Completed The Butterfly

[Hahnah]

They had gone far north from Strathford, leaving the town entirely behind. Past the northern fields they had fled. All the way across that moonlit span to the northern treeline over three hundred meters distant from Strathford's northern periphery. Among the trees the refugees finally stopped for a halt to catch their collective breath and to take stock. They had a meager assortment of arms among them--spears, hunting bows, some improvised wooden round shields that a few of the men appointed as sentinels earlier had held on to. No supplies other than that. No food, no water, no tools by which to make a fire or torches.

The armed men had arrayed themselves in a loose circle around the other two hundred fellow townsfolk. Children were crying in the middle of this large circle in the treeline, people were lamenting their terrible fortune, a small group of devout townsfolk had gathered and were on their knees praying to Astra for forgiveness for their transgressions and for deliverance from their woes, others mourned the passing of the monster hunters who tried to protect them, and others still were in a dazed, shaken silence. Around the circle, Friede and her mother making rounds and calling out, "Zael! Zael, where are you?"

Near the center of the refugee circle, discussions were being had.

"What other choice do we have?" David said, speaking with the mayor of Strathford. Not a man of noble blood, the mayor. Simply the man chosen by the people of the town. "We sure as hell can't go back. We just have to keep moving north. To Arbeitt. They take pilgrimages to the Pond of the Goddess too, they'll understand."

The mayor rubbed his forehead. "There just...I worry that there won't be enough space for everyone. Or food--winter is on its way. David, Strathford couldn't take in double its population overnight. Arbeitt can't either."

"Well, we won't be staying long," David said. "Just long enough to sue for the intervention of the Anirian--"

"Something from the south!" Called a squinting spearman from the treeline's southern edge to the group.

Andrea clutched at David's arm, holding upset Michael in the other. David sighed. Said, "Gods damn it, what now?"

"IT'S ONE OF THEM!" the spearman called, as if he heard and spoke in direct response.

Frightened murmurs and exclamations fired up from around the group. Townsfolk who were sitting down or leaning against trees stood and looked and prepared to run again. But Reginald came forward, stepping forth from the inner circle to walk briskly up beside the spearman who had noticed. "Whoa, hold, hold, hold, hold," he said. Then turned and generally faced his fellow townsfolk behind him. "Hold!"

Andrea watched fearfully from afar, and David came jogging up beside Reginald. "What the hell is going on?"

The spearmen pointed the tip of his weapon in Pretty Boy's direction. "It's right there. See that big bastard?"

David's eyes followed the track of the spearmen's pointing weapon. "Yeah, I see him alright." Then he turned back, began to shout over his shoulder, "BOW--!"

Reginald interrupted with a hand on his David's back. "David, David, hold. I would...I would at least go and open a dialogue with him."

David gave Reginald a reproachful look. Pointed an accusatory finger at Pretty Boy. "That animal killed, or helped kill, my brothers, Reginald. For the gods' sake, your own wife, Reginald. Them and almost everyone else at the Pond. All of them and the monster hunters. Astra have mercy, are you trying to add one more tragedy to the host of them Strathford has suffered?"

"I am but one man," Reginald said, with a quiet confidence. "One old, widowed man. Yet I may have something left to offer, if I can speak with him."

David didn't like it. Not one bit. "And if that thing's mercurial nature strikes again? If you end up filling its belly because a whim told it to eat you?"

Reginald took a step out of the treeline. Stopped. Said back to David, "Then you will be vindicated, and, though I will leave my daughter and my grandson, I will join my beloved Valeria."

David, none too pleased but not making an attempt to stop him, said that he better not take too long, that the group needed to get moving north soon, and he told the armed men to keep eyes out for the other one--Hahnah. Andrea, realizing what her father was doing, cried desperately from the circle's center for him not to do it. Friede, her and her mother also realizing what Reginald was doing, came running up to close to him and asked if he could ask the monster if it knew where Zael was. Reginald nodded and said that would.

Reginald walked from the circle of townsfolk gathered among the trees behind him. Walked into the grassy field. Walked up close to Pretty Boy. Crouched down slowly. Through the silvery lighting of the moon and the stars, it looked as though Pretty Boy had suffered some wounds. Burns, quite a lot of them on his back, maybe others that Reginald could not see. He had no idea about the physiology of devourers--if such injuries were trivial or not.

