#warringclansau

Truthfully, she never meant to come back so soon. The woods are more dangerous than she previously thought. It was foolish to return so quickly after seeing one those beasts lurking in the trees. Lucy was always taught that where there was one there were likely a dozen more, hiding, blending in with the darkness. Skinwalkers are solitary hunters, her mother told her once, they'll fight and bleed for their prey, but they stay in groups regardless. She could never understand why. They do not need protection from anything. Nothing would dare come after them, yet they still form groups, clans of their own. Almost a family, though she would never call them that.

The thought of it makes her sick. Seeing only one Skinwalker terrified her down to the bones, left her fear struck for a long moment. She doesn't want to think about being surrounded by those monsters, left to be picked apart, the flesh stripped from her bones, eaten or added to their rotting corpses she wouldn't know.

It would be a terrible thing to have her bones left in the forest, her body left rotting in the undergrowth. She found many skulls in the woods, smaller animals mostly, but also giants among creatures: the Gods Elk, with their antlers skimming above the trees, tall as mountains, proud creatures revered as the most powerful of spirits; Skarmuth bears several times the size of a man, fearsome beasts that could tear any person to pieces; creatures she couldn't even begin to describe, all mangled and picked clean of their pelts, nothing but blood and bones.

Lucy shouldn't have come back to the woods, but the trees have always called to her like no other. She always finds herself among the forest, her spirits running alongside her as she weaves through the worn paths in the dirt, moving with practiced ease. Lucy is like her mother in that regard; she was always wandering through the forest when she was still alive, something luring her deeper into the shadows each time.

Spiritwalkers have always been connected with the forest, though Lucy isn't sure why. There's something about the stillness, the way the shadows dance across the ground, almost magical. The way the woods seems to pull at her spirit, drawing her in like a whisper in her ear, is both exhilarating and terrifying. Her connection to the forest is powerful yet dangerous. There are monsters lurking in the trees, and each time she steps passed the tree line she risks never coming out, but she can't force herself to stay away.

There are times she wishes she could, but Lucy wouldn't be able to live with herself if she left so many spirits to wander through the woods, trapped in the darkness for the rest of their existence. They deserve far better than that. Lucy's spirits are her friends, the only constants in her life. They've been there for her when she needed them most.

A low whine comes from her right, and Lucy glances down to find Fen nosing at her hip, green eyes bright, unreadable. Hs black fur is growing shaggy, winter coming close. She's missed the snow. The winters aren't nearly as harsh in the Summerlands as they were back home, but she's grown used to them. She misses the cold though. The immense heat of the summer is suffocating for her, though she likes the spring. The flowers are nice.

Absently she drags her fingers through Fen's fur, scratching behind his ears. "What?" she asks him, grinning faintly when his tongue lolls from his mouth, tail wagging happily. He whines again in response to her question, staring up at her expectantly. His ears flicker at the tips, eyes tired, and Lucy knows she'll have to send them all back soon, though she's loath to do it.

Lucy doesn't know where her spirits go when they're away, but they always come back changed. There's something strange about them when she summons them again. They're quiet, something shadowed in their eyes. The wolves are always snappish when they come back, only for a moment or two. Once Sharsa nearly took off her hand, the typically sweet wolf striking a her for the first time she can remember.

The scars are still on her hand, three curved silver marks, a crescent following the curve of her thumb and forefinger. She was lucky not to lose her hand, or a finger at the least. Lucy was never afraid of any of her spirits until that moment. She'd never seen them so rattled.

Lucy never summons them on the night of the new moon, when the sky is darker than any other time. There's a strangeness in the air when the moon is good, a power. It is similar to when the moon is at its peak, though much darker. Her mother used to tell her that the night of no moon brought bad magic along with it. There has always been a violence in the air on dark nights, no moon to guide the spirits way.

The night of no moon is approaching swiftly, only days away, and Lucy knows better than to keep her spirits out until then. She is not so much a fool as to play with dark magic.

There's an underlying danger that comes with summoning beastly spirits: some are tricksters, some looking to steal the souls of their masters, as if feasting on them might return their bodies to a physical form. Those are the stories they tell on dark nights, when the moon is gone and the only lights in the night are those from the fire and the glowing crystals from the northern caves, though most of those lights have since gone out.

They used to terrify her as a child, the tales of dark spirits and those who cast them. There used to be more Spiritwalkers that played with restless spirits, but most are gone now, disappearing into the trees, consumed by their own madness, others eaten by their own summons, their piles of bones turning to dust, swept away with the wind.

No one has dared play with dark magic for many years now, not since the outbreak of war between themselves and the Dragonborne. Her father, Lucy thinks, would try to summon dark spirits if he could. He was never born with the gift to summon, their ranks a dying breed. It made him angry, violent at times. Envy would crawl his veins until it found his heart, twisting it into a shadow of itself.

In some ways, she can understand his reasons. She would hate to be powerless. They have their spirits and the Dragonborne their magic, conjuring fire and lightning. To be without any magic at all is not something Lucy can imagine so easily.

Lucy chews her lower lip, fingers winding through her hair as she finds the bones woven through the strands. Her hands move slowly across herself: her hair, her neck, the bones dangling from her wrists, some sewn into her clothing. They are as much a part of her as her own skin.

A cold nose presses against her hand, so faint she barely feels it. Without looking down, her fingers wind through shaggy fur, a low whine coming from one of the wolves, though she doesn't know which, her gaze locked on the trees ahead of her. A dark blur races through the undergrowth, low to the ground and light on its feet. The wolf beside her whines again before giving chase without pause.

Smiling at them fondly, Lucy lets her eyes follow their forms as they wind through the trees, as much at home in the woods as they are with her. There are times she wishes they could talk, like some of the other spirits can. The wolves listen, but it can be lonely conversation, though she's hardly ever alone. There are not many spirits that can still find their voice. Many can only make the sounds they were capable of in life, though death illuminates many paths for them to take.

Spirits able to speak are few. Most are ancient, bound to their bones for decades, mythics in their own right, revered as Gods by others. It is a truly wondrous thing to hear them speak, their voices seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, like thunder rumbling through her bones.

Lucy was only contracted to one spirit capable of speech, but that was years ago.

She does not know what became of Aquarius. She was lost during the wars, there and then gone. Lucy was not able to find her, though she searched for days. It nearly broke her heart to lose Aquarius, the spirit the last piece of her mother Lucy had. Aquarius' bones were a gift when she was young, and though the spirit was abrasive and almost nasty at times, she was the greatest friend Lucy ever knew.

It was a grievous time for everyone after those battles, many hearts broken and bones lost. Lucy mourned Aquarius for days, weeks, sometimes she still finds herself mourning the loss when the moon if full and the lacking weight on her throat becomes more noticeable than most days. Her bones were likely broken, cracked underfoot, and Lucy knows there is no way to get them back. The fields of war were burned to the ground by her clan, lest the smell of decay bring the Skinwalkers hunting.

Her fingers slip from her neck and the place where Aquarius' bone should rest, dropping back to her side with a dull thud as she continues along behind her wolves. The forest grows quieter the deeper she travels, her mind beginning to wander, Lucy lost in her memories.

Her thoughts drift to Natsu without her notice, their short time together branded in her thoughts. It's been coming back to her more than she'd ever care to admit. She hadn't been expecting to run into him in the woods, especially not so close to the tentative border between their clans. It was strange to see him again, their last meeting far from friendly. Though, there was little else she could do but fight him during the battles. They were never friends, hardly knowing each other besides casual exchanges at war peace meetings.

A branch snaps behind her.

Lucy stills before she can take another step, breath catching in her throat as she cocks her head slightly, straining to hear the sounds of the forest over the pounding of her heart. Lucy's blood roars in her ears as she attempts to peer over her shoulder, not wanting to make quick movements, lest something be watching her.

Skinwalkers aren't the creatures that wander in these woods. There are plenty of predators, beasts and myths alike. It can be dangerous in the woods, natural predators prowling about. Usually the wolves notice them before she does, but some manage to slip by. It's a rare occurrence, but with how long she's been keeping them from their bones, she can't be surprised. They begin to lose their senses after a time, so faded from the earth it's like they've begun to rot.

There's another snap, and the wolves stop running. Plue, toddling along at her feet, suddenly whines, high and long, and Lucy grits her teeth as the others begin to growl, low, warning sounds ripping through the air. Fen and Sharsa whirl around up ahead, coming back to her, but they're too far away. Her fingers creep along her side, her palm finding the hilt of her blade at her side, the bone smooth beneath her touch, the weight of it familiar.

A leaf crackles under a foot, the grass rustling, and she sneers as she whirls around on her heel, knife raised defensively over herself as she swings at the thing behind her. Her wrist is caught before she can land a blow, warm fingers curling around her in a near bruising grip, strong but not violent.

She's about to rip her hand free and swing again when she sees a familiar shock of blue hair, a dark scar winding along the right half of his face. Jellal squeezes her wrist slowly before releasing her and taking a step back, expression grim as always. The wolves are at her sides quickly, one at each hip, but they don't snarl, as familiar with the man as she is.

"Easy, Lucy," Jellal murmurs, raising his hands as if to placate her. He eyes her almost warily, his mouth twisting into an uneasy frown. She's been more twitchy lately than she would care to admit, and she knows that her friends have noticed as well.

Gray slinks out from the shadows behind Jellal, arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt. He quirks a brow a her, a wry grin on his face, though there's something strained about it, tense. "She almost got you that time, Jellal," he remarks casually, smirking at the other man.

Lucy huffs, gaze flicking between them before snapping to Jellal, an annoyed tick forming between her brows as she glowers at her friends. "What were you thinking?" she chastises, unable to stop herself from reprimanding them for being careless. They should know better than to creep up behind her like that. Lucy has always been fast, even more so with a blade, and it's a small miracle that Jellal was quick enough to catch her. "I could have taken your heads off!"

"But you didn't," Gray cuts in, shrugging slightly as he stands off Jellal's right. He grins at her, but it's tight, pinched at the edges, and he won't quite meet her gaze. Lucy rolls her eyes at his remark, and Gray's expression slips into something more pensive, his brows narrowing as he stares at her. "You know, you've been awfully jumpy lately." He turns to the other man. "Hasn't she, Jellal."

Lucy's breath catches. "I have not been jumpy," she denies, fingers curling into tight fists at her sides. She wonders if it shows in her eyes that she's lying. After her encounter with the Skinwalker—with Natsu—a strange pit has formed in her gut, fear but something else as well. She hadn't had a conversation with a Dragonborne before, not a real one, and she isn't sure what to make of all of it.

They aren't friends by any means, but she never has hated him the same way he seemed to hate her. She's never hated any of the Dragonborne, not really anyway. She only hates what they've done to her friends, her family. She's seen so many lives torn apart.

The boys don't speak for a long time, and the silence draws her attention. When she looks up, they won't meet her gaze, seemingly entranced by their hands and the forest around them. It's with a bitter taste in her mouth that Lucy realizes something is wrong.

"What?" she asks, taking a step closer to the boys. Her eyes flick between them curiously, watching their expressions shift almost nervously. Gray takes his lip between his teeth, avoiding her eyes as his hands curl into fists at his sides. It's a familiar expression on Gray. He's always been one for avoidance, never liking to argue with her. He's never been a pacifist by any means, but he never has liked confrontation when it comes to those he cares about.

Her gaze snaps from him to Jellal when neither of them speak. The other man doesn't look away from her, almost daring Lucy to hold his stare. Anyone else would look away, the scar covering Jellal's eye unsightly, his eye milky. He hasn't been able to see from that eye in many years now. He dares her to hold his gaze and Lucy does. She's never been one to back down from a challenge, least of all one from him.

"Is something wrong?" Lucy asks Jellal, a firm edge to her words. She tilts her chin to better meet his eyes, lips pressing together in a thin line. At her feet, Plue whines, unused to her tone, but the other spirits quiet him as Lucy and Jellal continue to stare.

Jellal sighs, his eyes slipping shut as he looks away from her first. He turns to Gray, the pair of them sharing an uneasy look that Lucy doesn't like. She never has liked when they conspired together. When they were younger, the boys were always playing silly games with her, poking and prodding at all of the right buttons to make her angry.

"Lucy," Jellal begins slowly. His back straightens, his shoulders pulling back, and she knows it's bad news before he can say anything further than her name.

Her eyes narrow, her hands curling into fists. The wolves begin to growl, winding around her legs in a way that's more protective than anything else. "Jellal," she snaps when his silence persists, her friend not saying another word. "What happened?" she demands. Lucy would rather he simply tell her than continue to dance in circles. She knows he would never look so grave if it were merely nothing. Gray as well is too silent, unlike himself.

"It's nothing bad," Gray tells her, looking at Lucy in the eyes for the first time since he walked out of the woods. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, playing with something, and she knows without having to look that it's one of the bones Ur once left behind. He doesn't say anything else, gaze reassuring, but she's in no mood for these games.

Her lips press into a thin, unamused line. "That," Lucy begins, a bit snappish, "is not an answer." Neither Gray nor Jellal react for a moment until they exchange a lingering look, Lucy becoming increasingly annoyed with them.

