Dain's tears are like a vice around Tuo's heart, squeezing tight enough to force the wetness from his own eyes. He smiles, pained, and lifts up a sleeve to blot the wetness first from his friend's cheek, and then his own. "Now, now," he chides breathily, trying to compose himself. "I'll have none of that. Come," he adds, then tucks his arm into Dain's and leads him along the road back towards his wagon. (Begrudgingly, Alvi flutters to Tuo's free arm when it is held out expectantly. What an odd trio they must make.)

The wagon itself has been secured just beyond the village walls and within Northcliff Wood, but not beyond the (questionable) barrier of Sands Creek that separates this bit of wood from the Deep Forest. Even in the dim light of the gloaming, the bright red paint that ornaments its wood paneling is eye catching, and the lanterns that dangle from the arch roof would surely cast a warm and inviting glow, if they were lit. A piece of Saaristomeri art, to be sure, though carpentry was never Tuo's strong suite. Someone else must have built it for him.

Alvi flits from Tuo's free arm and up to a perch designed especially for him near the back door and fold-out steps. Tuo smiles blithely. "I should count myself fortunate I have not been burgled yet," he tells Dain, "though I must be courting fate, saying it at all. Here, I shall get the door." He steps away from his friend, key in hand, to unfasten the lock.