“Thank you.”

That was the only answer, and no further comment on the meal followed. Just as the man had kept his head down, Swan did the same. Throughout the meal, she couldn’t stop worrying – was the seasoning right? Did the meat smell gamey? These thoughts distracted her from eating properly.

The silent meal finally came to an end. Swan brought out some biscuits and warm tea, thinking that he might have trouble sleeping if the taste of venison lingered unpleasantly. The tea, brewed from dried oat blossoms, was warm and fragrant.

Even Tom, who usually disliked tea, drank it happily when Swan served it. It was the kind of tea that could win over even those who claimed to hate water or tea, preferring alcohol above all else. Surely this tea would be to his taste as well – or so she hoped. Still, she couldn’t shake the nervousness she felt as she served it.

“I’m sorry if the stew wasn’t to your liking.”

She murmured, hesitating as she held the teapot. The man didn’t respond, but his large, calloused hands – devoid of any fine or delicate features – lifted the delicate white teacup. Swan felt a small sense of relief as he drank the tea, telling herself that at least the tea had been a success.

“If you drink it before bed, it’ll warm you up and help you sleep better.”

The man sipped his tea slowly, his eyes fixed on her. Swan found herself looking at him too, her eyes lingering longer than she had intended. Though he appeared slightly gaunt, the prominent contours of his features remained untouched, sharp and dignified.

Even when seated, the man exuded an air of majesty. His reserved demeanour suggested austerity, but underneath there was an intricacy and refinement so striking it was almost otherworldly. His jet-black hair and eyes, deep and vivid as blue paint, seemed to transcend the ordinary.

He was undoubtedly the kind of man whose beauty could stir the heart of a corpse lying in its coffin. Feeling unworthy of her own thoughts, Swan lowered her gaze again, as if she were a guilty sinner.

She had never met a man like him in the village. When they parted, she knew she would never see him again. And no matter how long she lived, she would probably never meet anyone as beautiful as the man before her.

Yes, that was certain.

It was as Swan carried the empty dishes toward the kitchen that his voice stopped her.

“Where will you sleep tonight?”

“Uh….”

She turned to face him. The man’s eyes were fixed on the bed. Swan, who hadn’t given it much thought, scratched her chin. She usually slept on the wooden floor beside the bed. There was an old chair by the window that her grandmother had used, but it wasn’t comfortable enough to sleep in.

“Where did you sleep before?”

“Well…”

“So I’ve taken over your resting place, have I?”

“I just slept on the floor. I used some mats, so it was fine…”

She trailed off, not sure how to continue. The man suddenly looked out of the window. He seemed deep in thought, though his intentions were unclear.

“From the lack of other houses nearby, it seems that you live here alone.”

“Yes…”

The man shifted his gaze from the window back to Swan, his sharp eyes reminiscent of a bird of prey. The intensity of his gaze was almost accusatory and Swan instinctively bit her lip.

All of Swan’s family had lived in this cabin – her mother’s mother, and her mother before her. The women of the Ropennin family had never mingled with the villagers down in the valley.

She didn’t know why; she’d never asked. Swan had simply grown up here, born in this cabin, and regarded its closed world as her own. Life had not been particularly difficult without broadening her horizons, but it had been lonely.

Yes, she understood loneliness, especially as she came to terms with the void left by her late mother. Perhaps that was why she welcomed even Tom, often looked down upon in the village as a meddlesome bachelor, as a source of comfort and warmth.

“How long does it take to get down to the village from here?”

“Down to the village? Now?”

Swan’s eyes widened in surprise. It was the last thing she had expected to hear. A man who didn’t even fully remember who he was, still recovering from his injuries, wanting to go down to the village – especially now, with midnight fast approaching.

“No. But I can’t stay here forever.”

Swan felt a lump form in her throat. She stared at him, unable to blink as his words – “I can’t stay here forever” – echoed in her ears. Even without dwelling on them, the statement lodged itself in her mind, poking at her like a sharp thorn.

Of course it was only natural. He was someone who was destined to leave. But knowing that didn’t stop her from freezing and staring at him.

“About… 30 minutes on foot.”

“I see. And when does this Tom person come back?”

“Every four days? Actually, whenever he feels like it. But he’ll definitely bring your things back. He’s not a bad person, really…”

“If you say so, then I trust it’s true.”

The man nodded briefly, then turned to pick up the folded blankets from the rocking chair. He looked back at Swan.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. Please use the bed.”

***

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing left in his mind. The fragments of shattered memories that he had spent the night turning over, pondering and swallowing back into the void were completely gone. Not even a single name or his age remained – just the blackened ashes of his thoughts.

For that reason, he wished he could just collapse into idleness. But instead he forced himself to sift through the ashes of his mind, unaware of the woman standing before him.

She wasn’t an enemy. He understood that instinctively. Identifying a stranger as an ‘enemy’ and then, over time, reclassifying her as ‘not an enemy’ after observation – that was a habit born of the life he had led.

He flexed his hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers. The shadow of the mountain loomed, its jagged peaks sharp as a tiger’s fangs. The air was cold before dawn, the kind of chill that creeps in when the high altitude of a mountain slope robs the evening of its warmth.

