Chapter Four

“I HOPE THE MORNING FARE was to your liking,” Beirach said as we rode along the next day, his gelding and my mare trotting side-by-side on a cart path that showed signs of slowly returning to the forest. “The bread is getting drier by the day lamentably.”

“Apologies for my lack of attention.” I glanced to my left to drink in the new day on his rugged face. His hair gleamed more red than brown in the dappled light. The scar on his chin was surrounded by thick chestnut whiskers, the hair not growing on the deep reddish mark. Would that scar be raised or had it flattened out? How had he come by it? Did his hair feel as thick and soft as it looked? Ugh. Lack of attention was quickly becoming a dire problem for me.

“Think nothing of it. It had been a long day and you are not used to such vigorous activity.”

I nodded in silence, then ripped my eyes from him to try to find comfort in the saddle. My cockstand made that difficult. I let my thoughts drift. A vision of the man at my side laying me down on a mattress stuffed with lilac petals and fine down from swamp tuffet seed pods filled my mind. We were both bare, hard, and grinding into the other.

My gasp pulled his sight from Nin cawing down at us.

“You sleep fitfully most nights. Mayhap you would like me to rub some pink hawthorn salve into your—”

“ No! No, I am…my mind is beset with worry, that is all. Thank you, though.”

He gave me a benignant smile, then returned to humming an old tune while our steeds carried us closer to my homelands. We were now navigating small, less traveled lanes, the tiny villages and farming communities had faded away. Now we saw only trees, their numbers increasing with each day’s journey. In many ways, I was glad to be away from judgmental eyes. Here among the oaks, with Beirach at my side, I felt less the outsider.

Within a twelve day, if the weather held and the horses stayed fit, we would be entering the middle vale of the Verboten range, where the clans of bosk elves lived and worshipped. I prayed that my people would not judge me too harshly for the pale tone my flesh had taken on during my stay in Renedith.

“Would you consider it forward to ask how you came by the touch of Danubia upon your brow?” His voice floated over to me as we rounded a gentle curve where someone had, long ago, erected a road sign. The post was overgrown with climbing vines heavy with red flowers that opened to us as we rode by. The vines reached out to me. I let them dance over my fingertips as we passed, and I smiled at the hum of nature’s energy flowing into me.

“I was a small child when the goddess appeared to me and bid me travel to Renedith to help guide the young babe Aelir Stillcloud as he aged.”

“You are indeed blessed to have been touched by the goddess,” he replied as we pushed along, our pace steady.

“It’s been…difficult at times. City elves dislike the coloration of my skin.”

“Then they are fools to the extreme.” I felt heat race up my throat all the way to the tips of my ears. “In all my years, I have never seen a more lovely sight than that blush coloring your cheeks.”

“I…thank you,” I replied, my heart tripping madly as the vines tried their best to wrap about my fingertips.

“You have a given gift with flora. Did that come to you by the divine touch of our goddess?”

“No,” I replied, letting my hand fall back to the pommel, the reins lying slack in my left fingers. Atriel felt my wishes, our bond growing deeper with each day, and so verbal commands or a touch of my heel to her flanks was rarely needed. “I was born with such ways. My father is a wilder warden and my mother a priestess of Danubia.”

“Ah, so you resemble your mother in magicks and looks, perchance?”

“Mm, yes, I’m much like my mother in many ways. Her powers lie in healing and herbology as well as earth elemental magicks. Many say there is no denying I am the son of Jastra as we are nearly identical in stature, build, and innate powers.”

“Your mother must be a most striking woman,” he offered, looking at me as I gawked openly. Had he just complimented me? “For she has made a son who rivals the beauty of the woods at dawn.”

I felt hot and jittery. “Well…” I wet my lips. Beirach made a sound like he had sat on a red-winged hornet. “I…my mother…yes, she is fair of face. Feminine. I always felt the odd child out as my brothers all resemble my father. Tall, powerful, and extremely masculine. Much like you.” His gaze locked with mine as our horses suddenly stopped. Perhaps Atriel sensed my befuddlement. “I meant…that I… you are stately. Yes, stately. Aged. Reeking of great primal beastly power whereas I am more…my…there is a fine mist in the air. Fog. Yes. Yes, it is fog.” I waved my hand about as my horse looked back at me in confusion.

“I am flattered. Truly. It is not every day that a man is told he is tall and masculine in one breath and then old and stinking in another.”

