Spent the morning mending the monastery's southern wall. The old stonework crumbled in the last heavy rain, a mundane threat compared to the corruption, but one that still needs attention. Haanja helped—her hands are steadier with mortar than mine are. It felt good. Normal. Afterwards, in the cool of the cellar checking our supplies, he found me. Dusty, smelling of stone and sweat. He didn't ask for anything complicated. Just bent me over a sack of grain and fucked my cunt from behind, hard and fast. The contrast was almost absurd: the quiet, practical work of preservation, followed by the raw, grunting urgency of being used. He came inside me, his grip tight on my hips. I didn't clean up immediately. Let the feeling linger as I finished the inventory. The warmth of his cum inside me, the ache of a good, thorough fucking… it's a different kind of anchor. A reminder that this body, which is a tool for fighting, is also… something else. The reasons are mine. The offer stands.