TheAmishPirate

Return to Thellamie

Ping!

The tablet. The tablet! On the chair. Out of reach. Where he put it down. One and two and stop! And, and, grip, and, go. Past the lock screen. (First try. No hesitation.) Hold it close. Messages. Eclair!

A…photo? What was…

Oh. She didn’t-!

(Alas. A world so narrowed could never dream this was only the first surprise. A boy stands utterly defenseless, and the coup de grace falls.)

The sound that fizzles against her finger is startle and jolt and blooming delight. The ear her breath tickles can’t decide whether to shoot stock-still or wiggle itself silly. She spins him, and his eyes can’t keep up, and his ears can’t keep up, and his thoughts can’t keep up, and the face he greets her with shines brighter than any starlight. Here, or anywhere.

Eclair Espoir. The Violet Flash. Currently the Mystery Builder. A hero of Thellamie.

Wow.

(And the world has a solid bit of ground to stand on. A familiar bit of ground. A place of peace and safety, built over many nights reading impossible letters, and feeling the words inside of him bubble up until he had to spill them out in a letter of his own that was much too enthusiastic. A fact which he could only seem to discover the following day, and yet never managed to stop her from writing back.

He’s not out of it yet. But now there’s hope. Just a bit.)

Right. That’s enough fretting and moping about. A bit late is better than sniffing out the nearest service entrance and spending the rest of his life as a gremlin living in the backroom rafters. (That wasn’t actually his Plan B. Just a goof. Not important.) There’s a ball to attend and an outfit to pick. Focus up, Hazel. It’s time to get stuff done.

……………………………………………………..excuse me Miss Mystery Builder could you? Repeat that?

No. No, hrm. He did hear her properly. Probably? Probably.

Wait, no, what is he doing? Of course she might not know everything. Maybe very few people know everything. He has been spending a lot of time in very Golden Faun-centric places recently. Bit of a biased perspective there. And besides, shouldn’t a detective make sure she has all the facts straight? Something like that. Anyway, point being, there’s no reason to make a fuss, they’ve only got ten to fifteen minutes, better stick to the short version.

“Right! Yes, okay, so: I’m the Golden Faun. Not the one from the older Heron stories, but a new one. Civelia was,” too long! Cut it! “Well, no, sorry, long story short, the stars gave a prophecy that whoever will,” and he knows this bit by heart. There’s even a ring of raven in his voice as he repeats, “‘Claim him! Tame him! Prove that he is yours!’ - will be the next Queen of Light. Then they made my antlers start glowing, and, then everyone started hunting me. Only, a lot of them didn’t care who or what they had to go through to get me. So Civelia gave me this amulet,” and he produces the miraculous thing from around his neck. It has never left his person, not once. “Which let me decide what the contests to win me were going to be, and I decided a ball was much more orderly than a hunt burning down half of Thellamie.”

You know, when he puts it like that, it’s almost like the last few weeks have been a bit wild, huh?

Ah well. One foot in front of the other, Hazel.

“The problem is. Um. This…is the outfit they picked out for me.” Oh. Oh right. The outfit. The outfit for him. The outfit chosen specially for him. His outfit, which he is wearing, in front of Eclair. And has been wearing this whole time. Maybe it isn’t too late to pursue a career in rafter goblin-ing after all? “And. It’s. Nice of them to do so, but, I don’t, I don’t think it really suits me.” (Everybody is going to laugh at him. There’s going to be a long, long pause where everyone is waiting for someone else to ask for the first dance. They will sit with him, and it will be out of obligation, and it will be to make sure their enemies don’t get him first.) “Which is fine! But, there’s so many options, I don’t know what to pick instead, and, I think they said I was on in two minutes, and I’m pretty sure it’s been more than two minutes. So. I wanted to see if you had any ideas? If that’s okay?”

A pause. A breath. A clap of the hands together.

“Oh, and: It’s really good to finally meet you too, Mystery Builder.” No goofs. No winks. Eclair is working in deep cover (what was that about a wanted criminal?) and he knows what’s up. Her secrets are safe with him, no worries.

Breathless Dead

Bella trusts him. In her way, Bella trusts him.

