#spequiet

“The tenants don’t want to merge with Her,” Obsessed mused, slapping a wandering trout. The stun gave him a moment to catch it in his teeth, biting down on his prey. “The weasel kept blabbing about it the whole time—“

“Ah.” This time, the fish caught in the Echo’s grasp. With a swift motion of his beak, he threw it towards the other side of the bank to his ally. “So She’s left without someone to help, is She?”

The bear grinned. “Not exactly.” The trace of his tail flicked towards the deeper woods. “Partner’s around here, trying to get back. I’ve seen her. Hurt her. I just haven’t been able to catch her.” The bear pointed a claw to a few small, deep scratches on his flank. “Feisty one. In for the kill. But maybe, if you want me to keep her distracted…”

The Echo blinked. “It seems we’re already on the same page. What are you proposing?”

“You want me to take on that demon and lure Her out?”

The Raven pondered it a moment. “… Yes. That would be helpful.” The bird paused to lift a talon. “But assuming they did reunite, you’d risk their fusion—“

“Not if She’s smart.” The bear reared, pointing a claw to his ruined chest. “Any Wild can reach open tunnels to the Network. If She tries it, She’ll leave Herself exposed to me.” 

There was a stifled pleading from somewhere within the rib-entangled roots. The Strangled Wild was still conscious enough to protest, but lacked the power to fight back.

The Raven dipped his head, pondering it a moment. “I see… Using your own connection to get to Her roots.” The Raven murmured in approval. “And then destroy Her from the source?”

The bear nodded. “And if She won’t open up, I’ll drown Her.” A paw slammed down on the lake. “Make it so She can’t take a Vessel before Her death.”

And once that’s done, I’ll deal with you, The Echo mused. Allied or not, you still have a part of Her I can’t let survive — but I'm sure you’ll understand, when that time comes. The Raven smirked. “Then it’s settled. Keep Her pesky partner at bay, and with luck we can lay a blood trail.” He cocked his head. “Doesn’t that one like the bloodier fights, anyways?”

The bear grinned, baring bloody teeth. “Oh, Echo, you don’t even know the half of it.”

——

Back at the safety of the cabin, Thorn’s own journey led her to the living room. The fireplace had been recently lit, and judging by the small incisions in the wood she knew the culprit. Yet instead of lapping up the heat, she found the Chimera resting in the shade. Beast’s back was turned, tail flicking; agitated compared to Den, who flopped over in the sunlight as anyone would expect from a massive cat. Beast’s behavior had been withdrawn since the hunt, as if she could tell something Thorn could not.

“Beast?”

A single-note question. The chimera’s ears twitched. “Heiress.” A two-note reply. A brief turn of her head, watching expectantly for her to continue. Right.

“I wanted to check on you,” Thorn admitted. Even if drawing close to her old mentor brought forth its own waves of anxiety, she’d brave it well enough to get to the bottom of this.

Beast flashed a half-hearted grin; all teeth. “You needn’t do that, Heiress.” Okay, so clearly ‘kit’ wasn’t her preferred title anymore. Preything, Kit, now Heiress — but never ‘Thorn.’ This chimera was ever-formal, almost to a point she was distant.

“What are you talking about? Of course I do.” Another pawstep forward. Thorn wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer, and she’d just have to deal with that. “You’re a part of this pack, too. And packmates take care of each other.” A hesitant step. “At least, that’s what you taught me.”

Beast snorted. “What I taught you about how to live among chimera is no longer relevant,” she sneered. “You’re about to be much more than us, and you’ll have to learn a new way to survive.” Beast rose to her feet, shifting away. A smooth, firm vine lanced her legs in their organic snare; a softer gaze down, impressed by the warm sting of blood along her limbs. “I see. So something I taught you did stick, after all.”

“All of it did.” Thorn’s posture straightened. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” Beast snipped the vine with a claw, sitting to lick away the crimson droplets. “I’ll be fine. You needn’t worry about how I am when your ascension is imminent.”

Thorn paused for a moment. Why was her mentor being so cagey? … Oh. The Borrower watched the chimera smooth over the pad of one paw; that must’ve been where her mother had marked her. “You’re thinking about Her, aren’t you?”

Beast bristled. The lash of her tail was audible as it flicked against the hardwood floor — hard . “I did what she asked. I kept you alive. I kept you breathing. And no matter how hard you fought back against it—“

“— The cruelty helped,” Thorn finished morosely, letting her mentor breathe. “It was better getting a slap in the face from someone I knew than an outright enemy.”

Beast’s pupils dilated. “So you finally understand it.”

Thorn nodded. “I always have. It was just much harder to accept back then.”

Reluctantly, Beast shifted closer. “I didn’t choose for it to end like this,” Beast reminded. “If I’d had it my way, you would’ve stayed with Her. I was only supposed to help Her with the kits, not take over.”

“I know.” Thorn brisked over, clambering up the nearby leg of the couch. Careening down, she was able to graze the chimera’s forehead with her own. There was a blink of surprise as Beast reciprocated, before lifting her charge with an absent paw.

“Skip the formalities, Kit.” Ah, the moment was over. As Beast deposited the Heiress on the ground, Thorn shot her a look of thanks. “Go dig your roots in before we run out of time.”

Thorn gave a dip of her head. And thus, the unceremony began.

Beast watched absently as Thorn began her work. Pawing into the carpet seemed like the easiest place to put her hold on this transcendental world, feeling the fibers split beneath her claws.

There were always three different terrains that got one to the Wild; the soft, the harsh, and the nothing in between. The former at least made the journey easier as the pull of claws and teeth began to create the void within, concealing the scrap of loosely-scrabbling appendages. Unlike the last time, Thorn was able to hone in more on the sensation; the shift and move of fabric beneath scarred fingertips, soothing the pain into a trance of nothingness. Every burrowing creature knew that getting in to the earth was about forward motion. So gradually Thorn hunkered down as she made her second journey inward, feeling the sting of neurons that did not belong to her. Wired, wily, and ever so careful all the same…

Until it melded into a hazy blur of nothingness, only interrupted by that sacred mantra.

Borrowed and Stolen. Wild and Domestic. Survival and Lavish Indulgence. Pain and Ecstasy. These were the bonds which governed the two worlds of large and small, and at the heart of it all was a thread tied together by—

You.

The voice arose again in its hymnal chorus. Somewhere in the sea of thought was her mother’s voice as Thorn’s limber body once again leapt, twisted, and clambered down the synaptics. And as she attempted to reach that central tree —

Heiress.

Thorn retracted her hand; that voice wasn’t her mother’s. The soft lilt and frightened tone was one she’d scarcely heard before, yet it felt… Lost. Familiar.

Come here.

Again, the Wild murmured pleadingly. Something dreary was on the horizon; a tug and thrust of nerves that had never gotten to burrow into this place. It took a moment to recognize the source of the dialogue, but somehow intrinsically Thorn understood: The Devoured was trying to warn her of something.

“What do you want from me?”

——

Evening light now filtered into the cabin bedroom through the slats. Hovering just a pace away from her husband, Spectre glanced over Quiet pleadingly. Silently testing for some kind of stumble backwards, some form of revulsion now that he knew she was less than perfect. Yet the unease in the corvid’s eyes was not one of hate; just of pity, demeaning as that may be. To know all she’d endured just to die alone in the freezing cold… It made Quiet feel even more sick as he pawed forward.

“I’m… Sorry,” Quiet huffed, plumicorns drooping. “I wish I’d—“ Quiet cut himself off; now wasn’t the time for guilt. They could deal with that gradually, and start with the here and now.

“You’re… Wilds , Come here,” Quiet trilled softly, wagging a regrowing talon. “It’s alright.”

Spectre met his motion, not his eyes. The flit forward was just as tentative as when they’d first met; longing, aching, and scared. A hand pawed his tentatively. His hand grasped firmer. Deep fingers embraced her in full all too easily, and she desperately dove into the embrace. Corporeality felt all too easy as Quiet held her tight, hands wrapping around her as they drove the tiny Borrower towards his heart. That soft, aching beat enveloped her nerves like a mantra — and finally, the little phantom broke into her own howling cries.

Three years of waiting. Three years of keeping it all in. To think it could’ve been over so much sooner… But the second best time was now, and it felt right despite the ache in her tiny, incorporeal body.

Talons pierced through phantom limbs; transparent fingers pulled along the grasp of epidermal shelter. Tears dripped down Quiet’s chin and through his wife’s tiny silhouette, interrupting her form momentarily. Both of them sat there shaking, panting, letting the nerves wrack through them; it felt wonderful, relieving, horrible all the same. But as the moments wore on, it began to blend together in a sort of relieved numbness.

This was no longer her burden alone. That meant something. Everything.

Eventually, the spasms died down in place of comfort. Quiet waited patiently until the storm had passed, petting Spectre gently all the while. Yet a nail raised to caress her chin was thrust downwards by frantic, tiny hands, giving a violent shake of her head through mumbled words:

“No no; you can’t see me like this—!!!“

“Take your time.” Quiet retracted, heaving a sigh. The fingers abated, and it seemed that she was contemplating the request. He waited a few more moments before opening his beak yet again.

 “Hey. I love you,” he crooned gently, “no matter what. I married you, not just you at your best. Even when you’re tear-streaked, red-eyed and ragged as I’ve ever seen —“

That finally got a giggle from the ghost as she raised her head. The once-milky gaze of her sclera was blood-red and dripping, strands of hair unevenly whisked between strewn and incidentally preened-out feathers. Still shaky in her grip, there was an almost pleading look in now-dilated eyes; the temptation was still to hide herself away, but Spectre knew better. Soul laid bare before him, she’d never been more beautiful.

“My dear, my Spectre, my haunting little dove —“ His feathers were ruffling in that lovesick, goofy manner they did when he was nervous. “You’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you?” The talons brushed against the wispy strands of her hair, tending to loose ends with the rare grace of a trained lover. “I can imagine that it was a lot to get out into the open.”