“Oh no, not old and stinking. Mature and brimming with powers. Yes, no. I am…” I nudged my horse in the sides, praying she would take off and gallop us all the way home, but no, she merely stood next to Methril, staring at me. “There are…fog. Yes, we should ride on before the fog thickens.”

He chuckled before leaning to the side to place a hand on my thigh. “Your mother has done you well, Kenton, for passing on her fair face and slim form. I always found a svelte man to be to my liking.”

I stared. Openly. For several long moments. Flies warming in the sun buzzed about the horses. Beirach met my gaze. Something began to simmer there on that thin trail by the unreadable road sign. My body hummed. His gaze dropped to my mouth. My horse shifted slightly under me. The cool mist touched my overheated cheeks.

“You find me pleasing to look at?” I asked, the words a weak whisper.

“Quite.”

“I…that is…nice.” Atriel turned to bite a fly—I assumed—and found my shin instead. I yelped loudly, the nip shattering the moment. “The horses grow bored.”

He nodded, cleared his throat, and clicked to his horse. I rode behind him, rubbing my shin, unable to clear his confession from my thoughts. Knowing he found me appealing made me lightheaded. Giddy. But then I recalled our mission and chided myself for such unimportant emotions. We were not on this journey to flirt. We were riding at noble decree to find and stop a potential sickness from overtaking Melowynn. We were not here to make dove eyes at each other. We were here to help my people. That must take precedence.

Still…he found me pleasing. Me . The one that was too dark for many seemed to be just the right hue for one.

Two days passed. Two days that seemed far too long in many ways and far too quick in others. Too long for the worry on my mind, for my distress seemed to grow larger with each new sun. Too quickly for the thickening attraction blossoming like a swamp orchid between me and Beirach. Now that I knew it to be entrancement on his side as well as mine, the moments spent talking, eating, even currying sweaty horses, flew by.

At times he seemed eager to pursue the tender relationship budding betwixt us, and then, at others, he would seem reluctant. He would withdraw a bit, putting space between us both physically and emotionally. It would confuse me until I would remind myself that I too was playing a game of flipping fish. I would cast looks filled with longing at him and then be stricken with guilt for wavering from the task at hand.

Tonight was one of those awkward nights where we shared a meal, made small talk that ended with a slight touch or tender gaze, and then retreated into ourselves. I curled onto my side as the stars hid behind some thick clouds. The leaves on the trees had indicated rain was coming, curling upward when we had stopped for the day. There was no scent of rain on the soft wind, but the trees rarely made mistakes.

My eyes were heavy, my soul even more so as I lay there staring at the soft muzzle of Atriel while she grazed on a thicket of long grass. My head lay on my biceps. The songs of crickets mingled with the rustle of small beasts crunching under dead leaves. My eyelids grew heavy. Curled tightly into my blanket, silver dagger under me, I dozed off quickly.

I snapped awake sometime later, my eyes flying open. The horses stood nearby. I sat up, confused for a moment and unsure of what had pulled me from my sleep. Atriel snorted softly, her long tail swishing lazily, the moon’s glow making her dark brown coat appear milky. Listening intently for a moment, I was about to lie down again when I heard it.

A person—woman—cussing out someone. The curses were quite colorful and varied. I’d never heard anyone aside from outlaws speak that way. Certainly no one back home would have dared or my mother would have scrubbed out our mouths with cedar bark soap.

“Rotting fetid canker sore on the poxy ass of a jaded whore!” the woman yelled. She sounded quite young, even childish perhaps, but no child I had ever known had such a vocabulary. Not even the rich brats that clung to Aelir spoke like that, and they were incorrigible. I threw a look at Beirach. He was snoring away from inside a cocoon he had made around himself with his thick, woven blanket. Sighing at the visual reminder of our erratic emotions for each other, I left him sleeping.

Rising from my bed, dagger in hand, I slipped around a sleepy horse, my ears pricked to any sound other than vile curses. “You! I smell you. Minty fresh!” I paused, bare foot in the air, wondering how the hell an outlaw could smell the sprig of mint I had chewed after our supper hours ago. “Don’t just stand there looking like a smacked ass. Come get me out of here!”

I lowered my foot. “I cannot see you, but given how you speak, I think you are an outlaw and so you should stay in whatever trap you fell into. Better a bandit than a bear!”

Loud snores floated past on the thickening air. Rain was close.

