#peter!

Starchild slowly placed his hands on the ground and pushed himself up. His back throbbed in pain at the movement, but he ignored the pain and raised himself to crouch on his feet. Grabbing the tree for support, he pulled himself up to stand shakily on his feet, letting out a hiss of pain. He stayed still for a moment, waiting for his legs to stop trembling. When they were finally still, he blew out a shaky breath, let go of the tree, and took a step.

As soon as his foot touched the ground, his back screamed in pain, his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees. “Ah!”

He felt like crying all over again. He couldn’t even take a single step. How pathetic was that? And he was all alone. Almost no one knew about this glade, which meant he couldn’t call anyone for help.

As he looked down at the ground, trying to gather his strength to stand and try again, his eyes suddenly fell on a small, thin stick lying at the base of the trunk. Perhaps…

Starchild grabbed the stick. His light purple magic swirled around his hand, and the stick began to grow. It lengthened, the wood growing thicker, until finally in his hand was a long black walking stick. Gripping the walking stick, Starchild lifted himself to his feet again. Already it was feeling easier to do so, now that he had something to lean on.

He took a hesitant step. His back throbbed and his legs shook, but he didn’t fall. Leaning heavily on the walking stick, he took another step. Then another.

He spent a while walking slowly around the glade to get used to using the walking stick. When he finally felt he had the hang of it, he turned to leave the glade… and stopped.

He suddenly didn’t want to return to the heart of the Moors, where his tree and everyone else was. He could just see all the looks that would be on their faces, and could just hear Vinnie, Tommy, Erik, and everyone else’s voices as they demanded to know what happened. How could he tell them that he, protector of the Moors, had been fooled and betrayed by one of the very humans he was supposed to be protecting them from?

He couldn’t go there. But he couldn’t stay here, either. He had to get out of the Moors.

So instead of leaving the glade the way he’d entered, Starchild turned and went the other way, towards the edge of the Moors. He never stopped to think about what he would do once he was out of the Moors, although he did wonder for a moment what would happen while he was away. All he felt was a burning desire to get out of there. And they would all be fine; they still had Gene and the border guards to protect them.

Besides, he thought sadly as he walked, leaning on his walking stick, it’s not like you’re of much use now, anyway.

-*-

For days afterwards, Starchild wandered alone. It was the farthest from the Moors he’d ever been, and he supposed he should have felt afraid that he would be seen by humans. But Starchild was surprised to find he felt no fear. His emotions had been dulled by his heartbreak, replaced instead by pain, pain of the body and the heart. Yet still he wandered, eating the little food he could find and sleeping rarely and fitfully, thinking of nothing but Ace and his beloved wings, and wishing he knew why Ace had ripped them away from him.

Meanwhile, though life went on for the Fair Folk of the Moors, they all were seized with worry as they wondered where their protector had gone. And just as Starchild felt a creeping emptiness without his wings, for many Fair Folk the Moors felt empty without the presence of the faerie.

Gene walked solemnly toward the lake island, where Vinnie, Tommy, and Erik fluttered in wait for him. A few other creatures were gathered there too, watching expectantly as Gene arrived. “Did you find anything?” Vinnie asked him hopefully.

Although he hated to dash the pixie’s hopes, Gene still mournfully bowed his head and shook it. He and the border guards had scoured every inch of the outskirts of the Moors for the last couple days, trying to find any sign of where Starchild had gone. And today, they had even dared to venture a little away from the Moors, searching the surrounding forest and even beyond that, hoping to find something. But sadly, they’d found nothing.

The hopeful look melted from Vinnie’s face, and behind him, Tommy and Erik drooped slightly in the air. “I see…” Vinnie fluttered over and patted Gene’s cheek. “Thank you for looking.”

Gene grunted in reply, then left to return to his post, the other border guards doing the same. He just couldn’t understand it; not even two days after their victory against the humans, and Starchild suddenly vanished. According to some of the Fair Folk, those who lived near the back border, in the early morning the day Starchild disappeared, they had heard a long, loud wail from somewhere in the forest, that sounded so miserable and heartbroken they were afraid to investigate. By the time they gathered up enough courage to see where the wail had come from, the early afternoon, they had found nothing.

