“Thenvunin is very creative! He’s doing very well, especially during story time and our weekly story creation lab,” she says, holding out a glittery purple folder to his attentive mother. Nadas, however, is barely paying attention.

“And he made this amazing little picture of the main character, a giant magical bird. It’s going on the story wall with the others, he did a really great job.” She shows the picture and Mirena beams over it, like a normal parent. Nadas glances at it.

She makes a mental note to herself to give Thenvunin more positive attention, and to make sure his male math teacher is also giving him more positive attention. It doesn’t replace the need for positive attention from one of his parents, but every little bit helps.

“These are wonderful, I’m so glad you encourage creativity,” Mirena says. Kass smiles and nods.

“It’s important to encourage creativity in children. We were wondering though if there are any other desk options? We know this is the second one but –

“Oh no, of course! His comfort is very important, they spend so much time in chairs that they need to be comfortable. Does he have a place he likes to sit and do things at home?”

“Sometimes he sits next to me while I sew,” she says.

“Could you email me a picture of the set up? If he’s comfortable there, maybe I can recreate something here.”

“That would be wonderful.”

Kass writes that note down then looks at the notes she had for this conference. She sighs and leans forward.

“Thenvunin is doing well in all of his studies, but he has been having some issues with the other students. The principle and I have talked with those students and their parents already to stop the issues, but I just want to make sure you are aware of the issues. There have been some cases of bullying.” She keeps her tone measured and sweet, she by no means wants to insinuate that Thenvunin is at fault here, because he isn’t. Kids can be jerks. She loves them, but they can be difficult and mean.

“It’s about his legs isn’t it,” Nadas speaks for the first time, and his words make Mirena frown. Kass struggles herself not to show the distaste.

“Partly, but usually with bullying there are layers to it. It could have started about his legs but now it seems to be focused on his hair. Human boys tend to…shame elven boys for having characteristics they’ve learned to associate with girls. Again, the principle and I have spoken with the parents and the boys, they are being reprimanded fitting for their age and actions. I wanted to let you know so you can be aware of what’s going on and support him. Kids with disabilities are at higher risk for having lower self-esteem. Put the emphasis on what he can do, like create stories, make art, even braiding.”

“Thank you for bringing this to our attention. He’s been so brave with all his physical therapy, he can be so self-conscious about his legs.” Mirena continues to display her attentiveness as a mother. Nadas, however, is just…he’s there but he’s not present. The conversation shifts to some accommodations to made for Thenvunin’s legs and how some of the students like to decorate the braces when he feels up to it. They’ve had to stop using flowers, however, they would have uprooted the whole garden and junk up the very nice braces. Nadas refuses to make any sort of eye contact while Mirena and Kass discuss it, chuckling and smiling that overall his legs have not been that much of an issue as compared to his old school.

But Nadas doesn’t even seem to be aware of the positive, and by the way he holds his head, and keeps his body crossed – he’s not only disinterested, he’s embarrassed. She tries to be more okay with it, but she can’t help but remember Qal’s horror and tumult of emotions when Ash’s magic surfaced. Nadas doesn’t strike Kass as someone who would lash out at his son physically, but she knows that neglect is another form of abuse.

The meeting wraps up well enough, though. Thenvunin is a good student and at least he has one parent who adores him like they ought to. She wants to tell Mirena to leave Nadas, that not only does she deserve a better partner, but that Thenvunin deserves a better father. But Kass holds her tongue, she’s Thenvunin’s teacher, they’re at his school, it’s not the time or place for her to whip out the “I’m a survivor of domestic abuse and I’ve been where you’ve been, I can help you,” spiel.

They leave with assurances from Kass that she will make adjustments for Thenvunin’s comfort and learning. She takes a deep breath and ushers in the next set of parents. A set of three parents. It’s still rare enough for her to take note.

She encourages them to take seats, though since they are the first triad of parents, she has to pull up a third chair.

“Thank you for coming! Let me just grab Aelynthi’s file, the previous meeting ran slightly long, so I did not have time to properly switch between students.”

“That is not an issue, we’re familiar with Mirena and Nadas,” one of them says. They’re all…spectacularly beautiful but the speaker is particularly gorgeous. They must be Melarue, she tries to know each parent of her students, so she did some checking in with the other teachers who’ve had Aelynthi. There’s Faunalyn, Nithroel, and Melarue. Nithroel is Papae, Faunalyn Mamae, and Melarue Nanae. It’s good to be up on other words for parents.

But the point is that all three of Aelynthi’s parents are here and she is getting Aelynthi’s file. She goes through the normal stuff – he’s doing well in his studies, he loves art, she makes sure to compliment his gluing skills (though she makes a point of saying he needs to work on cleaning up, he’s very creative, but he leans on the messy side sometimes).

They all ask questions and are all involved, which is wonderful. Nithroel is probably the furthest thing from an asshole father - engaged, interested, thrilled at his son’s progress, and rightfully concerned over a few things. There was a fight on the playground the other day and mean words said today, all over Thenvunin. Those bullies she had spoken to Mirena about had been scolded by more than just the principal and their parents – Aelynthi was having none of it. Which is good and bad. Good to stand up for your friends, bad because hitting and mean words on the playground aren’t okay things to do.

There are some other issues, however, and Kass isn’t exactly sure how to ask her next question without insulting one or all of Aelynthi’s parents.

“Aelynthi has been showing some signs of distress commonly associated with difficulties at home. I’m not saying he is being harmed, but sometimes when there is conflict between parents, the children will feel it and express their worry and concern in different ways in other places. In Aelynthi’s case he’s emotionally…variable. His moods have been in more flux than normal lately and I just wanted to see if there is anything going on at home so I can help if possible.” As she suspected, they all immediately tense and look away from her. She wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t that Aelynthi has been upset and some of that emotional friability may be one of the reasons he acted out on the playground.

“We have been trying to make it as smooth as possible,” Nithroel is the first to speak.

“Separations are disruptive, Nithroel,” Melarue says and Faunalyn shakes her head.

“I know it is not my business, but if it is a separation, then there are definitely things we can do to help Aelynthi. This is not a judgement at all, merely wanting to help your son.”

“Thank you, we know this isn’t easy on him,” Melarue continues.

“But there is only so much we can do when you insist he live with you on the weekends,” Faunalyn counters. Nithroel sighs and Kass regrets bringing the topic up.

“He is my son, too, Faunalyn.”

“Let’s remember why we’re here, this is for Aelynthi – I understand separations are very hard for the parents, I went through a similar process with my now ex-husband. My daughter didn’t understand, so I’m familiar with what happens. I can set up meetings with Aelynthi and a counselor here if he demonstrates a need. Right now, Aelynthi needs structure and reassurance that just because his parents are going through something, it doesn’t mean you love him any less.” This is very awkward, but the parents seem to understand it at least. They go over a few more things before the meeting time ends and she walks them out. Nithroel and Faunalyn leave together while Melarue lags behind, face devoid of any sort of definitive emotion. Stoic.

She remembers being like that, not willing to let herself feel anything because it just hurt too much.

“He’s very creative, and while he’s been a little upset lately, he’s a wonderful student. You should be proud of your son,” Kass assures them. A smile graces their features and they nod.

“I’m very proud of him.”

“Separating from them doesn’t mean you love him any less than they do, modeling a bad relationship is far worse than showing him that you can do something difficult and still be happy.”

“I know but thank you.”

Kass bites her lip and continues before talking herself out of it, “I found it helped to have an outside voice say it sometimes. He’ll adapt, and he’ll be happy.” She hopes it reassures them while she keeps them company while they clearly avoid meeting up with their former partners in the parking lot. She gets it. At some point, you just avoid the pain.

Their smile turns more genuine and grateful, “You’re his favorite teacher, and now I know why.”

“What a sweet boy! And you are too kind, I’m just doing my job.” It’s her turn to smile, though hers is more bashful than grateful.

“You’re doing a fantastic job, then,” they are emphatic and complimentary and far too kind.

She feels a bit like a cartoon, wanting to sway and go “aw shucks!” But she doesn’t, because she’s not a cartoon, she’s a grownup, and grownups don’t say things like “aw shucks!” when other very attractive adults compliment them. Instead she nods, trying to force the blush to go away and waves to them as they continue to walk down the hall towards the parking lot.

