#tree trimming & cutting spring hill

[wutbju]

So the October 1967 Greenville News insert had a large article about the landscaping on campus. Here’s the text. What strikes you about this write-up?

Looking out across the beautiful verdant campus of Bob Jones University, one can hardly imagine the time when this ground was nothing but a large plot of red clay hills and dunes. Tall, graceful shade trees, flowering and fruit » smaller trees, and colorful shrubbery flowers of all kinds now dot the grounds. Linking these and the symmetrical modern buildings in panoramic view are vast expanses of lush green lawns.

When one first sees the neat, clean appearance of the campus, he finds it hard to believe that more than 4,000 students and faculty members walk back and forth across it every day. The 15 or 20 students on the grounds crew believe it though, for they are the ones who daily work keep it that way.

Each is assigned a section of the campus,, and everything down to the last little piece of paper or trash is picked up and everything is swept clean. "Cleanliness is next to godliness" is a proverb they live by. And this is a familiar maxim to the students, too.

One student sweeper acquired a special reward for his diligence in cleaning gutters. He found a $100 bill one day which became his - after a reasonable length of time had passed with no claimers.

The grounds crew has been particularly thankful for a new refuse removal system that was installed on the campus recently. This system, called "Gar-bax." features special refuse holders placed in strategic spots around the campus. Containing disposable paper bags, they eliminate the necessity of transferring refuse; for the bags can just be lifted out of the holders, sealed and discarded.

Bob Jones University has been featured in the nationally distributed "Gerbaxnews"--the trade publication of the International Paper Co.--for its effective use of this system.

The lawns at BJU have been greener this summer thanks to a huge new grass cutter, Jacobsen F-10, purchased last March. Mowing in 15-foot swaths, it shears the grass clean and fine.

Dick Murr, manager of grounds at BJU, said that "a section that used to take 3½ hours to cut now only takes 35 minutes.

The grounds crew also has four rotary riding mowers, eight small power mowers for trim-out work, and a six-foot Toro professional mower.

FRUIT TREES

Trees and shrubbery that bloom and have fruits at various times of the year have been placed in various parts of the campus. Large pine trees, some with seven-foot bolls and 12 feet in diameter, have been moved to more advantageous places where their effect might be more picturesque.

Forsythia, hydrangea and various types of spire dress the campus in the spring. Also, peach, plum, apple, pear, fig, apricot, cherry, wisteria and pink and white dogwood vie with one another to make the campus beautiful and fragrant-a place that students leaving at the end of the school year will never forget. When the peaches and plums mature, they add succulent taste treats to the dining common menu. The apples, harvested in the fall, give the new home economic classes plenty of practical experience in making jelly.

This past March, 1,000 azalea plants that were donated to the university were set out in beds; and all of the plants bloomed. The Greenville Garden Club counts in its beautification of Greenville competition the number of new azaleas and dogwood trees that are added to the BJU campus each year. Mrs. Bob Jones Sr. and Mrs. Bob Jones Jr. are both members of the club.

ROSE GARDEN

The rose garden planted near the dining common last winter and spring provided fragrant beauty during the summer. Red crape myrtle and orange pyracanthra add the bright touch of color to the campus in the late summer, as well as the red apples of the flowering crab trees. The maroon-leaved barberry bushes lining the drive between the Administration Build. ing and highway provide a neat contrast to the green lawns.

In the fall and winter, pyracantha, Mandela and holly trees and bushes of many varieties have their limbs bough gracefully under the weight of their vivid fruit. Holly lines the walkways to the dining common and fills the three large flag basins in front of it.

Boxwood, abelia, wax leaf ligustrum, and various evergreens keep the campus verdant and attractive through all the seasons of the year. Oaks, pines and other shade trees keep it cool and restful appearing. Many of the trees and shrubs have been donated by residents of Greenville.

Of special interest at BJU are the Bible land trees set out in front of the Fine Arts Building. These include thorn, hackberry, salix, acacia, olive, spikenard, and rose of Sharon.

Flower beds are rotated to provide beautiful, colorful effects during the various seasons. In the early spring, pastel-colored crocuses, showy narcissus, and yellow and white daffodils appear, followed later by multi-colored tulips and pansies. These give place in the summer to geraniums, petunias, cockscombs, and cannas of all hues.

WORDS IN FLOWERS

Mums and Joseph's coat take predominance in the fall. Using Joseph's coat with its multi-colored leaves, it has been the custom in the fall to spell out in the beds in front of the alumni building such phrases as "God is Love" and "Jesus Saves."

In the garden area of the university are glads, dahlias, zinnias and asters. John Ludwig, superintendent of buildings and grounds, uses these to form lovely bouquets of flowers for the church services held at BJU, as well as for the Information Desk. He also provides the dining common with some of these flowers to dress up the tables.

A number of cymbidium orchid plants were recently donated to the school, and these are kept in the university's large greenhouse. These will begin producing 7,000 blooms, which will be sold in the school bookstore to young men for their special dates.

The geraniums and Joseph's coat are also kept in the greenhouse when not in use. Azalea plants and camellias are kept there until late March, when they are set out for Bible Conference time in the center divider near the entrance to the campus. If a rather bad frost is predicted at this time, these plants are all dug up and taken in for the night, to be set out again the next morning!

A lake shows forth its mirror-like surface behind the maintenance building. White rocks--rip-rip from the Campbell Limestone Co.--have been placed around the lake. An island in the lake was developed in June; and now crape myrtle, dogwood, Japanese maple and a little white walk of wash river rock grace it. Eventually, a bridge will reach out to the island from the mainland.

Weeping willow trees are going to be planted along one side of the lake near the dam, and also near the dining common.

Where rain drains come into the lake, waterfalls will be built out of white rock. And flower beds will be made in various spots around the lake.

On the far side of the lake are picnic grounds with fire-places, tables, and tall pines. These are used by student and faculty groups for outings.

Dads and boys find the fishing pretty good at the lake. Mr. Murr said that one of his assistants caught in one evening on an artificial worm four lovely 15-inch bass. Bamboo growths are around and near the lake, and these make one think of fishing poles.

The grounds crew feed the lawns twice a year. They also landscape new homes that are built for faculty and staff members, and they take care of the grounds around the homes. All told, they have the care of about 140 acres at BJU. Les Ollila, an ex-logger from Michigan who became a student, has given the trees on the campus some much-needed pruning during the past year. He had gained tree trimming and surgery experience with tree surgeons in his home state before coming to BJU.

That lake? That would become “Omega Lake” back campus. By the time this archivist was a student, it was a campus joke, not this idyllic vision.

[masterroofers]

Easy Roof Care for Brooklyn and Queens Homes: Keeping It Simple and Safe

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Trim Overhanging Branches: Branches that hang over your roof can scrape against it and drop leaves that build up. Keeping trees trimmed back can prevent damage and reduce debris.

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[treeservicesk95]

Enhancing the Beauty and Safety of Your Landscape with Expert Tree Services in Spring Hill, TN

Maintaining a lush and vibrant landscape requires careful attention to every element, and trees play a pivotal role in this picturesque setting. Nestled in the heart of Spring Hill, TN, our dedicated tree services offer a comprehensive range of solutions to keep your trees healthy, beautiful, and safe. From precision tree trimming to efficient tree removal, our skilled team is committed to enhancing the aesthetics and safety of your property.

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When it comes to achieving a well-groomed and visually appealing landscape, tree trimming is an art that requires both expertise and creativity. Our tree trimming services in Spring Hill, TN are designed to accentuate the natural beauty of your trees while promoting their overall health. Through careful evaluation and meticulous techniques, our arborists ensure that each cut is made with precision, allowing your trees to thrive and flourish.

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Trees are not only an aesthetic asset but also a significant investment in your property's value. Our Spring Hill tree service is dedicated to safeguarding this investment by providing comprehensive tree health assessments and treatments. From diagnosing diseases to recommending appropriate fertilization plans, we focus on prolonging the life of your trees and preserving their vitality.

3. Safeguarding Your Property: Professional Tree Removal in Spring Hill, TN

While trees contribute to the beauty of your landscape, there are instances when tree removal becomes necessary due to safety concerns or declining health. Our expert tree removal services in Spring Hill, TN ensure the safe and efficient removal of trees that pose risks to your property or loved ones. With state-of-the-art equipment and a deep understanding of proper removal techniques, we minimize disruption to your surroundings while prioritizing safety.

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[greenmansgrove]

Ahead of the snowstorm that hits tomorrow (the solstice), I decided to make my biweekly pilgrimage to my favorite park today. I first visited it in October, too late to find any acorns, but awed by the colors of the autumn leaves.

Aside from the playground, the gathering pavilion, and a small softball field, it’s just a bunch of hills between oaks of all kinds. There are occasional tables and benches for sitting and meditation.

In October/November, when I was dealing with some intense insomnia, I would take early morning treks out to local parks and walking trails. I also decided around this time that I wanted to start my quest for my druid staff. I had been reading the RDNA’s A Reformed Druid Anthology and found some musings by Albion (p. 468) and the late Emmon Bodfish (p. 469) on finding one’s staff. As someone who regularly doubts if my spiritual connection to nature is “strong enough,” I felt that this might be a good first trial in proving my worthiness to myself. I thought the restful, meditative act of meandering trails while already in a calm, sleepless state might help keep me open to whatever would come my way. All the while, I whispered to myself, at the suggestion of Bodfish, “Who wishes to come? Who will help me?”

I performed this little ritual as I wandered a couple different parks one morning, and while I would find potential sticks, they often wound up being cottonwood, which doesn’t make the sturdiest staves and often rots quickly.

I returned home fruitless until I decided to take one more walk during an afternoon where sleep still would not come. I trekked to my favorite park (pictured above) and saw from the road a downed branch behind one of the park’s chain linked fences. I found my way over and was pleased that with some trimming, the branch would make a fabulous staff.

I broke off and left behind the tinier branches and some of the end so it would fit in my car, and then proceed to do my best to identify the tree from which it had fallen. I wandered among the trees in that spot, looking for places where perhaps this larger branch had fallen, and I settled on what I’m sure is a younger bur oak. Its leaves had all fallen by the time I found the branch, but based on the bark, I’m fairly certain of the tree’s type. I know I can’t be certain that this tree is the one from which the branch fell, since it’s a public park around which children drag branches all the time, but I still wanted to try my best to thank the tree that had given it.

I asked the tree if I could take this branch with me and vowed to visit it regularly. Albion talks about how a staff gives the tree the ability to move and travel as it never otherwise will. I am taking this to heart. Bodfish also says that it shouldn’t be oak, but he provides no reasoning, and I’m not one to look a gift from nature in the mouth. Oak does have a tendency to check, though, so I’m keeping an eye on my staff while it cures.

I’ve since cut the branch more down to size. I returned the shaved bark to a flower bed near my apartment. And I’m saving the portions I’ve sawed off as future ritual offerings that I’d like to leave around different parks within and beyond city limits. In the spring, I plan to finish and seal the staff so I can take it on hikes and to rituals with my local RDNA grove.

In the meantime, I try to visit this tree every couple weeks. I bring small offerings, namely peanuts to leave for the squirrels. I hug the tree, talk to it, visit its friends and siblings in the rest of the park. On today’s particular occasion, I left a votive offering of dried mistletoe leaves that I tucked into various crannies in the bark.

I hope that the the long sleep is gentle on my tree friend. I hope that the life it sustains continues to find rest and safely shelter among its branches. I hope that it awakens in the spring to continue growing healthily.

[trptservice-blog]

http://www.therealpinktreeservice.com/tree-service-near/

[supercantaloupe]

@dimension20alphabet​ prompt fill #6: Flowers

title: A Little Fall of Rain - campaign: Fantasy High: Sophomore Year - 1882 words - set post-fysy

Aelwyn learns a new way to grow.

The window of the wizards’ tower overlooks the backyard of Mordred Manor. 

There’s a small graveyard plot, its grass overgrown. There are a few trees, as old and strange and history-filled as the rest of the house. There’s a hill that gently slopes down to the edge of the woods, a short walk into which you’ll reach a creek. But you can’t see that from the window; just the hill and the trees and the messy grass.

Aelwyn spends a lot of her time looking at that yard, when she’s home-where-it-does-not-feel-like-home. Plain and drab and sad. Her sister and her friends go to school and the adults go to work, but Aelwyn spends most days home alone. She can hardly stand to look at that empty yard for another second.

So, she decides she won’t.

She goes to the library one day, and spends hours browsing the shelves and reading, taking notes. She comes home in the evening when the library closes with a stack full of books, and stays up late reading them in bed while her sister trances in the bunk below. The next day she scours the garage and basement and storage of the manor for tools, anything she can scrounge together. She gathers them out back in preparation, leaning them against the wall outside. The next day, she goes out again, borrowing cash from Jawbone to get the items she’s missing. She thinks about stopping by the mall, too, for the right outfit, but Sandra Lynn catches on and gives her an old pair of boots and overalls for free.

The next day, she gets up early, and gets to work. 

The first few days are nothing but digging, ripping up grass and sprinkling fertilizer and turning the soil until there are new, neatly defined beds outlining the house and the yard, blank canvases.

She loses two days to a spring thunderstorm, one raining her out all day and one sunny but swamped with mud, setting her progress back at least a few more days. She feels like tearing her hair out, and throws a trowel across the yard in frustration. 

She comes back the next day, pulls the trowel out of the ground from where it’d stuck, and gets back to work. She spends hours one day lining the beds with rocks to keep them neat and pretty, and checking the levels of soil temperature, nutrient balance, everything. She makes a chart in her notebook, portioning out where everything will go. 

The next day she spends ten straight hours planting. Her only break, around noon, is when Jawbone comes out and brings her a sandwich and a lemonade and practically begs her to take a rest. She obliges, if only to quiet the distracting growl of her stomach. He has to come back out and drag her in when the sun goes down for dinner, despite her protests. When she washes up to eat, it takes her two minutes of scrubbing to remove the dirt stubbornly caked into her fingernails. 

If there’s anything good to come out of being an unemployed, out-of-school teenager slowly and painfully rebuilding herself from trauma, it’s that Aelwyn has a lot of free time. Free time she spends every day out under the sun in her new garden, planting seeds and sprouts and monitoring their progress, new greens popping up row by row. She covers the beds with mulch and straw to protect their roots, just like the books say to do. She waters them every morning, and curses when the rain comes and renders her work redundant. Her delicate elven skin starts to burn in the sunlight, even after she takes to wearing a wide-brimmed hat, but after so long it just starts to tan instead. Now when she washes in the evening she sees someone her parents would have hated – face sweaty and flushed, hands caked in dirt and callouses from work – and it feels good, in a strange way. There is a satisfaction in going to bed each night, climbing up onto the top bunk and collapsing in the pillows with the deep-set, satisfied exhaustion of hard work in her bones. 

Her garden starts out well enough, neatly arranged and manicured and ready to go. Then days pass, and weeks, and there is not much more to show. Nor is there enough new work to sustain her breakneck pace. Aelwyn stares out the window of the wizards’ tower and grows restless and frustrated again. She’s doing everything right. She’s double checked every book in the library about it. Why aren’t they growing? Why isn’t it perfect?

The manor’s inhabitants have long since figured out Aelwyn’s project, and her dedication to it, and they respect it. They don’t bother her when she’s working and they don’t offer to help, an interference. But visitors don’t always get that so intrinsically, and the Bad Kids have a lot of friends. There are the girls who live here, and then their male partymates, and occasionally other guests. The half-orc brings a satyr girlfriend along often, most times he visits.

“I like your garden,” she says. Aelwyn is sitting on the back porch, staring broodily over her stunted plants. She glances over her shoulder at the satyr unkindly, she who has broken the unspoken rule against disturbing her in her yard.

Aelwyn grunts and turns back, scowling. “I don’t.”

“O-oh,” Zelda says nervously. “I’m sorry, that was stupid. It’s, um, it’s just…fine?” she stammers to correct herself.

Aelwyn huffs. “They won’t grow properly. I’ve done everything right.” She gestures in frustration at the neat rows of plants, manicured but underwhelming. 

“Some people, uh, some people just don’t have a green thumb,” Zelda says. “I mean, like, satyrs are supposed to be, like, really in touch with nature and stuff, right? But I can’t even keep a fern alive in my room, it’s like, crazy,” she continues. Aelwyn grunts again. “Have you tried talking to a druid?” Zelda continues. “They’re supposed to, like, know a lot about plants, right?”

“I don’t know any druids,” Aelwyn says bluntly. She’s talked to Sandra Lynn; a ranger is as close as she can get, but Sandra Lynn doesn’t know any more about gardening than Aelwyn does.

“I could ask Danielle for you?” Zelda offers. Aelwyn turns again and looks at her, confused. “Danielle Barkstock. She’s, uh, my party’s druid.”

“Danielle Barkstock,” Aelwyn repeats, placing the name. “She was one of those girls in the crystals.”

“Um,” Zelda says. “Yeah. Um. We all were. Uh…we formed an adventuring party together after…that.”

Aelwyn laughs once, no humor to it. “I’m sure she would love to help me out with my pathetic little shithole here.”

“I could ask her for you,” Zelda repeats, sounding intensely nervous again. “I don’t have to tell her it’s for you.” Aelwyn looks her over again. “Sorry, it’s a crazy, stupid idea, I’m just…ignore me, haha, it’s stupid–”

“Would you?” Aelwyn cuts her off, sounding uncharacteristically soft. Zelda blinks, then nods.

A few days later, all the Bad Kids and all the Maidens are over at the manor for a party. Aelwyn pointedly stays out of the way, spending the afternoon in her garden. She hears the back porch door slide open and looks back to see who’s there. Zelda, and a half-elven girl with flowers braided into her hair. Actually, there’s a third with them: a small silver fox. 

“You must be Aelwyn,” the half-elf says.

“You must be Danielle,” Aelwyn returns coolly. Danielle descends the porch steps and wanders through the garden, observing Aelwyn’s work silently. Aelwyn waits, kneeling in the dirt, for any kind of feedback. “You’re a druid, then?” Aelwyn says, breaking the awkward silence. Danielle nods. Her fox wanders between the plants, sniffing them as it goes. “You know what’s wrong here, then? Why they won’t grow?”