Gray swallows, taking a step closer to her, forcing a half-smile onto his face. She's always been more compliant with Gray. He's been her friend for more years than Jellal, and she would trust him with her life. Where she'd be prone to snapping at Jellal, with Gray she'd be calm. "It's your father," he tells her, and Lucy hears a subtle "again" follow his words.

Lucy sighs, turning her back on Jellal and Gray, her eyes slipping shut. "What about him?" It comes out as less of a question than a snide response, but if they notice they don't question it. Lucy's relationship with her father has been snappish in recent weeks, even more so since her encounter with the Skinwalker. His rallies for war have been more aggravating than usual, Lucy having no tolerance for his demands.

He wants another war. He wants her to summon beasts and return humans to their corporeal forms, but she refuses to do either. To summon a dark beast could be the end of her entire family. It's taboo to summon the most powerful of creatures; while their strength is great, the beasts are more vicious than most other spirits. They've lost their sense of self after so many years locked away in their bones. Their minds have rotted away, leaning them nothing but senseless monsters.

Jellal cleans his throat, gaining her attention once again. She glances at him over her shoulder, Jellal half hidden in shadows. His expression twists into something firm, and at his right Gray purses his lips, something icy in his gaze. "He wants to speak with you," Jellal tells her, nonplussed. He always has had a habit of separating himself from situations, as if putting on a mask might make him believe the bad things don't matter.

Lucy stares at him for a long moment, gritting her teeth. Jellal's jaw pops, a muscle jumping beneath his skin as his teeth grind together. His milky eye locks with hers, unseeing, but she refuses to turn away from him. "I am sure he does," is all she tells him. Lucy turns away once more, snapping her fingers to gain her spirits' attention.

The wolves trot along behind her, silent as they ghost through the trees. Jellal and Gray exchange words behind her, not heated but urgent, their voices clipped. She makes it several paces away from them before Gray swears under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear it.

"Lucy!" he calls after her, near desperate in the way he shouts after her. It makes her steps falter, Lucy stumbling as her bare toes scuff against a rock, a sharp ache ripping through her toes. She's only ever heard Gray's voice take a tone like that once, and that was when he was nine, begging Ur not to leave, not to fight.

Ur left anyway, but Lucy has never been like Ur.

She turns around calmly, a heavy weight to her gaze when her eyes lock with Gray's. She doesn't speak, barely breathes. She doesn't need to, her snappish reply unnecessary as it burns against the tip of her tongue. Instead, she simply waits, eyes imploring as Gray wets his lips, seeming to search for the right words to tell her what's happened.

"He's called for a war council again," Gray tells her simply.

"You need to stop this," Lucy snaps at her father, voice sharper than intended as she glares at him from across the room. Her patience has worn thin over the weeks of him badgering her, her anger growing hotter the more he presses for a battle. Their arguing has gown tiresome to her, nothing changing in the way they fight, the confrontations always the same. Her hands curl into fists as he sneers down at her, lips curling back into a beastly snarl.

If it's a fight he wants, than she'll give him one.

Jellal and Gray stand behind her, warily looking between Lucy and her father, their arguing growing louder the longer it continues. Jellal's fingers slide around the hilt of his blade from the corner of her eyes, his grip tight, threatening in the way he holds himself. Jellal is taller than either Lucy or her father, one of the tallest in their village, and he's always been a powerful fighter, loyal to the other Spiritwalkers in the village, and Lucy knows that if Jude gives him a reason, Jellal wouldn't hesitate to attack the man.

Lucy eyes the curved edge of his blade with interest, gaze slipping away from her father for only an instant, drawn to the way the light from the fire reflects of the iron weapon. A Dragonborne weapon. Her father was always suspicious of Jellal, thinking him nothing but a filthy spy. Perhaps that's what drew Lucy to the silent male. Jellal was friendly enough, though closed off, silent about his past, and Lucy learned not to ask.

"We need to fight back!" Jude takes a step towards her, crossing the small distance between them in three easy strides, her room small, housing little more than her bed and a fire, a pit for her to enchant bones. His stomping feet make the entire hut rattle, and she sees Gray and Jellal both stiffen, their postures becoming threatening as they stare at her father.

Lucy sighs, shaking her head slowly. She waves a dismissive hand towards her friends, stilling them as she implores them to wait. "Fight against what?" she asks her father, a bitter edge to her words. Lucy thinks she could laugh if the conversation wasn't so serious. It's always the same thing. "We have peace."

There's nothing left for them to fight against, only old grudges held between the elder members of their clans. They've begun to bleed into the younger generations, the years of resentment between their clans growing into something monstrous, larger than it ever should be. The Spiritwalkers are a dying breed, war tearing them apart, their clan reduced to a shadow of itself.

"A tentative peace, Lucy," Jude reminds her, sneering down at her. His eyes narrow in disgust, though she doesn't know if it's at the Dragonborne or her. Jude's fingers drum against his side quickly, the loud beat of every tap seeming to echo in her ears, loud and agonizingly frustrated. His teeth grind together harshly. "If those monsters chose to—"

Huffing, Lucy cuts him off before he can continue. "Those monsters have done nothing to us in months," she says, clipped. With the winter coming they're all merely trying to survive. though the winds and the snow aren't nearly as harsh as in the north, food is still scarce. And with the looming threat of the Skinwalkers hanging over them, they have much more to worry about than a feud. "If you plan an unprecedented strike—"

Her jaw snaps shut before she can finish, the words sharp, painfully so. To strike first would merely be giving the Dragonborne an excuse to slaughter them. Her clan has never been weak, but they serve as no match for the raw physical power of the Dragons. They've always relied more on their stealth, their speed, their skills with summons.

A direct attack on the Dragonborne could weaken them, but only at the cost of their own warriors.

"We could wipe them out," Jude argues, turning away from her and beginning to pace through the small room. He glares at the small pile of bones laying in the pit where left them that morning, her attempts to call upon a new spirit done in vain. "We could finally end this fighting. We could go back to the way things were." He turns back to her, a wild look in his eyes. "We could destroy—"

The bones at her throat begin to rattle violently, the clinking of bones drawing her father's attention quickly. His gaze snaps around to meet hers, body stilling in the center of the room. At her back, Jellal and Gray exchange a glance, shifting on nervous feet as Lucy throws her head back in a manic laugh. Her shoulders shake with her cackling, a bitter smile pulling at her lips.

"You would sacrifice your own men," she says, laughing, though there's no humor lighting her eyes, only a dark shadow clouding the gold in her gaze. "And for what?" she snaps. She can feel the pull of her spirits on her mind, a phantom voice whispering in her ears, though she can't make out the words.

The question hangs heavy between them, weighing heavily on the occupants of the room. A silence cuts through the room, sharp, as if the quiet could make them bleed, could make them bent and break. It isn't the comforting silence of the forest at dusk, only a bitter lapse. Jude stares down at her like she's spit poison, and in some way Lucy thinks she has.

"For freedom," he tells her. His fingers curl into fists, her father looking nothing less than regal in the dark fabric swathed around him, layers falling around his frame, draping over his arms. He holds his head high, looking down at her, daring her to argue.

"For nothing," she corrects, an icy edge to the words. The words drip from her tongue harshly, the hollowness of them sour on her tongue. A pit forms in her stomach as she says it, but she can't help feel that she's right. "It would all be for nothing."

Her father doesn't respond, merely glowers at her, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire, the flames the only light in the small room. It casts shadows along the walls, across her father's face. His expression is harsher than usual, more severe, and Lucy shakes her head, turning her back on him. "I've told you before," she reminds him, "the dead do not like to be controlled." She pauses at the threshold of the room, fingers barely grazing the fabric covering the entrance. "Or toyed with."

"The spirits are meant to protect our clan," he says in return. The heat of his gaze on her back makes Lucy flinch, her hand dropping back to her side, away from the fabric keeping her inside. Her father takes a step towards her, his footsteps thunderous in the small space.

A sharp popping sound splits through the air, a sharp crack making her wince. Her nails dig into her palms so tightly it splits her skin, small beads of blood dripping down between her fingers. To her left, Gray inhales sharply, stunned by what's happened, and Jellal reaches for his weapon, an enraged curse falling from his lips.

When Lucy turns around the bones she laid out that morning are splintered beneath his boot, small, thin white bones cracked into near dust. Her throat constricts at the sight, something inside of her breaking along with the bones. "Yes," she agrees with him, swallowing down her anger, "protect. Not allow us to slaughter ourselves."

His expression turns shrewd. "Do you believe our survival is nothing?" It comes out mocking, biting, but she ignores the prickling at the back of her head, the swell of anger burning in her chest.

"I believe it would be for nothing if we were all dead," she tells him. Fighting has accomplished nothing for them. And more than that, she knows her father doesn't care the fight either, not anymore, not since her mother died. All he wants now is to destroy, no matter the cost to himself or anyone else.

She eyes him critically, wishing he would understand, but she can see the rage boiling in his eyes, a deep frown pulling at his lips. "We won once before," he says, not for the first time, reminding her of the last true battle between the clans, the one where she fought Natsu. When she lost Aquarius.

"What have we won?" she asks, laughing bitterly. "All we do is continue to lose."

Lucy rips back the fabric covering the door, hearing Jellal and Gray shuffling behind her, only a few paces away from her. Lucy's jaw clicks shut, her hair falling into her eyes as she steps out into the midday light, the sun harsh and the wind growing colder with each passing day, the chill soon to be too much for her bare skin.

Jude follows her from the room, cutting off Jellal and Gray when they try to follow her. He stalks up behind her, footsteps loud against the soft earth. The wind whips by, ruffling her hair and making the bones on her necklace rattle. Her father grabs her by the arm before she can make it far, Lucy barely managing a gasp before he jerks her around, forcing her to face him.

Lucy recoils quickly, practically hissing at him. His grip only tightens on her, his gaze stormy, and Lucy matches his look with one of pure venom. The bones at her throat rattle again, a warning to her father, but he doesn't listen, only continues to squeeze until Lucy's sure she'll have bruises come morning. Her father opens his mouth to speak, just as Gray and Jellal shove their way out of her home, expressions murderous.

"Jude," a voice laced with fake cheer calls out to them, "I think that's quite enough." Lucy's head snaps up, her eyes meeting a gold pair much like her own, a tall woman standing mere feet away from them, her back straight, shoulders pulled back, stare demanding. A tense smile crosses her face, her lips pulled back over her teeth in a way that's near wolfish. Her golden hair is tied back in dozens of braids, a pair of bones carved into knives threaded and twisted through her hair.

"Aunt Anna," Lucy breathes, a slow smile crossing her face. She relaxes at the sight of her aunt, the head of the Spiritwalker Clan, a sudden joy bursting in her chest. It's been weeks since she last saw Anna, the woman traveling north, back to their old home to complete a ritual.

Four times a year, during the Solstice and the Equinox, a Spiritwalker from their clan returns to the lake in the mountains to summon the bones of the Ankara, a great beast passed down to them for generations. Lucy knows little of the summons, Anna taking on the responsibility from Lucy's mother when Layla died.

Jude stiffens, straightening to his full height at the sight of her. "Anna," he greets cordially, a tight smile pulling at his lips. His hands clench into angry fists at his sides, Lucy glancing at him warily as he turns to face Anna more directly, appearing pleasant save for the frostiness of his gaze. "Since when have you been back?" It comes out more biting than it should, almost accusing.

An animalistic grin spreads across Anna's lips and she bristles at Jude's tone, the decorative bones lining her throat and curled through her hair beginning to rattle and shake almost threateningly. "Long enough," she says simply, taking a slow step forward, moving almost lazily, though Lucy knows better than that.

Anna is nothing if not cunning. She was always a skilled summoner in her own right, their entire family line has strong magic running in their veins, though more than that Anna is a skilled fighter. She's more vicious than Lucy's mother ever was, Anna respected in their clan for her prowess with weapons as well as her fists. As easygoing as Anna appears, Lucy knows it doesn't take much for the woman to snap, especially in regards to Jude.

Lucy glances back at her father, the man still staring at Anna, his fingers curling and twitching as if he isn't sure what to do with his hands. He shifts his stance, eyes seeming to dare Anna to speak, and she only grins wider, taking another step towards him, calling his bluff.

"I think, it's about time you leave," she says coolly, gaze sweeping around the group, "don't you, Jude?" A warning lines her words, and with a flick of her wrist Anna summons one of her spirits, a large beast appearing beside her in a flicker of light.

The creature is almost catlike, wide, intelligent eyes and a feline face, a slim body with a writhing tail, but the similarities end there. Its ears are feathered, wings protruding from its shoulders, golden tips brushing against the ground as it bares its teeth at Jude, eyes narrowing into thin slits. A thick, webbed spine arcs along the creatures back, seeming to flex in time with the creatures breath. The dust colored beast glances at Lucy, golden eyes locking with hers.

Gray and Jellal both shift awkwardly, both rooted in place near her doorway. They eye the beast warily, Gray's fingers twitching towards a knife at his belt, though Jellal only stares, appearing calm save for the tension in his shoulders. Lucy only stares back at the beast, unsure what to make of the large creature. She always knew Anna was a powerful summoner, but it always surprises her what the woman pulls from the bones decorating her body, old beasts that Lucy could only imagine being contracted to.

