The final dinner passed in a heavy hush. The dining room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen lamps and the fading winter light beyond the windows.
Marcelle had prepared pot-au-feu, and the aroma of slow-cooked beef and root vegetables filled the room. The meat was so tender it fell apart beneath Nimue's fork, surrounded by a dark, rich broth fragrant with herbs.
Nimue dipped thick crusts of bread into the broth, soaking up its warmth. She ate until her stomach felt pleasantly full, the meal leaving a deep, lingering sense of satisfaction.
At the end of the table, Étienne sat with both hands wrapped around a glass of deep red wine. He didn't speak much. He never had. Instead, he watched Nimue from across the table with steady, knowing eyes before giving her a single, firm nod.
« Tu peux revenir quand tu veux. C'est aussi chez toi. » (You can come back whenever you want. This is also your home.)
« Oui. » (Yes.) Nimue's reply was soft, barely more than a whisper in the quiet room.
Chloé passed the bread basket, her stomach noticeably round beneath her wool sweater. When their eyes met, she offered Nimue a gentle smile.
« Tu écriras? Pour raconter au petit comment c'est, l'Angleterre? » (Will you write? You can tell the little one what England is like.)
Nimue lowered her gaze to Chloé's swollen belly.
« Il s'appelle comment? » (What is his name?)
« On ne sait pas encore. On attend de le voir. » (We don't know yet. We are waiting to see him.) Chloé answered.
Nimue nodded and reached across the table. Her fingers briefly brushed Chloé's hand, a silent promise.
« Je lui écrirai. » (I will write to him.)
When she finished eating, Nimue rose and carried her plate to the sink. The clink of porcelain was the only sound in the kitchen, sharp and lonely against the silence.
. . .
Upstairs, Nimue began packing her bag.
The green canvas bag lay open on the white quilt as she folded her clothes one by one. She placed each item inside with quiet care. Her blue coat went on top, followed by her gray jumper and the shorts she had worn for three days straight during the warmer afternoons.
Cinder sat on the pillow, his russet fur bright against the pale fabric. His amber eyes followed her every movement. Nimue reached beneath the layers of clothing and drew out the Cold Light stone.
She carefully tucked it into the very bottom of the bag, nestling it deep in one corner. It remained icy to the touch, a constant, chilling weight that never seemed to fade, no matter how warm the room became.
For a long moment, she stood perfectly still, looking around the room as if trying to commit every detail to memory: the white quilt, the window overlooking the sprawling vineyards with their bare winter vines, and the low fire, its embers glowing a dull, deep red.
"We will come back," she murmured to Cinder.
The fox's ears perked up at the sound of her voice. Nimue slipped beneath the covers, and Cinder curled into a ball at her feet.
Darkness gradually settled over the room, and the house grew quiet around them. The only sounds were the faint, distant movements of Marcelle in the kitchen below and the muffled rush of water somewhere in the pipes. Nimue closed her eyes and let sleep take her.
. . .
The next morning, Nimue woke early and dressed in the dim light. She pulled on her jeans and jumper before slipping into her blue coat. Then she put on her trainers, checking that the laces were secure and lay flat against the cold floor.
Cinder was already waiting by the door, his russet tail twitching with quiet anticipation. Together, they went downstairs.
The kitchen was empty, and the stove was cold. Nimue found a loaf of bread in the cupboard, broke off a small piece, and ate it while standing by the window. Outside, the vineyards lay dark and skeletal beneath a low, heavy sky.
Jane came downstairs not long afterward. Her white hair hung loose, and her face still held the softness of sleep. She filled the kettle and lit the stove with a quick, practiced motion.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
« Oui. »
Jack followed soon after, then Saoirse. Their black hair was still messy, the white streaks catching the light as they moved. They gathered around the counter and ate bread with jam. No one seemed to feel the need to sit down for a proper breakfast.
Matthieu arrived just as the sky began to brighten with weak winter light. A fine layer of frost covered his car, sparkling like crushed glass. While he scraped the windows, Jack carried the bags outside into the biting cold.
Marcelle stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. The thin morning light caught her white hair, making her look almost like a ghost framed by the dark interior of the house.
« Tu as tout? » (Do you have everything?) she asked.
« Oui. »
« Ton renard? » (Your fox?)
Nimue glanced down at Cinder. He was pressed firmly against her leg, a warm weight against her calf.
« Oui. »
Marcelle crouched and cupped Nimue's cheek. Her palm felt incredibly warm against the biting morning air.
« Reviens, petite. La maison est trop calme sans toi. » (Come back, little one. The house is too quiet without you.)
« Je reviendrai. » (I will come back.)
Marcelle pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before straightening and retreating into the warmth of the house.
The car was already warm when they climbed inside. The heater hummed, and condensation gathered along the edges of the windows. Nimue settled into the back seat with Cinder on her lap.
Saoirse sat beside her, resting her head against the glass. Jane took the front passenger seat, leaving Jack beside Nimue. The engine turned over with a low mechanical growl, and they pulled away from the gravel drive.
The house gradually shrank behind them, followed by the vineyards and bare trees. They watched until the roof disappeared entirely behind the rise of a distant hill. Nimue continued staring toward the horizon until there was nothing left to see but the road ahead.
The drive stretched through the morning. Fields rolled past in muted shades of brown and gray beneath the same oppressive sky. The radio shifted between soft music and French news. Saoirse gradually drifted off, her breathing becoming steady. Jack read quietly, while Jane spoke in low tones with Matthieu about the road conditions and ferry schedule.