Few people passed through a place like this. To think that a woman had lived here alone all this time?

His gaze shifted to the closed door of the cabin. The place was small, almost like a dwarf’s home in a fairy tale. The only face he had seen since he woke up was hers. No one came or went – there was no sign of anyone else. It didn’t seem like a lie. The only name that had passed her lips was a man called Tom.

He wandered through the clearing, his ears attuned to the occasional sounds around him – the rustling of trees, birdsong and the distant roar of something wild. Alone in the mountains, even a steadfast man could find these sounds unsettling as they filtered into the cabin.

As he turned his steps back towards the cabin, his thoughts lingered on her – those perpetually flushed cheeks, the fluttering eyelashes and the trembling attempts to suppress emotions that she clearly found overwhelming. Her green eyes were full of feelings she couldn’t hide, and he remembered how she brushed her fingers nervously, as if burned by the slightest touch.

A strange tightness welled up in his chest at the thought. It was a bitter sensation, like sucking on a sour candy, as he thought of the woman sleeping peacefully inside. Stupid, perhaps, but certainly not a nuisance?

Despite her best efforts to remain composed, she blushed at the slightest glance. She was clearly disturbed by his presence, yet she lingered around him. It was obvious that she was trying not to attract his attention, probably aware that their connection wasn’t meant to last.

With that in mind, he made his way to the shed, intending to take another look at the armour he had seen earlier that evening. But the door wouldn’t budge – it was locked, the faint rattling of the latch confirming it. He could have easily ripped the door from its hinges with brute force, but damaging the shed while its owner was still present didn’t sit well with him.

Besides, he lacked the confidence for such violent tasks. He might not remember his name, his age or even his rank, but his instincts and temperament, shaped by his birth, remained intact. It was a testament to the man he had once been.

‘I’m still myself….’

So there was nothing to be afraid of, even if he couldn’t remember his own name.

“Um…”

He had just begun to turn when a small voice broke the silence of the night. It came from the shadowy outline of a figure, blurred in the faint moonlight.

“You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

“Go back inside. I was just going in myself.”

“I… I’ll give it back to you. I only kept them in the shed because they were hard to store, but it might be more convenient for you to have them.”

“It’s all right.”

He cut her off firmly, as if severing a thread with his teeth. There was a sense of finality in his firm tone, and perhaps sensing the severity in his demeanour, the woman refrained from speaking further. Yet he could feel her gaze linger on him, heavy with emotions he knew only too well. Before the weight in his chest could return, he stepped forward and overtook her.

Without a word, she followed him, her footsteps trailing behind his.

“If sleeping on the floor is uncomfortable, maybe…”

“It’s fine.”

Her face, dimly lit, looked tense and stiff. Her eyes, timid and uncertain, reminded him of a frightened animal. He avoided her gaze and shook his head. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully to justify his refusal.

“I just had a lot on my mind tonight that kept me from sleeping. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I see…”

“……”

“Stop, stop. Please go to sleep.”

The woman whispered in the thick silence. He nodded, then lay down on the thin mat spread out on the floor.

Sleep did not come. The sound of her tossing and turning on the bed continued. He couldn’t remember when he had closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the cool night air had disappeared without leaving a trace.

***

After spending the night on the floor, he stretched his arms and turned his shoulders, but the stiffness in his body wouldn’t go away. The hard, cold surface of the wooden floor had seeped into him, leaving a lingering chill. He pressed a hand to his forehead, which felt neither hot nor cold, and looked towards the table.

There was a tray of food and a bowl of water on the round dining table. He scanned the empty cabin and walked over to examine it. The tray contained breakfast, as expected, but why the basin? A quick glance revealed that it was filled with washing water. The nearby shelves held a pot of stew and some fruit. To be honest, none of it appealed to him.

Although his stomach was empty, he hadn’t enjoyed the meals she had prepared for him so far. He had tried not to show it, but it seemed she had noticed. Still, she had continued to serve him with devotion. With a soft sigh, he stared blankly at the table before shifting his gaze to the bed.

The neatly folded blanket and the spacious bed seemed to beckon, and the exhaustion of a restless night on the floor returned. Without much thought, he walked over to the bed and collapsed onto it. The soft pillow and the comforting feel of the blanket made him close his eyes involuntarily.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. When he finally stirred and opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the woman. Her delicate silhouette filled his blurred vision and brought him back to full consciousness. It was only when her wavy red hair brushed against his face that he realised how close she was.

Startled, the woman tried to pull away, but before he could think, his hand reflexively shot out and grabbed her wrist, causing her to fall back onto the bed.

“Ack!”

Her piercing scream rang in his ears. He quickly released her wrist.

“Sorry.”

“……”

She blinked, and for a moment they stared at each other in silence. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they both turned their heads away at almost the same time.

“You must have been very tired.”

“……”

“You haven’t even had breakfast…”

The woman’s gaze shifted to the table, where the cold stew and the sink sat. He snapped out of his thoughts, stood up and walked over to the table. To clear his mind, he splashed cold water on his face and grabbed the neatly folded towel beside the sink to dry himself.