Jude stares at Anna's beast, his jaw clenching so tightly Lucy can hear his teeth grinding together, harsh and low and threatening to break into pieces. He doesn't say a word, only holds the woman's gaze, a quiet challenge, though a weak one. He would be a fool to fight with Anna, and he knows it just as well as Lucy does. He could never hope to win, not with as many beasts as she can summon at a time. The most Lucy ever saw her with was twelve at once, though Anna slept for just as many days afterwards.

"Don't make me ask a second time," Anna warns him, crossing her arms with a sigh. The bone bracelets clink together around her wrists, her long skirt dragging across the dirt as she stares at Jude with a near bored look, unamused. As she takes another step towards them, Lucy becomes aware of the bags under her eyes, Anna more exhausted than Lucy remembers her being. She's always tired after returning home from the North, but rarely does she have such dark shadows under her eyes.

The beast behind her snarls, low and threatening, and Jude takes a step away from Lucy, though not far enough. He rips his gaze away from Anna to stare down at Lucy, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "We will discuss this later," he tells her lowly, practically hissing at her through clenched teeth. He doesn't reach for her again, though his fingers twitch like he wants to.

Anna comes closer, her beast at her heels, and Lucy wets her lips. "So it would seem," she says, clipped. Jude's eyes narrow for a moment, and Lucy grits her teeth, glaring right back at him. He looks about to argue with her, but Anna's beast steps up beside her, a golden wing coming up to curve partway around her back, and her father loses any of the bravado he had earlier.

He glances at the spirit, then at Anna, and then he gives a sharp nod and turns on his heel without another word, stalking off and disappearing around a corner before Lucy can say anything.

Snorting, Anna steps up beside Lucy, watching Jude go with a distinctly lazy expression, though there's something in the purse of her lips that makes Lucy pause, staring up at her aunt for a moment too long. Feeling Lucy's gaze, Anna turns to her with a crooked grin, the laughter lines around her eyes crinkling. She reaches out to ruffle the fur of her spirit, a good natured smile on her face

"Come with me, Little One," she whispers, almost teasing, and holds out her hand for Lucy to take, a hint of mischief in her gaze.

Lucy hesitates, glancing at Jellal and Gray, still standing off to the side. Gray relaxes when he catches her eye, sending her a half-smile and a nod. Jellal watches Anna for a moment too long before sending Lucy a sharp nod. He doesn't smile or relax at the sight of her aunt or the spirit at her side, but there's no heat to his gaze any longer. After a moment, he turns away, waving at her over his shoulder briefly. Gray follows behind him, rolling his eyes and calling out a goodbye as he goes.

She turns back to Anna as they leave her sight, knowing she's safe with her aunt and the dozens of spirits at her fingertips. There's no better person Lucy could be with, no one she trusts more than the woman who taught her most of what she knows. After her mother died, Anna did everything she could to make Lucy into the best summoner she could possibly be.

Grinning, Lucy takes Anna's hand.

"How are your spirits?" Anna asks her as they settle atop the bluffs overlooking their home. It's the first thing Anna has said in some time, their talk mostly idle chatter as they wandered through the trees and over the jagged Cliffside. The Edge has always been the place they would go when Anna came home after her weeks away. It's the one place they can talk where no one can listen. A place for safe secrets.

Lucy's eyes flutter shut as the wind whirls around her, howling as it races through the peaks. "Good," she says simply. "I bonded with a new one."

Anna places her hands on her hips, leaning into the wind. She tilts her head back, grinning at Lucy, a familiar warmth in her eyes. "That's excellent!" A lick of cold air curls around them, near freezing, but Anna only smiles wider. "You always were one of the best summoners," she praises gently, expression fond. "Just like your mother."

"I've heard that a lot," Lucy says softly, her words nearly ripped away with the wind.

Lucy settles at the edge of the bluffs, letting her legs dangle over the cliffs. The cool rock beneath her bites at her skin, but Lucy only closes her eyes, shoulders losing their tension as she releases a heavy breath.

"It's true," Anna tells her, taking a seat beside her. Lucy cracks open an eye, peering at Anna through her hair. The older woman smiles softly down at Lucy, brushing back her wild hair. "You are just like her at that age. She always had a fire in her heart." There's something wistful in Anna's voice, almost sad, and she looks away from Lucy, her eyes tired.

Lucy grins slightly. "I thought that was you," she jokes.

"It couldn't be both?"

The quip drags a smile from Lucy, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. The trees around them rustle, wind howling, and she's suddenly reminded of the scream of the beast in the woods. She hasn't told anyone about them, not yet. It would only cause a panic throughout the clan, and she wouldn't know how to stop it. But Anna will.

Taking a deep breath, Lucy squeezes her eyes shut, aware of Anna watching her. "I saw a walker in the woods," she whispers, barely loud enough for Anna to hear. By the way she stiffens, Lucy knows she has, though she doesn't say anything in return. "It was a few days ago, near the border."

Anna's fingers curl into tight fists and the bones around her neck rattle slightly, their magic seeping through at Anna's distress. She sucks in an angry hiss through her teeth, body going rigid as she gazes down at the village below. Anna suddenly snaps her gaze up to meet Lucy's. "Did you see anything else?" she asks, almost casually, and Lucy frowns.

For a moment, Natsu comes to mind. He shouldn't have been on their side of the border, let alone that close to begin with. Most don't dare to come that far into the woods. If they keep coming closer, it could mean trouble for all of them. It could mean a war if her father catches them, if Anna catches them.

Natsu surges to his feet, knocking over the chair as he whirls around, reaching for the knife at his side and ripping it from its hilt. He nearly spills the boiling metal resting over the fire in his rush, the iron slowly melting down into a malleable substance. It's a foolish move on his part. Despite the magic in his ring, molten iron would still scald him, leaving him scarred from the burns. There's no magic to protect him from that kind of heat.

He clenches Lucy's necklace tightly in his fist.

Natsu stills when he sees Gajeel standing before him, his cousin's hands thrown up in surrender, eyes wide as he stares at Natsu, startled by his near violent reaction. Natsu has been tense lately, though he's loath to admit it. This isn't the first time he's been surprised by Gajeel in the last week. Even Wendy managed to surprise him once, and she's the least threatening person he's ever known.

Gajeel, while concerned for his friends and family, is rarely one to pry unless he deems it necessary. Natsu can count on one hand the amount of times he's seen Gajeel truly ask about someone's well being. It isn't for lack of caring, quite the opposite, in fact. He's just never been the best with words.

"Bit jumpy there, Salamander?" Gajeel jokes, though there's a flicker of concern behind the amusement in his gaze. Natsu sighs when his cousin steps into the forge, peering up at the rows of weapons lining the walls, a greater amount than last week. Gajeel has been catching up, taking Igneel's reprimanding to heart.

Natsu wets his lips. "Something like that," he murmurs, shaking himself as he reaches for the tipped chair. Gajeel watches as he rights it, Natsu feeling his eyes follow the movement. "What do you want, Gajeel?" he snaps, gaze flicking to his cousin for a moment. Gajeel merely shrugs, leaning back against Natsu's workbench and reaching for a jeweled knife Natsu has been working on for days.

Gajeel twirls the knife in his fingers, the rubies embedded in the hilt flickering in the firelight, two dozen of them. It took Natsu hours to find a gemstone large enough to work with, and even longer to cut the pieces. He's better with metalwork than gem cutting, but he managed, not wanting to bring the stone to Jura. As kind as the man is, it would take him a month to cut the stone, ever the perfectionist, and Natsu simply didn't have the patience for it.

"For anyone in particular?" Gajeel asks instead, quirking an impressed brow at the knife. It's slim, more decorative than anything, but Natsu likes the look of it. There's a slight curl to the tip, and a decorative pattern etched into the metal, filigree following the curve of the blade. It's easily one of the nicest things he's made, though he has no purpose for it.

Gajeel weighs the knife in his hands, twisting it between his fingers to see every inch of the blade. "Why?" Natsu jokes, sliding his own knife back into place at his side. A smirk tugs at his lips, amusement flooding through him as Gajeel appraises the blade. His cousin always has been something of a collector. "You looking to make an offer?"

"Hardly," Gajeel scoffs, expression teasing. "I could do better." Natsu will give him that, but it doesn't mean he likes it. "It's pretty. Too decorative for my tastes, but nice enough." Natsu snorts, shaking his head as he turns to the boiling metal, noting that the temperature isn't quite high enough yet.

It's about as close to a compliment as he'll ever get from Gajeel.

Leaving the metal, he swipes the blade from Gajeel's hands, noting the shrewd look in his eyes. As much as Natsu respects his cousin as a forger himself, it doesn't mean he wants Gajeel stealing his designs.

Natsu slips the jeweled knife into his belt, just beside the other, Lucy's pendant still dangling from the hilt, slapping against his hip with every step he takes. He's grown more and more aware of it since he met her in the woods, the pendant heavy at his side, a familiar weight.

It thrums against his hip, flashing in the firelight.

"What do you want, Gajeel?" Natsu questions. "If you're here to criticize my work, you can leave." Natsu tosses him a playful look over his shoulder, fanning the fire with his magic. It's been growing colder lately, winter coming for them, if only briefly. The cold hardly reaches them this far south, nothing more than a nasty chill and the smallest of snowstorms, but in recent years the winter has been growing longer, harsher. Not enough to drive away game or destroy their crops, but it has been concerning.

It's been happening slowly over the last ten years: the nights colder, the snow thicker. It isn't a problem for them, not yet, but if it keeps getting colder…

Natsu shakes his head, raising the fire's temperature to one he likes. Sweat beads at his neck, slipping down his bare chest and dripping to the ground. The heat pricks at his skin to near unbearable temperatures, but he ignores the sweltering feeling, used to the forge's fire. He's been working here since he was a child, his skin has grown thick to the fire.

"Wasn't criticizin'," Gajeel argues, snorting as he glares at Natsu. He reaches for another blade, a hatchet, and surveys it with a critical eye, tracing the shape of it and weighing it in his hands. "If I was criticizin', I'd tell ya the design was weak." He quirks a brow, waving the small hatchet in his hand teasingly and tapping a finger against the warped handle.

Rolling his eyes, Natsu shoots Gajeel a nasty look over his shoulder, to which his cousin merely grins, shrugging off his annoyance. He decides not to respond, knowing better than to feed into Gajeel's mocking. They used to fight wildly when they were younger, tearing apart half the town on bad days.

"Yer mom 's lookin' for ya," he tells Natsu a moment later, still playing with the old hatched in his hands, one Natsu made years ago, back when he was fifteen, maybe younger.

He was going to bring it home for Wendy to look at, his sister nervous about crafting her own weapon for the first time. He's hoping to make her feel better, remind her that they all start out the same way. Gajeel isn't wrong, the design is weak on the hatchet, the proportions off and the blade too thin, brittle.

Natsu glances back at Gajeel, straightening as he frowns. "What does she want?" he asks lowly, brows knitting in concern. His mother rarely seeks him out, always trusting him to be off on his own. Natsu rarely leaves the shop most days, too busy with his work to go venturing into the woods like he used to, though he'd like to explore more of the territory around them.

For Grandine to seek him out something serious must have happened.

Gajeel shrugs, his eyes narrowing just a tick. "Fuck if I know," he grumbles back, crossing his arms and leaning further back against the workbench. He twirls the hatchet between his fingers, tapping the blade with his thumb. "I ran into 'er at the market earlier. Told me to come get you. I didn't ask." He places the weapon back on the table, rolling his shoulders. "Sounded important though, and ya know how yer mom gets."

Something bitter coils in his gut when he thinks about his mother. She worries, he knows, especially lately. He hasn't been home much this last week, spending his nights in the forge with the fires burning hot enough for him to feel it even with his enchanted jewelry. He gained a nasty burn the other night, just below his elbow on his forearm, a novice mistake on his part. He heated the flames with rare fire crystals from the quarry, fanning the flames to unimaginable temperatures, not even the magic in his blood able to protect him.

Igneel would be ashamed of him for it. He should know better after so many years, Igneel taught him better than that. He would never have done it, aware of how powerful the flames can be, but he remembered what Lucy said, about how those beasts fear the light.

Natsu nods, sighing as he turns away from the fire, the early morning glow casting flickering shadows on the walls, like monsters rising up from the earth to swallow them. He and Gajeel used to play a game with the forge when they were much younger, the fire would roar and they would scream back, fierce as they fought back the monster hiding in the fire, the pair of them great warriors for their clan.

Their fathers would only laugh and smile, encouraging them to fight the invisible monsters that only they could see. It was a game then, but Natsu doesn't see the fun in fighting monsters anymore, not when he's seen real ones.

He glances at Gajeel, feeling his cousin's eyes on him, and Natsu's met with a frown, Gajeel's expression pensive, shrewd. There's a question in his eyes, but Gajeel doesn't ask and Natsu doesn't answer. Their eyes lock for a long, heavy moment, and Natsu looks away first, unable to stand the concern in Gajeel's gaze. He doesn't want to make them worry, least of all Gajeel, his stoic cousin more likely to punch him than hug him.