"Hello again," Reginald said. "My fellow townsfolk are...concerned that you followed us out here."

He splayed his hands out in front of him, indicating the dirt below the grass for him to write in. "Was there something you wanted to say?"

* * * * *​

The cocoon inside the church of Strathford was completely suspended off of the floor now. Four tendrils of Living Armor wrapped about four pillars, the entire thing like some horrific tumor growing on the very ceiling of the nave.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty saw the commotion. Oh what, now they were on alert? He could smell them in the trees. They were smart in that they hadn’t camped out in the open, but there was too much noise. They were lamenting and sobbing and crying out to the dark to eat them. He saw Reginald coming to him out of the trees and waited for him, tail wagging in the moonlight.

The man greeted him, and indicated the dirt. Pretty obliged him. Help. He turned and licked at his back, whimpering. Hurt. Hahnah- he paused, and shook his head. Don’t know. Dead or sleep. No return church. Hers now.

Pretty leaned forward and his large lips kissed Reginald’s cheek. Glad safe. He shivered a bit. There was no fire, which was smart, but it would be cold soon. Can trade. For help. He offered. Wait.

Devourers were at least familiar with the concept of barter. Gifts of meat or sex to get through another’s territory were very common among their kind. Occasionally, gifts of rocks or other pretty things if the owner’s territory was well stocked. Pretty turned and trotted into the woods. He wasn’t gone long, but his pouch was full. He had half a large stag hanging grotesquely out of his mouth. He dropped the deer in front of Reginald, working it out of his pouch.

Help now? He wrote questioningly.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Reginald read what Pretty Boy wrote. So he did want help for his wounds. Not that Reginald could do much about it here--their haste in fleeing Strathford precluded taking along any supplies for the journey to Arbeitt. The part about "no return church, hers now" was of course concerning. He said that Hahnah was either dead or asleep, yet the church remained hers. Whatever the truth of the matter, one thing was for certain: Strathford would be reclaimed. The townsfolk were driven to desperation by the failure of the monster hunters, leaving behind their homes and their livelihoods, and were terrified of monsters stalking the forest now. Arbeitt too, as well as the other nearby towns which all made pilgrimages to the Pond, would be frightened, once the story of Strathford reached them. The bubble of relative peace had been popped. People would want protection, even the elves of Strathford...and that was where the Anirians were likely going to step in; David was not the only one in favor of making a plea to Vel Anir for Strathford to be subjugated in exchange for security.

The girl with the orange eyes, Hahnah, may have the church--may have all of Strathford now--but, should the plea to Vel Anir be successful, she would not for long. Strathford would be taken back. It was only a matter of whether or not she would be crushed under the plated fist of the Anirian Guard.

Reginald squinted his eyes and made a face when Pretty Boy...kissed him. If he was to be frank, then he would say that the experience was unpleasant. But he received it in good faith and without fuss anyway.

Can trade, for help, Pretty Boy had written.

"No, wait, that's--"

Gone. Reginald waited for him to come back. He pulled back some when the mutilated stag was offered.

"No, no, that's alright. I was going to say that you don't need to trade me anything. But I cannot help you here. I...well, I must return to Strathford and visit the apothecary in the town square." The thought of what Pretty Boy had written lingered on his mind. "Is it safe?"

* * * * *​

The cocoon in the church pulsated. A familiar rhythm.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty eyed Reginald. What was the man thinking? Rejecting food when it was right in front of him? He looked down at the deer. What was wrong with it? What did humans eat? He was so sure they ate meat. There was that deer carcass he’d found in the woods. Was Reginald just being picky? He was a picky human.

Give to females, pups. He wrote. Town dangerous. What a... he didn’t know how to spell it. Apocary? I protect. Tell herd. Give deer. Eat, then everyone happy.

Why were the humans so upset? Humans made new nests all the time. They adapted. Overcame. Renewed. But they were also weirdly territorial. He nuzzled Reginald, and butted the deer at him. We can go town. Quick. Pouch. Hahnah no smell.

He crouched down and opened his mouth expectantly, tongue lifted so Reginald could see he wasn’t about to vanish into the cavernous throat, but rather into the fuzzy pouch. Albeit, the one the deer had just been in...but in Pretty’s opinion smelling like deer, blood and devourer could only help Reginald at this point. He could leap in head first and wriggle around to get himself oriented. Pretty was essentially treating him like a pup.

