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Bill hadn't ever expected to end up here, in any sense of the word. Not here, so far away from humanity. Not here as a wolfwalker, a creature he previously believed to be one of myth. Not here, setting up camp with a wild woman, her daughter, and his own Robyn.
Although really neither of the girls were helping, they were simultaneously still sleeping in the back of the covered cart and scouting the area for food for the pack.
The woman, Móll, was nothing like any woman that Bill had been around before. She was wild, free from the limitations of a Puritan Society. She was almost larger than life, self-confident, and possibly the most beautiful person he had met since the passing of his wife.
His dear Elizabeth had begged him to take care of their Robyn, to raise her right, raise her happy. She begged Bill to not let himself die with her, to not let his love die with her, to love Robyn, and love again when she was gone.
Here, now, a world away from the life that he had had with Elizabeth. Here and now, with two young girls that looked up to him when they weren't running through the forest, or listening to the probably better advice of Móll.
A world away from his late wife. A world away from England. A world away from all he had ever known.
He watched Móll start painting the trees around them, protection runes, she told him once. Something he was forced to believe in now, the undeniable proof in the way the woods around them suddenly grew to protect them.
This woman, Móll, was wild where Elizabeth had been tame. Móll was larger than life, where Elizabeth was subdued. But both women were intense, they drew attention to them, but in different ways.
Elizabeth had never worn any kind of makeup, but each morning with the dawn Móll rose without fail and reapplied the coal and dark pigment to her lips. Sometimes Méhb would ask for her mother to paint her eyes, and once she even convinced Robyn to hold still for Móll to paint her as well.
There was a simple pleasure in watching a woman prepare for the coming day. He had spent years watching his late wife brush and braid her hair. Móll did not spend the time that Elizabeth had on her hair, but the precision and skill that she had applying her paint was just as mesmerizing.
But there was more to the changing of his worlds than just a few, small things.
"Móll, I think, I think there's something I need to tell you." Bill kept his voice low, this was not for the girls to listen in on.
"Is something wrong, Bill?" Móll asked, turning from the runes that she finished painting.
"No, but," He found himself lacking the courage that the girls around him seemed to find so easily. "I think I'm falling in love with you."