As Gene returned to his post, his thoughts turned to Starchild once again. He had known the faerie since he was a little baby, and had known his parents before that. They were both good faeries, and as Starchild grew older, it seemed all of their goodness had been passed onto their son. He’d been kind, gentle, and bright-hearted as a boy, traits that all stayed as he grew into a man. He was still kind, but at the same time ready to rip apart any foolish human who threatened the Moors. Gene was certain that if his parents could see him now, they would be as proud of their son as Gene was of him.

Worry and sadness settled in him. All they could do was continue searching, and hope Starchild returned home soon.

-*-

As Starchild continued to wander, the pain in his back began to fade. The burns were so deep and extreme that it was taking longer for his body to heal, but after a little over a week, he began to feel that the pain was fading. It still hurt, but eventually he just got used to the pain.

However, as the pain in his back stopped being a problem, Starchild became increasingly aware of another problem: his feet. He was barefoot, had been his entire life. He wore no shoes, simply because he hadn’t been aware they existed.

Until Ace, of course. And even though his heart hurt at any memories of Ace, he did remember Ace wore shoes. They had always been old and worn. He remembered asking Ace what they were once, leading Ace to explain shoes to him. At the time he’d thought shoes were rather silly.

Now, though… he was rethinking that. Although winter was far from settling in yet, the kingdom and the surrounding country were still cool and dreary in the late summer. So the ground was still hard and cold, and the wind biting. The wind hadn’t been a problem—he’d simply made for himself a long black coat, that he now wore over his purple tunic and trousers. But he couldn’t fix the problem of having no shoes as easily. His feet were freezing and ached from walking so much on the bare ground, and his toes felt stiff whenever he tried to move them. He could also feel an annoying prickling sensation in his toes that he actually hated more than the pain in his back. As much as he thought shoes were ridiculous, he still had to reluctantly admit that if he didn’t find himself a pair of shoes, at this rate his feet would freeze off.

As luck would have it, one day he was walking through a vast field of grain when he saw a structure in the near distance. It was a human house, a small one, and as he moved closer, he saw a human woman come out of the house carrying a basket of clothes in her arms. She turned her head and shouted something, to which he heard a male voice reply. When Starchild was close enough to the edge of the field, he crouched down low so the woman wouldn’t see him and watched her. The woman went over to two large wooden poles that had a long string running between them and began to hang up the clothes on the string using tiny wooden things. She was halfway done when something against the side of the house caught Starchild’s eye.

It was a pair of black leather boots.

As the woman finished her little task, Starchild kept staring at the boots, wondering what to do. He’d never stolen anything before. A part of him was even wondering if he ought to do it at all.

But then the prickling in his toes reminded him of its presence, and his decision was made.

When the woman had almost reentered the house, Starchild slowly stood up and started to cautiously walk into the yard of the house. But the rustling that came from his movements was loud enough to make the woman stop and turn around.

At the sight of him, the woman immediately screamed in fright and dashed into the house. “Mark!” he heard her cry out. “Mark, come quick!”

Wonderful.

Starchild walked towards the boots as quickly as he was able to and stooped down to grab them. He quickly scrutinized them; they seemed a bit too large for him, but they would have to do.

As Starchild turned to leave a human man ran into the yard, eyes wild and a pitchfork in his hand. His eyes fell on Starchild and he immediately shouted in alarm. “Demon!” he yelled, raising his pitchfork.

Starchild actually rolled his eyes. Oh please. He dropped the boots and held out his hand. There was a burst of purple magic, and the man slumped unconscious to the ground. Starchild grabbed the boots and quickly left the yard, his mind only briefly remarking at how unemotional he’d been through the entire incident.

-*-

The boots were indeed a little too large, but all that mattered to him was how his feet immediately felt warmer. He took a moment to rest before setting off again.

Night slowly fell, but he continued to walk, guided by the bright light of the moon. Eventually, he found himself staring up at a large, looming structure. It looked to be the ruins of a human structure, perhaps once a grand castle. Starchild’s lips curled into a frown at the sight of the ruins; humans really were hateful creatures.

Even so, it seemed a good place to sleep for the night. Starchild entered the ruins and, in spite of himself, looked around with some interest as he walked. The ruins looked as though they’d been there for decades, perhaps even centuries. He was walking over what remained of a bridge when sudden movement caught his eye.

A black cat had slunk into the ruins and leapt up onto the bridge ledge. As it passed him, it noticed his presence and stopped to turn and look at him. The cat seemed unfazed by his unusual face; instead it tilted its head and stared at him with an air of curiosity.