Show humans pretty no eat. Pouch safe. The humans were so fussed about their herd members, he wanted to make sure he did it right.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Pretty Boy misunderstood his intentions. Reginald meant only to be altruistic--he didn't want him to feel as though his help would only come at a price, that Pretty Boy was obligated to trade something for it. Even though these creatures, Devs as the monster hunters called them, had a level of intelligence to them, perhaps the idea of altruism did not come naturally--somewhat like children before they learned of such things. So Reginald just played along.

"Very well then. I accept the trade," he said. The meat wouldn't do much to feed over two hundred people, but it was something. Some stomachs would not rumble on the day or two's journey north to Arbeitt.

Quick, pouch, Pretty Boy wrote. And at this Reginald immediately balked. Partially because the experience was terribly unnatural and unpleasant, but more so because the townsfolk simply would be horrified by it, no matter how hard his attempts to convince them.

"No. Pretty Boy, listen to me, no," Reginald said, serious in the matter. "You do not understand, but you must take my word for it. Do not do that. Do not put me in that pouch. At least not while there are other people around. That may be what you do among your kind, but...humans, elves, other peoples...ah, they will not like it. And it will not matter if I am safe or not in there. They will not like it."

The townsfolk gathered in the treeline were all preparing to leave, to continue their journey northward--some wary eyes still watching Pretty Boy and what he was doing with Reginald. David called out from the trees, "Reginald, we can't stay here. It's now or never. We're heading north."

Reginald glanced toward the dark shapes of his fellows. Toward David. Called back, "I will meet you there."

Then Reginald turned. Faced south--back toward Strathford. The house fires could still be seen from this distance, shimmers of orange and the thick columns of black smoke rising. To Pretty Boy he said, "Come, then. We might as well start walking. I am certain the carcass will be retrieved once we are far enough from it."

And, as Reginald started along, he answered as well, "And an apothecary is..." He simplified his definition, "...a place where healing things are kept."

* * * * *​

The cocoon in the church pulsated. A familiar rhythm.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty snorted. Hahnah smell and kill you. He informed him. Leave trail. Right to others. Track you like herd. Have to wipe scent. He informed him. They were like babes in the wilderness. Wandering around leaving bits of things, scent uncovered. The roan would eat well if they weren’t careful. She was more than capable of taking them on. Pretty looked at David when he called out.

David stupid.

He wrote, and made a strange disgusted face, wrinkling his lips up and sticking his tongue out. He led Reginald on a weird, drunken path. He was thinking like a devourer. Devourers made false scent trails, especially lone females with pups. Pretty was trying to emulate the same. Maybe not as tricky as a female, but close. He waited until they were out of eyesight of the rest of the townsfolk, and ducked into a thicker copse of trees.

Pouch. No scent trail back to herd. He pointed out, and opened his mouth. Waited patiently. If his back wasn’t so bad then Reginald could ride, but he shuddered at the idea of anything on those fat blisters right now. If Reginald refused the pouch again, Pretty would simply lift a leg and pee on him. Well, it was the best thing he could think of to wipe away Reginald’s scent. The roan would also turn her nose up at anything smelling like piss and testosterone. Pretty hoped he would just hop in and stop complaining.

Why did humans have to argue everything? Food, space, transport, healing. How did they manage to build a church? Was that church a hundred years old, to give time for the humans pausing and arguing over every single stone placement? If Pretty had eyes he would have rolled them.

Either way, covered in piss or in the pouch, Pretty took him back to down. He went straight for the town square, waiting for directions and keeping an eye on the church. He didn’t trust it, not a damn bit. He did hear breaking furniture; the roan was getting into preserves and dry food.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah smell and kill you, Pretty Boy had written. That along with the other reasonings behind his intent.

Reginald sighed. If Hahnah did indeed have such a capability, and Reginald did not doubt that she did, then it did make sense. Pretty Boy was ignorant of the ways of civilization, but of the things of the wild he would know much--far more than Reginald, or any human in truth, ever could. It made sense then to endure the unpleasantness of the pouch, even if he was adverse to doing so.

