Hello! This is Chapter 2 of a Kiwren (Kiran/Wren) story I wrote a while back, although you can find it in their tag if you want to read part one! For anyone who is new, Kiran is @lazyvoyagerââs fan kid of Illain and Muriel, and Wren is the adopted kid of my Celeste and Julian.
Summary: After seeing her crush with someone else, Wren goes to drink her sorrows away at the Rowdy Raven...after hatching a plot to leave Vesuvia, fate has other plans, and she is rescued just in time to throw up on her rescuer and pass out. xD
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   Wren stood in the middle of a beautiful meadow. Dappled sunlight shone through the cherry blossom trees, petals gently floating down to the ground and forming a pillowy, light-pink carpet under her feet. She was barefoot--oh, no, she was actually wearing extremely cute slippers, with ribbons that tied up the length of her calves, meeting with the frothy hem of her skirt. It was a dress she had been toying with, beautifully tailored, and now she was wearing it here--wherever here was--and the scene was absolutely perfect. She reached for her braid, only to realize her hair was already loose and in gorgeous honey-amber waves, and had grown a foot or two as well, adorned with a cherry-blossom crown at the top.
   Everything was adorable and elegant, and the warm glow she felt wasnât only from the sun, especially when she glanced across the field and saw the love of her life standing there. He was tall and svelte; that scar across his face adding such character; the dark lines of the tattoo on his chest just peeking out from underneath a billowing white linen shirt. The sight of it had Wren feeling weak in the knees; her stomach trembled, her heart fluttered.
   Giddy, she began to run through the petals towards him, in what felt like slow-motion...or, maybe she was running in slow motion? Weird...and he turned to look at her fully, a smile spreading across his face, his arms opening wide in preparation for her. Any confusion she felt was forgotten.Â
   And then there was the oddest sensation of falling. A sudden drop. Everything around her darkened to the black of deadest night. She was barely able to catch herself...except, wait, she hadnât caught herself at all. She was in a firm grip, surrounded by muscle. Her stomach pitched; this time uncomfortably. Wrenâs eyes wildly rolled, trying to find where he had gone...only to see him, walking away, his arm around a beautiful woman with curves everywhere and ever-expanding breastsâŚ
   With a jolt, Wren sat up in bed, sweat covering her face and neck, what was left in her stomach threatening to come up. With a heroic amount of effort, she choked it back down, although it was touch-and-go for a few seconds. When at last she could open her eyes without the room spinning, it was with no small amount of consternation.
   While she was pretty sure she was no longer dreaming, this was not the room she remembered. It wasnât her room, and, she was fairly certain, it wasnât ANY room in her house. She wasnât even sure it was a room, if she was being honest. Was that...a tree root? Was this house built into a tree? Was that sanitary? Didnât bugs live in trees? Squirrels? Birds?Â
   Were there birds in this house??
   Her mind whirled, and she had to press her hand to her mouth again and stop all thought in order not to be sick. The strange musty smell surrounding her didnât help, and when she looked down at the blanket that had pooled around her waist, she realized it was some sort of pelt.Â
   Opening one eye, she tried again to take stock of where she was, and to remember what had happened. Why couldnât she remember? What did she do last night??
   And then the last part of the dream flashed before her eyes in stark relief.Â
   Oh. Thatâs right. That part...wasnât a dream. Well, the enormous breasts part might have been, but the rest wasnât. Her chest seized in pain before she could stop herself from thinking about it. She didnât want to think about it, and luckily for her, there were other pressing matters to focus on. Wren could recall walking through town, dwelling on her misery, and thenâŚ
   Yes, that was where it had all gone south, so to speak. She had a vague recollection of leaving, and something about her sketchbook�
   Ugh. Her mouth was like cotton, every part of her face felt puffy and blotchy from yesterdayâs crying, and she desperately wanted to curl under a blanket that wasnât made from animals and pretend not to exist for at least a day. Maybe a couple months. If she could, she would hibernate this whole heartache away. But, it seemed, that was never going to be her luck, so instead, she had to figure out what to do next.
