May's Cottage: May & Rory
[Her work room hadn't seen a resident as long-standing as Rory in... perhaps ever. It was mainly there for those passing through that had needed her help and a place to rest, there and then gone again within only days. The occurrence had grown even rarer in recent years, and though she kept the room clean and ready, most of the time it was simply a work room. Filled with drying plants, jars and pots, books on herbs and medicine. There was very little in the room that she couldn't replace if needed, and long before Rory had stumbled in, she had warded it and the house beyond, keeping a perimeter against things that might do her harm.
She'd known that he wasn't human, would have been able to tell just by the way the earth felt beneath his feet, but at that point in time, she hadn't much cared. And in the time since? They'd grown into an understanding, if it could be called that. They both stayed under (mostly) the same roof, but their paths rarely intersected. While the weather was still cold, she'd spent long hours in her new greenhouse, and once the sun began to warm everything again, most of her waking moments were spent in the gardens and in the woods beyond. But there had been talk about something in the woods, and some of the recent rain had made the earth just a bit too soggy to want to dig in. She was feeling much better with the return of spring, but too long in the damp made her fingers and knees ache. She'd taken a morning of luxury to remain under heavy quilt until hunger drew her out.
The first time Rory had crossed the threshold into her home had been a shock, even though she'd only seen the evidence of his presence and not him specifically. She'd only caught his retreating back once in the time since, so in the morning as she sat at the kitchen table with a lumpy handmade mug filled with steaming tea (kettle still half-full of hot water on the vintage stove and cozy-covered teapot on the table), her eyebrows shot up to see him wandering in, half dressed and seemingly half asleep. She watched him over the edge of her mug, rummaging through the cupboards, and she didn't move (hardly even to breathe). The cottage was part of her, more than simply a home, and she blended almost perfectly into it, belonging no matter where she was within its walls. It didn't matter that she was still in her robe and pajamas, oversized to the point of covering her from neck to toe, until she moved or spoke, she was just present. As she continued to watch, the lack of Rory's clothing let her see that what bruises and wounds he'd arrived with were healed, leaving intact skin behind. With an inked cross that made her eyebrows inch even higher.
And finally, before he broke something in one of the cupboards.] It'd be easier if you just ask.