David stupid. Reginald made no comment aloud at this, for he did not wish to upset his makeshift companion nor cast aspersions on his son-in-law. Would Pretty Boy have trusted the killers of his mate and babies? If not, Reginald would not blame him, as he did not blame his son-in-law now. Pretty Boy seemed not to understand fully what he had done at the Pond, or at least that David cared deeply about the people who had died, and cared in the present for the safety of his wife and son; he did not trust the killers of his brothers and friends, neither Pretty Boy nor Hahnah, around them. It was likely that Pretty Boy's way of thinking was simply too foreign for the civilized world, and would always be so.

The townsfolk of Strathford were moving on. Heading north to Arbeitt.

And, for Reginald, the time had come to enter the pouch. At the very least, he did not need to walk anymore.

* * * * *​

The town square.

Inside the church, the cocoon itself appeared to be gone. But this was a matter of angle, of not being able to see it while outside, for the height of the broken front doors was smaller than the height of the ceiling. The cocoon was still inside, still suspended high up in the nave by the tendrils wrapped about the four pillars, and still pulsating, though its growth had stopped.

Reginald, peeking out from the pouch as best he could, oriented himself to where they were.

"Alright," he said. "Let's see. Ah. Put your back to the statue of Astra...oh, the big metal thing in the center of the square. Do that and face the church. Then turn to your left, and you'll be facing the apothecary directly. I'm afraid there's no sign--everyone just knows Old Emma's apothecary and where it is."

Reginald was intentionally putting off asking about Zael for Friede. He...well, he simply did not imagine any good news coming from Zael's absence. The best he could hope for was that Pretty Boy had not seen him. There, at least, hope could still be kept alive.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy opened his mouth to let Reginald in, and set off. Some devourers coped well with civilization. Some became positively metropolitan, learning how to live, rent properties, use coins, and even run small businesses. It was possible for devourers to fit into a civilized world. Pretty Boy was part of the larger population that rejected mankind’s cities and towns, had no interest in working for coin, and generally chose to live and interact with two legs on their own terms.

After all, devourers had little to do but eat, sleep, and mate. If one needed a meal one hunted for it. If one wanted to sleep all he had to do was find a spot of sunlight. What maniac thought he could improve on a system based off naps and sex? Humans, apparently.

Not that civilization didn’t come with advantages Pretty could see. City devourers would just go to a healer, give them some coin, and be treated. Devourers in the wild either self medicated or died. Pretty was beginning to see that now as they headed back to the town, his mouth open wide so Reginald could guide him. It wasn’t the largest window to look through, but it worked.

Left of the church. Got it. He followed Reginald’s directions and, when they found the building that smelled of herbs, let him out of the pouch. He laid down in front of the apothecary with his eye on the church. He didn’t trust that cocoon, and the roan was around.

Unfortunately for Reginald, her smaller size had gained her access to the back room of the apothecary. She had found jars of lavender and was rubbing around in the spilled mess, rubbing it all over her fur. Pretty perked up at the scent, shoving his head inside the door. Oh. He liked that smell. He knew that smell! Purple plants that made devourers feel funny. Happy and relaxed. He loved lavender.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Reginald got out of the pouch, took one step inside the apothecary, flinched, and stepped right back out. There was something in there. Maybe the sentinels had seen something else--they said as much once they had retreated from the town's periphery to the square, and then into the church and manor. If Pretty Boy was here, and Hahnah was either dead or asleep in the church, then what in Astra's name was inside the apothecary? He had heard it, whatever it was, somewhere in the back room. Maybe it was what the sentinels had seen, maybe it was Hahnah, maybe it was something else entirely.

"There's something inside," Reginald said, peeking through the doorway with a wary gaze. Then a glance to Pretty Boy, "Are you certain that Hahnah is still inside the church?"

* * * * *​

The cocoon in the church pulsated. A familiar rhythm.

That of a heartbeat.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy snorted when Reginald backed out of the apothecary, and patted the ground to get his attention. Devourer female. Young. He wrote, and snorted. He shoved his head into the door again and lowed. He heard an answering, lazy sound from the back, and the female fiddling with something. She was playing, oblivious to the danger in the church. Pretty snorted. They needed to leave. Or more specifically Reginald needed to get back to his herd, and he to Hahnah. He looked back at the church, at the cocoon, then at Reginald.

He rubbed his head against him, careful not to hit him with his tusks. Go medicine. He wrote. The female was probably full of meat from the monster hunters and plundered the reserves from the townspeople. She wasn’t going to be hungry if she had the time to fiddle around with lavender.

