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The message was terse and direct, scrawled messily across the paper in what Barok assumed to be Sholmes’ barely-legible handwriting; Come quick. Urgent. Lives hang in the balance.

His meeting with the Judge had been cut short as Barok hastily showed him the note before shoving it into his pocket and leaping up. He all but ran out of the courthouse, jumping into his waiting carriage and barking the address to his driver. A thousand possibilities raced through his mind as the carriage lurched forward; had there been some unforeseen ramification from the resolution of the Professor case? Had Stronghart’s allies decided to exact revenge? It had only been a little over a month since that entire mess had been resolved and Barok was still left trying to put the pieces of his life and the entire British justice system back together. The last thing he needed was another disaster – another scandal, another life lost. Though he had only spoken to Sholmes on a handful of occasions and found the man nearly incomprehensible, Barok was well aware that losing the detective would be a massive blow to their efforts.

The message, handed to him by a rather annoyed-looking urchin, was probably written by Sholmes though. It stood to reason then, that he was fine. But what could cause him to send such a distressed message? Had someone else been hurt?

Not Iris. Barok felt his stomach flip unpleasantly, a sensation entirely unrelated to the rattling of the carriage as it rushed through London. For the love of god. He had just found her. The only thing Klint had left behind, his niece, and Barok hadn’t even had the chance to properly sit down with her yet. Surely, she had to be okay.

She had to be.

He wasn’t sure how long the ride took. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour, each second creeping tortuously by. His driver, good man, was pushing the horses as hard as he could, but there was only so fast one could go through streets as crowded as London.

They reached Baker Street eventually, and Barok didn’t even wait for the carriage to come to a full stop before throwing the door open and jumping out. He shouted an instruction at his driver to stay put as he sprinted down the road, apologizing to passersby he bumped into as he hurried towards 221B. Leaping up the steps, he rushed at the door, desperately hammering on it as soon as he reached it.

“Mr. Sholmes!?” he called out, trying to keep his voice steady. “Mr. Sholmes, for the love of God, open up – “

He was interrupted as the door swung open, revealing not the familiar face of the detective but a much younger, though just as familiar, face.

“Mr. Reaper!” Iris greeted Barok with an eager smile. “Or – wait, that’s not it, is it?” she asked, tapping her hand lightly against her chin in thought. “That was the whole point of the trial…hm…” she trailed off, though only for a few seconds, rebounding quickly as she clasped her hands together. “Barry, then! I think that works wonderfully for you. Would you like to come in for some tea, Barry?”

“I – well,” Barok stammered stupidly, entirely unsure how to handle the situation. There were a few things throwing him off. First, he was quite surprised that someone besides Sholmes had answered the door. He had been expecting Sholmes to be waiting for him, possibly even outside of his residence on Baker Street. The message had seemed dire, so to find Iris, not Sholmes, was rather unexpected. There was also the matter of Iris being, well, Iris. Klint’s daughter, Iris. His niece, Iris. His only living blood relative, Iris. Since the resolution of the Professor trial, Barok hadn’t been avoiding her, per se, but it could be considered not necessarily untrue to say that he hadn’t not been avoiding her. Per se.

That was to say nothing of the whole “Barry” thing, but considering how frazzled Barok felt, that could probably wait until he had figured out what was going on.

“Wonderful!” Iris seemed to take Barok’s sudden inability to speak as an affirmation. “Come in! I was just making the most wonderful brew – my chamomile is blooming beautifully so I’ve been experimenting with different herbal mixtures. There’s lavender, obviously, but Daddy got ahold of some sarsaparilla root and I think they would work so well together. Maybe if it does, I could even try to grow sarsaparilla in my greenhouse…”

Barok followed Iris into the parlor, his mind whirring uselessly in place as she chattered on. It was a rather cluttered room; there were papers and knickknacks scattered about, piles of what could only be described as junk tossed haphazardly around, and a large desk with what looked to be various chemicals shoved onto one side of the room. Iris herded Barok to the couch, which sat in front of a large trunk that seemed to double as a coffee table. With a gentle pat to his arm, she all but skipped out of the room, leaving him alone in the chaotic disarray.