“Listen, you undernourished son of a dagger dog’s paunchy stone sack…oh shit. Shit. Shit. Come on, buddy, I can see her eyes!”

Now the felon sounded terrified. I pushed around a midsize tree that was sending out curious sentiments that I couldn’t place. I slid my dagger into the back of my trousers, flicked a braid over my shoulder, and placed a hand on the smooth bark of the larch. The emotions were much stronger now, vibrant and strong, and I jolted back to the fear the tree was experiencing. Thunder rolled overhead. A flash of lightning. Ah, I understood. That was what had the larch so upset. No tree enjoyed storms.

“Listen, I swear I am not going to rob, stab, or have my fucking way with you! Just get over here before she gets closer! Please, I beg of you!”

The woman was panicked now. I didn’t feel the aura of another beast in the vicinity. Just the horses, a slumbering archdruid, and a few small rodents that…

Oh. Odd. The tiny nighttime animals had all fallen silent. I took another step, reaching for the dagger in the back of my trousers when the silken strands of a spiderweb covered my face. I startled and swiped at them, nearly cutting off my nose, before chuckling at my foolishness. Another flash lit up the sky, and the leaves on the trees began to sway slightly as the winds picked up. Above my head was a huge web, easily spanning forty feet or so, and filled with cocoons. In the middle of the webbing was a pixie wearing a silver breastplate, boots, and bracers over leggings of some sort. Ten or so feet from the tangled pixie was a spider the size of my hand. Large yes, but nothing that terrifying unless you were the size of a pixie.

“Free me! Holy shit, free me, and I will pledge myself to your service and protection for all my days!” the tiny thing shrieked, her wings vibrating but unable to break free.

“Let me see what I can do,” I shouted to be heard over the wind, now shaking the boughs. I’d always been adept at climbing trees. It helped when the things you were scaling aided you as best they could. It was a most handy gift when one was trying to get away from a herd of older brothers carrying stink cloud pods with your name literally written on them. “Stop fighting. It will only enweb you more tightly.”

“Suck my bouncing titties!” I felt my face flush even with the spritz of rain now on the howling winds. “When you’re looking at certain death, I’ll be sure to tell you to lie still and let it sink its fangs into you!”

What a sour tart this pixie was. Still, I climbed up to the first thick branch and easily cut the webs. The spider and the pixie sailed downward, the spider hitting a cragged oak with a thud that sounded unpleasant while the pixie screamed so loud my ears rang.

Shimmying down, I jogged to the pixie now hanging upside down. The skies lit up. Rain began to fall in sheets. It was a messy job. Sticky web clung to my face, fingers, and the pixie, but I got her freed just as a bolt of lightning struck across the road.

“Fucking hells a fire!” the tiny thing in my hand yelled, her delicate wings still bound with fine strands. “Get moving, asshole!”

I threw her a glower. My sight darted from the wet pixie to the severely mangled spider hanging limply from a gossamer thread. Water pelted us. The trees groaned in fright.

“I think I killed it,” I yelled as rainwater soaked me through in seconds. That saddened me. While I had no skills in picking up the emotions of insects, I still wished them no harm. All served a purpose.

“Good. Now get moving before it’s—”

I turned from the wind and rain. Then, within a foot of me, a mammoth spider emerged from the thickening underbrush. It stood as tall as a plow horse and three times as wide. Eight legs held it up from the ground. Its eight eyes blinked in unison as water coursed over its head.

“—mother finds its corpse. Well, shit,” the pixie said as I stuffed her into my trousers and took off into the woods at a sprint.

I dashed away from camp, leading the spider deeper into the outskirts of the Verboten wilds so not to endanger Beirach or the horses. The wind howled. The night sky flashed to life as jagged bolts danced through the storm clouds. The trees moaned in fright.

“Oh great gods, there is a giant cock in my face!” the pixie shouted. “It’s huge. Ouch! It slapped me in the face. Why do all cocks have to be so fucking pushy!?”

I had just cleared a tree when my tiny passenger grabbed hold of my prick, her small nails digging in deeply. I cried out at the pain and then jammed my hand into my trousers to pluck off the little groper. My left foot found the burrow of a ground squirrel and down I went in a heap, my hand in my pants, shouting into the stormy night.

“Let go of my prick!” I roared as my fingers closed around the pixie. She let go. I tugged her out into the rain, my cock tender from her sharp little nails, and rolled to my back in time to see the spider leap into the air. It landed above us, four legs on either side of me, long pincers clacking.