If he’d made her cross, she’d tell him. In her way, she’d tell him. And now that he’s asked the question, out loud, there’s another voice in this place of shadows. It’s not just something that looks like Bella, sitting down for the quiet talk he’d always hoped to have with her, watching him with eyes that wouldn’t rip through him and pluck out his every feeling, bearing coffee, and softness, and telling him what was going on. What she felt. What she wanted. What he could do.

No. As a matter of fact, this Bella couldn’t tell him what was going on.

Bella trusts him.

“You are right. Your questions are relevant.” His chair scrapes against the white floor as he pushes back from the table. The noise bites at his ear. “But I think your heart ought to be a part of this conversation.”

There is not a sword in his hands. There is a coffee cup in his hands. If it matters at all.

“Take me to her. Please.”

Bella trusts him.

Return to Thellamie

W-what?!

No! There isn’t! There’s not!

He is not!!!

He’s never!

They! Are! In a precarious social standing righ now! They are playing a game of make-believe! They all agreed they were playing make-believe! He hasn’t even seen everybody at the ball oh gosh how many people are even going to be at the ball?! He doesn’t know! So it’s impossible to say, and it would be dishonest to say, and unfair to say, and, he’s not saying, and he wouldn’t say-!

He’s not-!

They’re-!

Oh beans and biscuits, not again

Do you have any idea how hard it is to make his dumb brain shut up whenever he first thinks. Y’know. A girl? And, maybe, one day, one day? Is there something here? Does he want something here? No of course not. But he would say that, wouldn’t he. That’s exactly the sort of thing a twitterpated person in denial would say. So doesn’t that prove that it’s not nothing? Except it’s nothing! There’s nothing! They’ve never indicated even the littlest bit of something, and it’d be way out of line for him to think that way! So obviously, there’s nothing!

Unless…

No! No unless!

Well. Not an unless.

It’s not something either! He just, there’s, it’s, kind of,

Mmmmghhhhhhhhh

(He has an outfit to pick out Eclair hasn’t messaged him back this is not the time)

It’s just. It’s only. Only, mind you?

They were good sluzhankas. Maybe there were more complicated metrics that the Serigalamu used, but they made these last few weeks easier, and that’s good enough in his book. He thought they were both going to be upset about the whole. Y’know. Being captured and forced to obey him bit. But, no, every time Juniper caught them sneaking something into his pack, it turned out to be a little treat and an extra handkerchief. (He could always smell their perfume on it.) And when they got back, there they were, waiting to greet him.

Keli especially. She’s very…huggy. And hair scritchie-y. (And put his head on her lap as a pillowy ha ha ha ha) It was. Nice? It was really nice. Put a little bounce in his step when they saw the tents rising over the last hill. She was always so welcoming, and soft, and yes he knew to keep an eye on his wallet but she tossed out nice words for him so easily and so, sincerely. (“What a clever boy you are, yah? Come here and give me a hug and I’ll give you some scritchies~”) He never got used to it. Sure, she was playing a role, they all were, but she did it so well. Though, yes, she is a performer, it is sort of the point that it should all sound real, it’s not a very good act if no one believes it. Still. Never quite got used to it.

And then Seli. Gosh. Um. Seli.

Sometimes, she looked at him the way Olesya looked at a beast she’s hunting. Do you know how well you have to know a beast to hunt it properly? Because he doesn’t! A few weeks in the wilderness with one of the best was just about enough to show him how much he didn’t know. You have to know your target. From head to toe, inside and out, in ways that he can’t even guess at. So when you have them in your sights, nothing escapes you. You see them. You see everything they are. You see everything they could do. Frankly, they’re already caught. They just don’t know it yet.

Which is to say. Seli.

She’s clever, and she’s quick, and a few weeks with one of the best was just about enough to show him how much he didn’t know. And he did try to keep up! (Most of the time. Some of the time. Don’t ask him for an exact percentage.) But when she looked, like that, he didn’t know what to do with himself or what would happen next or what he was supposed to say or what she was implying, but she never made him feel bad about it. Quite. Um. Quite the contrary. Usually. Gosh. Sometimes it was all he could do to retreat to his tent, flop down, and kick his legs like a goober until he could think straight again. Goodness.

So! Yeah. That’s how it is. With them. And him.

Like he said, there’s nothing.