Still unsure of what to do, Barok glanced around as though the parlor might give him some clue of what was going on. Sholmes, of course, was nowhere to be seen, though Barok couldn’t rule out the possibility that he was hiding somewhere in the mess. The room was so different from everything in Barok’s own home. It was untidy and unorganized, and the furniture looked cheap and worn. Everything in the room showed signs of use; the fireplace was still ashy, a used teacup sat on the chest-turned-coffee-table, and there were even a few holes in the wall and ceiling that had been hastily plastered over.

It looked like a disaster.

It looked like a home.

“Barry!” Iris chirped from the adjacent kitchen as she bustled about. “Would you like biscuits with your tea?”

“That will not be necessary,” Barok managed to respond as he awkwardly lowered himself onto the couch. It was softer than the ones in his parlor and to his surprise he sunk low into the cushions, his knees drawing up.

“Daddy always demands biscuits,” Iris sighed as she came out of the kitchen, holding a tray with a teapot and two teacups on it. “But I always tell him it will ruin his appetite. Not that that stops him.”

“Speaking of Mr. Sholmes, where is he?” Barok asked as Iris placed the tray on the trunk in front of him. “I was hoping to speak to him.”

“Oh I haven’t seen him for a while,” Iris sounded bemused as she poured the tea out, pushing a cup towards Barok. He took it hesitantly, holding the china delicately between his thumb and forefinger as though worried it would break. “He ran out this morning and hasn’t been back since.”

“But – “ Barok protested. “He sent for me?”

“Did he now?” Iris said, unconcerned.

“He said it was urgent.”

“Daddy always says things are urgent,” Iris settled in the armchair across from Barok after pouring herself a cup of tea. She took a sip, her small feet kicking out as she did so. “Oh!” she exclaimed, delighted as she lowered her cup. “This is rather delicious, don’t you think?” she asked, beaming at him.

“I – I’m sure it is – “

“You can’t be unless you try it, you know.”

Barok’s eyes dropped to the teacup. Slowly, he raised it to his lips, following Iris’ lead and sipping hesitantly from it. It was delicious. The flavors were delicate, a slight sweetness underlying the herbal richness of the chamomile. Warmth filled Barok’s mouth, the liquid flowing down his throat and settling in his stomach like a comforting hug.

“It is quite good,” Barok lowered the teacup, speaking sincerely. “This is the best tea I’ve had in some time.”

“See, I knew the combination would work!” Iris placed her teacup down, clapping her hands in delight. “You must try other blends I’ve created with plants from my garden, then. I’m sure you would love them!”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I could also show you them!” Iris pitched forward, her cheeks flushed in happiness and eyes sparkling. “Especially my newer ones - why, I just planted some this week.”

“See what?”

“My plants!” Iris seemed far too excited now, jumping up from her seat. Hastily, Barok placed his teacup on the trunk in front of him before Iris grabbed his hand, tugging him to his feet. He clumsily lurched up from his low squatting position, trying to stand and simultaneously not pull away from Iris. She seemed completely unbothered by his struggle, dragging him forward and across the parlor as soon as he was up.

“You’ll love it,” Iris assured him as she reached a large wooden door. She pushed it open, Barok still following behind her, bewildered, as they stepped out into what seemed to be a small backyard.

It was a tidy, green space. In one corner of the yard there looked to be a greenhouse, and Barok was able to see tables and large plants through the glass paneling. Next to it were a few raised garden beds, some with rows of plants blooming beautifully, others bare with small specks of green in the dirt. Iris led Barok to one of the beds, pointing towards it.

“Lavender,'' she said cheerfully, letting go of Barok’s hand to pluck a stem from the plant. She held it to her own nose and smelled deeply before turning back to Barok and holding it towards him. “Smell this! It’s lovely.”

Barok obliged, taking the stem from Iris’ small hand and raising it to his own nose. She was right. The lavender was strong, a soothing scent that settled deep in Barok’s nose. “It is wonderful,” he admitted, slowly lowering the stem as Iris smiled up at him.

“It’s one of my favorites to grow,” Iris said, turning back to her garden and pointing towards a row of small white flowers. “That’s chamomile,” she pointed towards a cluster of bright green. “And mint.”

“You are quite the talented gardener.”

“Aren’t I?” Iris agreed enthusiastically. “But I do have one problem area,” she shifted her attention to one of the plots, frowning as she examined it. “The weeds in this one have become quite overgrown,” she sighed, squatting down. Reaching out, she grabbed one of the plants in front of her and pulled, tugging it from the ground. “They’re strangling the plants.”

