By the afternoon, Yu worked at the grand common room window, scrubbing the thick glass beside the entrance. He stood on a stool, his bucket perched on another. A damp rag, gritty with vinnetin water, was clamped between the claws of his left talon, sweeping slow, deliberate arcs over the frost-rimed panes.
His own reflection grimaced back at him, distorted and broken across the streaked glass; his dishevelled mane of white feathers a fragmented snowflake, stretched and warped by the imperfections in the surface. The black markings around his eyes only deepened the hollows beneath them, making him look gaunt. Exhausted. Probably because he was.
Beyond the window, heavy snow smothered the world, muffling all sound. Inside, the air was thick with the acrid sting of vinnetin and soap, mixing with the low, smouldering breath of the fireplace.
Across the room, Fallem still sat at the same table, in the same chair, as he had since midday. He had barely moved, save for the occasional tilt of his head, shifting his gaze between the table and the frost-laced window. His long, thin fingers drummed a slow, absent rhythm against the rough wood, his profile sharp against the flickering orange glow of the hearth as he stared at nothing.
Yu emptied, scrubbed, and refilled his bucket with ice-laden water from outside, then set it beside the fire. The thing landed with a dull thud, slightly off-centre. There was a second bucket at the ready. Bubs had told him to alternate between them, letting one warm while he worked with the other. Yu picked up the second bucket, drawing out the motion, stretching each second of stolen rest before Bubs inevitably appeared on his stupid stool again. But the kitchen door remained closed.
A rare moment unobserved.
Yu hesitated, then set the bucket back down and shuffled awkwardly toward Fallem.
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