Indeed, she would completely ignore Reginald. She was making an absolute mess of the apothecary’s back room, spreading lavender all over the floor and pitching herself in the dried herb to crush the flowers.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

There were more of them? In all his years he'd not seen nor heard of these creatures, and now there were two--maybe more--in the vicinity of Strathford. Pretty Boy could be negotiated with, but there was no guarantee that this other one would also be that way. Not so dissimilar from encountering a stranger--human, elf, orc, what have you--out on the road. Some things were held in common between that the civilized world and the wild world.

Go medicine, Pretty Boy's scratched message.

Mildly surprised that he knew the word, Reginald took another glance inside the dim apothecary and then stepped gingerly inside. If anything, he could hurry back outside if that other devourer came at him. Old Emma certainly wasn't going to like what was happening to her shop, and the damage done to the town's only stock of apothecary supplies would not bode well for the winter. But it could not be helped. Much like the fires consuming the houses at the southern edge of town, it could not be helped. The town had not been sacked by some invading army, but by the end of all of this, it might well feel as though it had been.

Reginald, squinting with the meager moonlight that made it through the open door and the window, searched out the shelves and behind the counter. Old Emma, quite the organized old woman, meticulously kept everything neatly arranged in their proper places, and had labeled these proper places as such: the names of the alchemical and natural ingredients, and as well what they were used for.

Burns. Reginald found what he was looking for. He picked up a small, palm-sized jar of salve and carefully made his way around the counter again and exited the apothecary.

Once outside, he held the jar up for Pretty Boy to see. (How did he see? came the musing, curious thought in Reginald's mind.)

"I think this should do it," he said.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty watched Reginald carefully as he headed inside the shop. The roan was having a good time rolling around in herbs she might not otherwise find in the winter months, but if he startled her Pretty would have a hard time defending him. Thankfully the human looked through the shelves, grabbed a jar, and headed back out. Pretty tilted his head to look at the jar. Well, it said burns and it stank like medicine.

Quick. Get you back to herd. Hahnah. He scratched quickly, and opened his mouth.

The roan was treated to the very odd sight of a human crawling into a devourer’s mouth like a pup. A male no less. An adult human male clambering into a marsupium. She sat down and made a hacking sound, pointing a paw at Pretty Boy. She was laughing at them. Honestly, she’d seen nothing so ridiculous in all her days. The lavender wasn’t helping. Pretty gave her a look. He didn’t appreciate being made fun of.

He huffed at her, but she had a fit of the giggles now. She scratched in the floor of the shop. Wrong hole.

Then leaned against one of the shelves and laughed herself sick. Pretty lifted his lip at her, but he needed to get Reginald back. The roan was clearly amused by the idea and began to follow them. Pretty didn’t much care, until she followed them outside of the town. Pretty growled and turned around, and scratched into the ground. Not eating humans. Stupid humans, need help.

Help? She asked incredulously.

Yes. Humans in cities okay. Humans in forest dumb. Need help.

The roan snorted. Why help?

Pretty underlined the last phrase. The roan looked confused, but curious. She followed them, easily keeping track of Pretty’s strangely winding route. He was protecting this herd. Were they his? Sometimes devourers adopted or served people. As Pretty led them back, she had made the conclusion he had liked them, and was protecting them. She didn’t move aggressively toward the herd, though she did sit and watch as Pretty let Reginald out again and presented his back.

Ah, the relationship became clear. Two legs had lovely hands that could do things Devourers couldn’t. That was why humans made cities, and buildings, and nice things like baths and hearths. Pretty helped them and in return got nice things. She could accept that. Alright, these weren’t eating humans.

Pretty looked at her strangely, then at Reginald. He let the man tend to his back, then approached the female. Not my humans, but do need someone.

She looked at them, then at Pretty. Pretty patted the ground to get her attention. Need protector. Loyal. Help hunt, help protect. Help females. Highest calling. No eating, but protect and learn. Humans smart but stupid. Learn smart, teach away stupid.

The roan frowned, lifting her lip. She had no territory of her own, and no mate. Perhaps Pretty’s situation was more complex. But...she could use help. A bigger devourer could easily bully her into starvation her first winter. Okay.

Pretty nodded in satisfaction and turned to Reginald. She agree to protect you and herd. Feed you. Keep safe. Not as good as Pretty, but will learn. Will get big. What think?