“And what have you planted here?”

“It’s a mixture,” Iris explained, continuing to pull weeds. “I thought I’d try to grow berries – there's strawberries and blueberries in here but I’m worried that they won’t make it with all these weeds.”

“How do you fix this problem?”

“Well,” Iris looked up. “We should weed the plot. I have some manure and plant food that I think will help the soil too, so we can spread that around after we finish weeding. We probably should water it as well; make sure the nutrients seep down into the roots.”

“We.”

“There’s a trowel in the bucket over there,” Iris pointed towards a large metal bucket before turning her attention back to the plot. “You can use it if you find a particularly stubborn weed. Be careful to get the roots out.”

“I - I came to speak to Mr. Sholmes - “

“And Daddy’s not here,” Iris said as she continued to work. “So until he gets back, I think this would be the best use of your time.”

“I could go look for him.”

“You won’t find Daddy if he doesn’t want to be found.”

“You don’t think I could find him?”

“You couldn’t,” Iris replied, her tone easy. “And you know this, Barry. I think there are gardening gloves and a trowel in the greenhouse if you want to use them. It would be a shame to get your nice gloves all messy.”

Really, Barok should protest this treatment. He had been summoned to Baker Street by Sholmes, a consulting detective far below Barok’s own station and was now being coerced into doing yard work by Iris. He was busy and knew that this impromptu visit would throw off his schedule entirely, resulting in hours of missed meetings and catch-up work.

He should leave. If Sholmes was going to remain hidden, Barok had no reason to stay at Baker Street. His carriage was undoubtedly still waiting for him and he knew his coachman would eagerly carry him away, with no questions asked. It would be nothing to simply turn around, leave a note for Sholmes, and tell the detective to come to his office if he really wished to speak on urgent matters.

“I…sincerely doubt I will be much help here, Ms. Iris.” Barok said hesitantly.

“Hm.” Iris hummed, still working. “And why is that?”

“I do not believe I am skilled in this area.”

“You don’t know that,” Iris responded serenely. “And besides, I don’t think that matters. I think no matter how good or bad at this you are, this might just be just the thing you’re looking for.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well,” Iris stopped working, rocking back on her heels. “It helps me. Sometimes, when things get a little hectic or overwhelming, coming back here helps me remember perspective.”

“Perspective.”

“It’s something Daddy told me about.” Iris held her hand up, flicking her pointer finger up in what Barok recognized to be a parody of Sholmes’ familiar posturing. “The world is full of obvious things, which nobody by any chance ever observes.”

“Did Sholmes himself say that or was that his wonderful biographer, I wonder?” Barok commented dryly.

Iris laughed at that, a high tinkling noise. “Well,” she admitted, smiling up at Barok. “Perhaps his biographer took some liberties with what Daddy actually said which was more along the lines of “you dolt, you’re missing the damn thing that’s right in front of you.””

“Was Inspector Gregson at the receiving end of that unkind comment?”

“Who else?” Iris' smile remained but her eyes seemed to grow distant. “But I think Daddy’s point still stands. Sometimes we really miss the obvious things that are right in front of us, don’t we?”

“I still fail to see what this has to do with gardening.”

“And we miss them because we get so lost in the bigger picture.” Iris ignored Barok’s comment as she looked back down at her plants. “We get caught up in other things. Bigger things. More important things. We get caught up in…well, there’s so many things to be caught up in, isn’t there? Expectations. The future. The past. People we never knew,” Iris shifted her gaze, her green eyes catching and holding Barok. “Or people we lost.”

Barok swallowed.

“And I don’t think it’s bad to remember those things,” Iris continued, turning her attention back to her plants. “Because they mattered, didn’t they? Because they still matter. And that’s important. But there’s other things,” she reached down, letting her hands circle around one of the small green nubs in front of her. “And sometimes those things are right in front of us. And I think maybe if we give those things our attention, instead of just looking back, then maybe, maybe, we can create something new.”

“I have not created in a long time, Ms. Iris.”

“It is not so difficult,” Iris said. “You were Mr. Reaper for so long, weren’t you?”

“An eponym, I believe, that is associated with death.”

“Then you already have experience,” Iris said cheerily. “Life and death are just opposite sides of the same coin, aren’t they?”

