Just not far from the rural territory belonged to wealthy farmer Fitzgibbons', there was a moderately loud explosion from the rusty home of grumpy doctor who goes by the name Mr. Ages. The signs with big "Not Welcomed Here", "Get Out", and "Do Not Enter" were stuck around the yard. Strange scent of herbs was escaping from the chimneys, the noise of rusty technologies inside could disturb the small animals nearby. However, this did not stop one figure who was entering the bitter old man's territory. A woman. A fair one. She goes by the name Elizabeth, but people call her "Mrs. Brisby", the widow with four children.

"Mr. Ages…?" Her meek voice called out, her mildly shaking hand clutched onto her red cloak as she glanced around with her other hand holding the basket, "is anyone here…?"

"Go away…!" The elder man's shout was heard from a distance, but barely audible to her ears.

"Mr. Ages…?" This time, she carefully knocked on the ringed doorknob, "Mr. Ages, may I please speak to you…?"

"What…!" Obviously, the old man couldn't hear clearly.

"Umm, I asked may I please speak to-," she squeaked in surprise as the door burst open with dust, surrounding the stocky old man with medical gadgets around his waist belt coughing, "-with you…"

Elizabeth sighed in relief.

"Oh, thank goodness, you're here. I'm not sure you remember me…."

"Yes, yes, you're Mrs. Elizabeth Brisby." Mr. Ages brushed off the extra dust off his old brown apron.

It has been a year since the death of Elizabeth's husband. Mr. Ages was one of the acquaintances to attend Jonathan's funeral. Ironically, that was a first time he had met widowed Mrs. Brisby and her four children. She had two sons and daughters. A fair woman in early 30s. Her chestnut brown hair was in loose buns, blue eyes dim from lament. Even now beneath her red cloak, parts of her attires were black; pitch black bodice, black pair of shoes and every Sunday, she'd be seen with black mantilla veil to pray for her husband's soul to rest well. Just a month ago, Mr. Ages once visited her out of obligation and found one of her children, her second son Timothy, in an erratic state of breathing and high fever, which he diagnosed as pneumonia. If she came to see him again, it means one thing.

"I know you don't like visitors, but this is an emergency, please…," the widow begged as she entered, "my little boy Timothy, he's becoming sicker."

Mr. Ages frowned.

"Just how "sicker" he got…"

"He's been getting a higher fever than usual," she began, concern evident in her voice, "he is becoming sensitive to the smell of spices, he got blisters from sunlight…"

The old doctor stopped disposing of the useless trinkets off of his table.

"Blisters? From sunlight?"

"Yes…!" She nodded frantically.

Mr. Ages rubbed his temples, mumbling in frustrated yet serious tone before glanced back Mrs. Brisby.

"Well, I suppose I could fix up something…"

She perked up.

"Oh, thank you…!"

"Follow me, but don't touch anything. Understood?" he added.

Elizabeth nodded as she followed the doctor downstairs. Pushing the door, Mr. Ages allowed her in as she entered, looking around his chamber messy with papers scattered around the desk and floor with languages she couldn't understand. Beakers of diverse shape were on display as Mr. Ages took out several before picking several dry herbs from his wooden drawers.

"Other symptoms from little lad?" Mr. Ages asked as he slid the ladder closer before climbing up.

"He occasionally hisses… raspy sound when he breathes…" she answered carefully.

"Does he avoid sunlight in the daytime?" he asked again.

"Yes…, as if it could… harm him."

Taking few more herbs and climbing back down, Mr. Ages began to brew medicine.

"Tell me, does his complexion grow paler?"

"Yes…! Pale as a corpse…." her voice trembled at the end of her sentence.

With a heavy sigh, the elder doctor made three prescribed medicines finely packed in a paper bag each.

"Your son, he would be going through this new illness I've been researching for months," he finally answered, "but for the only solutions I can give you, are these."

He handed them to Elizabeth.

"One package is for his warm porridge. The other is for his hot bathing. And the last one, is to heal the blisters from sunlight. Other than these, don't let him get exposed to sunlight, ever. Otherwise, he would die." He warned.

"Oh, dear god, no…" Her eyes widened. She lost her husband a year ago, and then her son Timothy, if not careful.

"Keep him in the house. At bed, the best. Bundle him up most of the time," Mr. Ages advised, "don't let him leave the house."

"But, how long…?"

"Three weeks," he rubbed his glasses before putting back on, "at least, three weeks. I'd check on him on the last day."

Elizabeth's eyes lowered, unsure. Within a few days, she must pay the rent to the Fitzgibbons as her house was still in the wealthy farming family's territory.

"Is young Robert Fitzgibbons giving you trouble, again?" Mr. Ages' eyebrows furrowed.

Although the doctor wasn't present around her life, he had known how the young adult Robert "Billy" Fitzgibbons was. A young man, but who thinks with his urges more than a brain, if he had one, that is.

"No, sir…" She shook her head no.