"I should go," he murmurs, pushing away from the bench. Natsu takes a step towards the exit, only looking back to peer at the still melting iron above the fire, Erza's order still heating into something malleable. He can't just leave it to burn, not wanting to risk it spilling or setting fire to the forge. Natsu's gaze flicks to Gajeel, his cousin still staring at him. "Will you watch it for me?" he asks slowly. "The plans are on my desk." He jerks his chin towards the back, the wooden desk overflowing with plans, though only one stands out, spread across the wooden surface carefully.

Gajeel nods, but says nothing else, though Natsu wasn't expecting him to. He exits the forge without another word, leaving Gajeel behind. Natsu feels Gajeel's eyes following him as he goes, the weight of his gaze heavy as Natsu steps out of the forge and its sweltering heat. Sweat clings to him, a smoky smell hanging in the air, and he takes a moment to breathe in the sweet tasting air for the first time in days.

A violent cough wracks his body as the crisp, clean air tickles his throat and lungs. It takes him a moment to compose himself, but eventually the breeze becomes more soothing than harmful, his lungs adjusting to the freshness.

The walk back to his family home is long, but passes quickly, Natsu lost in his thoughts. The forges are located closer to the center of town then his parents home near the edge of the forest. They live in a quiet place, far from the bustle of town, in a house Igneel built himself near twenty years ago, back when he first asked Grandine to marry him.

It never used to bother him, the woods behind his home, the shadows cast by the trees, and the sound of the wind ripping through the leaves, branches tapping against the windows. Now, a small, irrational, part of him is afraid to go home, afraid to look outside and see the looming shadows behind his house.

It's silly of him, and Natsu feels a pull of anger in his gut whenever he thinks of his reluctance to return home, where there's nothing to do but dwell on his thoughts and picture the creature in the woods. It shouldn't scare him as much as it did. Igneel taught him to be braver than that.

He misses his family, and his cat, and he misses sleeping in his bed. He hasn't stopped working for days, hardly finding the time to rest, and only now do his limbs feel heavy, his muscles aching from overuse.

It's time he goes home.

A shadow moves across the window as he walks along the stone path, small and too far away to make out clearly, but he knows it's Wendy in an instant, the shape too short to be his mother and too solid to be a trick of the light. A grin pulls at his mouth, and Natsu presses his lips together to smother his smile as the figure disappears from sight.

He isn't able to manage it for long.

The front door is thrown open wide, wood crashing against the stone wall of the house with so much force it could splinter. "Natsu!" a familiar voice shouts, Wendy a blur as she bolts towards him, nearly tripping over herself in her rush to get to him. The smile on her face squeezes something in his chest, and the ache leaves his limbs as his sister crashes into him.

Natsu stumbles back, gasping as Wendy's full weight slams into him, her arms curling around him tightly. She clings to his neck, skinny limbs locking around his, as if afraid he might let go. Natsu chuckles as he wraps her up in a hug, lifting her straight off the ground and spinning her in a tight circle. Wendy giggles in his ear, shrieking with laughter as her hair whips around them, tickling at his nose.

Eventually, he settles, ceasing his swinging and lowering Wendy back to the ground. He's reluctant to release her entirely, gaze locked on the woods behind her as he keeps her tucked close against him. Similarly, Wendy refuses to let him go, squeezing him tighter when he moves to step away.

"You're back," she whispers against his ear, fingers twisting in the damp fabric of his scarf, looped loosely around his throat. Wendy pushes up on her toes to get a better grip on him, trembling with the effort to hold herself upright. A twinge of guilt stabs at him, Natsu wincing as he wraps his own arms tighter around her, unsure if she can feel the apology in his embrace.

He twists to press a kiss against the side of her head. "Course I am," he murmurs against her, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "I've just been busy." It isn't quite a lie, but it feels like one. He hadn't meant to worry Wendy, or anyone else, he just needed time to think.

Wendy nods against his chest, fisting at his scarf, and finally pulls back enough to meet his eyes. Natsu stills when her dark brown eyes lock with his, an uncomfortable prickling sensation working its way up his spine. He has to force himself not to look away from her, unnerved by her intense gaze. Wendy always has had an odd way of seeing through lies, knowing exactly when something's bothering him.

It's why he's been so reluctant to come home recently, sure that Wendy would take one look at him and know exactly what he saw in the woods, why he's been hidden away in the forge all week. Only, he doesn't want her knowing, having to keep that image locked away inside her mind for days. What he saw in the woods rattled him to his core, and Natsu knows Wendy is more sensitive than him, afraid of her own shadow when it creeps up behind her.

Her eyes meet his, expression blank for a long moment as she stares, peeling back the layers of his thoughts. Natsu forces a smile onto his lips, trying not to squirm, pinned by her gaze, and Wendy suddenly smiles in return, the pensive look in her eyes disappearing as quickly as it came. Natsu releases a relieved breath, relaxing only the slightest, aware of her watching him, but Wendy only lurches back into his embrace, dragging him into another tight embrace.

"I'm glad you're home," she mumbles against his ear, squeezing him around the waist and propping her chin against his shoulder. Her breath puffs against the side of his face, something slick and wet slipping down his neck. It's with a wince that Natsu realizes she's crying.

Natsu cards his fingers through her hair, leaning back just enough to look at her face. "Hey now," he whispers, tilting her chin up with a gentle finger, forcing her to meet his eyes. "None of that," Natsu chides teasingly, wiping a wayward tear from her face. "You know I'll always come back, right?" Wendy sniffs, but nods, and Natsu grins down at her, ruffling her hair. "Atta girl!"

Wendy steps away from him, giggling madly, and shrieks when he reaches out to tug on a strand of her hair. She swats at him, puffing up her cheeks, and a surge of affection sweeps through his chest as he stares down at his pouting younger sister, her eyes sparkling with humor.

"Mom is going to kill you," she teases him, reaching out and catching one of his hands in both of hers, something reminiscent of a smirk tugging at her lips as she tugs him a step towards the house.

Natsu casts a wary look at the woods behind the stone house, watching the shadows as they flit through the trees, taking shape into a monstrous form. He blinks and the shadows are gone, sunlight spilling through the branches, the sun high in the sky.

He turns back to Wendy, a silly smile on his face. "Oh? And why would Mom do that?" he jokes. Natsu reaches out to pinch Wendy's nose, and she squeaks as she ducks out of the way, slapping at his hand, her grip tightening on the fingers laced through hers. She frowns at him, huffing, and Natsu chuckles, amused by her disgruntled expression.

Wendy rolls her eyes instead of replying, snorting softly, and Natsu knows he's in trouble even before Wendy pulls him in through the front door. His mother, Grandine, rarely ever seeks him out unless something serious has happened, trusting him to come home and take care of himself. For her to send Gajeel to find him is concerning, as is the sudden shadow that crosses Wendy's face.

Her eyes slip to the floor, hand tightening around his. Her nails dig into the back of his hand to the point of pain, and Natsu frowns as he follows Wendy into the dark house, the front room eerily silent and colder than usual. His gaze travels along the stone walls, the hearth devoid of fire and the room too quiet, as if he's stepped into a home for ghosts. Wendy releases his hand, but Natsu catches her before she can leave, unwilling to be alone in the home that doesn't feel like his own.

"Wendy," he murmurs, crouching in front of his sister so that he has to look up at her, only barely meeting her gaze as she stares at her feet, avoiding his eyes. He squeezes her fingers, a crease forming between his brows when he watches the rapid flicker of emotions crossing her face: confusion, terror, something melancholy that makes his stomach flip. He doesn't like the look that crosses her face, Wendy beginning to tremble as she clasps his hand between both of hers. "Wendy, what's wrong?" Natsu brushes his thumb along her knuckles, hoping to coax her into looking at him, but she only shakes her head.

Her eyes meet his, teary, and his breath catches.

"It's Acnologia, isn't it?" he whispers, a growl to his tone as he thinks about their clan leader. He hasn't seen much of the man in the last week, though Natsu hasn't left the forge most of the week. He should have been paying more attention to what was happening, but he's been so distracted lately. Acnologia always has been a tricky man, violent and brash, and he's threatened families before to get what he wants. Igneel is his greatest adversary for head of the clan, the rightful successor chosen by Makarov, and Natsu remembers being threatened before to keep his father in line.

Natsu trembles with anger, his lips curving back when he sees Wendy nod, her hands finally leaving his to wrap around herself protectively, making herself smaller. A lick of anger burns in his veins, Natsu clenching his fists tightly as he thinks of what the man may have done, who he may have hurt now.

His only relief is that Wendy is fine. Shaken, perhaps, but unharmed. And he thinks his mother must be as well, knowing Wendy wouldn't jest in such a poor situation. Acnologia wouldn't dare harm Igneel, not when everyone in town knows of their hatred for each other. The clan won't stand for murder.

"What did he do?" Natsu snaps. His nails dig into his palms hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn't feel it beneath the swirl of anger in his chest. The smallest flicker of flames lick at his knuckles, the fire harnessed within his bones spilling through the cracks in his calm façade. It tingles against his skin, warm, but not overwhelmingly so.

Wendy takes a step away from him, eyeing the flames warily, and he winces, trying futilely to calm himself, his blood boiling as white hot rage curls through him. Natsu takes a breath to calm himself, not wanting to scare her, but he can't stop his hands from trembling.

A floorboard to his right creaks, the only warning he gets before another presence enters the room, a willowy figure towering over him. "What he always does," a familiar voice tells him. Natsu glances up in time to see his mother sigh, her expression weary and her face more gaunt than usual, eyes hollow when she looks at him.

"Mom," he whispers, rising from his crouch and turning away from Wendy, who glances between them slowly, lip caught between her teeth. Natsu looks down at his mother, Grandine a head shorter than him, her pale, wispy white hair piled atop her head in a messy bun. She tilts her chin to look at him, managing a smile for only a moment before it disappears as quickly as it came.

She reaches out to him, hands so pale he can see the blue spider-veins tracing across the backs of her hands and along her wrists. She cups his face with gentle hands, thumbs brushing along his cheeks lovingly. Her fingers tremble so fragile, but he's seen those same hands shatter glass and snap bones.

Grandine pulls him down so that his forehead is pressed to hers, a familiar greeting between the Dragonborne, and Natsu sighs as she strokes his cheeks. "I'm glad you're home," she whispers, so soft he almost doesn't hear her, her words a caress.

He nods, throat closing as she releases him, dropping back to her heels to send him a tired smile. "I never meant to stay away," he chokes out, guilt eating away at his insides when he sees the fear reflected in her gaze.

Acnologia came looking for them again, he can tell by the look in her eyes. And when he didn't come home it must have terrified them. He winces, shame eating at him, but he shoves it back down, knowing it does them little good. Natsu should have come home earlier. Even if they knew where to find him, he still should have come back.

Grandine smiles then, hands slipping from his face. Natsu ducks his head, unable to meet her eyes, but she only grasps his hands in hers, squeezing him tightly. "I know," she tells him, releasing one of his hands to pat him on the cheek.

"Where's Dad?" Natsu asks her, glancing over Grandine's shoulder to peer into the rest of the house, searching for his father's tall frame. Igneel isn't there, the house too quiet because of it, and Natsu knows before his mother responds that the man is still in town, perhaps at another one of Acnologia's war councils, helping plot ways to drive away the Spiritwalkers.

For a moment his thoughts drift to Lucy, the way she helped him, saved him, and how her people are only trying to survive, running away from their monsters. A sick feeling curls in his gut as he imagines what Acnologia might do to her. Lucy is an influential figure in her clan, next in line after her aunt, if he remembers correctly, and Acnologia does wicked things to those who challenge his power.

Acnologia would kill her, or perhaps worse, and it leaves a filthy taste in his mouth. He hardly knows Lucy, but he would never enjoy seeing her hurt in such vile ways. Acnologia is renowned for his cruelty, a vicious leader that seems more animal than man.

It makes him sick to think about.

"He should be home soon," she tells him, smiling slightly. Wendy takes a step forward, and Grandine smiles down at her, reaching out to stroke her hair. "The was a meeting earlier," Grandine says lowly, the underlying meaning not lost to any of them. A war council.

Igneel always comes home furious after they're done, disgusted by Acnologia and his ways. Natsu rarely goes to the meetings, not wanting to hear such disgusting things coming from his clansmen: murdering children in their beds and burning people alive. He'll never understand how people can be so cruel.

Grandine takes a step back from him, eyeing him critically suddenly and places her hands on her hips, expression stern as she looks up at him. "You're filthy," she chides suddenly, squinting at him and wrinkling her nose. "Did you leave the forge at all in the last week?" It sounds less like a question and more like an accusation, Grandine clucking her tongue at him as observes his tired eyes and the layers of sweat clinging to him.

Her gaze makes him itch, Natsu shifting like a scolded child. She's always been able to do this to him, adult or not, he'll always feel a burn of shame when she observes him like this, picking him apart in the way only family can.

His silence must be answer enough, because she sighs, shaking her head. Wendy giggles beside her, expression impish as she looks up at Natsu, barely hiding her grin behind her hand. "Go wash up," Grandine orders, smile fond as she shakes her head in his direction. "Lunch should be ready soon."

Natsu grins and leans down to press a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek.

It's later, when Natsu is lying in his bed and rolling Lucy's bone pendant between his fingers that he allows his thoughts to drift back to the Spiritwalker and their curious meeting. It was unlike anything he would have expected, which says little. She's the last person he would have expected to find in the woods, their brief history enough to sour any previous thoughts he had of her.