“I know more about animals than plants,” Danielle responds neutrally. Aelwyn shuts up and looks down. “But I think I have an idea here,” she continues, finally looking at Aelwyn. She turns around and meets her gaze, hopeful if restrained. “It’s too perfect. You have to step back and let them grow on their own for a bit.”

Aelwyn’s brow furrows, confused. “I’m doing everything the gardening books say to do.”

“Then stop reading books,” Danielle says simply. “Plants are living things. They’ll tell you what they need if you let them grow and listen.” With that, she walks back to the house, her familiar following at her heel. 

Aelwyn blinks, dumbfounded and confused, and offers a feeble “thanks” as she goes. Danielle holds up a hand but doesn’t look back.

It feels strange, and foreign, and wrong to sit back, but Aelwyn forces herself to heed the druid’s advice. She returns the gardening manuals to the library. She spends time in her garden still, but without tools in her hands. She lays in the grass and looks at the sky. She drinks tea and reads under the shade of the tree. She keeps the grass in the graveyard plot trimmed.

It does take a few days for her to notice, but her plants do start to grow again. They creep beyond the boundaries she’d so carefully delineated for them, and she fights the urge to trim them back. She watches and listens to them closely, not with the eye or ear of a drill sergeant but of a parent, a real one, a loving one, one like Sandra Lynn who offered her overalls and one like Jawbone who brings her lunch and lemonade and asks her to rest. She finds what the plants ask for, and she gives it to them; plucks insect pests from their stems, prunes diseased leaves, ties them to stakes so they can grow tall, waters them when they’re wilting. 

By summer, it is no longer just green. Aelwyn wakes up one morning and looks out the window in the wizards’ tower, and for the first time, she sees pink. The next day, yellows. Soon, there is a rainbow of flowers blooming all over the yard, of a variety and vitality Aelwyn has never seen before. Her old home had a garden, sure, but it was too manicured, too neat, too formal, too artificial, and never was she allowed to tamper with it; that’s what hired landscapers were for. Mordred Manor has no hired hands; Aelwyn has her own.

Jawbone and Sandra Lynn meet her in her garden one day. It’s sunny and hot out, and Aelwyn is watching the bees and butterflies flit from plant to plant, drinking their fill of sweet nectar. They say how beautiful it is, and Aelwyn agrees. They tell her how proud they are of her work, and she agrees. They say they’re proud of how much she’s grown. (At first she thinks they mean the plants, but she realizes after what they really mean.) And they thank her for livening up the manor, and bringing some color out to the yard.

When they go inside, Aelwyn gets up, and grabs her shears. She finds the best blossoms from the best plants and carefully snips them off, tying their stems together in a bouquet with ribbon. And she sends them to Danielle, with an apology and a thank you.

[stars-a-n-d-scars]

10 Days of Summer - Chapter 1

Hi so no one was really seeing this over on ao3 and I worked really hard on it, so I decided to give it a shot over here. The next 9 chapters will be coming soon, so follow me or the tag to see them!

- Mia x

*

It was the hottest summer Buckinghamshire had ever seen. The rolling fields were dusted with the final remnants of spring, as the less-resilient plants wilted and those suited to the sweltering conditions flourished. The sun sat high in the sky for so long that one began to wonder if the night would ever come. Of course, it always did, but was rarely accompanied by any sort of liberation from the fervor.

The only relief to be gleaned from the unnerving sensation of being cooked in your own skin could be found in the cool waters of a large, clear lake that sat beside a homely manor, nestled in the hills of the county. Hidden beneath the outstretched branches of various trees, the lake had been subject to many a morning swim or late-night gathering over the years. It was here, in fact, that the four marauders could be found, on the hottest day of August, 1975.

With Euphemia and Fleamont gone to France for the summer, the boys had taken the opportunity to spend their last 2 weeks at the Potter estate. Of course, James’ parents had been reluctant to let the boys stay there without a set of rules, and so they created a long list of guidelines, all of which the marauders had plans to break before their return to Hogwarts on the 1st of September. It had already been four blissful days of this, and they still had 10 to go when we join the group.

Sprawled in their various positions around the lake, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew were all basking the shade of the trees, simply taking in this pocket of bliss they had found in a world that was becoming increasingly more war-like with each passing second. The sun was shining overhead and they were with each other. And in that moment, that was all they needed.

The silence was broken with a loud splash, followed by an indignant “OI!” Remus clambered out of the water and up the bank, his eyes fixed on is assailant, vengeance in his expression.

“You fucking moron! I was reading! You could have thrown any one of them into the lake! Merlin knows a good dip would’ve done Peter some good, but no! You had to choose me!” His outburst was cut short when he got close enough to take in Sirius’ expression. His face, far from showing any signs of regret, instead bore his signature Sirius Black smirk. One corner of his mouth was upturned, his nose scrunched in a way that suggested both innocence and the opposite. It was an expression that, on anyone else, would have looked out-of-place and frankly stupid, but that befitted Sirius’ features perfectly. Remus had often marveled at how it drew out his devilishly handsome side.

Having lost his train of thought completely, his wand limp in his hand, Remus decided the best thing to do was to go and find a nice warm patch of sun in which to dry off. Sirius, however, had other plans. Remus had barely taken two steps toward his towel before he was grabbed around the waist and thrown, for the second time that day, headfirst into the water.

Sinking was an enjoyable feeling. Down there, in the water, nothing could hurt you. It was all up to you. Sound became nothing but a detached concept, and time joined it in its alienation. You could sink forever, simply being engulfed by the soft waves of the water, and emerge not a second later. Remus did just that. As his head broke the surface, spluttering, he lashed out wildly and managed to grab hold of an ankle. Pulling hard, the owner of said ankle tumbled into the lake next to him, and Remus soon found himself floating, face to face, with Sirius, once again bearing that ridiculous grin.

As both of the boys tried to catch their breath, time stopped. And it was just them. Remus and Sirius, Sirius and Remus. Floating in that never-ending pool of possibilities. Breaths became heavy as an invisible force seemed to draw them closer, closer.

Their noses were nearly touching now Remus could see every detail of Sirius’ eyes from here. He could almost pinpoint the exact place where blue leaked into grey, which leaked into black. It was strange, really, how anyone’s eyes could be so captivating. Almost a point of curiosity. Eyes had a purpose. They captured light, which was then translated into information, which was then processed by the brain to take in the person’s surroundings. So why did all logic defy Sirius’ eyes to be so beautiful? They had no reason to be. It wasn’t to make it easier to see. It wasn’t to draw in a mate (because merlin, he needed no help with that), so why? Their breath mingled in the moist summer air, their lips inches apart. It was taking every ounce of restraint that Remus had in his not to close the gap and snog his best mate senseless, but then again, that was the norm when you were secretly in love with your best friend.

The tensions was shattered by the snap of a book closing.

“Alright, boys, I’m bored”, James announced, stowing Quidditch Through the Ages in the small bag he had brought down from the house. The boys sprung apart, all nervous coughing and straightening of hair. Remus hurriedly turned his back on his – what, crush? It was more than that. But he knew one thing for certain; now was not the time to figure it out. This was what he told himself as he climbed up the bank and rolled out onto the grass.

In an attempt to restore himself to his former state of nonchalance, Remus rolled his eyes sarcastically (quite successfully, given the situation he was actually thinking about).

“You’re reading that book again? You’ve barely taken your hands off of it all summer!”, he said, pulling Sirius up the bank after him (and definitely not thinking about the sensation of his friend’s warm, wet hand in his).

Sirius grinned. “Aw, lay off him Rem. This is the first year Lily had gotten him a birthday present. Honestly, I would be concerned if he read it any less than a thousand times.”

This comment was met with a playful shove from James, but the lovesick boy couldn’t hide his grin at the recollection of Lily’s favor. James shook the memory from his mind (with difficulty, it seemed).

“I’m bored. Let’s go to town, grab a milkshake or something.”

Sirius, always keen for an outing to the muggle town that was located less than a kilometer from the Potters’ house, agreed almost immediately. Peter followed suit at the mention of food, and began rummaging in his pocket for the stash of muggle money his parents had granted him for the holiday. Remus was somewhat more reluctant.

“I don’t know guys. It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t really want to go walking around a strange village in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not a strange village, Rem! Jamie grew up here!” (The use of the less-than-favorable nickname earned Sirius yet another shove). “Plus… there’s an antiques store. And last time I was there the owner said they’d be getting a new stock of books in this summer.”

“You know me too well”, Remus caved, and packed up his stuff. They went and dropped off their things at the main house, got changed into some town-going clothes and headed for the road that led down into the charming muggle settlement of Padbury.

**

It really was a lovely little town. Old cottages with thatched roofs skirted the border, with carefully-trimmed gardens of heather and honeysuckle. A beautiful old church sat in the town center, with a clock tower and a bell that frankly, shouldn’t still be operational, given it’s age. But, as many things in the town of Padbury, it seemed to be denied the effects of the passage of time, and instead chimed beautiful notes out over the countryside every hour.

The main road took the boys right into the middle of the town, where a collection of stores seemed to be waiting for them. The town square had everything, ranging from mechanics to diners, from supermarkets to florists. And, nestled in between a non-descript restaurant and a lavender-adorned wall, was a beautiful little antique store. Remus made a beeline for it, but was stopped in his tracks by James’ hand on his wrist.

“Come on Remus. Let’s go check out that comic-book store first! I love muggle comics, they’re so corny…”

Remus sighed, knowing that very few people could ever change his friend’s mind, and began to follow him across the street. But fortunately, Sirius was one of the people capable of performing that miraculous feat, and, in that moment, happened to be on Remus’ side.

“C’mon James. Remy doesn’t want to spend hours with you oggling at randos in spandex and getting inspiration for your next move at Evans. You take Pete over to the comic-book store, and Remus and I will go to the antiques shop.” Sirius shot a smile Remus’ way, which managed to both make his heart beat a million miles a second and stop it altogether.

James scoffed. “What do you want with an antique shop?”

“I have to get something for Reggie’s birthday, and he loves old dusty books and things. Plus, I have no desire to spend any amount of time dicussing whether or not Lily would think it was funny if you dressed up as Superman for halloween.”

Without giving James a chance to retort, Sirius dragged Remus back across the street and into the antique store before he even had a chance to register what was going on.

The second they entered the store, the rest of the world fell away. Somehow, the noise of the bustling street outside was silenced, and the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of an ancient grandfather clock that stood in the corner. Remus revolved on the spot, taking in every inch of the sequestered nook that they had just stumbled upon. Ornate carvings of all sorts sat in the windows, varying from animals to sprawling, intricate landscapes. Tapestries and paintings hung on the walls, each a moment of time, perfectly captured and eternalised on canvas. Furniture, bits and pieces and other oddments that had washed up in this place over the years were scattered haphazardly around the room, making for a display of authenticity that, although was now mostly gone from the world, seemed to have survived in this tiny corner of the English countryside. And the books. Oh, the books. They lined ever wall, and were stacked 10 high on shelves. Strewn and slid into every nook and cranny where they would fit. Not in any way categorized, but instead exactly where they were always meant to be. Delicate printings of Jules Verne, Ernest Hemmingway and even Shakespeare were mixed in with books as common as The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Remus closed his eyes and breathed. He breathed in the smell of dust and time. He breathed in the taste of the years these books had seen, the years he might catch a glimpse of between their pages. Be breathed because here, he could.

A soft hand rested on his shoulder and an even softer voice pulled him, somewhat reluctantly, from his reverie.

“Rem?”

Remus opened his eyes. It was Sirius. God, it was always Sirius.

“I’m going to look over here for something for Reggie”, he gestured to the carvings in the windows. “You take your time, okay? We have all day. Hell, we have all summer.”

Remus could do no more than nod as the comfortable weight on his shoulder lifted and he found himself alone again.

**

An hour and a half later, the boys exited the store with more books than anyone could possibly read, and two small, hollow carved flowers that Sirius had plans to enchant so that he could send his brother messages by placing a note inside his, and having it be transported to Regulus’.

They met up with James and Peter in the diner, and ordered four caramel milkshakes. When they came, Sirius whipped out his flask and added a little ‘extra flavour’, as he liked to call it. When the boys had finished their concoctions, they started to head home. However, it was quickly discovered that with the combined weight of Remus’ books, Sirius’ wooden flowers and James’ numerous gifts that he had gotten for Lily (“Maybe we should have gone with him, you know, for impulse control…”), it was going to be all but impossible to walk back to the manor. And so was hatched what was simultaneously the best and worst idea any of the marauders ever had. To rent a motorbike.

All they had to do was walk down to the mechanic down the street and rent one of the bikes they had going. They would only need it for a day, and would bring it back tomorrow. And so, the combined riches of James and Sirius making cost something of a trivial topic, the plan was enacted. The books were placed in a basket on the front, which was lowered so that Sirius could see. James’ takings from the trip were strapped (with slightly excessive security methods) to the back, and the flowers were placed in the side bags. After a few failed attempts at getting the bike started and close calls for the wooden ornaments, Sirius managed to be riding along next to the other boys at a steady pace. It took them no more than 20 minutes to get back home, at which point it occurred to them all that they were wizards, and could have easily bewitched all of the objects to float along beside them as they walked.

The boys ended the night collapsed around the living room fire. James charmed it so that it kept them cool, rather than warm, and Sirius entertained himself by making multi-coloured rainbows blossom from his wand. In the firelight, he looked over at Remus and smiled. Not a smirk, not a grin, a smile. And that smile what all it took for Remus to realise that he was totally and completely done-for. He was in love.

As Sirius went back to blowing bubbles, Remus began to drift off to sleep. The last coherent thought that entered his mind that night was this:

Merlin, it’s going to be a long 10 days.

*

I hope you liked it!!!

[radiomayak]

Kolya

Happy 5 Year Anniversary!

Ivan looked up from his boots and looked out into a clearing produced from a landslide. His weight sat on his heels so his toes could perch on the crumbling edge, and in front of his eyes swept a grand pelvic curve of the forest upward into a small mountain, one green mound of many. It was a beautiful shape. The hill drew the eye as much as the bend, the space that begged for the sky to fill it, and the sky delivered. The summer stripped away any chances of mist with lavish sunshine, bearing the contrast between the sky and the trees with the frankness of nudity. The blue and it’s sweeping, gauzy trim of clouds was cut by ridges further north.

The trip was longer than he’d remembered, but it may have been the day dragging. A bus, another bus, a train, and a round of hitchhiking over the course of a few days brought him to the right place, or one that was right enough. After that, he’d been on foot… it was only day four of that. He’d missed bathing in the springs. It wasn’t hot enough for ruin his clothes, and it was amazing what the proper polyester-spandex could do to make travel easier than it was a century ago. The walk was lovely.

It was comforting to feel that his legs could still carry him up and down all day. His hands hadn’t forgotten the simple knots that made a tent between two trees possible. His body could still rest that close to the ground, and he could still find something to eat out in the rough. He hadn’t forgotten how to live off of… himself. It seemed as simple as picking a scab for sustenance.

The bugs and the critters on every surface, hidden under logs and brush, went about their days as usual. The shuffling and the flapping of wings in the night was comforting. As sure as the lines of his skin, every tiny shape that bender with a twitch of muscle, there was a worm working it’s way through the soil.

One morning, he looked into a clearing made from lumber harvesting, with the small saplings sprouting to replace only being armpit-high at the most, with their spindly branches and fresh greenery splaying them out like tiny decorative sculptures among the forest floor made of sticks and the fungus trying to made it soil. Stumps were still solid, but grayed from the weather and the sun. There was a single brown and black wolf standing in the daylight…

Ivan drew his gun when he saw the look of extreme interest on its face, with raised ears and piercing eyes, watching him pose, and the dog began to approach. His hands shook as he saw it run, but without the deepness of form of a wolf charging forward. The power was gone, and the dog ran forward like it recognized Ivan, trotting and waggin its tail, tongue flying as it bounded over the fallen logs that were left behind. Ivan lowered the gun, but it couldn’t be the same dog he’d known so long ago. There was no way it could have survived over a century without him. It didn’t work that way. That’s why Ludwig always brought his dogs around with him, right?

But as it lept and slowed down to a trot to greet him, his knees made him kneel, and the way the dog approached him despite the gun in his hand, and brushed his face across his chest… Ivan nearly felt forced to accept the best case scenario. It was almost humiliating to believe a fantasy that he’d held so dearly. He could never have another dog again after seeing that carcass… he’d forced himself to believe it was him even though the fur looked different. He’d wanted so dearly for a friend in every dog he met, wanting to capture a little bit of the understanding he’d felt in Kolya’s gold-flecked eyes that were now staring back at him through the blur of his tears. His nose ran on Kolya’s thick, dusty fur, every bit as soft as when they slept together like pups in a hunting cabin in the winter. And Kolya, ever-content, didn’t understand the cause for tears and began to fuss and lick and nip and Ivan’s hands and the bottom of his chin.

It was noon by the time Ivan had reckoned enough with the presence of Kolya to leave, and carried Kolya until they had found a trail. He’d used a spare rope as a leash although he never used to tie Kolya, but Kolya had left one night, long before the world knew global war, when the serfs that had been released were still forming a new social strata as free(r) people. Ivan had found something precious he thought was lost forever and wanted to keep Kolya safe until he could meet the world that had grown in the meantime.

[stormofsharpthings]

Spring Haunt

A poem I wrote on a rainy spring day (during too many online meetings) about the gorgeous park across the street that is also slightly haunted :)

Most days I love living in a tall building. The view across the park that is across the street — trees and hills and creek, joggers, birds, and deer, some mornings, and bicycles weaving through. I have walked there many times in many seasons. But I love looking out my window, a minor deity with a not-quite penthouse view.

The trees wear autumn so beautifully, hunter’s orange and bright red splashed across the hills, moss like green shadows on the brown bones of trees. Each fall, the tiny herd of deer, grown through spring and summer, is trimmed, pruned out of view, cut to fit the park through winter. Fewer delicate hooves picking through the leaves. Fewer scattered shapes half-hidden against the hills.

Summer is a thousand shades of green, dappled cover for the crows that hunt the creek. The hawks hunt there too, carving huge spirals in the sky. Sometimes they brush by the balcony in breathless swoops. But that draws the starlings out in an angry tumble of bad-tempered and territorial little bastards. Summer is loud, wide windows wide-open, shouting children and barking dogs bouncing off the hills, clear as if they were rioting just outside my high window. Summer heat I endure, Waiting for the fall.

