#rippgruntfh

None of it helps.

By mid-afternoon, he stands beside the old wagon near the shed that’s had a creaky wheel for weeks. There is something satisfying about hard labor when one is angry, and Buzz sets about making repairs with more force than is strictly necessary. 

The wagon gives a groan, and then another, and before the General can react, the aging support beneath the axle gives way and the entire wagon lurches violently. The wheel crashes sideways, followed by the frame, and Buzz Grunt finds himself pinned beneath several hundred pounds of wood and iron.

For a few moments he struggles against the weight of the wagon, muscles straining as the wheel pins him to the frozen ground, but then the fight begins to leave him. As the farmyard grows strangely quiet, his thoughts turn not to his military career, but instead his boys. Tank, stubborn and dependable. Ripp, infuriating and restless. Buck, still young enough to need his father more than he realizes.

For the first time all day, the anger drains out of him, and he stops struggling. Cold air blows across the farmyard, and the Grim Reaper approaches without hurry, black robes trailing through the snow. The Reaper extends a hand, and the old General accepts it.

In Freedom Hollow, folks speak in whispers of Saint Bethany of Tea, the mysterious bringer of death whose jar predicts the exact moment when a soul will exit this mortal coil. Whether Saint Bethany of Tea serves the Watcher directly or merely travels the roads between life and whatever comes after is a matter for philosophers and reverends. 

Returning home from the schoolhouse with cold cheeks and a stack of lessons beneath one arm, Buck immediately notices the abandoned tools scattered near the wagon, and a knot forms in his stomach. The sight beyond confirms his fears, and he does the only thing he can think to do and runs for Tank. Then he waits in the impossibly empty farmhouse, staring at the door. 

It is well after sunset when Ripp finally returns, the anger from that morning long since fadedand replaced by the lingering warmth of his evening with Ophelia and the secret vows they exchanged. 

One look at his younger brother's face is enough to wipe the smile from his face, and Ripp's stomach drops.

"What happened?"

"I found him out by the wagon." For a moment Ripp simply stares. “Tank already went into town to fetch Nervous.” Ripp takes a ragged breath and pulls his brother into a hug, telling him he did well to get Tank. 

An hour later, a wagon lantern appears through the darkness outside; the undertaker has arrived. After a few moments, Nervous explains the arrangements, speaking gently as he outlines the practical matters that inevitably follow a death: a casket, a burial; the sort of details nobody wishes to discuss but everyone eventually must.

Both literally and figuratively, General Buzz Grunt is a towering figure in Freedom Hollow. A war veteran, Buzz carries the weight of his service with pride, often sharing stories of battle and strategy that captivate, frighten, but more often than not exhaust the townsfolk. Though he now enjoys the quiet of his homestead, his military bearing and booming voice leave little doubt that he was once a man who commanded respect and, occasionally, fear.

Beyond his military past, Buzz oversees the family’s hay fields. His furrowed brow and weathered face serve as reminders of years of hardship, courage, and frontier life, both on the battlefield and in the fields. Above all, Buzz wants to raise strong, successful boys who will carry on the family legacy with honor to prove wrong to all the naysayers who questioned his methods after his late wife Lyla passed under mysterious circumstances.  

Ripp Grunt refuses to settle down, much to his father's frustration and the town’s whispered amusement. Independent and perhaps a bit reckless, Ripp spends long nights wandering the woods, (often to meet the elusive Ophelia Nygmos) and now that he’s of age you can frequently find him stumbling to (and from) the Saloon. 

Folks wouldn’t dare to call him undisciplined however; he is often found toiling for hours raking and bailing the hay that ensures Freedom Hollow’s livestock do not go hungry during the harsh winters, proving that his independence does not mean he is entirely without responsibility.

A thin layer of snow blankets the ground on the day of General Buzz’s funeral; not enough to hinder travel, just enough to turn the fields white and leave frost clinging to the fences and rooftops. 

The service is simple, and the Grunt boys stand together in silence.

Tank keeps his expression carefully controlled; but those who know him well recognize the strain in his jaw.

Meanwhile Buck stares at the fresh grave and fights a losing battle against his tears. Standing beside Tank is Lilith, and even though she wears black almost every day of her life, today is different somehow. For once, she does not look rebellious, she simply looks sad.

And then there is Ripp, who has spent most of his life arguing with his father, defying him. Now he finds himself wishing for one more lecture.

By evening, they return to the farmhouse, and the moment they step inside, Lilith stops, eyes wide. 

It is a disaster. Dirty plates sit abandoned on every available surface. Ripp and Buck have clearly spent the past several days surviving rather than living. Lilith slowly turns toward her husband, who follows her gaze. Lilith looks ready to commit a crime, but instead she takes a long breath.

