#I tried passively defending the said cousin and just moving on before it made him feel any awful

[someprettyname]

that moment you realise that your favourite [maternal] uncle is indeed not cool and an abusive parent as well :

unimpressed staring

[reddogcollar]

Oh.

In italics.

Allusion to self harm.

First/Prev/Next

Drew left the Great Oak at midday, feeling more frustrated than last night.

It had taken the entire morning for Bergan and Gretchen to work something out, and they'd started the moment the sun lit the sky.

At the moment, everyone he happened to encounter was talking about Wyld Wolves, and whether the threat was really neutralized, or whether the festival had been cancelled entirely, or whether there were enough Green Capes in the city to defend them, or something else trivial.

It took everything not to snap at everyone who spoke to him, including Gretchen, Bergan, and especially Trent.

He knew everyone had their reasons, the townsfolk were still nervous after the Wyldermen invasion, the soldiers were being strained to make everyone feel safe, and they all needed something that'd get their minds off it.

And it was his job to reassure them all that everything was fine.

But he could only hear the same worries for so long without glaring at whoever he was talking to.

So at the moment he was trying to get away from everyone.

Walking through alleys and behind houses, where he was less likely to run into anyone else, he ended up skirting the walls separating them from the forest.

If he were to leave the city all together, he'd certainly be left alone.

Though, he may also have to explain himself, or run into a patrolling Greencloak, and he didn't want to have to tell anyone they'd been annoying him all day.

He may cross the path of a, or several, Wylderman, and while he did feel like hitting something, he could just as well hit the wall.

He didn't hit the wall.

A part of his job was people being too paranoid and him having to deal with it whenever he talked with them. And he'd need to get used to that.

He wasn't a man of the people. They rallied around him when they needed to, and they'd fought a war in his name, but he wasn't a man of the people.

He didn't enjoy cities or organizing groups or politics.

The life he'd anticipated was a quiet one on the Coast. With livestock, crops, and a minimum of worries beyond the weather.

He'd made the choice to give that up.

So he needed to get used to being a man of the people.

He kept walking.

In the entire city, besides himself, there were four people who weren't worried about a nonexistent threat. Out of those four, there was only one he wasn't frustrated with.

He needed to see Hector anyways, after missing last night.

Still keeping himself out of the crowd, he made his way to the Garrison Tree.

It wasn't hard. The Garrison Tree had been set aside from everything that was more busy, and for everyday life. It'd probably be a bit grim to have a jail in the middle of the market.

Inside, he climbed the stairs till he came to the guard.

With every bit of passive assertiveness they'd been trained in, the guard did not let him pass.

"The Duke's orders, sir." They said, standing stiff in front of the door.

"I'm aware of the Duke's orders. And I can assure you you'll be in no trouble if you let me pass." He said, his voice coming out flat.

Any intonation would probably lead to him snapping and someone who was just doing their job.

"I don't recall the order to not let anyone see him being rolled back, sir." The Greencloak said, their eye contact wavering, unsure.

Drew stared at them for a moment. It'd be easy to lie, and would come at no cost to the guard, if he could help it.

"Well, it did. Don't let this happen again."

The soldier hesitated, before nodding and unlocking the door with an apology.

The door creaked open, and he slipped inside, nodding at the Greencloak. Hector didn't seem to notice.

Drew took a seat, and before anything else, noticed the off-white cloth wrapped around Hector's hand.

"Are you alright?"

He stared at nothing for a moment, before seeming to realize he'd been spoken to.

"Hm?" Hector turned his head, just slightly. The bags under his eyes made it look like he'd gotten into a fight.

"Your hand. Why's it wrapped like that?"

Instead of answering, he simply unwrapped and his hand and shrugged.

A crooked scar ran sideways along his palm. Clearly fresh, though not particularly deep, Drew thought. However old it was, it'd stopped actively bleeding. There were cuts along his fingers as well, but they weren't as noticeable.

"Nothing special." He said.

The sight made Drew itch. Blood had never bothered him, after the war, it was gore that was the problem.

A clean cut was making his stomach roll and his muscles tense.

"What happened?" Hector couldn't have possibly gotten in a fight with anyone, except perhaps the guard. Very few people actually knew who he was, and most of them were Greencloaks.

There'd be an uproar if it became common knowledge that they were housing Blackhand. A guard was the only person who'd know who he was, and want to do something about it.

Hector didn't look at him, shaking out and his hand instead.

"Nothing special." He repeated, his voice flat.