Spectre nodded. “More so than you’ll ever know. You’re not even supposed to know I exist, let alone the fact that —“

Quiet nodded. “I’m just surprised that your own people would do things like that.”

Spectre raised a brow. “Even after all we’ve been through? I’d think you would be more used to it.”

Quiet bristled. “Do you ever get ‘used to’ something like that?”

Spectre shook her head. “Not if you still have your humanity, no.”  There was a sigh this time as she leaned against Quiet’s thumb. “I’m just… There’s still more I could’ve done—“

“— You are doing it. Right here, right now.” A careful nudge against the curvature of her spine. “We started this together for a reason, and now I understand why. Even if I can’t imagine —“

“— Except that you can. And you do.” The words were soft, but insistent. “It never came down to what we are in the end, large or small; we’re both victims of the same enemy,” Spectre reasoned, shifting a hand. “And that’s what brought us together, is it not?”

No words escaped Quiet’s mouth at first; just a mournful, solemn bow. “Desperate times and desperate measures, as they say.”

“There are good things that come from the bad, but even then it doesn’t diminish what happened,” Spectre reminded. “There are thousands of places I could’ve died alone. By hands that wanted me gone, not just a little structural mishap.” Her grip secured, beaming mischievously. “And who knows. Maybe you’ll be next to join me.”

“Rotten floorboards? Crossbeam impalement? Aww, shucks.” Those were her own honeyed words, not a threat. Quiet knew it all too well with a chuckle himself. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. This was never going to be the usual ‘death do us part;’ you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” A toothy grin. “Stick with me, and we’ll make these cabin grounds the most spectacular morgue you’ve ever seen.”

Now that was some sweet talk. Momentarily caught off guard, Spectre blinked it off as she shifted comfortably in his grasp. “Mmh. We’ll see, Killer,” she purred. Words were difficult after all was said and done, yet she knew that they could make it through. “ … Thank you, by the way. For waiting,” Spectre mumbled sheepishly. Her eyes darted to a far corner. “Everyone who knows this story has left me in one way or another. Either captured, escaped, or—“

Quiet suppressed a giggle. Spectre stared. “I… It’s not funny —“

“C’mon, I’m not rolling over just yet. We’ve got this.” Quiet curled a finger around her until there was nothing left but them. “When life falls for death, anything’s possible.” A graze of talons against her cheek, lifting her to his face. “No obstacles we can’t overcome, no places we can reach. Not even…”

His voice trailed off. “… The Wild.”

Spectre hesitated. “I’d… Like that, Killer. I really would. But you know I’ve been trying to get in for years. You’re too alive and I’m too… Well...”

Quiet raised a brow. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m—!!!”

Spectre paused the exasperated musings as she took in the shift around them. A solemn echo from somewhere beyond the grave, stirring in phantasmic chorus. That long-dead heart felt the pang of the world around them shifting away, looking up at Quiet in startled bewilderment.

“Quiet? What are you—?“

“I think you know, don’t you?” The dreary ghost leaned into his fingertips. “This little blend of perspectives; the sharing of information is what the Network thrives off of. And if you don’t believe me? Just let me lead. I’m taking you where you need to be.”

Spectre scoffed internally. There was no way he could actually —- No. This wasn’t possible. At least, it shouldn’t be; those tendriled trees had scarcely let her in before. It wasn’t like being with him alone could bridge that gap to the Wild now. This had to be some taunting dream.

“I can’t,” Spectre sighed. “It’ll just—“

“Push you out? Not this time.” A finger nestled against her cheek. “You have a vessel now; company.” Quiet churred the words absently. “I can’t guarantee anything, of course. But let’s give it a try. See if this time it’s different.”

The hesitation abated, and Spectre gave him a nervous nod. “… Okay, then. I’ll trust you.”

That longing gaze finally settled on him as roots unfolded on the paths along open palms. Upon acceptance, the bedroom drifted away. Yet still feeling the chill of phantasmic skin, it confirmed it for Spectre all at once:

This wasn’t a dream.

Shapes became less tangible, more outlined as his voice carried forward. The space grew static and calm. Quiet only had eyes for her as it all continued, taking them on towards hallowed ground.

“But we’re not done yet, are we?”

“I don’t think a person is ever ‘done’ with talking. There’s a lot I want to ask and work out, yea. But let’s take it one step at a time, ok?”

“Ok.”

A vast, dark space enshrouded them until their silhouettes filled the space. Two pairs of longing, milky stares. One heart beating for both of them. Veins of white entwined their shoulders. Sensation returned.

“I just…” Quiet fluffed his feathers. “That’s a lot for one night. I think we can wait to talk about the rest.”

Spectre nodded. “That sounds like a plan, Killer.”

Quiet huffed. “You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?”

“Nope,” Spectre purred, sticking out her tongue. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with it. Killer.”

It felt as though a lock had clicked in place. Whether Quiet was shrinking or Spectre was growing to meet his stature, it didn’t matter; it was evening out, bringing them gradually to level ground.

“Here we go again,” Quiet chuckled. “I guess this place really wants us to get some new perspective.”

“Doesn’t seem the forest is the only one,” Spectre trilled.

Quiet shook his head. “No. It’s not.”

The shift of gravity was muddling as perspectives blurred. Spectre hovered to place her hand to Quiet’s, mark to mark. A gentle tug against his fingers. A soft flit against them, leaning into the sway of eager gravity. Their statures began to even out and pull them deeper into their embrace; a dance beyond the confines of flesh and bone.

“My poor remorseful Killer,” Spectre trilled, giving a playful roll of her eyes. “What am I to do with you?”

“I think that’s up to you,” Quiet murmured, feeling the weight of her increase with the adjustment. “But I certainly have some ideas.”

A courteous bow, wagging his tail feathers. Giggling, Spectre reciprocated. Hand in hand intertwined, the hollow ache was finally dull and warm, sweeping them both off their feet. Gradual readjustment was settling in as they soirred through the nerves of the trees. And finally, it was just enough to finally meet eye to eye.

Quiet’s form was proportionally settled only a foot or two above her own. His hands were just a little bigger, but close enough for Spectre to slot her digits between them.

“Well? I told y—!!!”

Knocked off his feet immediately, Quiet gave a startled yelp at the force of a tackling blow. Roots settled on the edge of Quiet’s form as he fell against the now-tangible weight of his spectral wife, pinning him down on hand and foot. He could see every skeletal mark and ounce of beaming pride in her dark-rimmed eyes; breathless as the dead as he took the reality in.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Spectre smirked. “I never thought I’d have the opportunity.”

“Oh yeah? Well, what if I told you I’d always wanted to do this?”

A falsely-protesting squeak as Quiet seamlessly flipped her over, planting a kiss on her lips. The squirming and fidgeting was mutual; here, Spectre was more tangible than anywhere else, and they were both using it to their advantage. After a couple play wrestles and pecks on the cheek, the pair rose to the new environment which carefully ensnared them.

The Wild was dead silent, save for the gospel of a thousand voices. Its surface retained shared conflicts and emotions, swirling in an empty torrent of sensation. Small veiny roots had connected carefully to their arms and legs, painting this landscape with a new sort of delight. 

They were here. They were whole. And now, it was time to advance up that hill which led them to the entity that guarded this forest.

Quiet took Spectre’s hand, softly leading her forward. The little ghost slumped by his side nervously as they carried forward; the desire to harden her resolve was still there, but the Wild would not let that truth hide away. A gentle arm around her seemed to keep her steady as they approached the being: the Shifting Hound was waiting in all Her glory.

Footfalls grew silent as they met Her in the open abyss. Five maned heads encircled Her pristine neck as three stared forward; the final two’s eyes remained closed, as if they had not yet awoken. This being, this chimera, was a shapeshifter after all; the Cerberus which watched over the Wild’s entourage and claimed their attributes as Her own. So seeing the feathers and faded features on one side apiece was a good sign, if nothing else.

“Something finds me in the lonely Wilds and brings me the gift of two fragile vessels.” Her wording, much like Spectre’s, was ethereal in a different sense. Her paws were numerous as She ushered Her own pack from the woods within; small chimeras settled to link themselves into a draping garment. While their eyes, much like their leader’s, were Quiet’s same hollow, glowing white, their features resembled those who had been lost then found: a memorial for the dead as much as for the living.

“First time?” Spectre gazed at her slack-jawed husband, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I, uh… Yeah,” Quiet breathed. “I haven’t really had a reason to enter the Gates of Death.” The bird blinked. “But I guess you’ve been here quite a bit.”

“More times than I can track,” Spectre murmured. Her back slumped, sending rich waves of adrenaline in her wake. “It’s… Been a long time of debating.”

“I know it has. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you stayed.” Quiet nuzzled Spectre one more time before turning his head. “We’re here to see the Heiress,” Quiet addressed the Hound, bowing his head. “That’s possible, right?”

The Shifting Hound chuckled. You speak with the voice of a newborn fawn. Timid, frail, uncertain. What is and isn’t possible is a matter of perspective; if you believe it to be so, than thus it shall be. The deity paused a moment, catching Spectre’s gaze. You needn’t fear my presence, Wandering One; I am not here to forsake you. Your journey will come to an end eventually — but for now, you are on the right track to finding your own freedom.

Spectre’s form relaxed. Clearly, that was all she needed to hear. Let us resume. I understand there are several others waiting to see you.

The Shifting Hound settled to allow several small forms to detach from Her back and bumble towards mortal company. An emaciated being grasped Spectre’s hand, beaming up at phantom company. A small, beheaded form carried what was severed in a silvery cage. A torn-up corvid gripped Quiet’s palms. Old friends lingered in the faces of these floppy dogs. From avian nature to Borrowed roots, the entourage was finally coming together. And as they nodded approvingly to the larger being, it seemed the shifting mass parted to reveal the way through the tangled world.

They say you belong here, the Shifting Hound murmured. If your passage is temporary, I will grant it. We will meet again.

