Fixed Clover's tail, and added context:

The road narrowed as it wound into the hills, where the forest gave way to wide pastures and stone-ringed hearthsteads built into the hillsides. The Viermorak village ahead was no small cluster of huts—it was a working, breathing community with low, broad houses, gardens marked by family crests, and smoke curling from chimneys like ribbons against the golden sky.

As they approached the outer gate, a deep voice boomed across the lane.

"Mae! By the moons, is that you, Mae?"

A towering figure strode from between two stockades—a broad-chested Viermorak with beaded braids in his dark mane and beard and a magistrate's mantle slung across one shoulder. He carried the presence of someone used to settling disputes with words and the occasional raised eyebrow.

Clover’s whole face lit up. “Bramma!”

They met in a thunderous embrace that rocked the dirt beneath them.

The other three girls hung back, watching.

“Mae?” Aelska tilted her head.

Rozika blinked. “Mae?”

Speck scrunched up her face. “Mae?”

Clover rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. “That’s my name. Ytormae, ‘Mae’ for short. It means ‘Clover’ in the Viermoraki tongue. Not exactly a secret, just… not what I go by outside family.”

Speck tilted her head. “Speck like ‘Clover’ betterer. Yep yep.”

“Same,” Rozika muttered with a smirk.

Bramma looked the group over with a thoughtful nod. “Your friends look half-starved and twice as tired. Come, come. There’s food, fire, and wine, and warm rooms waiting upstairs.”

They were given a pair of rooms each with a pair of Viermorak-sized pallets above the village hall, plain but cozy—thick quilts, woven rugs.

Speck and Aelska took one room, Clover and Rozika the other.

Someone had even set out a bottle of strong berry wine with two clay cups.

Clover was already halfway through changing when Rozika shut the door behind them.

“Look!” Clover announced, grinning as she stepped out from behind the privacy screen in an off-the-shoulder nightgown clearly made for her by someone who loved her. “It’s got clovers on it!”

Tiny green clover patterns dotted the fabric, stitched into the hem and the sleeves like little emblems of luck.

Rozika gave a small, tired smile. “Of course it does.”

They sat together on one pallet, chatting and passing the wine bottle back and forth. It was sharp and warm, and it helped ease the ache in their limbs if not in their hearts.

Clover leaned back on one hand and exhaled deeply. “You know… yer kinda like the little sister I never had. A stabby sister, sure—but still.”

She meant it playfully. Fondly.

But Rozika froze.

The smile faded. Her shoulders trembled, and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe right. Her eyes widened, then clenched shut as the pain surged up—too fast, too heavy, like floodwaters breaking through a dam.

She gasped and curled inward.

“Rozie?” Clover sat up straight. “Was it… was it somethin’ I said?”

But Rozika was already shaking, silent tears spilling over. She buried her face in her hands, biting back sobs until they tore loose in jagged, helpless bursts.

“I—I hurt her,” Rozika choked out between gasps. “I stabbed—my Papa—he tried to stop me, and I—gods, Clover—I didn’t even look before I—!”

Clover’s mouth opened. Then closed. She didn’t know what to say—how could she? So instead, she moved closer, slowly, like approaching a wounded beast, and wrapped her arms around Rozika.

Rozika collapsed into her with a raw, shuddering cry.

“I didn’t mean to,” Rozika sobbed. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” Clover whispered, cradling her like a child. “Shh. I know.”

She pulled her tighter, broad hands stroking Rozika’s back with rough gentleness. One of Clover’s own tears slid down her cheek, falling silently into Rozika’s hair.

The wine sat forgotten. The candle guttered low.

Outside, the wind shifted in the rafters, and the voices of the village dimmed into the hush of night.

Inside the little room, there were no explanations. No answers. Just the quiet ache of being understood, and the warmth of someone willing to carry a bit of your burden, if only for a while.