The roan examined Reginald, sniffing him.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

The townsfolk of Strathford, with their huge headstart, were much farther along to the north than they had been. Well into the northern wood and up the Strathford-Arbeitt road. It would have taken an hour, possibly two, to even see the tail end of their group in the distance--with what moonlight could filter down through the canopy of the trees, even if a good number of them were shed of their leaves.

And that was good. The lower light conditions in the forest and the distance meant that Reginald could get out of Pretty Boy's mouth without anyone seeing. He was wary when he saw the other devourer--not having known she had followed after the apothecary. He did not pay much attention to the writing back and forth between Pretty Boy and the other one. He just set to work applying the salve to Pretty Boy, warming the gel in his hands first and then rubbing it onto the burns. By the time he was done it had taken the entire jar, and he wasn't quite sure if he had gotten all of it.

Pretty Boy turned to him. Wrote something. Reginald read it (drawing back nervously when the roan sniffed at him, as well).

And he sighed. He suspected that Pretty Boy, and very likely the other devourer, would not take rejection well. But they would have to, and there was nothing Reginald could do about it. The townsfolk of Strathford would arrive in Arbeitt by, or perhaps even before, the morrow's night. And once there, David, the mayor, and practically everyone else would draft up their plea to the Anirians. Phari would be sent to the nearest garrison, a fort housing a unit from the Army of the East, and the local commander would likely accept. The loss of independence, the taxes, none of that meant anything to people who had endured tragedy and were frightened for their safety. And they would under no circumstances accept the help of one devourer over the backing of the military giant that was Vel Anir, even if the incident at the Pond had never occurred. They would not even accept the other devourer solely for the journey to Arbeitt, this precisely because of what happened at the Pond and who was involved.

But it was probably a futile effort to attempt to explain all of this to Pretty Boy, let alone the other devourer.

So Reginald simply shook his head. Said, "It is not a good idea. Both you and her would be greeted with suspicion and hostility. I'm sorry."

* * * * *​

The cocoon in the church pulsated. A familiar rhythm.

That of a heartbeat.

The tandem beat of two hearts, as it were.

One consuming the other.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty sighed happily as Reginald applied the salve. It felt so much better. He pressed against the man’s hands. He would heal rather quickly now, and the salve would prevent infection from setting in. It stank, but it felt good. Humans had good hands. He stood up and gently took the jar from Reginald, storing it in his pouch. It was mostly empty, but he would see if someone could help him later.

He sighed at Reginald, and looked at the female. Then back at the human. See? Dumb. Would want be hunted alone in dark. Because you not walk on two feet.

The female frowned at Reginald. Her face was slightly more expressive than Pretty’s, in part because she didn’t have two massive sets of tusks interrupting her use of her mouth. Pretty bad at Pond. Kill humans. So now they hate all devourers. Pretty explained with a sigh, and tapped his words so Reginald could see. Follow for a few days? See if change mind? This human good.

The roan shrugged, and nodded. She’d at least escort them from a distance. Pretty nodded in satisfaction and kissed Reginald’s forehead. Be good human. Not all devourers bad. He wrote to him. Bye.

Pretty turned to trot back to the town, glad he’d had his back tended to and the humans were left with a stronger creature. They’d reject her, but she’d keep an eye on them and leave them kills. At least they wouldn’t go hungry.

It took a few hours to return to the church and by then the pain from his burns had dulled. He felt so much better. He caught a few chickens on the way in, and cautiously headed inside the church. He sniffed at the pulsating cocoon, tilting his head. He resolved to leave it alone. He found a few cushions in one of the smaller chapels and settled down, putting his chin on his paws. He dozed, tired after the long day and needing rest. He would check on her in the morning, and hope she wasn’t still mad.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

The cocoon in the church pulsated. A familiar rhythm.

The sun would rise over Strathford as dawn came.

And nothing changed.

Still the cocoon pulsated in its steady rhythm.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy had a good sleep. He woke up and went outside to relieve himself, then went to check and see if he could get some breakfast. His back had scabbed already, and he felt so much better. He was able to find a few root cellars on the outskirts, with dried bread, vegetables and fruit. Combined with the last of the chickens, it was a decent breakfast.

The devourer returned to the church and waited. The heartbeat...did it mean she was alive? That Zael was alive?

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Nothing happened for the remainder of the first day.

For all of the second day.

For all of the third day.

For all of the fourth day.

For all of the fifth day.