The cat’s stare reminded Starchild of the fox. He frowned at the cat, held out his hand, and forcefully blew purple dust at it. The cat’s head jerked back in surprise when the dust hit its face.

The cat hissed at him and bounded away. Starchild glared after it, then turned to go further into the ruins. His walking stick tapped against the stone, now clearly audible. All it did was make him remember why exactly he needed to use it in the first place.

Starchild’s other fist clenched, and deep purple magic swirled around it. He stopped and turned to the nearby remains of a column and threw out his hand. The purple energy burst from his hand and shot towards the column, and upon impact the column exploded. Feeling slightly better, Starchild continued on. At least he no longer felt like crying; now he just wanted to sleep. Even though when he slept, his dreams were always haunted by Ace and the memory of his wings, causing him to wake up screaming and crying once again.

Finally, he came to a place that seemed suitable enough. He turned nearby rubble into a bed of moss and moved to lie down. His back immediately screamed in protest, and he was forced to move at a snail’s pace, letting out grimaces of pain. When he was finally lying down on his side, he shifted to close his eyes, then froze. Something was missing.

And yet again, tears pricked at his eyes. Normally when he slept, his wings would wrap around him like a warm, safe cocoon. He’d never had to use a blanket; all he needed were his wings. Now, without them, he felt cold and incredibly paranoid. Was this what humans felt like? He hated it.

Starchild waved a hand in the air over himself. The light purple energy meshed together and solidified, forming black feathers woven together to make a blanket. It settled over him and he sighed, closing his eyes to fall asleep. It didn’t even come close to what his wings had been like, but it would have to do for now.

-*-

Darkness was closing in on him, cold endless darkness. He tried to fly away to escape it, but nothing happened. He fell to his knees and wept as he remembered: he had no wings now.

Suddenly Ace was in front of him, smiling mockingly, and behind him he could see his wings, sealed away in a case. The case shook as they tried to break free, but the case was wrapped in iron chains, trapping them inside.  

Ace was laughing now, the sound of his cruel laughter echoing through the darkness and bouncing off the inside of his skull.

“You did this to me!” Starchild screamed at him. “Why?!” Ace’s laughter grew louder and louder, surrounding him.

“Why?!” he wailed. “Why did you do this to me?!”

Starchild gasped and his eyes flew open. He rose up, his blanket of feathers falling off his shoulders. His back immediately throbbed in protest at the sudden action. Slowly, he laid back down and curled up, drawing the blanket over his shoulders as they shook with quiet sobs.

“Why?” he whimpered into the darkness. “Why, Ace, why?”

-*-

The sound of a yowling cat was what drew Starchild to the field the next day. His first thought was to ignore it and continue on his way, even though he was still technically wandering. But his curiosity won out, and so he snuck quietly into the field, passing a frankly ugly-looking scarecrow as he went, and peered through the reeds of wheat to watch the scene in the clearing.

A black cat was tangled in a rope net, flailing about and yowling loudly as it tried to get free. There was so much happening that Starchild couldn’t get a good look, but he was sure it was the same cat he had met at the ruins the night before. Large dogs stood nearby, barking loudly at the cat in a taunting sort of way, and alongside the dogs was a human male, a farmer it looked like, looking down at the cat and laughing triumphantly. “I’ve got ya!” he crowed.

Starchild rolled his eyes. Humans really were stupid.

He could just turn and walk away, leaving the human to his foolish activity. But at the same time, he didn’t want to leave the cat to the (nonexistent) mercy of the human farmer and his dogs.

His decision was made when the farmer turned to his cart and pulled out a fat wooden rod. He was going to beat the cat to death. “Ya mangy cat!” he shouted.

Starchild waved his hand, wisps of purple magic curling around his fingers. “Into a man,” he muttered.

Instantly, the cat began to grow larger, shocking the farmer so much he fell to the ground on his backside. The dogs’ barking grew more urgent as the cat’s limbs lengthened, its—no, his—tail shrank down, and the fur began to melt and lighten into human skin. The yowls turned into male human yells as the transforming human flailed and jerked in the net, that he was becoming increasingly too big to stay trapped in. As the last of the changes happened, the figure stood up and threw the net off himself. He stared down at his paws as they became human fingers, and with that the transformation was complete. What had been a black cat was now a fully grown human man with long black hair, covered head to toe in dirt and mud. The dirt and mud, at least, did a little bit to hide how completely naked he was, but not nearly enough for Starchild’s personal liking.