With a flick of Her tails, the cerebral being departed into the woods. Detached pups lagged behind as they, too, vanished into the nothingness and —

A deep, chasmic force was left in Her wake. The trees enlarged to immense heights, the blades of grass coming closer and thinner.

“It’s… Huh.” Quiet shuffled, grazing past a blade of grass. “I guess we’re starting here at your height?”

“And making our way up to yours, I imagine,” Spectre murmured breathlessly. “Shall we?”

Quiet grazed the spectral trance of her palm and secured it in his. A wing folded over his wife, who gave a churr of surprise. “Let’s surprise Her,” he explained. “It’s been a hard journey for all of us.”  His smile deepened as Spectre wrapped his wing around her like a shawl, hiding herself from view as they plodded down the path.

But the question was only half-sincere. If the woods really held that much disdain for her entry, then she didn’t really have much sympathy to give back. 

Nothing, the forest replied. Not much you can do now that you’ve been chosen. Let Her find Her way back and regain those threads Herself. Don’t intervene.

Chosen. There was something about that word that ached, beautiful and enraging all at once. So it seemed over the past week she had indeed gained Thorn’s trust, but the result was almost laughable. Dead yet undead, stuck in a waking dream without sign of egress. Direction seemed pointless here, especially when everything that should set nerves aflame was just as dark and dismal as this incorporeal form.

So things were supposed to be kept quiet, was that right? What about from Quiet? That wasn’t fair.

Life’s not fair, the forest echoed in that all-familiar sarcasm. Let them figure it out. It will be better if it comes naturally.

Avoiding altercation. Letting the cracks settle on their own - was that right?

Correct. Do what you must to keep the peace. Something worse is coming.

“Something worse?”

Had she wanted to comment further, Spectre never got the chance. The woods grappled with their intangible observer just long enough to get a foothold, and the scene faded away with the distinct shatter of glass. Robbed of true death, yet again.

“Ow!”

Quiet jolted awake at the sudden twitch in his palm, shortened talons bending inward. Typically, Spectre was a pretty heavy sleeper, but this night seemed different. The familiar trail seeped out of his palm, watching it form in soft wisps into his partner. She looked disturbed more so than anything, turning away from his gaze.

“Doveling…?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” For a moment she looked up, rubbing at her eyes - most likely trying to play it off as exhaustion. Yet Quiet had grown familiar with that soft red tint which settled along her sclera; something told him this was worse than a nightmare. And yet, he knew better than to pry.

“No, I was already awake. The, uh… Fae are out right now.” 

The lie slipped past easily, adjusting his fingers to settle under her chin. The tiny prickle of icy fingers settled on him curiously as she leaned into his touch. All sensation wasn’t lost to her like this; she had enough of his form etched into her mind for absent nerves to fill in the blanks. One of the few times he really noticed their differences was this; a soft little rub against the side of her cheek, her grip tightening as she curled into it like a pet hamster. It was adorable. He would let her linger as long as she wanted to.

It seemed that his lie was plausible as a raucous shriek broke out from the cupboards. Witch’s quickened footsteps were hot on the trail, giving a growl of her own as she pursued… Something. Dealing with Wild Borrowers was very different than their household counterparts. Over the course of the week, however, it seemed that he’d found an outlet for their bloodthirst.

“I’ve been letting the mice out of the bag a few at a time,” Quiet grumbled. “I’m starting to regret it; they’re a little too lifelike. But I guess it’s better to let them hunt by proxy than the real deal, right?”

“Oh, is that what they’re after?”

“Every night,” Quiet sighed. “We’re almost out of them now. You wanna tell them to pipe down?”

There had been slight amendments to the household rules over the course of their stay; notably, high-volume hunts offered invitation opposed to restraint from their antics. Or, in Quiet’s words: ‘If you keep me up, I’m roaming the house. It’s your choice what you do from there.’

“I don’t see why not,” Spectre shrugged. It seemed she didn’t need to hide the melancholic attitude at present; it was an offered distraction, and one she was willing to take as she followed Quiet’s lead. But opposed to taking his side this time, she settled carefully along his shoulder; if she couldn’t have death, then at least she still had what little life remained. That would have to be good enough.

The kitchen was exactly as they’d expected it to be; a few objects tossed haphazardly, ones which seemed to have been hastily blocked from dropping with a few protective vines. It seemed at least Thorn had grown more cautious in the midst of their truce — the same could not, however, be said for her sister. The week and a half they’d been here had offered the little one new freedoms; ones she was proud to show off to anyone who watched. As was the story as her eyes lingered up to them from her chocolate “kill,” grinning broadly.

“Hey, Witch; keep it down,” Thorn hissed, chasing silently after one of the scurrying confections. “You’re going to wake the — Oh.” Landing directly on her catch, Thorn’s eyes drifted up to the corvid in question. There was no fear there, not even annoyance; her claws nixed the enchantment on the rodent, falling lifelessly to the side.

There was still that uncomfortable eye contact, though.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Quiet huffed. Almost immediately, her gaze flitted away. Much more comfortable for both of them than being stared at by this tiny little predator.

Overall, time had changed the both of them. There was much less hostility now that they no longer regarded him as a threat, even if instinct had a tricky way of creeping in and making communication difficult. Or, well, difficult for one of them. It was progress.

Quiet heard a chuckle from above as something jelly-like oozed over from above his head. He sighed as Witch dangled her own prey from on top of the refrigerator.

That one was still a gremlin. But a much less violent one than before.

“Are you giving that to me, or is it that obvious I need to preen again?”

There was a rough splat on his head, much to his wife’s amusement. 

“I’m taking that as a yes to both.” As he reached up and licked the jam from his talons, Spectre finally made her move towards the countertops.

Being a domestic resident had its benefits, but also its disadvantages. Even in life she had never possessed a frame suited for those feral leaps and bounds. Their sharp wit and agility was more than a little enviable — and if she’d been impressed with Witch’s maneuvers, Thorn’s were beyond description. No longer gaunt and haggard, there was a new spark of life that’d ignited in its place. A silent, deadly hunter — If there was any warmth left in her, Spectre would’ve felt that heat upon her cheeks.

They were learning. 

It was fascinating watching some of the more domestic habits blend in with the Fae’s own nature; while still scrabbling to reach the cupboards, the rifling through drawers was much more careful than it had been before. There was more precision to the specific ingredients (domestic mechanics were a tad different from woodland cookery); it seemed the handful of guides Spectre had hidden around the house did indeed come in handy.

Even now it had to be so inviting, didn’t it? But she was fine for now just watching. Even the presence of others carrying on the tradition was welcome, and with them so focused she didn’t want to impose.

“How much is a thimble’s worth again?” From the other side of the room, Witch had ducked her head into a drawer. Her rear legs and tail stuck out awkwardly, pulling out a handful of sugar. “Oh, nevermind. Forgot those buckets were in here too…” 

Poking her head out, Witch gave their spectral counterpart a smirk. “Well? Are you just going to hover there, or are you coming over?” Placing the tiny thimble “bucket” to the side, there was a flick of invitation as she watched Spectre hesitate.

“Me? There isn’t really much that I can do to—“

“Don’t start,” Witch scoffed playfully. “We’ve seen you lift far worse with that little magic of yours. We wouldn’t even be this far without your resources. Might as well use them while we still have things to retrieve.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with that. Tentatively, Spectre settled on the countertop beside the teenager; the soft whistle of feigned inattention slipped through Quiet’s beak, turning into the other room. “I’ll leave you to it,” Quiet hummed. “Enjoy your first group Borrowing.”

“Wait, is this your first one?” Thorn fumbled with a lid on the spice rack, giving a confused tilt of her head. Spectre fancied these Borrowers and their antics; there was little guesswork about what was on their mind with such emotive bodies. But the thought had not occurred to her before then; they weren’t well versed in the loner sort, were they?

“Well, I have done it before, of course. But that’s been some years since—“

“But never with other people?” Witch sniffed along her neck, as though trying to detect a punchline that’d never come. “Huh. That’s… Strange. I thought you were around other Borrowers.”

‘Around’ and ‘with’ were two different things; that Thorn understood. Spectre had given her a little more context as to what’d happened in the past, but that had been when the heiress was still on the defensive.  It looked like that ghost wasn’t kidding. “You sure that you don’t want—“

“I’m fine.”

Thorn stepped back. There was a bite of bitterness which was not there before; better to choose her words carefully. The heiress tested the waters with a quick scurry backwards; it seemed that the longing remained. Was it simply not knowing where to start? Thorn gathered a few drops of oil before shimmying down the ledge. Maybe this required their intervention.

Presently, it seemed Spectre’s attention was diverted by one of those faux mice on the counter. Its chocolate paws brushed over a fondant body; shifting, moving with subtle motions. Her form crouched awkwardly as she raised a hand. 

What has been Borrowed cannot be returned. The voice in the woods echoed clear and long in Spectre’s mind, and finally understood. By taking the piece that was offered, that must give way to new instincts, right?

“You’re thinking about it,” Thorn noticed. Turning with a small jolt, Spectre met her eye almost bashfully. Why was she embarrassed about it? It wasn’t like they wouldn’t understand.

“I don’t follow,” Spectre lied. It was fooling no one.

Witch glimpsed over at the mouse, and then to the ghost in question.

“Sure you do,” Witch teased. “You want to try and catch it?”

Yet again, there was a breath of laughter from the other side. Thorn quickly suppressed it upon realization she’d noticed. Well, if they were inviting her…

“You make it look fun,” Spectre admitted. Had she the tail to do so, she probably would’ve been smoothing it over in her hands by now. “I don’t know if it’s feasible, but I’d like to try.”

It was a stupid thought, anyways; there was no way they were really going to entertain this. But it seemed to be the case as a familiar face peered around the corner; Beast had come out from hiding to see the commotion.