Winter is a favorite of mine, draping clean white over brown ground, dark branches stark against the snow. An elegant view from my eyrie room, and I feel privileged to sit and sip — a little cocoa, or coffee, or coffee with a nip of something stronger. I like the storms, the security of watching through wide windows, wrapped in warmth, wool-lined slippers snug on my feet. Every year I wish for a fireplace with all my heart and sigh and light more candles.

But spring — is haunted, until the buds break open among the push of new leaves. Bare trees stand naked in the rain, bare branches sharp, cutting the brown muddy ground into soggy slices. The paths are wet, walkers squish along, distaste visible in their hesitant pace, though the mountain bikes sluice straight through. But, in spring, there are things in the woods. You do not see them while walking or, at least, I have not. But looking out my window, I see sometimes a pale ripple, a long-ish flutter, grey or yellow — a pallid hint among the dark trunks. If I look away and back it may remain, but often slips from sight, and never stays for long, anyway. The first few times, I assumed a wind-blown bag caught on a branch. You’ve seen them, writhing like a trapped thing and finally snatched free to fly again. Or a shirt, perhaps a scarf, abandoned or left. Some human thing, at any rate. But this, this strangeness, these haunts — they drift, they slip from tree to tree, pale flutters that sometimes still and sometimes shift or fade here and, after a heartbeat or three, show there or elsewhere or never again. One evening, I saw a wisp float close to the path, and realized a walker approached, a slow convergence I felt drawn to watch. I believed, or hoped, it must be a reflection of sorts, though the walker displayed no glow and their movements failed to match. As they came close, the pallid thing made a sudden dart and went out like a snuffed flame. The walker showed no effect, kept striding, strong and steady through the dusk.

I think the earth, its life coiled deep from winter, pushes up before the flowers and trees are truly ready. It manifests in wavering, flickering, haunts that wander harmless (or so I hope) until the trees catch up. It seems so anyway — when the forest draws that life through roots and trunks to all their branches, surging forth in buds and blossoms, and when fresh new leaves dance in the breeze the haunts may rest, drowsing, at ease.

[tejasfarm]

Building a Terraced Garden

We had this slope that was something like 20 feet from the bottom of the hill to the top.  The previous owners had laid some railroad ties for steps that had started to rot and now housed wasps.

So, you know how when you need to do one project, you turn it into another, bigger, more exhausting (and expensive) project?  We needed to replace the steps but also this space was quite unuseable and after some online searches, we figured a terraced garden would check all the boxes.

The spot is right out the back door, perfect for a kitchen garden, grab things before dinner or a quick snack as you walk to the chicken coop. It also has access to the water hose spigot, since rain seems to come and go as it pleases. There is direct sun, but it also has some shade from various trees.

CLEAR THE LAND

First steps were…the steps.  To the burn pile with them and their little stinging friends. Our ground is quite rocky, full of slate and clay and other nonarable ground.  We’d have to bring in dirt to build a garden anyway, so this is like a raised bed garden, just on a hillside.

Next was clearing all the old brush that had been left to grow wild over the years.  There was a dead juniper bush, lots of yucca (yuck, I hate them), and random roots to nowhere.  I was really hoping for treasure as I cut and dug and scraped and sawed, but no hidden family jewels.

Plan the space

We figured we could do 2 gardens with a stairway in the middle.  Each garden would be about 8 ft wide and 20 ft long.  The stairs would be 4 ft wide.  This was sketched out to give us an estimate of how much wood we’d have to pick up.

The property has some landscaping with 6x6’s, which are nice, but difficult for one person to handle and more expensive, so 4x4’s are the next best option.   Each of the 2 gardens would be in sections of 8 ft by 3 ft and there would be 6 of them.  Stacking 3 boards meant 7 stacks of 3 on each side, so 21 + 21 = 42.  The steps would stack 2 high, so we’d use about 8 boards, cutting them in half for 4 ft wide steps.  So, now we’re up to 42+8 = 50.

Get some helpers

Dogs, chickens, snakes, all kinds of critters came to help. After clearing the space, which was randomly done over a few months, the weather was starting to warm up so we could get started. We did this project over a couple weekends, some were nice and sunny.

We wanted to stack the boards three-high, screwing them together and also drilling a hole so they could be set in place on the ground with rebar.  What worked best was to screw 2 pieces of lumber together, drill a hole.  Then screw on the third piece of lumber, then drill the hole through the 3rd piece.  This made for a heavy load, but it kept them all nicely in place. 

On the Level

Then after making sure it was level, we used the mallet to secure them in the ground with the rebar. All exhausting work, but a great reward in the end.

After setting all the sections in place, we attached the 2x10’s to the ends with 3” deck screws. These were measured and trimmed with the miter saw. While these were set in place, we realized the slope of the hill was a bit off from our measurements and we added another 4x4 to the top row, so there are 4 layers on the back.

Once the first half was done, we moved on to the second half (while also debating if just one side was plenty!).

Dish the Dirt

Clearing all the space and adding the raised beds also meant more dirt was required.  We got a couple truck loads from local nurseries and dumped those as we had time.  When the beds were up to level, some seedlings started getting set in place, just to start planning out the space. This back section had some snap peas, so they got some folding (and removable) trellises to help them grow nicely.

Finalize the Garden

Eventually, we realized the steps were too far apart so we added another step in between, so we had to buy a bit more wood and now there are about 14 steps.

A beautiful space

What was a mostly annoying space has turned into a fantastic and very efficient spot for herbs and veg!  We add some 2x4s for the tomatoes and the tomatillos once summer hits.  I’ve used jute, which broke, then last year I used random bits of hay string which held up beautifully, although it looked less than beautiful.  I attached the stalks with plastic clips to the hay string, but I’m still experimenting with different methods.  Most of our tomato plants grow taller than me, some were 6 ft tall, so we need to get more inventive with holding them up, some kind of wiring or fencing maybe.

We had 6 garden sections of tomatoes the first year, then only 4 the next year, which was plenty for the 2 of us. This year, we are going to start some cold weather varieties, like broccoli, kale, and cabbage in the early spring and see how that goes. This will be our 3rd year using this terraced garden and it has held up nicely.

From There to Here

For half the year, the garden is just a staircase to get to the chickens, but it is definitely better than the previous wasp-laden option.

Buy the things

A pallet of 4x4’s from Lowe’s has 52 boards, so that worked perfectly for the first round of lumber (and then of course we had to buy more).  I was a little worried about the weight, but the Lowe’s website estimate and our truck (Dodge V8) payload both looked like that would work out fine. Three trips just for wood.

2x10’s - 8

4x4’s Severe Weather 4-in x 4-in x 8-ft #2 Pressure Treated Lumber – @ 60

Rebar – @ 60 – 3/8 in x 2 ft long, 2 pieces in each section of 4x4s

1/2-in Woodboring Auger Drill Bit - 17” long – something with a larger diameter than the rebar

Deck Plus #10 x 3-in Ceramic Deck Screws 

Hex Head Heavy-Duty Wood Screws – 50 count – 6 in and 8 in ( ~ $35 for 50, but worked beautifully for this project and many others)

Drill (we use RYOBI, an Impact Drill would be best)

Circular saw

Miter saw

Level

String

Hammer

Mallet

Patience…time…blood…sweat…tears…and a good attitude.

What are your gardening plans this year? We keep debating about adding a third section, but nah. :) Please let us know your thoughts and any tips or tricks on tomato trellises!!

[bcbdrums]

Stone House, Forest of Oak

AO3 link --> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158797

FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13583219/1/Stone-House-Forest-of-Oak

(Regarding the links, pick your poison!)

A Drakgo Fantasy AU for @duckymoose because she cheered me up when I didn’t think I could be cheered.

I've never done fantasy before, and as I researched the specific lore I get into, sources I found were conflicting and even directly contradictory on facts. It appears that when it comes to fantasy, authors write whatever they need to make their story work. So...that's exactly what I did.

I repeat, this is a Fantasy AU.  Rated “M” for violence, dark themes, and mature themes.  Full story below the cut.

---------------------

Prologue

A stone house stood timeless in a small clearing on the shallow slope of a hill. The hill was the highest in the land, but the house was concealed by trees that peppered the sides of that hill and others, as far as the eye could see. Oak and ash, beech and elm, and so many others grew wild over the land that was largely untamed.

But years passed on the Earth, and the years brought change.

Towns would spring up in the fertile valleys between the hills, but they either remained small or were quickly abandoned, once their people learned of the horror that lived in the stone house. But the knowledge never went far in the wild land, and so centuries would pass with town after town rising and falling, their peoples fleeing or falling prey to the dark terror from atop the hill.

New centuries brought new ideas. And in the present day, whenever the people built their towns they would cut the trees. Gone were brick and stone and sod, as logs and timber took their place. Timber for their houses and furniture, timber for their wagons and the boats that sailed the river. The once-lush hills became sparse. And as the need for lumber grew, the number of woodsmen increased, and the clearing of the forests on the hills happened ever faster. The natural beauty of the land was slowly destroyed, and the forests dwindled to thin groves of no use or enjoyment to anyone.

But on the shallow slope of the hill the stone house remained, because no one ever dared to go near enough to cut the trees that surrounded it. For fear of their lives they stayed away, and would only whisper among themselves of the horror that lived there.

Those that knew and endured made their peace with it, knowing that any day they would either live or die. The three closest towns formed a dark agreement, that to protect that which they loved most they would sacrifice the weak. And in that cycle the three towns were sustained and grew, never losing respect for the terror of the stone house.

Over time their people prospered, and their populace grew. And the numbers of the trees grew ever less.

---------------------

Shego's chest ached for breath as she ran through the grove of trees, her pursuers closing in fast. Each time she glanced back their torches grew nearer, and her step grew slower. But she had to keep going, as far away as possible even if it meant her life. She couldn't betray her home to them, her beloved and wise old oak.

Even under the cover of night and with her silent steps, the dryad's pursuers never faltered. They had tracked her for years, memorizing her paths and patterns, driving her further and further away from her home, until that night they had finally cornered her as she took her human-form to cross the river. But cross she had not, because it would lead back to the one place she could never let them find.

She wouldn't let them near her home as long as she had breath. She would be a willing sacrifice for her oak and had nearly already been on many, many occasions. She could still feel the agony of the woodsmen's blades from the times they had caught her in the past, and her arm was bleeding sap from the axes that had glanced her that night. But the idea of her own death, as terrifying as it was, wasn't nearly as horrible as would be the death of her oak.

So she ran.

She must have been running for an hour that time as her pursuers refused to relent. Her human form, unused to such rigors, was giving out. She had been struggling to find real cover on the ancient hillside, so sparse with trees due to the humans' interference. But in the distance down the other side of the hill she could see the tall towers of beech and elm that would be her salvation. If she could only hide herself, take her true form...

The men would search for awhile, as they always did, but then they would give up. And she would spend yet another day trying to get back home.

She darted around a small, straight row of ash saplings, her heart feeling as though it might burst, when she stopped suddenly. Between her and her destination was a stone house. And standing in front of it was a man, holding a spade in one hand and an oil lamp in the other.

Shego's head began to swim. She couldn't get to the trees without the man seeing her. And what if he was as bad as the others?

As she caught her breath and calculated her next move, she realized the man was tending a flower garden. A dirt path led away from the door of the house, and on either side were two small ponds with blooming water lilies. Standing above each pond were four trained angel's trumpets, their trunks growing against tall pillars of stone and their branches weaving into natural arbors along wrought iron bars above the ponds.

The man had leaned his spade against the house and was kneeling to tend some night orchids that grew by his door. Shego took a longer look at the stone house, far older than her hundred years. It was covered in climbing vines of white moonflowers, and the path that led away from the door was lined with beautiful evening primrose. Lush grass and purple verbena covered the ground everywhere around the ponds, and at the end of the path was a wrought iron trellis, also adorned with moonflowers. The roof of the house was sod, with green grass peeking through the vines.

Of greatest interest to Shego were the scattered dark manzanita trees that grew in between where she stood and the beautiful garden of night flowers in front of the house. She realized then that the even row of saplings she had passed weren't wild and had been planted, probably by the man of the stone house.

A shout from behind her caused her breath to catch, and the man looked up with a furrowed brow. Seeing his obvious care for growing things, she took a risk and darted towards the closest manzanita tree. She ran past it until she reached an ideal spot and then stood firm as she shifted into her oaken form, nothing more than a tree to any eye of man or beast that may light upon her. And to her relief, she didn't think the man of the house had noticed her.

Her pursuers suddenly appeared over the crest of the hill and from behind the last safety of old elms she had left, their torches high and blazing in the dark night. She held as still as possible, but the exhaustion of her human form was overwhelming her. She worried she wouldn't be able to stand for long. And while the manzanita was a blessing, it wasn't enough cover; she was the only oak near the house.

The shouting and the fiery glow drew nearer. Terror ripped through her aching heart as she saw the dangerous light gleam on the woodsmen's axe-heads. And then, the man tending the flower garden stood and turned to face her pursuers, a perturbed look on his face.

The woodsmen suddenly halted their approach just as they reached the saplings, looking as though they'd seen a ghost.

"It's...it's him!" a man shouted, his eyes wild as he pointed.

"It's Drakken!"

Shego looked between the woodsmen and the gardener, who looked mildly annoyed at the most by the presence of the intruders. But then a small smirk came over the man's face. He took off his gardener's gloves and dropped them on the path and licked his lips.

The woodsmen turned and ran screaming back over the hill from whence they came.

Shego looked back to the gardener just in time to see him roll his eyes, and he knelt again and continued tending to his night orchid after replacing his gloves.

'Drakken?' she thought. Whoever he was...his garden of night flowers was beautiful.

That was her last thought before her strength gave out. She slipped from her oaken form back into a human and collapsed on the soft earth below.

---------------------

Drakken sighed and shook his head as he trimmed the dead leaves from his plant. Why on earth a mob would come to attack him and then leave in a terror before even getting within fifty yards of his door was beyond him. And why a mob would suddenly appear after so many years... All of the surrounding towns were used to him. They made their sacrifices to him, and for the most part he let them be. Their attack made no sense.

A soft thud caught his ear, and he turned in the direction of the sound, toward his manzanitas. An unfamiliar pale green...something, was on the ground beneath the farthest tree, and there was a small cascade of oak leaves falling to the ground around whatever it was.

His brow furrowed. There wasn't a single oak nearby.

He rose from his knee and lifted his oil lamp as he walked the dark path between the ponds and approached the green form at the edge of his land.

As he drew near his eyes began to widen and his jaw slackened at the sight before him. The green form on the ground was...a woman.

He halted his approach at about twenty feet as he realized she was naked, though most of her form was covered by her thick, dark hair. As she lay on the ground beneath the manzanita, surrounded by the mysterious oak leaves, he wondered...

Had that mob actually been after her?

"Hello?" he called loudly. "Madam?"

There was no sound or sign of life from the woman.

He gathered his courage and approached her, his heart pounding for fear of what he may find. But the fear began to be replaced by curiosity as he neared her side and he realized... Her skin, while pale, was most decidedly green. Not that that should bother him, as his own was a pale blue. But he'd never met a green-skinned person before.

"Madam?" he asked again as he stood over her.

She didn't respond.

He knelt and with his glove-clad hands carefully began turning her over. Her dark hair fell away from her face and his breath caught. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long, dark eyelashes stood out against the pale green of her cheeks, and her lips were like the darkest wine.

His awe was interrupted as he dared to look below her neck, and he gasped not at the beauty of her womanly form but at what he saw marring it. Her skin was covered in scars, some shallow, some deep. There was a long, jagged scar almost straight across her midsection that looked to have been made with a saw. Another small succession of scars across her arm looked like they could have been done with his own pruning shears. And one deep, ugly scar across the swell of one breast looked to have been made with the careless throw of an axe.

He shook his head in disbelief as he looked at the beautiful woman, no part of her body save her face untouched by various blades. And two places on her right arm bled dark and slow as he allowed himself a closer look at her.

She had clearly been tortured for years, to have received so many horrendous scars. And she was so young—barely more than twenty, if he could guess. But what did he know anymore, at his advanced age...

"Madam? Madam?"

She still didn't respond.

Rage against that mob filled him, and he considered pursuing them right then and returning some of the torment they and those like them had clearly laid on the stunning woman. But her two bleeding wounds and her silence stayed his wrath for the time being.

He gathered her up in his arms and made to carry her into his house. After he tended to her and saw that she was well, perhaps learn of why she had been tortured for so many years... Then, the next night, he would avenge her.

Inside his stone house he laid her on his bed and began lighting his lamps. He couldn't remember the last time he lit his house so brightly, but he wanted to be sure he didn't miss any fresh wounds.

She was breathing, but had still made no sound or sign that she was aware of him. He worriedly filled a basin with water to clean her wounds and tore some strips of linen from an old shirt for bandages. He pulled a chair next to the bedside and turned up the lamp on the wall above before bringing the basin of water nearer.

In the bright lamplight, his breath caught again as he got a better look at her. Indeed, there wasn't a part of her body that hadn't been touched viciously by a blade, and the scars ran so much deeper than he had first thought. Captivated, he ran his fingers over deep gouges in her thigh that appeared to have been made by an axe.

Who would do such a thing? To mutilate such beauty and leave her alive, only to do it again and again? Because it was clear that the wounds had not all occurred in one or even a few incidents. What had been done to her had been done over a very, very long time.

He himself only tortured his victims when it was warranted. And after so many years on the Earth, he no longer took pleasure in it. Not even the weekly sacrifices the humans brought him. His life had become mundane, and futile. Only his flowers brought him joy anymore.

He dampened a washcloth in his hand and gently began running it over the slice in her upper arm that bled dark. The blood seemed to have dried and had something sticky mixed with it, as it took some effort to remove it. Once he had, he wrapped the wound with one of the linen strips and tied it tightly. He briefly wondered about infection, but thought that with having taken so many wounds in the past she must be impervious.