Drew wrinkled his nose. The room felt off. More compressed. Confined.

Darker.

He'd forgotten about the candles when he'd come in.

His stomach flipped, as if he were the one who had a problem with the dark, and he got up to light the candles.

"Don't bother." Hector muttered, stopping him. "It's just a waste of candles."

Drew stayed where he was, stood next to a book shelf that had most of the candles on it. He wasn't sure about leaving open flames next to old, dusty books, but it was the darkest corner of the room now.

"Hector," He asked, stilled poised to light a candle, "Did something happen last night?"

"I'm fine. There's just nothing to be done about it." Hector sighed, sinking into himself, holding his head in his hand and staring absently at the wall.

They both paused for a moment, neither doing anything, before he added on.

"Viles, that is. There's nothing to be done about viles."

Drew glanced at the cluster of candles, hardly any lit, before abandoning them and sitting back down.

"Surely there's some way to dispel them. You got rid of your brother."

Hector snorted, but otherwise didn't move, or even look at Drew. His eyes were glued to the wall, half open.

"I didn't get rid of Vincent, I got away from him. I wouldn't be surprised if his spirit is tied to Bevan's tower now, where he died."

"That doesn't mean getting rid of them is impossible, not necessarily." Drew pushed. Even if Hector was stuck in that room till he died, surely there was a way to get rid of the spirits in it so he could live in peace.

Hector sighed again, rubbing his eyes.

"Maybe. Probably. If it can be done, I didn't find out when I had the chance." He said, his voice becoming edged.

It'd been advised that he didn't ask for any books on magistry or necromancy, or anything of the like. He never tried.

"I really don't feel like talking about this, honestly. How goes it out there?"

Drew paused, annoyed for a second at the change in topic before biting his tongue. He couldn't force help onto someone who didn't want it.

A "man of the people" is a patient man. He'd be patient.

"Trent's caused quite the problem, threatening to maul a Greencloak like that. In the end, he agreed not to step foot in the Dyrewood once he leaves. Bergan's still sore about it though, giving everyone a scare when they're at their lowest." He explained.

"Last night, he and Gretchen bickered back and forth for hours. Eventually they stopped giving useful suggestions on what to do with him, and just argued. And then she brought you into the mix, and started a whole new argument." He sighed.

While he agreed with Gretchen, he wished it could have been brought up at any other time. When Bergan wasn't already feeling argumentative.

"Did she?"

The way Hector spoke made it seem like he wasn't quite listening, like he wasn't all there. Drew continued anyway. If he only wanted to half listen, then he'd give him that.

"She did. She told Bergan he was irrational, and that he's not fit to sentence anyone while he's got you locked up."

Hector paused, thinking over what he'd said, or something else, he couldn't tell. Something was bothering him, clearly. Probably the same things that had been bothering him. Drew didn't want to assume, though.

"Then what?"

"They nearly mauled each other-"

Hector flipped around to look at him before he could finish, looking alert for the first time. And shocked.

"Don't worry, they're both fine-" Drew started to clarify.

Before Hector interrupted him.

"Yes, I heard you, but he nearly mauled his niece?"

Drew couldn't tell if it was shock or outrage on his face. Maybe both.

"I know," He sighed, "None of us were at our best so late at night-"

"There's no excusing this, Drew!"

"I know! I know, its just... They're fine now. You don't need to worry, Bergan wouldn't do anything to hurt her." Drew reassured him, trying to sound as sure of himself as he could in the fact.

If anything, Bergan probably wouldn't attack first, at least.

Hector stared at him, with his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. He wasn't quite buying it. Nevertheless, the seemed to give up on the matter and went limp, leaning against the back of the chair.

"She shouldn't have done that." Hector muttered, looking directly at the ceiling. "Its not worth it."

"What do you mean?" Drew could guess what he meant, he asked anyway.

"I mean she shouldn't be provoking him for nothing!" Though Hector didn't move, or noticeably change his expression, his voice rose, then fell again. "It's not her place."

"Its her place more than anyone's, she's your cousin."

"If she's going to get herself mauled by a bear, then its not!" He exclaimed, pulling himself back upright to look at Drew. "She's needed in Hedgemoor, she can't go getting herself killed over nothing."

"It's not over nothing, its over you! She's not even getting herself killed, anyways. We're all being as diplomatic as we can." Drew argued back, fighting the urge to stand up.

Towering over him probably wouldn't help.

"Well stop! It doesn't matter! If Bergan hasn't changed his mind already then he won't. It's a waste of your time!"