On the sixth day, just before the breaking of dawn, the most subtle of shifts. The tandem heartbeat became one. And the cocoon's steady pulsating continued uninterrupted.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty Boy stayed. There was enough food to keep him occupied, and game was plentiful near the area. He found nearby streams to drink and bathe in, and keep his wound clean. By the fourth day his skin was fresh and new under the scab. By the sixth day it itched horrifically as the scab peeled away with the dead flesh, and new fur poked through. Pretty was itching his back on a column. He’d moved all the broken pews out after getting a splinter in his paw. For the moment, he was considering the church his territory.

He noticed the heartbeat. There was only one now. He nudged the cocoon and lowed, but nothing. He sat and waited patiently.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Phari returned to Arbeitt after a journey of a several days to the Anirian fort and back. She made quite the grand entrance into the Lord of Arbeitt's estate, catching the attention of nearly all inside as the front doors burst open. Her fellow Strathfordians came rushing over to the estate when word spread that she had returned, and a crowd was gathered in the heart of Arbeitt.

"What did he say?" David asked.

Phari, at the tail end of catching her breath, wiped some sweat from her brow and declared excitedly, "Commander Velcheck of the Anirian Guard's Army of the East, Commander of Fort Adamantium and the 13th Homeguard, has said...that on behalf of the nation of Vel Anir, of King Anireth, and of the Seven Great Houses...he accepts the pleas of Strathford, Arbeitt--"

Phari could not even list the other local, connected towns in the vicinity of the Pond of the Goddess, all of whom had signed on to the plea for Anirian intervention and subjugation. The crowd gathered about her had burst into thunderous cheers and applause. Some, a small minority, did not clap nor cheer nor cry with tears of joy.

Among these few, Reginald. Who stood in a resigned silence among his peers.

* * * * *​

Nothing happened on the seventh day.

On the eighth day.

On the ninth day.

On the tenth day.

On the eleventh day.

On the twelfth day, the cocoon stopped pulsating. The unnatural strands of Living Armor which comprised it still snaked and slithered over one another in their incredibly slow motions.

All of the hatred of the second heart had been consumed. And the transformation within continued.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

By the tenth day Pretty had fully healed. He licked the dead skin out of his fur and bathed in a nearby stream. He’d eaten most of the preserves out of the households by the eleventh day, and was back to hunting rabbits and deer. He ate most of the rats, stray dogs, and cats in the neighborhood. The rest had gotten the idea and run off.

Mostly, he was bored. He rolled around in the lavender pile in the apothecary, and made sure the fires were out. A rain had rolled in at some point and taken care of most of it. The roan returned to tell him the humans were safe, if still hateful. He filled her belly, and gave her a warm place to sleep.

He was resting with her when he saw the cocoon stop pulsating. The armor strands were still moving, so he had no reason to think she was dead. He watched her still, and enjoyed the roan’s company for the time being.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Nothing happened on the thirteenth day.

On the fourteenth day.

On the fifteenth day.

On the sixteenth day.

On the seventeenth day.

And on the eighteenth day, the cocoon went completely inert at sunrise. The tendrils wrapped about the four pillars and suspending the cocoon began to lose their dark color. They paled, turning from black to charcoal to gray to light gray and finally to a pallid white. The cocoon itself retained its dark hue.

Wet cracking sounds came from the cocoon. Peculiar liquid, clear of color and eldritch in nature, dripped down from the suspended cocoon and splattered on the floor below. Entwining and interweaving strands of the symbiotic entity known as the Living Armor snapped around the main cocoon, and dangled limply down, turning white and dead--yet this loss meant nothing to that which was legion, and still had a host. The metamorphosis liquid dribbled down this army of dead, dangling strands, like water running down stalactites. More wet cracking sounds, coming from the top of the cocoon and echoing off of the ceiling. While some strands snapped and died, others withdrew, snaking back into the interior of the cocoon and into whatever lay inside.

One of the four suspending tendrils snapped, the thick, ropey thing smacking a pew as it swung downward and hung limply. Three tendrils still held, keeping the cocoon suspended high up in the nave.

Until another suspending tendril snapped. And the two tendrils which remained intact swung the cocoon down like a pendulum, barreling over and shoving aside and breaking pews that were caught in its path. Then the last two tendrils snapped as well.

The white, pallid strands of Living Armor forming these tendrils were shriveling. Dying. Their purpose done.