“Have a good night!” She calls.

“You as well!” They respond before rounding the corner out of sight. Right, time to get back to work. The next conference is a bit unorthodox, but it was this or no conference at all. So Kass pulls up skype and calls Selene’s father.

He answers after the second try, clearly not pleased at having to do this. Right, keep it short and to the important points.

“Good afternoon Serah Lavellan,” she greets.

“What did Selene do?” He asks immediately, forgoing any pleasantries. Kass blinks.

“Oh, this isn’t a disciplinary conference. The school likes to have conferences with all the parents to let them know what we’re doing and how the students are doing. Selene is a great student.”

“Then why is this conference necessary? I have a shop to run –

“Serah, there are some things I need to go over with you about your daughter. For the last couple of weeks Selene has been falling asleep in class. It’s usually early in the morning, and it usually helps if she has a snack to help wake her up. At first, I was worried the homework workload was too high, so I reduced it to one worksheet a night. But she still seems to be having some trouble – an earlier bedtime and less screen time may help –

“Selene!” He calls instead. Oh dear.

“Yes, father?” Kass hears a familiar voice off screen.

“Stop falling asleep in class,” he demands. It is a tone of voice that Kass is familiar with. Qal spoke like that to Ash sometimes, to Kass more often. Stop wetting your pants, Ashokara, it’s not that hard! I won’t keep buying you clothes! Kassaran, can you for once just have dinner ready when I get home? Kassaran!

As she said, Kassaran is familiar with asshole fathers.

“Serah, this isn’t something you can command her to stop doing. She’s falling asleep because she’s tired, she’s tired because she’s not getting enough sleep. She needs to be going to bed at eight, at the latest. And I think she may need to eat more. If her sleep is disturbed because of spirits with her magic, then I can recommend some specialists to help her with that. We even have a great counseling team for it here at school. Your daughter is very bright and she is a joy to have in class, I am just worried about the amount of sleep she is getting.” Kass explains, using her authoritative teacher voice. Selene’s father’s face purses, his entire face, it’s quite the expression really.

“Is that all?” He asks and Kass has to force herself not to yell.

“Serah Lavellan, I understand that your wife passed not too long ago. I know it’s difficult to raise a child by yourself, I can give you resources, there’s no shame. There are support groups for single parents with mage children even.”

He looks even more put out, “I asked if that was all.”

Must. Not. Yell.

“No, it is not all. Because I haven’t told you how smart Selene is. How gifted she is and how she could be in the gifted courses if she was getting enough sleep.” It’s important to not insult parents, but it’s also important to advocate for her students. And right now, Selene needs that advocate.

But maybe Kass shouldn’t have pressed that hard because he scowls more impressively and shakes his head slightly as he looks down.

“I do not come into your classroom telling you how to teach, do not contact me and presume to tell me how to raise my daughter. She will stop falling asleep in your class. Good night, Ms. Tashorit.” The skype calls hangs up before she can answer, and it is her turn to scowl. Stupid, asshole fathers. Severely annoyed, Kass makes note to turn Selene’s recess into nap time. If she cannot sleep at home, she can sleep here when she can. It’s not a perfect solution, recess is important, but sleep is more important. It’s only an hour, but…it’s something.

And since this conference ended earlier than expected, Kass packs up and heads over to Ash’s elementary school. Why the schools always schedule conferences on the same days, she’ll never understand. Teachers often have children and need to go to conferences which they can’t do if they’re holding conferences of their own! And not everyone has a spouse who is able or willing to go to the conferences. Besides, Kass wants to be there.

Ash’s elementary school is supposedly only fifteen minutes away from the one Kass works at, but that never takes traffic into account. It takes her forty minutes to get to the school and even with her leaving early, she’s ten minutes late for her own conference. She’s walking quickly, not running, to make at least some decent time. By the time she reaches Haninan’s room, she’s out of breath and kicking herself for not going to the gym more often.

Ash and June are inside the room, playing on a train set. He’s building tunnels and she’s driving the trains through them.

“Mama!” Ash says, jumping up and running over to her for a hug.

“Hey, baby girl. Hey, June-Bug,” she says.

“Hi, Miss Kass!”

“A conference run long?” Haninan asks and Kass sighs.

“Worse, traffic. Alright, kids, can you go wait outside while I talk with June’s papae?” The kids nod and head outside. June grabs an armful of blocks and skips outside while Ash grabs one of the trains. Kass takes a seat and lets out a big breath.

“Is everything going well?”

“She’s great, Kass. She did accidentally torch a folder today but to be fair, another student screamed very close to her and I’m aware of her history.”

Kass sighs, “We’ve been working on her control it’s just the loud noises are still –

“Kass, it’s alright. She didn’t hurt anyone, and the folder was mostly singed, not incinerated. Relax, incidents like these happen with mage children. June the other day accidentally broke a jar full of rice – it happens. School wise, Ash is fine. She enjoys recess and art. She’s also showing to be good at social studies. There is one thing – have you gotten her screened for dyslexia? Her reading speed is slower than average and she frustrates quickly with it.”

Oh, that…that would explain some things. She should have seen it sooner, she’s a teacher after all and Ash has been avoiding reading even at home. That means another tutor expense, most likely. Dyslexia is not debilitating by any means, but it makes things more difficult. And they really don’t need difficult right now.

“I’ll get her tested, thank you for letting me know,” Kass replies. Haninan is about to keep talking when Kass’s phone begins to ring. She fishes it out of her purse with apologies. Shit. It’s the lawyer. She bites her lip and clicks reject.

“Something wrong?”

She sighs. She should tell him, it will start affecting Ash soon so…he should know.

“Qal’s suing for parental rights, saying that I’m denying him rightful visitation, since he just got out on parole. I just…I got out. I got her out and he’s still doing this, so Ash may be…upset soon. I don’t know how to tell her that her abusive father wants to see her and that she has to explain why she doesn’t want to see him. I have to tell this to an eight-year-old. I can’t…I’m so tired of shitty fathers.” She rubs her face, trying to make sense of it. Stupid, asshole, shitty fathers who can’t parent, who refuse to parent, who only know how to hurt the offspring they somehow helped create.

“She’ll get through this, Kass, and so will you,” Haninan says.

“Thank you. So…dyslexia and more calming session for magic. Are there books that she’s shown an interest in?”

Haninan nods and the rest of the conference goes normally. Ash is a good student, and Haninan wants to recommend her for advanced social studies for fourth grade. And if she gets a tutor the dyslexia, she’ll likely catch up to her classmates. She has been hungrier than usual at lunch time and asking to go to the nurse more frequently, Hanina suspects a growth spurt and Kass agrees. Ash grows in spurts, she eats a lot, sleeps a lot, then shoots like up like a weed.

He shows her some of her artwork and her social studies worksheets. Her little gifted baby. And he’s right, they’ll get through this. They got through the worst of it, actually living with Qal. This…this too shall pass and she can be strong for her daughter, even if she has her weak moments.

Kass thanks Haninan and they confirm a playdate for the kids on the weekend.

On the way home, Ash asks if they can have milkshakes for dessert, and Kass can’t bring herself to say no.

“And besides, it’s a territorial call – probably already eaten its fill on a large deer. It only means to make us know, not to harm.”

“It is an impressive sound,” Darevas replies and she chuckles.

“I hear dragons roar even more impressively than that.”

She can feel Felasel side eyeing her from his saddle, but she ignores him as easily as she ignores the roaring beast.

Darevas shrugs, “Dragons need not roar to tell everyone that this is their territory – everyone already knows.”

“Do they? What if the dragon is still growing?”

“Then it hasn’t yet established a true territory yet. Dragons only claim territory when they need to, they’re intelligent creatures. A shame we see so few,” he continues. Miriel furrows her brow and looks up to see a juvenile winged serpent, it hisses at her then takes flight into the trees.

“And how does a dragon claim a territory?” She asks.

“It depends on the species. But generally, all dragons go through a marking period. Fire-breathers rake the ground then scorch it. Frost-breathers create large ice sculptures with their breath and claws. Creatures will live in these sculptures, like ice serpents. Lightning-breathers are interesting because they use their enchanting abilities to create a low level of static in the air to tell anyone entering their territory that they’re there. Poison-spitters have impressive scent glands all over their bodies. Their territories smell like flowers and sulfur. Water dragons are elusive, draconologists have never nailed down any single theory. I am fond of the idea that the river dragons like to create intricate ox-tails and riverways, even flow into cave networks to bring water to those ecosystems. They forge their territories from the very home they’re born in.” Darevas explains.