"We're not wasting our time, and we're not stopping! He's not that cruel. He'll listen." He insisted, trying to keep his voice down. He wanted to stay calm, or look it at least.

"Well maybe he shouldn't!" Hector did not feel the same.

"Hector-"

"Maybe I'm right for once and you should just give up! Even if he listens, what good would it do?" Hector cut him off, leaning forward with his hand on his knee. "Necromancy was all I was good at. Magistery is about devoting your life to helping people and all I could do was the exact opposite! Just give it a rest."

Drew didn't respond right away, his brow knitted together. When he stayed quiet, Hector leaned back against the chair, staring at the ceiling.

There was still no getting through to him. It was all obvious to Drew, that he wouldn't be hurting anyone, that of course Bergan was being absurd, of course he wouldn't stop trying, of course Hector can do good in the world.

He was too smart not to. He'd already been doing good for the last year, good for Drew at least. Every visit had left him feeling relieved. He could only be emotionally closed off for so long before-

Oh.

He understood why Trent was laughing at him.

Drew stood up, so quick the chair almost toppled backward. It startled Hector out of that absent look.

"Get up." He practically ordered him, though he really meant it to be a request.

"I-"

"Get up."

Hector stared at him, like what he was doing was absurd, but got up anyways. Slowly and carefully, never taking his eyes off Drew. Like a cornered animal.

Drew grabbed his wrist the second he was up, taking him toward the door.

A few steps away, Hector stopped, stiff and digging his heels into the ground.

Drew turned to look at him, and the look he got gave him pause.

Hector stood there, wide eyed and frightened looking, with his wrist in a vice. His pulse was hammering, Drew could feel it.

He let his grip go loose, sliding his hand down so he wasn't squeezing his wrist like that.

He was leading him by the hand instead.

"Come on." He said, the edge gone from his voice. It was more of a request than a command.

He opened the door for Hector, and lead him out.

[hello-alittlewritercub]

Letting Go

So I do believe I have a story to tell. 

I mentioned in one of my posts that I was reading “This is Me Letting You Go,” by Heidi Priebe to help me with some recent experiences I was and still am going through. I promised to explain later. 

Well dear reader, now is the time! 

My family moved to Pennsylvania when I was 9 years old, and we’d lived here for a few years previously. We aren’t by any means wealthy, and we made our home in a garage on our cousin’s property. We renovated it and called it the “Tiny house,” a fitting name. It was about 700 square feet, for a family of seven. Though it was small, we lived there for five years, and I formed some of my favorite memories there. I was a happy kid. 

When I was twelve, I joined the youth group at my church. I was extremely anxious about it; I’ve always struggled with anxiety. Even though all the girls were nice enough, I didn’t feel like I belonged. The ones who were my age saw me as awkward and unpredictable, which I was, even if they liked me. A few of the older ones took pity on me, and one wonderful young woman, four years my senior, took me under her wing. 

I felt desperately alone and out of place, even with my caretaker-friend. I would leave class to “use the bathroom” four or five times in a single hour, or  tear up in the middle of class for no apparent reason, and leave the room to spend the rest of the meeting by myself. A couple times, this young woman followed me and comforted me to the best of her ability. I absolutely loved her for it. I decided to let go of my fears and be more like her. She however, was a bubbly, confident, sweet, very extroverted girl, and the more I tried to be like her, the worse I must have appeared! I started opening up about my strange preferences - “Can we bring pickles to the breakfast party?” and trying to be as confident and engaging as my friend. While my confidence did improve, and I was happy in her company and she was proud of me, I could feel that something was off. I wasn’t being myself - and it felt wrong. I still didn’t have anyone I counted as a friend except her (although this was probably my doubt coming into play - I assumed the other girls were only nice to me because they were good people, and because I stayed with my extroverted friend, who was, to put it simply, popular.) Even though I trusted this girl, it never occurred to me that I could confide in her. I felt so alone (I didn’t even have my puppy yet at this point) that I would talk to the showerhead when I needed to pour my thoughts and feelings out of myself. 

Then, my brother entered the youth program. I started really trying to be his friend, because I didn’t want him to feel the loneliness that I did. And it worked! Though we weren’t nearly as close as we are now, I started getting a sense for what a real friend felt like, other than my caretaker friend, Elizabeth. 