And a tear opened in the large black cocoon.

Something was moving inside.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

Pretty was outside when it happened, but the town was quiet. He’d been listening, and he heard the pews smash. He hurried back and cautiously peeked inside to see the cocoon on the ground. There was white, dead flesh hanging from the pillars, and the cocoon was cracked open. Pretty tilted his head and slowly entered the church, the changes in scent fascinating him. He made a noise at the cocoon, calling to it. Was that Hahnah? Was she still angry at him?

The humans were gone and the town was slowly becoming reclaimed by nature. Deer had started to investigate, as did scavengers. The roan had left, and Pretty was alone in waiting for her. He sat down and called again, but he still kept a healthy distance.

Perhaps she was still mad at him.

He couldn’t imagine for what. He had forgiven her.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

A fair-skinned hand emerged from the tear. An arm.

And a body rose up and out from the cocoon, black strands from her back like a dozen extra appendages propping her up and onto her feet on the stone floor of the church. She stood, and the black strands retreated inside of her back and her flesh sealed up perfectly. She was dripping wet. Naked. And she looked very much like a half-elf. Taller than Hahnah but shorter than Zael. Eyes blue and hair blonde and ears pointed like Zael, freckles and lips like Hahnah. A similar intensity in her eyes that was shared by both of them.

She held up her hand. Her palm. And a Tendril of Elemental Hatred slithered out of it, the sorcerous manifestation wriggling and undulating about.

She held up her left hand. Her palm. An Orb of Elemental Hatred coalesced in it, floating just above the tips of her fingers.

She looked to her left, to her shoulder, and canted her gaze slowly over to her right. Knives of Elemental Hatred slowly formed, one by one, making a halo of five of them.

Then she turned her palms down and, with flick of her wrists, all of her sorcery was dispelled in an instant.

She cast a glance to Pretty Boy.

Said nothing.

And turned and began to walk out of the church, her bare, wet feet slapping lightly on the floor.

Pretty Boy

 

[Pretty Boy]

It was Hahnah! And yet not? Pretty approached her carefully and lowed, sniffing at her. It was Hahnah and yet not. She wasn’t pleased to see him? Wasn’t this proof he wouldn’t hurt her? He hadn’t done anything but wait for her. He followed her, curious. She still had those knives and those horrible appendages...but it was over. The town was empty and silent. He stepped around the wet, snorting.

Pretty wanted to help her. He touched her back with his nose, gently. He knew where she could bathe and get herself together. He knew where there was food. He waggled his tail. He was happy she was back...he just didn’t know how she felt.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah stopped once she stepped outside the church. Ignored the noise Pretty Boy made and the sniffing he did. She scanned the town square, slowly shifting her head from left to right, eyes gazing out over the abandoned manor, the statue of Astra, the shops with no customers and no keepers. The clouds in the sky were patchy, but there was the smell of coming rain in the air.

She did not look back when Pretty Boy touched her back. She moved her right hand, flexed her fingers, and was on the cusp of calling forth a Tendril. But she stopped. Let her hand and her fingers relax, and gently rest by her side.

She looked back over her shoulder. Just enough to see him with a single eye lurking beneath her brow. And a small, brief smile crossed her face.

Then she started for the mayor's manor, walking with a languid pace. She approached the front door. Looked at it. Glanced back at the church. Then started to walk around the manor, her wet and bare feet picking up dirt from the lawn as she went. She walked around the manor until she reached the back door. It was left open.

She stepped inside, into the kitchen area of the manor. Tiny motes of dust could be seen in the shafts of daylight coming through some of the windows. A number of barricading chairs and furniture had been shoved off to the side, fine layers of dust gathered upon them now. She walked through the kitchen and opened the door that led into the dining room--not nearly as grand as the dining hall of a proper lord. Through the dining room then into the foyer, past the front door and its barricade, and up the central staircase. She looked left and she looked right, down each end of the second floor hall. She went right.

And found the master bedroom. She pushed opened the door, the hinges creaking slightly as she did. Into the room she went. She walked over to the large bed. Slowly laid her hand down on the blanket. Then flung it aside. She touched the linen sheet beneath. Grabbed a fistful of it and lifted her hand and pulled the sheet up and off of the bed.

Then she wrapped it around herself. Drying herself off with it. Meticulously working to rid herself of the wetness that clung to her skin.

Pretty Boy