The needle falls with a clack. Jill grits her teeth as she picks it up, glaring at her hand. It's done nothing but fumble since she sat down; she's used to holding a weapon against her palm, not delicately maneuvering between blistered fingertips. She can imagine the laughter of her fellow then-trainees when she missed a target, as often happened while hunting.

There's none of that mocking, of course, just Mist's hand gently plucking the needle away. Jill releases her jaw, rotating it to try to loosen the ache.

"Okay, that's enough for today," Mist says.

"I'll say. My pride needs at least a full day of nursing."

"You still have plenty to spare and you know it," Mist teases, leaning down to peck Jill on the temple. "Besides, you got a lot done."

Jill turns the shirt in her lap over, her nose twitching. She's not sure which one of the muscled men in Mist's family it belongs to, but she hopes they don't mind the crooked patch. Mist takes that from her, too, folding it with a hum in her voice. "Practice makes perfect, you know. I'm glad you're here to help out. By the way, don't you dare wilt yet—you promised to spar with me, and the sun's already sinking."

Jill looks out the window, still a bit surprised to see the ground covered in green, even though she's been visiting Mist for several days. In the north of Daein, where clothes come in layers, not being able to mend fabric is asking for illness. Jill had still never learned to do more than the loosest attempts, her threads coming undone after a bit of wear. Here, perhaps it doesn't make so much of a difference.

Jill rises from her stool, stretching with a firm reminder to not picture life in Crimea. She loves Mist enough to delegate her duties in Talrega a few times a year, but not enough to override all her loyalties.

When she walks outside, Mist is already hefting the sword Commander Ike, as Jill guesses he'd hate to know she still thinks of him, gave her before his departure. Jill is surprised to see her using it—it spent a while gathering dust in the shed that's gotten more disorganized with every year out of that tactician's care. If the uneven balance of her weight is any indication, she hasn't been wielding it long. Jill grabs her own weapon, the familiar grip chasing away her loss of confidence. She gets into position and waits for Mist to signal to begin.

Mist lunges without warning, swinging in a wider stroke than she had with her previous, thinner sword. She's clearly tried this before, but the element of surprise doesn't give her the edge against Jill's training. Jill blocks her, and with Mist's weight still off, it's enough to make her fall.

The split second of satisfaction after any successful move immediately switches to worry. Jill knows Mist has spent as much time on the battlefield as many soldiers, has stood on the opposite side from Mist, even, watching her fight on with growing horror. Still, her protective side kicks in whenever Mist handles a blade. Unlike with Jill's sewing needle, an accident could be fatal.

Luckily, Mist knows how to land safely. Jill almost reaches to help her up, then remembers they're still in a match and lifts her lance in a defensive position instead.

A few straightforward attacks and parries later, Mist drops the sword with a groan. "Is anyone not going to go easy on me? Other than Shinon, I mean, and even he…"

"Sorry," Jill says, planting her lance's tip in the ground and rubbing her neck. "It's just…"

"I'm not a warrior, I know." Mist plops onto the grass, her cross-legged position not entirely lady-like. "Better let me handle the needlework." Her chin in her hands and her slight pout remind Jill of when they were younger. Jill lowers herself beside her.

"I never said that. I still remember seeing you with the Gallian army. I seriously thought we'd have to kill each other." Her eyes travel to the lance stuck crookedly in the dirt, and Mist scoots closer to rest her head on Jill's shoulder. Jill continues before Mist can speak, feeling that whatever she says—and whatever voice she says it in—may make Jill wonder if Talrega can manage an extra day. "Besides, I know of several villages in Daein that would kill for your skill with a needle."

"Is that because they're all as bad as you?"

Jill scowls down at Mist's grin. "That's just a Fizzart trait." She pulls away from Mist's contact and stands, brushing off her pants. "All right, if you don't want me to go easy on you, that means no breaks."

The pout returns, though Mist gets up without hassle. "Okay, but next time you're mending the harder stuff."

That's only fair, Jill thinks as she pulls a face. She doesn't have time to dread it; Mist barely gives Jill a chance to retrieve her lance before rushing at her again.

xxxxxxx

They eat dinner with the mercenaries. At the meal's start Mia arrives to a warm welcome, having been gone the past year to train with a company near the Gallian border. She ribs Rhys about the smallest members of the table, a group of orphans who have been growing in height and number over Jill's visits. The newest of them climbs onto Titania's lap. Without looking, she starts braiding the child's hair while listening to Rolf boast about his new student.