“You are forgetting the Cloud Runners, brother,” Felasel says in a level voice, “the only dragon species to not have a specified territory.”

Darevas nods and Miriel finds herself curious.

“And where did you learn all of this about dragons? From books?”

“Of course, even if we were foolish enough to try to hunt feral dragons in our youth, we would not learn their long-term habits like draconologists of the past have.” Darevas explains.

Miriel smiles and shifts forward in her saddle, “And I suppose a prince would taste the same as anyone to a dragon.” She teases.

“In that case, it’s a good thing we haven’t gone and hunted dragons. They’d go straight for me,” he plays, shivering for effect.

“Really? Are you that tempting to a dragon?”

“Oh I’m delicious, Felasel though is all stringy, he’d get caught in their teeth.”

“All the more protection then,” Felasel drawls and Miriel laughs.

“If anything, you could tell jokes and avoid death all together,” she plays along. Darevas laughs while Felasel remains silent.

For the rest of the first day, her and Darevas banter back and forth. She tells him about the woods, about the different animals making calls and skittering about. She points at wild growing elfroot and other plants that have various uses. Hunter she may be, but she learned from everyone in the woods.

She spends the night in a warded tent, unable to leave for fear fleeing apparently. She stares at the flaps of the tent, scowling. Darevas had assured everyone that the tent wasn’t needed but he had been vehemently outvoted by not only Uthvir and Faunalyn, but also by his brother.

She can’t be trusted, Darevas, Felasel had whispered to the side. She almost said that if she wanted to do something stupid there many other opportunities to have done so, but she remained quiet, resigned to her tent prison. As far as prisons go, it’s not that bad, if she just forgets about the crippling pain she’ll suffer if she tries to leave.

In the morning, she spends ten minutes calling to be let out so she can relieve herself. One of the more taciturn guards opens the flap and she scurries out and into the woods. When she returns, it’s to glaring eyes.

“Is having to piss an offense now?” She sneers before moving to her things to don her armor.

“You become vulgar when upset,” Darevas says behind her.

“Is that a crime, my lord?”

“And snarky when defensive,” he continues. She straps on the chest piece and begins to pull on her breeches.

“Are you analyzing my behavior now?” She asks, still avoiding his gaze.

“Of course, you’re interesting. A keen-eyed huntress yourself must have made some observations about me.”

“You flatter yourself, my lord.”

“There’s that snark,” he continues, clearly not taking the hint or choosing otherwise to ignore it. He can, he’s a lord, she reminds herself. She inclines her head in a submissive pose then reaches up and starts to pull her hair into a tight braid.

“And what if my observation is not to your liking?” She asks in a soft tone.

“I’ve liked everything else about you so far, I’m sure this will be fine,” he replies, nonchalant.

“There is a first for everything, my lord,” she continues. She feels his hands reach for hers and into her hair, continuing the braid. She freezes and lets him continue. Like a deer caught in a light.

“Please?” He asks and she takes a deep breath. Risk not speaking and upsetting or saying what she thinks and offending him?

Or she could lie. But that would be obvious since it’s about him.

She takes a breath, “You prefer to diffuse tense situations with humor and sweet words.” She pauses but he simply continues with the braid.

“Very astute. Would you like breakfast?” He offers. Just like that. He lets go of her hair and it feels a bit…odd. She feels like a mouse being toyed with by a cat but there’s nothing she can do about it. Darevas, as powerful as he is and how odd it is that he’s taken such an interest in her, is her best ally at the moment. There is a fear that should he no longer find her interesting that all her protection will fall away.

She needs to get to her people, now more than ever.

Breakfast is a quick affair, then they’re up and traveling again.

The part of the forest they’re traveling through now is older growth, full of trees that have weathered longer than even some of the older elves. Moss and vines hang down from the trees with critters of various sizes and diets scampering about. Miriel’s face becomes serious as she pays more attention to her surroundings.

Uthvir and Faunalyn both seem to more alert as well, watching the ground as Miriel guides them through a particularly thick patch of forest. The harts grumble about the maneuvering necessary over the ground, but then a silence falls over the party.

Miriel stands up in her saddle and sniffs at the air.

Hmm.

“So when the Lady Andruil unfortunately met her end, a few of the gifts from her wife got loose. One of them is a particularly smelly beast. It’s not particularly aggressive on its own, but it is large and extremely territorial.”

“I have a bad feeling,” one of the soldiers murmur.

“Good instincts because we’ve wandered into its territory. It’s moved for some reason, it was farther east before, that’s why I was leading you west and then up.” She tilts her head and listens for the beast. It is a large thing – with horns that curve from a spiny snout and a body that resembles the unholy conglomeration of a lion, boar, and rhinoceros.

Uthvir draws their hart next to hers, “Do you know where its den would lie?”

She shakes her head, “Not if it’s moved. It hasn’t moved in twenty years, but I do know how to avoid it otherwise. Make sure to check for claw marks that have a purple hue to them on trees. It often cuts itself when marking territory. If you do see it, don’t make eye contact but don’t turn your head or back on it. That’s asking it to kill you.” She tells the rest of the party.

Miriel scans the trees she can see ahead and chooses a pathway that doesn’t have the claw marks. She’ll lead them more east then, since the west appears to be otherwise occupied.

“Is it possible it bred?” Faunalyn asks and Miriel shrugs.

“We only ever saw one of the creatures, but I suppose…it could be possible that it reproduced in some fashion.” That’s unpleasant thought.

Leading them farther east leads them to the old territory, however, which has become rather swampy. The harts grumble at the water and soft earth, but it beats being in the heart of the territory of the beast.

They travel for an hour before she hears it. Uthvir’s ears twitch and Faunalyn turns her head, quick to pull out her bow.

A low rumbling noise that is barely audible, but she knows these woods and nothing makes that noise that is harmless. She takes out her bow and begins to scan the surroundings for it. A hiss breaks through and Miriel takes a deep breath.

If she was on her own, she’d shift and fly away, but she’s not and these poor bastards would be left to the beast and the swamp. She’d later be killed. Dammit.

Her hart is already tied to another for fear of her running, so Miriel jumps down from her hart into the low water. She can work better like this – tracking and fighting and hiding.

“You should get into a circle facing outward, with the princes given the best escape route. I’ll scout ahead, try to draw it off. Uthvir has an idea of where to go, just in case.” She whispers.

“That’s insanity!” Darevas is the only one to protest.

“Don’t worry, I know how to survive here, let me keep you alive,” she whispers, then disappears into the thicket. Her boots slosh through shallow murky water, making it difficult to hear, but she keeps low and small, listening carefully for the beast.

The thick canopy above blots out most of the light, creating darkness in the middle of the day. The brush itself is tall and hides her well as she stalks forward. Soft fronds shield her from sight, water sloshes around her boots and a humid air clings to her skin.

Another hiss. The beast must be defensive right now. Miriel stalks forward with her bow, arrow ready to be launched if need be. She doesn’t really want to kill the thing. It’s lived here rather peacefully and by itself for as long as her people have. It eats the deer, sits in its land, and otherwise doesn’t cause too much trouble unless threatened.

Her father encountered it once before, and he spoke of how it was easy to escape simply because it was uninterested in fighting an elf. He suggested that it too was scarred from living under Andruil and it simply wanted peace.

Miriel climbs up a tree and scans the area. It can’t get to her here – at least she doesn’t think it can. It’s got hooves on its hind legs, or so her father said, so climbing isn’t going to happen. She looks back towards where the rest of the group is and sees no signs of the beast.

But there goes another rumble. And a low growl, warbled and old sounding. Miriel shifts in her perch to look down to her right to see the beast crouching in the brush. It’s massive and yet it looks thinner than it should. One of its horns has broken off at some point and she thinks it’s missing an ear.

Poor thing. Its remaining ear is pressed flat against its head and it bares its teeth at her, tail whipping against the ground behind it. It scrunches up its body in a defensive position. It’s scared more than anything.