Slowly, he glances around the room, gaze dragging along the walls and the animal skins tossed across his bed. A jar of dragon teeth sit on his desk, metal chains littering the space, necklaces waiting to be made. While he spends much of his time in the forges, jewelry making has always been a hobby of his. There's something cathartic about stringing the teeth together to create something special.

Teeth are what he mainly uses, though Natsu has takes stones from the quarry in the past, fighting through the sand vipers and their venom to find precious gems to carve. Typically, it's only those searching for betrothal stones that brave the quarry, no one else willing to risk such a task, but Natsu has ventured down the cliffs several times.

He enjoys carving stone, liking the feel of it beneath his hands, It's harder to carve than bone or tooth, but the challenge makes it more fun in his eyes. It seems to matter more, when the gem is harder to cut.

He's given them as gifts before, mostly to his family. Carved stones aren't meant for just anyone, only those most precious.

Natsu lazily drags a finger down the tuft of bluish-gray fur nestled against his chest, Happy curled tight against him. The little cat purrs in response to his touch, and Natsu grins despite himself, still playing with the bone between his fingers, observing it with a keen gaze.

For a moment, he wonders where Lucy found it, or if perhaps she carved it herself. He wouldn't doubt her skill, knowing better than to underestimate her. Perhaps it was passed down in her family, the bone seeming very old, though still strong. Natsu entertains the idea of asking her, but knows it's unlikely they'll ever meet again under friendly terms.

Natsu would never say he knows Lucy well, having only met her a few times in passing, during meetings between their people, back before Acnologia began rallying for war. The Spiritwalkers came to the Summerlands only five years ago, though there clans have a very long, very complicated history together. It was the Dragonborne that originally drove them to the north near twenty years ago, if the stories are correct. The returned half a decade ago, and the first real fights between their clans came soon after, mostly border skirmishes. Makarov and the Spiritwalker leader, Anna, came to an agreement that took three days and two nights to settle.

That was the first time he ever saw Lucy. She was younger than him, though not by much, and smiled when she saw him. There was a fox near her feet, but he didn't realize until later that she was a Bone Witch, the spirit a familiar to her, padding after her like a shadow.

She fascinated him, her and her summon, and at first Natsu wasn't sure what else to think. She didn't seem dangerous or violent or any of the other stories he'd heard in the past, and when she smiled at him he couldn't help but smile back.

The first true fight between their clans occurred only three years ago, during the turbulent period when Acnologia took control. The first thing he did was declare war on the Spiritwalkers, calling them vile things and warning them that if they didn't strike first, the witches would. Natsu was younger then, eighteen and so ready to fight, and he didn't think twice about starting a war. He would do anything to protect his people, even if some of the things Acnologia has done leaves a sick feeling curling through his stomach.

Back then, Natsu never had much interest in speaking with Lucy. Not at first, when all he knew was she summoned spirits through bones, a witch. As a child he'd been told stories of her kind, of the twisted things they could do to a person through their bones, using them like puppets, how they could raise the dead and force families to fight their loved ones. An unholy power, that's what Acnologia called it. He said if they didn't push back the witches, they would kill ever Dragonborne in the Summerlands. And they all believed him. And he certainly wanted nothing to do with her after she bested him in their fight, in part because of a wounded pride. He learned her name and that she walked with spirits and there was nothing else that mattered.

No, they never talked much besides clipped conversations and biting words from him, but he watched her.

There was always something fascinating about the way she moved, so light on her feet, expression always twisted into something like vague amusement despite the weariness in her gaze, exhaustion seeming to blanket her. Her smile was so bright that it always gained his attention, beckoning him closer. The first time she saw him after they fought, Natsu could swear he saw an apology in her gaze, some kind of shame when she looked at the scar on his throat, but it was gone before he could be sure.

He would never admit aloud the shame he feels deep in his chest whenever he sees the matching scar on her throat, smaller, thinner, but still marring her skin. He could have killed her that day, just as easily as she could have killed him, and that leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

War is war, but it doesn't excuse the things they've done in the name of it. He's always enjoyed a good fight, the thrill of battle, but he wouldn't relish in Lucy's death in the way others would.

As a child he was told stories of her people, of the wonders they could do. Makarov always respected them, speaking to the town children of their magic, it was only after Acnologia took control that the legends were warped into something more vile. He's only begun thinking about it recently, how much the stories have changed. It doesn't make him trust the Bone Witches anymore than he does now. He's seen them fight, how powerful and dangerous they are with their monsters that can't be killed, their spirits near unbeatable so long as their master still breathes.

They aren't innocent in this war. They've done terrible things: burning down homes on the edge of Dragonborne territory to make room for themselves, sending their beasts after hunters and leaving men ripped to pieces in the woods. And they brought monsters with them, lead them from the north to the Summerlands where they can feast and slaughter.

The Bone Witches may have started as refugees from the north, terrified and weakened from fighting the Skinwalkers, but their warriors are just as brutal as Natsu's.

He respects Lucy more than most, but as much as she fascinates him, he doesn't trust her. She may have saved his life in the forest, but only after threatening it.

Natsu rolls the carved pendant between his fingers again, lifting it into the light so he can see it clearly. He never took the time to study it, the bone feeling alive against his skin in a way that unnerved him. He never showed it to anyone, though the Dragonborne take spoils of war more often than not. If he showed it to anyone, Acnologia would take it, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

It's small against his palm, thin and curved, circular. The pendant is stark white and plain, save for a hint of faded blue paint, shaped into three tiny, curled waves carved into the bone. A symbol for the ocean. It's delicate, fragile enough to snap if he squeezed too tightly, but there's a power inside it. It thrums beneath his touch, something clawing to get out. He drags a finger across the smooth surface, wondering what sort of spirit remains locked inside.

A terribly powerful one, he would guess. He knows little on the Bone Witches customs, but he's learned that the more powerful the bones, the closer they're kept, made into jewelry or something innocuous, hidden in plain sight. Necklaces, bracelets, bone weaved into the fabric of their clothes, all easy to miss at first glance. It's why they were losing fights with the witches at first. They couldn't figure out how they were summoning their spirits, which couldn't be killed by their weapons.

The spirits can only be defeated when their masters are slaughtered or their bones ground into dust.

He's seen countless Spiritwalkers slain, their throats cut and their bodies burned until all that's left is their bones. Natsu isn't sure what becomes of their bones. He's never stayed to watch. Acnologia does something with them, buries them or grinds them up, he would guess.

Natsu's fingers curl around the bone necklace in his hand, tracing the wave pattern carved into the top and twirling the silver chain around his hand, the metal biting at his skin. The original yarn was severed and mangled years ago, and Natsu threw it out when the fibers kept snapping, afraid he might lose the pendant if he wasn't careful.

Not for the first time, he considers giving it back to her, but Natsu brushes the thought aside quickly. There's no sense in giving an enemy a powerful spirit to fight with, even if it does belong to her. She may have killed members of his clan with the demon inside this bone, perhaps friends of his, and she would simply do it again if he gave it back. While he doubts she would attack him outright, recalling what she said to him when they last met, but meeting in battle is another thing entirely.

He wouldn't dare put others at risk for a girl he barely knows or cares for.

A low whining sound reaches her ears, so soft she almost doesn’t notice it, and Lucy grins as a pair of furry ears twitch behind the ribcage. Another whine reaches her ears, and she laughs as the creature lifts its head, a wolf cub peeking at her, more alive than the fractured skull at her feet.

It yawns, shaking itself, and stands on trembling legs, wobbling as it takes the first step of its second life. Peering up at her, blue eyes lock with Lucy’s, the same ghostly flicker of her breath. It takes a step towards her, slipping slightly, and she laughs, the wolf’s body flickering at the edges, almost smudging, not entirely there.

Lucy giggles and reaches out with one hand, allowing the cub to sniff at her fingers. “Hello, little one,” she coos, scratching it behind its grey ears when it noses at her, waddling on too big feet to flop down before her, rolling onto one side and allowing her to scratch at its belly. Lucy winds her fingers through the soft fur of its stomach, feeling its chest rise with borrowed breath, alive but also not.

It saddens her for a moment, her smile slipping away as she remembers that though it breathes and she can touch it, the wolf is only half alive.

She glances behind it, staring at its bones, and winces, wishing there was something more she could do. The life of a Spiritwalker is not an easy one, Lucy’s come to learn in her twenty years. It’s bittersweet, Lucy constantly wishing she could do more, but knowing that bad things happen to those who try.

Shaking herself, Lucy scoops the wolf cub into her arms. It yelps, not expecting the sudden shift in position, but settles against her, tail wagging as it noses at her chin, teeth latching onto one of the bones on her necklace, long and thin, carved from the ribs of a lion spirit, lost long ago. He comes when she calls, eyes ghastly blue and fangs sharper than anything she’s ever seen.

She does not call upon them often. Walking with powerful spirits can be dangerous, most do not like to be controlled. Lucy’s called upon the lion only three times since the necklace was passed from her mother to her, all of them in battle. He’s saved her life several times, and Lucy would call him a friend if she thought she could believe it. She’s been told that the older the bones the more tricky the spirit. They can be liars, saying what they want, making promises they cannot keep, anything to be summoned.

New bones, like those of the pup in her arms, are harmless, not tainted and bitter from their long sleep. She’s loath to trust the ancient spirits, no matter how helpful they can be. There was one she trusted years ago, she muses, sighing as she feels the empty weight around her throat, no choker where one once was.

Lucy doesn’t dwell on it, pushing herself to her feet and wiping the dirt from her legs. The cool air tickles her bare thighs, and her long braid thumps against her back, the rest of her hair loose and tumbling down in great waves. She brushes her bangs aside, fingers skimming across the crystals dangling from her ears. Rolling one between her finger and thumb, Lucy shifts the spirit into her left arm, cradling it to her as the wind whips through the room.

Her necklaces clink together as she turns towards the door, tensing when she notices a familiar figure watching her.

The taller man glares down at her, lips twisted into a disapproving sneer as he eyes the cub tucked into her elbow, still gnawing at the bones hanging around her neck. He says nothing, only stares, and Lucy shifts in place, gaze darting away from his as she stiffens, flinching under his gaze. “Father,” she murmurs, golden eyes flickering up to meet a pair darker than her own, so deep they near black.

For a long moment he says nothing, simply glances between her and the wolf in disgust. His hands clench into tight fists, and he releases a slow breath, head shaking slightly. “Lucy,” he greets her in return, no warmth to his tone as his gaze flicks to the bowl of bones resting in the dirt.

She shifts, waiting for him to say something, and her shoes scuff against the ground, wet dirt matting the white fur lining her boots. He observes her silently, and Lucy busies herself with straightening the long cloth around her hips, a deep red and lined with soft dragon scales, some of the only remnants of the long forgotten beasts. It tickles at her skin, the thin belts around her hips keeping it snug against her, and Lucy finds herself tracing the edge of the fabric absentmindedly.

The cool air winds around her bare midriff, the red cloth wrapping around her chest doing little to keep away the North wind coming from the winter woods. It has been growing colder lately, and while she’d like to believe it’s merely the changing seasons, she knows deep in her soul that they’ve come for her clan.

They were foolish to run.

“Have you thought about what we discussed?” he asks her, not looking at her as he glances around the small space she’s created for herself, nothing but a low wooden building, large enough for her and perhaps another. It isn’t as glamorous as his own home, she knows, the one she used to live in.

Lucy would rather sleep where people live.

“What is there to discuss?” she asks him, laughing bitterly and twisting to her right, walking away from him and ignoring his glare as she lifts her long knife from where it rests above the fire, the flames casting twitch shadows against the ivory weapon. Expertly carved, Lucy was gifted it on her sixteenth birthday. The blade is a symbol of her age but also a weapon of power, given to her for her fighting spirit.

Her fingers skim the bone lovingly and Lucy hears him curse behind her, practically snarling.

“Lucy,” he calls to her, sighing and she can feel his gaze burn against her back, can practically taste his anger in the air. She considers ignoring him, but knows better.

Instead, she turns to face him, eyes narrowing as her lips press into a thin line. Her chin tilts upwards, her back straightening, and she twirls the weapon between her fingers, feeling its familiar weight in her palm. The wolf cub whines, burrowing into her shoulder, and she hushes it gently.

“You want to start a war that you cannot win,” she hisses, glaring back at her father, eyes narrowed as something like contempt winds through her. The bones around her throat shift, rattling as they feed off her distress. Her father takes a step towards her, and Lucy’s rage flares in her chest, fingers curling around her blade defensively.

Jude stares at her, long robes flowing around him, rich garnets and royal blues curling around his frame. He sighs, staring down at her, something like pity in his gaze. He reaches out slowly, crossing the small distance between them and placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinches away, but he doesn’t release her, only grips her tighter. “You underestimate us,” he hisses in her ear, nails digging into her bare skin and making her cringe.

The wolf cub snarls at her father, barring its small teeth threateningly, hackles raises, and she quiets it with a gentle touch, shaking her head softly. It whines, but does as she asks, wet nose pressing against her neck and soft fur warming against her skin. Its lungs move with a phantom breath, heart beating rhythmically, and Lucy shudders as she thinks about her father demanding she release its soul back to the earth.