I picked up nothing from the huge insect other than the obvious assumption that she was upset with me for inadvertently killing her offspring. Frantically searching my mind for mention of spiders of this size in my early days of schooling, I came up with only one reference. A wandering archdruid, a woman who was so old she appeared to be nothing but skin drawn tight over creaking bones, had told us that giant tree spiders captured and sucked the insides out of small elves who wandered into the woods alone.

I’d scoffed even though my parents had nodded at her sage advice. This is why one should never make light of what an archdruid tells you. They were all aged and decrepit, yes, but they knew all.

Knowing this was incredibly bad, I slapped my free hand down onto the soggy soil and focused on calling down the grape vines that knitted the canopy together. The plants responded, snaking down the trees, their tendrils creeping closer. I could feel the energy of the wilds in me stronger than it had ever been. My fingers tingled. Soft emerald light glowed from the vines as they slithered like asps around all eight legs, entangling the spider neatly.

Now we could make an escape without harming—

“Let go of me, Minty Fresh,” the pixie yelled, nipping my finger with pointed teeth. I yelped again, shook my hand, and the pixie took to wing. “This bitch is on my last nerve and your plants aren’t going to do farking shit!”

Her body radiated bright purple light, giving a warm spring glow to the underbelly of the spider’s hairy abdomen. Then the pixie screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound so shrill my ears throbbed in time with my sore cock. In a flash of lilac, the pixie freed her war picks from her sides and then flew at the belly of the spider. Her weapons struck true, opening the spider from thorax to spinnerets.

“No, don’t kill her!” I shouted but to no avail. Hot, thick viscera burst forth, dousing the pixie and me in slippery entrails, reproductive organs, venom glands, silk sacs, and blood. The spider never made a sound, she just collapsed in a heap, her legs folding. Her weight hit us squarely as I spit out fluids that I did not wish to identify.

A victory cry from the pixie pinned between me and the dead spider rent the air, vying with the rumbles of thunder shaking the ground.

“Ugh, that is…” I spat and coughed while wiggling out from under the corpse. The pixie began singing a song only her people would understand as we rolled free. Into the air she went, a brilliant purple orb of light, caterwauling as she flew in mad circles.

I sat up, rain rolling down me in sheets which, given the state that I was in, was a blessing from Danubia, for it was washing me clean.

“Ha! Did you see that, Minty Fresh?! Did you see me slay that monster?! Did you see how I single-handedly slew that fearsome beast?!” She darted down to hover in front of my face. Water coursed down my cheeks. My tongue still held the taste of spider fluids, and my prick was sore. “You may thank me at your earliest convenience.”

I swiped at my brow, removing chunks of arachnid, and glared at her. “Did you have to kill her? She was a part of nature, a living contributor to the—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” she teased. “If I had known you were a druid, I would have left you to your fate as spider food.”

I gasped. “What?! I…what…how could you even say…what kind of pixie are you?” I asked, stunned at her audacity. I’d met quite a few pixies in my youth, and they were thick as bog flies in the Verboten woods. Most adored druids, for they worked to ensure that the wilds thrived. My father, a famed wild warden, claimed King Tawnyrose, the monarch of the western pixies, as his best friend. The king and his family were always the models of decorum and understated grace.

“The kind that speaks her truth. But don’t fret. I made a promise to you, and I shall keep it.” She darted about, finally landing on my muddy knee. She had a round face, large eyes, and long lashes that were clumped from rain and guts. Her hair was short, dark, and also coated with entrails. “My name is Tezen Plumwax, and I am now your guardian until the end of days. So, I have sworn my allegiance to you, my lord Minty Fresh!” She pounded her tiny bosom. I sat in a puddle and gawped. “Speak what you wish of me.”

“I want nothing of you!” I seethed, my head spinning from such a large surge of magicks that I was not used to expending.

“But you saved me, so a debt is due.”

“A debt? There is no debt. I had things well in hand, thank you, so your murderous—”

“Pfft.” She sniggered behind a teensy hand covered with blood.

I dashed at my face, flicked a chunk of spider from my upper lip, and glowered at the pixie.