"Drago Welkers?"

Drago Welkers, who goes by the nickname "Dragon", was a man of late 30s. Black hair, odd eyes of yellowish brown and blue, tall and imposing. He was one of the troublesome men other than young Fitzgibbons who would bother her. The community guard, but infamous for his obsession with hunting. Ever since Elizabeth lost her husband, he has gotten twice stubborn in an attempt to woo her whenever he gets the chance.

"No…"

It was obvious she was lying, in her poor attempt to lessen the concern of people around her. Though, Mr. Ages ensures her safety as long as her maternal aunt-nicknamed as Auntie Shrew-would chase those troublesome suitors away.

"God bless you, sir…" she thanked him again.

"Oh, bless yourself, you'll need it more than I do." Mr. Ages rolled his eyes.

He did not hesitate "escorting" her out of his house as soon as she received what she needed.

"Now, shoo, shoo, shoo. Go on, now. Go on."

"Thank you so—," she flinched as the door was closed in front of her, "—much. Goodbye."

Elizabeth timidly glanced back before leaving Mr. Ages' house. Placing three packaged medicines in her basket, she walked her way back to the rural village.

"Good day, Elizabeth!" The seamstress waved from her window.

"Good day…!" Mrs. Brisby waved back with a small smile.

"Hello, Eliza!" The elderly woman, a baker's wife, greeted cheerfully.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Brisby!" The newspaper boy took off his hat politely.

Elizabeth greeted each of them in return.

"Oh! I nearly forgot…, I must buy some bread, cheese and those hams…" she changed her route to the marketplace.

"Good afternoon, Elizabeth," The dairy farmer greeted, "the same ol' cheese as always?"

"Yes, sir…" She nodded.

"How is that little boy Timmy? Is he still sick?" he asked.

"I just returned from Mr. Ages for the medicine ..." She answered.

"BAH, that bitter old goat. Couldn't have pity on people…," the dairy farmer gave her a fresh cheese, "no need to pay for this one. On the house."

Elizabeth blinked, tried to oppose, but the obese middle aged dairy farmer smiled warmly, insisting on giving her the cheese without receiving payment.

"Eliza, dear, we just got fresh hams for your children!" The butcher's family waved her over.

"On the house, too! Can't keep your children waiting~!" The butcher's wife giggled.

While the rural village was far from prosperous, most people here were warm at heart. Especially to Elizabeth Brisby. Not only because of their fondness towards her, but they know harsh life widows would have once they lose their husbands. And another thing they share in common, was their sheer distaste towards the Fitzgibbons and their village's gate-guard and hunter, Drago.

"Thank you so much…!" Elizabeth smiled, waving to the sellers of the marketplace as they all waved back friendly.

With her basket enough to feed her children for a while and medicines for Timothy, she covered them with her basket cloth, walking her way past the hunting area. Ignoring the looks of men who have returned from their work.

A sudden roar of gunfire through the forest was enough to scare the poor widow and few children who were playing outdoors. She dreaded as the tall, built man stomped out of the woods' entrance. An apple dropped from Elizabeth's basket, rolling down and stopped as it touched the man's boot. He picked it up, his heterochromic eyes met hers.

"Mr. Welkers…," she began, tone shaking, "you…gave us another heart attack…, especially the children.

"...the brats must know the best not to play close by the woods." he spoke, tone callous as he approached her before giving her the apple.

Even seeing for more than twice, the scarred face of his on the left greatly bothered her. Considering, he received those scars from her late husband Jonathan.

"Thank you…" she accepted, her hands quivering a bit.

His eyes spotted a ring on her fourth finger of left hand, giving out a silent tsk from his mouth before he almost shoved a bouquet of clumsily picked flowers to her.

"Oh!" her blue eyes blinked in surprise.

"For your dinner table."

"Well… that's very sweet of you." Elizabeth accepted it, as rejecting the flowers could be rude.

She was about to turn her heel to leave, only for him to grab her by an arm, surprising her once more.

"Stay away from that woods, woman."

Frightened by his abrupt physical contact with her, she nodded immediately. When his stiff palm with fingers long as spiders were lightly squeezing her arm, Elizabeth felt her skin crawl. Eyes looking down as Drago's gaze narrowed with one side of his lips curled up as he was on the verge of pulling her closer.

"BOAR! I saw a huge boar!"

Hearing an exclamation from the woods, Drago's hunting instinct kicked in as he gave her one last glance before leaving, his grip releasing her and resumed back to hunting. From the entrance, the long, unruly haired man approached her.

"Ya alright, miss…?"

Elizabeth glanced up to see the man looking at her with concern. With a sigh of relief, she nodded.

"Thank you…umm…" she began hesitantly.

"Jeremy! I'm Jeremy Crows." the man smiled brightly, extended his hand out.

Feeling safe for the first time with someone other than her husband and Mr. Ages, Elizabeth held out her hand and shook his hand as a greeting.