Meanwhile, the woman collected the cold stew and fruit and carried them into the kitchen.

“Have a seat. I’ll prepare your lunch,” she said, turning around after setting the basket aside.

He watched as she lit the fire and began to heat the stew, her back to him.

The meal she prepared consisted of toasted bread, yellow fruit jam and the reheated stew. When she had placed the food on the table, she handed him a small bowl of medicine. It was only then that he became aware of his side. There was a slight tingling in the wound, but the pain was so mild that he forgot about it.

“Let me check your wound before you eat. Take the medicine about thirty minutes after you eat.”

She approached him, ointment and bandages in her hands. He lifted his shirt with practiced ease, exposing his side. Kneeling beside him, she leaned in close to inspect the wound, her face just inches from his skin.

The warmth of her breath tickled where it brushed his skin, mingling with her faint scent. It felt as if her breath reached down to the exposed surface of the healing wound. Her fingers, cooler than usual, traced the edges of the injury with careful precision.

His gaze wandered. Dirt clung to the hem of her skirt – perhaps she had worked in the underbrush earlier. The faint scent of earth and grass lingered in the air.

Examining the wound carefully, she reached for the ointment. Their eyes met unexpectedly and the blush on her nose deepened, spreading across her face.

Her green eyes were as clear as drops of water, revealing her emotions. Yet their transparency made them seem fragile, as if they could shatter or burst at any moment. She hesitated, the hand holding the ointment wavering slightly.

Those bright green eyes, though seemingly transparent, carried a depth and intensity that was both vivid and distant. The upward tilt of her sharp eyes only heightened the effect, giving her an air of restrained boldness.

Her wavy, auburn hair brushed lightly against his side, sending a faint tingle down his skin. Her scent, unfamiliar but not entirely alien, mingled with her breath, subtly filling his senses.

It was the same scent he had noticed on the blanket earlier – night-blooming flowers, or perhaps a similar herbal scent. The earthy scent of leaves seemed to cling to her, emanating from the crown of her head and seeping through the faint breath that escaped her lips.

“Would you prefer to do it yourself?”

“No.”

She held out the ointment nervously. He glanced at her hand before shaking his head. His side wasn’t in a position where he could easily tend to it himself. Her face brightened visibly at his reaction.

That expression, though slightly irritating, was balanced by the scent that filled his senses and dried his mouth. Her ointment-smeared fingers touched his side. The intimacy of the moment lingered between them, a closeness that felt so natural it was almost inevitable, as if nothing would be out of place if they were completely entwined.

Her pale, slender fingers brushed over his skin, applying the ointment with delicate precision. She picked up the bandages and wrapped them around his waist, her careful movements resembling an embrace as she secured the dressing with practiced care.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” 

“Yes.” 

“Please let me know if it gets uncomfortable.” 

He looked at her steadily, without nodding or speaking further. When she finished wrapping the bandage, she stepped back and gathered the medical equipment. Soon they were sitting across from each other at the dining table. He was halfway through a spoonful of stew when she spoke hesitantly.

“About the bed…”

He looked at her as she looked at him cautiously.

“I’m fine, so you should use it. At least until your body heals. I mean… until you go down to the village.”

“I’m fine the way I am.”

Swan raised her eyes. There was no convincing him – his refusal was firm. Perhaps it was natural, given his position as someone dependent on her hospitality. It was her bed, after all. The very thought of using something marked by another’s presence and scent might have made him uncomfortable.

Besides, he was a nobleman, wasn’t he? According to Tom, noble lords – that sort of person – always looked down on the humble homes of commoners, regarding them as less than a dwarf’s den. Surely this bed wouldn’t meet his standards either.

But he was a patient. She couldn’t let him sleep on the wooden floor. Swan hesitated before speaking.

“Sleeping on the floor isn’t good for your wound. I don’t mind at all, so…”

“Then let’s share it.”

“Pardon?”

“Didn’t you say that man, Tom, promised to make a proper bed? Until he does, we can share this one.”

“That’s…”

“It looks like this bed has been used by two people before, hasn’t it?” 

“Well, that’s true, but…”

Swan’s words trailed off, her voice wavering under the weight of his calm, matter-of-fact tone. 

The woman lowered her head, her spoon scraping the bottom of her bowl. The bed was indeed large enough for two – perhaps it had been made from the start for a couple or siblings to share. 

He watched her quietly. Sleeping on the wooden floor was exhausting, but she had endured it for several days. 

Even though he wasn’t in perfect health, he wasn’t so shameless as to let her sleep on the cold, hard floor while he took the bed. He was a knight, after all. And the woman before him, noble or not, was still a lady. To a knight, a lady’s comfort was more important than his own. 

It didn’t matter if she wore simple tunics of cloth instead of fine velvet. A lady was a lady. Besides, who knew how many days it would take Tom to make the new bed? In this ramshackle cabin, which looked more like a collapsing barn than a proper home, he couldn’t have someone so delicate lying on the bare floor.