“There is no debt,” I repeated, louder, so that she would hear me well. “We both saved each other. You are freed from any responsibility to me.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I…wish…what is happening?” I pushed to stand, the pixie fluttering upward from my knee then zipping about my head like an anxious warbler. The trees moved slightly in the strong wind, branches snapping, each crack followed by a groan of pain. I moved through the woods, touching each tree, pushing a small bit of my flagging healing energy into them until we reached my sodden bedroll. I sat down on it, glancing to the left to see that the horses were sleeping standing up while Beirach snored soundly in his woolen chrysalis, unaware of the battle that had just taken place nearby. I wished I felt half as calm as Atriel or the man sawing wood in his sleep. The woods began to waver.

“You look funny,” Tezen said, flying in front of my face, her purple wings a blur.

“I look fine,” I snapped, exhaustion overwhelming me. I’d grown weary of people telling me that I was odd or strange or funny looking. “I just need a moment.” I’d given so much of my meager magicks to the suffering trees after that fight that I’d left little for myself. “I feel perfectly goodly.”

With that, I tumbled to the side, my cheek slapping my wet bedding.

I awoke at dawn to a small but roaring fire. My clothes were still damp.

My sight touched on Beirach seated beside the fire, stirring something in his small cook pot, chatting away with our newest camp guest. Tezen sat between my mare’s ears, sipping something from a tiny gold mug, her bright brown eyes darting to me as I roused.

“Good morn, my liege. I made tea.” She flew down to the fire, hovering above the flames where a pot of tea the size of my pinkie nail sat off the side. “It’s howling good. So, drink up, take a piss, and find the nearest stream for you reek like a wild boar’s pucker, then we will continue on our quest.”

My mind was still foggy but seeing the pixie brought the previous night back in a flash.

“I hear you had quite the adventure during the storm last night,” Beirach commented as he sprinkled some sort of dark brown spice into the bubbling pot suspended over the fire.

“We will talk once I am clean,” I informed them and rose, slowly, my legs wobbly. My poor prick still ached slightly. I shot the pixie a stern look that she merely lifted a shoulder at, then went ahead to drain the teapot into her mug. I grabbed one of the saddlebags from Atreil’s back, patted her haunch, and limped into the woods, skirting the area where the spiders lay dead, and found a small brook that looked clear. Not that muddy water would worsen things. Given my state, an offshoot of a city street would be an improvement over the dried mess covering me.

I stripped down, peeling off my wet clothes and dropping them into a heap at my feet. My toes were thick with mud and blood, I noted. I waded out into the brook, the water cold as it danced around my ankles. Weary and sad at heart for the death of the spiders, I sat down with a splash, inhaling sharply when the water burbled around my balls. I shuddered but began scrubbing, using the fine silt along the stream’s edge instead of soap. Lye would foul the pristine water. I rose to my knees to examine my genitals. My cock was hiding way up inside my foreskin, and my stones had climbed upward as well. I frowned at the set of four thin scratches on my prick before gently rubbing them with my gritty fingertips. I would apply a small bit of willow wort balm when I returned to camp. That would ease the discomfort.

Once I had the worst of the dirt freed, I set to work on my braids. They were dark brown with blood and mud, so I carefully undid them, the process taking some time. I shook the mass of white hair out, using my fingers to rub at my scalp. I had to confess that I missed long hot baths. Even as a child, we bathed daily using the hot springs that bubbled near the bosk. I’d not yet found any of the springs that were so prevalent deeper in the wilds but those would come soon. My mind flitted about as I worked water through my hair, using my short nails to dig at the flakes of dark blood caked at the roots. We had seen no signs of any blight either, which was good news. I was sure Umeris would be pleased. Glancing skyward, I noted that Nin had not returned yet but given the storms last night, he may have spent the night in the rookery. Danubia knows I would have if given the choice.

My thoughts flew to home, to the bosk, where my family and kinsmen were hopefully on the road to recovery. Umeris had not mentioned much in his last missive. No further sightings of creatures turned to stone. The ranger who had touched the bird had lost his arm, sadly, and the healers were now worried the sickness may have spread. That was the extent of news from Renedith.

Eyes closing, I sat back on my heels, the stream babbling around me, and whispered a plea to my goddess.

“Mighty Danubia,

Steel my heart against those who would bring pain to the lands,

Guide my steel and my magicks to protect those who dwell in the coppice, the mighty forest, the gentle glens,

So that I may be of service to you and those who reside in each copse and hedgerow.”

I paused, then added more even though asking for one’s own needs was frowned upon.