He moved on to clean the next wound and his eyes strayed to her face again. The symmetry of her features was almost unbelievable in its perfection, and with the pale green of her skin she had an almost ethereal quality to her. His eyes strayed to her dark hair, as soft as silk when it had brushed against his hands. And then he noticed... In the light her hair reflected an iridescent green, not purely black as he had first thought. There were even a few strands of crimson buried within.

He brought his hand up to stroke her hair as if mesmerized. The strands were impossibly thin but her hair was dense, cascading around her shoulders like wisteria. The texture reminded him of the most fragile of his flower petals, or perhaps the thinnest parchment.

His hand moved to brush against her cheek and left him with a further mystery. While her skin appeared as any human's save the green hue, the texture beneath his fingertips was rough. The feel of her skin reminded him of...tree bark?

He let his gaze travel to her full, luscious lips, as dark as the darkest wine he had ever tried, and also with a glossy, iridescent shine. They looked like two pillows, dense with blood...waiting to be tasted. He licked his own lips. But then he felt an odd pang in his chest and he forced his gaze elsewhere.

Where his eyes went was down, past her shoulders to her ample bosom, to her slim waist, and beyond. The scars couldn't hide what nature had given her, in the most perfect example of a woman he had ever laid eyes on. He looked away quickly before desires other than hunger could rise within him.

He wrapped her second wound and then sat back in the chair, troubled by the way his pulse was racing. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen beautiful women before. In his three-thousand years, he had seen plenty. But he had never...truly looked at any. Women, like men, were only victims. Occasionally he played with them in whatever way pleased him, even using them to sate the disgusting human-like lust that sometimes bore its ugly face as he would feed. But truly, they were only food to him; his survival for another few days, and nothing more.

Now, he was entranced. This woman was a beauty that was surely sent from heaven, tormented on earth for reasons he had yet to know... His heart ached for her, for the pain she had so long endured. And why? Surely a creature such as she could do no harm. His fists clenched in rage as he silently vowed vengeance against any who had ever raised hand or blade against her. And as he stared, bewitched by her beauty, he realized...he wanted her.

His heart pounded as the thought pressed relentlessly against his mind. He wanted her. In the depths of his soul, he wanted her. And he wanted her all to himself. His and his alone, to gaze upon, to worship her perfection for as many years of life as she may have.

He loved her.

He rose from the chair and rummaged in an old trunk of things he had stolen in an age past. Finding what he was looking for, he rose to his feet and was suddenly assaulted with dizziness that caused him to stumble. He glanced at the woman and licked his lips again, and the action was immediately followed by a stabbing guilt.

He sighed and dropped the feminine garment he'd removed from the trunk. He was getting careless in his old age, as he realized it had been far too many days since his last meal. He would go out to feed...and then return to the woman.

A chime from his wall clock drew a gasp from his lips as he turned and saw the time. It was nearly five in the morning.

He had spent all the night staring at the beautiful woman, and he was suddenly aware of how dangerously weak he truly felt. There was no longer time to go out and feed. But his body demanded he be nourished that night.

A sickening realization hit him as he backed away into the corner farthest from the bed, and as the clock finished its chime a horror he had never before felt clenched around his heart.

He brought a hand up to cover his face as he began to weep.

---------------------

Shego woke up to a dim light and an ache of weariness throughout her body. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, and then she heard a sound like a human gasp.

Startled, she sat up and quickly assessed her surroundings. She was in a building, with stone walls and oil lamps. A window was carved into the wall opposite and revealed the violet light of pre-dawn on the horizon. She looked down at herself and saw she was sitting on...what she thought was called a bed. And she was wearing...clothes?

She heard breathing and her eyes found the source. The night's events suddenly came back to her.

It was the night gardener, standing in a darkened corner of the small room and staring at her. She recoiled in fear and pressed against the stone wall behind her, but...the man made no move to attack her. In fact, his eyes were hopelessly sad. And longing. She had never seen such emotions in a human before.

The man took a few heaving breaths, and then swallowed.

"Madam. Forgive my effrontery. I tended your wounds."

Shego looked down at her arm where the woodsmen's axes had glanced her as they cornered her in the river. The wounds were wrapped in linen bandages. Her gaze drifted to the fabric she had been clothed in. 'Dress' was the wrong word for the garment, but it was like one. It was a white gown of some type, loose and shapeless, the fabric somewhat translucent where it fell over her curves. It was long and sleeveless, the hem falling just above her ankles.

She took a nervous breath. She had never spoken to any creature but her own kind before.

"Thank you," she whispered cautiously. What were the man's motives? He didn't seem to have any intent to chop her down. She remembered that he tended flowers.

The man bowed his head and shook it as he took a step forward into the light.

"Don't...don't thank me," he said. His voice was hoarse and his tone bitter, and she realized he was crying.

He took a further step out of the shadows and she saw the revealing pale blue of the skin of his face and hands. She gasped in astonishment.

'A vampire!'

He lifted his head, and her eyes widened at the sight of the brown caking of old blood around his lips from his last meal, his dark hypnotic eyes, and the white fangs that glistened when his lips parted in a soft, shaky release of breath.

She had heard of vampires from the other dryads, but had never seen one until that moment. Tales of their shape-shifting terrors were legendary, but this one...looked desperately sad. She took in the rest of his appearance.

He was dressed as most men she had seen, except perhaps not as cleanly with the knees of his blue-gray trousers a bit grass-stained where he had knelt in his garden, and his white linen shirt looking to have seen far too many winters. His black hair was of a style she'd never seen and she supposed it must be very old as he wore it longer than other men, the ends just barely brushing his shoulders. His face didn't appear either young or old, but 'seasoned' as she studied him. And to her surprise the skin below his left eye bore a pale scar not unlike some of hers.

Suddenly, his gaze darkened. He turned and shuttered the window to the dawn and in a flash he had crossed the room and caught her around the waist. Her hands flew to his chest and she pushed against him with all her strength, but she was still weakened from her earlier flight of terror. And the vampire was stronger.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please...forgive me," he said. The fight slowly left her as her eyes turned to his face in confusion. "You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen! Whoever harmed you deserves a fate worse than any death I could give them."

She stopped pressing against his chest as she studied his anxious face and his tears.

"Such perfection as you deserves better than this... Better than what they did to you. Better than a life cut short. I don't want to, please believe me, I don't want to!"

Her brow furrowed. He was strange... She thought she understood what he was saying, but...did he not know what she was?

Her thoughts were interrupted as he surprised her suddenly by bringing his shaking lips to press against hers, the touch soft and brief. Her eyes widened. She had never been kissed before... She had spent so much of her life hiding from the horrible humans, and protecting her oak.

The vampire suddenly released her and she fell to sitting on the bed again. He followed her down and a moment later was sobbing into her chest. Shego gasped as the man clung to her shoulders and his tears stained the thin garment he had put her in.

Just as suddenly as his sobs began, they stilled as he brought his face up to stare into her eyes. His eyes were a deep blue, and every second she looked into them she felt she was falling into a new world. But then he was gone, standing and pacing the room.

"I could make you like me, but...I couldn't condemn you to this eternity of loneliness," he said.

She tried to straighten the garment, suddenly concerned with her appearance. She ran her fingers back through her hair and sat up straighter as she looked at him. He had paused his chaotic, emotional tirade as he watched her, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Aren't...aren't you afraid? Don't you understand that...I'm going to kill you?" he asked hoarsely.

She found a small smirk coming to her lips. She shook her head.

"You can't kill me."

A soft, awed gasp fell from his lips as he gazed it her in wonder. "Your voice... It's...so lovely..."

Shego felt a little self-conscious—something she couldn't ever recall feeling before. She watched as he blinked away the fascination in his eyes. He looked even more perplexed, perhaps at her words, and he paced a few steps in exasperation. After a minute he stopped and wrung his hands.

"It's...it's better that you're not afraid. Oh, I couldn't bear your screams!"

He advanced on her again and cried into her shoulder, one of his hands softly stroking her hair. She felt a warming in her chest and her smirk grew into a smile.

After her collapse outside his house she had been easy prey for any creature and their vile purposes. But this ancient entity who was clearly in need of a meal had waited... Had not woken her, but waited until she woke of her own accord, to apologize before he fulfilled his dark nature.

The warmth in her chest grew stronger.

His sobs lessened and he lifted his head, but didn't look at her face. Instead he lifted her hand and kissed her palm, right over the scar she'd obtained from a jackknife when she threw her hand out to defend a sapling from a reckless woodsman years ago.

The vampire...the night gardener, kissed her palm again, and then kissed the scar on her shoulder she'd obtained the very first time she'd run as little more than a sapling herself.

"Precious...perfect creature of the light," he murmured through tears. "Why did they harm you?" Her breath caught then as he knelt on the ground and kissed her thigh through the thin garment she wore, right over one of her ugliest scars.

He brought his face higher and kissed over the scar on her stomach that she'd obtained the first time she'd nearly lost her life, when she'd been forced to shift to her oaken form as woodsmen cut down the trees in her grove for lumber. They had decided she would make a nice piece of furniture and had sawed into her. The agony and terror of that moment was seared into her memory as she had stood still as long as possible, until she could take the pain no more and revealed herself and fled.

Her memory shifted again as the vampire kissed the swell of her breast and the scar left by the idle axe-swing of a child. The warmth in her chest grew into a heat like fire. And fire was fear. But then the man tenderly kissed her lips again, and the warmth faded into a pleasant calming through her every limb, like the touch of the rays of the sun on her leaves.

His lips left hers and she tried to look into his eyes. But at the brief contact he lowered his head in shame.

"It's not fair," he said bitterly. "You deserve so much more. I'm...so sorry. I'm so, so sorry! Please please forgive me!"

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed.

"Goodbye...loveliest of all beings..." the vampire breathed. His lips found her neck and she felt the pierce of his fangs. But it wasn't anything like the horror of an axe or the ripping of a saw. It reminded her of the claws of a young bird, clinging to her branch for safety before its first flight.

The sharp touch intensified for a moment, and then the man drew back, his tear-stained face rife with confusion.

Shego shook her head and smiled. "I told you. You can't kill me. I'm not human."

The man blinked. "Oh, your voice... W-what are you?"

"I'm a dryad," she said.

The man's eyes grew distant and then he gasped softly.

"The oak leaves..."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but she started to rise from the bed. He moved away to give her space, but his face suddenly became desperate and anguished.

"Don't go!" he cried.

Her face saddened, and her brow furrowed. "Do you have any water?"

He blinked, and then poured her a glass from a jug on a sideboard. He handed it to her and she studied it for a long moment before pouring it gratefully over her arms and feet, though it wasn't nearly enough.

"I've never been in a house before," she said.

His brow was twisted in confusion as he looked between her face and the small puddle on the earthen floor. "O-oh..." His face grew thoughtful, but remained concerned. "You can...go outside."

As she stepped to the door he pressed himself into the corner, far out of sight of the exit. She peered through the door and then looked back to him.

"It's all right. There's no sunlight out here yet. That's...what you're afraid of, isn't it?"

He swallowed and nodded, nervously stepping out of the corner. She smiled softly and stepped through the door.

She made a slow turn and looked over his beautiful garden of night flowers and wondered about this vampire who had saved her. When she looked back to the stone house with its climbing moonflower vines and sod roof he was standing far away from the door and peering out nervously.

"What's this called?" she asked, picking up the skirt of the garment she wore. She spun once and watched the flow of the translucent material through the air, flinging her arms out to her sides while her dark, silken hair flowed around her.

His breath caught as he stared at her. "Oh, the way you move..." he said softly, and then he cleared his throat. "It's called a...chemise. A woman's undergarment."

She studied the fabric for a moment and then began pulling it off over her head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice suddenly panicked. She tossed the garment a few feet away from her.

"I don't want to ruin it," she said, glancing at his face that had colored purple for some reason. She stepped over to one of his lily ponds and slid her feet thirstily into the cool waters. And then with a deep, satisfying sigh she shifted into her oaken form.

The waters were soothing to her roots, and she cast her invisible eyes back toward the house. The man was closer to the doorway now and peering at her with wide eyes.

"M-madam? I...I'm sorry, may I ask your name?"

"My name is Shego," she said, a few drying leaves falling from her branches as she spoke. She knew she had heard the woodsmen call his name during the night, but she couldn't recall. "What's your name?"

"Drakken," he replied.

'Drakken,' she recalled. The woodsmen had known him and been terrified.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"You mean...in this house?"

"Sure. How old are you?" she continued, changing the question.

She watched him furrow his brow. "I'm three thousand, two hundred and forty-nine years old. And I've lived in this house for over twenty-one hundred years. ...H-how old are you?"

"We're one hundred and twenty-seven," she said, a few more leaves falling.

"'We'?" he asked, taking a cautious step over his threshold.

"Me and my oak," she explained. The waters were reviving, and she was starting to feel more alert. A little bit of sunlight would be a wondrous relief...

Drakken shook his head. "I'm...sorry, I...don't understand."

"The oak I was born of. It's my home. It's part of me," she said. She wondered if a vampire could even understand.

"O-oh..." he said.

Her pleasant mood sobered as she continued to explain. "If those men kill my oak...I'll die. But I'll never let them find it, even it means only my death! I must keep it safe. That's why I keep running away. But...I miss my home so much," she said longingly.

She heard him gasp suddenly, and then he disappeared inside the house again. She followed where his gaze had been, and she saw the golden rays of sunlight hitting distant treetops below the crest of the hill.

After a moment of thought she shifted back into her human form, the waters having given her some refreshment. She left the nourishing pond and picked up the chemise she had dropped and followed him back into the house. He was standing in the far corner again, slightly hunched and looking very worried as he fidgeted.

"Thank you," she said again. He jumped and his face darkened to purple as he glanced at her, and then he looked away.

She tossed the chemise onto his bed and looked at him in confusion. He had seemed devastated with the idea of her death before... Shouldn't he be happy that she would live after all?

"What's wrong?" she queried.

"I'm just...very hungry," he said quietly. "And...they'll be back."

Shego felt her pulse race in alarm. "What do you mean?"

Drakken swallowed and straightened slightly as he finally looked at her. "Whenever there's a mob... Every fifty years or so, they find me... I leave and go to one of the caves, or the abandoned churches. I'll terrorize their villages until they either...just stop coming out of fear, or they agree to leave me be."

Shego's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why can't you do that now?"

Drakken shook his head. "Because the sun is up. Even if it wasn't, I'm...too weak to travel. When they come...they'll come in the daylight. And they'll kill me."

Shego felt her heart sinking. She didn't want this man who cared so much for the beauty of nature and who had protected her at his own cost to die. She thought furiously for a solution.

She could put her roots down in front of his door, so that when the woodsmen came... She grimaced and shook her head. That wouldn't work; they would just chop her down.

"Would you...put the chemise back on?" he asked, his voice interrupting her pondering.

She crossed over to the bed and picked up the fabric. "Why?" she asked.

"Um...j-just... I would appreciate it if you would."

She struggled for a moment to find how to slip the item over her head the right way.

"Can you help me?" she asked. "I've never worn clothes before."

His lips parted in a silent gasp, and then he shook his head. "You just...put it over your head, and put your arms through the arm-holes."

Shego fumbled with the chemise until she had it figured out and stuck her head and arms through the right holes. The translucent fabric fell over her curves again, and she wondered how many other garments existed that she'd not seen.

Shego brushed her hair back with her fingers and continued brushing it back. She didn't have any other ideas for how to protect the vampire she'd met who seemed to care so deeply for her. And during the day he was vulnerable even in his home, with no defense whatsoever against the sunlight, and no escape.

A new idea struck her.

"What if...when the woodsmen come, I lead them in here one at a time, and you kill them then? You'd get a meal with each one."

Drakken blinked at her. "You wouldn't mind being party to their deaths?"

Shego's eyes darkened. "They chop down our trees. Even the saplings. Just to burn their fires, or build houses, or make their heinous parchment paper."

She looked around the small house suddenly for anything out of place. There was the sideboard and the chair, as well as the frame of the bed and a trunk at the bed's foot. The door and window shutters were also made of wood, and there was some odd small item attached to the wall. But other than that the place was made of stone, and there was no fireplace. Drakken had very little wood in his home, compared to the acres the humans sometimes slaughtered. And she was relieved.

She also realized that the tiny house wasn't really much of a home... It was a place he slept during the day, protecting his life, while his real life happened outside at night, either finding a meal or tending his garden.

"Why do they hunt you?" Drakken asked.

Shego brought her focus back to him.

"They think...creatures like me are evil. Devil's spawn. But our only desire is to care for our trees!" she pleaded with passion, stepping nearer to him.

His eyes grew sad.

"I'll kill them for you," he said. "If...if I survive until tomorrow."

She suddenly felt a worry and fear in her heart different than any she'd ever felt before. It was a different feeling than she felt for the trees. And it had something to do with the warmth she'd felt earlier, when he was apologizing for his intent to murder her. That warmth was returning as she listened to him vow to help her kind, and in a twisting confusion it also made the fear stronger.

"Can I do anything?" she asked.

He bowed his head and shook it sadly. "Not unless...you can stop the sun from rising."

The sick feeling in her heart grew even as the warmth swirled through her. She certainly didn't have that kind of power. And she dearly loved the sun...

"I'll...I'll go back," she said.

His eyes snapped up to hers. "What?"

"I'll show myself to them," she explained as she pulled the chemise off again and dropped it back onto his bed. "I'll let them chase me. I'll lead them away from here."

Drakken's arms were suddenly gripping her shoulders. "No! No Shego, you can't! I couldn't bear it if...if you were hurt."

She grinned and gently pushed his hands away. "I've been hurt before," she said, gesturing to her scarred body.

He swallowed slowly as he looked her up and down, the purple color returning to his cheeks.

"You saved me," she said, stepping nearer to him. "Let me save you."

His eyes were pools of worry, but after a moment he gave a crisp nod. The warmth burned in her chest like fire again, but it didn't scare her quite as much this time. She didn't fully understand it...except she had an idea now what to do with it. She leaned up on her toes and lightly pressed her lips to his, as he had done to her before.

She heard his gasp and his sharp intake of breath through his nose for the brief moment the kiss lasted. When she stepped away from him, his eyes had regained the longing that she had seen in them before, when he thought he would be forced to kill her.

"Will you come back?" he asked desperately.

"After I've led them away," she said with a grin.