Miriel sighs and stands up on her branch. She sucks in a breath and lets out the best screaming roar she can muster. She shakes the branch, bares her teeth, screams. The beast back up, hissing and growling in fear. But not enough to run.

She leaps from branch to branch, getting closer to it before shooting a couple of arrows down at its feet. She purposefully misses and it sends the message loud and clear. The beast turns and high tails it away. She pursues it for a few minutes before turning and heading back to the group. Strange looks great her when she gets back.

“What? I did what I had to in order to get it to leave us alone. Killing it served no purpose, it was scared and now it won’t get close,” she explains, hopping back up into her saddle.

“Mercy for beasts? Strange woman,” one of the guards murmur. She doesn’t particularly care. As far as she’s concerned, she has more in common with that beast than the guard in his shining armor and fancy saddle.

Darevas is watching her, expression hidden from her, and she can only hope it is something good.

“We need to move forward,” Uthvir says and she couldn’t agree more.

Miriel leads them out of the swampy area and into a dryer wood. They stop only once to eat and allow people to relieve themselves if need be. Miriel is nibbling on a piece of jerky when Darevas approaches her.

He’s quiet for a moment then takes off his mask and begins to eat his own jerky.

“Taking your meals with the strange woods woman who shows mercy to beasts, my lord?” She asks and he smiles.

“Those were some impressive noises – were they all yours?”

She chuckles, “Fancy the shouting, my lord?”

His grin is wicked and he leans down close to her ear, “Of a vastly different sort.” Her eyes widen and she leans back in horror. He couldn’t possibly mean –

His brows furrow in confusion at her face before they relax and he holds his hands up, “Pleasure! Shouting in pleasure, not –

“Oh!” She says and turns beet red, “that’s much better, I mean, that is – I need to crawl into hole now. E-excuse me, my lord.” She turns on her heel and speeds over to her hart where she buries her face into the animal’s thick hide.

That was horrifying, she can’t believe she actually thought he meant – that he didn’t mean – and she actually –

Shit.

“What was that about?” Faunalyn asks, making Miriel startle for a second.

“I um. Didn’t quite understand something the good and noble lord said and it got, well…hm.”

Faunalyn raises an eyebrow at Miriel and Miriel takes a deep breath, “He flited, but I didn’t catch the flirt and well,” she gestures and Faunalyn nods, smiling.

“Ah yes youth, I take it they didn’t teach you flirting in the woods.”

“Not with a lord, no,” Miriel murmurs and Faunalyn’s expression turns serious again.

“Tread carefully with that. What you don’t know can and will end badly for you,” she whispers so only that Miriel can hear. Miriel blinks and nods. Faunalyn moves off and Miriel peers around the hart to see Felasel and Darevas talking. Darevas’s mask is back in place, ruining any chance she has of knowing what he’s thinking now.

Tread lightly. She’s been trying but there are these moments where he doesn’t feel like her lord, just Darevas. And while Uthbora would be gushing about how wonderful that is, how that’s always how it goes in her books about lords and peasants falling in love, Miriel knows better.

He could order her bound, whipped, harmed in any number of ways for insinuating he liked to torture people or anything else unflattering she may have insinuated over the last few days. No one would bat an eye and there would be nothing anyone could do.

She has to remember that at the end of the day, she is still just a strange woods woman to these people. To Darevas.

Miriel climbs back up on her hart and reorients herself. She’s here to help her people, that’s what she’s doing. Darevas is handsome and surprisingly kind but he isn’t the focus. She needs to remain focused.

They head north east, along a path that only Miriel recognizes. She sees the small notches in the branches, the scuffs at the bottoms of the trees, remnants of traps sprung a while ago but now empty. Concerning is the lack of fresh traps. They’re set almost daily in the hopes of finding something. Food’s been getting more and more scarce, requiring riskier hunting.

Maybe they caught a large deer?

They move up the hill to where the camp is, and it is silent. Dread fills Miriel’s belly as they round to the top…to find the camp empty. Her heart sinks and panic begins to enter her.

“Where…” she whispers, hopping quickly off her hart. She checks Varas’s hut, then Uthbora’s, Serendipity’s, her parents…

“What is the meaning of this?”

“She lied.”

“Miriel, what is exactly did you mean to accomplish?”

“Miriel!”

“Miriel!”

They shout for her but she doesn’t answer. Where are they? They were all here when she left, it’s only been a couple of weeks…

She looks to the ground and sees it – blood and large swathes of mussed dirt. The cauldron knocked over, coals and wood scattered…tents knocked over.

“Stop talking,” Uthvir says and she hears them dismount, “there are signs of a struggle.” Miriel begins to trace the patterns with her body, counting in her head how many there must have been.

“Somebody must have taken them…please, I…I don’t know what happened, they were here,” she murmurs.

Tent flaps fold and snap in the wind but over that she hears a rustling. Animals had the tendency to keep away from the camp because of the fire and the smell of people, and while rustling wasn’t too uncommon, she rushes to it, blindly hopeful.

She is quick, darting behind a tree to find a wounded Serendipity.

“Miriel?” He gasps. She sets to work immediately, finding the bleeding and pressing down to stem it. But the bleeding…it’s everywhere. His clothes are ripped to shreds, soaked through with blood from his belly and chest.

“HELP US!” She cries out towards the group. Uthvir is suddenly there and inspecting the bleeding elf with her. They tear his clothes, finding more wounds. He begins to cry and Miriel coos at him.

“What happened, Serendipity?”

“We thought you were dead! Your parents wouldn’t hear it though, they went out searching but they didn’t come back. And then this morning they came and…and they took everyone, kicking and screaming or knocked out. I barely managed to escape,” he sobs. Sanaste and the others are quick to join Uthvir and Miriel, pouring out healing spells and replacing them at his body.

“Who attacked you?” Uthvir asks but Serendipity just sobs as he’s poked and prodded.

“Monsters!” He cries.

Miriel takes his hand and strokes his hair. Monsters indeed! Who could have done this? Why would they do this? It doesn’t make any sense, how could they –

Serendipity’s sobs turn into full cries as the healers inspect his wounds.

“We need to move him into the camp,” Sanaste says softly.

“No, no, please no, it hurts!”

Miriel pets his hair and winces at his tone, “It’s to help you, Serendipity, we’re going to help you. I know it hurts, but you just need to push through for a little bit, alright?”

Uthvir moves behind him and together they lift the screaming and sobbing Serendipity towards the camp and into Uthbora’s old healing tent. She plays assistant to the healers, wincing and trying not to cry herself as she hears Serendipity’s cries. She hands the healers the herbs and things they need, trying not to look at the apparent mauling Serendipity had been given.

Who could have done this? The barbarism in his wounds…

“You need to leave, Miriel,” Sanaste says.

“No, I can help, I –

“You are poisoning the energy in here with your emotions – it is not a request,” they say again and she bites back a protest.

It goes against everything in her to leave but it’s for him that she’s doing this. She kisses his forehead and bids him to heal before leaving the tent. She has the distinct feeling of being covered in blood and sweat, but it is the persistent knowing that her family is in the hands of people who, who did that to Serendipity.

She stumbles out of the tent and towards the woods, falling to her knees, emptying her stomach in violent nausea. Gasps and sobs leave her in equal measure as her body shakes. They’re all just…gone. She can still hear Serendipity’s cries, in such excruciating pain….

They ran to escape this. Cruel hunters were taking advantage of the chaos – raping and torturing and killing any of those who would fight against them. Factions had developed and those who did not to ally with any either disappeared against their will or on their own terms. Miriel’s parents took the risk and they ran.

Serendipity had been terribly abused by the time he had gotten enough courage to run. They had promised him protection, told him they’d do everything they could to prevent what he had suffered from happening again.

And this happened.

She staggers to her feet, stumbling back.

“Miriel, Miriel are you alright?” Darevas asks, suddenly there, his hands on her arms.

She turns to him, a tumult of emotion in her, “No. How could I be?”

Felasel steps forward, large and looming and she can feel the disappointment rolling off of him. He remains silent as Darevas tries to calm Miriel.

“We’ll find what did this, Miriel, we’ll find your family and friends.”

His promises feel hollow.

“When? I…want to go now but Serendipity, I…” she takes a deep breath and tries to ground herself.