When I was fourteen, Elizabeth moved away, to go to college. Right then is when my family decided to move to where we are now, and three days after we moved in, my new baby brother was born. It was a hectic and lonely time for me. After we settled in with our new family member, we started going to our new church. At first, not having Elizabeth and being in a new place with new people and new family members, was utterly exhausting. The girls and boys were divided, so I didn’t get to be with my brother. I felt swamped by the other people. I hardly spoke in any of the meetings, and I would cry myself to sleep every single night. I was angry with God for doing this to me. 

Finally, one night after a youth activity, I stood outside and poured my heart out through my streaming tears to the starry night sky, imagining I was talking to Heavenly Father. I explained how hurt, confused, and lonely I was. I felt a slow, achingly beautiful feeling of being loved wash over me. I remembered that I could simply open up - maybe the other girls were as afraid of me as I was of them. I could be brave and open up. 

I did my very best, though my natural awkwardness didn’t help my case. There was one girl, a garrulous, pretty Aisian who seemed to like me (I’ll call her Anna). She encouraged me to try to be friends with her best friend, an extremely quiet girl (who I’ll call Brianne).  I had noticed the girl before, and had liked her. She was quiet, but she didn’t mind. She was talented, but humble. She was everything I wanted to be. However, she wasn’t as bubbly as her friend, which led me to believe that she didn’t really like me. In an attempt to become emotionally close with Anna, I confided that I was scared Brianne didn’t really like me. Anna contradicted that Brianne was just shy, and when she felt out of place, she’d respond with apathy. I tried to accept what she’d said, hoping that maybe I could still make friends here. 

Well, Anna told Brianne’s parents that I had told her that Brianne hated me. This led Brianne’s mom (the leader of the girl’s group) to confront me about this. She told me I was being rude to their group by not opening up, that I should help them achieve unity, and that I was completely misjudging Brianne. I needed to be more accepting, she said. I was a disappointment, she said. 

While she didn’t say those things exactly, it was close enough. I’m sure she was only trying to help, but my sensitive, hurting spirit couldn’t take it. Anna had betrayed me and all I got from Brianne was carefully polite looks. I was growing much closer to my brother, but I gave up on any other friendships. 

That was when I met Taylor.

At one activity, I saw a small, very quiet girl sitting in the back. She wore tall unicorn socks, and I was amazed - I was too self conscious and afraid to even wear my favorite shoes outside the house, which had small flowers on them and reminded me of Elizabeth, who loved floral print. I  was intrigued, and I didn’t want the poor girl experience the same thing I was - so I went up to talk to her.

The two loners of the group, we immediately hit it off. Soon after, she asked for my contact information, and we became best friends extremely fast. Right then, Taylor’s family moved - not far from my house, but she wouldn’t be coming to the same church activities anymore. I was desperate for Taylor’s company, as I felt insecure and terrible without her. She contacted me everyday, and I could tell she struggled with some deep family and personal issues - and that made me decide that she needed a friend as much as I did. I was determined to take care of her.  Shortly after, I became depressed. I hate to admit it, but I had a few suicidal thoughts. My parents and brother became very worried about me, asking if my relationship with Taylor was healthy - but I pushed them away, convinced that Taylor needed me as much as I needed her, and that she was the only thing keeping me from becoming completely drowned in my depression. Little did I realize that Taylor, with her deep family issues, was also severely dishonest and manipulative, and that the reason I was her favorite person was because I was so easily manipulated, which was also the reason for my depression. She isolated me, convinced me that I belonged to her.  I defended her, and never suspected a thing. 

Shortly after, something happened where I was a little picked on, and though I did my best to be mature, my feelings were very hurt. Taylor didn’t help me, defend me, or take my side, but instead defended the person who had hurt my feelings. While she was right in that the person didn’t mean to hurt me, she was wrong in telling me that he was right. She manipulated me by feeding me mixed lies about the situation. Taylor’s friend, Ella, of whom I’d been told many faults by Taylor, came to my rescue. She helped me talk to the person who’d hurt my feelings - I explained that while I was sure he didn’t mean it, what he’d done was hurtful. He apologized, and I felt happy. Things were cleared up! 