Her presence seemed to be instruction enough. Carefully, Witch slid back down to all fours with a small click of specialized joints realigning her legs and spine. How on earth was she supposed to copy that?!

“Like this,” Witch purred, only to lock eyes with a perplexed apprentice. “What? Oh, that’s right—“

“Just keep your body low to the ground,” Thorn stepped in. “Arch your back if you need to.”

Spectre did her best to follow their lead; appendages on the ground, hunkered into a crawl. No, wait; not knees? Was she supposed to do it on her feet? It felt unnatural. Even though they were less advanced, there did seem to be a more even shift of joints as Thorn redirected her own weight downward. She didn’t have that. They seemed to have forgotten. 

Spectre would have to make do with what she had. At least the weight was less evenly dispersed on Thorn compared to Witch -- favoring legs over hands, which were used more as support. Spectre copied the former as best she could, setting her eyes on the artificial target.

“Broad steps,” Witch added. “You want to go at it quickly. Sneak attack style.”

(Source: letoilepourpre)

The whole thing felt a bit goofy. Standing alone was more unusual for her now with her usual powers, but hunched over like a cat was a way even this form was unaccustomed. Every limb moved out of rhythm, one by one; then a quick pounce befell the animate being. A quick swipe shot across the body, but it never made contact. There was a squeak as her hand phased through it, scampering away.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” Witch’s tone was encouraging, raising a clawed hand. “You just have to lock in and grab it--”

“I can’t. No pulse.” 

Technically, not an accurate description. Spectre knew she could touch more than flesh and blood, but this imitation of life was too confusing to grasp. Pulse Paradox, as it was known to ghosts. The lights or stagnant mechanics were about as complex an animation she could control. She gave a soft smile as she looked over then, dipping her head as she stood once more.

“Thank you, anyways.” 

They didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Before they could even process, Spectre had left them in the dust, with barely a trail to follow.

Spectre theorized there was someone else who would be better help.

————-

“Am I wrong to hold my tongue?”

“Why would you be? If the Wild spoke to you, then that’s a command you’d better keep.” Beast licked a paw, brushing it behind her ears. While Wild’s daughters seldom sought her advice, the presence of this new Borrower was welcome. There was a hidden intelligence which was different than her feral kin — one which had intrigued her from the moment Beast had gotten close. “She rarely communicates with The Wandering, so what she had to say was vital.” Then, turning her head: “May I see your hand?”

Resting amidst the dusty surface of the coffee table, Spectre shuffled forward to accommodate Beast’s request. A firm claw pulled it forward, squinting down.

“Mmh. That would be Wild’s Mark.” There was a sigh as Beast repositioned herself, sitting beside the living room couch. “She should’ve given you advance notice-“

“— She doesn’t know.”

Beast flicked an ear, disappointed. “I expected as much. Seemed to have no comprehension of the information I relayed.”

“She did have quite a night.”

“A night which could’ve changed her for the better. But she struck out.” Beast sighed. “A mighty predator is nothing without wit and perception. What good is a catch you don’t even know you’ve claimed?” There was a flick of a paw in disgust. “The Heiress is powerful, when she tries to be. But by holding back and striking haphazard… She’s not ready yet. She needs more practice with gaining control. And the lot of you, when it comes to working together.”

Spectre turned away for a moment, gazing back down at her palm. Why did it always have to be the most inconvenient marks that took on undead flesh? At least this one she could blur from view with a few brushes of her palm.

“I’m presuming this would not be the time to tell her.”

“Hold your tongue, as you said.” Beast nipped at her flank to smooth out a few stray furs. “We need the cycle to fall into capable hands, and if the knowledge of its allies is unknown then things could end for the worst.” Beast gave a nostalgic sigh, bitter with the ache of old wounds. “Wild, I don’t know what happened. There was a time where I had faith. Why I was left to pick up the pieces You left behind I will never understand, but I know You had Your reasons.” Beast overturned her paw, gazing down at the faded mark of the ruling queen. “If I’d gotten to You first… Things would’ve been different.”

Remembering her current audience, Beast looked up. There was a look of intrigue on Spectre’s face. “Another time,” Beast replied. “For now, just know you’re not the only eyes out here. Don’t trouble yourself too much; if they give you any hassle, I’m happy to set them straight.”

So hold her tongue it was. Unfortunately, it seemed that would be challenging to do with the mutual curiosity of the Fae; a mocking imitation of something she’d so desired. Everything that was and ever could be a new beginning had warped, and if it went south there was only one to blame. It didn’t matter if it was her or them in the end. Humanity loved a scapegoat, and any Borrower was Fae enough.

“I’ll do my best,” Spectre managed solemnly. “I’ll buy them time to figure it out. But how much do we have left?”

“Enough to spare,” Beast answered carefully. In the other room, there was the sound of Quiet’s startled yelp, followed by mutual laughter. “Treat them all like kits. If you interrupt, then that confidence will be gone and you’ll stunt the huntress.” A claw grazed her chin. “Come to think of it, a hunt wouldn’t be a bad idea. I’m sure Den and I could hold off our own excursions for a few days to make that work.”

“If you need help whittling things down, I’m more than happy to help. As if going outside again wasn't excuse enough.” Witch’s voice echoed from the far side of the walls, barely visible from a corner of the walls. Of course the kid was snooping; despite the initial bundle of rage, but there was a fondness for the little one Spectre couldn’t shake. Beast remained unimpressed, tossing her head.

“I’m taking it you’ve known from the start, Preything.” The affectionate insult slipped off Beast’s tongue, only distinguishable by the subtle roll of her eyes. “Your nose always was sharp.”

“No, I saw it happen ,” Witch grumbled. “She was slicing the pattern in the whole fight. Why do you think I’ve been keeping her distracted? The mark’s disjointed, but it’s there.” There was an indignant huff as the little borrower scurried out, clawing her way up the table. “And I know that look he gave us after. The ‘pleading prey’ gimmick? It’s got Hunted written all over. And if she was that stupid, we know that cornered animals fight back. They both feel like prey to the other, and I don’t think we need either of their fears confirmed right now.”  

“So we’re in agreement,” Beast nodded. “We need to seal the bond before it’s too late.”

“Yes, but is —?“

“And in order to do so, we need to inflict that unity,” Beast replied with a flick of her claw. “A pack relies on trust and overcoming obstacles; it will show the true strengths between everyone.” Her eyes turned towards Den, who was nestled in the sun by the other side of the room.

“I’ve been itching for another chance,” Witch purred. “Been too long since we’ve been out.”

“It’s been a little over a week. Don’t be so dramatic,” Beast scoffed. “Besides, I’m sure the prey are grateful for the break, you vicious little thing.” Beast crouched to swat the Borrower into one paw, smoothing down her wriggling form with a grooved tongue.

“Guh — hey! I just bathed two nights ago.”

But it seemed that Beast wasn’t paying Witch much mind. The whole thing was entertaining to watch, but Spectre still felt that subtle ache regardless. She just hoped whenever things did unravel, she would be there. 

“So it’s decided? Good,” Beast purred. “I’ll ask Hunted to keep an eye on the woods while we’re indoors. Most likely he’s aware of a place or two which requires population control.”

And so the meeting was adjourned. Beast prowled over to the larger chimera, flopping down next to her in the fresh morning sun. And with Witch scrabbling off, that meant Spectre, well, alone.

I just hope you know what you’re doing.

——

Over the course of the week, all wild creatures did their part in narrowing the time in between. It seemed the efforts paid off; the house grew less tense with guiding eyes on everyone, whether they knew it or not. And time, too, seemed to ease the strain of interaction in passing between Fae and Feathered Being. More than once Quiet had found one of them sunning on the window or another asleep in a pile by their prey, scampering away awkwardly to leave what remained.

The freezers wouldn’t last forever. Stockades would run out. And with a second massive mouth to feed, Quiet certainly hadn’t stocked up with this in mind.

“Is it usual for the Chimera to remain indoors?” Quiet pondered the question beside the counter, watching the pair of them gnaw at frozen haunchmeat.

“I don’t know why you’re asking me,” Thorn answered, raising a brow as she followed his gaze. “ We’re not even used to staying inside for more than a couple hours. It doesn’t seem like there’s been any bad storms lately, but their noses are sharper than ours. They might know something that we don’t.” 

A glint flickered along Quiet’s nails. Absently, the Borrower crouched down, stalking closer.

“I would ask Hunted, but he’s been absent as of late,” Quiet mused. “Probably helping the herds migrate towards —- Okay, what are you doing over there?”

Quiet lifted his talons. The tiny form prowled away before he ever caught sight. “If I didn’t know that was you, you might’ve gotten me. And I thought your sister was fast —“

“Oh, I’m not faster.” A flicker of a candle illuminated the Borrower’s shadow, deliberately crouched over. “You just don’t hear me, so you think I am.” The shadow elongated as Thorn pawed the air, imitating a few choice swipes. She had certainly lightened up lately. “The forest doesn’t need to hide Witch in the same way it does me. By the time she’s close enough to hear —-“

“— You’re too late!” Fiercely skittering footsteps befell the opposite side of the counter, leaping for his hand. Quiet’s fingers curled around Witch’s body, softening the blow of bony joints. Within the house he predicted this was more for fun than survival, but it was obvious now that they’d better eat while the night was still young. And, hopefully, before the chimeras finished off the remainder of his stash.

“Alright, alright, heard you loud and clear,” Quiet huffed back playfully. “Let me see what I can find for dinner.” Carefully letting the little Borrower wriggle free, Quiet slunk over to the fridge.

… Only to find that there was very little then sparse produce remaining. It hadn’t been long since their last outing, and he knew well enough this wasn’t the doing of the Fae this time. Maybe there was more in the freezer? But after checking the frozen stash of meat, it seemed this, too, had been cleared out. It probably is the chimeras, he reasoned, giving a mental shake of his head. They can usually pack away more than a stag or two every couple days. Closing the drawers, there was a soft murmur of disappointment as he looked back over the pair of bewildered Borrowers.