“We will leave first thing in the morning. Pursuing the attackers now after a day of riding and with the sun almost down is unwise,” Faunalyn says. She walks up to Miriel and inclines her head to the lords.

“My lords, you are encouraged to remain with the healers and Serendipity while we investigate these kidnappings.”

Darevas shakes his head and looks back down at Miriel, “No. They’re my people too, I should be there for them.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Faunalyn replies.

“The longer we wait, the likelihood that they’re killed increases, we have to go –

“Miriel, listen to me. You are no good to anyone in the state you are in. Everyone here is tired. Be here for Serendipity, recover as much strength as you can and tomorrow we will fall upon whatever did this with a vengeance.” Faunalyn cups Miriel’s face and looks down at her, eerie cat-like eyes that have a soothing sharpness to them. She understands, she was a hunter, she knows.

“Did you know them? Tassan and Caution,” Miriel asks softly. Faunalyn nods and knot loosens in Miriel.

“They’re good people,” she cries.

“They are, and we will find them,” her voice is quiet but hard. Miriel leans closer to her and Faunalyn guides her away from the masked lords.

“This is different,” she says, eyes taking in his more accentuated form. She can practically see the grin behind his mask.

“Do you like it?”

She arches her brow and shrugs, “Changes in scenery can be pleasant.” But she bites her lip and smiles. He steps closer and offers his arm.

“Are you still up for the day?” He asks softly and she nods, tentatively taking his arm.

“Unless it involves fighting that dragon you mentioned.”

“It has yet to be vanquished! Surely a mighty huntress such as yourself can fell a beast.” He guides her out of the annex but she hears Sanaste following not so far behind.

“Alas, my armor and weapons have been confiscated, no dragon slaying for me.”

“Not to mention the concussion,” Sanaste grumbles from behind her.

“Your armor and weapons were in terrible disrepair, you do know this? I wanted to have your armor cleaned for you, as an apology for your injuries but the entire thing fell apart.”

They enter a different part of the palace, more open and less ornate and from the scuff marks on the floor, it’s a high traffic area.

“Perhaps your people cleaned it incorrectly. It takes a gentle touch.”

“Regardless, it was flimsy and unacceptable.”

“Are you determining what is acceptable for me now?” She says, making sure to keep her tone light. Sanaste inhales sharply but Darevas seems unbothered.

“I want my followers to have the best,” he replies and guides her into a large workshop. It is hot and smells of fire, leather, and metal. There is a loud clanging and several people in thick aprons and gloves, some with odd looking face-masks that resemble helmets.

Darevas takes her to an end of the smithy and she inhales sharply as he gestures towards a mannequin.

“We are leaving for the woods in a few days, and I find it imperative to make sure you are armored. It’s simplistic but it should do the job.” He walks around the stand, inspecting it as she walks to the front of it, in awe. The leather is thick and tough, and it hums with a basic enchantment – for barrier generation? She is unsure, she’s never had anything enchanted before.

There are so many pieces to it – the chest, the shoulders, arms, and several pieces for the legs. They all lock into each other somehow to give full body coverage and a cohesive look.

“This is for me?” She asks in a small voice.

“Yes, I know it is simplistic –

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, following him around the stand. Her hands run over the leather, over the ridges and planes. Darevas pauses and turns to her.

“I’m glad you like it. The armorer needs you to try it on though, that is why I brought you here. They need to make sure it fits properly,” he explains but the words seem almost distant in her disbelief. An assistant takes the armor of the stand and ushers Miriel into a corner concealed by a changing screen. The number of pieces of armor is amazing, and it reminds her of when she was just barely an adult.

Her mother had commissioned armor for her – a beautiful set with small embellishments. She had worn it for four years before it was starting to wear in certain places. She saved up for her own armor and it had only been finished for a month before Anduil died. She wore that until it fell apart, and then it was just using animal pelts and furs to the best of their abilities.

But this set was beautiful, and firm, with undeniable quality. The assistant called out numbers and phrases that meant something to the craftsmen, but nothing to Miriel. They tugged on straps and strings to figure out the best fit.

Her waist is higher than they had anticipated, they’ll have to modify two of the larger pieces. But it’s still beautiful, embosses at the cuffs and collar. Once completely secured into the armor, she steps out from around the screen.

She hears Darevas’s sharp intake of breath but the mask offers no other insights to how he sees her.

“It’s amazing,” she says, not waiting for him. She holds her hands out and examines the fit on her. It is a bit strange to be so secure in armor again, it almost feels restrictive.

“It certainly looks amazing,” he says, stepping forward. She raises her hands up and moves around to see what flexibility she can achieve. There is more resistance than what she is used to, but it isn’t unreasonable. Once the leather is broken in, she is sure it will be even more suitable for her. The skirt is a bit long for her tastes, but it can be fixed. The truly odd parts are the boots – they completely encase her feet, shins, and calves, all the way up to her knees.

“I feel very encased.”

“Protected, I hope. I’d rather you not add to all those scars the healers gossip about,” Darevas says.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I am quite alright with all those scars. Each one is a check mark on ‘I survived this’. Broken collarbone, fall from a tree, run into a tree, a misfired arrow into my arm, angry deer – each one a testament to my survival. I’m sorry, does that offend?”

Darevas shakes his head, “No, but I would still like it if you were not injured so that you scar.” She continues to stretch, testing the movement. She checks under the boots to see if she will be able to climb in them. There are striations in the leather, but she suspects she may need to take them off if she need to really climb.

“Thank you, my Lord, this is…entirely too generous.”

He seems to preen under the thanks, “I’m glad you like it. It’s yours after the modifications will be made.”

She’s guided back behind the screen where she changes back into her robe. She comes back out and Darevas offers his arm again.

“Not done?”

“Nope!”

She chuckles at his enthusiasm and lets him guide her to the adjacent smithy, this one stocked with weapons from floor to ceiling. Ah, he means to restock her on everything.

“My lord, this is entirely too much,” she tells him but he shakes his head.

“It is the least I can do.”

“But after all your other kindnesses… there is no way I can repay you,” she says as he walks her to the far side and gestures to a rack of bows.

“Do not worry about that, these are necessary things.”

“It would be far easier to simply let me guide you through the woods in a worn robe. But instead you’ve used all these valuable resources.”

He picks up one of the shorter long bows, a dark wood with careful carvings around the grip. He hands it to her and she stares at it, disbelieving.

“Ease is not always best. You do not have to accept if you do not want it, however. You also do not need to think of it as a gift, if that helps.” He does not sound happy about that, but he is earnest enough that it comes across more as harmless disappointment rather than actual disapproval. She takes the bow from his hand, feeling the weight.

“I have no way to reciprocate, my lord,” she says softly, feeling herself blush.

“Even if I was high ranking with access to resources, what exactly do you give someone who has everything?” She does not like the idea of being bought in any way, but with these gifts and the garden from the night before, the interest in her….

Fool’s gold only fools those who do not look further, her mother had said time to time. She glances up to Darevas and hopes that he is not fool’s gold, but she can’t risk it. She can’t just let herself hope for the best when he has all the power. She’ll accept these gifts, but anything else…she can’t toe that line, not while her people are depending on her.

“Whatever you can, if it comes from you that is enough. But you do not have to worry about that, not for essentials. I want to keep my people safe,” he explains and it helps. After last night, everything feels more meaningful. There is a weight to his actions and she finds herself lingering on, analyzing even his slightest movements.

“Thank you, my lord. Could I try the bow in a safer area, please?” She asks and he nods, grabbing a bow for himself and guiding her to the practice field outside. The field is large with people scattered about practicing various forms of combat. There are specific areas dedicated to hand-to-hand, archery, swords of varying lengths, spears – almost anything involving combat. She heads toward the archery field though and stakes her spot across from a target. There are dulled arrows in place, waiting, and she takes no time in notching on then letting it loose to land a bull’s eye.

She crouches down and does it again.

Darevas whistles behind her and she smiles, then lets loose another arrow, just for good measure.

“You are…very good at that,” he compliments and she bows her head in thanks.

“Thank you, necessity and lots and lots of practice have honed the ability,” she explains as she walks over to the target and pulls out the arrows. An arrow lands on the adjacent target, far enough away that it isn’t concerning. When she looks back, Darevas has a bow in his hand and is relaxing from a stiff pose.