A couple days after, I was arranging for Taylor to come to my house - and she was being very passive aggressive. I asked her what was wrong, told her she could confide in me, as I so often confided in her about my feelings of depression (which she told me were selfish and imagined). She responded angrily, saying that I had gone over the line, that I was immature, self absorbed, jaded, manipulative, and a couple other things. She said that by talking to the person who had hurt my feelings, I had completely broken her trust, and that she was severely disappointed in me. I was shocked, horrified, and terribly hurt. I ran out to my tree and sobbed heartwrenchingly for who knows how long. Not knowing what else to do, I asked Ella for help. She’d helped me before - I hoped she’d help me again. I explained to my parents and brother why I was crying, wanting them to tell me if I was overreacting, if what Taylor had said was true. Ella and my family responded similarly; Ella was furious that Taylor would treat me in that way. She asked me to show her my texts with Taylor, which I did, and Ella explained that Taylor was manipulating and gaslighting me. My parents told me that everything Taylor said was a lie, and they encouraged me to do what I thought best. Ella told me that I should block Taylor. The thought flashed through my mind - but Taylor needs me. She’s hurting and she needs me. 

But then I thought back. Did Taylor really need me? I considered what Ella and my family had said, and came to my own conclusion. I couldn’t talk to Taylor anymore. She was slowly killing my soul. Ella and my family supported me wholeheartedly. I realized that my brother, my parents, and Ella were true friends. I had thought that a good friendship entailed helping the other improve, telling the other of their faults - but that was me defending Taylor’s nasty, vicious words. What had she ever really done to help me? Nothing. She constantly told me of how terrible I was, or how good, because I was hers. She simultaneously made me feel worthless and worth the world - but I was only worth the world to her, she said. I belonged to her. She only told me I was worth something because she was worthless. When I would try to help her, she would dismiss me as irrelevant. She was a terrible friend, and as much as I still wanted to help her, I couldn’t stay in contact with her if I wanted to be happy. So I blocked her. 

I expected to feel heartbroken. I expected to feel lost. But in truth, I felt wonderful! I finally felt free, and I finally saw the wonderful friend I had in my brother, and the new friend that was opening up in Ella. I did wonder if I was labeling Taylor wrongly - but no. My parents have experience with diagnosably manipulative and toxic people, and they recognized the patterns in Taylor. I wasn’t overreacting. I prayed for her, but I didn’t speak to her. And I felt wonderful. 

But then, a month later, I began to feel insecure again. Being in such close contact with a person who was so deeply manipulative, dishonest, and toxic, had left me in a different state of being. I didn’t believe in my self worth, and I was governed by fear. I began to worry that I was being a bad person by cutting Taylor off. What if she was struggling too? I could be strong enough to take care of her, I would, I promised myself. I could handle both of us. 

So I reached out to her. I told her that I hoped we could be friends again, and asked her if we could both change so the relationship could be healthy. I told her I loved her and prayed for her. 

She responded by saying she hadn’t changed and wasn’t going to. Saddened, but not surprised, I told her that I couldn’t go back to talking to her again. I said I was sorry, but I didn’t think our friendship was healthy for either of us. 

She quipped that she was glad we weren’t friends anymore. She told me I’d been holding her down, that I was manipulative and hurtful to her, and that she was glad she wouldn’t have to come in contact with me again. This caught me off guard, and I believed her, hating myself for my pretended crime. But I had the thought to ask my parents. Was she just lying again? 

My Dad said heck yes, she’s lying to you. She sees that she’s lost control over you, so she’s just trying to hurt you in any way she can before you leave. He told me she was deeply screwed up, and that I was letting my love and idealism go to far. Going back to her was hurting myself. He assured me that re-blocking her was the best thing to do. 

So that’s what I did. It’s only been a couple weeks since that happened, and I’ve been experiencing very mixed feelings. I am happy, free, light, but I also feel terrible and get hot bouts of loneliness sometimes. Which is why I bought, “This is Me Letting You Go.” I thought it was a book for letting friends go, for infps. It’s actually a book for everyone, about letting go of the people we loved. It still helped me tremendously. It taught me that I am my own best friend, and that I deserve to make myself a better person, chase my dreams, and help others. I highly recommend this book! 

Slowly but surely, I am healing and becoming a better me than this version that Taylor molded me to become. I have found my best friends (See previous post!) and some promising people. Dear reader, I am proud of you for reading all the way to the end! This was a long and especially heavy post. Dear reader, I hope you have let go of painful people in your life to become your best self. I hope you learn to act out of love for yourself and others, and never fear. Dear reader, best of wishes. 