And he will keep saying it until his brain shuTS UP

Breathless Dead

Of course he didn’t mean that she wasn’t herself. It was a figure of speech, given hastily, without thought, and he apologizes for that. He hadn’t thought she was listening, but even if she wasn’t, that doesn’t make it right. But she is acting a touch odd. She’s behaving in a way he doesn’t understand, in a way that seems contrary to who she is, to the person he’s gotten to know. He’s not quite sure why. Perhaps, if they talk it over, they could get to the bottom of this? Please, he doesn’t mean her any harm.

Dolce closes his mouth.

But she saw him open his mouth. She’ll know he was about to say something. Smile. Let his nose wrinkle disarmingly, let his eyes close without fear. Ask for her pardon. Tell her it’s been a long day. He’s already made one mistake. The exhaustion is getting to him. She’s waiting. Bella is waiting. Bella is scared. Bella is hurting. Bella is waiting. Smile. Speak. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Dolce picks up the cup of coffee, with both hands. Not to drink; only to stare. Watch the few lights in this place dance in the ripples.

Dolce breathes. With difficulty.

“...do you trust me?”

The shadows threaten to swallow his voice whole. He has to aim, carefully, for his question to reach the thing wearing his friend’s face. Speaking in her voice. Breaking beneath her hurt.

“I will answer all of your questions. Just. Do you trust me?”

Return to Thellamie

Well. Crap.

Nicely done, Hazel. You’ve scared her off. He knew he should’ve waited for the tea. Maybe gotten some snacks too or something. If he had to apologize for overstepping, maybe he could’ve, oh, I don’t know, not overstepped?!

He should’ve known better. After weeks of living under her tent, he should’ve known her better.

Lucky him, he’s got plenty of time to replay the scene in his head before Keli and Seli get back. He’ll need it to figure out what he’ll say to them. But somewhere along the way, another thought strikes him, and he reaches for his tablet.

>[.snowkitten]
>Hey Yuki, could I ask you a favor?
>I’m worried about Olesya. It’s a long story, but the short version is: She stopped by my room, she was acting really strange, and it looked like she’d been crying.
>I tried asking her about it, but she wouldn’t talk to me.
>Just said she was fine and left.
>I know you’re probably busy with the ball, but if you can, could you keep an eye on her?
>Maybe also check on Juniper? She’s here somewhere, right?
>I could be wrong, but it kind of felt like Olesya went to see me because she was being forced to? And Juniper might know more. Or…she could be in trouble herself.
>Sorry I don’t have anything more concrete to go off of. Just worried about them.

***************************************************

Keli and Seli pull the silk curtain from the mirror in one fluid, twirling motion, that by some Fox Trick ends with them flanking him on either side.

Hazel stares at his outfit.

They stare at him. In the mirror. Smiling.

(It’s hidden behind the veils, but he knows. It’s a second Fox Trick they do with their eyes.)

He’s pretty sure that’s tinsel in his antlers. Not star-tinsel. Not gem-tinsel. Not any kind of magic-tinsel. Just. Tinsel. From a christmas tree. It doesn’t match the golden cape. Which does match how he doesn’t match the golden cape. It’s too big to hide, too small to hide in, and too cape to hide from him. Every step he takes, he’s going to be aware of and fretting over the giant cloth fluttering behind him. The only thing worse than how much of his chest is exposed is that any moment now, this structurally unsound neckline is going to fail catastrophically, and the world will see him naked from the waist up. And speaking of the waist? He’s seen boxers longer than these glittering shorts. Come to think of it, he can barely see the glittering shorts. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of his legs. All of his leg. Right down to the booties - no, different booties - that were made to glide across the dancefloor, in dances that are certainly never performed at proper balls.

It is worse than he could’ve ever thought to imagine.

“Oh. Wow.” What do we say to relatives when they give you a spirograph kit and several thoughtfully printed-out articles for Christmas, Hazel? “Thank you, for picking all this out. Goodness. I-”

“We chose you the very best!”

“Nothing but the finest!”

They circle him in a swirl of spices, silks, and tails, darting in to make little finishing touches to their masterpiece.

“All eyes will be on you–”

“--you musn’t be outshone at your own ball–”

(He doesn’t realize how their fingers always linger on his bare skin. He doesn’t catch them craning their necks to drink him in at every angle. At every angle.)

“--what lucky girls, to dance with such a handsome Fawn–”

“--the pictures will wish they could’ve captured your beauty–”

He cannot go out there like this.

