sighed, smiling. "Wynnie."
"Thank you, ma'am," Wyn bowed his head respectfully.
Miss Evelyn nodded, satisfied with his manners. "You can call me Evelyn, dear."
Marshall interjected, "Miss Evelyn, what about the kids...?"
"Ah, that's right!" she clapped, getting back to business. "Muyang and his friends stole my squashes! Six perfectly fine vegetables, gone from the garden!"
Marshall let out a sigh, leaving the house to inspect the crime scene. Wyn followed him with a question, "Muyang is here?"
"It's a long story," the disciple brushed it off.
As they reached the garden, Marshall went to scan the corner with the gourds. Indeed, there were six empty dips in the ground. He ran a hand over his face again, groaning. What could a kid need six squashes for?
"I was going to sell them, but now, what do I do?" Miss Evelyn's frustrated voice reached him. "Marshie, I know you dislike squash with a passion, but please bring them back. I won't make you eat them this time, I promise!"
She straightened her heavy skirt over and over with restless hands, torn between distress and bitter amusement at the absurdity of the situation.
Marshall gave her a reassuring nod, then remembered the pot in the kitchen. "Ah, could you watch the apple jam for me? It just started boiling."
"Of course, don't worry about it. Just get that hooligan," Miss Evelyn waved him off, heading back to the house.
After exchanging a short glance with Wyn, Marshall made his way towards the trail that stretched through the thick bushes. The snow deity tagged along, the crunch of gravel under their feet filling the air, layered with rustling of leaves and chirping of a nearby bird.
As the wind blew the clouds out of the sun's way, a warm light brushed over their heads. Without Marshall's usual comments and banter, they walked in awkward silence.
Unexpectedly, Wyn asked a question, "You do not like squash?"