-littlewritercub

[lady-of-the-magnolias-blog]

Beyond the Forest Edge

Fae Tale of Crown Springs

~Part 1~

           He didn’t understand why Phoebes disliked when he went out for patrols of the borders, could only guess a handful of reasons – it was dangerous, it was unneeded, nothing would dare to come so deep into the forest, he was the heir to the throne and shouldn’t pull stupid stunts – whatever the case, he disagreed. Only the animals cold tell what he truly was in this form, humans would just see a demon and run away screaming, returning to their settlements and not be believed. A tale of a demonic monster living in the woods spread far and wide, no one brave enough to test if it might be false for fear of being proven wrong. He liked it this way. He had not seen a human I nearly three decades, and even then they only tried to capture his image while fleeing, most likely unsuccessful. And the borders remained peaceful, untouched by human hands. Violent human hands... He shook his head, clearing those memories from his mind. He would ponder no more on humans, nor their wars and destructions, for they were dull creatures that only took joy in bloodlust.

          Breathing in the crisp cold air, his lungs filled with the smell of fallen leaves and sleepy oaks. The autumn had descended upon the deep wood not but a moon ago, but one could already feel the nips of frost in the air upon ones nose. It would be an early winter this year, though the court would never tell the difference, never leaving the boundary plagued by an everlasting spring. This was how the world should be… changing, growing, peaceful in a cycle of life and death that perpetuated itself unto eternity. An immortal life is boring otherwise, he thought to himself. Soon enough, along the edges of the wards, he came upon a rippling stream and sat down on a mossy boulder and gazed down at his reflection in the running water. This form made him tired and he longed to shed it, but at the same time he felt doing so would leave him too vulnerable. A large hand and sharp claws ran through the fur on his arms, untangling the knots where he had rubbed up against a bush earlier, and soon the brown strands were properly groomed.

          Birds that had yet to fly to warmer weather sat up in the trees, a broken song flitting through the air as they huddled together. Rustling along the forest floor stirred only as he saw several deer stroll by, bowing respectfully in his direction ever so slightly to acknowledge his presence before they moved on to safe territory. He had to admit the deer were his favorite residents, as they never caused his people trouble and only ask for small charms in protection from predators, even some gifting their horns to his folk as a token of friendship. The bears in the region kept to themselves as well, but were more passive and disliked interacting with the court when they could help it. They held the same contempt for humans; some bears venturing outside the borders to attack humans and scare them away from the wards, but it was generally frowned upon by other bears to go looking for trouble. The birds and other small wildlife were content to live in the ward borders, never straying too far from their homes, some even living closer to the interior of the court to avoid large predators.

          Aside from the bears though, the only other predator were the few puma that liked to roams in and out of the borders, picking off a few deer an them heading farther up North for several moon before returning. He didn’t care much for their attitudes towards the court, some threatening to break a ward and few attempting to do so once when their hunting grounds were being debated. It was a failed attempt, as nothing with such a low magical reserve could touch a ward, let alone break it, so they only received a slap on the paw and four moons of strict watch by the guards. And all was peaceful again, everything living in this rotating seclusion of the seasons, undisturbed.

          Another crisp breath of inhalation. It was getting late, the sun would surely set soon, and yet he didn’t want to return to the court just yet. It was oh so quiet out here… and yet… too quiet in a way. The birds were no longer humming and the normal traffic of the forest n the leaves had stood still. He stood upon the boulder and studied the branches, searching for any eyes that could see beyond his own, luckily catching sight of a starling hopping frantically from one branch to the next, almost hiding amongst the colored foliage.

          “Gracious winged one, why might you being in such a hurry this evening?” His deep voice bellowed upwards, catching the starling by surprise and nearly losing its footing. It quickly righted itself and then fluttered down, landing on an outstretched hand. Its sing-song voice chattered in a language of riddles, but not so difficult for one such as a Fae could not know.

          “Oh so sorry, my dear Frey prince, for Mitri be worry, no time to dispense. Raffalin return, scare oh course, come from North. Other run ann I can’t stay, human he caught, so we fly aways.” And with those words, the tiny starling took off once more, up into the trees and out of sight. If what it said were true though… Raffalin was a puma that tried to break the wards once before, and now to chase a human into the boundary, to attempt to kill a human in the boundary? Raffalin was pushing his luck. So he took off in a sprint, heading in the direction the little bird had whence came, praying he wasn’t too late. He hated humans, but he hated more having to clean up after law-breakers. And the mountain of paperwork and meetings that incident would incur. Please, don’t be too late.

…

          He tried running faster, his head whipping around in circles trying to find a clear path out of this forest, but all the boy could see were more trees in any which direction. How far had he gone into the woods? It had to be really far, he had been going for at least 15 minutes in a zig-zag pattern, hoping to lose the big cat he had after him. It was only suppose to be a hike with his cousin and her friends near town, but wandering off the path for a minute to look at a herd of deer nearby had somehow gotten him hopelessly lost. He didn’t know the area, so he just picked a direction he felt might lead to town… and somehow came across a mountain lion feasting on what he guessed was once a rabbit. He tried to back away slowly, he’d remembered once being told that large animals would usually leave you alone if you backed away in a no-threatening manner. It already had food, so it would just go back to eating when he left it alone, right?