“Opposite sides,” Barok repeated, letting his eyes drop to the neat row of greens in front of him. “Perhaps. But it is…difficult, I believe, to change one’s nature.”

“Difficult,” Iris agreed, letting her hands fall away from the plant as she began weeding again. “But not impossible.”

Barok was silent for a moment as Iris worked, her face turned down.

“You said the gloves were in the greenhouse?”

“And the trowel.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Barok was not sure how long he worked besides Iris, kneeling on the grass and dirt besides her. She pointed out which plants were weeds and which were her precious berries, the jagged leaves of the strawberries and clusters of blueberries making them easily identifiable. She showed him how to work the dirt, how to mix manure into the soil once their weeding had been completed, how to water and prune the plants for optimal growth. They worked in a comfortable silence, punctured only by Iris’ explanations to Barok’s questions, and the chore slowly became an easy lull that Barok leaned into.

Eventually, they were interrupted as the door to the garden clattered open. Absorbed in watering one of the strawberries, the noise startled Barok and caused him to jerk up slightly. There, by the entrance to the backyard, was Sholmes, beaming as he shut the door behind him.

“Lord Van Zieks,” Sholmes said cheerfully. “So wonderful to see you here! What brings you to our humble home today?”

“What brings me?” Barok echoed in disbelief as he stood, pulling the gardening gloves off his hands and letting them fall to the ground. “You sent for me!”

“I did, now?”

“The memo from that child!?” Barok cried, reaching into his pocket and pulling the note out. “Come quick!?” he read, unfolding it. “Urgent!? Live hang in the balance!?”

“Oh, yes,” Sholmes nodded, eyeing the note. “How foolish of me. I remember now.”

Barok waited for Sholmes to continue. He did not.

“Well?” Barok demanded after the silence became unbearable. “Are you going to explain yourself at all?”

“It seems unnecessary,” Sholmes shrugged. “You found Iris, didn’t you? And it seems to me you two managed to rectify the urgent situation that demanded your immediate attention.”

“We got the patch all cleared out, Daddy!” Iris cried, bouncing forward eagerly. “And I taught Barry the difference between weeds and berries and the right ratios for manure and soil! And even how to water the plants! He would make a wonderful gardener now, I would think.”

“Splendid!” Sholmes clasped Iris on the shoulder. “I’m glad to see your first pupil coming along so swimmingly.”

“Pupil,” Barok echoed in disbelief.

“If it makes you feel better, I did not know Iris was going to teach you anything,” Sholmes said, obviously unrepentant. “I just knew she needed help and I was quite occupied this afternoon.”

“You said lives were in the balance.”

“And they were!” Sholmes protested. “Did you not see the state of Iris’ poor berry patch? Those strawberries would have hardly survived the week. We simply could not have that.”

“You didn’t think I might get the wrong impression!?”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

“How wonderful that we’ve saved the plants, don’t you think, Barry?” Iris interjected before Barok could respond, clapping her hands together. “That patch can be yours, actually. Barry’s berry patch - I rather like the sound of that.”

“Mine?”

“You did such a good job today,” Iris smiled. “And besides. I think gardening might do you some good.”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“It’s just a thought.” Iris said airily. “Perhaps it’ll help you remember what you’re capable of.”

Barok said nothing for a moment, Iris’ words weighing heavily in his ears. His eyes flicked back to the berry patch, the small green plants stark against the dark soil. Despite all they had done that afternoon, they still looked small and frail, as though their roots hadn’t fully taken hold yet.

“I don’t know if my efforts have been fruitful.” Barok finally admitted, still looking at the berry patch. “These plants hardly seem stable. Who knows if they will survive the next few days or even weeks.”

“Well then you’ll have to come back, won’t you?” Iris asked, as though the answer was obvious. “Come back and make sure they’re thriving.”

“I do not know if - “ Barok started, unsure.

“I think it will be rather necessary.” Iris interrupted. Her tone was still cheerful but she spoke with a finality that made it clear no objections would be allowed. “Berries are sometimes rather fickle so these probably will require daily maintenance. It’ll be good for you to come by and check on them.”

“Check on them daily?” Barok repeated. “But I - such a commitment will be quite difficult for me to uphold, Ms. Iris.”

