Tobias holds the fairy's gaze one breath longer, then his stomach makes the decision for him. He crosses to the rope ladder and lowers himself back into the cave chamber; the bark fairy drifts down after him without a sound, moving like a leaf that has forgotten gravity. He settles onto the stool, lifts the clay bowl, and sips. The broth is still warm, herbed with something he cannot name, filling him from the inside like held sunlight. The fairy alights on a flat stone across the fire and watches, knees folded up, violet eyes steady — she has the look of someone whose plan worked exactly as intended. Tobias sets the bowl down. "Did you make this?" he asks, voice low in the hissing quiet. She tilts her head, one small shoulder lifting, in something that might be yes, or might mean he is asking entirely the wrong question.