          He wanted to slap the person that gave him that horrible information. The creature just started stalking forward, pumping its shoulders as if readying a pounce. The only thing that gave him anytime to run was a small rustling in a bush that distracted the cat, a split second that triggered the boy’s flight response and he bolted across the forest, ducking branches, leaping over fallen trees, flinging himself ever-forward from those thumping steps close behind. It had been a few minutes since he’d heard any movement behind him, and a small part of him prayed he’d been lucky enough to lose nature’s killing machine, but he still didn’t slow down until reaching a small opening in the forest of a few downed trees and several boulders. He nearly collapsed against the boulder close to the center of the clearing, his heart thumping in his chest as sweat poured from his brow.

          “Think, think… you have to think. Mica… idiot… fucking think.” His hands clenched at the stone, knuckles white, before he spun around and started searching the ground for large branches. Mountain lions could pick up scents, right? Even if he did lose it, it would most likely pick up his scent, right? Mica’s eyes roved over the fallen trees, searching for debris, a large branch he could use as a club to defend himself. But everything he tried to pick up was far too heavy, too brittle, too weak. A dread settled in his chest now. Would he die out here? He’d heard stories of backpackers and hikers being gutted by mountain lions and bears, the one guy whose only identifier was a severed leg they found. His hands shook in panic consuming his body. No… no… he couldn’t think like that… but… but he swear he could hear steps��� Crunching of leaves.

          He had to take his chances. Mica picked up a heavy branch, turned it in his hands a few times, but then heard louder crunching. He backed himself up against the center boulder, trying to get as much a view of the clearing as possible to keep from being surprised. His gaze examined the tree line, pulling the branch closer to his chest, scraping his hands with the rough bark but not caring enough to notice the pain. His arms shuttered, his breathing shaky, but the forest fell once more quiet. The sun had nearly vanished and all was silent. It was an unnatural quiet, as if the last second before the clock struck midnight was holding its breath in fear. Mica let out a stuttering breath.

          And in a split second a sheering pain ripped through his shoulder, tearing upwards, and Mica launched himself away from the boulder with a cry. He turned and fell, landing on his rear, hands spread behind him to keep from landing fully on his back, the impromptu club skittering away. Mica grasped at his shoulder, seeing the fabric shredded and two slices trailing up from his chest and across the right shoulder. Gazing up, Mica saw the mountain lion poised atop the boulder, it’s bloody paw pressed on the stone and it’s back working back and forth, righting itself for a pounce. Mica knew he couldn’t run anymore, his legs wobbled as if made from jelly, and the pain echoed to hard against his mind to think of a way out again. He stared into the creature’s deadly yellow eyes and then saw the flash of the bloody maw as it launched itself forward and he closed his eyes, accepting his fate… but a moment later, there was no impact, no ripping out his throat or feeling his body being torn to bits.

          Mica opened his eyes, if only a sliver, but the sight before him forced his eyes wide to take in the event. A giant creature, standing upright like a person but covered in shaggy brown fur, stood in front of Mica. It’s large and clawed fingers were curled around the mountain lions throat and lower torso, almost as if to crush the animal, but holding back. The brown creature had to be at least eight feet tall, even though Mica could swear it was taller from his spot on the ground. The creature growled at the mountain lion, a gnashing noise escaping its throat, and it dropped the animal. The mountain lion, if Mica could tell an emotion on a cats face, was filled with terror and darted out of the clearing.

          A whoosh of air escaped Mica’s mouth, like he had been holding his breath all this time and he was finally able to breathe again. The throbbing pain in his shoulder brought him back to reality and he whimpered, grasping at the wound and trying to put pressure on the bloody slashes, but unable to properly do so one-handed. He scooted back, leaning up against a downed tree trunk, and stared upwards once more. His focus landed squarely on the large creatures broad back, covered in a thick brown fur but not hiding the hard muscle underneath, and it’s long limbs corded and strong. Nope. Nope… this couldn’t be real. Mica was saved by big-foot. It had to be a dream… or maybe a hallucination? Blood loss can do that to you, right? Make you see weird stuff, right? This thing standing in front of him couldn’t be real. Mica had to just be suffering from blood loss and numbing cold fall air.