“Well, bad news,” Quiet sighed, looking over the remaining stores of food. “We’re out of meat. I can always go out and catch something, but—“

The corvid paused as a devious paw reached up. Witch’s smirk was practically contagious. “And let you fumble after the game? If I recall, we are allowed to roam if we have a chaperone. We know paths that you don’t.”

Quiet looked over at Beast expectantly. She gave a shrug. “They’ve taken down worse than a couple boar with another paw or two. I’ve missed a proper hunt, and we finally have enough members for a small pack.” 

Witch gave a growl of excitement. “Just wait until you see what I’m capable of.”

“Likewise,” Thorn asserted, glancing up at Beast expectantly. “I’ve been practicing.”

“If you’ve mastered that snare of yours, we’ll have no issue,” Beast confided. “It’s been a while since we’ve managed to organize a proper hunt; I expect you’ve all improved. Now let’s see who all is here so we can set up the formation —“

As Beast prattled on about the logistics, it seemed that each and every Borrower was engaged with a newfound delight. One which impressed, yet excluded a singular phantom from the discussion, watching with a sense of equal interest and frustration.

It was all working out, just as planned. And yet, there was still that twinge of jealousy listening to the wildlings discuss so openly. Had they forgotten the obvious?

“—- And now for the question. How do we work in The Deceased?” Beast turned her head towards Spectre. As she looked back over, the chimera watched her for any signs of familiarity. There were none. “Center or back of the pack are still open. Any preference?”

The question caught Spectre off guard. While she had been out of the house before with Quiet’s aid, times spent out in the woods were rare and required full control without distraction. Hunting, by default, was off the table. 

“I don’t know,” Spectre replied honestly. “I’ve been able to watch a few pack hunts, but never participated.”

“Learning new things everyday?” Witch gave a grin. “We can show you how it’s done!”

A soft, disappointed gaze looked out. “That would be nice. Unfortunately, I can’t leave without—“

“A body?” All words halted as Spectre saw a hand extend to her first. And for a moment, it took Spectre a moment to recognize the face looking down on her. 

The only thing time couldn’t heal were the scars. No longer heavy-lidded, frantic, and afraid, a healthier version of Thorn gave her an assuring smile. While still gangly and wild, there was a different aura which sprung to life within the heiress and returned the kindness she’d been given. “Just let me keep control,” Thorn murmured. “You’ve already proven I can trust you.”

Then forgive me for leaving you in the dark until this is done. There was no tremble in her hand. Spectre took it.

“And I won’t slow you down?”

“Hardly. And if you do, that’ll just mean we’ll be out longer,” Thorn purred. “I don’t have any complaints.”

“I guess we’re really doing this, then,” Quiet murmured. “Well, feel free to fo—“

Witch took the lead. The door was open for less than half a second before she charged out, circling in the grass. Beast followed suit, then Den - and finally, Thorn stepped out with passenger in tow as Quiet closed the door.

The click of the lock - from the outside this time. The warm night air in her lungs. Thorn took a moment to adjust to it, dropping carefully down to all fours just to feel the dirt beneath her.

Home. There was an exhilaration which came from being back in the familiar after an agonizing period in the unknown. The earthy scent of fresh air filled her lungs, and just from a single look at Witch she could see her sister’s tears. It felt right somehow, being this close with their newfound company. A family, even; it’d been half a decade since one of those had happened.

From within those aching nerves, the now-comfortable chill relieved the warm night air. And settling at the edges of her heart, Thorn could feel the swell of pride.

“So this is what you were saying. It’s different, but it feels right.”  From somewhere within, there was the fluttery feeling of the ghost trying to reciprocate the motions. She almost managed, although it was clear the stance was awkward. But not unwelcome.

“It’s always been where we’re meant to be,” Thorn whispered in towards her chest. “It’s been an adjustment getting used to things, but for what it’s worth, thank you for sharing your world with me.” Then, with a proud chirp:

“Now, let me show you mine.”

Blades of grass tumbled from her feet as Thorn leapt from the ground. A swipe of Fae claws grazed her side; Thorn returned it with a pounce to her sister’s chest, toppling her over backwards. Laughter rang out clear and true; not the evil cackle or mischievous giggle from her companions. No, this was genuine joy for both of them. It felt good.

“Hey - no fair! Two against one,” Witch scoffed playfully as she nipped back. Small fangs tugged at her tail, reciprocated in kind. Round and round again one sibling hunted the other; and through the frenzy, they danced. Deadened nerves took in the sensation from within; every sweeping, broad gesture from the Fae ignited in this secondhand body. 

Just as the heiress had promised, it was her time to host. And getting to relax for once opposed to keeping every twitching muscle at ease, this was quite a treat for the ghost haunting within.

“You may actually have the advantage this time,” Witch noted with a tilt of her head. “Seems your scent’s mostly covered.”

So Spectre had her own gift to present her host. And learning from within a well-trained body, it seemed clear just by the practiced movements that she could learn just as well in the thick of it.

The sound of twigs snapped beneath small hooves. Looking up, it seemed that Hunted had indeed caught their scents rather quickly; he fumbled forward towards the chimeras, giving a bow of respect.

“I think it is best that you go downwind,” Hunted instructed. “There’s a handful of elk that have overpopulated and are uprooting the forest. The woods are thicker there; more obstacles. You’ll have the advantage.”

“Wait; we’re going after a whole herd? But how are we supposed to—“

You really are new to this, aren’t you? Thorn’s own thoughts cut Spectre off. No racing pulse; no tremor. Shh. Just wait and see.

Of course, Hunted helmed their multispecies pack. Beast flanked him, with Den and Quiet taking the back. Any hesitation seemed to vanish as Thorn stepped in line towards the center, with Witch to her left.

“That’s not the shrew fang, is it?” Beast raised a brow at Witch, who shook her head.

“I don’t use venom if we’re eating it. C’mon; I’m not stupid. It’s a clean blade.” Trailing behind for a moment, Witch flicked her tail mischeviously. “I know some people here can’t hold their poison.”

There was a reciprocal tail flick at Witch’s taunt, who didn’t respond much more than sticking out her tongue. This she followed up with a stride to the left, circling her spot in the formation.

“And some are a bit too familiar,” Thorn retorted. “I’m not the only one here who’s not immune.”

Quiet seemed to be trailing close behind, albeit still in that awkward shuffle that had become so familiar. His primary wings seemed to cover his face in an awkward smile; trying to appear less immense, or perhaps just nervous to approach the woods with the little ones in tow. Den padded around to give him a reassuring pat, before returning to her point in formation.

“You’ll be fine,” her eyes reassured. “Think of this time like any other.”

Quiet dipped his head, giving a response back. “Alright, if you’re sure…”

The sound of Hunted’s hooves clicked along the forest path. It was time - here and now. With the chimeras closing in, the Borrowers shuffled to the center as all began their joyous advance. For Spectre, the moment the prowl had begun it was heaven.

Tactile correspondence. The rush of blood in long-dead nerves. Despite the Fae’s anatomical differences, there was no push and ache against limber joints realigning for the chase. For every bit of fearful cowering that Thorn had shown initially, there was a hidden strength which did not seem like it would take on such a tiny, lanky form.

The forest blurred as the pair of siblings raced through the trees. Snagging branches and catching briars in their hair, the wild ones knew every scrap of this territory. Dodging and weaving, they scrambled from two legs to four with every adjustment of motion. Until finally, there was a rush of reddish brown as the herd began to move.

Spectre notably froze from within her spot. Even flanked by the chimeras, the three of them felt all too exposed. “Wait. Are you sure this is a good idea? Even wolves lose members during hunts; and even if I’m not mortal, you are.”

And this is why I said to let me keep control, Thorn mentally chuckled back at her. We’re on the inside of formation for a reason. Just watch and learn.

Den was the first to break from formation, leaving their flank exposed. Quiet was quick to refill the spot, keeping the Borrowers safe from the hooved horrors they were after. A quick leap severed several of its members, increasing their chances. But even someone as huge as Den knew not to land on top for the kill just yet; there were still too many of them capable of fighting back. They’d have to wear them out.

Alright, my turn. Pausing just a moment to raise a hand, Thorn let the vines run rampant across their paths. Beast and Quiet leapt skillfully over the branches, leaving the borrowers to bound over top and down from the fray. The trip hazard seemed to be working on some of the stragglers; they bucked against the pull, snapping the ivy which tried to bind their neck. Damnit! They’re still too strong.

“Not a bad attempt,” Beast chirped. “But have you considered treating this like the Ring? You’re stronger in pairs.”

“I was just waiting for you to ask.” Witch scuttled through the trees above, leaping from branch to branch. A thick shoot of briars entangled along Thorn’s magic before the herd, which swerved in the opposite direction.

“They’re going towards the valley,” Hunted noted. “It’s a risky move for them, but it’ll be worse for us. We need to keep plowing forward.”

And so they did. Steady haunches and ferocious claws raked their into the earth, followed by the huffing and panting of determined Borrowers. A laugh emanated somewhere deep within Thorn’s chest; a long-dead heart aligned with her own had doubled her stamina to shoot past the pack.

“You were right about this place,” Spectre murmured, awestruck. “ I can’t believe I missed all of it while I was roaming.”

You never had a pack before, Thorn reminded. It’s much different than trying to hunt solo. So, what do you think? Getting a taste of things?

“Are you kidding me?! This is amazing!”

Laughter echoed amidst the smaller members of the pack, watching Witch leap from trees to ground. Somewhere from the bushes they would’ve sworn there was a glimpse of the now-familiar badger; his eyes found Thorn’s immediately with giddy delight. There was a courteous nod from Thorn to Hunted as Smitten slunk away, letting the group carry onward without a word.

Didn’t expect to see him this far out, Thorn pondered. Isn’t he usually by the house?

