“What do you mean by long evening?”
Arthur’s voice came out sharper than intended.
Emily stood in the center of Eleanor’s hut, her feet planted, eyes locked on the older woman’s back.
Eleanor had already turned away, busying herself with a table cluttered with herbs, bowls, and objects Emily didn’t recognize.
Eleanor didn’t give a response.
“I asked you something,” Arthur said again, a little louder this time. “You said it was going to be a long evening. What do you mean by that?”
Eleanor reached for a cloth, folded it once, then twice carefully. “You worry too much.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Eleanor finally turned, her gaze steady and unreadable. “It’s an answer you don’t need.”
Emily frowned. “Well, I don't think that’s fair.”
Eleanor tilted her head slightly. “Training rarel