“Not as much practice but –

“Your form is atrocious,” she says without thinking, walking up to him. She has him pick it back up, then places her hands on his arms and uses her body to angle his. His height makes it a bit awkward, but she manages to get him positioned, but still he’s stiff.

“Relax, breathe with it, not everyone’s form is going to be the same because of how our bodies work. The bow is an extension of yourself, feel its weight and know it as your own.” She hands him an arrow and adjusts his elbows again.

“Now, aim and fire.”

He does as she says and it lands within the inner ring of the target.

“Good!” She drops her hands from him and smiles until she realizes her gross overstep.

“Oh, I…am so sorry, I had no place to –

He sets his bow to the side and shakes his head quickly, “No, no, that was good. Many of my instructors tend to tiptoe around me about this, and they have not been this hands on since I was much younger, thank you.”

She blinks at his mask, disbelieving, “I…constantly overstep with you.” Her voice is a whisper and her body is tense, ready for whatever retaliation he has. But he just shrugs.

“I told you, it’s refreshing, and this helped.” He picks the bow back up after a moment and aims again.

“Like this?” He asks softly and she purses her lips. He’s purposefully keeping himself tense, but he seems sincere in his assertions that she is not overstepping.

Miriel takes a step forward and gently corrects him again.

“Your hips anchor you, let go with your breath for now,” she murmurs, holding his hips while he fires again. The arrow hits closer to the center this time and she smiles once more, smaller and more conservative this time, though.

“You are an excellent teacher,” he lauds, making her blush.

“Thank you, my lord.” She inclines her head and he sighs. They end up working on his form with the bow and her demonstrating some more complex forms, including crouching and running. After a couple of hours, she’s sweating, her head is a bit fuzzy, but most importantly - she is ravenous.

“The kitchens should have lunches prepared by now, if you would care to accompany me,” he offers and she accepts readily. Food sounds like the best thing right now, along with water.

The kitchens are nearly full of bustling people, cooking and preparing meals that are being sent out all over the palace. Miriel stands close to a wall and lets Darevas navigate it all while she tries not to be suddenly overwhelmed by the number of people in such a small space. The air is thick and hot and it constricts her throat to an alarming degree. She is about to slip outside when Darevas joins her and takes her arm, guiding her into the large dining hall. There are a lot of people, but a lot of space as well, allowing her to breathe.

Two servants pull out chairs for Darevas and Miriel. She almost protests it, but bites her tongue. She’s uninterested in further pushing her luck at this point. More servants arrive with their food – rich smelling bread filled with a steaming stew that makes her mouth water. It’s placed in front of them and she barely manages to thank them before diving in. The stew scalds her mouth but oh, it’s so good. Rich and satisfying in no way the food they had been feeding her at the annex has been.

She is not graceful and manners at this point are lost on her. She tears off pieces of the bread and spoons up pieces of the stew into her mouth, making happy little noises at all the flavors.

Her ears twitch and the feeling of eyes on her makes her look up. Darevas has at some point removed his mask to eat and is staring at her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. She swallows the food in her mouth and smiles.

“It’s delicious.”

He blinks then smiles himself, “I’m glad.” He resumes eating and the air eases. The pressure that kept lingering over them feels to have abated somewhat and it allows her to eat with just as much gusto as before. She does take care to not make a mess, she’s not completely without care.

As soon as he finishes eating, Darevas puts his mask back on. It’s a shame, she thinks, that he has this tradition of hiding his face. It’s a good face, princely and handsome. But it does make his sharing it with her that much more meaningful. And yet the meaningfulness is worrying in its own right. She feels like a cornered hare but she is unsure if it is from another curious hare or a hungry snake.

Thankfully, Darevas is pulled away by his brother claiming they have things to attend to and she is escorted back to the annex by a taciturn guard. Darevas promises he’ll see her soon, but she’s not entirely sure how she feels about that. She appreciates the generous gifts and the time away from the annex, and he has been exceedingly kind.

But there is this itch at the back of her mind, something that is trying to tell her something about the whole situation. Something that she knew a hundred years ago but has since gotten lost in the time spent away from society.

“Sanaste,” she asks once back at the annex.

“Hmm?” They hum, looking exceedingly bored.

“Did you volunteer to watch me or was it given to you?”

“A bit of column A, a bit of column B. I’m interested in healing magic concerning the head, so whenever concussion cases come up, I try to worm my way in. Observing you is…the less interesting part of my research. Though I am glad you appear to be making a full recovery.” They back pedal quickly but she doesn’t mind. She can’t really do anything, observing her must be boring.

“I’m mostly making sure you don’t try to do something that will reinjure you. I came close to stopping you this morning, but the Lord…well, there is not much I can do there,” they laugh self-consciously and she frowns.

“If you want to speak up, please do, he’d understand,” she tells them, walking to her cot.

They consider her for a moment, a strange pensive look on their face, “I will keep that in mind. Now I need to examine you again, lie down.”

She sighs but does as they say as they set to examining her. The hum as they prod at her, then whisper a few healing spells at her head. They pour her a glass of water and instruct her to drink it to stave off dehydration.

“I want you drinking more water,” they sigh and she nods as she gulps down the water.

“At least I actually got to eat a full meal and not just snacks, I haven’t felt this satisfied with a meal in ages.”

Sanaste frowns but they don’t say anything, just pour her more water. She takes the glass and sips at it just as a group of lightly armored people enter the room. They approach Miriel and Sanaste with grim looks.

“Miriel, you’re needed, follow us.” Though they don’t really mean follow when one of the bigger folks practically hauls her up by her arm.

“Ow,” she protests, jerking her body away.

“Don’t rattle her, we’ve worked hard on her healing,” Sanaste sighs. Miriel raises her chin but follows the group, two of them following her. The weight of their eyes makes her skin crawl but she keeps still and calm, keeping the same pace.

She is guided to a room by where she was initially held. She shivers and tries not to recount the feeling of being strung up. Her wrists hurt and she feels that much more cowed.

“I told you everything –

“Not everything,” a familiar voice says. They’re standing by a different room, arms crossed over their chest, spikes somehow aligned all pointing outward.

“If you think you are going to get anything else out of torture I assure you simply asking will produce the same result, I have nothing to hide.”

“We are simply asking, come in.” She is guided into the room that is dominated by a large table covered with a map.

“We were able to map out where you were found, now we need you to tell us the directions of where your camp is and where this cave your mother spoke of is,” they tell her. A chill runs down her back.

“Not if you will not let me accompany you.”

“You are still going to lead us, but we need to know the areas of which you speak as a precaution,” they assure her. She frowns but sits down.

“Very well, but I’m not good with maps, everything I know is in my head.”

“That’s fine, close your eyes, describe where you’d go if you had not been found,” they urge and she sighs but does as they say. She closes her eyes and pictures the woods.

“The lords were moving north, which would have lead them close to where the camp is, but not exactly. They would have seen signs though.”

“When would they see the signs?”

“If they were on foot…an hour, perhaps two if they weren’t good. The camp was more north east than that…”

She can see the camp, the trees acting as supports for their tents and buildings, fires burning for pottery making and cooking. Serendipity would be tending his herb garden, Uthbora asking if she can have more elfroot- and they’d argue about the medicinal properties of it. It’s not a secret that she favored it for smoking and stress relief. Several of the others also partook in it, but Serendipity hated it. He hates anything that clouds his mind, says that it makes him vulnerable.

“That’s all very interesting, but if you could focus on the locations, that is our focus,” they urge. Her brows furrow, she said all of that aloud? Odd.

“Right, of course, I apologize. Um. The cave was farther north and west of the camp. There’s…a drop, almost like someone cut out a hillside, then a small waterfall – the cave is in a sinkhole, steam sometimes comes up from it.” She hears the scratch of quill against the map and parchment.

“You did not mention the sinkhole before,” Uthvir says and she shrugs.

“Because the cave is the important part of it. It is more like the entry to the cave. Sorry, I never go over there, the last time I did my mother had a fit.”

“When was that?”

“…Thirty years ago, ish. Before we sent out Clarity.”

More note taking sounds then silence. She opens her eyes to see Uthvir looking at a book and the map both, deciphering…something, she guesses.

“What do you think is out there anyways?”