Drakken took an anxious breath. "Th-thank you...Shego," he said.

She smiled mischievously at him before disappearing through his door, closing it behind her and sending him back to the darkness he needed. Then she took her own anxious breath as she walked down his primrose-lined path.

She was still very, very tired. But Drakken had saved her life. She would gladly return the favor.

And...she wanted to see him again.

---------------------

Drakken struggled to sleep that day, and spent much of it pacing through the warm darkness of his house, worrying. It was horrible for his weakened state that he didn't rest, but he couldn't help himself for the fears that plagued him about the beautiful dryad he had fallen in love with.

What if Shego wasn't able to find the same mob? What if they didn't take the bait, and found the prospect of killing a vampire much more appealing than killing a dryad? Or worse, what if they did take the bait, and...she wasn't able to escape them?

As the daylight waned, it seemed she had been successful; no one had come calling, and he was safe to live another day of his three-thousand years. But it did nothing to relax his nerves, only putting him more on edge. Night couldn't come soon enough for Drakken, and as soon as the sun was gone from the sky he flung his door open and began watching for her.

An hour passed, and then another. He forgot all about tending his flowers as he paced anxiously, wringing his hands and waiting as he battled potential fainting spells due to his lack of sustenance.

Finally, he steeled his nerves and stepped outside, gathering his remaining strength for a shape-shift. He couldn't leave her to fate any longer.

He would need to choose the most inoffensive of creatures, but something that could travel fast on limited energy—an owl, he decided, for its stealth. It would tire him... But during his search for Shego, he could find a meal.

He gathered his strength and changed form, taking off in a leap as his feathered wings spread. And he flew low over the hills and beneath the scattered tree tops as he started toward the nearby town that was the most likely origin of the common enemy he and Shego shared.

As he tiredly flew beneath the starlit skies his sharp eyes searched the landscape, and his thoughts drifted again to the dryad's beauty. She surpassed any flower he had ever tended in his long and lonely years, even his delicate queen of the night with its flower that lasted only for one bloom. His sweet flowers had been his only companions for millennia, but now... A hope had risen within him of which he had never even dreamed.

If only she would consent to be his... He already felt he might die without her.

He felt his wings tiring far too soon, but he was nearing the edge of the remains of the forest that had concealed his home so faithfully for so long, and the valley with the town below. He forced himself to alertness as his sharp, avian eyes searched all across the sparse scenery.

He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Now that it was night, would she be in her human form? Could she travel in her oaken form? Would he even recognize her if she had taken on the disguise?

His worrying thoughts were halted in agonizing force when suddenly, at the crest of the hill at the edge of the tree-line, he saw her—a familiar green form, collapsed on the ground; and standing above her holding an axe and torch, a woodsman.

Drakken's eyes took in the fresh wounds that had been laid into her flesh, jagged and deep. She was un-moving again, no more than a crumpled heap, and the thought that she might be dead caused a searing pain to erupt within his breast.

A rage darker than any he'd ever felt began to burn within him. His owl eyes glimpsed a mob on the periphery, carrying torches and weapons as they left the town and ascended the hill toward the forest. And then his acute avian hearing picked up the voice of the lone woodsman who would threaten his beloved.

The man was pacing, his haggard face furious as he stared down at her. "I don't care what they say, and I can't wait for them to get back. You're not so bad now, that you're chopped down to size. I...I won't wait for them to get back," the man said, and Drakken watched as an evil that could have been straight out of hell entered the man's eyes. "They won't let me have you. Well, I'll have you, you forest-witch! And then...then you'll be sorry you toyed with us."

Drakken watched the man toss his torch and axe aside. He turned Shego over to lay on her back, vulnerable and exposed. And then the man reached for his belt buckle.

Drakken folded his wings into a dive and his rage emerged from his beak in a piercing screech that caused the man to look up from his vile endeavor. His face contorted in fear as Drakken shifted before his eyes back into his familiar, vampiric form and landed skillfully on his human legs. The avian screech changed with his vocal cords into the shrillest, most terror-inducing shriek he had ever cried as he landed in front of the frantic man who didn't even have a chance to cry out before Drakken's fangs pierced his throat.

The man struggled, but Drakken had no qualms about beating him into submission even after the calm-inducing venom filled the man's veins and his writhing ceased. Drakken feasted with a dark pleasure he hadn't felt in years, driven by the jealous, protective love in his heart. No creature—man, beast, or fey—would ever defile the perfect beauty that was Shego as long as he had breath.

He lost himself in the sweet taste of the blood, the nourishment filling him, reviving him, and intoxicating him. It was only the distant voices of men and the approaching light of torches that startled him back into the present, and after one final lip-smacking slurp he turned distraught eyes to Shego.

She was un-moving, her wounds still fresh and bleeding out her thick, brown blood. With renewed strength, Drakken shifted into one of his most terrifying forms which had been inherited through his ancient bloodline—a magnificent dragon, with dark blue-gray scales like iron that no weapon formed by man could pierce. He delicately lifted Shego in his claws, and then as an afterthought, picked up the dead man and his axe with his other foot. He could finish his meal later; and the axe...he had a strange feeling he might need another weapon come the morning.

The terrified screams of the approaching mob might have thrilled him as his wings thundered during his take-off, but he was too worried for Shego to take any pleasure in their fear. In his haste to depart, one of his victim's legs slammed into the ground. Drakken grimaced as he watched the limb rip off at the knee and fall back to the ground. There was still so much blood he could have consumed in the half-leg. But, he had more pressing matters to attend to as he rose high in the sky.

The fear-stricken cries of the mob reached his ears again, and with a rising fury he turned and circled the town. It had been long since he had attacked, the routine of their sacrifices to him having become comfortable. It was time he reminded them of who he was.

He swooped low and let loose a roar that echoed far over the hills, and then the burning rage within him burst from his mouth in a plume of fire. He was careful to tuck Shego up against his scales before he set the town ablaze, knowing that even one spark could be dangerous to her true form. But with his other foot, he dragged his dead victim against the man-made cobbles of the street, further mutilating the body and delivering unquestionable evidence of his power and cruelty.

Leaving them with that reminder of his timeless presence, he finally turned and began his flight back over the scant forest, the flap of his powerful wings creating a sound like thunder through the valley.

His rage began calming as he looked at the now-unrecognizable human who had threatened his beloved. Vengeance against at least this one tormentor had been served. And then he looked at the still form of Shego in his claws and worry quickly overwhelmed his fury. He increased the speed of his flight.

He didn't know where else to go, but home. He had never bothered with the dryads before, preferring his reclusive life and his flowers. How did one save a wounded dryad? Would it be anything like the non-sentient flowers he had cared for, for so many centuries?

She still wore the linen bandages he'd tended her with the night before, he noticed, as he gazed on her fresh wounds. The wounds were numerous and deep, some overlapping the already-existing scars that couldn't begin to mar her perfect beauty. As her blood seeped down over his claws, thick and sticky, he realized it wasn't blood at all, but some kind of sap. She was more tree than human, he understood, despite her appearance, and he felt more confident in tending to her as such.

In his great and terrible form, the return to his home took mere minutes. He was careful that his footing would be sure before he shifted back to his most familiar shape, and as his human arms captured Shego in a protective embrace the human he had slain along with the axe fell down to the earth in the clearing beyond his house in an ungraceful, forgotten heap.

Drakken ran with all his strength, cradling Shego to him as he sprinted beneath his trellis and along his path of evening primrose to his lily pond. His chest heaved for lack of breath as he stepped several paces into the waters, not minding about his clothing as he knelt down and gently lay Shego into the shallow pool, her head and shoulders resting atop his knees so her human lungs could draw breath. A small cut was across her chin, and he licked his thumb and absently tried to wipe the blood away.

Water was what she had wanted before. Perhaps water could save her now. He removed the linen bandages from her arm and wet them, using them to wipe the smears of excess blood—sap—from around her deep wounds, being careful not to touch them. Trees healed on their own, from what he had seen, if they weren't too far gone.

As the minutes passed he became aware of the familiar, soothing fragrance of his garden. But it did nothing for him as he stared at the un-moving face of the beauty who had so entranced him, and had risked her life for his with no other cause than her own kindness.

He shakily set his fingers beneath her chin to feel for a pulse, wondering if a tree would even have a human pulse. She'd had human breath, the night before... But now she was utterly still.

Tears filled his eyes. He bent over her and pressed his cheek to hers as he began to sob, mourning the perfection he had found and lost in a mere a breath of his long, lonely life. How could he possibly go on? His three millennia of life seemed utterly meaningless now as lifted his head and gazed on her beautiful face, her dark eyelashes still standing out like coal on her pale green cheeks, and her plump lips like the darkest wine.

He placed a chaste kiss on her lips and then rested his cheek on hers again, embracing her as he cried. He vowed then not to move again unless she lived, for his life was nothing without her. If his dryad was lost, he would stay by her side until the sun rose and burned him to ash, ending his pitiful, lonely existence.

His cries gradually diminished into sniffles. And then he let his thoughts fade into nothing as he readied himself for the death that would come many hours later, at dawn. He lifted his head and cast his gaze over her beautiful form in the pond. He wanted the last thing he saw in his life be her.

And then—there was a slight rippling in the waters under the starlight. His lips parted in a gasp. Her eyelashes fluttered, and slowly lifted.

"Drakken?" she asked weakly. He stared in disbelief, a soft cry leaving his lips. Her green eyes were vibrant as she looked up at him. "It's all right now," she continued faintly.

"Oh...Shego!" he gasped, and then pressed his lips to hers. His heart soared as she returned the kiss, her touch soft and gentle as a breeze.

He shifted to sit more fully in the waters and drew her up into his lap, cradling her close. Her slender fingers loosely gripped the front of his shirt as he rocked her gently, too overcome for words.

"I led them away..." she said tiredly. "Far away from you, and my oak."

"Oh Shego..." he cried into her hair. "You're hurt... I shouldn't have let you go. My life isn't worth it!"

"Of course you are..." she said kindly. Her hand rose to caress his chin once before weakly falling down to her lap.

He gazed upon her face in awe and amazement.

"In one hundred years...I have never seen a human give even a passing glance to my kind, except in malice," she said. "But you... You have cared for me... Risked your life for me."

Drakken looked around at where they were, seated in the water under the his arbor of angel's trumpets.

"Is this helping you?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes." He realized her alluring voice was already stronger.

He carefully stood up, holding her close to him, and then with his hands holding her elbows for balance he helped her to find her feet. Her form shifted before his eyes into an oak, her roots displacing his water lilies as all semblance of the beautiful woman she was became hidden beneath the guise of a tree.

He stepped back and watched her branches settle, a few dry and ripped leaves falling down to the pond's surface. And then he stepped forward and threw his arms around her trunk, embracing her tightly.

"Please live..." he pleaded softly through his tears. "I couldn't bear your loss. They won't come for you again, I promise. Not after what I've done to them."

"What did you do?" she asked through a sigh that sounded of relief.

"I...set their town on fire. As a dragon," he explained, releasing her and slowly stepping away, his damp cheek brushing against her rough bark. He saw the many gouges that went deep into her sapwood, and his eyes darkened again. "And I feasted on one of them."

He suddenly remembered the half-finished meal that he'd dropped in the clearing.

"Will you be all right here," he began, "if I finish my meal?"

"Yes," she answered, her silvery voice ringing from somewhere above in her leaves.

He nodded shakily, and then ran out to the clearing. If he wanted to gain any more nourishment from his victim, he would need to hurry. Old, dead blood was of no use to him. He needed it warm and fresh. And his strength was still diminished from lack of food, and the great effort he had made in rescuing Shego.

He located the mutilated body and hurriedly resumed his feast. It wasn't as sweet as it had been, but the human's blood was still health to his bones. He cast his eyes over to the dead man's axe that had fallen nearby, and inspiration struck... He would set it up alongside the corpse of the man, at the edge of the clearing as a warning. Any trespasser on his privacy was unwelcome, but the woodsmen would be the most unwelcome of all.

He felt secure in his resolution, and after sucking every last drop from his victim he licked the blood from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It had been too many minutes... He hurried back to the house, and to Shego.

Relief swept him as he saw her still standing in the pond, her leaves seeming greener and her branches higher and sturdier.

"Are you all right?" he asked quickly as he reached her side, wiping his mouth once more for propriety's sake. Or would she like the look of her dead captor's blood on his lips?

"Yes," she said. He was surprised as she slowly shifted back to her human form. The new gashes in her flesh still oozed sap, but much of it seemed to be hardening over the wounds.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, taking a worried step toward her.

She nodded, her eyes sad. And yet she was still favoring him with her beautiful, gentle smile. Oh, she was perfect!

"I'll nullify my agreement with the towns," he said. "I won't accept their sacrifices. From now on...I feast on woodsmen, and woodsmen alone."

Her eyes were bright and verdant as she stared at him, her smile growing. She slowly stepped out of the pond with more strength than he thought she would have had, and then...she gave him a coy glance before she spun delightedly, dancing to a rhythm that only she could hear. The starlight reflected off her dark hair with its iridescent green and hidden red strands. A brief laugh of joy left her lips as she brought her feet to a stop next to his door, and she knelt to smell the blooms of his night orchid.

She glanced at him and her smile grew. "Your garden is singing," she said. "Do you hear it?"

The desire he had felt the night before rose in his chest, from when he'd first looked on the perfect beauty that had been senselessly tortured for an age. Everything within him wanted her, and his desire burst forth in an impassioned plea.

"Stay with me!" he begged, taking a step toward her. He couldn't even find it within himself to be embarrassed. He was desperate for her. To have that beautiful creature to gaze upon each night... "You can live here, in my garden. I would tend you faithfully!"

Her smile grew, and she rose to face him. "I tend myself," she said. Her gaze grew sympathetic. "And...I must tend my oak."

She stepped slowly toward him, and he averted his eyes from her womanly form. He knew his heart would break without her. But his resolve to avenge her was sure.

"I'll still feast on the woodsmen," he affirmed with a nod.

"Drakken..." she said, and his heart leapt at the sound of his name on her lips. He looked up, and even in his despair at the loss he knew he must endure, he still found joy in her smile. She spoke again. "I can tend my oak in the day."

His eyes widened. A soft gasp fell from his lips.

"And I can come to you in the night," she continued, her smile becoming mischievous. She reached her hands towards him, and he eagerly took them in his. She spun around again, this time bringing him ungracefully with her in her dance to his garden's song.

His heart soared... She would come back. Perhaps each night! Finally, when he talked there would be someone to answer, and not just the silence of his flowers. He would be happy for all of eternity—

He released her hands suddenly as a dread thought occurred to him.

"Shego..." he began. She stopped her dance and faced him with her happy smile. Oh, he loved her! "How...how long do your kind live?"

Her smile began to fade. "If we are not murdered... Most of us have a lifespan around two hundred years."

'Two hundred...' his mind echoed, as he remembered their conversation the day before. Her life was already more than half over.

"Some of us live longer... The oldest is nearly six-hundred. And I even heard legend of one oak that lived to be a thousand," she encouraged gently as she approached him.

He smiled in acknowledgement of her kindness, but he still knew that exceptions weren't the rule. He might have the bliss of her presence for the next hundred years of his life. But then she would be gone. And he would live forever.

"The day you die..." he said soberly, "I shall step into the sun."

She rushed forward and brought her rough hands to his cheeks, her bright eyes growing suddenly sad. He had never seen her eyes like that before.

"You can't!" she gasped desperately and shook her head. "The world deserves a kind being like you."

Boldly, he slipped his fingers beneath her jaw and slowly moved them back into her silken hair. He shook his head in awe of her.

"In my youth, I traveled the whole of the Earth...searching for anyone to be companion to a creature like me. I refused to limit my quest as I encountered being after being, for over a thousand years." His voice fell to just above a whisper. "But not even the other immortals...could soothe the ache in my soul."

He turned and cast his gaze over his precious garden that he had tended for so many centuries, blooming faithfully for him under the starlight. "I only ever found the flowers. But you," he turned back to her, "are the most perfect creature... After knowing your beauty, your kindness, your spirit..." He shook his head again in awe, and then his gaze fell in sadness. He let his hands drop to his sides. "I couldn't go on for all of eternity with only your memory. It would burn me as surely as the sun."

Shego took three steps away. He dared to look up at her, and the compassion in her eyes sent an ache through his chest. What torment he had bound himself to, in finally finding the creature who would complete him only to learn her life was little more than a vapor.

A light came to her eyes suddenly, and slowly the mischievous grin returned to her face and he couldn't help feeling curious despite the sadness that threatened him. She bit her lip and spun away once, and then hopped back to him. He was amazed by her strength, with the wounds that still oozed sap from her flesh.

"Would you like it..." she asked, her confidence briefly hidden under a very feminine shyness, "if I let my acorns fall here? Around your home?"

He blinked and straightened up. "Acorns?"

She nodded and her smile grew. "Yes. If you fertilize me, then my acorns will grow... And then someday, when I'm gone, you can have my daughters. And then my daughters' daughters, and their daughters... They can be with you every night, forever, so you won't have to be alone."

Her eyes had grown wild with excitement, and she retook his hands as she fairly danced on her toes in front of him.

"Fertilize...?" he asked, thinking of the rich soil he made sure to always plant his flowers in.

"Yes," she said, spinning away from him suddenly and hiding behind one of the arbor's pillars. He started as he heard her gasp in pain. When she peeked out at him playfully from behind the pillar, she was holding one of the deep wounds on her waist.

He blinked at her as she grinned, seeming to be expecting something. But he didn't know what. It didn't seem to perturb her as a moment later she lithely leaped out from behind the pillar, almost floating back to him across the path. She took his hands and swung them playfully. The shy feminine look came over her face again.

"We're always fertilized by human males, but...your kind must reproduce? Don't they?"

Drakken's head swam and he suddenly felt very hot under his collar. He focused his gaze on the trellis at the end of the path and cleared his throat. A moment passed, and he found himself holding his breath as he bravely looked down at her smiling face again.

"Your daughters?" he asked shakily, awestruck as he began to fully comprehend what she was suggesting.

