Hey Y'all! TW for discussion of alcohol, I guess? And underage drinking if we're going by our modern standards, but everyone used to drink beer and honestly it's only the US these days. Also; First-Father is something Kilmarnock came up with on New Seddleton, so props to him for that. First-Father is...quite literally just God. But yeah. Don't have a singular clue when this takes place, it just exists in the ether.

The only reason Heather notices is because she's sick with a cold.

It's Emma's fault, really, considering she was the one who noticed and made Heather rest. And honestly, Heather isn't that irresponsible. She wasn't going to go into the Hospital sick herself, that would be foolish and selfish. She was, however, going to go to the Hospital's office and finish sorting out medical records since the apprentices hadn't completed the task yesterday. But-well, Emma is Emma and Heather can barely speak so she didn't feel like arguing with her.

So Heather stays in their room, not quite knowing what to do with herself and the apparent free time. Her desk is screaming at her, of course, if only to be cleaned off of all the papers and notes-but Heather's head pounds worse at the thought, so she leaves it alone. She briefly considers working on editing, but before she can decide, she notices the date sitting on the desk. Today is the first of April.

Heather takes a step forward, bracing herself with one hand on the back of the chair as she picks up the calendar, gazing at it a moment.

The door flies open, startling her, and Emma bursts in, looking much more cheerful than she did thirty minutes ago.

"Tea and- Oh. What's wrong." Emma stops short, putting her hands on her hips.

Heather sighs. "Nothing."

"No offense, Heather, but you are a terrible liar and you're wearing your 'I'm questioning my purpose and place for the thousandth time' or 'Smalls is being vague and difficult again and I'm tired of trying to figure out our relationship', so I doubt it's 'nothing'."

Heather snorts. "That second part wasn't necessary."

"Yes, yes it was." Emma replies.

Heather shakes her head, deciding it's not a battle worth picking. "It's neither of those," She admits, "It's only-it's April now."

Emma nods.

"It's been a year since the last time I was in Nick Hollow." Heather finishes sadly.

"Oh," Emma says, and she crosses to where Heather is standing, and hands her one of the mugs of tea she'd carried in. Heather accepts it gratefully, and there's a period of silence where they're both sipping tea and thinking.

"What was it like?" Emma finally asks.

"Hm?"

"Growing up in the Hollow. What was it like? They don't live like we do."

Heather is quiet for a minute, thinking. "We're much more clannish than you are." She finally says. "My mother's family-the Fallons-all lived on one tract of land, that's been passed down from father to son for as long as anyone can remember."

"The whole family?" Emma asks, taking another sip of tea.

Heather nods. "I remember it being common to see third and fourth cousins. At the center of the land was the main housing, a Keep, they would call it, and that's where my Grandfather lived, along with my mother's sisters and their children. He was the chief of the clan, sort of like a minor king."

Emma lets out a laugh. "Does that make you a princess?"

Heather shakes her head, laughing too. "Maybe in your eyes, but that was never how it worked in the Hollow. They're not…opulent, I suppose is the best word. Not like Natalian kings traditionally have been." She pauses, "Though I doubt opulence is even an option for Natalian nobility these days."

"No," Emma sighs, "No not really."

More quiet.

"They made the best wine you'll ever taste, though." Heather breaks the revery.

"Really?" Emma asks, eyebrows arching. "I find it hard to imagine you drinking."

Heather laughs. "In the Hollow, we were raised on it. Wine and beer there is as common as water is here."

"…they do realize we have drinking laws for a reason?"

"Have the Hollowers ever actually listened to Natalian law?"

Emma nods reluctantly. "Fair point."

Heather smiles at the memories, but Emma, of course, isn't finished.

"Don't tell me you've been drunk before,"

Heather laughs again, this time hard enough that her throat protests. "Once, when I was thirteen, and never again. My cousins tormented me with it for months, and I was sick for days after."

Emma doubles over, because apparently the concept of Heather being drunk is just that funny. Heather rolls her eyes, absently stirring her tea.

"Has Picket-"

"Oh yes. Far more than me." Heather replies, mischief in her voice. "Father used to get so angry."

"Why is that so hard to imagine?" Emma asks between gasps.

"Because Picket is blissfully ignorant to the vast majority of activities associated with drinking." Heather replies, smirking and sitting down on her bed.

Emma sits down beside her, nodding.

"I miss them." Heather sighs. "I think Father always meant to come back and help the Citadels, whenever Uncle Wilfred came."

"Why didn't he?"

Heather flops backward on the bed, closing her eyes. "Well, there's the Longtreader thing, for one. For another, he had us. He never wanted me and Picket involved."

Emma considers, tracing the beaded pattern of the quilt with her fingers. Heather had done it herself, the way her Aunt Stacy had taught her; with careful fingers and patience and a longing to see that wonderful woman again. Stacy had no daughters of her own, only sons.

"Never rush, Heather dear," Stacy had said after examining the first line of beads Heather had ever sewn. "Do the seasons rush? No, of course not. If they did, where would the harvest be? And the Winter Solstice?"

"But it takes so long," Heather had moaned, glaring spitefully at the line of not-so-straight beads that had taken her half an hour to complete, rushing and all.

"Anything worth doing does." Stacy replied. "Good wine isn't good the minute I put it up, is it?"

"No." Heather grudgingly admitted.

"No. It takes years and years and years for it to become good, delicious wine. And then, and only then, can we drink it. Remember last Fall, when you wanted Winter to come so badly you were pulling leaves off the trees to make them fall faster?"

Heather blushed.

"Time moves as First-Father declares," Stacy said kindly, "Not as we demand. We're only mortal, my dear." She handed Heather back the small quilting square she'd been practicing on. "Now, you'll have a chance to practice that kind of patience. Rip out all the seams and stitches you've put in this, and try again. Slowly this time."

Heather opens her eyes, and sighs.

"What?" Emma asks.

"I'm tired of being patient." Heather says.

"Aren't we all?" Emma murmurs.

"Time moves as First-Father declares," Heather states, as much a reminder to herself as to Emma.

"Yes. But you'd think He'd make it move a little bit faster." Emma replies.

Heather shrugs. "We'll see our families again, Emma, even if it's not in this life."

"You always get all doom and gloom when you're sick, you do know that?" Emma huffs, flopping down beside her.

Heather rolls her eyes. "I'm not that bad."

"No, not as bad as your brother." Emma nods. She pauses, "I still can't believe he's been drunk before."

"Smalls has." Heather says.

They stare at each other a moment, then at the same time both blurt "Evan!" and burst into laughter.

Yes, Heather thinks, she misses her family. She misses Nick Hollow. But her brother's here, Emma, Smalls and whatever that relationship is, and all her other friends are here. First-Father may have time moving slowly, but He's given her plenty to pass it with, and Heather can be content for the moment.