“That is confidential information,” they answer. She bites her tongue, wanting to press the issue. But it wouldn’t be productive, it’d only make things worse. Still, the idea that there is some lurking thing in her woods, near her people, sits uneasily in her, even more so since here is someone who has an idea of what that thing is and they won’t tell her.

So she frowns and lets her emotions out just a bit to make her displeasure known.

“Now you are being petulant.” But there is a wryness to their tone, almost like when her mother is both displeased and proud of her.

“I apologize, the woods have dulled my manners. I am sure the Lord Darevas can tell you all about it,” she quips. They look at her from the corner of their eye before returning to the map.

“What else can you tell me about the area?” They ask.

The rest of the day is spent with her telling them everything she can about the woods. Apparently being well enough to shoot arrows means that they felt she is well enough to question her ceaselessly about everything. The wildlife, the structures, their hunting patterns – everything. By the end of it, her head hurts and she simply wants to sleep, despite the restlessness in her legs.

When Sanaste takes her back to the annex, she is quick to eat and even quicker to turn in for the night.

The next few days are spent in intensive healing and spreading information from Uthvir to everyone accompanying them. Both Darevas and Felasel are apparently invested in the investigation, much to Uthvir’s displeasure. Faunalyn also seems to disapprove, but the young lords insist that since it is to be their land, they should be responsible for bringing Miriel’s people back into the fold and defending the land from anything sinister. There are…debates. But the lords are stubborn and insist. Most of the push comes from Darevas, who seems eager to see whatever is causing trouble in the woods vanquished.

Felasel is quieter, but there is an edge to him that is disquieting. He leans more curious about the threat than wanting to see it ended, and he constantly side eyes Miriel as if she is still to be considered a criminal.

She holds her tongue. She doesn’t need to add fuel to a fire.

Four days later and she is cleared as completely healed by the annex. Sanaste wants to hold it off but the lords and Uthvir will not hear them over most of the healers. Darevas takes her back to the smithy to see how her armor fits – finding the modifications to be perfect.

The day after and she is taken to the stables where everyone else already is.

“Miriel! So glad you could join us,” Darevas says cheerfully. He takes her hand and lifts it up to a brown hart, letting the beast sniff her.

“This is Elma,” he introduces and Miriel smiles.

“Hello, Elma.” She pets the pretty hart and is thanked with what she assumes are happy noises. Elma nuzzles Miriel’s hand and she giggles, moving around the beast until she comes to her back and saddle. Darevas helps her up and she reorients herself. She hasn’t ridden a hart in a very long time, but she remembers this feeling of being high up, seeing things from an angle she is not used to.

Uthvir and their hart suddenly appear at the front of the stable, a long cloak hanging from their shoulders making them almost appear regal. She looks around and sees Sanaste and a contingent of Darevas’s and Felasel’s guards all saddling up in addition to a few of Mana’din’s people. Faunalyn is also here, wearing a partial mask over her mouth. Her cat eyes gleam with excitement that makes Miriel think of her father.

Papae is probably demanding a search party with the support from Mamae and Varas. The three other hunters – Belaravas, Emmansal, and Ghilananin – are probably unsure if they should. The rest of the people are dependent on them for survival and with thirteen people now officially missing…there is something in the woods.

Other hunters have gone missing, one of the voices had said during her capture. It could be any number of things – Nameless, one of Andruil’s old pets, one of Ghilan’nain’s pets that have gotten loose, a demon, maybe even rogue hunters. There are too many unknowns to fully know what’s out there.

Miriel relieves herself and makes her way to the baths just off the healer’s main room. It is…very different from the river she is accustomed to. There are five pools, each one with a different hue and scent. Only one resembles the water she is used to, but otherwise it’s a mystery to her.

“The normal pool is best for simple cleaning, the other pools are for different effects,” a healer says. She turns to them and smiles.

“Thank you. Is there any soap?”

They chuckle, move to a desk, and pull out a drawer to reveal…an impossibly large selection of soaps.

“Oh!”

“They differ in what they do and scents. What do you want to smell like?”

“Um. Clean?”

“All of them do that.” They look her up and down and not so subtly sniff at her. They reach into the back of the drawer and procure a simple square soap.

“A simple scent for deep cleaning and exfoliation.” They open another drawer and pull out a small vial, “for moisturization.” They open another drawer and pull out a much larger container, “for cleaning your hair. It is for cleansing, and smells like strawberries. And this,” another new vial, “will help make your hair soft.”

By the end of their speech, her arms are full of all these new soaps and things. She carefully shuffles to the edge of the normal looking pool and sets her soaps on the ledge before undressing.

Miriel slowly sinks into the warm water, warm water, and is reminded of her life before Andruil died, when this was normal. She washes herself and marvels at the difference in how her hair feels afterwards, even still wet.

She is given a simple brown robe to wear. It’s too long on her short body and she feels oddly small in it as she returns to her cot. There’s a small tray of food waiting for her and she eats it quickly enough.

The healers crowd around her and begin to murmur their spells around her head. They feed her more potions that she gags at, but they insist.

The door at the end of the room opens again and a familiar masked figure walks in. He’s either in a different robe, a deep iridescent blue, or this is his brother. Either way, Miriel bows her head and pointedly looks at her feet.

“Good morning, my lord,” she says.

“Hello, Miriel,” he says, taking a seat next to the cot. She peeks out from behind her hair to see a tall woman sit next to him. She is wearing only some of Dirthamen’s Vallaslin, on her cheeks and nose though her forehead and chin are bare. Something about her is familiar, but Miriel can’t quite place her.

“This is Faunalyn, Miriel. She was a Hunter for Andruil as well,” Lord Darevas says. Miriel cautiously lifts her head to look at the woman and yes, that makes sense, her posture and gaze all communicate a Hunter’s disposition.

“Your parents are Tassan and Caution? I knew them, good people. I just need to take all the names of the people you’ve been living with.”

Miriel watches Faunalyn pulls out a journal and quill and wonders what her new role is. Glorified note taker or servant is a low for someone who was so highly ranked.

She goes through the list in her head, she’s sure she repeats a few names but they listen and Faunalyn gets them all down. The Lord watches and remains quiet as she talks about her friends and family, describes how they lived. She wishes she could see his expression, any sort of indication of what he thinks.

People are more difficult to understand than animals, and infinitely more important to understand because they have a greater impact on how things will go. His emotions are kept close and calm, no line there, and with no facial expressions she finds herself to be in the dark.

Faunalyn nods as she speaks, even comments on a few of the people she recognizes. Most though are all unknowns, the invisible low-ranking servants who did what they could to get by, which did not involve being noticed by highly ranked Hunters.

“Thank you,” Faunalyn says, closing the journal.

“What would you recommend we do once we find these people?” The Lord asks and Miriel snaps her attention to him.

“I’d recommend you understand the incredible chaos there was around that time and that instead of hurting other people, we all decided to remove ourselves until it was safe. I was only thirty, several of us were former traumatized victims trying to survive,” Miriel says, her gaze fierce and unwavering to his mask. To his credit, he remains still.

“Miriel,” Faunalyn snaps, “that is no way to speak to your Lord. Clearly the woods and her head injury have left her rude and insubordinate.”

“They are my family, please understand.”

“And he is your lord, you do not –

“Please, Faunalyn. If I was in her situation, I would be even less cordial. Miriel, I will do my best proven that there have been no violations of law, I see no reason why we cannot accept hard working, resourceful people back into the fold.” His voice is kind and low and she wants to believe him, but sweet words mean nothing if there is no action behind them. But…it is the best she is going to get.

She backs down into the cot, pulling the robe closer to her.

“Thank you. I just want them safe, I…I was responsible for that. For them.”

He just sits there, unmoving and creepy. She hates the mask, she concludes. It’s weird. She knows it’s the whole aesthetic of this part of the family, and she is willing to bet that there at least a few of his father’s followers that would have found Andruil’s wardrobe disturbing. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s wearing another face that doesn’t move and expects her to respond to it like a face.

Alright, fine. Maybe she’s just worked up…mask’s still creepy though.

“The woods are not an easy place to live in, even with twelve hunters working together. We got lucky, Paleris is a tanner, and Uthbora was a healer’s apprentice but she is probably a full fledged healer by now. Amevirin is a smith and his husband, Rasvir, is a tailor, which is a lot more important than you would think. He was instrumental in putting together tents, him and Paleris worked together endlessly. Them and Dahmeil. I…am rambling on about this, I’m sorry.”