"Yes. And you...you could help scatter my acorns far across your clearing! And my daughters' acorns! For each generation!" she said, growing more excited with each word and bouncing on her toes. Her eyes shone with the brightest green he had ever seen. And then suddenly her voice fell into a soft awe. "My oak's spirit...can cover the whole of the Earth, with your help... We...we could live forever..."

Her dancing ceased as tears of hope suddenly filled her eyes. Her small green hands held his blue ones tightly as she gazed up at him with her pure, joyful smile. He hadn't thought his perfect creature could be any more beautiful, but in that moment, with that smile meant only for him, she was. Red tears of happiness pooled in his eyes.

"I love you," he said, the words falling softly from his lips as he gazed at her.

"...Love me?" she asked. She suddenly appeared as awestruck as he felt.

He nodded as a flush came to his cheeks. He'd known it since he had first tended her, and it had grown in his heart every moment since.

"Yes... Love is...what you feel for your oak," he explained, just in case her kind didn't have the concept.

There was wonderment in her eyes as she gazed at him. "You feel that...for me?"

"Yes, Shego," he said, smiling kindly.

"I..." she began slowly, her gaze falling to where she held his hands up between them. The wonder in her eyes was growing. "I...love you, too. I would never let harm come to you."

"Nor I you," he said, agreeing without question. He understood that protection was deeply rooted in her understanding of love. And his for her was no different, as he knew he would defend her to his dying breath.

Her hands left his and uncertainly moved to rest on his shoulders. And then she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. He wanted to pull her to him, but he didn't dare touch her with so many open wounds on her body. But the gentleness of her lips was more than he could have ever hoped for, and he kissed her back with all the love in his heart.

When her lips left his and she settled down on her feet again, her fingers lightly pulling at the fabric of his shirt at the shoulders, the shy look ghosted over her face again.

"I hope...I can grow a hundred daughters for you," she said.

He watched her as she slowly stepped back, and then with the elegance of a blooming flower she was suddenly seated on the ground at his feet with her knees drawn up to her chest. She continued to smile as she slowly leaned back on her elbows, but her wince of pain did not escape his notice. She slid her feet forward soundlessly over the ground, her toes pointed, and then moved her knees far apart as she lay back comfortably in the cool grass that blanketed the ground of his evening garden.

She looked up at him calmly, and expectantly.

Two thoughts entered his mind simultaneously; the first, a wondering if it was even possible for a creature like him, an un-dead horror of the night, to mix with the perfect beauty that was the dryad to create viable offspring; and his second thought, a stomach-turning disgust at the idea of a terrible being such as himself defiling her perfection in the way she was asking of him, even if the purpose was pure.

"You're still hurt," was what softly left his lips as he couldn't help but gaze down at her offering.

She lifted one of her arms from the grass to look at the wounds there, but he was far more concerned with the deeper ones over her waist, legs, and back.

"How long will it take for you to heal?" he continued.

"I'll feel like myself again in a few days' time," she answered, "but the wounds will always hurt..." she said, her fingers sliding over the long, jagged scar left by a saw on her stomach and then resting her hand there.

He slowly knelt at her side, and then offered her a hand to sit up. She took it in confusion, and when she was sitting upright before him he gestured over the garden.

"Is there a place here, you would like for your roots? When you come in the evenings?"

She seemed to consider, gazing across the symmetry he had worked hard to attain in his garden, and then smiling she pointed to the far side of the lily pond that she had dipped her roots in before.

"There."

"May I till the soil for you?" he asked, smiling at the idea of her beauty adding to his garden each night. Though he knew with her presence, he would neglect his flowers as he already had that evening.

"That would be lovely," she said, looking back at him with a tender smile that strangely sent a flood of desire rushing through his cold, dead veins.

She must have seen it in him as she leaned back on her elbows again with a mischievous smile, but then paused as her face became concerned. He took her hand again in dismay, not wanting any worries or fears to ever cloud her perfect visage.

"I'm sorry..." she began, looking melancholy, "I should have asked... Do you want my daughters?"

A pain gripped his chest when he realized his actions could have conveyed rejection. The pain was followed immediately by the ache of the deep love he had for her. The offering of her children to keep him company for all eternity, and greater still, the offering for them to be their children, hers and his, was a gift that transcended every earthly definition of love. He desperately wanted it, with everything within him. And he would honor that love for the rest of time.

He softly squeezed her hand and then lifted her forearm to his lips, kissing one of her older scars. "Yes," he answered. "And...when you are gone..." he said, his heart thudding in agony at the thought, "I will tend your daughters...and your granddaughters, and their daughters...and as many as ever take root. And I will see that the spirit of your oak lives forever."

The love that filled her eyes took his breath away, and he, the one with the power to hypnotize all beings suddenly found himself entranced as she rose to her knees and slipped her arms around him in a gentle embrace. Her soft, wine-dark lips met his in a kiss that sent desire racing hot through his veins, and he kissed her back tenderly, afraid of what the force of his lust might do to her. Her fingers slid into his hair as she continued to kiss him with longing, her taste sultry and exotic like the scent of a gardenia, the caress of her dewy lips petal-soft. For the first time he let his hands roam freely over her womanly form, his fingertips tracing every scar and skipping carefully over the fresh wounds as he exulted in her soft curves, the roughness of her bark-like skin not deterring him for a moment.

He could have easily lost himself in her perfection and beauty, but the weakness with which she held him pressed against his mind. As deeply as his soul wanted her, he couldn't take any risk of further harming her.

A whimper escaped her lips as he pulled his own away, and he caressed her cheek and looked adoringly into her green eyes.

"You're still weak," he explained softly.

"I'm sturdy," she pouted, crossing her arms.

"I know," he said with a slight laugh, looking over her many scars. He leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss over the deep axe-scar on her breast. "But you are injured," he said when he pulled back. He could feel it in her trembling frame as he held her. "Rest, my love... Let me till your soil. Then later, when you have your strength back..."

He slowly, carefully released her and rose to his feet. She remained seated in the grass and looked up at him warmly. He wondered again if her kind and his could produce offspring at all. But she had said dryads were usually fertilized by humans... And his kind sometimes created offspring with humans as well. And he was of an ancient, pure bloodline. It seemed more and more possible as he thought about it. And oh, how he would joy if it were true!

He put on his gardener's gloves, discarded by his front door the night before, and picked up his spade. He crossed to the opposite side of the pond that she had indicated and began digging the soil to make it tender and ready to accept her roots.

He looked back at her and found she had lay down on her side along the shallow bank of the pond. Her cheek rested on one of her arms that was stretched out above her head, and with her other hand she drew a pink water lily to her and caressed its bloom. Her feet were dipped just beneath the water's surface, one of them moving back and forth and causing dark ripples to occur, revealed only by the starshine.

She gazed at him adoringly as he worked, and he smiled back at her. A peace he had never known filled him then as he imagined the barren hills someday being covered in a vast forest of oak. Even though he may only have her for a century, he knew the company of just one of her daughters that came after would be the greatest of joys. And to have hundreds of young, tender oaks to tend... Beneath whose shade he could plant more orchids...

He had the fleeting thought that instead of feasting on woodsmen, he should thank them for bringing her to his door. But the thought vanished as his eyes fell on her scars and wounds again. No, all woodsmen would die, their blood sustaining him and thus Shego's daughters as they would give him the nightly strength to tend the young oaks—an ironic and delicious twist of fate.

Drakken licked his lips in anticipation of the vengeance he would wage for eternity against the kind that dared harm the perfect beauty of the dryad, and he grinned wickedly as he continued to turn the soil with his spade.

A soft laugh from near the pond arrested his attention, and he turned his eyes to where Shego was smiling her mischievous smile. He leaned on his spade and gestured down to the loose ground at his feet.

"Is this all right, to start? Should I till it each night before you return?"

Shego rose, minding her wounds, and stepped over into the freshly-turned earth. He watched as she shifted gracefully into her oaken form, some of her roots pressing deep into the earth while others still dipped into the edge of the pond.

"It's perfect," she said.

Joy rippled through him, and he embraced her trunk and kissed her rough bark. So enraptured was he that he almost didn't notice when she slowly shifted back to her human form, his arms falling comfortably around her. Her arms encircled him and she looked lovingly up into his face, and elation filled him as he returned her gaze. He was finally, perfectly...impossibly happy.

---------------------

Epilogue

In fertile valleys beneath densely forested hills lay the ruins of many towns, all burned to ash. Signs were posted on the ancient roads, warning travelers to beware and to turn back. But in the valley beneath the highest hill, one small town remained. It was the dread of all the Earth, for in that town lived the people of the Cult of Drakken.

The people of the cult roamed far throughout the world, capturing woodsmen without explanation and with no provocation. All who were captured were taken back to the dread town and never seen again.

The few who had been brave enough to visit the cult and lucky enough to escape came back with tales of the shape-shifting vampire of the oaks, who detested all woodsmen and demanded weekly sacrifices. It was the sacrifices of the cult that stayed the entity's wrath, and kept more towns from burning. This was the ritual that had gone on for nearly two millennia, making enemies of the people of the cult and all other men on the Earth.

The sacrifices were always carried by two elect members of the cult over the hills through their immense, dense forests of oak to the edge of a clearing on the shallow slope of the highest hill. At dusk the elect would bind the sacrifice of a live woodsman to the trunk of a manzanita tree in the clearing, and then they would hide behind a straight row of massive ash trees to be sure their sacrifice was received. If it wasn't, then one of the two elect would be given up in the woodsman's place.

They would watch the timeless ritual, listening to the last screams of the woodsmen before they were devoured by the vampire that was the cult's namesake, terrified and at the same time put at peace, knowing their weekly task had been completed. They saw their role as one of honor, saving far more people of the world than were being sacrificed. And sometimes the very bravest would remain, to watch the strange vampire who tended the orchids and the oaks, and who lived in a place of beauty that contrasted his dark demands.

For in the clearing where the sacrifices were made stood an ancient stone house with a sod roof, its walls decorated with climbing vines of moonflower. Natural arbors of angel's trumpet overhung two lily ponds in an expertly-cultivated symmetrical garden of night flowers in front of the house—symmetrical, but for one stark feature.

At the far side of one lily pond rose a single tree, taller than the house and standing out on the hill despite the dense forest that blanketed its every slope. But this tree stood out for another reason besides the marring of the symmetry of the garden. It bore scars innumerable from axes and saws that must have been taken to it for nearly a hundred years. And still in even greater contrast, the beautiful garden of flowers was alive and vibrant; the lone oak was dead.

The brave members of the cult would watch in awe and confusion as after the vampire feasted at dusk, he would go far into the forest to tend the youngest oaks, often shape-shifting into an owl to speed his travels. Then he would return to his home and tend the flower garden with a care and gentleness that defied the fury with which he always devoured the woodsmen.

And then as his final act, he would spend the last hour of each night seated at the base of the dead oak next to the lily pond until the danger of the dawn when sunlight would illuminate the treetops of the forested hill.

This was the strangest of the vampire's acts, for he never merely sat at the base of the lone oak. He embraced it, and cried his tears of blood into its dead heartwood. And then at the last possible moment, when the danger of the sun grew too great, he would kiss the oak's trunk once and then vanish within his stone house to rest for the day.

The cult members would leave in bewilderment, but never-minding about whatever motivated the vampire. They would continue to sacrifice, and live. And he would continue his nightly ritual of feeding, tending the flowers, and embracing the dead oak, for all eternity.

[blackasteriia]

Apparently it is a birthday. Apparently that means they must celebrate. (People are weird.) Kane will make her a cake. And Taker... well. He'll finish what he stared pre-burial. Surprise?

Hap Birth–

Three weeks ago Xion buried George Dalton. A middling-age tax accountant that died of terminal pancreatic cancer. When he was twenty-five he won a major cycling tour and never did anything interesting after. He had thinning white hair and his family wanted him dressed in a black suit. Except for having to trim his mustache, the man was unmemorable to Xion. Despite being afflicted with a boring life George was a man of generosity. The visitors at his viewing talked about him with genuine admiration, respect, and tears in their eyes. One-hundred-and-three people visited George Dalton before Xion stuck him in a box somewhere out in a Western plot of the yard. Shoulder-to-shoulder, chattering, eating the catering food while she did homework in the kitchen. It was the most alive the funeral home had been in months. In a few hours it was as hallow as George’s chest cavity. 

Xion shouldered open the backdoor. She stomped-out the dust in her boots and emerged into the dark, empty kitchen. She had cleaned-out the signs of all those people weeks ago– trash in the garbage can, swept, disinfected, reorganized the furniture, and removed an orange juice stain from the carpet. The house settled on its frame with a low groan. Birds chirped outside the windows. No foot steps or distant voices. However, breakfast dishes piled beside the sink and there was a pan on the cold stove. A chair pulled-out from the kitchen table. Despite it just being her and the dead bodies in the fridge, it looked lived on. Xion washed the plate and pan, left both on the drying rack. She dried her hands on the dish towel and left the way she came. 

Encouraged by the Spring rains, grass sprouted in the yard. Dandelions made a serious contention for flourishing despite the threat of the lawnmower. With a little extra water and warmer winds, the bushes flowered. Not a cloud in the sky and the arid scent of the sands promised a heated day. Xion walked along the side of the house, shoes dampened by the morning dew. The doors to the workshop were left open to let in light and fresh air. She shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped inside. Xion blinked as her vision adjusted to the low light. 

“‘Taker?” She called, glancing over the power tools, tables, and bikes. Movement near the back drew her gaze. He knelt beside a bike, hair tied back, and hands covered in grease. Xion wandered into the workshop. “I’m going to Laredo today to run some errands and get those cosmetics you need for the Holler fami– Holy shit?!”

Xion’s train of thought derailed, crashed and burned. ‘Taker worked on a medium-size motorcycle with the repurposed and repainted frame of a Harley sportster. For the past two months Xion had ordered and scavenged the parts needed for the design. Stuff a sleek Harley design with a Japanese engine for more power and efficiency. Alter the wheel and chain for more torque. Lower the seat for better balance and control. Following the notes and ideas ‘Taker outlined before his death. Left on his night stand for her to find by accident. He never got to build it, so she might as well. It was a design too cool to never realize. And admittedly, in the excitement of ‘Taker-isn’t-dead-anymore’ she forgot about it. 

The real twist was that ‘Taker got to finish it after all.

“When did you–” Xion circled around the bike. In her mind she compared the notes and the sketches to the real thing. Saw all the ways his vision differed from hers, how the idea never compared to the execution. “You built this in two weeks?”

“After I finally found the notes you stole,” ‘Taker pushed to his feet. He wiped the grease off his hands with a rag. 

“I didn’t steal them, I found them and you weren’t there to stop me,” Xion muttered. She knelt beside the bike and inspected the engine. That was the part she was most uncertain of: making an entire bike out of spare parts. She’d have misplaced something and the damn thing wouldn’t start. Made her wish she was here to see him do it. Xion glanced-up, ‘Taker lifted an eyebrow. “Also you were dead and someone had to do your laundry. This looks incredible, I don’t know what to say.”

“You gonna try it our or what?” ‘Taker asked, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t rush me when I’m admiring your handiwork,” Xion grumbled. She reached for the handle bars, leaning her balance on the front of the bike. Xion swung her leg over the back and settled into the seat. “I think the most impressive part is you were able to build this bike and get eight hours of sleep a night. That’s really impressive, daddy.”

“I took naps,” ‘Taker said. He smoothed his hand over his jaw. Contemplation read in the furrow of his brow. 

“Dirt nap doesn’t count,” Xion quipped.

“You got taller,” he noted. Xion flashed him a grin, all teeth. ‘Taker knelt beside her right knee and fiddled with the pedal under her foot. “Length good? You can reach the ground alright?”

“I ain’t that short,” Xion drawled. It was his turn to grin, suppressed with a roll of his lip between his teeth. “It’s fine daddy– let’s go ahead and run it. I wanna hear what the engine sounds like.”

‘Taker unhooked a carabiner with a bike key looped through it from his front belt loop. Dangling off his finger he dropped the key into her waiting palm. Xion kicked the bike up into neutral and turned the ignition. The engine caught and then rolled to life. Low and clean, it purred; mirroring with the laughter building in her chest. Gentle and slow, she revved the engine, rolling back the throttle and feeding it a little gas. Quick and responsive, biting but not too loud. Xion put the brake on and removed the key to turn it back off. 

“That good enough for you?” ‘Taker asked. He ruffled her hair, sliding his hand down between her shoulders. 

“It’s perfect,” Xion said. “Better than I imagined, thank you--”

“Once you’ve tried it out proper, you can thank me and tell me how good it is,” ‘Taker cut her off. “It’s your bike, you can do whatever you like with it. After you ride to Laredo today we can make any adjustments you think it needs. Make sure it suits you like it should.”

“I was going to ask if you need anything besides the cosmetics,” Xion asked. She dismounted the bike. ‘Taker took one side of the handlebars and she the other. Together they pushed the bike out of the workshop. A brush of wind struck her cheeks and played with their hair. 

“Nah, you just be careful,” ‘Taker told her. “Lemme know when you’re on your way back.”

“Will do,” Xion promised, she leaned over the bike to hug him. “See you in a couple hours.”

In twenty minutes Xion cruised down the highway just over the speed limit, headed West. Between gears Xion coasted down flattened hills and tested the acceleration on the straight-aways. Cows lifted their head as she passed their pastures and stared her down while she idled at stoplights. The horizon was a long line, broken by farm houses and stands of trees meeting with the sky. Strips of sand, palm trees, and risen desert outcrops dotted the landscape.

Laredo arose in the hills. A sprawling border city of concrete and asphalt cut in half by the Rio Grande. Sparse trees grew out of the concrete, the streets warmed with the cloistering of buildings and bodies. On a Monday morning few wandered the sidewalks. Xion ran her errands, picked-up the cosmetics from the beauty store and the few things Aeleus needed. As noon approached the sun arced overhead and wind rushed the city streets. The bell jingled as Xion entered the bookstore, hidden in the shade of a side street. The clerk procured the textbooks Xion ordered. After perusing the aisles but making no other purchases, Xion emerged back out onto the sidewalk. 

She stepped off the curb and approached where she parked her bike beneath a popular tree. A small white box rested on the seat of the bike. Xion shifted her burden from her hands, securing the bags in the rear compartment. She picked-up the box, felt its weight. Xion popped the lid. Inside was a cake for one, covered in smooth white frosting, chocolate shavings, and adorned with a card.’Red velvet,’ it read. Xion looked-up and down the street. She closed the lid, corners of her mouth pulling into a grin.