Jill watches all this quietly as she eats her fish and vegetables. It doesn't exercise the like game meat, and nothing so green and tender has sprouted yet in Talrega. In past visits the cooking style was nonetheless familiar, as she's been lucky enough to eat Oscar's cooking many times…but he rejoined the Crimean knights, and the food is more clumsily handled by a new recruit, a girl with pink braids who Jill swapped axe tips with the fall before.

She asks Jill how the food is with clasped hands, and Jill compliments it out of politeness. When Jill once again falls quiet, Mist tries to fuel the conversation. It's a bit nostalgic; she did the same when she'd first convinced Jill to eat with the others on the boat, though those meals were tenser, as Jill was ready to spring into battle at any moment. Her muscles don't twitch now, but she feels a weight in her stomach that grows until its heaviness drags down her chin and eyelids. She thanks the others for the meal and excuses herself to retire to bed.

It's not really time, so when she spots the pile of sewing Mist still has to finish she lights a candle and kneels with it. The candlelight's shadows ebb and flow on her hands, confusing her tired eyes. She can barely see the hole at the needle's head, let alone slip a thread through it. She mashes the thread against the metal repeatedly, unable to make it fit, then pricks herself and gives up, dousing the light before lying down to bed while sucking her finger. Laughter echoes from down the hall. Once she would have assumed it was at her; now she's aware she's not a part of it at all.

Her thoughts fly across the border, wondering if Haar has arrived in Talrega with their newest shipment of food and if any messages have arrived about the queen. Her finger's stopped smarting when she hears the door open and footsteps approach.

"Jill? Are you awake?"

It hits Jill how tired she is when she doesn't turn, only grunting in affirmation. She hears Mist approach and can tell from behind her eyelids that a candle's been brought in. "Are you okay? This is an early night for you," Mist says.

"I'm fine. Still worn out from traveling."

There's a pause before Mist pulls back the blanket from Jill's shoulder. Jill flinches, even though it's not really that cold, even in the evening. "Come on, Jill, you know I can tell. Are you really still not going to talk to me?"

Jill hears the hurt in Mist's voice and swallows a sigh, propping herself up to see Mist. She's kneeling by the side of the mattress, the dancing light and shadow of the flame seeming to heighten the worry on her face. "Sorry. It's nothing important, so I didn't want to worry you. I'm just feeling a bit out of my element. Plus, well, worried about Talrega. Not sure how much should be left in Haar's hands, you know."

Having leaned over her, Mist now sits back on her heels. "Do you wish you were there?"

The movement of Mist's hands as they fold in her skirt draws Jill's eye. When she looks back up at Mist's face, it's tilted down and away from her. She reaches up to touch Mist's cheek, smooth against her dry skin. "No, of course not. I'm glad we can still spend time together."

Mist doesn't speak. After a moment, Jill feels her trembling under her fingers. "I thought…I mean, when you leave, you're going to come back. Right?"

Mist's voice is strained, and Jill can't figure out what she did to give her that big of a scare until it hits her like an axe. She sits up to take Mist into her arms, cradling her while trying to mimic Mist's methods of comforting—murmuring encouragement, rubbing her back, rocking gently—hoping that her muscular body can play the part of Mist's softer one. Mist sniffles, a noise that's more like a snort, and shifts to a mutual cuddle. Jill wiggles her toes.

"Say, Mist…"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, would you like to come back with me to Talrega?"

Mist pulls away slightly, making Jill's heart rate quicken. She knows Mist has only seen Talrega in wartime, dirty and broken and bleeding. She didn't see its people coming together to mend the holes. When Mist tilts her chin up, however, she speaks excitedly. "Really?"

"Yeah. I can take you there on wyvern-back. You'd get to try cooking different things, and spar with different people, and…maybe we can visit Father. He, he would have liked you. We should wait until summer, though. It's too cold. I'd lend you some furs, but it'd still be…"

A squeeze of Jill's bicep cuts her off. "I'd love to," Mist says. "In the winter sometime, too. I want to make snow angels again and see the trees that are always green."

At the memory, Jill smiles. Among the things that have changed and the things that haven't, Mist's spirit is the latter, and Jill knows that during the next snowfall she'll imagine that bit of sun shining through, wrapping the crystals around her and perhaps not even melting them away.