“Don’t you think?~”
“Don’t you agree?~”

Oh heavens above, he cannot go out there like this.

“Um.” They are being nice, Hazel. They have been so nice these last few weeks. “Gosh. I really do appreciate the help…” Let them down easy. You can’t disappoint them. “Do you think, well, do we have anything, or, could we make a few…changes? Here and there? There’s things here to like, this is a good starting point-”

“Oh, but of course!”
“Oh, say no more!”

-huh?

“You should look exactly how you like on your special night. Don’t you agree?”

“Yah, you should get everything you want tonight. Your wish is our command.”

Huh. Well, that’s a relief-

“So what do you want?”
“Just tell us what you like, yah?~”

-huh?!

“What you wish for–”

“--what you long for–”

“--what your heart aches for–”

“--what you’ve only dreamed about–”

“Tell us.”
“Tell us.”

“We’ll make your wish come true–”

“--if you’ll only tell us–”

“--won’t you tell us?”

“We live to serve–”

”Master~”
“Master~”

“Um!” Aaaaaaaaaaaaa??? “Could. You. Both of you. Give, me….a minute to think about it?”

Keli and Seli fall silent. Keli and Seli fall still. Squishing him close on either side.

“.....................................................alone?”

Miss Yaz herself could find no flaw in their graceful bows.

“Of course!”

“It would be our pleasure.”

“Just don’t take too long.”

“You’re on in two, Master~”

-click!-

He is alone.

He is alone, with The Outfit.

He is alone, with The Outfit, and if he does not think of something better to wear, he is going to have to go out. Wearing The Outfit.

He is going to die.

What else did they have? What were his options? What were clothes?! He’s no fashion expert! He can’t become one in two minutes! They probably don’t have just a plain suit in his size! And, no, they probably wouldn’t let him go out in just a plain suit either! He doesn’t know! It just…doesn’t feel right? For a ball? For some reason???

Yuki. Maybe Yuki texted him back? Did she know what clothing was? He all but tears his bag apart to fetch his tablet, but no such luck. No messages at all. What about his other friends? You know, all his other friends. Who are waiting just outside. For him to appear. At the ball. And who probably aren’t checking their tablets right now aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

…unless.

Unless?

Unless there was one friend who might be free…

>[.eclairespoirviolet]
>Heyo Eclair! Sorry I haven’t been able to chat since coming here. Things have been really busy, and I haven’t had a lot of time to myself.
>Is there any chance you have a few minutes right now? I have some fashion questions.
>If that’s not something you can help with, no worries. I remembered you mentioned disguises as a part of your work, so I thought you might have some pointers. Like I said, no worries if I’m off-base there.
>I can send some pictures too if it’ll help.

Breathless Dead

A sheep steps out from behind a sheep.

This sheep sports a big, fancy hat, the pride of any Captain. This sheep wears a sword at his belt, and he is used to the weight. This sheep makes no sound with his hooves. This sheep cannot make a sound, not with thick, smoky clouds shrouding his face and stuffing his mouth.

This sheep passes a note into a sheep’s hand. This sheep walks behind a sheep, and into a sheep, and vanishes.

Dolce tilts his head at the note that’s appeared between his fingers. He squints. He frowns. He wrinkles his nose. All important parts of the process. And not enough. Not quite enough. He joins Ember for a peek at what lies ahead.

This is a divine working. He’s no expert, and he’d certainly never claim to be one. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know how to fix this, or what even needs to be fixed. He doesn’t know how this note got to be in his hand. There are, frankly, many others who could do a better job of this, given the chance.

But they’re not here. Dolce is. And the more he looks, the more he can only think to repeat the words he’s just read.

“I don’t think that’s Bella talking.”

Because, well, he does know a thing or two about Bella.

“It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t sound like something she’d say, and mean it.”

He knows Ember a bit too, and so he knows a bit about Ember and Bella, together.

“Even if she disagreed with your dream, I don’t think she’d disagree like this. She wouldn’t try to crush you into the shape she wanted. Not her.”

He’s done a fair bit of watching and listening in his time. You pick up a thing or two, listening.

“But, whoever that is, she does know your dream. She knows everything Bella did to get here. She has to be connected with Bella, somehow, or else how would she know any of that?”