“And you underestimate them,” she counters, yanking out of his grip. Lucy shakes her head, suddenly furious at her father’s refusal to listen to her. She’s been telling him for days what a mistake it would be to attack so blindly. Their Spiritwalkers are few compared to the Dragonborne warriors. And while her people are strong, their numbers dwindle with every passing year.

They cannot handle a war, not so soon after the last.

Jude snorts, shaking his head, and backs her against the wall. “You managed to hold them off once,” he reminds her, and Lucy sneers, wondering if he’s forgotten the price she and every other Spiritwalker paid for that fight. It wasn’t a win for them, only a momentary gain of ground. They did little more than push back their enemies for a short time.

“Yes,” she drawls, sending him a cool look offset by the fire burning in her gaze, gold sparking with rage. “And it cost me dearly,” Lucy reminds him, shifting the cub to graze her fingers across her throat, wincing as she feels the empty space where her mother’s necklace once rested, a small, thin scar resting in its place. “We cannot start a war we are unable to finish.” She locks eyes with him, daring her father to challenge her.

“We have spirits,” Jude snaps, leaning into her space, and Lucy’s skin crawls as his eyes pin her. She shakes her head, disgusted, and ducks beneath his arm, stepping around him and heading for the door. She’s given him her answer, and she isn’t about to change her mind, not when she know how many people will be lost.

If the fighting doesn’t kill them, the Skinwalkers certainly will.

“And they have men,” Lucy counters, scoffing. She turns back to him, stopping just inside the entrance to her home. Lucy sighs, shaking her head and wishing there was some way to get through to him, knowing he’ll never listen. “There are so few of us left,” she reminds her father softly, pleading with her eyes for his to understand. He’s never been one to walk with the spirits. He doesn’t know what it means. “Do not sacrifice us in vain,” Lucy warns him.

Again, Jude shakes his head, taking a step forward as his expression darkens, twisting into something unfamiliar that makes her wince. She’s always been grateful her feather could never walk with the spirits, fearing what he would become. The power to bring things back, to control them, if only for a moment, it does things to people. That power drives some of them mad.

“If you would simply raise—”

Lucy whirls on him, baring her teeth and daring him to come closer. “The dead do not like to be awakened,” she hisses, voice low. He takes a step back, and she groans, wishing again that he would just listen to her for once. Laughing incredulously, Lucy turns towards the door once again, tucking the cub safely against her chest, tightening her grip on her weapon as she storms out of the room, abandoning him to the silence and empty space.

He follows after her, not letting her go far, but Lucy simply ignores him, padding across the stone paths and ignoring him as he shouts her name, demanding she come back. A few turn to stare at them, but Lucy pays them no mind, not wanting to deal with conversation at the moment.

Jellal catches her eye, half-hidden in the shadow of a building, and sends her the briefest of nods, so slight she almost misses it. He watches as her father chases after her, hand going to his weapon as the older man closes in on her, but Lucy shakes her head, calming the warrior. He blinks, frowning, and doesn’t relax, and Lucy knows Gray is near as well. Both men have served their clan well, and though neither are Spiritwalkers themselves, they’ve always trusted her lead.

“Where are you going?” her father demands, stopping as Lucy edges towards the woods, not daring to follow. His eyes widen, and behind him Lucy sees Gray, his expression paling as he sees her heading straight for the forest.

Walker Woods, they call it, and not named for those that dance with spirits. Monsters hide there, having followed them from the Icelands. Most don’t dare enter the trees, terrified of what they might find, but Spiritwalkers do not have that option. The forest may be cursed, but it’s the only definite place to find what they need.

“To dig up more bones,” she calls over her shoulder, not bothering to glance back as she steps into the dark woods.

The hammer comes down hard on the piece of warped iron, Natsu’s brow furrowing when the metal doesn’t twist the way he wants it to. He’s always had a knack for metalwork, but sometimes he wishes it would bend to him the way it always has for Gajeel, his older cousin. He’s always been the better blacksmith of the two of them, but Natsu can’t begrudge him for it. The iron may respond to Gajeel easier than it does him, but Natsu can call himself the better fighter of the two of them.

Gajeel is good, but not nearly as fast.

Natsu continues to pound at the sheet of iron, slowly working it into a curved blade, similar to the old one he’s worn on his arm since he was younger. He’s been needing to make a new one for months, his old one chipped and broken after the long summer, a price he paid during the fighting. He meant to fix it, but between the rest of his work, he simply hasn’t found the time. He could have requested one from Gajeel, but Natsu has always felt better using weapons he’s crafted with his own hands.

He trusts Gajeel with his life, more than he trusts anyone else, but Natsu thinks iron is different. It can be unpredictable even in skilled hands, and for that Natsu only trusts his own.

He stares down at the piece, shaping it into a shallow bend, enough to follow the curve of his arm, and decides that this one will be his. He’s waited months to make one for himself, and he’s completed enough orders to keep this one. If anyone has an issue with that, he thinks they can shove it.

Natsu sneers as he thinks about Erza, a warrior only a few years older than himself. She’s more particular about her weapons than most, and wants them done twice as fast, but has no skill for the craft herself. He figures she won’t be happy about her newest sword coming in late, but if she has an issue, he won’t feel particularly bad about sending her Gajeel’s way.

While he respects Erza more than most, the girl has been a thorn in his side for ages, practically since he started his apprenticeship. She never seemed to learn that good quality takes a longer time to craft, much to his constant annoyance.

Natsu huffs, paying little attention to his craft, and slips slightly, arm coming too close to the fire. He hisses at the heat, jerking away from the flames, but the fire doesn’t touch him, warded away by the metal in his ring.

The plain, silver band glows red, pulsing with the heat from the fire until he has to look away from the light. He glances back as the light dims, catching sight of a small flame as it dances across the back of his hand, warm, but not but not burning him. It flickers for several seconds, Natsu lifting his hand to get a better look, but when he raises the flame level with his eyes it disappears entirely, quelled by the ring’s magic.

He smiles down at the ring fondly, shaking his head and runs his finger across the smooth band, silently thanking it for protecting him once again. He’s always marveled at their ability to utilize magic. It’s something his clan has done for years, even before he was born. He grew up hearing the stories and legends about how it the magic was harnessed, about how the great hero Yuri stole the power of lightning from the Gods and vanquished the demon Zeref.

He doesn’t understand how it all works, but they’ve managed to enchant their weapons and the other metal they decorate themselves with. It’s something they’re taught when they’re young. Natsu learned it through hours of watching Igneel work, the process more delicate than crafting the iron itself. Embedding weapons with elemental magic can take hours, sometimes days depending on the amount.

Simply spells like those in his ring, merely meant to ward away the fire and keep him from being burned while he works, are rather quick to embed compared to those in a fully formed sword, taking little more than a few seconds to cast, though it can take some time for them to fully settle. With jewelry they always cast the spells while the metal is soft, pliant and easily crafted, letting the magic settle as the iron or silver hardens.

It’s a difficult skill to master, but Natsu prides himself in how much he’s managed to accomplish at such a young age, even surpassing his father in skill some time ago. Igneel has always been one of the best, working with the metal for over twenty years at this point, but he also taught Natsu everything he knew before eventually retiring, handing over his shop to Natsu and Gajeel, though he often comes by to oversee their word, still a master in his own right.

Natsu trusts Igneel’s judgment more than he trusts his own at times, always relying on his father’s second opinion.

Shaking his head, Natsu settles his palm atop the curved blade, feeling it crackle with heat beneath his touch, warm but not scalding like it would be without his magic. Leaning over the iron, Natsu bends at the waist until he’s nearly kissing it. The heat fans across his face, but his piercings keep the fire from burning him, one in his lower lip and four in his left ear, three in his right.

The flames lick at his skin, and Natsu takes a deep breath before murmuring an enchantment, smoothing his palm along the blade, fire dancing beneath his fingers. The blade glows for a moment, a red haze surrounding the iron before fading just as suddenly as it was there, seeping deep into the metal.

He grins as he pulls away, fingers skimming across the metal one last time before he leaves it completely. Natsu glances over his work with a critical eye, humming to himself as he looks for any imperfections in the metal, pleased when he sees none.

Natsu finishes quickly, leaving the sword to cool and stepping aside. He finally notices the heat clinging to him, sweat sticking to his skin and rolling down his back. Cringing at the feeling, Natsu grabs at the old rag he keeps at his work station, swiping it up with a curse and wiping it across his brow to remove the sweat dripping into his eyes. He runs it along the side of his neck, stilling briefly when it comes in contact with the pale, raised scar on his throat.

He lets his hand linger, tracing the silver scar with a frown. It’s only a few years old, still relatively new to him, a brand he’s carried ever since their first battle with the Bone Witches. Sneering, Natsu swipes across the damaged skin, growling to himself as he thinks about that day. He was careless and it cost him. He won’t make that mistake again.

She caught him from behind, fast and silent as she lunged for him. He didn’t have a moment to think or move as she closed in on him, lashing out with her weapon made of bone. It caught him across the neck, ripping open the side of his throat. Natsu’s lucky to have lived that day, her blade just missing the artery on his neck, though she drew blood.

He made sure to return the favor, striking for her neck when she leaned in close to him, checking to see if he was dead. She was faster than him, Natsu only able to knick her, barely drawing a thin line of blood before she was dancing away, disappearing into the battle. He would have followed, tracked her down and forced her into a fair fight, but something stopped him.

Natsu glances down at the spare knife he keeps at his hip, hand drifting down to trace the smooth, carved pendant hanging off the hilt: bone. He doesn’t know why he kept it. He should have just let it be, left it laying on the ground, but something told him to take it, to keep it. Something about it makes him feel safe, somehow. He doesn’t understand it, and he doesn’t think he wants to. The bones have always made him nervous, Natsu knowing that the spirits of the dead cling to them.

It’s unnerving, and not something he likes to dwell upon.

Natsu drops the pendant back in its place, shaking his head. It’s not worth thinking about. Silently, he shoves the thoughts away, sighing through his nose and wiping another line of sweat from his chest, not liking the feeling of it sticking to him. Natsu hums under his breath, glancing around at his work for the day, pleased to see several orders completed, more than he was hoping to finish at that.

He tenses suddenly, feeling someone come up behind him, only relaxing when he recognizes the familiar presence.

“You’ve been busy,” his cousin comments, giving a low whistle as he steps into the room, glancing at the rows of weapons lining the walls. Gajeel ambles over to a row of axes, reaching out slowly and dragging a finger along the flat of the blade. He raises an impressed brow, leaning in to inspect the filigree along the edge, delicate with its thin lines, but holding a raw power as well. Gajeel nods, seemingly awed, and glances back at Natsu over his shoulder, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Natsu grins, peering into the next room over, unsurprised to see the empty walls, nothing more than a handful of unimpressive knives resting in one corner, no less than five of them. “And you haven’t,” Natsu jokes in return, snorting. He isn’t surprised, Gajeel hasn’t been in his workroom for the last three days. His requests have been piling up, and Natsu thinks that if he isn’t careful, he’s going to lose several customers very soon.

As much as Natsu loves his cousin, he isn’t above taking his customers. Gajeel may be the better craftsman, if only by a hair, but Natsu has the far better reputation for being on time. Gajeel’s been too busy chasing around girls all week to get any of his work done. A pity, really, but Natsu can’t say it isn’t amusing.

Gajeel shoots him a nasty look, whirling on his heel to lock eyes with Natsu. His gaze narrows, Gajeel crossing his arms over his chest defensively, unpleased with all the teasing. “I’ve been busy,” he defends himself, practically hissing, and Natsu has to bite back his laughter, knowing how temperamental Gajeel can be.

“Yes,” Natsu agrees dryly, turning back to the blade he was working on, “chasing Levy must be very time consuming.” He allows himself to laugh, hearing Gajeel grumble something nasty behind him. Any other day Natsu might have gotten mad over Gajeel insulting him, but he’s in a surprisingly good mood, given how long he’s been awake.

Behind them, someone clears their through, causing Natsu and Gajeel to tense upon recognition.

“Yes,” an equally dry voice agrees with Natsu, their tone disapproving. Natsu glances to the side, seeing his cousin cringe slightly. “Gajeel, running after the McGarden girl must be very difficult.” Gajeel has the decency to flush as he turns around staring guiltily at his feet. Natsu does the same, staring up into the smiling face of his father. Igneel quirks a brow at the two of them, glancing into Gajeel work space. “Considering how little work you’ve done this week, I’d imagine she’s quite the catch.”

Gajeel blanches, but doesn’t argue, and Igneel laughs, throwing his head back as he crosses his arms. The golden bands around his upper arms glint in the light from Natsu’s fire, and Igneel’s green eyes go bright when he sees what Natsu has been working on all morning. He reaches out, patting Natsu on the shoulder before turning to cuff Gajeel, gently reprimanding him for ignoring his work.

“Igneel,” Gajeel greets, pouting slightly.

Natsu snickers at his cousin. “Hey, Dad,” he replies, grinning up at him.

Igneel’s smile slips nearly as soon as it appears, a darkness cutting across his eyes, exhaustion clouding his features. Natsu and Gajeel exchange a look, confused, and Igneel sighs when he sees the silent question in their eyes. He takes a step forward, towering over them both, and dips his chin to whisper in their ears, a low growl to his words. “Acnologia called a meeting,” he warns them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders and squeezing.

