He meant to bring in fresh water from the creek, but when he stepped outside, he found the eldest already there, crouched by the bucket with her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looked up when he appeared. The pale dawn light showing the faint lines of weariness in her face, but also a steadiness that hadn't been there the night she arrived. She had taken his task before he could. Rowan felt something stir in him that wasn't annoyance, but something closer to recognition.
She was not a guest anymore, not someone he had to carry. She was beginning to share his burden. Later, while the middle sister cooked and the youngest swept out ashes from the hearth, Rowan repaired a broken gate hinge outside. The eldest followed him again, standing close, her eyes watching his hands. He realized she wasn't only watching, she was learning.
He paused his work and handed her the hammer. She hesitated then took it. Her first strike was clumsy, but by the third it landed square. She glanced at him after, waiting to see his reaction. Rowan gave a single nod, nothing more, but she held his gaze for a long moment as if the small approval meant more than words.
Questions still pressed at Rowan's mind. Did she expect something from him beyond shelter? Did her sisters? The middle one often looked at him with suspicion as though weighing his every choice. The youngest seemed content to follow, but the eldest was different.
She had started seeking his eyes when she spoke, standing nearer, letting her hand brushes when passing him a tool. It left Rowan tense at times, unsure whether to draw back or to allow it. He had not shared his life with anyone in years, and he had not planned to again. But now each gesture from her felt deliberate, and his restraint was tested. That evening, as the wind pressed against the shutters, Rowan sat at the table carving.
The eldest lingered beside him closer than usual. She laid out the repaired dress she had mended earlier, smoothing it with her palms. The seams were tighter, the fabric less torn, though still worn thin in places. She stood in the glow of the fire, her figure outlined clear. Rowan looked up once, then forced his eyes back to the wood in his hand, but the thought lingered.
He wasn't blind, and she wasn't trying to hide. When the middle sister and the youngest finally laid down to rest, the eldest stayed awake by the fire. Rowan remained at the table unable to sleep. The cabin was quiet except for the crackle of logs. After a while, she rose and stepped toward him.
She stood across the table, her fingers resting on the wood he had been carving. "You keep us," she said in her halting English, not as a question, but as a statement. Rowan's jaw tightened. He met her eyes. "I didn't turn you out." She nodded slowly.