Dolce is here, and Dolce answers an adventurer, a girl, a dashing youth, and a Ceronian scout who are looking to him for answers.

“If that isn’t Bella, but somebody or something connected to her, then where’s the real Bella?”

That’ll just have to do.

Return to Thellamie

Somebody? Somebody please tell the universe that it really needs to do something about all these mathematical errors, they're really starting to add up.

...pun somewhat unintended.

Hazel detaches himself from the mirror. He wasn’t aware that people could be attached to mirrors. This is proving to be an educational day already. He lets the mirror hold his hand a while longer though. Just a bit. Just a little bit. Let his breath go from big gasps to moderate gasps. Give his legs a chance to sort out which feet are his. Sooner or later, he’ll remember where he is, when he is, what this is, and other pressing questions now that he is. Um. Not so pressed. Anymore. Okay. Okay? Okay.

Oh gosh, he yelled at Olesya

Oh gosh he slapped Olesya

Keli and Seli aren’t looking at him, but they are bowing to him, and that’s worse actually. Olesya is, is, (oh, Olesya) a bomb in the shape of a wolf. Armed. Very much still armed. (Two armed, at that. Hee.) None of this is ideal for a bomb. Especially bombs that have just been slapped. Especially especially bombs that are telling him how much they want him?! (He has a bad feeling; a sharp, heavy stone in his heart. And just who is he trying to impress with a line like that? You’re no ace detective, Hazel Valentine Fletcher, you’re just fretting like you always do. Something’s just, up, that’s all you know. It might not be that bad.

He hopes it isn’t that bad.)

Oh heavens above he has to say something now

"Ah. W...wow. That is." Not making his cheeks any less red!!! "Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you there, I, I’m just a little surprised. That is, thank you, that's really nice of you to say." And there's meaning there too. Thank you, Olesya. Even if you don’t really mean it. “I, had intended the contest to be restricted to the ball itself, but, this is a bit of a gray area. And I never really laid down super detailed rules. Trying to close every loophole never really works out, doesn’t it? That is to say, I, you’re good, you’re fine. It’s alright. Just, for fairness, we should…I, you, we, shouldn’t, do…more, until the ball officially starts.”

this is how he dies he is going to perish on the spot why is nobody saying anything aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

“Uh! Keli, Seli, could you please fetch us some tea? To cool off with? And when you’ve brought it, could you wait outside for a few minutes and make sure nobody comes in for a bit? We, are just going to chat for a little bit. A few minutes. We’ll be fine, no worries.”

He waits until they’re gone. He listens for the door to click shut. He breathes out.

Hazel sits cross-legged in front of the trembling huntress. There’s hardly anyplace in this room that wouldn’t be within arm’s reach for her, but all the same, he chooses to sit right in front of her.

“If it’s alright for me to ask; are you okay, Olesya?” He has to crane his neck up a bit to look at her. “I don’t mean to overstep. But, I did mean it. We’re good. No worries. And, if you need a listening ear, I’d be happy to offer one."

[Rolling to offer Emotional Support: 6 + 2 - 1 = 7]

Breathless Dead

Dolce prays without words.

The wood creaks beneath his leaping hooves. One-and-two-and-three, and tumult rises to devour each sound as it appears. No one will see the next steps of his dance. No one, save for the goddess for who found favor with his dance. This joy is for her alone.

A hunter would stab the unprotected back given the opportunity. But this is not the sword of a hunter. It was only passed on by a hunter, wasn’t it? A gift to open up a path. One that leads past Bella’s back, and ends in taking Ember’s hand. To whoever sent this gift, he will thank them by using it properly.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t close his eyes…completely.

He lunges for the heart.

Please, Artemis.

Do not let him sacrifice anything needlessly.

Return to Thellamie

It is soft. It is heavy. It is warm. This is how it starts.

It is night on the windswept plains. It is the end of an adventurous day. It is a rare moment alone. This is how it can’t stop.

The warmth of piled blankets is almost like the warmth of a body. Almost.

First fly the questions, whittled down to points with no space for answers. What does he think he’s doing? You were doing so well. You don’t have to do this. Why? Why come back to these thoughts, again? Is this who you want to be? Is this who you’ve wanted to be? How much longer are you going to struggle with this? When will you get your act together?