   Gingerly, Wren threw back the rest of the hide with her forefinger and thumb, revealing with relief that she was still wearing everything from the day before...with a few new, dubious stains. She added fresh clothes and a shower to the list of things she would have killed for right about then. Instead, she got her feet planted on the roughly-hewn wooden floor, just about ready to try standingâŚ
   When the door of the hut? room? crashed open to reveal one of the biggest men sheâd ever seen.
   Reflexively, she grabbed the hide again, yanking it up to her chin to cover herself despite being fully clothed. The stranger didnât seem to notice as he looked towards her, his face a mess of freckles and beaming smile in dark, sun-tanned skin. The visage looked vaguely familiar, but the pounding of her heart stopped Wrenâs mind from being able to place it.Â
   âYouâre awake!â he said, voice booming cheerfully around the homely abode. It was not as deep as she might have expected from someone so...well...built. âI wasnât sure what we were going to do with you if you didnât wake up, honestly.â
   That statement had the hairs on Wrenâs neck bristling, and instead of staring at this newcomer, she remembered that all else aside, she was in a dangerous situation. A woman, alone with an extremely burly man, in a strange place, unsure of what was happening.Â
   Well, she wasnât going to go down without a fight, that was for sure.
   She screamed, and the sound seemed to have the desired effect--the stranger froze, and it gave her enough time to scramble up, her entire attention only on reaching the door heâd left open in his wake. She could see the outside through it--if she got there, she was free.
   âWait!â The manâs face was creased in confusion, and his eyebrows rose almost comically. In fact, watching the series of expressions was almost interesting--Wren had never seen someone with such an openly expressive face. Every thought seemed to cross its deep-set, rugged expanse.
   Is he simple? Wren thought. She didnât know if that would help or hurt her situation. So far, nothing seemed to have happened to her, but she didnât want to stay any longer than necessary to find out. Glancing to her side, she saw she was next to a low-banked fireplace...and right by her hand was a cast-iron skillet. Grabbing it, she held it out in front of her like a sword.
   To her surprise, the man actually took a step back, his green eyes widening.
   âI donât know whatâs going on here, but Iâm leaving. Donât follow me.âÂ
   Slowly, she crept her way along the floor, her eyes firmly held on the stranger, whose face was now comically torn between concern and confusion.
   âListen, I didnât mean--â
   âNope. Donât say anything.â
   âYou really should just--â
   âYou have the wrong girl, buddy.â
   At last, Wren reached the door he had come in through, and risking a look back at it, saw that it wasnât locked. She brandished the skillet at him once more, then tossed it on a nearby table and swiftly turned, slipping through as quickly as her still-wobbly legs would carry her.
   Outside, bright noon-time sun was filtered through a thick layer of forest vegetation, and Wren realized with a start that she was in the middle of the woods. Her stomach, still in a bad way, tied itself into further knots. She could be almost anywhere, although the Dark Forest seemed the most likely answer. Now, from outside the hut, she could see that it was indeed built into the roots of the nearby trees, and a newer addition looked like it had been added onto the original one-room home haphazardly. Maybe by magic? It honestly did not look architecturally sound.
   Here in the yard there seemed to be a host of various animals roaming, cultivated in a miniature forest farm--chickens pecked the ground around Wrenâs feet, and she had to jump back to avoid one that was aiming for her toes.
   Now even chickens are trying to get me? Could I catch a break for one freaking second?!
   Wren sucked in a deep breath, trying to center herself, her eyes nervously trained on the door. She could vaguely tell which way the sun had risen from, which meant she knew which way Vesuvia was. You didnât learn nothing about wayfinding growing up on a ship, after all. Her house sat beyond the Vesuvian walls to the west of South End, which was the complete opposite of town from the Dark Forest. Great. She was tired before she even started, but with a groan, Wren set off into the woods.