As the cat-man looked over himself in utter bewilderment, the farmer raced to his feet and ran off in terror, his dogs following close behind. “It’s a demon!” Starchild heard him yell. What was it with humans and demons?

Starchild straightened up, ignoring the resulting stabs of pain in his back, and entered the clearing. The cat-man looked up at him, and for a moment Starchild just circled him, both of them simply staring at each other.

Then the cat-man spoke. “What the hell’ve you done to my beautiful self?”

Starchild raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “That’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth?”

“Look at me!” the cat-man gestured to himself. “Dammit, I shoulda clawed your eyes out last night when I saw you!”

So he was the cat from last night. “Would you rather I let him beat you to death?” Starchild asked him.

The cat-man raised an eyebrow as he thought for a moment. “… I dunno. At least I’d still be me. And you…” He looked over Starchild, frowning in confusion. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”  

Well that was unnecessary. Starchild frowned coolly at him. “I just saved your life,” he stated. “The least you could give me is a thank-you.” He began to turn around to leave. “But if not, I could just turn you back into a cat and let the human come back and find you.”

He began to walk away, when the cat-man spoke again. “Wait!” When he turned, the cat-man lowered his head respectfully to him. “I’m, I’m sorry. You’re right. Thank you.”

Starchild almost smiled. “Better. Do you have a name?”

“Peter.” The cat-man, Peter, lifted his head. “And in return for saving my life, I am your servant. Anything you need, I’ll do it.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Not in a weird way.”

Starchild was focusing more on his words before that. Anything you need, I’ll do it.

His ability to change Peter’s form wasn’t limited to just a human and a cat. He could change him into any animal he wanted. His original plan… okay, it hadn’t really been much of a plan. Whenever he wondered if he should return to the Moors, the answer was still a resounding no. His “plan” had been to simply wander around for a little while longer, then when he was ready (whenever that may be), he would finally return to the Moors and find out what he had missed. But with the opportunity he now had… perhaps he could find out what he had missed first. That could give him a better idea of what to do next.

“Have you ever flown before?” he asked.

Peter gave him a sarcastic look. “Yeah, because cats can fly. No, of course I haven’t.” His expression turned curious. “Why do you ask?”

He couldn’t fly, not anymore. But Peter could.

“Wings,” Starchild replied, and his back throbbed. “I need you to be my wings.”

He glanced over at the scarecrow, then walked past Peter to leave the clearing. “Take the clothes off the scarecrow and put them on. And try to clean yourself up a bit, too. I’ll explain as we’re leaving.”

He waited outside the clearing for Peter to get dressed, his foot tapping impatiently. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Peter emerged, wearing the black clothing from the scarecrow and looking at least a little cleaner from before. Considering he was a cat, Starchild didn’t even want to know how he’d cleaned himself off. “Okay,” Peter said to him. “Now explain.”

As promised, Starchild gave him his explanation as they left the field. Well, sort of; he left out his and Ace’s history, and just told him everything that had happened recently. He even forced himself to tell Peter the part about Ace taking his wings. Peter immediately gave him a look of sympathy. “Damn… I’m sorry.”

Starchild felt something go through his heart; whatever it was, it made him feel like crying again. He pushed the feeling away and scowled darkly. “I don’t need your pity,” he spat.

He finished explaining what he wanted Peter to do and described Ace’s appearance so he would have better luck finding him. “Leave when the sun sets and fly back to the ruins from last night. I’ll be there waiting. And don’t let anyone see you.”

“What if I don’t find out anything?”

“Then you’ll go back tomorrow morning and watch again.”

Peter thought about it, then nodded. “All right. Any, ah, any advice for flying?”

Starchild tried to reply as quickly as possible to keep the longing out of his voice. “Flap your wings to fly higher, keep them still to glide. You’ll learn as you go.”

And with that, he waved his hand again, wisps of light purple appearing. Peter shrank, growing long black feathers, until flapping wildly in the air beside him was a black raven. With a caw, Peter took off, flying into the sky and out of sight.

As Starchild watched him go, the feeling of longing welled up in him again, along with jealousy. He wished he could be the one flying right now, getting to experience that wonderful feeling of freedom.