Within minutes she is rolling up her sleeves and attacking the kitchen with the determination of a cavalry charge that even the General would have been proud of, and as darkness settles outside, the room already looks considerably more civilized. Satisfied, Lilith turns her attention to making sure they are properly fed.

The selection in the pantry is uninspiring; a few potatoes, some onions, dried beans. Still, it is enough, and soon a hearty stew simmers on the stove, filling the farmhouse with a smell that feels remarkably close to comfort, and eventually Lilith sets bowls before each of them. 

Marching upstairs with all the subtlety of a cavalry charge, Buzz throws open the bedroom door. There, sprawled across the bed,lies Ripp. Buzz's face darkens immediately.

"It's nearly mid-morning!" Ripp groans, dragging the pillow over his head; a tactic that has never worked on his father. Within moments the argument is underway, quickly moving beyond sleeping late.

Buzz criticizes Ripp's work ethic, Ripp criticizes Buzz's entire personality.

"You'll never amount to anything at this rate. No farm. No trade. No wife. No family. You spend your days chasing girls and avoiding work."

"So what if I do?"

"Then you'll wake up one day with nothing."

"Maybe I'd rather have nothing than turn into you." Ripp snarls, grabbing his clothes and storming downstairs. The front door slams hard enough to rattle the windows.

Ripp spends the next several hours wandering the woods, replaying the argument in his mind, hating that he doesn’t disagree with his father’s assessment on his life. Eventually, he encounters a familiar figure walking beneath the bare branches. The sight of her immediately improves his mood.

"Well, if it isn't the prettiest woman in Freedom Hollow." Ophelia rolls her eyes, but Ripp’s charm works as always. Before long they are walking together, talking and laughing as they make their way deeper into the woods.

As the sun sets, they arrive at a secluded little clearing that over the months has become their place; a quiet spot hidden from the rest of the world where they can talk freely and escape the expectations of town life. They easily fall into their routine, despite the chill in the air. 

When they begin to dress and the first stars begin appearing overhead, Ripp is quieter than usual, and Ophelia notices immediately.

"What's wrong?"

"Had another fight with my father.” Ophelia stares sympathetically and Ripp continues.  "He thinks I'll never amount to anything, that I'll never settle down." She makes a noise, but doesn’t reply. 

Finally Ripp looks at her…really looks at her. The girl…now a woman, who has stood beside him through countless arguments, bad decisions, and youthful schemes. Who he always seems to seek out when the world becomes difficult.

The pieces seem to fall into place before him, and before he can lose his nerve, he reaches for Ophelia’s hands. There is no church, no Reverend,  only trees and moonlight filtering through bare branches.

"Marry me." For perhaps the first time in his life, Ripp Grunt looks genuinely terrified, but a moment later, Ophelia throws her arms around him, and he lets out his breath.

Then, together beneath the winter sky, they exchange promises. There is no church, no Reverend, only the woods that have witnessed so much of their courtship.

The whole thing happened remarkably fast; one minute he had been storming out of the farmhouse after another argument with Buzz, the next, he had somehow acquired a wife. Then there was the matter of Aunt Olive -- the old woman barely tolerated Ripp. If she learned that her niece had just pledged herself to him without a witness or so much as a conversation beforehand, she would certainly bury him in a hole in her backyard.

Large flakes drift lazily across the bare branches of the old oaks, and with a woven basket looped over one arm, Olive makes one final circuit of her herb garden. She carefully clips what remains, giving the little garden one last look before carrying her basket back toward the house.

That afternoon, Ophelia is sweeping near the cast iron fireplace when she catches movement of a familiar figure through the window; Ripp. Her heart leaps, and without another thought, she hurries outside. 

"You shouldn't be here," she whispers, “What if Olive had seen you?” 

"I know." Ripp’s shoulders are slumped, his eyes hollow. Something is wrong. 

"What happened?" For a long moment, Ripp simply stares at the snow gathering around his boots, and then finally: 

"My father is dead. There was an accident with the wagon." Ophelia's breath catches. “We argued yesterday morning…and by the time I came home…” He cannot finish the sentence, and without another word, Ophelia wraps both arms around him. He clings to her as though otherwise he might fall apart.

"I keep thinking about the last thing I said to him."

"You couldn't have known."

"But I still wish I'd said something kinder." For a long moment they simply stand together while the snow settles softly around them, then Ophelia kisses him.

Inside the house, Olive stands rigidly at the front window, having seen enough. Her lips press into a thin line as she watches the young couple embrace beneath the falling snow.

"So," she mutters. "It is him."

She waits until Ophelia is settled back inside before she speaks. 

"Care to explain yourself?"

Ophelia freezes, then straightens.

"His father died."

"That’s not how I would give my condolences."

"He needed someone." Neither says anything for a long moment, until finally, Ophelia lifts her chin.