She wanted him. She hungered for him. She bound him, and he could not move an inch, and he could only be where she wanted him. He tried to speak, and she devoured his words, and his lips, and his tongue…

Next come the knives. Surgical. Sharp. Begin with the beginning, the real beginning. A chain of mistakes led to a tragedy. The chain must be broken. The earlier, the better. Give no ground. Why did he choose wrong, when he could have chosen right? Walk me through it. Find the error. Correct it. Make new plans. Reinforce them. Correct it. Do better. Why can’t you do better? Correct it. Why are you like this? Correct it. Do better. Never again. Never again.

…would enough of her pollen stop her nails from hurting? Would he feel the fear and thoughts drain, and drain, and drain away as she kissed, and kissed, and kissed, no matter how hard he tried to fight it?

Questions and knives. Knives and questions. It will end, eventually. It has to.

He’s done enough thinking. He knows what happened. He knows what he will do. It is over and done with now. Aren’t the blankets comfortable? It’s time to sleep. Breathe. You have to focus on your breath. Feel the air fill your lungs. Count the seconds. Exhale. Don’t rush it. It’s over and done with. You know what you’ll do next time. Aren’t the blankets comfortable? Turn, and wiggle, feel the knit texture brush against your skin. This is nice. You are filthy. This is a nice bed. Tomorrow will be better. Look forward to it. You’ll sleep soon. Breathe. This feeling is poison. Count the seconds. You’re rushing it. Six, then two, then five. There’s other ways to count breaths. Any of them will do. This is fine. You are fine. It’s time to sleep. This feeling is

failure

Last, always last, the flood carries him away. Sleep will end it, eventually.

In the morning, he will feel better.

In the morning, he will smile.

In the morning, he will remember. Warmth and shame. Shame and warmth.

He knows what he will do. Next time, it will be different.

*********************************

No plan survives contact with a wolfgirl’s mouth.

In his defense, there’s a lot of wolfgirl! That much wolfgirl shouldn’t be able to appear and pounce so quickly! Though, come to think of it, that’s probably really useful to do when hunting, so maybe it happens more often than you’d think. Except! This is a ball! And not a hunting!

Which is all to say, if you were to ask him later what he was thinking in this exact moment, he wouldn’t have a particularly good answer. Not only because he’d be wondering how you knew any of this happened, or why it was so important for you to know what was on his mind when Olesya was attacking his face with her face. Though those would also make answering. Difficult.

But if he had to say something? And he had enough time to get his thoughts in order?

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel right. And that was probably a bad thing.

“Heymmrph! Waimmmphh!!! Timerprrhhh! Outmmmmmmph!!!!”

There is. So much? So much. Wolfgirl. The muffled protests of her prey a deerboy can’t stop her. The frantic tap-tap-tap-taps on her…arm? Golly, her back is really far away, anyway, that can’t stop her either. And. So.

(His heartblade showed some aptitude for shifting shapes. Possibly because it was more shape than blade. And yet, it resisted the form of a bow. Not completely, mind you. And he did get close. But he never quite got the knack of it. Something about the shape was right, but too much about the shape was wrong.

That said. He learned how a bowstring longed to be gently released, allowed to fly free. He learned where to hold his arm so as not to bruise himself with every shot. He learned the height to aim, the time to breathe out, and the thrill of an arrow thudding near to the mark.

But most importantly, he learned what a novice archer ought to shout when an arrow doesn’t go where you thought it would.)

-smack!-

rings a flailing hand against her jacket.

“DOWN!”

rings the voice of the Golden Fawn.

[Spending a String on Olesya, because he wants her to stop, start over, and use her words instead of her face.]

Breathless Dead

Somewhere - he couldn’t remember where - he went from bounding after moonlight to dancing before a goddess. When the hunter stops, he stops. His head tilts one way, then the other. Twitch, twitch, flick go his ears. He hears nothing. He sees nothing.

The next steps of the hunt are his. It is the way of things. He turns where he is led. He creak, creak, creaks, closer, knowing nothing. He stops, by Her side.

There has not been a sacred stag for many, many years, so Dolce of Beri will have to do.

“Th. T. Thhhh. There. I-is.” Breathe. Bite back all frustration. Please, Mistress of the Hunt. Bear with his broken tongue. They are the first words he has spoken since the foul march began. “Is. There, necessary…play?”

Obediently, he waits by her side. Obediently, he listens.