He takes over the cooking without thought, moving swiftly in spite of the single hand, his left wrist tucked up against his chest out of habit. He remains quiet, though he can’t quite hide the disdainful huff at the mention of Gibson.

The gifts are seemingly random, but if the strange woman that visits their dream is trying to spare them she’s severely misjudged the character of a great many people here. Billy Gibson, a master of fire. Hickey, swift on his feet. What a grand pair they make.

There’s a jar above the stove where they’ve collected their dried dandelion for tea and medicines. Crozier fetches it and sets a handful of the roots out for Rama to crush for their tea, moving wordlessly to their cellar door and heading down the narrow steps.

[Crozier’s fetching some things, feel free to skip him for a few tags!]