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No. I was nothing like Wulfric. I had my faults, but they were far sillier than his, at least.

I tore myself away, threw on my clothes, and began my morning routine with my head full of the beautiful, half-broken boy on the couch. I washed myself and fetched the day’s water from the bubbling spring, milked the sheep and let them out to feed, chopped more wood, since I was burning through it twice as fast as usual, trying to warm him up. When I returned to the kitchen to make tea, Red was there in my too-big sweater and long johns, plus his own battered little booties, looking like a lost child.

“You need the outhouse?” I guessed with a smile.

He nodded and rubbed his eyes. His curls stuck up in bunches on one side, flattened on the other. His left cheek had the pillow’s pattern imprinted on it.

I didn’t need to ask; he’d slept well, finally.

I waved for him to follow and went back out the kitchen door. The sheep bleated at us in greeting, and Red froze.

I frowned. “You’ve seen sheep?” I was sure they weren’t magical. Just regular sheep. Right?

He nodded. “Yes. I just… wasn’t expecting them. For some reason.”

“Where d’you think I got the wool?” I smiled and waved for him to keep following, then walked around the side of the cabin. The outhouse sat back a ways, the little moon on the door up high enough for privacy.

Red’s dark eyebrows went up as if in surprise. “I… don’t know what I expected.”

“It’s all right, isn’t it?”

“It’s perfect.” He took a deep breath and marched toward the outhouse with purpose.

I turned to go back inside to give him privacy. But he stopped, turned, and said, “I—um. Jack?”

I paused.

“Would you… stay? Not, like, right outside the door or anything, but maybe… in shouting distance?”

I nodded, wondering at my stupidity. “Of course. I’ll be right over there with the sheep.”

“Thanks.” And he disappeared inside it.

When he emerged a few moments later, he came around the side of the house with one hand on his rib cage. “It looks worse than it feels, now.”

“You’re walking just fine,” I observed. “Feeling stronger?”

“Not especially,” he said wryly. He did that a lot. For someone with such a sweet face, he had a world of irony inside him, clearly.

“We’ll get some breakfast in you,” I assured him.

“You’re very kind.” Red blew out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “How many people have you had to rescue in this forest?”

The question drew me up short. I had never rescued anyone in the forest. Not until yesterday. “We don’t get many.” That was the appeal, really. “Not on purpose, anyhow. And every now and then Wulfric brings—well. You know.”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure I do.”

Which begged the question, “Do you want to?”

When Wulfric or any other stranger showed up, I mostly ignored them unless they threatened the forest directly. Wulfric brought his prey with him and only destroyed them. While he did throw off the balance of the forest with his sheer presence, things always went back to normal on their own when he left.

Only now, looking at Red in all his splendid human fragility, did I realize how strange my indifference might appear to him. Or to a different, long-faded version of myself, even.

I hoped Red wouldn’t want to know. I didn’t want to tell him.

His pretty, dusty-rose hued lips pursed. “Maybe after breakfast.”

I made porridge with currants and the foamy top of this morning’s milk. When I brought it to him on the couch, he accepted with a quiet “thank you” and tucked in without hesitation.