Nimue simply watched the scenery pass beyond the window. She counted a lone tractor in a muddy field, spotted a distant church tower, and traced the unfamiliar names on the road signs. Cinder slept soundly in her lap, his ears twitching occasionally to the steady hum of the tires.
They stopped once at a service station, where Jane bought herself a coffee. Jack and Saoirse took the opportunity to stretch their legs while Nimue stood outside in the cold, watching cars come and go in a steady stream.
By midday, the clouds began to thin. For a brief moment, the sun appeared as a pale, distant disc in the sky. Nimue leaned closer to the window, her breath fogging the cold glass.
« On arrive bientôt? » (Are we arriving soon?) she asked.
« Une heure. » (One hour.) Matthieu answered.
The road gradually straightened as the fields gave way to clusters of houses, followed by sprawling suburbs. Nimue spotted the word Calais on a large blue road sign.
The air changed as they approached the coast. It grew colder and sharper, carrying the distinct, biting scent of salt and seawater. They passed rows of identical houses and brick warehouses before entering the port. The ferry terminal rose ahead in a vast expanse of gray concrete, while long lines of cars stretched before them like chains of waiting metal.
Matthieu found a parking space and switched off the engine.
« On est arrivés. » (We have arrived.)
Nimue looked out at the ferry. It was enormous and entirely white, with a heavy steel ramp resting against the dock, ready to receive the approaching traffic. Seagulls wheeled overhead, crying into the damp air.
Jack opened the car door, and a rush of freezing air flooded the cabin. Nimue climbed out with Cinder held securely in her arms. The wind struck her face with a damp, stinging chill, making her eyes water. Behind her, Matthieu opened the trunk so the adults could collect their bags.
« Merci, Matthieu. » (Thank you, Matthieu.) Jane said, resting a hand briefly on his arm.
« Bonne traversée. Et bonne route. » (Have a safe crossing and a safe journey.)
He turned toward Nimue and gave her a small smile.
« Tu es une bonne passagère. » (You are a good passenger.)
« Merci. »
He gave them one final nod before climbing back into his car. A moment later, the engine started, and he drove away. He turned once before disappearing behind a line of waiting trucks.
Nimue watched until he was gone, then turned toward the towering ferry as the wind tugged at her white hair.
« On y va? » (Are we going?)
Jane took her hand, her grip firm and reassuring.
« Oui. On y va. » (Yes. We are going.)
. . .
The queue stretched across the gray concrete of the docks. Rows of cars idled, their exhaust drifting through the cold, salty air in pale clouds. Families lingered beside their vehicles, stamping their feet against the chill and pulling their coats tighter. A small child darted between the bumpers until his mother sharply called him back.
Nimue stood between Jack and Jane with Cinder tucked in her arms. The fox had buried his nose against her elbow as the wind swept in from the open water. Eventually, a man wearing a high-visibility vest waved them forward. Jack handed over their tickets, and they were directed toward the towering ramp.
The ferry was an enormous, intimidating presence. Its white hull was streaked with trails of orange rust from the salt spray. The ramp rose steeply before them, its grooved metal surface cold beneath their feet. Cars climbed aboard one by one. The family followed on foot, Nimue's trainers scraping softly against the metal. The sound echoed into the vast, hollow space of the vehicle deck.
Once inside, they were surrounded by warmth and the deep vibration of the engines. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and the air carried a heavy mixture of roasted coffee and diesel fuel. A wide staircase led away from the vehicle deck toward the passenger areas.
"We go up," Jack said, his British accent clear above the industrial rumble of the ship.
The passenger lounge opened into a spacious area lined with rows of blue seats facing a wall of thick windows. Only a few travelers were scattered around the room, some reading and others watching the gray water outside. A baby cried somewhere in the distance, but the sound was swallowed by the constant rumble of the engines.
Jane chose a seat by the window, and Nimue climbed up beside her. She settled Cinder on her lap. The fox glanced around with his ears lowered before curling into a tight russet ball. Across the aisle, Jack sat down, and Saoirse dropped into the seat beside him. She was already closing her eyes.
The vibration of the engines deepened into a steady rhythm, faintly shaking the floor beneath their feet.
Nimue leaned forward and pressed her face against the glass. Outside, the dock remained much as it had before. Cars continued moving, and workers waved another truck slowly up the ramp.
"Are we leaving soon?" she asked.
« Oui. Dans un petit moment. » (Yes. In a little while.)
The windows gradually fogged from their breath, so Nimue wiped a clear patch with her sleeve. She peered outside just as the ramp began to rise, moving with a heavy, deliberate groan. Water dripped from the massive chains as they tightened, and a sudden shudder passed through the ferry. It was subtle but unmistakable. The floor shifted beneath Nimue's feet.
She leaned closer to the glass.
Au revoir, France.
For a heartbeat, it seemed as though the dock itself were drifting away. Then the widening stretch of churning gray water revealed the truth. They were the ones moving away from it. The gap grew wider, the cars on the shore grew smaller, and the figures on the dock gradually blurred into indistinct shapes before disappearing.
The land continued to recede. Buildings dwindled into the distance, and the harbor walls became a narrow line along the water. The widening expanse of churning waves eventually reduced the French coast to a pale smudge beneath the gray sky.
Nimue kept her hand flat against the cool glass. The engines vibrated steadily beneath her palm, carrying them forward.
She didn't look away until the water stretched empty in every direction.
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There's image below
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Okay so, I really thought my comments not showing up was only when I did paragraph comments or posted a picture. But it seems I can't comment at all on this account (my primary account).
Because when I checked using my second account, all of the comments I posted under my main account are just… gone.
So I just want to let you know that I will be answering your comments using my second account instead. It's still Level 1 and the username is Rikhi_rei.