After the weight of the bear discussion, the simple act of holding an empty mug was abruptly trivial. Serena watched Salih take it from her hands.
[I can wash those,] she offered, feeling like a useless guest.
"No, thank you," he said, turning to the sink with efficient motions. "I have a system."
The dismissal was polite but firm. Serena lingered, the quiet of the kitchen becoming awkward. She felt adrift. [Is there anything I can help with?]
Salih paused, his back still to her. "At this precise moment, I would prefer it if you didn't touch anything. For all I know, your definition of 'help' may involve accidentally freezing my dishwater." He resumed scrubbing.
Silence descended again, broken only by the clink of ceramic. Serena stood, unsure whether to stay or go. After a few seconds, Salih sighed audibly, not turning around. "Why are you still standing there? Do you require a written itinerary?"
[I don't know what to do,] she admitted. She could try the library, but she wasn't sure how to begin.
Salih finished the dishes, dried his hands on a cloth, and turned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. We are embarking on a necessary, remedial errand. You require clothing that is actually yours. I will take you to obtain some. You must repay me eventually. Afterwards, I will show you the library." He said it like he was scheduling a root canal.
A wave of relief washed over her. [Thank you. How would I earn money to repay you?]
"Odd jobs. The town hall has a receptionist who posts commissions—repairing fences, hauling firewood, assisting in the greenhouses. You can inquire there." He gave her a once-over. "I cannot guarantee anyone will hire you yet. They are wary. But you can try. You will not be paid for bear-related activities until you have contributed to eliminating one."
[Oh,] Serena sent, the realization dawning. [So I can be compensated for that?]
Salih stared at her. "... Did you genuinely believe the town council intended to exploit your abilities for free? As some form of... supernatural serfdom?"
Serena looked at the floorboards. In her first life, she'd often felt used by systems. In Virgil's, everything and everyone was a tool to be commanded. The concept of fair, negotiated labour for a community was novel. She stayed silent.
"... You urgently need to read up on the law. Spirits give me strength," he muttered. "Go to the front door. You may borrow a pair of my boots. None will fit perfectly." He headed upstairs, presumably for his wallet.
At the door, three pairs of boots sat on a mat. She chose the simplest, softest-looking pair, slipping them on. They were indeed slightly too large, but manageable.
The walk to the town center was a study in social dynamics. People stopped their chores to stare, their expressions guarded. But then their eyes would flick to Salih, marching a pace ahead with an air of normalcy, and their suspicion would soften into cautious curiosity. His presence was a shield, his credibility a temporary passport.
The general store was a warm, crowded space smelling of wool, leather, and dried herbs. It wasn't a tailor's shop, but held practical, ready-made goods. Serena briefly wondered about supply chains in the tundra town as she browsed.
She selected the simplest, cheapest items: a soft cotton set of pajamas, practical underwear, and a sturdy pair of boots. She brought them to the counter.
Salih looked at her pile. "No outerwear? No sweater? No trousers?"
[I don't get cold,] she reminded him.
His eye twitched. "Yes, and walking through a snowstorm in pajamas will make you look profoundly, alarmingly pitiful. It will undermine any authority you hope to establish and likely trigger another misguided rescue attempt by Arvid. I am not a communal wardrobe—purchase appropriate daywear."
In response to his brutal honesty, Serena trudged back and selected a pair of durable trousers and a turtleneck sweater. She felt a petty, human sting at his words, but it was a surface wound. She was learning his code. 'I am not a communal wardrobe' meant he'd already been one by lending what she was wearing. 'You are under supervision' meant he was also providing shelter instead of casting her out. His bluntness was a delivery system for reluctant care.
The shopkeeper, a round-faced woman with keen eyes, was polite, even kind. "Will that be all, dear?" she asked, her voice only slightly hesitant.
When Serena nodded and projected a simple [Yes, thank you], the woman flinched but rallied, offering a tight smile. The trust was clearly borrowed from Salih, who was for some reason inspecting a shelf of extremely expensive chocolates with burning intensity.
As they left, bundles in hand, Serena felt the afternoon sun on her face. The interaction, while stiff, hadn't been hostile. These people were scared, but not cruel. Their kindness was filtered through Salih's reputation. Perhaps one day she could reach the same level of respect.
On the walk back to his house to drop off the goods, she turned to him. She pushed the word out, her voice hoarse but clear. "Thank you."
Salih stopped eating his chocolate, looking at her. "Is that 'thanks' in your native tongue?"
She nodded.
He resumed walking, a faint, almost imperceptible grunt of acknowledgement. "You're welcome. If you fail to repay me, I am never funding your wardrobe again." The threat, like all his others, contained its own promise: the assumption that there would be a future in which such a transaction could occur.