Chapter Text
The sun had barely broken over the hills when Viola was already awake.
Not because she had to be.
Because her body didn’t know how to rest past it.
She stood near the edge of the fields, a clay cup warming her hands, watching the first workers step out from the small stone houses scattered across the land. Some walked slowly. Some carefully. Some with the quiet hesitation of people still not used to being somewhere they were allowed to stay.
Viola noticed all of it.
She always did.
“Yosef,” she called gently, not raising her voice, just enough for it to carry. “Your leg—how is it this morning?”
The older man paused, surprised she had seen him favoring it from that far.
“…Better,” he said, though it wasn’t convincing.
Viola tilted her head slightly, soft eyes narrowing just a little—not suspicious, just knowing.
“Better is not the same as healed,” she said, stepping closer. “You’ll work the sorting tables today. Sitting.”
“I can still—”
“I know you can,” she cut in, but her tone stayed warm, almost like wrapping the words in something soft. “But you don’t need to prove that here.”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
That was usually how it went.
A small blur collided into her side.
“Viola!”
She barely had time to set her cup down before a child wrapped around her waist.
She let out a quiet oof, then laughed—full, easy, the kind that made the nearby workers glance over without realizing they were smiling too.
“Good morning to you too,” she said, resting a hand on the child’s head. “And what urgent matter requires tackling me at sunrise?”
The girl looked up, serious. “Miriam says the goat is evil.”
Viola blinked once.
Then, very solemnly, “Which one?”
“The one that bit Ezra.”
Viola pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile.
“Ah,” she nodded. “Yes. That does sound… suspicious.”
The girl nodded back, equally serious.
“Come,” Viola said, offering her hand. “We must investigate this evil goat immediately.”
By mid-morning, the land was alive.
Voices. Movement. The low sounds of animals. The rhythm of work.
Viola moved through it all like she belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.
She adjusted a water bucket here.
Checked grain quality there.
Gave quiet instructions without ever sounding like she was commanding.
But she was.
It showed in the way people listened. Not out of fear.
Out of trust.
Near the cooking area, Miriam was already directing two younger women, her tone sharper, more efficient.
“You’re cutting those too thick—no, like this—Viola, tell her.”
Viola stepped in beside her, glancing at the vegetables.
“She’s not wrong,” Viola said gently, “but neither are you.”
The girl looked confused.
Viola picked up a piece, holding it between her fingers.
“These are for the stew, yes? Thicker cuts will hold better. You were thinking ahead.”
The girl relaxed slightly.
Then Viola turned, soft but firm.
“But Miriam is right about the portions. If we cut too large, some will go without.”
Miriam huffed, but there was no real irritation behind it.
“You always do that,” she muttered.
“Do what?”
“Make everyone feel right.”
Viola smiled faintly, already reaching for a knife.
“I just don’t think anyone here is wrong for trying.”
Later, when no one was paying attention, Viola finally sat.
Just for a moment.
On the low stone wall near the well.
Her hands rested in her lap, fingers still, which was rare.
The noise of the land carried on without her.
People worked. Laughed. Argued lightly. Lived.
They didn’t need her in that exact second.
And for a brief moment—
Her chest tightened.
Not relief.
Something closer to… unease.
Her gaze drifted across the fields, scanning without meaning to.
Counting.
Checking.
Making sure everyone was still there.
Still safe.
Still breathing.
Her shoulders only relaxed when she confirmed it.
A small voice broke through.
“Viola?”
She turned quickly—too quickly—but softened the moment she saw him.
Ezra stood there, clutching his sleeve.
“The goat is not evil,” he said quietly. “I think I scared it.”
Viola’s expression melted.
“Ah,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “A misunderstood goat. That is a much more serious matter.”
He smiled just a little.
She held out her hand.
“Come. We should apologize to it properly.”
He slipped his hand into hers without hesitation.
Viola stood, her warmth settling back over her like armor no one could see.
And just like that—
She was moving again.