The last dinner passed in a heavy hush. The dining room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen lamps and the fading light of the winter evening outside.
Marcelle had prepared a pot-au-feu, and the aroma of slow-cooked beef and root vegetables filled the air. The meat was so tender it fell away beneath the fork, swimming in a broth that was dark, rich, and fragrant with herbs.
Nimue dipped thick crusts of bread into the liquid, soaking up the warmth. She ate until her stomach felt tight with a deep, lingering satisfaction.
At the end of the table, Étienne sat with his hands wrapped around a glass of deep red wine. He didn't speak much; he never did. Instead, he watched Nimue from across the table with steady, knowing eyes. He offered her a single, firm nod.
"Tu peux revenir quand tu veux. C'est aussi chez toi," he said.
(You can come back whenever you want. This is also your home.)
"Oui," Nimue replied. Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper in the quiet room.
Chloé passed the bread basket, her stomach noticeably round and heavy beneath her woollen jumper. She offered Nimue a gentle smile as their eyes met. "Tu écriras? Pour raconter au petit comment c'est, l'Angleterre?"
(Will you write? To tell the little one what England is like?)
Nimue's gaze dropped to Chloé's swelling belly. "Il s'appelle comment?"
(What is his name?)
"On ne sait pas encore. On attend de le voir," Chloé answered.
(We don't know yet. We are waiting to see him.)
Nimue nodded and reached out. Her fingers briefly brushed the other woman's hand in a silent promise. "Je lui écrirai."
(I will write to him.)
When she finished her meal, she rose and carried her plate to the sink. The clink of porcelain was the only sound in the kitchen, sharp and lonely in the silence.
. . .
Upstairs, Nimue began to pack her bag.
The green canvas bag lay open on the white quilt, and she folded her clothes one by one. She set them inside with deliberate, quiet care. The blue coat went on top, followed by her grey jumper and the shorts she had worn for three days straight during the warmer afternoons.
Cinder sat on the pillow, his russet fur bright against the fabric and his amber eyes following her every move. She reached beneath the layers of fabric to draw out the Cold Light stone. She tucked it carefully into the very bottom of the bag, nestled deep in the corner. It remained icy to the touch, a constant, chilling weight that never seemed to fade regardless of the room's warmth.
For a long moment, she stood perfectly still. She looked around the room, memorising the white quilt, the window that looked out over the sprawling, winter-bare vineyards, and the low fire where the wood glowed a dull, deep red.
"We will come back," she murmured to Cinder.
The fox's ears lifted at the sound of her voice. She slipped beneath the covers, and Cinder curled into a ball at her feet.
The room settled into a deep darkness, and the house grew quiet around them. The silence was broken only by the faint, distant sound of Marcelle moving in the kitchen below and the muffled rush of water running somewhere in the plumbing. Nimue closed her eyes and let sleep take her.
. . .
The next morning Nimue woke early and dressed in the dim light. She dressed in the shadows of the early light, pulling on her jeans and jumper before sliding into her blue coat. She stepped into her trainers and checked the straps until they sat flat and secure against the cold floor.
Cinder was already waiting by the door, his russet tail twitching in quiet anticipation. They went downstairs together.
The kitchen was empty and the stove was cold. Nimue found a loaf of bread in the cupboard. She broke off a small piece and ate it while standing at the window. Outside, the vineyards lay dark and skeletal beneath a low, heavy sky.
Jane came down not long after. Her white hair was loose and her face was still soft from sleep. She filled the kettle and lit the stove with a quick, efficient motion.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Oui."
Jack followed soon after, then Saoirse. Their black hair was messy, the white streaks catching the light as they moved. They stood at the counter eating bread and jam, as no one felt the need to sit down for a formal meal.
Matthieu arrived just as the sky began to pale into a weak, winter light. His car was dusted with a fine layer of frost that sparkled like crushed glass. While he set about scraping the windows, Jack began carrying the bags outside into the biting air.
Marcelle stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. Her white hair caught the thin, morning light, making her look like a ghost in the frame.
"Tu as tout?" she asked.
(Do you have everything?)
"Oui."
"Ton renard?"
(Your fox?)
Nimue glanced down at Cinder. He was pressed firmly against her leg, a warm weight against her calf. "Oui."
Marcelle crouched down and cupped Nimue's cheek. Her palm felt incredibly warm against the biting morning chill. "Reviens, petite. La maison est trop calme sans toi."
(Come back. The house is too quiet without you.)
"Je reviendrai."
(I will come back.)
Marcelle pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before straightening up and retreating back into the warmth of the house.
The car was already warm when they climbed in. The heater hummed and fog gathered along the windows' edges. Nimue settled into the back seat with Cinder on her lap. Beside her, Saoirse rested her head against the glass. Jane took the front passenger seat, leaving Jack on the other side of Nimue. The engine turned over with a low, mechanical growl, and they pulled away from the gravel drive.
The house shrank behind them, followed by the vineyards and the bare trees. They watched until the roof vanished entirely behind the rise of a distant hill. Nimue kept watching the horizon until there was nothing left to see but the road ahead.
The drive stretched on through the morning. Fields rolled past in muted shades of brown and grey beneath the same oppressive sky. On the radio, the sound shifted from soft music to French news and back again. Saoirse drifted off to sleep, her breathing steady. Jack read a book in the quiet, and Jane spoke in low tones with Matthieu about the road conditions and the ferry schedule.
