Anne grew more painfully aware of Ophelia's expression with each step towards the noble lady's home. She was overthinking something, perhaps second-guessing why she'd brought this stranger into her house again. The silence pierced every footstep, shattering in her ears. Anne had to relax. Whatever Ophelia was thinking, Anne had to convince herself things would work out in the end. They always did.
It wasn't long before they were back at Ophelia's home. Once inside, Anne set the child upon the floor and watched as he began to crawl around. His mother was searching for something, unused to entertaining a guest, evidently. Anne smiled warmly at her, trying to make her feel more at ease. She unbuckled her belt and set her small sword by her bag. "Well, I bought a small whittling knife," she suggested, "if you would like to learn that craft. I also picked up a scroll, a short one, to read to Milo--perhaps a bedtime story? For now, what's say we bake something nice. Would that be fitting?"
For what it was worth, Anne also did not know how to entertain a guest. She didn't work much with people--rather, she didn't work long with people before they became bodies and bounties. The change of pace was strange, but nice in its way. Ophelia was a sweet girl, and maybe by the time Anne was done with her she'd have more a backbone and less a submissive outlook on the world.
Anne moved towards the kitchen, making herself at home but remaining aware of Ophelia's reactions to her movements. She didn't want to impose, but she also didn't want to stand around doing nothing, giving Ophelia a chance to doubt all her decisions this far. "Rolf should like to come home to something fresh, yes? We could bake something new, a new recipe, and make a whole new batch by the time Rolf gets home. What would be better than coming home to freshly baked bread?" She looked around the kitchen, grasping at straws. Baking would at least distract them long enough to get them to nighttime, and then, Anne could figure out their plans for tomorrow. She needed to buy time, plot her moves; she hoped, in the future, she would laugh at this. Such amateurish work, she thought, but how could she concentrate with stakes so high?