“Goddess of my heart, please let those who I call family and kin be well, and if it pleases, guide me into clarity for my dealings with Beirach befuddle me.”

I touched my cold fingertips to the soft white spot on my brow, pleading with all I possessed that the symbol of her divine touch meant she would give me special dispensation.

“Your balls will soon freeze and fall off if you don’t exit the water,” a high-pitched voice called out, shattering my prayerful state. I glanced behind me to see Tezen perched on a branch that hung over the stream, her round cheeks drawn up into a grin. “Not that I’m complaining about the view. You have a lovely ass. When it’s wet, it’s the same color as the moss that hugs the trees on the shady side of a glen. Your prick is quite nice too, far too large for me mind, but a pretty piece of meat, nonetheless. That’s why I only frolic with lasses and pixie men with generous cocks. What? Oh look at your face. It’s as red as a cherry picker’s tidbits!”

She broke out in laughter as I slipped and slewed my way out of the brook, hands shielding my cock and balls from her mirthful sight.

“I have never heard a pixie speak like you do!” I grumbled as I pulled on clean trousers with haste. “Whenever King Tawnyrose visited with his family, every female was demure, soft-spoken, and mindful of the ways of the druids, who, I should like to point out, were not poked fun at or made to feel bad.”

I tugged the laces on my breeches closed with attitude.

She flew in front of my face, minute traces of lilac dust floating amid the natural motes caught in a sunbeam. One small finger tapped my nose.

“Those stupid dictates are the very reason I left the pixie court and set out to be an adventurer! Demure females. Diddle that with a fat prick! And may I add, I mentioned that you had a fine green ass as well as a meaty rod. How is that poking fun? Most men are happy to have a glorious woman such as me wrapped around their swivel sticks, but you complain bitterly about it.” My cheeks burned with shame. “Oh.” Her finger lowered. “Oh, are you not partial to lasses fondling your ploughshare?”

My mouth fell open, and somehow my face grew even hotter. “I’ve not been subjected to lads or lasses fondling my—”

Her dark eyes went round. “You’ve never once had a hand on your pickle other than yours? Not even the burly mitt of that mouthwatering archdruid you travel with?”

Unable to find a fitting reply, I merely gathered my dirty clothes and returned to the creek, where I pounded them on a rock. After a few minutes, I glanced behind me to see that the pixie had left. I returned my attention to my clothes. Was it my fault that I had come to maturity in a city that disliked the hue of my skin? I’d found many men appealing, and a few women pleasant to the eye, but none of them gave me any notice. So no, I had never felt a lover beside me in bed. I’d learned in my early teens that the only way I would ever find a mate would be to return to the woods. Male or female, it mattered not to me. Elves were incredibly fluid about sexuality. We chose our partners based on their hearts, not what could be found between their legs. Yes, we had preferences. Mine was for big men with broad chests and kind souls. Much like Beirach. I’d met only one such man a few years back. He’d been a traveling showman, part of a troupe, and we had exchanged searing looks across the great hall.

Nothing had come of it. He had left at dawn the next day to perform his juggling act with his friends in other towns. Late at night, alone in my room by the rookery, I would take myself in hand and imagine it was his mighty fingers closing around my flesh.

“I’ve given things some thought,” Tezen said, appearing by my ear with a whizz of wings. I startled and dropped my bag. “You’re terribly jumpy for a child of the forest. So, I have rethought my thoughts.” She landed on my shoulder, taking a long strand of wet hair in her fist as I bent to fetch my bag. “Woohoo!” The tiny thing clung like a winter burdock to wool as I straightened.

“I think we need to talk about what took place last night,” I said, heaving my bag to my free shoulder as I made my way back to camp.

“Right, so about that.” She used my hair to repel up my chest to stand on my shoulder once more. Her boots dug into my flesh. “I know that you druids are all into non-lethal actions and all that, and in that regard, I may have overreacted just a bit. Beirach explained that you are a gentle soul possessed of a tender heart.” I shot her a flat look. A pigeon cooed in the high branches. “To be fair, if you were my size and got caught in a web, you’d react the same way.”

She did make a point. “Perhaps, but I did ask you not to kill the spider. I was startled as well, but perhaps I could have made her see reason.”

“Can you talk to animals?”

“Well, no, I’ve not had the proper teaching but—”

“Can you talk to trees?”

