Avery wanted a change, and that was certainly what she got. The wet, slippery cobblestones of the village in Wales were nothing like the hot dusty ground of California. After nearly slipping on the pavement for the third time that afternoon, the witch wasn’t entirely sure which she preferred. Marigold for her part was beside herself with glee. The four year old, with her hair in two (now messy) braids down her back took advantage of absolutely every single puddle she came across (which was quite a lot), not giving one care in the world if her dress got muddy. Here, Avery might have scolded her, but this time she let Marigold make a mess of herself; she was more grateful that the child wasn’t throwing a tantrum. Adjusting to the new time had taken a toll on the both of them as they travelled across the ocean. Avery did her best to comfort her daughter where she could, but soon enough the exhaustion hit her as well and she had no choice but to give into the thoughts plaguing her. Had she made the right choice for the both of them?

Before the thoughts descended upon her once again, Avery’s attention was drawn instead by Marigold’s squeal of delight. They’d arrived at the stables in the village where Sundance was kept. The answering whinny told them Marigold’s greeting had been heard and Avery was grateful for some semblance of familiarity. The past week had seen her under a constant cloud of unease. Every noise that struck her ears, every voice that was coated with the odd tones of this new country told her they weren’t safe yet. She’d found a job, she’d secured them a place to live. But the stone house wasn’t someplace to call home. Not yet.

But she could take solace a few things: the leather smell of the tack; the gentle rocking of being in the saddle; the sound of Sundance’s hooves on the pavement; having Marigold seated securely in front of her; the sound of her voice as she pointed out the flowers in the storefront windows. That was comfort. It wasn’t Avery’s first time making a home out of a strange place and it wouldn’t be the last, but she wasn’t on her own now; she had someone to take care of, someone she’d give her life for, and that made her uneasy. The Colt in her saddlebag made it slightly better, but this was hardly the goddamned West. Back home - no, not home - back in the South, she would get eaten alive if she didn't have it. But drawing here, in the middle of a village would get her thrown out faster than anything, but knowing it was there was good enough.

They would make themselves known around town in time, and in time the town would know them. There wasn’t much more to it than that.

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