“Well, it seems to me that you two did good work today,” Sholmes wandered towards the berry patch, stopping by it and squatting down to inspect the plants carefully. “I am inclined to agree with Iris that these plants need continuing care, though.”

“You must understand that I am quite occupied,” Barok protested. “What with rebuilding the British justice system and mentoring Mr. Asogi, which is, of course, to say nothing of my prosecutorial duties - “

“It is just something to consider, Lord Van Zieks.” Sholmes interrupted him, standing. “Some perspective, if you would. A reminder of what we are all capable of.”

“What we are all capable of.”

“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Sholmes smiled, an inscrutable expression that Barok was fast beginning to associate with the detective. “That we all have the power to create. What a marvelous thing - difficult, yes, I will give you that. But many things that are worth the effort in this life are quite difficult.”

“I am simply unsure if I am suited for what you might need from me.”

“Nonsense,” Sholmes responded, nonchalant. “Iris is usually free in the afternoon if you are wondering what time is best to come by.”

“It’s the best time for tea,” Iris nodded sanguinely. “Which reminds me - Daddy,” she turned back to Sholmes. “I gave Barry some of my new tea!”

“And he enjoyed it, I presume?”

“Of course!”

“Wonderful.” Sholmes said. “Perhaps you could pack him some to take home? I’m sure he would appreciate having such a delicious brew on-hand.”

“Oh!” Iris perked up at the suggestion, turning towards Barok. “Would you like that, Barry?”

“I - Well. Yes.” Barok said dumbly, still uncomfortable at Iris’ eagerness. “I…I suppose I would like that very much.”

“Perfect!” Iris exclaimed, beaming. “Just give me a minute, then. I’ll go get it ready right now!”

With that, Iris turned, her skirt twirling around her before she skipped off, returning back into the house and leaving Sholmes and Barok alone in the garden.

Once Iris had disappeared, Barok let out a deep breath of air he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. The tension in his shoulders drained out as he relaxed, tightness flooding out of him with the single exhale. Sholmes must have noticed, because he let out a soft snort, a low vaguely-sympathetic sound.

“So.” Barok started first, fixing Sholmes with an even stare. “Are you going to provide any explanation as to why you sent for me? And in such a bizarre manner?”

“You were taking too long,” Sholmes said plainly, as though it were obvious. “I thought a direct approach would be best.”

“These things take time – “

“They do not, though.”

“You cannot just rush into something like this!”

“And why not? Do you think I had the luxury of time when Yujin showed up one night, holding her?”

“It…” Barok flushed, looking away. “It was different. If you did not wish to take her – “

“I did,” Sholmes laughed. “Please do not misunderstand me, Lord van Zieks. Iris is my daughter. I would not trade her for the world. But when I first saw her…to say I was unprepared is an understatement.”

“You did not have to do that.”

“You do not have to do this.”

“I do, though,” Barok looked back at Sholmes, trying to keep the desperate edge out of his voice. “She is my niece and is all I have left of Klint – “

“If you are only interested in Iris because of her relation to your late brother, I think that our conversation might be at an end,” Sholmes interrupted Barok. He was still smiling, a relaxed and open expression that matched the comfortable slouch of his posture, but there was something different in his tone. It was sharper, harder, not quite a threat but the promise of one. “She is her own person. She does not carry either the gifts or the sins of her parents. Please take care to remember that.”

“I did not – “ Barok broke off and swallowed, “Yes,” he corrected, his voice low. “Pray forgive my discourtesy.”

“Wonderful!” Sholmes said, the tension leaving his voice immediately. He fell silent for a moment, his face shifting into something softer. “I understand you are worried.”

“Worried does not even begin to explain how I feel. I’m unprepared, Mr. Sholmes. Wildly unprepared.”

“There is not anything to prepare for,” Sholmes said. “This is not something you can prepare for. You just do your best and figure it out as you go along. Iris is a brilliant girl, a good girl, and it is our job to make sure she has what she needs.”

“How am I to know that?” Barok asked wildly. “What does a child need? Funds? Friends? Affection?”

“Well, if you are so eager to offer funds, Lord Van Zieks – “

“Sholmes.”

“Don’t offer if you aren’t willing to follow up,” Sholmes huffed, rolling his eyes.

“You are being difficult in this matter.”