Natsu scoffs, shaking his head. “A war council,” he corrects, spitting the words. They leave a bad taste on his tongue, Natsu’s nose wrinkling as he thinks about it. While their meetings were once simply that, they’ve become something far darker. Acnologia took control not three years ago, forcing their former leader Makarov to either step down or die in combat, the two men disagreeing heavily on what to do with the Bone Witches coming from the north.

Natsu has no love for the witches himself, but Acnologia speaks of what would have been considered war crimes years ago, treating them as less than human. He doesn’t trust the Bone Witches, but disagrees with Acnologia’s methods, the man relying on nothing but cruelty to drive them out. Natsu will never understand senseless slaughter. He’ll give them a war, if it comes to that, but he refuses to slip into their homes at night and cut their throats while they sleep.

There’s no honor in killing children.

Gajeel elbows him in the ribs, gaining his attention, and Natsu’s head snaps up, his gaze locking on Igneel’s as his father squeezes his shoulder. “He wants to see everyone immediately,” Igneel tells them lowly, a hint mischief in his gaze as he rolls his eyes, Igneel holding no fondness for their clan leader.

The position was meant to be Igneel’s once. Makarov was grooming him to be his successor, set to hand down his position to Igneel come the full moon in the midst of summer near three years back. Acnologia took the position first, demanding it while Igneel was off scouting in the east.

Igneel could have demanded a trial by combat, denouncing Acnologia and claiming the title of leader for himself, though he didn’t dare. Acnologia has always been cruel, and Igneel could never be sure what the man would do to his children if he lost.

Wendy was only thirteen at the time, too young to defend herself from someone of Acnologia’s skill.

“But,” Igneel continues before either of them can speak, giving them both a little wink, “I don’t think he’ll mind if you two are already busy.” It’s a joke more than anything, Igneel sending Gajeel a pointed look, jerking his head towards his nephews workspace. Gajeel flushes slightly, sending Igneel a sour look, but eventually sighs and heads off to continue his work from earlier in the week.

Igneel squeezes his shoulder once in a silent goodbye before disappearing, and Natsu watches him leave for a moment before glancing towards the Wilder Woods in the north, frowning slightly as he stares across the village at the dark forest.

Natsu grabs his scarf before setting off.

Fallen branches crackle beneath her boots as she creeps through the trees, following the wolf spirit as it weaves through the tall grass, disappearing from her sight for a moment before racing back to her, yipping happily. Lucy smiles down at the cub, though her nerves begin to prickle every time he makes a noise, aware that she is not the only thing in this forest, and certainly not the most dangerous.

She hushes him softly, crouching down to tickle beneath his chin and let his wet tongue lap at her cheek. He whines softly, seeming to understand her hesitance to go further into the woods. Lucy's already lost track of how long she's been walking, unsure if she's strayed outside the boundaries of her own territory.

Most of their Spiritwalkers have picked their own land clean of bones, finding all they could in the surrounding forest. Her wolves were a lucky find, near a stream on the very edge of their lands. It was a pair of them, strewn across the bank, bodies still warm and sticky with blood, their pelts missing and their bodies half-eaten. Lucy didn't stay there long, just enough to pick a bone from each of them before running back the way she came, aware that the Skinwalkers could still be close, never satisfied with their first steal.

Lucy spent days carving the bones into pieces for her hair, etching the symbol of her clan onto each of the bones and decorating them with paint. They could never be considered the nicest of her carvings, done when Lucy was barely sixteen, her craft still sloppy.

Neither of the wolves appeared to mind her poor craft, simply happy to run again, no longer bound to their bones beside the stream, left on the bank to rot and sink back into the soil. While she would never call the spirits tame, there is something special about them.

Sharsa and Fen have been beside her for several years now, one of Lucy's more common summons. They come when she alls most days, others when she does not, and though they are not nearly as cuddly as the cub she found, Lucy finds herself to have a kind of mutual respect with them. They recognize her strength and power, accepting her for it, but she thinks they also fear her.

Most spirits with violent deaths always do.

A branch snaps off to her right, and Lucy jerks around hand going to her knife, but it is only Fen, the black wolf trotting through the trees higher up on the hill, alert and watching for the Walkers. Sharsa is farther ahead, sniffing at a tree, her muddled, grey coat hiding her among the forest. The cub glances at Fen, tail wagging, and darts from her side without a second glance, running over to inspect the older spirit. She watches him bob through the grass, keeping a watchful eye on him until he reaches Fen's side.

She knows her spirits would never abandon each other.

Lucy watches the cub for a moment more musing over a name for him. She has names for all of her spirits, believing that the names give them a purpose, a reason not to wander and become lost in the forest. While their bones are bound to her, Lucy always allows them to wander for a time, give them a choice between walking beside her or returning to where they lie, bodies slowly being consumed by the worms and buzzards, flowers growing from their ribs and the roots of trees winding around their bones.

Sometimes she thinks about her own bones, wondering where they might end up, and if anyone would ever call upon her after death. She wonders if they might be thrown onto the grass to be found by some wanderer, her body rotting slowly, left in the fields to freeze at night and to thaw again during the day, the sun and frost not biting at her flesh as it once would.

She wonders if she might be there so long that she becomes a part of the land, flowers scattered across her empty chest cavity until she sinks beneath the earth.

Sighing, she continues onward, keeping an eye on her wolves as they run through the forest, barely making a sound that she can hear. Lucy wonders if the Skinwalkers can hear them, if they can smell her spirits or not. The legends never say, and those who come across them rarely come out from the woods.

When they lived in the north it was easier. They took less, stole less because the ice slowed the rotting of their flesh, and kept the carcasses they did steal fresher for longer. As sick as it seemed, it was a better life than they live now, war wagged against them in the south, myth and monster coming for them from all around. She hardly knows what to do anymore. They used to ward off the flesh stealers, but there are simply too many now, an entire colony fallowing them from the north.

They thought running would save them, but now they have nowhere else to go.

Off to her right Fen suddenly growls, ears pinned back as he crouches low to the ground. The cub follows him, whining softly, and Sharsa appears at her side, amber eyes locking with Lucy's briefly. The wolf urges her to stand, and Lucy rises from her crouch, casting a wary glance towards her spirits standing atop the hill.

She purses her lips, but follows after them, padding across the forest floor silently as she races up the crest of the hill, something urging her to look. The wolves are behaving oddly, acting more curious than afraid, something they would certainly be if they came across a Skinwalker.

Lucy knows her wolves, and they would not lead her astray like this.

Lucy breaches the crest, peering through a scattering of branches and leaves to look down into the valley below, a small lake resting on the other side. Her eyes snap open wide as she sees something unexpected.

Natsu's fingers skim the surface of the water gently, watching ripples form and then disappear as they drift farther away. His green eyes flick across the lake, something moving out of the corner of his eye, but Natsu finds nothing, only trees and the deep blue of the lake. Wetting his lips, Natsu casts a quick, wary glance around him, lips pressed into a thin line as he tenses.

He's never been quite so deep into the woods before, always turning back before he passed the Sola tree close to the border. Igneel always told them not to venture too deep into the forest, knowing it's where the Bone Witches go. The darkness always scared him as a child, but he's no longer young, always hiding behind Igneel. When the Bone Witches claimed the territory to the north of the Summerlands, miles off, but close enough for the Dragonborne to be wary, people say they brought something dark with them, something evil that lurks in the woods.

A myth, he's been told, nothing more than a silly legend meant to keep children from running off. They think their monsters will become the Dragonborne's, think their legends with come to swallow them all whole. He sneers at the thought, knowing the truth. The Bone Witches ran from the north because of the cold, nothing else. They came to the Summerlands on their own will, not because of some face stealing monsters.

He takes a deep breath, sighing to himself, and skims the lake's surface once again, dragging a lazy finger through the water. The sunlight glints off the blade strapped to his right arm, chipped and worn in places, many years old. He should have been taking better care of it, but Natsu never was careful with anything. The blade has saved his life more than once, and that was enough for Natsu.

Absentmindedly, he plays with the beads and feathers hanging from the lowest strap, debating if he should remove it for now, the air around him peaceful and quiet. Natsu decides against it, tugging at his scarf, a soft material made from old dragon scales, before reaching for his left wrist, straightening his bracer and letting his fingers run along the teeth sewn into the leather, counting each of them as he goes.

Dragon teeth have always been important to his clan, though the beasts no longer walk among them. The fangs are sewn into clothes, added to weapons, and are popular accessories in jewelry, making necklaces and earrings. They're also popular in betrothal necklaces, the teeth or bones of dragons being carved and paired with precious gems.

He's never made one himself, but Grandine still wears the one Igneel gave her over twenty years ago, never taking it off that Natsu's known. Most are fiercely defensive of the carvings, treasuring them more than most things.

A snarling sound comes from off to his left, and Natsu freezes, tensing as his gaze snaps around. His breath catches in his throat, eyes widening when he sees a large, black wolf snarling at him from the rocks bank, lips curved back over its teeth, blue eyes ghostly as it glares at him, teeth flashing.

There's something wrong with it though, Natsu notices. It looks strange, almost faded at the edges, not all there. Frowning, Natsu shifts, raising his arm defensively as he readies himself for an attack. The wolf snaps and snarls, taking a step closer, and Natsu hears another growl coming from his other side, his stomach twisting as he realizes they have him surrounded.

He swears under his breath, lips curling back over his teeth, and considers making a run for it. His legs tense, Natsu ready to spring upwards in only a moment.

Something sharp is pressed to the side of his throat suddenly, and Natsu stills, his eyes widening when he feels the flat of a blade slide against his skin, almost teasing. Someone moves behind him, human, and he winces as he realizes what's happened. He should have been able to tell by the wolves eyes, how faded them seem at the edges, as if they're becoming dust. Of the his left the wolf snarls, teeth bared and dripping with saliva, and he flinches back as it takes a step forward, moving right into the blade pressed to his neck.

The wolves bark, closing in, and someone murmurs a quiet word to them, calling them off. The black one cocks its ears in her direction, but stops growling almost immediately, dropping back to sit on its hunches, still staring with its glowing eyes. "You should not be here," a familiar voice whispers behind him, almost teasing, and Natsu feels bare skin brush against his back, the knife pressing against him firmly, daring him to cross her.

"Bone Witch," he hisses back, a bite to his words. She snorts, the knife pricking at his skin, though she's careful not to draw blood. Natsu growls in annoyance, angry with himself for not hearing her coming. She always has had a way of sneaking up on him, something that bothers him to no end. It isn't the first time she's crept up behind him, and he knows it certainly won't be the last.

She laughs, hardly taking offense to his mocking tone, and nudges him with her foot, urging him to stand. Natsu does so slowly, aware that she could kill him before he could lift his arm in defense. The wolves are still watching him as well, and Natsu knows better than to think they wouldn't get to him first. "And we call you monsters," she breathes against his ear, making him shiver.

Natsu snorts, hiding a smirk, and casts a lazy look in her direction, something like mischief dancing in her gaze, both of them knowing she has the upper hand. "What do you know of monsters?" he asks her, a low rumble to his words, but none of the bite from earlier, his eyes tracing the curve of her jaw with interest.

She merely grins.

His focus shifts, gaze sliding along her weapon appraisingly, though he tries to hide it. "Dragon bone," he muses, nothing short of impressed with its craftsmanship. The Bone Witches are skilled in their own right, he's come to notice with time. Though their metalwork is nothing compared to the Dragonborne, their skill with carving bone is something to marvel at. "Did you carve it yourself?"

Admiration pools in his gut as he eyes the knife pressed tight to his skin. While they may have bad blood between them, Natsu would never deny his respect for her, both as a warrior and

Natsu's gaze locks with her familiar golden eyes, her lips twisted into a pretty smile as she holds the knife to his throat. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders, tickling at her skin, and Natsu can't help but take in the sight of her. She's always been beautiful. It was something he couldn't help but notice, even as she slit open the side of his neck.

His eyes slip lower on her frame, greedily taking in the sight of her bare skin before snapping back up, realizing he shouldn't be looking while she has a knife pressed to his neck with every intention of using it. Her skills are nothing to scoff at either. He underestimated her once and it nearly cost him his life. It's a mistake he won't make a second time.

"You like it?" she asks him, leaning the bone slightly away from his skin, allowing him to relax for only a moment as she suddenly twists it in her hands, the sharp edge brushing against his skin. She grins, eyes sparking with humor and he knows she's only toying with him. "You may be the better crafter," she tells him, slowly lowering the blade and stepping in close enough to whisper in his ear, "but we have our ways."

His throat bobs with a swallow, and Natsu tenses. She jerks back a moment later, aware that while she might not be looking for a fight, it doesn't mean he isn't. Natsu watches her warily as she steps away from him, lowering her dragon bone knife to her side. "Do not be afraid," she tells him, lips pulled into a small smile. "There is no honor in your death outside of battle," she murmurs.

"And why should I believe that?" he questions, gaze flicking from her eyes to her knife, recalling the feel of it ripping through his skin. "We've fought before, Lucy," Natsu reminds her, though not unkindly.