“Oh, you know how They are — They come and go as needed,” Spectre crooned. “ It appears we’ve gotten everything sorted in that department.” There was the ticklish sensation of a nudge between Thorn’s ribs. “ Consider yourself lucky. He’s impossible to get rid of once he’s decided there’s an issue.”

For the next few miles it seemed that there was limitless energy in the group, tracking the herd with due diligence. But alas, even that had to give out eventually. It wasn’t long until they’d stopped by a riverbank, dipped in the hazy moonlit glow. 

The Fae were back where they’d started. But this time, they had all the more company.

“Let’s stop here to drink,” Hunted murmured. “How’s everyone doing so far?”

Thorn could feel something between a squeak and yowl of excitement through her cortex. This garnered a silent laugh in response. For as intriguing as the numbing chill and neural overlap was for her , Thorn could hardly imagine what it was like for someone who’d been robbed of sensation years ago. 

“Indescribable,” Spectre trilled. “Thank you so much.”

An absent hand traced along shared form. She was kind of cute, actually; made it feel all the—

“Oh, you think so?” The squeaky glee immediately switched around to that sultry purr, transparent fingers sliding out to linger on her arms. 

There was a small jolt as the heiress stumbled back, damning the obvious. Shit. I forgot you could hear that —

“Don’t worry,” Spectre quipped back, “ I’ll let you off easy this time.” Then, a little softer: “ How am I doing?”

The echo of affirmation reached before Thorn could herself. You’re just fine, she mentally chirped, her own fingers tracing down along tender skin. Perhaps it was good she got her own little taste of the Network before that time came. It didn’t feel bad; just strange.

Thorn could hear her soft echo as they sat there, idly by the water. After a moment or two had passed, she situated to linger along the edge and cup the water into her hands to drink. Almost immediately, there was an involuntary jolt, dropping it into the pool once more. Alarmed, Thorn twitched; hadn’t they already agreed on —

“Wait, wait — Is that—?!”

Thorn held her tongue and thoughts. What had seemed to have been a deliberate stray from the agreement was merely —

“……”

— Curiosity. Immediately, mobility returned. The lingering chill within was digging in deeper, as though shrinking down in shame. Now now, none of that. Just tell me what you were saying; it’s alright. 

“I… Is that what we look like?”  

The words were almost too timid to have come from the same ghost. Looking down, sure enough; the same reflection shone down just as the Fae had expected. Something was different this time. A chilled and hollow look flared around her eyes where Spectre’s spirit aligned, radiating a kind of phantasmic frost on the edges. Her whole form was paler than usual, yet still maintained corporeality. Yet again — you can have it for now. Yes, I’m giving you permission to move — the muscles relaxed from Thorn’s grasp as it slid into Spectre’s. A curious expression fell over the pair of them as Spectre placed their collective hand to one eye, leaning forward to dip a finger into the water.

“It’s you.”

Us, Thorn corrected, drawing her hand along her own chin till it dropped back off. I… Wow. I understand now. A murmur of amusement sauntered through the midnight air, squinting to adjust. Wait, have you never seen your reflection?

The thought hadn’t occurred until now. The alignment of chilled hands spread to her shoulders now, overlapping less evenly.

“I have,” Spectre began, “ but only through Quiet’s eye. Generally I can only peer out through one at a time, like windows too far apart. I get the picture from a higher vantage point in a broader light spectrum. But this is the first time I’ve gotten the full depth. And… Color variance you see. I suppose you both have your own advantages.”

Color? Oh. Feline pupils relied more on movement than tonal value. All colors were muted, except for the chill of red and blue. A deeper, nearly monochrome view of the world; it felt normal until Spectre had piped up. If the Network’s anything like this, perhaps I’ll get to see some of those other hues.

There was a palpable sting which settled along Thorn’s heart. Spectre caught herself, steadying what remained of her own. Better not to give into biology and keep theirs both separate. There were others waiting for Her; this would probably work out if left alone.

Are we going to continue sitting here, or can I move again? The mental nudge thrust Spectre out of her thoughts. We shouldn’t linger too long. There’s still creatures who’ll—-

The rest of her thoughts were cut off as a trout took their move. Leaping backwards, the symbiotic Borrower managed to dodge the snapping jaws mere inches from their startled form.

— Eat us if they get the chance , Thorn sighed inwardly. It seemed that for a moment her guest had, impossibly, frozen up a little more, before blinking it off.

“Right,” Spectre managed. “ It’s been a while since I had to think of anything so, well, mortal.” The terror was new. An insightful ‘new,’ but was taking far more adjustment. This was the first time in ages it was possible once more to die.

But not today. There was a secondary snap of jaws as a tiny muzzle dipped his head into the water to retrieve the offending creature. Hunted bit it with a tilt of his head, bringing it proudly to the other side of the riverbank for his partner.

“We were lucky to stop here,” Hunted mused. Beast merely sniffed at his offering, before swallowing the dead fish whole. “The trout seem to have been coaxed out by the Fae. Might as well use that to our advantage.”

There was a growling to Beast’s left as Witch slapped at the water repeatedly, trying to lure one of them out herself. Eventually, one took the bait, — only for Den to steal it, wading into the water to attack.

“If we catch enough of these, we may save some energy and get enough for weeks,” Witch chirped. Then, with a growl of frustration: “That’s if the Chimera don’t beat us to it.”

She didn’t even need to flick a hand towards Den’s direction. The soggy kitty watched as fish pounced to the surface, slapping them back towards the riverbank. One leapt too high and caught in her jaws; surprised, she bit it evenly in half before swallowing. The laughter from the bank made Den look up in confusion.

“Okay, do it again!” Witch encouraged. “But actually hit ‘em onto shore this time.”

“Why don’t I collect these before something else gets to them?” Skillfully, Quiet knelt on their side of the riverbank to dredge their kills from the water. “I don’t think this net will be good for anything larger than a couple rabbits. Might as well put it to good use.”

By now, they were growing closer to the scent of fresh meat. With the larger members sated, more energy could be expended for a longer, swifter chase. “The herd is getting close,” Hunted mused, tilting his head to the sound. “We should follow. ”

They didn’t need to see so much as hear it; the hooves of two dozen creatures echoed a few paces ahead. Each individual who could crouch had pressed their bodies to the earth, awaiting the signal.

“No, wait.” Quiet hunkered in the back somewhat awkwardly; his hands tested the autumnal leaves as they brushed past his fingertips. “Soon,” he murmured. “Not yet.” It seemed that Quiet did indeed have some sense of what he was doing; testing the ground for vibrations. Then, finally: 

“Several of them took off. There’s some stragglers, just like last time.”

The majority of the herd had fled. A handful of members in the back had missed the signal, shuffling awkwardly to catch up on strained haunches. But one by one, they all began to peel off, debating if they should catch up or stand together.

“Good ear,” Hunted muttered approvingly. “See any that look vulnerable?”

“That one,” Quiet signaled to Den with a glance. It was an elder bull, still strong yet wobbly on their legs. “They’re not going to make it.”

“Get into the bushes,” Beast instructed. Her and Den aligned their position behind the dense foliage, watching inquisitively as Quiet pulled himself into the water. Cautiously, he shot Thorn a glance. A familiar skeletal gaze stared back within her, haunted by the ghost of a smile. This, in turn, vanished to bewildered curiosity on Thorn the moment Spectre flickered out of sight; not one for close contact, unlike his wife. But she didn’t mind watching as he buried himself, gator-like, within the depths of the water for this estranged ambush.

Trying to remove his scent. With slicked-back plumes and a form heavy with the waves, this corvid was a whale compared to them all. A whale with massive jaws and teeth primed for rending flesh —- yet lacked the hostility of an ambush predator when it came to them. Thorn wasn’t quite sure she was ready to see what this cryptid was capable of. But it didn’t matter, because sooner or later, they’d have to make the killing blow. That would not come from the Borrowers themselves.

They waited out there for nearly an hour. With chimeras hidden and bird submerged, it left only the more vulnerable members in plain sight as they watched the bull from a distance. His antlers had been chipped from overuse; something about the way he stood on solid ground indicated he knew this night would be his last. 

Then, finally, he took one more bite of grass. Weary legs trailed to the riverbank — 

“Hind leg. Mortal fracture,” Witch whispered. “He can’t keep walking with his leg splintered.” Her eyes trailed to Thorn’s, giving a nod. This one’s yours. You know what to do. There was a soft nod back as Thorn crept forward, watching the animal stumble as it leaned down to drink.

Steady vines wrangled the elk back to his feet. There was a startled grunt, then not much more. They held him in place as the creature raised his tail; his head turned to watching predators, giving a flick of his ear.

“Show yourself,” his gaze stated plainly. “I can smell you.”

There was a raise of one ear as the smaller being cleared her throat. The elk knew these creatures well enough; Borrowers were skittish, unless Fae guarded by a pack. So when he felt the brush of tiny fingertips along his leg, delicate and cold, he took a moment to reposition himself a little bit to peer down.

Every bit of Spectre’s body was rigid and unmoving. The dense, bristling hairs that trailed so easily from Thorn’s hand down to keratin hoof did not stir to knock against her touch, even as the Heiress revealed herself as the alleged “opponent.” No pinprick of fear against a creature this massive from the living host. No spread of opium into aching veins. Just a calm, careful caress staring up into pained pupils, signaling what words could not say. Even knowing Quiet was lurking in the waters, it didn’t bother her as the elk blinked back in understanding.

“What are you doing?!” Spectre’s voice hissed through icy fear, yet it remained in her own space. “We’re way too close. He could trample us at any moment.”

Could, mused Thorn. Not would. He wants to trust us. Staring back up at the elk, Thorn tossed her head. Don’t mind the Chimeras. They’re with me. The back of her hand brushed his ankle. May I help you down? Thorn waited for a nod as the elk relaxed into the vines, carefully coaxing him into a crouch.

