Cole practiced their strings quietly in the Hayfield, gazing out upon the setting before them, when they spotted the familiar top of a goat mask peeking out from behind some bushes. They frowned in concern, placing down their instrument on top of the box upon which they were sitting, and cautiously approached the bushes.

“Clem…?” they called out apprehensively, voice smooth as honey. They rounded the bush, and saw Clémentine, their partner, injured. “Clémentine!” they exclaimed, crouching down.