“Am I, now?” Sholmes sounded unapologetic. “Goodness. I certainly wouldn’t want to cause such an esteemed member of our nobility any distress.”

“I do not doubt that you cause distress to all members of our society, regardless of their standing.”

Sholmes laughed at that. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “Though it seems you are quite adept at manufacturing your own distress, Lord Van Zieks.”

“You know that is not my intent.” Barok said, his voice slightly harsher than he intended. “I…simply worry I will be inadequate. You must understand, Mr. Sholmes. I have not been a part of Iris’ life this entire time so to suddenly insert myself back in - does she even wish to see me? Or does she feel some misplaced sense of duty because of familial ties?”

“It is natural, of course, to have doubts at this juncture.” Sholmes did not change his inflection despite Barok’s own tone. “But please make no mistake, sir. You are here because Iris wanted to see you. If she did not, you would not be here. Though this situation might be complex, that component, at least, is extremely simple.”

“I cannot tell if you are attempting to make me feel better or worse, Mr. Sholmes.”

“How you feel about this matter is not my concern,” Sholmes shrugged. “I am simply a father trying to do what is best for his little girl.”

“And you believe this course of action to be the best.”

“I do.” Sholmes said, his voice full of conviction. “Try, Lord Van Zieks. That is all we are asking of you. Just try.”

Before Barok could respond, the door to the house suddenly burst open, revealing Iris. She was holding a small wooden box in her hands, which she eagerly presented to Barok upon approaching him.

“I packed the one we tried as well as a few variations,” she explained as he took the box from her with a small, stilted smile. “But only a few! If you want to try my other new flavors, you’ll have to come back.”

“Holding the delicious tea flavors hostage.” Sholmes nodded sanguinely. “Brilliant tactic, Iris.”

“I am determined to make Barry’s berry patch a success.” Iris turned towards Barok. “But it’ll hardly work if Barry isn’t there, will it? Barry’s berry patch without Barry - I would think that’s just a regular berry patch.”

“Truer words have never been spoken.” Sholmes agreed, turning his attention back to Barok. “Well, Barry?” Sholmes asked lightly. “Do you think you have what it takes to help foster new life?”

Barok was silent, his eyes falling to flecks of green dotting the brown earth. They looked small and weak, frail, as though a gust of wind could knock them over. Even with his help, Barok knew that they might not survive - weeds, bugs, disease; there were at least half a dozen reasons that the plants might not even make it into the next week.

But that was next week. Right now, it was not next week and it was not last week or last month or last year or even further back. It was not a time when Barok had been younger, when the world had been kinder, when things had made sense and the future seemed promised. As much as Barok wished it were not the case, certain lives and hopes and dreams that existed then were gone. The enormity of the loss still staggered Barok and would probably weigh heavy on his heart for years, decades to come.

But even then. Even then. There were new lives, tiny lives, sitting right in front of him.

Perspective. That is what Iris had said. They might not be able to reclaim the lives lost; undoubtedly, they would lose more in the future. But here and now, those small green nubs stretched their fragile roots into the ground and held on.

“It is not promised, is it?” Barok asked, his eyes fixed on the plants. “That this will work. That they will be here tomorrow. Even if we weed the plot and mix the manure and water them properly, they still might die.”

“Nothing is promised,” Sholmes responded. There was a heaviness in his voice, a slightly bitter edge that he wasn’t quite able to conceal. “No matter how hard we might try. Nothing is ever promised. But that doesn’t mean we stop and that doesn’t mean we don’t try because - “

“We might miss what is right in front of us?” Barok interrupted Sholmes, looking back at him.

Sholmes looked surprised. “Yes, he conceded. “I see you’ve learned something a bit more than just gardening from Iris.”

“It was a great detective who actually proved most enlightening here.” Barok responded, taking care to adopt the airy tone that Sholmes had spoken with earlier. “The quote, I believe, was “The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.” Or, in layman’s terms, “You dolt, you’re missing the damn thing that’s right in front of you.” Directed at one Inspector Gregson.”

Sholmes burst out laughing at that. “Wise words from an undoubtedly wise man.” he said, smiling at Barok. “I do hope you take them to heart, Lord Van Zieks.”

“It would be remiss of me not to.” Barok returned the smile as something large and warm settled in his heart. “I suppose then, that yes. If you will have me, I would love to try.”