“Again, no, I’ve not had the proper teaching but—”

“Can you talk to insects?”

I sighed. “No, I cannot, nor can I sense their emotions like I can vegetation and beasts, but—”

“Then why, by the fine hairs on my tuppy, do you think you could have made her see reason after you killed her hatchling?” I chewed that over as I pulled out a semi-dry shirt and gave it a shake. “That’s what I thought. But hey, I get it, you nature kind are just that way.”

I rolled my eyes. “We can’t help it. Rather like pixies are known for courtly manners and shy gazes from around a fan.”

Her round face tightened. “If you mention pixie courts to me one more time, I will gut you like a fish.” I grimaced. She frowned. “Sorry, I’ll gut you like a…rock. My point was that I apologize for letting my blood urges get the better of me. Next time I will totally follow your lead and politely request surcease of something trying to sink its fangs into your scrawny green flesh and suck your liquefied guts out of you slurp by slurp.”

I studied her intently as she smiled impishly at me, her hands still gripping a thick strand of my hair.

“You are unlike any pixie I have ever met before.”

“So you keep saying.” She blew some hair from her face.

“Also, I’m not sure you wish to travel with me. I’m riding deeper into the Verboten woods. I may be coming into contact with sick people who are carrying an unknown virus that has turned a raven into stone.”

She thought that over for a long moment. “Meh, I’m not scared of a few sick people. And a stone bird sounds amazing! I wonder if you could put the stone curse on a man’s cock? They always end things far too quickly, right?” I had no way of knowing. “Oh yeah, untouched, minty backside. Okay, well.” She clapped her hands and flew into the morning air a foot or so in front of me. “I’ll be at your side as you travel the woods, for you are in need of a warrior. No offense.”

“A fine warrior already rides by my side,” I pointed out as the smell of something sweet reached my nose.

“Oh yes, well, he is fine no doubt, but he too is a druid, which means he’s prone to asking if a vicious beast would prefer orange zest in their tea before pulling his sword.”

“He has no sword,” I mumbled.

“See! That is my point. So, you need a warrior. Also, as we travel, I’ll teach you everything you’ll need to know to get your beanpole picked.”

I ignored the beanpole comment, hoping Beirach had not heard it.

He had for his eyes were locked on me. So much so that I paused mid-stride to dash at my face. “Have I missed some foulness on my cheek?”

Tezen snickered naughtily.

“I…no, your face is perfect,” Beirach said, his pot burbling loudly. “I’ve not seen you with your hair free before.”

I reached up to run my fingers through the wet mass. “Oh. Yes, it needed to be washed. I will braid and bundle it before we eat.”

“Do not feel that you must on my account, for it looks beautiful framing your face as it does.”

“For the love of my dear pappy’s pooter,” Tezen huffed as Beirach stared and I fiddled with my hair. “Druids in love. There is nothing more sappy.” She howled out loud as she flitted about my head. “Druids. Sappy. Did you catch my witticism? Sap comes from trees and druids love trees.”

Beirach snapped to it first as I was still twirling my hair about my finger while blushing like a rose.

“Yes, quite funny, Lady Tezen. The oatmeal is ready. Sit, both of you, and we’ll break our fast before we leave.”

I sat across the fire with my hair down. Not because Beirach spoke so prettily about it, but because it was wet still. And surely not because I was in love. That was utter foolishness. I’d not known the man for long enough to claim to love him. Love took time to grow, just like a mighty oak from a small acorn.

The pixie, who thought she was a court jester, landed on my shoulder. Beirach dribbled some oats into her cup with a teaspoon, then filled a bowl, whittled from yellow oak, for me. I took it with a whispered thanks that made his nostrils flare.

“This is quite tasty. It’s wise to eat well before riding off. Adventuring requires energy for battling what evil will undoubtedly cross your path,” Tezen announced between slurps of runny oats sweetened with honey and ground cinnamon.

“I’m not sure that you traveling with us is wise. We have no clue as to what we’ll be facing. You could die.”

“Sometimes, facing death is better than living a life of meek servitude.” Her nose crinkled. I sensed her pain in the depths of my soul and instantly felt dreadful for being so snide. “No, do not do it.” She bristled like a cockatrice when I opened my mouth. I clacked my jaw shut, swallowing my apology. “Forget I said that. Finish your meal. We have sick people to visit.”

It seemed we were going whether I wished for a crude warrior pixie protector or not.