"I've done nothing wrong." Olive studies her niece carefully.

"I hope, for your sake, that's true."

"I wanted to see how everyone was doing." Ripp is beyond relieved to see her, and before he can overthink it, Ripp crosses the room and kisses her. Buck raises an eyebrow as Ophelia turns pink, but Ripp doesn't care.

"Merry Christmas."

Shortly after, Buck wanders outside while Ripp and Ophelia busy themselves indoors. He trudges through the snow until he finds an untouched patch near the barn, and falls backwards into it, staring up at the winter sky. Slowly, he moves his arms and legs back and forth, and a snow angel takes shape around him.

Buzz would have told him to stop fooling around and find something useful to do, and the thought makes his chest ache.

Inside, Ophelia has joined Ripp upstairs, Ripp having taken over sleeping in the big bedroom now that he was arguably master of the house. Together they find comfort in one another's company, and for a little while, thoughts of funerals and difficult futures fade away. 

As evening approaches, Ophelia decides the Grunt men deserve a proper Christmas supper. Soon she is moving about the kitchen with purpose, and just like Lilith, she clucks her tongue at the lack of supplies. 

More potatoes it is. 

By the time darkness settles over the farm, four bowls of creamy mashed potatoes and a thick gravy made of pan drippings sit on the table. The brothers gather around the table, and Ophelia takes the remaining seat. Buck takes a bite, and his eyes widen. 

"This is amazing."

"It's potatoes," Ophelia protests. 

"It's Christmas potatoes."

Later, once the crisis has passed, Loki and Circe sit close beside the campfire. Firelight flickers across Circe’s sharp features, and for once, neither speaks in strategy nor calculation. Circe reaches for Loki’s cheek in a rare moment of warmth shared not out of necessity but familiarity. They make use of the rough wooden bench near the fire in a manner that is neither hurried nor particularly ceremonial as the fire snaps and pops beside them, casting shadows that dance in rhythm with their movement.

When the cold bites at their backs, they retreat together into their tent, canvas falling closed behind them, where privacy brings a different energy.

Alone in the larger tent, Bella stares at the low ceiling, sleep refusing to come. The fever, the brush with death, and the strange mercy that followed, have shaken her and her thoughts spiral without anchor. In the corner of the tent stands a broom propped upright. Earlier that week, in a restless bout of boredom, she had tied one of the Beakers’ spare masks around the bristles – a small act of rebellion, or perhaps entertainment. Now, in the dim lantern light, it looks almost like a figure keeping watch. Bella pushes herself upright on the mat. 

“You startled me, sir,” she says with a faint, conspiratorial smile, dragging the broom closer, adjusting the mask carefully. “I owe you my life, and I am so very grateful.” Her fingers brush the wooden handle as if it were a sleeve, “You've come to keep watch over me? How gallant of you. But we must be discreet; the madame must never find out.” Bella’s laughter flutters, light and slightly unsteady; the sound of a mind balancing delicately at the edge. She smiles at the broom and lies back down, giggling to herself. The broom remains silent, leaning in the corner of the tent where she’s propped it.

The following morning, Loki and Circe ride into town together on Loki’s horse, the animal’s hooves striking a steady rhythm along the hardened autumn road. They dismount near the edge of the square with a glance of understanding. Loki melts easily into the bustle, offering a courteous nod here, a subtle sidestep there.

When he spots Dina Landgraab stepping carefully down the wooden stairs, he closes in with bold familiarity and steadies her from an imagined stumble, his hand lingering at her waist and laughing too close to her ear. By the time she recoils from his forwardness, scandalized, her coin purse is noticeably lighter. Loki nods with unapologetic audacity and disappears into the crowd before she can properly protest.

General Buzz wakes early that Saturday, sitting at the dining table with a steaming bowl of porridge before hitching the wagons and preparing the loads of hay for market. The morning air is crisp as he sets out, the steady creak of the wheels and the soft snort of the horses keeping him company along the road into town.

At the Trading Post, Buzz spends the better part of the morning striking deals with farmers and townsfolk alike, ensuring their livestock will be well provisioned for the coming winter. He trades bundles of hay with young Beau Broke for feed for his pigs, exchanges goods with Chico Ramirez to help sustain his goats, and makes arrangements with several other locals whose animals will depend on careful preparation to survive the colder months. Despite his stern demeanor, Buzz takes pride in his work, knowing these trades help keep the entire community standing strong through the harsh seasons.

Across town, Ripp keeps busy drifting between the saloon and the billiard room, charming patrons, winning a few small wagers, and losing just enough to keep things friendly. After a few small wins, he sneaks upstairs at the saloon for a quick bath, scrubbing away dust and sweat while resisting the temptation to linger; or at the very least ask Erin Beaker for...assistance.