She hums in agreement, head tilting to one side as her gaze slips down to his neck, eyeing his skin behind his scarf. "Your scar healed nicely," she informs him. He sneers at her, but Lucy merely grins as she shoved her blade into the dirt, letting it sink into the wet soil before releasing it. She stares for a long moment, almost imploring him to do the same.

He raises a brow as she gestures with her empty hands, showing him she's unarmed. "And what's to stop me from killing you?" he hisses, practically snarling at her. Hesitating for only a moment, Natsu sighs and shakes his head, silently cursing himself. His hand snaps to the blade on his arm, Natsu tugging at the leather straps viciously, hearing them unbuckle.

"Honor among thieves," Lucy tells him, watching with interest as his weapon falls to the ground at his feet, clanking against the rocks loudly.

The wolves calm as soon as he's unarmed, turning away from him in sudden disinterest. Natsu eyes them, frowning, and hears a quiet yip come from near his feet. His eyes snap down, Natsu tensing, but he stills when he sees the wolf cub batting at the buckles on his boots. He blinks at it for a moment, confused, and frowns when he hears Lucy's quiet laughter.

"Plue, what are you doing?" she asks the cub, shaking her head when it flops onto its back, tail wagging and paws batting at his shoes. The wolf ignores her, leaning in to chew at the leather and growl playfully. Natsu snorts, hiding a smile as she chides the cub, quirking a brow at the ridiculous name.

"Plue?" he repeats, swallowing down a laugh when she sends him a nasty look, offense flashing in her eyes. He's not trying to be rude, really, it's surprising, given most of the names she chooses.

Lucy frowns at him, eyes narrowing just the slightest. "Yes, Plue." She crosses her, shifting her weight onto her right hip, sending him a challenging look. "Is there something wrong with that?" Her gaze goes cold, almost daring, and Natsu finds himself grinning back at her.

"No," he admits, shrugging slightly gaze flicking between her and the wolf cub. "I just thought your ability to name things was better than that." Lucy frowns, but he continues before she can speak. "Sharsa is the name of a goddess," he notes, recalling her saying the name earlier, though he can't be sure which wolf is which. "The controller of winds. And Fen was one of two guardians of Asha, the primordial night." She raises a brow, appraising him, but changes the subject quickly.

"You are awfully deep in the woods," she murmurs, leaving her weapon in the dirt as she steps towards him. Natsu tenses, waiting for her to lunge for him, but Lucy merely grins, more wolf than sheep. She circles him slowly, coming around behind him, and his head snaps around to look at her.

He snorts, shifting on his feet when her hair tickles his back, and his gaze slips lower than it should, tracing across the lines painted across her bare torso. There are four on each side wrapping around her ribs, looking more like fingers come to cradle her than war paint. "I could say the same for you," he whispers back, softer than he intends to, and he hates himself for that.

She comes back around to stand in front of him and Natsu stares at the small, silver scar on her neck, little more than sliver. Not for the first time he thinks about giving that necklace back to her, but he doesn't dare act upon those thoughts. He shouldn't care to begin with, but he also doubts she would take it from him, figuring it a trick.

Natsu wouldn't blame her for that.

"What brings a blacksmith so far out?" Lucy regards him coldly for a moment, then drops into a crouch, calling out to the wolf cub still gnawing at his leather boots. Lucy's lips twitch at the edges, but she manages to smother her grin. The cub looks up when she calls him, tail wagging as he bounds back over to her, allowing Lucy to scoop him up in an embrace.

Something in his chest twists sickly when he realizes that cub must have died somewhere in these woods.

Natsu sneers at her, not missing the flash of fear in her eyes. "These aren't your woods, Witch," he hisses. The cub whines, curling tight against Lucy, and the larger wolves both shift, baring their teeth and daring him to try something.

"You should not be here," she repeats her first words to him, yanking her knife from the dirt and taking a step closer to him. Natsu stills, but feels no animosity coming from her, only raw fear that creeps from her voice into his bones, rattling him to his core.

He opens his mouth to snap at her, but something makes him stop. There's an honesty in her gaze, something that he simply can't ignore, and though he wants to laugh and mock her for her fears, all he can manage is a small, incredulous, "because of your myths?" It doesn't come out nearly as strong or mocking as he intended, but Lucy winces all the same.

"Natsu, please," she whispers, saying his name for the first time. Something about it makes him pause, his eyes locking with hers as she comes to rest just in front of him, so close he taste her skin if he wanted to. Her wolves begin to whine, tails tucking between their legs, and Natsu swallows, green eyes locking with hers. "You cannot be here," she whispers, speaking faster now. "It is not—"

A loud, shrill sound pierces the air, cutting Lucy off, and she pales, horror creeping across her features. The wolves yelp, leaping to their feet, and trot towards the Bone Witch, tucking themselves close beside her and crying, trembling. Natsu's hair stands on end as a second cry joins the first, then a third and a forth seconds later. He frowns, and Lucy makes a low sound, raising her knife defensively as she whirls around, eyes scanning the trees as the cries rise up around them, growing louder—closer.

For a moment he thinks it's simply an elk, knowing them to walk the forests from time to time, but something in his gut tells him that's wrong. The wolves lower themselves to the ground, whimpering, and he's never known spirits to fear the living. Lucy as well seems terrified, and he doubts that something like an elk would scare her so badly.

More than that, something about the sound is off, too high pitched, held for too long, and inhuman. It sounds monstrous, something not right about it, and Natsu is about to ask Lucy what it is when her fingers suddenly curl through his, jerking him forward.

Natsu starts to ask what's wrong, confused, but Lucy cuts him off, hissing at him that they need to leave and dragging him forward by the hand. He lets her pull him along, the sound unnerving him, his chest constricting as it grows louder, coming at them from all sides.

The wolves suddenly bolt into the woods, Lucy chasing after them, yanking him along with her. Natsu glances back at the lake over his shoulder, realizing he's left his blade, but he doesn't dare stop, not knowing what's happening, but something urging him to keep running.

Something catches his eyes from across the lake as they disappear into the trees, a pair of large, silver eyes staring back at him, empty and glowing through the trees. His breath catches, Natsu unable to look away from them, and stumbles, Lucy yanking him back upright without pause. Natsu's gaze snaps back to the tree line, but the eyes are gone, nothing but shadows pooling beneath the trees.

He doesn't know how long they run, the wolves at their heels and Lucy guiding him through the trees, weaving between them easily. He manages to keep pace with her, grip tightening on her fingers when that same shrill, eerie cry starts up again, ringing through his ears and making something inside him twist sickly.

The forest goes quiet suddenly, no sound but their heavy breathing and branches snapping beneath their feet, unnerving him. Far off, something cracks, different from the sound of branches, sharper, like bone, and an icy hand wraps around his heart, squeezing and stealing his breath.

Natsu doesn't know how long they've been running, only that the sky suddenly goes dark, clouding over as a low rumble tears through the air, thunder in the distance. Lucy murmurs something he can't hear over the sounds of rain and the shrill sound that seems unending, and stops suddenly, shoving him down into a thicket, bushes of thorns tearing at his skin. He hisses, wincing as his head hits the ground, but doesn't have a moment to think before Lucy's dropping down beside him, her body half covering him as she hides within the brambles.

He inhales sharply, feeling her soft curves blanket his torso, Lucy's legs on either side of him, her face hovering over his, hair falling around them like a curtain. Natsu flounders for a moment, unsure where to put his hands, but finally settles them on her hips, yanking her down against them despite thinking better of it. Her bare skin burns against him, Natsu feeling her everywhere, not a hint of space between them, and it causes his mouth to go dry.

The wolves settle in around them, Plue curling beside Lucy's thigh and the larger wolves tucking themselves into the brambles, uncaring as the thorns rip at their hair.

"Lucy," he gasps, choking slightly as he feels her breath fan across his throat, her nose nearly touching his. "What's—" She hushes him before he can ask what she's doing, breath mingling with his, and Natsu's about to snap back at her when he hears a crackling sound from nearby.

He goes still, dragging Lucy down tighter against him, and she does her best to keep Plue quiet, stroking his head as he whimpers. Natsu's fingers bite into her hips, sure to leave bruises, and he momentarily feels a flash of guilt, not meaning to hurt her. His grip loosens, hands sliding higher on her waist, his head falling to the side as he peers through the tangled mess of thorns, barely able to see anything.

A snapping sound splits through the air, followed by a short cry from whatever's appeared to follow them. Natsu grits his teeth, trying to see through the slight drizzle pouring down around them, making the forest dark and hazy. One of his arms loops around Lucy's back, tugging her against him, and he stills as he sees something moving through the trees, too far away for him to make it out.

Squinting, he leans in closer to the thorns, trying to get a better look.

Far off, the tree branches move. No, not the branches, he realizes a moment later, antlers. He frowns, thinking they truly have run from an elk, but than the creature shifts, and Natsu realizes it's too tall and hunched unnaturally, an odd curve to its spine. His breath comes out shaky, and though he can't get a good look at the animal, he knows something's wrong. It stands on two legs, though its front limbs drag on the ground, a putrid smell curling through the air, like something rotten.

It turns towards them hiding in the bramble, and Lucy makes a soft sound in the back of her throat. The creature's eyes flash silver in the darkness, antlers shaking above its skull as it rocks back and forth. Natsu pulls Lucy tighter against him, fingers fisting in her hair, and then the creature tilts its head back and bellows, that same, piercing cry stealing his breath.

Others take up the call, several dozen from somewhere farther off, and Natsu doesn't know how much times passes before they stop, the creature ambling away from them slowly, creeping back into the trees.

What must be hours later, Lucy finally crawls away from him, shifting until her back is pressed against the side of her black wolf, the animal curling around her protectively. Plue crawls into her lap, and the larger grey wolf settles by her legs. Natsu follows her, not daring to speak louder than a whisper. His thigh presses to hers, Lucy glancing up at him, face ashen and pupils blown wide.

"What was that?" he breathes against her ear, aware that his hands are shaking. He glances through the bramble, squinting to see if it's come back, but sees nothing, only the trees and rain. Natsu's hand settles against the spare knife at his side, playing with the hilt as he waits for Lucy to regain her bearings, the woman seemingly lost in thought.

Eventually she laughs, soft and bitter, and shoots him a look that cuts through his skin, making him feel much smaller than he is. "Our myths," she hisses at him, mocking his words from earlier. She glares at him for a moment longer, then sighs, pulling her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. "We didn't choose to come to the Summerlands," she murmurs, Natsu almost missing her words, "we were chased from the north…" Lucy trails off, wincing, and for a moment he doesn't recognize her as the warrior that nearly took off his head. "They've been hunting us for generations."

He swallows, throat constricting with sudden understanding, and he winces as he thinks of Acnologia's plans, of the terrible things he's been rallying for. He shoves the thoughts back, leaning into Lucy until her side is pressed against his, letting her leech some of his warmth, but needing the contact himself, unable to process what it is he saw. "What are they?"

"Monsters," she whispers, voice cracking, and Natsu stares down at the side of her face, watching her stumble to find the right words, her lips trembling. "Face Stealers," Lucy tells him, turning to face him directly, wincing. "They have many names." She cringes with each one she says, and Natsu remembers that names have a power to them, as if speaking them might draw them in.

They drift into silence for several minutes, Lucy shivering beside him, her thin top doing little to keep away the chill of the rain, and her scaled skirt is drenched, clinging to her hips and sticking to her thighs.

"It sounded like elk," he tells her, not knowing what else to say. He feels foolish for speaking his thoughts, but it drags a very small smile from Lucy, and his chest lightens momentarily, until a darkness clouds her features, Lucy curling in on herself.

She nods, wetting her lips. "But you know it wasn't," she states, barely loud enough for him to hear her. Her fingers drum against her thigh, painted nails looking like blood against her milky skin.

"They take the form of a man," she continues, frowning across the thicket, looking through the bramble similar to him. "But… not a man," she corrects herself, shaking her head and sighing. "They're taller," she notes, "covered in hair, and having the face of an elk, the muzzle of a wolf." Her eyes squeeze shut, her fingers digging into her skin until she leaves little crescent shaped marks in her wake. "A punishment from the Gods for consuming human flesh," she finishes, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Cannibals," he spits, skin crawling as he thinks about it. The Dragonborne have their own stories about those who eat flesh, but never have the monsters of legends been brought to life.

Lucy nods, playing with Plue's ears, the wolf seeming even more faint now than before, as if Natsu could reach straight through him. "Because of their hunger," she continues softly, "their own flesh begins to rot, clinging to their corpses." He flinches, nose wrinkling in disgust, but Lucy doesn't stop there. "They steal more flesh to keep their form. Stripping the skin from anything that wonders into the woods." Her larger wolves both whimper, and Natsu tries not to imagine how Lucy found their bones. "They hide in the trees, afraid of the light."

Natsu doesn't know how to respond, so he stays quiet, sitting with Lucy until the rain clears, the sun spilling through the trees once again. Still, he doesn't move, wanting to say something, but unable to find the right words.

Lucy beats him to it.

"We never wanted a war," she murmurs, sighing to herself as she leans back against the spirit behind her. It whines, nosing at her hand, but she doesn't appear to notice, gaze unfocused as she stares through the brambles, watching, waiting.