Nimue simply watched the glass blur and clear. She counted a lone tractor in a muddy field, see a distant church tower, and traced the unfamiliar names on the road signs. Cinder slept soundly in her lap, his ears twitching at the steady hum of the tyres.
They stopped once at a service station where Jane bought coffee. Jack and Saoirse took the opportunity to stretch their bodies while Nimue stood in the cold, watching the cars come and go in a steady stream.
By midday, the clouds began to thin. For a fleeting moment, the sun appeared as a pale, distant disc in the sky. Nimue leaned closer to the window, her breath fogging the cold glass.
"On arrive bientôt?" she asked.
(Are we arriving soon?)
"Une heure," Matthieu answered.
(One hour.)
The road straightened out as the fields gave way to clusters of houses and then the sprawling suburbs. She spotted the word 'Calais' on a large blue panel.
The air changed as they neared the coast. It became colder and sharper, carrying the distinct, biting scent of salt and the sea. They drove past rows of uniform houses and brick warehouses before entering the port. The ferry terminal rose in a mass of grey concrete, and long lines of cars stretched out ahead of them like waiting metal chains. Matthieu found a place to park and cut the engine
"On est arrivés," he said.
(We have arrived.)
Nimue looked out at the ferry. It was white and enormous. A heavy steel ramp lay flat against the dock, ready to receive the morning traffic while seagulls wheeled and cried in the damp air above.
Jack opened the car door, and a rush of freezing air flooded the cabin. Nimue climbed out with Cinder tucked firmly in her arms. The wind struck her face with a damp, sharp sting that made her eyes water. Behind her, Matthieu opened the boot so the adults could gather the bags.
"Merci, Matthieu," Jane said. She rested her hand briefly on his arm.
"Bonne traversée. Et bonne route."
(Safe crossing. And safe journey.)
He looked toward Nimue and gave her a small smile. "Tu es une bonne passagère."
(You are a good passenger.)
"Merci," she replied.
He gave a final nod before slipping back into the car. A moment later, the engine came to life, and he drove off. He turned once before his vehicle disappeared behind a line of waiting trucks. Nimue watched until he was gone, then turned toward the towering ferry as the wind tugged at her white hair.
"On y va?" she asked.
(Are we going?)
Jane took her hand. Her grip was firm and reassuring. "Oui. On y va."
(Yes. We are going.)
. . .
The queue stretched across the grey concrete of the docks. Rows of cars sat idling, and their exhaust drifted into the cold, salty air in pale plumes. Families lingered beside their vehicles, stamping their feet against the chill and pulling their coats tighter. A small child darted between the bumpers until his mother sharply called him back.
Nimue stood between Jack and Jane with Cinder tucked into her arms. The fox's nose was buried deep against her elbow as the wind cut in from the open water. A man in a high-visibility vest eventually waved them forward. Jack handed over the tickets, and they were directed toward the looming ramp.
The ferry was a massive, intimidating presence. Its white hull was streaked with lines of orange rust from the salt spray. The ramp rose steep and grooved beneath their feet as cars climbed it one by one. They followed on foot, and Nimue's trainers scraped softly against the cold metal. The sound echoed up into the vast, hollow space of the vehicle deck.
Once inside, a sudden wall of warmth and engine vibration closed around them. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the air carried the heavy, mingled scent of roasted coffee and diesel fuel. A wide staircase led them upward away from the vehicle deck.
"We go up," Jack said. His British accent was clear against the industrial thrum of the ship.
The passenger lounge opened into a wide space lined with rows of blue seats facing a wall of thick windows. Only a few travellers were scattered across the room, reading or watching the grey water. A distant baby cried, though the sound was swallowed by the constant, deep rumble of the engines.
Jane chose a seat by the window, and Nimue climbed up beside her. She settled Cinder on her lap. The fox glanced around with low ears before curling into a tight, russet ball. Across the aisle, Jack sat down, and Saoirse dropped into the seat beside him. She was already closing her eyes. The vibration of the engines deepened into a steady, rhythmic rumble that shook the floor faintly beneath their feet.
Nimue leaned forward and pressed her face to the glass. Outside, the dock remained unchanged. Cars were still moving and workers continued to wave as another truck rolled slowly up the ramp.
"Are we leaving soon?" she asked.
"Oui. In a little while."
The windows slowly began to fog from their breath, so Nimue wiped a clear patch with her sleeve. She peered through the glass just as the ramp began to rise in a heavy, deliberate motion. The metal groaned while seawater dripped from the massive chains. A sudden shudder passed through the ferry. It was subtle but certain, and the floor shifted beneath Nimue's feet.
She leaned closer to the pane.
For a heartbeat, it felt as though the dock itself was drifting away, until the widening stretch of churning grey water made the truth clear. They were the ones slipping away. The gap grew larger, the cars on the shore shrank, and the figures on the dock blurred into indistinct shapes before fading into nothing.
The land receded steadily, the buildings folding into the distance and the harbour walls thinning into a narrow line. The gap of churning water widened until the French coast became a pale smudge against the grey sky.
Nimue kept her hand flat against the cool glass. The vibration of the engines hummed through her palm, steady and moving forward. She didn't look away until the water stretched empty in every direction.
===
Okay so, I really thought my comments not showing up was only when I did paragraph comments or posted a picture. But it seems I can't comment at all on this account (my primary account).
Because when I checked using my second account, all of the comments I posted under my main account are just… gone.
So I just want to let you know that I will be answering your comments using my second account instead. It's still Level 1 and the username is Rikhi_rei.