Daddy built her bike and she got a cake for her birthday after all.

[aweebwrites]

Trials of the Heart (H&F)

Warning: Blood, gore, dismemberment

___________

"It's finally spring!" Jay chirped flying out of the side of their cliff home, over the still iced over waters l along the fjord they called home.

"This winter was a little shorter than normal through." Cole says as he walked along the shore, finned tail flicking back and forth as he looked it over.

"By a few days." Kai agrees, perched on Cole's back. "Jay's happy about it so I am too." The Phoenix harpy grinned and Cole smiled a little.

"Alright. Off. I have to break up the ice for Nya then you do your thing." Cole told him and Kai nods, taking air and hovering there as he watched Cole rolled his shoulders.

He pushed himself up on his hind legs then slammed his front ones down, creating an earthquake to shatter the ice along the water.

"Show time." Kai grinned then flew over to Nya's side of the lake end of the fjord and gathered fire along his feathers and him his mouth, much like a dragon.

He then blew it out as he flew around, melting the ice on top and continuing still to warm the water up a bit.

"That should do it. She can swim out and about but the deeper portion of the water will be pretty cold." Kai says, coming to a hover over the water as Cole walked over to the iceless side of the lake area.

"It'll take a few weeks before it's warm enough for her. Skylor should be fine." Cole agrees. "Hey Jay, tell them the good news." He called out to the storm harpy that was doing loopty loops in the air.

"Gotcha!" Jay called out then pulled off a sharp dive then turned last minute, going into the side of the cliff.

"In the meantime, I'm gonna take a quick run to see if all the ice around the edges are broken up." Cole says, turning away.

"Alright." Kai says, watching him take off in a steady gallop.

"Kai!" Said Phoenix blinked at his name then looked towards the large chunks of ice on the colder side of the lake.

He spotted Zane once he raised a hand and waved. Kai chuckled as he flew over.

"Boy you really do blend in with the ice." Kai smiled as Zane slid up on a large chunk.

"Could you do me a favour?" Zane asked quickly and Kai frowned at his urgent tone.

"Sure. What is it?" Kai asked, flying closer to the mer, watching curiously as he held something to his chest then stretched his hand out to show Kai. "Oh. It's your gold. Do you need me to make it into something for you?" He asked, using his taloned foot to take it as he hovered still.

"Yeah. But it's something specific…" Zane says with a light blue flush in his cheeks that had Kai raising a brow.

"Well then… I'm all ears." Kai hummed, intrigued.

Cole on the other hand stood on the other side of the cliff facing, making it to the top rather easily. It gave him a higher view of the water below. It was all broken up. Much further down the channel still had ice but that would melt on its own soon. He turned around then galloped his way down the hill that made the cliff, enjoying the feeling of his hooves hitting the ground, the wind through his much longer hair. It's getting out of control. He should find some way to trim it but…

He thought back to all the times Zane kept running his class through the thick strands of his hair, an adoring look in his eyes. Well. If Zane liked it that much, he would keep it as is. He looked ahead curiously once he noticed Zane and Kai talking. They looked up to see him before Kai grinned and flew off.

"What's that all about?" Cole asked as he slowed to a trot.

"Nothing." Zane immediately dismissed then slid his way further on sure and Cole smiled, kneeling before him and cupping his cheeks.

"You're up to something. I can tell." Cole hummed and Zane only grinned, revealing sharp, pearly whites teeth.

"Maybe… But you're going to have to wait and see." Zane purrs, using his mate as support so he could reach his height.

"Ooooh. A surprise. I like the sound of that." Cole smiled, nuzzling his nose against Zane's as the mer purred happily.

"Good." Zane hummed before they both pressed their lips together, tongues coming into play right away.

Zane's black tongue slid against sharp fangs and further still to strong yet just as sharp molars that weren't that sharp before his change. While Cole had eaten other animals as a normal centaur, most of their diet was plants after all. Now, while Cole would enjoy kelp with him, he very much preferred meat and fish which made his newer, sharper teeth come in handy. On Cole's end, his light green tongue met rows of razor sharp teeth he had to be careful with. While Zane doesn't chew his food, he has this many teeth to allow him to latch on firmly to prey and puncture more lively fish and animals so thoroughly, if they somehow manage to get away, the bite alone is guaranteed to kill them. Their equally long tongues tangled together, their movements slow and savory. That is, until-

"Hey. It's too early for that." Nya called out and they pulled away from each other to blink at the warm water mer as she swum around stretching her fins.

"There's still a week tops before you two get rut brained." Skylor smirked as she allowed herself to float and both cold water mer and Kelpie flushed.

"You're one to talk." Cole huffed as Zane hid his face into his muscular chest, a low whine leaving him as he flicked his tail in embarrassment.

"Cool it. By then we're all slaves to instinct." Jay huffed as he arrived on scene, landing on the shore. "Really, if anyone should be making fun of anyone or complain, it's the Senseis and Lloyd." He says, sitting on the cold sand.

"Which is why we should make sure everything is in order for when they wake up." Kai says, arriving as well, perching next to his mate. "They can awaken at anytime during or after that time for us so let's start planning." He told them and they nodded.

"Alright. Anyone have any clue what waking dragons need?" Nya asked and there was all around silence.

"Boy do we have our work cut out for us…" Cole says drily.

___

"So food's obviously gonna be a thing on the list." Nya says, sitting on the shore with everyone else. "But we can't start stocking up too early and risk spoilage nor can we wait until it's too late and our instincts are mostly in control." She says, tapping a red claw against her arm.

"We start gathering in about 4 or 5 days instead then." Zane suggests and Nya nods.

"Fair enough. I'm just grasping at straws here but since the cold had put them to sleep to begin with, maybe some warmth will help them wake up." Cole suggested.

"So… We make them a fire?" Kai questions.

"That seems impractical since we don't know exactly when they're gonna wake up." Skylor pointed out.

"Well yeah, but they can all spark a fire on their own. Maybe we just leave them supplies to make it." Cole clarified and they paused to think on it.

"Not a bad idea." Jay nods, the others agreeing.

"Ok. Food and warmth. What else?" Nya asked them and they all paused to think.

"Oh! Water!" Jay spoke up with a grin.

"Of course." They huffed, facepalming.

"Alright. Food, warmth and water. Anything else they might need?" Cole listed off and they paused to think on it.

"No. I think that's about it." Kai says, crossing his singed arms.

"Alright. Then- huh?" Cole looked at Zane as he scented the air, eyes narrowed sharply.

Of all of them, Zane had the best sense of smell as he needed it for his time up north while hunting. He narrowed his eyes at the tree line, spines standing on edge along his back down his tail as a low hiss escaped him. That put all of them on guard. Zane's never reacted like this before, not even to the bear that attacked them during autumn. It must be an intruder.

"We'll take a look from above." Kai says seriously as Cole urged Zane in the water fully, just in case.

They took off once Nya nods, retreating to the water as well but still staying close to shore with Skylor. They had an advantage there after all. Soon, Cole could hear them approach and he snorts, dragging his hoof through the sand, ready to attack at any given time.

"I see them. it's just one creature." Jay says, sharp eyes spotting the figure as they keep coming directly towards them before his eyes widened once they walked through thinner coverage. "It's a-"

"Centaur?" Kai finished, surprised.

He wasn't the only one. Centaurs don't live this far up north naturally. Plus, there's a lot of hills and mountains rather than the plains centaurs prefer. Cole should know, he used to be one. That didn't make him any less wary though. Finally, they broke through the tree line and Cole blinked at the centaur that walked through. It wasn't anyone he's met before, that's for sure. She was a very light brown, almost blonde coloured centaur who's coat matched her wavy hair that spilled down her back. She looked around with wide hazel eyes then spotted Cole.

"Oh… You're a centaur…" She says, walking forwards slowly. "But also not?" She says, spotting his finned tail as it flicked back and forth warily.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Cole asked, getting right to it.

"Oh. I'm Mariah. I…" Tears filled her eyes. "I got separated from my herd. We were escaping hunters…" She whispered as tears fell down her cheeks.

"You're a long way from any nearby plains though." Jay says suspiciously as he swooped down to land.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to do since she reared up with a startled whinny then galloped towards Cole. He tensed, ready for an attack- only to blink when she held onto his arm tightly, whimpering against the back of his shoulder from her shorter statue. Cole… Didn't know what to make of this.

Zane on the other hand… He watched with wide eyes from the water as she held onto his mate's arm, burying her face into his mate's skin. He stared for a moment longer before he released a series of warning clicks and trills under the water that mimicked growls, the broken up ice solidifying again as he glared at the imposing female with icy venom.

"Cold!" Nya's yelp startled him out of his challenging stance.

He watched as both she and Skylor dove under the water before the surface stilled, solidifying into clear ice. His ear fins flattened when he realised that he was the cause.

"What happened Zane?" Cole asked, green eyes focused on him, the worry in them thawing the icy bitterness that took him just now.

"Oh. Sorry. I wasn't paying attention." He apologised with a sheepish smile.

It wasn't a lie but it wasn't the whole truth. He just felt silly for reacting the way he has. Cole loves him and this outsider will be leaving anyways. Speaking of, she turned around to see him, seeing his intimidating teeth and claws then gave a shrieking whinny, shifting to bury her face into Cole's chest, trembling with her tail between her legs. Cole grimaced, looking down at the skittish girl then sighed. They couldn't just tell her to scram. It wasn't in their nature.

"Jay, could you and Kai look around to see if you can find any nearby centaurs?" Cole asked, looking across at him.

"Roger." Jay nods then took off, going after Kai who had remained hidden but only to ambush if necessary.

"You know that harpy?" Mariah asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

'Isn't that obvious?' Cole thought dryly. "Yeah. He's a friend. Don't worry. We'll find your herd." He says aloud and Mariah smiled widely.

"Thank you for your help!" She says happily, nuzzling against him and Zane sneered, his sharp teeth glinting menacingly as he narrowed glowing arctic blue eyes at her from the water.

For her sake, Kai and Jay better find her herd quickly.

________

"This is bad." Nya says from inside her pool in the cave.

"Yeah. Mariah's presence means that hunters have already mobilised and are closing in." Skylor says with a frown, keeping her company, her sealskin wrapped around Nya's neck to help keep her warm.

"That's bad but it's not what I meant." Nya says, glancing towards the obscure exit onto the beach. "I meant Mariah all but clinging to Cole like that." She clarified.

"Huh? But it's obvious he isn't interested in her." Skylor says with a frown.

"Yeah that may be true but not only has Zane never experienced a challenger who obviously wants to stake a claim, it's really close to that time of the year. You should know. Jealousy and instincts aren't the best mix." Nya says pointedly and Skylor's purple serpentine tail swung from side to side.

"True. Do you think he'll attack?" Skylor asked, resting her chin in her clawed hand.

"Definitely if Mariah keeps clinging to Cole like a parasite. It's just a matter of when." Nya says, nuzzling the warm seal skin around her neck. "I've never seen a cold water mer before Zane and I certainly haven't seen them hostile. I've heard that's when they're most fearsome." She whispered.

"... I've seen cold water mers before him. They aren't as social as Zane is. They're intimidating, even while not paying any creature any mind." Skylor says, recalling a brief trip she had some time ago further up north.

They were all pretty gray scale, varying from dark gray to light with barely visible flecks of colour. They were all pretty big too, not to say Zane was small. He was much bigger than Nya and herself after all. It's just… She slipped into the water, using her legs to tread as she brushed Nya's hair back. They've gotten so used to Zane, to how soft and kind he was. This would be a reminder that Zane is capable of more than they ever thought. Nya looked up at her with her clear blue eyes and she smiled softly, her purple serpentine tail coming around to wrap around Nya's tail. It'll be unfortunate but it might also be a good thing.

_________

Cole sat, completely annoyed on the shore, a hand crafted fire before him… And Mariah glued to his side, preventing him from going in the water and cuddling Zane in his arms, preventing him from watching his relaxed face as he slept soundly, brushing his fingers against his pale cheek…

"It's a pretty cold tonight, isn't it?" Mariah asked with a shiver but Cole couldn't feel it.

The cold didn't bother him at all and as far as he knew, heat is the same.

"I suppose." Cole says, trying not to let his annoyance bleed through into his voice.

He knew it wasn't her fault but dammit he can't leave her out here alone. Centaurs separated from a tightly knit herd go through separation anxiety. It has them searching endlessly for their herd or latch onto a new one- or any creature close to a centaur. It's what helps his former kind integrate into new herds. He frowns, looking out at the iced over water, at the small hole there that was just about large enough for a head to poke through.

This'll be the first time in over a year Zane would sleep by himself. That realisation didn't bode well with him. He hopes Zane would have patience, until Mariah was gone…

Zane on the other hand tried to talk himself down just below the ice. He was just so used to sleeping next to Cole, his body can't even fathom such a feat tight now. At least his species could go days without sleep and still be unaffected but it was a routine he had come to treasure and she was ruining it with her presence! A low warning trill escaped him as his spines flared wider slowly darkening as more of his blue blood pumped through them. He shook his head, trying to shake it off. He knows Cole loves him and would never pick her over him. Knows this more than anything. But the problem lies with that mare touching his mate. A low trill escaped him as he looked up towards the surface with ominously glowing blue eyes. He doesn't share.

____________

Morning came with no signs from Kai and Jay, giving the odd family reason to worry.

"They never take this long to come back…" Cole whispered, looking to the sky. "How long have you been wandering?" He asked the mare who was glued to his side still.

"I've lost track. A few days at least…" Mariah says quietly, pressing even closer and Cole grimaced realising that this might actually take longer than he'd expected.

She's out of luck come a few days. Whether she likes it or not, he'll be returning to the water to mate with his mate. Speaking of, he hasn't been able to see him since she got here. It was time he changed that.

"Wait here." He told her, getting to his hooves and walking towards the water.

"You'll come back, right?" She asked, eyes wide and tear filled.

"Yeah. Don't worry. In just a sec." Cole says, glancing over his shoulder at her then stepped onto the iced over lake.

"Are you sure?" She called out, figuring nervously.

"Yeah. I'm sure." Cole says, irritation blooming.

He doesn't want to be angry at her but he hasn't been able to hold his mate since she got-

"I'll come with you." She says as she got up, trotting over.

"No. You can't. I'm-"

The ice breaking the moment she stepped on it cut off Cole's explanation and she rested back at the ice cold water that splashed against her legs.

"C-Cold!" Mariah stuttered, backing up and Cole facepalmed.

What was this situation even?

"I- I'm sorry. I just… I just wanted to stay with you a little. Just until I can find my pack and I… I'm already such a burden…" She whispered, wiping her tears with the back of her hands and Cole felt a twinge of guilt.

He looked out to the ice, seeing barely visible eyes of glowing blue there, watching their movements.

"Sorry Zane. Maybe later on." Cole says softly then walked out of the water, missing when it immediately froze over. "You're shivering. Let's head back. I'll build another fire." He says, reaching a hand down to help her up.

Mariah sniffled then nodded, taking his hand, not letting it go as she followed alongside him. The temperatures took a steep dip then, frost building up along the bark of the trees. Cole turned back to the frozen body of water once he heard something. It was more like low vibrations coming from the water. He shook it off. He must have been hearing things.

_____

Zane decided the best way to push these feelings back was contact with his mate. A kiss even. Just the thought had him perking up as he used his claws to cut himself a hole so he could pop up through. He pulled himself out of the water partially, his tail still mostly in the hole as he looked around. He perked up even more seeing Cole return from a round of hunting.

"Cole!" Zane called out grinning once his Kelpie mate perked up at his voice and smiled widely, seeing him waiting for him.

He dropped the rabbits he caught and galloped towards the ice- but Zane just wasn't allowed to have good things while Mariah was around, was he?

"Oh? That's your name?" Mariah asked, intercepting his path to him. "I'm sorry. I should have asked earlier. I must seem so insensitive now." She apologized as Zane's happiness faded.

"It's fine. I just have to-"

"So rabbits co-" Mariah had cut Cole off, only to he cut off herself once she ends up tripping on something partially buried in the sand, leaving her to yelp and fall against Cole, both of them ending up on the ground, Mariah half across Cole. "I'm sorry! I'm so clumsy! Are you ok?!" She asked him, sitting in her haunches as Cole sat up, trying not to let his irritation show.

"I'm fine." Cole says quietly.

He looked at the ice once he heard a silent splash, only to find both Zane and the hole gone, as if they never were. Cole didn't like that. It didn't sit well with him how he just took off. He stood then paused once he realised something. Another breath out turned to fog as the temperature plummets further.

"W-w-wow. It g-g-got so c-c-cold all of a sudden." Mariah stuttered, getting to her hooves as she rubbed her bare arms. "It's snowing…" She whispered and Cole looked up seeing the snow drifting down from the pale blue sky.

This was… Abnormal. Cole looked to the frozen solid lake. Was this… Was this Zane's doing?

"Mariah. Head inside the cave." Cole told her and she looked at him wide eyed.

"B-b-"

"Would you rather freeze to death before you ever see your herd again?" Cole asked her, clipped and blunt, unphased as more tears filled her eyes.

"N-no…" She says, looking down then fiddling with her hands.. "It's just…"

Cole straightened, hearing something from the lake, calling him, beaconing him to come. No doubt it was Zane.

"Wait!" Mariah says, grabbing his arm and Cole turned around to finally snap at her, only to find her lips pressed against his.

Meanwhile, it was all Zane could do to control himself. His mind was filled with dark, gruesome things, claws ready to inflict critical damage, teeth itching to sink and rip into flesh. He tried breathing in slowly through his gills, trying to calm his rushing pulse, trying to grasp at control that was slipping through his webbed hands like sand. Logic knows what's best bit instincts are so much stronger, so much harder to fight. He knew if he let it take over, he would take a life. He didn't want to be that kind of mer, didn't want to prove the stereotypes of his kind right. He clenched his fists tightly, trying to prevent his body from preparing to fight, to maim. His mind was a mess. Emotions, logic and instincts all clashing, overlapping. He needed to calm down, needed to escape the source of his dilemma but he couldn't. He refused. He wouldn't leave Cole alone with her . He didn't trust her. Wouldn't trust her. Not with his mate.