“Kind of you,” the elk nodded, breaching the water with a few laps of his tongue. “I was hoping for a drink before I go.” There was no resignation in those eyes as he looked up from his drink. No other details needed to be conveyed. While humans were slower on the uptake, the other animals could sense the ticking clock of predator and prey. So even when the Chimeras carefully slunk back around from the bushes, there was no startle. “You were smart to come prepared; let them cover your trail, little one. Fae are no longer common out in these woods. It’s good to see one back.”

Thorn’s heartbeat quickened. Breath was strained. A single eye shifted towards her, as if asking the age-old question: 

“Is it You?”

A rush of red along Thorn’s palms, carefully applying enough opium for these last few moments. Does that answer your question?

“I had a feeling,” their eyes beamed. “It’s an honor to go out like this.” Then, with a flicker of their gaze down: “I just wanted to know You were back before it was my time. I’ll be sure to tell Your mother not to worry once I arrive.”

Ten paws padded along the riverbank, each with a nod of respect to their quarry. There was a momentary pause as Thorn registered what the creature was saying. Once a bone had broken, that would be a painful way to go; but here, she could easily commit the deed without needing the chimeras’ teeth. But their presence alone would mask what came next.

This time, she was ready for it.

Thorn raised her hands towards the elk’s head, cupping their wet and bloodied muzzle. Her hands shifted once more with the careful tap, listening only a moment to the secondary voice in her head.

(Source: Feraljayce)

“I think… I understand now,” Spectre uttered breathlessly. The shock of close contact still remained, but no longer the fear. “If you let me try, I may be able to get in and stop their heart.”

Go ahead. A mental nod, allowing Spectre to slip a hand out partway. Tentative fingers scoured the trails of cardiovascular tissue, finally finding an in. This Thorn could not see, but felt the “thank you” as eyes finally turned to glass. Muscles slackened as the grateful creature finally laid to rest, the Network claiming it in minute strokes but leaving the body behind.

It was done. And this time, it felt correct in a way she couldn’t explain. Adversary was right; it did come naturally when it was more than one of them focused on the same end. She could only hope that she’d still get that opportunity whenever it presented itself.

“Oh, just waiting for it to give out?” Quiet’s voice echoed from the river, water sloshing as he made his way towards them. “I was going to cut them off if they crossed.”

“No need,” Den signaled with a singular glance. “Was out of energy.” Den sauntered over to their catch and gripped it in her teeth. “Shall we get going?” her eyes asked. “Longer way back.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Quiet replied. He waited for the Borrowers to scamper into alignment first; Witch appeared to have scrabbled up to him already and begun to scale their massive ally. “GAH! Please, just a little more warning.”

“You said you wanted to hunt, didn’t you? I’m happy to chase but I am not walking back on foot with the rest of you completely climbable.” Flicking a few drops off water off, she readjusted. “Still don’t understand what your plan was. You look like a drowned rat, and you didn’t even get any action.”

“It was better than standing out in the open,” Quiet huffed. “And besides, I’m too tall to fit properly into the bushes, so—“ 

Witch and Quiet’s rambling was left at the front of their pack. Hunted helped him adjust so that the net sat properly on the corvid’s back, while Den shouldered the majority of the elk’s body. That left Beast, Thorn, and her silent guest to the hind, watching the others taper off towards their destination. It seemed by Beast’s stagnant nature, there was a reason she’d decided to tail them.

Thorn blinked as the chimera leaned down to nuzzle her back. Rough papillae grazed her side, with a paw to hold her steady.

 “You have exceeded expectations,” Beast purred. “He’s right; your mother will be proud to hear how far you’ve come.” Beast could feel the slight jolt of ice as she leaned down with a brush of her teeth, hoisting Thorn by the back of her collar. “Your scent is covered. But better to have you guarded in case anything catches wind.” The chimera’s tail flicked to the trees. Thorn nor Spectre had to look to feel the darker form laden in the branches, talons clicking in anticipation. It was only a matter of time before the Echo caught on, and right now he was completely outmatched.

Feline eye glinted challengingly up at him. There was an audible note as he scowled back, but his gaze did not intimidate. Give up. Your attempt is wasted here, Thorn snarled at a glance, feeling the look reciprocate from her godmother’s piercing gaze. Chimera knew how to drive the point home, and it only took one glare to have the raven flap his wings defensively.

“Watch your back, Tyrant,” the Raven hissed. “She is but an animal; she cannot shield you forever. Sooner or later he will learn what you are, and my intervention may not be needed. You’ll get what you deserve.”

Thorn gazed up at the raven for a moment longer, until he flitted defeatedly from the trees. Even then her eyes did not vacate his form; the audacity of this creature to even try and stir up commotion.

They’d just have to be more careful. If he’d tracked them now, he’d be ready the next time the Borrowers were unguarded. But for now they only had to return home and remain out of sight, covered by the whistling of the cool night air in every breath. Peace, like everything else, was Borrowed. And just like everything else, that could be snatched away.

This was the end of a beginning. What came next was anyone’s guess as they plodded down the hour trip back to safety.

————

By the time that Beast put a foot in the door, Quiet and Den were already on their way to cleaning and preparing. There was the subtle whiff of iron as he divided up the segments, packaging the remaining portions along with the trout in his larger freezer. With a full catch, this should keep them for several weeks. This was a routine that Spectre was more than familiar with by now; back in the confines of the house, she waited until Beast had placed them on solid ground. No sooner than she’d gotten the mental confirmation, the frigid tendrils of her form congealed and reformed with a thankful smile.

“Thank you for this experience,” Spectre purred, giving an exaggerated bow of respect to her hostess. “I’ll have to return it again later.” 

“You already have.” There was a subtle brush of fur as Thorn flicked her tail beneath the phantom’s chin, before skittering off in search of Witch.

Beast remained behind as the pair of Borrowers watched the cooking from the sidelines. Tail flicking behind the household voyeur, she stretched lazily with a nod of thanks. “Not bad for your first outing. I’d say this went rather well, all things considered.” A careful paw laid itself against Spectre’s back, then angled away as she changed direction. “I’m going to rest until they’re done. I don’t usually get the night off when it comes to meal prep. But, if you wish to join me—“

“I think I should keep him company,” Spectre declined. “I wouldn’t want to break our tradition.” But this time, there was a new warmth in Spectre’s voice as she flitted towards Quiet, helping organize the better chops of meat and categorize the offal. Even after the adventure they seemed to join back full-heartedly in the aftermath; from Borrowed perspective, it seemed this night had brought some ease to the mortally-transcended pair.

The absence of one perspective was just the border to the next. The next would bridge the gap between, until it blended into perfect symphony. Large and small. Predator and prey. Just like any other pack, they’d managed to use their own skills and sizes to their advantage. And when all was said and done, this ragtag team was becoming a family. It’s what You would’ve wanted for them, Beast noted. I’m sorry you weren’t around to witness it. 

With an aching form and full, heavy heart, Beast shuffled into the living room to sit by the fire. A few sticks were starting to incinerate by now, left on only briefly by its resident. Her fangs grasped another stick, tossing it in as the heat roared louder. Fire was such a complicated thing; a blaze of torment as strong as it was a comfort. 

Stinging talons grazed the next piece of lumber. Her claws and teeth would need sharpening from the duration indoors, and this was the best way to do it. In truth, rest wasn’t an option for the Wild’s faithful liege; while laughter and bawdy discussion filled the kitchen halls, there was only one thing that lingered on her mind.

One of two things will come to pass: The Echo finds us, or else She finds a way to fix this before it tears them all apart. It’s out of my paws now. I cannot hold it back any longer. Beast scratched absently at the faded sigil; her paws had reclaimed the most of it now that its use was void. I hope the time heals enough. Otherwise, we may be in for trouble.

The droning on of the kitchen filled every ear. Then, finally, Beast drifted off for the next few hours of borrowed peace.

————

By the time that things had been prepared, it was a sight to behold. The kitchen was a familiar sighting, but aside from its singular table, any hosted meals were still a novelty. And now with the occasion, it was time to finally move to the dining room.

Quiet certainly knew how to prepare a spread; warm elk steaks settled on the table, giving the chimeras one apiece. The tenderer parts of the meat he had saved for the Fae; juicy, sizzling tenderloin and glazed tissue, which were set along thin-sliced roasted potatoes. The Fae scarcely needed an invitation. Settling along the mix of foraged greens and roasted mushrooms (Witch had helped on their way back to check for the edible ones), this was a feast better than anything they’d ever had. Both siblings were determined to make it the one of a lifetime.

“I had no idea you were nearly that vicious,” Quiet chuckled playfully, pointing a finger to Witch. “I’ve only heard of tiny terrors before; should’ve expected you’d be one of them.”

“I’m a very special kind of terror,” Witch boasted, eyes widening with delight. “They call me The Scorpion back in the woods; would’ve taken one bite to take the whole elk down.” Witch swirled her tail in one paw, letting it flick down to her side. “But you all wouldn’t be able to eat it then, so the long way had to do.” Witch detected the wispy grin of amusement along Quiet’s cheeks; after all, neural pathways did give Spectre a bit more control. No doubt she was scarcely willing to miss out on a meal like this.

Quiet cocked his head. “You need to tell me you’ve eaten poisoned meat before?”

“Who hasn’t?” Witch took another chunk in her teeth. “Oh, right — I suppose you’re a special one, too. Aren’t you, featherbrain?”

If she hadn’t been so focused, Thorn would’ve added more to the conversation. But the rigid, gentle sweetness of larger prey was hard to deny now that they’d gotten their hands on it. Something about these past few weeks had added a new depth of texture to every sight and sound; seemed it’d extended to her tongue as well. The subtle grit of salt grains, the lick of garlic and herbs… For once, it was fine to take it all in and not worry too much about standing guard. Beast had granted this permission to them all, and they were grateful for it.

Not as if the discussion lasted long. Conversation faded into the smacking of lips and gnashing of teeth. A contented hum had settled upon them all, learning carefully from past mistakes. Food was one of those things that brought creatures together, and with this much to share there was no fighting. Just comfort, joy, and bliss amidst downed cups of sparkling juice and plates licked clean to the last millimeter.