          But the creature’s head turned in his direction, and he saw those piercing violet almost human-like eyes, and Mica knew he wasn’t dreaming, and this was all real.

          Their eyes met and a strange electricity crossed between them.

          Mica stared, not in a frightened way, but filled with wonder at the sight before him.

          Frey felt his brow knit together, a sense of worry he didn’t know existed bubbling up.

          However, the moment was short-lived as Mica felt a shiver dash up his spine and a surge of pain down it, causing a pain filled groan to spill out and make his body curl inwards to a ball from the cold sinking in. His vision was splotchy, inky blackness lining his sight, tiredness pulling at his soul. It was coming down from the adrenaline, he knew, but at the same time he couldn’t believe the sudden exhaustion. But he wasn’t afraid, instead taking some solace in the thought of not dying out here all alone. The creature saved his life, it wasn’t threatening, but acted kindly.

          Frey, his form looming over the human boy, felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He bent down, his large furry hand inching close to the human’s face, pressing against the skin of his cheek and feeling the heat in his palm. He hated humans, but at the same time… this one didn’t even flinch. In fact, his had rested further into Frey’s touch, a small sigh and groan escaping the boy’s lips. Frey was quite fascinated, as human’s always showed such fear at this form, yet this one was comforted? He couldn’t piece out how.

          “So warm…” The words came out of the human and took Frey’s breath away as the human’s hand rose and pressed against his fuzzy cheek “You’re really… warm and… gentle. Not a monster… just… warm…” The human slumped over and Frey caught his body, cradling the human and now taking in the severity of the wound. It wasn’t too deep, but had already bled quite a bit with little sign of stopping – and he felt he had to do something. His hand hovered over the wound and he once more heard the word ‘gentle’ echo through his mind, a glow rising in his finger-tips and closing the wound. It would scar and still need to be treated further, but the human wouldn’t lose anymore blood like this. He turned the human in his arms, glancing down at his young features and carding his claws delicately through the sandy strands of hair out of the human’s face.

          How was a human suddenly extraordinary? Had it truly been so long since he’d taken in a human form? How fragile they felt? Maybe. Without having a second thought, Frey scooped the human up in his arms, careful not the jostle the wounded shoulder, and started walking towards the forest border.

          Mitri, the starling that had given him warning, came down from the trees and landed on his fuzz shoulder. It tweeted furiously, but Frey cared not to listen this time as it seemed to drone on about how dangerous the creature in his arms was, how it was an egg-eating devil. He could only laugh a little, offending the starling and causing it to fly off and gripe to its friends. Frey kept walking and walking, doing his best to keep the human warm in his arms under the freezing moonlit sky. Finally, in the distance, Frey could see lights from the town beneath the deep wood. He never came this close, had only stepped foot in the town nearly a hundred years ago, but the unconscious shiver from the package in his arms pressed him onwards.

          Frey snuck as close to the border of the town as he dared in this form, coming upon what appeared to be a small house on entrance road. A wooden decking extending out from the back and lights were on inside, puffs of smoke rising out of the chimney. This was close enough, right? The human could be safe here? As light-toed as possible, Frey snuck up on the flat porch and laid Mica on a cushioned rocking bench, softly laying his head on a pillow and brushing the stray hair from his face once more. An odd human, really. He heard a laughter from inside the house and, after placing Mica’s hands across his stomach, dashed down the porch steps and hid behind nearby brush. He plucked a couple pebbles from the gravel and took aim at the side of the house.

                                        *Plink*… *Plink*…*Plink*…

          The door to the porch opened and a black-haired human woman peeked her head out, only for Frey to hear a horrified gasp and the woman to yell into the house at the sight of the unconscious human boy. She came out and took the shawl off her shoulders, draping it over Mica as a make-shift blanket until a strong-looking man came out the door. He was waving and telling the woman to do something, then scooping Mica up and taking him into their house. Frey watched all of this from the tree edge, hi hands clenched at his sides in worry. He only felt the nerve to look away and start back to the court when he heard the shrill tone of sirens in the distance growing close. The human boy was back in the comfort of his own people… yet still… Frey could hear the word ‘gentle’ flow in his mind, and from the hillside he watched a white box with flashing lights take off from the house. He wanted to just go home to the court, to shed this skin and have a warm bath, and to forget this day… but he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. Never could.

          Ah, yes… this must be why Phoebes hated his border patrols.

          They were unpredictable messes –

          Both his duties and now his own heart.