Chéri smiled at Malachi as they heard them hoping for anything. They couldn’t read the priest’s face, but they could see where they had placed their luggage. There was a caring quality to his action that Chéri appreciated. More, admired. It was normally something taught exclusively to women so if a man displayed that, it was an extra merit.

They added a nod, that meant So do I, thank you for your kind words. All of it was readable in their eyes, none of it was spoken.

Chéri moved close to the fire, sitting as close as they could to it, hoping to get some humidity out of their bones.

While they did that, Malachi intelligently offered sanctuary and Chéri studied them from above their shoulders. Were it a different situation, they might have asked something more, but not now. Now they needed to be prudent before anything else. Also, the priest was letting them sit, while he stood.

Chéri had an interpretation for that: service. Malachi saw them as in need and “less fortunate”, hence he put them forward. Chéri looked at the fire with a small moment of sadness that seemed to swallow a good part of their energy, of their light. The shift was impressive. Chéri frowned slightly at the thought. In the end, they supposed, the description was fitting.

Chéri turned and without batting an eye, they said “I was running away. “Away” was enough for me. Whitby was the first “away” I found.” They had taken a train or a carriage, any train or carriage that could bring them sufficiently far away from where they had come. And before that they had walked -actually, they had run- with only what they could carry.