Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience.

Stiles sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything but what I saw.” The boy wished he could be more help but right now he was useless. “I’ll do some research as soon as I get home. I’ll figure it out somehow. You never know what could help us defeat the Horsemen.” There was always the alternative that maybe it was already in the cave from another time altogether but Stiles did not want to think about that. It would be devastating if he couldn’t somehow figure this out. “Let’s…let’s get back to trying to protect this library.”

Stiles took the paper and nodded his head. “Yeah. I can draw it.” He grabbed a pencil and as he began to draw, his tongue poked out of his lips in concentration. First there was a circle and in the inside of a circle there was what, to him, looked like a wide H or barbells. It was the Greek capital letter theta - though Stiles could not remember the name. “Like this,” he said as he handed it over to Alistair. “I don’t even know how I remember any of it. I wasn’t studying it. I guess it just caught my attention for a moment.” Stiles shrugged his shoulders and then sighed. “What does it mean?”

It seemed unlikely that someone who actually lived in Beacon Hills could also be lost, but he still didn’t seem particularly threatening, and she wasn’t sure why he’d lie.  “Are you new to town too then?” Riley asked cautiously.  She wanted to believe him, because for some reason the idea that someone else had managed to get as lost as she did was a little comforting.  

Alistair knew. That was all Art could focus on. He could feel it on a much deeper level than Art could, but that meant the tree had to be crying out in pain incredibly loudly for even Art to pick up on it.  The fact that it went so deep worried him more than it had, before. “The Nemeton was in pain before, but now it’s worse. It’s aware. We have two options at this point… to put it back to sleep, or to heal it. I think we have been trying to put it back to sleep, but now, meeting you… I think we can heal it. But it won’t be easy.”

Riley eyed him a moment longer but was fairly certain he didn’t pose a threat to her, or at least he wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t hurt her.  “I- um.”  She shook her head in the hopes that it would clear it.  “I’m a little lost,” she admitted.  Under-exaggeration of the century.  But it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell strangers that she had no memory of leaving her bed.  Especially not strangers who also took late night strolls through apparently hazardous territory.  “If it’s so dangerous, why are you wandering the streets?”  

The name of the symbol caused a tugging in his brain. He knew he had heard that name before - or maybe read it - but he could not remember. “Yeah,” he answered, trying to remember it all exactly. It was such a traumatizing event, being in a cave while dealing with Death going after his girlfriend. He had been helpless and terrifyingly human. “There was a different symbol. In the circle or the center of the Ouroboros. I’m pretty sure it was a Greek letter. Not alpha or omega, though.”

She was glad to hear that they were fine, but Alistair changed the topic back to her kidnapping. “Peter rescued me. Got shot with wolfsbane, but he should be fine. The kids are all fine, they weren’t there.” She was relieved about that. The fear she’d felt when she’d first heard the gunfire had been unbearable, wondering if someone she cared about would get hurt because of her. “Or as fine as they can be with everything that’s going on. Lydia lost her mom.” 

Alistair nodded, a troubled look in his features. If things kept on like this, he’d get wrinkles before he was thirty. ‘I had heard about her mother. It’s, an unspeakable pain,” he said softly, “And I am unsure how to reach out to her. I worry for her, you know? But I remember what losing a parent is like, and Lydia and I are very similar. She may wall herself off and I don’t know how to help. At least you’re safe, and the rest. That I can take comfort in.”

“I’ve never met one, either. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I suppose… anything similar would keep to themselves.” Of course, meeting someone new didn’t always make Art want to study them under a magnifying glass, but another bit of magic he knew nothing about? And one that resonated with plants? Art was all set to keep the librarian around… and pick his brain for much more. He wanted to ask if misfortune fell on him and his father when they came across the book, but it seemed as though Alistair had fallen silent, his head cocked to the side, listening. Art knew that stance well–he’d seen it on werewolves, mostly, so he found it odd to see a non-wolf use it. His brow furrowed when Alistair’s did. “You can hear it?” he asked quietly, wondering if his voice would interrupt whatever Alistair’s senses could pick up. “There was another druid here once before, Alan Deaton. He woke up the Nemeton and ever since, the town became increasingly unbalanced. Deaton’s methods have always been questionable at best, but imagine waking up to find your arms and legs have been cut off.” Art wrapped his arms around himself as if he’d gotten a sudden chill, although it was still quite warm. He hadn’t discussed this with anyone, yet, but he hadn’t met anyone who could grow an entire grove of trees. “I can’t hear it, but I can feel the unbalance like a tiny nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m forgetting something important, or that there’s an important item I must cross off my To-Do List but I can’t.”

“That bothered me, I was referring to you talking afterwards.  If you can keep from tripping over broken limbs in the future that would be helpful”.  He decides to just start eating, he needed to hurry up before his parents realize he wasn’t at home anymore.

“But… just like there are different names for werewolves throughout the world, there can be different names for kodamas, right?. Nymph seems like the closest, or just a tree spirit. Either way, you’re the protector of this tree and in return the tree gives you… the ability to grow plantlife?” The way Alistair described the way the author cut down the tree struck Art as odd. “Why would an author of all people want to share a tree with someone? They could simply write about it and immortalize it within the pages of—-oh. Oh.” Art stood up straighter as realization dawned on him. “Did he turn your tree into a book?” It felt poetic, but the wrong kind. He would never want to touch a book make from the wood of the Nemeton. It was bad enough people had already created magical artifacts from the roots. Alistair’s worry caught Art off guard and confusion moved itself across his features. “It’s bringing trouble because it’s a stump,” Art stated. “When you break a musical instrument like a flute or a clarinet and try to play it, it creates a nauseating screech. But if you repair that instrument, the screech turns into a pleasant melody. I think that’s what’s happening. If we restore the Nemeton, it will stop drawing negative forces, but stay neutral. But it’s… only a theory.”

“I’m all for trying anything that might work,” he told the older man, his paintbrush raised. “I want to protect this town as much as anyone else. I think that sometimes I come off as selfish, which is completely fair, but I do have an interest in keeping people safe.” He smiled at the man. “I’m glad they were safe here. Honestly, if there was just one place people could go to be safe that would make all the difference.” Stiles nodded his head, a smile etched across his face, as he listened to his friend talk about his relationship. It dropped though when he realized he almost painted something bad. “Oh, shit. Sorry, man.” He flipped through the book until he found one that looked familiar. “I’ve seen this before…” he muttered. “In the cave…where Death is…or usually is…” He couldn’t understand what it meant but the familiarity of it was incredibly striking. “I don’t think I realized I had seen anything until now.”