   She hated the woods. They were full of bugs and dirt and rocks and...nature. Honestly, nothing good came out of the woods, of that she was sure. Still, the fresh air was nice for her queasy hangover stomach, and it seemed to jog awake her half-asleep brain at last as the adrenaline faded away. She had time to think about that man, who had seemed vaguely familiar, although she was sure theyâd never met beforeâŚ
   And then something from her dream-that-wasnât-a-dream dawned on her. Falling, and strong arms catching her like a doll from thin air. It certainly could have been him...he looked like he probably snapped tree trunks over his knees for fun. Arms strapped with muscle every which-way. At the time, trapped in a room with him, that had been unsettling, but nowâŚ
   Wren coughed, shaking away the thought. His outfit, on the other hand, was an absolute tragedy. With that build, she thought, there were a few styles she could imagine that would better suit--
   With absolute horror, Wren realized she no longer had possession of her sketches, even as her hands patted her down to be sure. Had they been left behind in South End? Or were they⌠She turned to look back over her shoulder, where the hut had already vanished, but a faint puff of smoke from the chimney still gave away its location.Â
   I canât go back there for my sketchbook. Thatâs crazy. That man could be an axe-murderer you surprised before he had time to murder you.
   But...that book had all of my most recent designs. A month of work, gone. Iâll never remember all the details exactly as they were. I donât want to have to start them from scratch againâŚ
   After a brief mental struggle, Wren finally turned on her heels with a sigh, begrudgingly headed back in the direction she came.
   There was still no sign of anyone when Wren quietly snuck back into the clearing, chewing her thumbnail as she thought about how to proceed. The man hadnât actually done anything to her...maybe if she just...asked him about the sketchbook, he would answer her? It was so crazy, it just might work. So, sucking up her courage and trying to pull her flyaway mane of hair from her face, Wren stomped across the grounds and back to the door of the hut.
   Just as she was wondering whether or not to knock, it swung open, revealing the stranger again. They blinked at each other, unsure who was the more surprised.
   âYou!â he began, obvious surprise in his tone. It was startlingly loud--did he ever just say anything without shouting?
Wren glanced around, wishing she had brought the skillet with her. Instead, she bent down and grabbed the best thing she could find--which happened to be a nearby roosting chicken, who clucked indignantly in her grasp.
   It was probably a poor choice of weapon, she thought, but hoped it might at least stop him from attacking her outright. What she hadnât expected was this tree-trunk of a man to suddenly look so panicked and fretful.
   âWait wait! Just...wait!â
   âYou. I donât know who you are, or what Iâm doing here, but if you donât want this...chicken...harmedâŚâ
   âNo, not Mr. Cluckers!â
   â...â Wren blinked, then shook her head. â...Yes, if you donât want Mr. Cluckers harmed, then listen to me and answer my question. Do you have my sketchbook?!â
   âYour what? Be careful with her, sheâs old!â
   Mr. Cluckers let out another string of cries from under Wrenâs arm.
   âWhy did you name your chicken Mr. Cluckers if itâs a girl chicken??â
   âWe never name them, my dad does!â
   âThatâs not--okay, whatever, that doesnât matter. My sketchbook! Do you have it?â
   The man stood with his arms raised, large hands that looked like they were more callous than skin, and Wren couldnât help being struck by the absurdity of this situation. He was actually, really and truly scared for the chicken, and it was beginning to make her feel bad as he struggled to think around his fear.
   âI...maybe? Was that all those papers you had? Yeah, I have them in the house! I made you breakfast! Can we just...could we talk about this?â
   After a tense moment where Wren looked between the man and Mr. Cluckers, she finally let out a huge sigh, holding the chicken in both hands and tossing it out into the yard, where it flapped its wings and came to an awkward landing amongst its fellows. Visibly, the large stranger relaxed, wiping the sweat off his forehead and running a hand over his short brown hair.
   âFine. Talk.â Wren ground out grumpily.
   He opened his mouth. Instead, an extremely loud grumble practically rattled the leaves on the trees around them, and Wren felt her face flame as she realized the sound had come from her stomach. She closed her eyes and grimaced. Was there a chance that the Dark Forest would swallow her whole? At this point, she wasnât even sure why she was worried about what this man might do to her--her entire life was nothing but a string of misery and embarrassment, anyway.
   When she opened her eyes, to her surprise, he was grinning, and it made him seem more youthful, somehow. In fact, despite his hulking size, she would have almost wagered he wasnât too much older than her--maybe Felixâs age.
   âAre you sure you donât want to come in? I made eggs,â he said, gesturing towards the door and holding it open.
With a flick of her messy braid and a loud âharrumphâ, Wren stomped past him and entered the hut again, avoiding his mirthful eyes.
Well, she was hungry, anyway. A few more minutes couldnât hurt.