“No, do not apologize. I wanted to know about the woods and this is your experience, I am…curious.” He tilts his head and Faunalyn raises an eyebrow at him. She gets a look then conspicuously rises from her seat.

“I have other duties to attend to, my Lord. Miriel,” she says then walks away, leaving Miriel alone with Darevas. Lord Darevas.

“Is my candor amusing, my lord?” She asks and he shrugs.

“More like refreshing. It must be strange to come back to find out things have changed,” he leans forward and she shrugs.

“We were expecting things to be different. We all had bets on who would take over the territory.” She plucks at the ends of the robe, unsure if she should try to maintain eye contact with his mask. She looks for the blue she saw earlier, focuses in on that.

“What did you bet on?” He asks, his tone mirthful and light.

“It being divided up. I joked that the Hunters would be made Peacekeepers and what rotten Peacekeepers we’d be,” she chuckles, “I’d be an awful Peacekeeper.”

Humor suffuses the air and he laughs with her, “And why is that?”

“I like a certain amount of freedom, not an undue amount, of course, but being a Hunter…running through the woods in a chase…I’d hate to give that up.” Her voice turns wistful and unsure. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to continue to be that huntress anymore. Darevas and Felasel may completely restructure the lands and people, to make them compliment their sister and father more than to adapt to what is already there. Those very woods may be torn down to feed…whatever it is they may want to do.

“I would hate for you to give that up as well,” he replies softly. She blinks in confusion.

“Why? I-I mean, thank you?”

Perhaps Faunalyn is right, Miriel thinks. She’s been in the woods so long she’s forgotten how to properly address people who significantly outrank her, who hold her life in their hands.

“Why does that surprise you? People should not have to give up the things they love,” he answers as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. She smiles bitterly and worries the ends of the robe.

“With all due respect, my Lord, it’s not always that simple. We are your subjects, what you wish is what we do and sometimes that involves sacrifices. Sacrifices I am sure your grandmother can tell you a great deal about. For the People, always for the People,” she keeps her voice soft, to not accuse him, that would be breaching a line that even she knows not to cross.

He is quiet for a long moment. She shifts under his gaze, suddenly very conscious of the lack of armor and armaments on herself. But it is also the knowledge that he could hurt her, could lash out because of her words, and she could defend herself but if she did, it would be her death.

She waits for a blow that doesn’t come.

“I would not wish that for my subjects,” he says finally, with a resolution that surprises her.

“That is very good of you, my lord,” she replies and he bristles. She’s about to ask him when he takes off his gloves. Miriel shrinks away instinctively and he stops, hands bare, pale and without any callouses or other marks of work.

“There is the matter of your vallaslin,” he says softly. Oh, right, that makes sense. She sits up properly, closer to him and waits for him to begin the magic of reorienting the lines on her face.

“I spoke with my brother on who you would best be suited for, and considering that he couldn’t possibly handle your sass, I volunteered.”

“You are merciful indeed, my lord,” she jokes and he chuckles.

“Alright, hold still, this may prick a bit.”

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands over her face, magic sinking into her skin to erase and draw lines at the same time. Her cheeks tingle and her nose twitches against her will. He chuckles at the little movement and she blushes.

Once done, he pulls his hands away but he doesn’t put his gloves back on.

“There, much more up to date.” She lifts her fingers up to her cheeks. There’s no actual textural change, but there is a difference. If she could wiggle within the bounds of him not really being her lord before, she can’t now.

Miriel turns her gaze to his hands, so different from the hands of the people she has lived with. Untouched by work and hardship.

“Is there something on my hands?” He asks, turning them over to inspect them himself.

“Oh no, they are simply different from what I’m used to. We all have unsightly callouses and scars and dry patches on our hands.” She holds her own hands out for comparison. She shows him the large callouses from wielding a bow and notching arrows. His hands come up and pause.

“May I?”

She blinks, surprised.

“Yes,” she replies and still he is tentative when he touches her hands. The softness of his fingers is odd against the roughness of her callouses. He traces up the center of her palm, circling around the roughness in her palm and up her fingers.

“We found you with a bow, is that your preferred weapon?”

“Yes.”

He flips her hands over and traces up to her wrists and he chuckles, “I know you are capable and there are many smaller people are just as capable in a fight but your hands are so small, it’s a little odd to think of them holding a weapon.”

“And I find it hard to believe that you’re not constantly fumbling with your weapons with such large hands!” She teases back, pressing her hand up against his, palm to palm.

“What deftness can you accomplish?” She chuckles at the absurd comparison of their hands, her fingertips barely reaching above the middle bend of his fingers.

“That sounds like a challenge!” He says, wiggling his fingers. He turns to one of the healers and she swears he’s smiling behind that mask of his.

“When is she allowed to wield weapons?”

The healer sighs and looks at Miriel, “Two weeks. She needs to avoid anything that may rattle her brain, anything that will stress it. She cannot read, write, be around bright lights, be exposed to loud noises, or engage in any vigorous physical activity.” The healer’s eyes look Darevas up and down disapprovingly.

“Two weeks and then I can show you how deft I can be,” he tells her and she rolls her eyes.

“Whatever you wish, my lord.”

The door he came in through opens and she turns her gaze to see a similarly dressed masked figure enter the room. There are fewer details on his robe but it is finely made and there is a much different air around him.

“Brother,” he says and Darevas turns. So this is Felasel. She recognizes his voice from the woods and his mask…he’s the one who saw her first. She sits up straighter and her eyes dart to Darevas.

“Yes?” Darevas turns to Felasel.

“You are needed,” is all Felasel says, not even looking at Miriel. She supposes that’s much more normal than the interest Darevas has shown in her. Darevas nods and turns back to Miriel.

“I am being called away. It was good speaking with you, perhaps, if you are not averse, we could speak more?” He suggests and she inclines her head.

“As you like, my lord,” she replies but it doesn’t have the affect she was expecting. Darevas goes rigid and stands, and confusion flares around him briefly before he tamps it down. He stands up and leaves the room with Felasel, closing the door behind them with a solid click.

Well. That was a little odd.

She rises from her cot, her body still sore, but she needs to move. She hasn’t been this still for this long for…she can’t really recall the last time. There are some basic, low stress stretches she knows and she goes through them, slowly bending her body against the strain of the past two days. The robe provides to be a bit of a challenge to work around with all the extra fabric but she works with it.

She finishes stretching and finds her day suddenly very, very empty. Hm. She ties her hair up into a bun and sets out to explore any room they’ll let her.

She sets out through the healing wing, counting the number of healers milling around. There aren’t too many needing attention, and she does her best to keep her ears open to listen for anything helpful.

Most conversations are full of “where does it hurt?” and small talk to diminish whatever pain the person is in. Almost all of them wear Mana’din’s markings and eye her with barely restrained suspicion. She can’t blame them, she’s an unknown in their territory. All unknowns are to be treated with suspicion, they can all be dangerous even if they don’t mean to. One of Mamae’s many teachings.

The healing room she is in is a long rectangle with a few windows that allow Miriel to see a small garden just beyond the walls. She approaches one of the younger looking healers, carrying a change of sheets.

“Excuse me, but I was wondering if I am permitted to walk the gardens? I am not used to being indoors for an extended amount of time. The walls feel like they’re closing in, it’s not very helpful for a recovery, you see,” she explains, smiling sweetly. The healer looks unimpressed however.

“Your stay here is a courtesy, you can sit back down in your cot.” The healer walks off and Miriel scrunches up her nose. That wasn’t very nice or understanding, and it’s not like she asked to be here. She was essentially kidnapped from her home. And they can’t even let her into a garden? What do they think she’ll do? Violate the plants or something? She has no cause to, she just doesn’t want to be stuck in a boring brick building that offers no fresh air. It smells like creams and ointments in here, unnatural and suffocating.

Fine. Permission was really just a courtesy anyways. She heads to an empty cot and waits until no one is looking to sneak under the cot. The movement makes her a little dizzy but she ignores it as she shrinks her body into that of a field mouse. The world spins briefly but she just needs to make it to the garden and she can shift back.

She scurries along the floor and sneaks out through the door to the garden. She makes it around a bend to where a bench is before shifting back.