“That’s got to be the greatest hunt I’ve ever had,” Quiet beamed, shuffling his wings to present his face. “Appreciate you both joining us. Den and I can handle well enough with just our guide, but no harm in adding a little magic to the mix.”

“To be fair, I’ve assisted both of you, just in different ways,” Hunted replied with a tilt of his head. Watching the peryton partake in carrion was unusual, but he was never opposed to a bit of a ‘cheat day’ with a few tidbits. “Different students, same teacher — I’d say that makes things a little easier to combine classes. Your styles blend together nicely.” 

The mouse deer gave a nod over to the Fae, then gazed fondly over as Spectre released her hold on Quiet’s form. “I’ve always been curious if we’d see you on that path again,” Hunted trilled. “I could always see about giving you lessons if you’ve got the form to spare.”

“I suspect Smitten’s got those reservations first,” Thorn murmured back, catching Spectre’s glance. “But in between that… I wouldn’t mind getting a few more out in the woods.” There was that subtle trace of devious intrigue on her face; it seemed the tear between the two of them had granted Thorn a piece of the phantom’s allure. But at least for now it was leverage for a similar end; Spectre didn’t mind a little teasing back.

“You know what I think this calls for? A toast.” Quiet gave a soft trill, lifting up his glass. But as he gestured broadly with the other hand…

The night no longer felt comfortable. All the color seemed to drain from Thorn in an instant. The wavering of a familiar sign glinted in the palm of his hand, unbeknownst to its rambling holder.

“Let’s give this one to—“

“Quiet.”

“Me?” Quiet placed the hand to his heart. The throbbing of her own pulse made Thorn want to scream. “… That’s kind, but you were half of the equation. I think we both owe it to—“

“No,” Thorn breathed. “…Quiet? Let me see your hand.” 

There was an urgency in her voice which was hard to shake. He scarcely got a chance to lower it before Thorn snatched him by the forefinger, forgetting in the scramble to be gentle as she pulled it closer. The pain wavered on both fingertips now. It was undeniable.

Now healed over, the calloused mark was etched in beyond dermal layers. What had seemed a few cuts and scrapes had been joined together gradually by the pull of others that accumulated over the week - and it seemed with fresh wounds from the hunt, it’d finally completed itself.

Wild’s Sigil, straight from palm to fingertips. Dropping his hand back down, Thorn retreated over to a corner. There was a distinct mortal terror which had not been there since the first few days.

“… Hang on, what happened?”

For a moment or two she remained where she was, dazed. Curling inward, it seemed that she was somewhere between trying to keep upright and not unleash the rising hatred which seeped into every muscle. Then, a twitch - a raucous, spiteful laugh as she looked back up — further than it would’ve taken to meet him in the eye. Quiet knew that look, and knew enough to move back.

“I should’ve known better. This was never going to be permanent, was it? But no, You couldn’t have just ripped it all out from the roots; You had to wait before something grew here, didn’t you? ” To Quiet, she was snarling at no one. All else understood in mixed visages of concern and horror as ferality twisted back once more. The barbs along the vines shot upward, this time ignoring their enchantment to dig inward to Thorn’s arms. Drops of fresh blood had begun to paint her shoulders anew. Against all better judgement, Quiet reached forward.

Five delicately trimmed claws momentarily snapped Thorn out of it. The shakiness, the tenor; the way it pulsed and dug against her own nerves as well. That night. That stupid, hateful night where she’d nearly thrown herself down with him in a dance of death—

The bitterness remained, but she choked it down. This wasn’t divine intervention. “…. I see. So this is my fault, then.” Eyes averted his. The scowl remained, but it was obvious the cause. Even Witch didn’t dare to intervene, despite her air of disgust.

“You really screwed things up, didn’t you?” Witch gestured to the side. “I thought you’d figure things out before this. Or did you not feel your nerves overlapping?”

“You knew.” Thorn did not glance her way as the reality of Witch’s words sunk in; terror, then rage as she finally responded. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Um, maybe because I knew you’d react like this,” Witch spat. “You’re not making it better.”

The further the conversation went on, the more confusing. Quiet found himself swiveling his head from one sister to another, trying and failing to intervene. “Apologies, what are we talking about? What just happened? ” 

“Figure it out! I’m not supposed to be babysitting you two,” Witch snapped, tail tuft aflame. “Do you not see the stupid mark on your hand?! Did neither of you notice?!” Witch gave a different growl this time, concentrating on Thorn. “I thought you knew what you were doing. You’re supposed to know with something this important.”

A single glance down at his hand and Quiet understood. His eyes looked over at Thorn, beseechingly.

“…. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Just a glance over and every inch of his own fear emanated back. Cornered animals, just as Beast had predicted. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Nothing these Borrowers had done so far had broken through Quiet’s composure, but just like the mark the cracks were adding up. He steeled himself against the table, slamming down. Just like that scrambling drunk.

You.

“This is a God’s mark, isn’t it?” Quiet asked, baring his teeth. “Whose?”

No anger seemed to be showing this time; he was trying to keep level. And despite believing the rising fear in her was honest, there were too many ways he could’ve been played.

“… Wild’s. It’s Wild’s.” The words came from the heiress breathless and tense, dropping back down to all fours. “I didn’t know; I didn’t mean to—“

“Oh, really? I’ve heard that one before.” Now there was hostility. As Quiet spoke, there was a grating tension. Witch stepped back on instinct, guarding her sister. “Did you mean any of it? Or were you just playing your cards—“

“She meant it.” Witch’s words rang out this time, tail puffing. “If you had even a fraction of the understanding of what happened, then maybe you’d know why.”

“This isn’t what I meant by ‘trying to show you,’” Thorn choked. “I’m sorry.” But deep down she predicted the response was yes, you will be. Thorn swallowed nervously, taking a step back. There had to be a way to make things better, right?

A gentle tap of frigid hands befell Quiet’s shoulders, nudging him back to present. It was clear that this time, they weren’t getting help from their domestic counterpart. Judging by the helpless way Spectre’s gaze trailed down, it was taking all of her energy to prevent a fight, much less pick sides. But even then, there was a softly betrayed look as the same damn mark reappeared on her hand - masked intentionally from view until now.

That stung. Thorn dug her claws in. “You knew this whole time, too,” Thorn goaded, somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “I let you in. I… I trusted you. And you kept it from me.” 

No response. Just the equally pained, equally hurt expression as Spectre’s gaze lingered. “I did what I had to,” Spectre warned. “You will never be able to understand.”

Quiet squinted down at the heiress. That uncertain look was one she was familiar with. “Oh, great; one just wasn’t enough for you, was it? Of course it wasn’t. You don’t just brand in one sacrificial mark when—-“

“It’s not sacrificial,” Thorn insisted. “It’s—“

“Stop it, stop it now before you get pulled in !” Witch’s voice finally rang out in the fray. It was only then that each looked on and understood; the white, fractal branches of the Wild had begun to crawl along their arms. Quiet looked over his own snare angrily, wherein it was more so surprise that had come over Thorn. Spectre’s grappled and hissed downward in defeat, unable to dig into their one willing victim.

There were several ways to get into the Wild. A fight to the death was commonplace, where the mingling of blood would be the binder of beings. Of course, there was sacrifice to protect or save, and brought the kinder souls into hallowed ground. But this specific kind was rage and grief; a starving ivy that consumed everything in its path. An Ivy which had grown from the same place of honeyed words and betrayals that felt all too familiar to be trusted.

“We’re not ‘fine,’ are we?” Thorn dared herself to look up. There was a growing hatred in Quiet’s eyes; a solemn, disbelieving grief carving out Spectre’s. But that lingering anger didn’t seem to be of her so much as of what she now represented. Every little twitch of instinct, every nerve — it seemed that they had more ties than death or proximity to the pyre. Both ties which she’d rejoined , and no matter how accidental there was no taking this back. That she understood.

So this whole time, they’d been lying. Of course there was bad blood, and perhaps it was somewhat mutual. Cautiously, the heiress met Quiet’s gaze; he retracted it much as she had, feathers bristling.

“No,” Quiet breathed. “We’re not.” Exhaling, he stretched his limbs against the external nerves. They parted, slowly wilting.

“That’s what I thought,” Thorn muttered, shifting away from him. “Let me find a way to make it better . ” 

“You can’t.”

“I don’t think you can ,” Quiet replied, shifting away on instinct.

Thorn closed her eyes with a deep exhale. It seemed the strands were beginning to untether from her own arm now, but faintly. The viney shrapnel retreated back to its source, leaving a gloss of blood over old wounds. Her eyes, on instinct, met Witch’s. There was a growl and twitch as their gazes met.

“Why are you —? No. Use your head for one minute .” Witch growled the words. “This isn’t some tiny little wound, Thorn - that’s a sigil! It won’t come off. Especially with it etched that deep.”

“There has to be something,” Thorn growled, desperately racking her brain. Then, pausing: “Maybe it’s just not me who has those answers.” Her eyes darted up then away, fur bristling. “I need to just… I can’t… Think straight with you both pulling at me.”

The bite in shared sensations was palpable. She needed to get further away, for all their sakes. Her eyes aligned with the grandfather clock; it was propped up in the corner of the room. All that was left was to pounce.

“Oh, just stomping away now? Where are you going?” 

“I’ll be back. I just need to—“

Thorn looked over at Quiet tentatively; he had every right to be angry. On all fours, she was more guarded from attack, yet still felt the vitriol stinging deep. Only then did it seem that Spectre had any helpful say on the matter; whether that was understanding intent or avoiding escalation, it was unclear.

“Let her go.” 

There was a singular glare from her over in Thorn’s direction; Fae claws snagged the table, regarding Spectre with contempt. Things would’ve gone much smoother with a mediator, but the cycle of violence just didn’t stop, now, did it?