He needed, he needed… He lowered his hands from his face, ignoring the blackness of his claws that now extended past his wrist, ignoring the blue of his fins filled with so much of his blue blood, they looked black ignoring the light blue specks of his body that also took on that same colour. He needed his mate. He needed Cole.

A reverberating croon left him as he called for his mate, calling him to come to him. He's the only one that can quiet the storm in his mind right now. It only occurred to him after a moment that it would be hard to hear under thick ice. He swam up then used his tail to break a large portion of the ice before pushing himself up, ready to restart his calls- only to see Mariah with her lips on his mate's.

That was the last straw. Emotions and mainly instincts won, the whites of Zane's eyes turning dark as he gave a hiss of outrage. They turned towards him but Zane was cutting through the ice like it wasn't there, eyes screaming murder as he locked onto the one who dare challenged him.

"Zane?" Cole whispered, stepping back without realising, getting whiplash from the constant flow of shock.

This Zane looks so different. So much wilder… Deadlier…

"Woah! Shit!" Mariah yelled once Zane ricocheted out of the water, coming directly at her.

She then did something that startled Cole: she teleported out of Zane's line of attack.

"That was close." She sighed once Zane collided with the beach but he still looked fearsome and clearly wasn't about to back down anytime soon.

"... How did you do that?" Cole asked quietly, eyes narrowed in suspicion and Mariah looked at him surprised, realising that she blew her cover before she huffed.

"Damn. Ah well. This was boring anyway." Mariah says and Cole's eyes widened as her centaur form faded away to a completely humane one.

But that along with her teleportation was a clear sign she wasn't a regular human. She was most likely a witch whom were worse than hunters. They hunted just like the humans did but they keep their catch for their essence, adding it to their spells and potions. Essence is the very source of what made a creature who the are and they use the essence from parts of whatever unfortunate creature they manage to capture until they have no more left, until they're nowhere close to the creature they used to be. Essence is strongest with intense feelings as well... Like pain. Death in the end is the only mercy they receive from their capture.

Considering this witch was able to shapeshift and teleport, it was unfortunate that Wu and Garmadon are asleep. Considering the fact that they are asleep and vulnerable, they had to protect them. But Nya and Skylor are too vulnerable to the cold. Kai and Jay are gone too. Zane is… Cole looked past her at his seething black and blue eyed mate. Zane… He spotted a flash of light then jumped back out of the way, Mariah holding a cruel smile on her face.

"Eyed on me loverboy. No more daydreaming." She smirked as her hands glowed. "And to think such a rare sight like you would be more than interested in a fair centaur maiden, just before breeding season, hmm? Though it's peculiar. My love spell hasn't been working at all, no matter how many times I've casted it though touch. I've even gone as far to actually kiss you. My spells always work. Explain this, creature." She sneered, raising a hand towards him threateningly.

"Love spell?" Cole whispered, eyes wide.

It must be because he's already in love with Zane! No time for that. He needed to get rid of her before she does something terrible. But how? His earth powers can only do so much!

"Nevertheless, Kelpie are a truly rare and powerful source of both spiritual and water essence and I plan on taking you with me." She grinned then yelled as she shot a beam of her magic at him and Cole three his hands up to block- but it never landed.

Cole blinked then looked over his arms, eyes wide to see a wall of ice it seems before him. But this ice was different, darker.

"You pesky fish!" Mariah yelled and Cole's eyes widened.

Zane!

Cole was quick to round the ice, seeing Mariah distracted with attacking Zane, his ice blocking her attacks.

"I'll slit your neck and bleed you dry when I'm done with you!" She yelled at him and Cole narrowed his eyes.

He turned around then put his weight on his front hooves and used his back legs to slam into her back, leaving her to tell as the momentum flung her onto the iced over lake, the impact of her landing cracking the ice. Zane moved like a viper in the grass, sliding back into the water quickly, the small hole in the ice freezing over instantly. Cole watched Mariah from the shore as she slowly got up with a groan, bracing himself for what was to come next. Then it happened. Mariah screamed as she found herself high in the air, ice, water and Zane trailing after her mid air from his jump. Cole didn't flinch seeing Zane's sharp teeth sink into her exposed neck, his claws digging into her flesh as he dropped back into the water with her, disappearing under the surface, ice immediately reforming afterwards.

Zane spun as he dragged her deeper into the water, then pulled away with the chunk of her neck he had bitten into. She immediately brought her hands to her heavily bleeding throat as she began to both drown and bleed to death but Zane wasn't done yet. Not even close. He hissed as he swam in, clamping on her arm, shaking her violently until it ripped off. He immediately closed his strong jaw around the other, digging his claws into her flesh to keep her steady as he ripped it off as well. He hissed at her pale, lifeless face then unhinged his jaw for the final blow. He closed his teeth around the entirety of her neck then ripped it free from her body, spitting it out in disgust then sneered at her remains. 

On shore, Cole saw nothing for a few seconds after Zane disappeared below but then the ice under the water began to turn red. He stood there as it sunk in.

Zane just killed someone.

Cole pressed his lips together before they stretched in a smile. He was oddly proud. He had concerns if Zane had enough of a heart to do it if his life was at risk. He forgot that Zane was perhaps the most deadly of them all. It made him even more proud to call Zane his mate.

"Cole!" The centaur looked up once Jay's voice caught his ears, sewing him a moment after flying quickly towards him.

He landed before him, sending icy sand kicking up in the air.

"Mariah is-"

"A witch?" Cole says, cutting him off and confusing Jay.

"Yeah! But how'd you know?" Jay asked, confused.

"She gave herself away. But we don't have to worry about her ever again." Cole says, smiling as he looked out to the lake.

"How come? Hey why is the lake re-"  Jay cut himself off when everything pieced together.

"Holy shit." Kai says, arriving then as well. "I mean, I should have known with Zane being a cold water mer but damn." He says, landing next to them, holding a large gold circlet in hand.

Cole looked at it confused.

"Hey, where'd you find that?" Cole asked him and Kai looked at the solid gold band in hand.

"Oh this? It's actually yours." Kai says, tossing it to him. "Zane asked me to make it for you. It's a permanent accessory so whenever you're ready, I'll melt the gold shut for good." He says with a smirk as Cole looked over the details in the circlet in awe.

That was clearly them along the middle. Zane on one side and him on the other, their tails laced together on the back and them sharing a kiss on the front. Cole's heart warmed as he smiled at it. It was gorgeous.

"Oh. We've brought company by the way." Kai added and Cole glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening to see two familiar figures.

"Where's the witch?" Ronin asked, glancing up at them from under his conical hat as he walked on shore.

"By now? The Departed Realm." Jay says, gesturing to the lake.

"Woah. Zane did that?" Dareth asked surprised, his head cocked to the side. "Jeeze. I didn't think he had it in him." He says with a grimace.

A section of the ice on the lake collapsed suddenly and the group blinked once a darker blue tail tossed out two arms, a torso and a head, all covered in frost. Kai whistled low.

"Remind me not to piss Zane off." Jay says with a grimace.

Cole was more focused on Zane, watching the mer watch him with only his hair and eyes visible. The cold water mer gave a beaconing croon and Cole gave the circlet back to Kai.

"Hold onto this for me." He humbled then walked towards the water, his eyes focused on his mate.

He didn't care about the lingering blood that gave the water a pink tinge. He only cared about Zane. Cole stood there, face to face with Zane, noticing that he still looked so wild, so dangerous with his gorgeous blues replaced with deadly blacks, his glowing eyes standing our even more when framed by black… But he didn't mind at all. He reached out and cupped Zane's cheek gently, stroking his thumb against his skin. Zane purred, leaning into his touch with closed eyes as Cole smiled softly. They both moved, their lips pressing together as they clutched at each other, missing this, missing each other. With a flick of Cole's tail, they both disappeared below the water.

"Awww. A happy ending." Jay cooed next to Kai as Ronin inspected the remains next to them.

"She mostly bled out but there should still be enough for a decent meal." He murmured to himself, ignoring the arms and head, going straight for the body.

"Are you gonna finish that?" Dareth asked eagerly as he watched his partner bare his fangs.

Ronin paused, glancing over at the half werewolf with wide brown eyes, watching his ears perk up as his tail wagged eagerly. Ronin only huffed and tossed him the closest arm, Dareth catching it in his mouth.

"Wouldn't want you to go hungry. You're annoying when you get all whiny." Ronin huffed with a small smirk, his red eyes glinting.

"While you guys do your thing, I'm gonna check up on Nya." Kai says, walking away.

"I'll come with!" Jay chirps, following after him.

The mercenary and his pet partner watched them go before returning their attention to the all expenses paid meal left for them.

"Well. Bon appétit." The vampire murmured then sank his fangs into the shoulder of the corpse, draining her until the raw wounds she had turned pink, unphased by the audible cracking of bone next to him.

Since they ran into them while tracking down that witch, he'll stick around… If only until after the full moon...

_____________

(Hey! Here we are! Zane is soft boi so it was time to shake things up a bit. Also! Next H&F piece will focus on Cole's powers! Because he does have them. It might take a few other elemental visitors for him to see it though. Who knows! CI is up next so see you when that's done!)

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[duckbunny]

There is a place in the west, near the gravelly spit of Portland and the crumbling cliffs filled with dinosaur bones, where Somerset and Dorset do not meet. There is a sign on the road whichever way one travels, that warns you are leaving the shire, and its twin, welcoming you to the next, does not appear for nearly a mile.

This is an unusual distance. The Shires of England have been expanding for centuries, their edges creeping ever closing, squeezing the old country into the narrowest gaps. Between Essex and Kent only the Thames now stands, sweeping across the clay and silt to bury itself in the Channel salt. Strange things lurk along the riverbed, driven down into the water by the trades of London, plotting their endless revenge. But here, in the west, the villagers have a little of the old blood about them still. The borders have not moved for centuries. The villagers forbid it, whatever their landlords say on the matter. Let the justices order the enclosures; the hedges and banks remain.

And so a traveller, riding at night along the high road northwest from crumbling Dorchester, lost in dreams of Roman glory, shall come to a sign of brick and fine grey Portland stone.

It says "You are now leaving Dorset", and the wisest travellers whip their horses and do not look too closely at the view.

The land falls away, on either side of that road. It is no glittering bridge such as they have in the East, where the cities forget why the borders are guarded. It is only a natural ridge, where water and time have scoured away the chalk to either side. The valley to the south is wide and singular, almost a cliff, falling away to the wide wet vale. On the north, the land lies crumpled as old laundry, village and river hidden alike by the folds of the earth.

The wise traveller whips their horses, and does not look.

On a cool day in autumn, when the hawthorn trades its leaves for berries of bloodiest red, a traveller stands upon the ridge.

He was borne in no swift carriage, nor riding the swift horses of the post-inn. He had come on the mail coach, which had left him near half a mile from the border of Somerset, unwilling to risk a halt even close to the old country. From there he had walked, along the overgrown verges, with the grass soaking his trousers to the knee and his boots slipping every minute into the deep nettle-hidden ditch. He walked, as the rising sun lit the leaves to flaming gold, to where Somerset ends, and he walked on, past the sign, into the old country.

His name is Roland, and he stood upon the road, on the ridge, and gazed down into the wrinkled land to the north.

Another man might have been gathering his courage, but Roland was only waiting.

The sun creeps up the sky, the light spreading from golden bars to a pale white blanket over the wet grass. When it rises high enough to light the valley – when the shadows are banished from both those slopes of grass - Roland sighs, once, as a man who finds to his relief that the old key opens the guessed-at door.

He steps off the road and follows the line of the tiny stream, which oozes into life from the matted roots and dew-catching knots of the grass, without a spring to give it a name. The stream twists along the valley, too small and secret to account for the folding of the land. The valley cannot have been made by such a stream. But here it is all the same, running wet between the tussocks, where the traveller may plunge to the knee in water if she does not see the dark gleam of the ground, waiting to give way.

Roland is not such a traveller. He knows this stream of old. Has lain beside it, in the brief heat of summer, to find his back wet with hungry water when he rose. Has walked its bank in every season, drawn dead rabbits from the dark water and see the hawthorn blossom rot among the ripples. The ice that creeps over it in winter has been his companion, in years not yet forgotten by the stream.

He is not a traveller, this man come up from the shires and down from the road. He would laugh at you for saying so. He would laugh the silent, eye-crinkling laugh of the border folk, that sounds itself in eyebrows and the shift of the shoulders, that murmurs under silent breath. He was born here, along the reedless banks of the tiny stream, the stream that never cut the valley, the valley that twists away east where no traveller on the road can see down to it, and here is the house he was born in.

The house is badly in need of repair. The thatch is sagging, all but holed through by its own weight, moss creeping down from the eaves. The walls bulge like undercooked bread, flattened under their own weight. The windowsills have fallen away in chunks, crumbling yellow sandstone showing where the white paint has cracked apart. The wet grass has almost overcome the doors.

Roland does not go to the house. He does not knock at the dark oak door, between the nails and the half-supported lion's head knocker. He does not turn a key in the rusting lock, or push open the creaking door, or set an eye upon the residents where they crumble in the half-lit rooms.

He goes instead to the stream he has followed from its birth, followed from the edge of the road between the shires, and now at last he goes to the banks and he kneels down beside it on the overhanding grass and he lets the dew soak through the knees of his trousers and rest clammy and damp against his skin.

Roland leans forward, over the uncertain banks of the stream, and he digs.

He does not have a spade, a trowel, even a spoon. He digs with his hands, plunging them into the stream to brush at the clogged sand at the bottom. The stream carries away the silt in great clouds like smoke from damp firewood. Under his hands, shapes appear, and are blown away by the current that rises and twists along the riverbed until at last his numbing fingers scrape from the mud a single gleaming apple-seed.

He lifts it out, as reverently as if it were his firstborn, and draws from his pocket a single apple. It is perfect. Not shining red, like the waxed imports of the markets. This is an apple from an English orchard, half-forgotten by its owners, tended to by the peasantry because it is in their blood to tend to the orchards where they find them. It is pale yellowish green and mottled, the stem surrounded by tough brown skin, and clinging determinedly to the last wilting leaf.

He takes from his other pocket a knife, and carves his name into the soft yellow flesh.

Where the seed came out, the apple goes in, and no sooner are Roland’s steady fingers out of the water than the apple is gone, hidden under silt and sand in the bed of the stream, hidden under dark flowing water.

Roland stands, and brushes the wet knees of his trousers with cold wet hands. It does no good, but he tries it anyway. He brushes at his knees and he turns away from the cottage and he walks up the hill and he does not look back, back to the fresh-cut eaves of the thatch, the tidy lawn, the trim cottage that rests in the valley as neatly as on a postcard, shining with the morning sun and the health of a newly-paid rent.

He climbs the hill, along the twisting line of the stream, back towards, the road, but he does not follow it. He passes over the ridge instead, unmoved by the sweep of stone that calls the traveller back to safety, and goes down again, down into the broad southern valley of Enniskillen.

There is always some light in Enniskillen's valley. The sun is never quite hidden by the fogs. The moon shines brighter than in other places, the stars are more attentive on moonless nights. Roland has never questioned it. The valley to the south is lighter than his; he knew this as a child, he knows it now, as he knows which way the rivers run.

There is a stand of oak trees, turned golden and brown in the cooling winds, and he crosses through it. The trees bear tokens of favour from this gentle and that, here a scarlet ribbon, there a long-toothed badger skull. The favours do not rustle in the breeze. The acorns are plentiful this year, brown shells shining under fallen leaves. There are piles of those leaves, raked into heaps to sift the acorns out. The acorns of such oaks as these are not to be overlooked.

Under the leaves of the last oaks, the last oaks that stand bare of ribbons and skulls and drop their leaves onto the mossy grass, there is a labyrinth. It is cut into the turf and moulded into the ground, felt underfoot as easily as seen, except when the sun is low and the sky is clear and the banks of the labyrinth cast deep shadows across the path. Edge to edge, it might be thirty feet, or fifty; Roland has never crossed it edge to edge, never measured its boundaries. He passes between the last oaks as through a gateway, and sets his feet upon the winding, mossy path. You cannot go wrong, walking Enniskillen's labyrinth. There are no false turnings to lead you astray. There is only the straight plain route, twisting around itself, towards the wood and away and down the slope and up, until you approach the house from below and the grey slate roof hides the arching oaks.

The day is young, the chill mist of morning not yet burned away, and Enniskillen is baking bread.

Roland leans on the broad windowsill, pulling back the half-open shutters and leaning through. Enniskillen's hands never stop kneading, turn and press and turn and press, all the while they are talking.

"Rent's paid."

"I heard." She looks past him, over his shoulder. It is long years since he wondered what was standing behind him. "Did you speak to Sarah?"

"I didn't."

"You ought."

"She ought. Ought to be the firstborn, didn’t it? That's what's proper. Ten years she's held the deeds and seven she's forgot."

Turn, press, turn, press. Enniskillen's rhythm doesn't change, nor her expression change, nor her level gaze shift from over Roland's shoulder, but Roland blushes, and feels shame as hot as embers spreading from his belly. "Tell me, then," he mutters, and frowns at the turning dough.

"She forgets because she's had a second son, and the landlord's taken a shine to the boy. Can't see the roof leaking, any of them. Can't remember what week it is, nor why they ought to care. You ought to remember that well enough. No? You ought to remember all those years when the house was bright and clean and all the days were golden? Think that was true, do you still? Think she took the place on because she wanted it, her being so fond of rot and ruin? Think better before you complain on that next year."

She tosses the dough into the air, muttering words Roland cannot quite hear, but which he knows – from asking as an impertinent youth, who thought all the mysteries belonged to him – to be the first lines of an ancient lullaby.

"Who's your landlord, Enniskillen?"

He has asked before, of course, and of course, she does not answer this time either.

"Tell me a spell to bind a heart to the land," she says instead, and he sighs a little, and does as he is told.

This is a teaser chapter of Borderlands, one of the books I’ll be serialising this year exclusively for my patrons. If you’d like to read more about the Old Country, you can sign up at https://www.patreon.com/duckbunny for as little as one dollar a month.