"Are ya dead, Mister?"

Bezel peeled his eyes open, blinking wearily at the small child stooped over him. It was a little girl--a Faunish one. She had her fists perched on her hips, bunched up in the white fabric of her burlap dress, a curious tilt to her head. Black nubs stuck up from her tangled brown hair. She blinked wide brown eyes at him. Bezel cleared his throat and found his palms, anchoring them beneath his back to slowly push himself up onto his legs. He twisted his aching neck each direction his stiff joints allowed him to. He was in a forest, submerged in a crater of dead leaves, soft earth, and broken wooden branches. He tested his limbs lamely for injuries--knowing there would be none--but he still checked. His flexed his fingers, moved his toes. His back turned each way he moved it, popping as his bones settled. The sound of soft breathing drew Bezel's attention again. 

"No," he muttered finally, realizing he had never answered her. Although, it seemed plainly obvious. "Not dead." 

"Really?" She snorted doubtfully. As Bezel collected himself, she took a wide step back. "I saw ya fall from the sky." 

"If a rough landing was all it took to kill me, I would have died a very long time ago." Bezel muttered. 

"How did ya get up there?" The little girl pressed, craning her neck as if to spy up into the clouds. 

"I flew." Bezel shrugged. 

Her mouth popped open, forming a small 'O' before she once again tilted her head in a curious manner. "Are ya trickin' me, Mister?"

Bezel arched one eyebrow over one of his golden cat eyes and forced up an exaggerated scoff. "To what end?"

She shrugged, her scowl prominent. "I. . . 'avn't figured that out yet. How can ya fly if ya can not land?" 

Bezel rolled his eyes and gathered his legs under himself, slowly pushing up to his full height. The little Faun took another few steps back, her pink cheeks puffing at the force of her alarmed breathing. 

"I said I flew. I didn't say I was good at it. People do things they're bad at all the time. It's. . . a necessity." He explained. Although why he bothered, he didn't know. 

The girl seemed torn between fleeing and bothering Bezel further. Her legs bent, preparing for a speedy escape. "Such as?" She tested. 

"I don't know," Bezel groaned. "Taxes." 

"Axes?" She echoed, squinting. 

"It's like math where you never win." Bezel shrugged. 

"Bath?" She echoed again. "Ya say words real weird, Mister." 

"No, I don't." He grunted. He turned away, his eyes scraping over the dent made by his body on impact. He patted up and down the tattered remains of his clothes, as if searching for his keys. Except it was something larger and more stabby than a set of keys. "You saw me come down?" He asked aloud. He half expected the Faun to be gone when he turned back around, but for some reason she was still hovering. She nodded slowly. "Did you see a sword?" 

She tensed, eyes going slightly wider. 

"Look, kid-"

"Vernvalt!" 

"Okay, Vernvalt--wait, Vernvalt? Didn't your mother ever warn you not to give your name out to strangers?" The little girl flushed pink and blinked her coin-wide eyes. Bezel sighed and dragged his fingers through his messy black hair. "Whatever. Look, Vernvalt. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just trying to get back to my friends." Somehow the word felt like a lie when he stretched it to fit over Mayvalt and Ira but he couldn't quite think of a better title. 

The little Faun chewed on her bottom lip. A polished black hoof poked from the bottom of her burlap dress. She dug at the churned earth with the tip of the black keratin. "Are ya a devil, Mister?" 

Bezel almost laughed at the directness of her question. "Define a devil." He shrugged. "I've been called many things." 

"My mama says devils are bad." She said. "But ya do not seem so bad." 

Bezel crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "You don't know me, Vernvalt. I thought Fauns were supposed to be more scarce than this. How about this--just nod if you saw my sword around here and then run off. In the future, don't talk to strange men who crash land in the woods. Generally, it isn't a good idea." 

Vernvalt giggled into her fist. Bezel rolled his golden eyes. 

"Sword, kid." He clipped. "Yes or no?" 

Vernvalt sighed and lifted her small finger, pointing to a jagged boulder a little jog away from Bezel's current position at the center of his small crater. "It hit that rock and bounced off." 

"Thanks." Bezel nodded. He gathered his remaining strength and climbed out of the ditch. 

Vernvalt gasped but Bezel didn't know why until she came running around the side of the crater, eyes wide and hands outstretched. "Ya have wings, Mister!" She chirped, her voice light with childish excitement. Bezel recoiled, spinning to place his stomach in her reach instead of the twitching appendages curled against his spine. He placed one flat palm on her head, right between her horns, and pushed her back. 

"Don't!" He warned, his tone frosty enough to freeze her on the spot. 

Vernvalt's arms plopped down to her sides. Her eyes became wide behind the barrier of Bezel's fingers. "I-I am sorry. Do they hurt? Is that why ya crashed?" 

"No." He answered stiffly. "And that's enough questions." 

She nodded just once. Bezel sighed and let her go, returning to his search. He picked his way to the boulder she had indicated, peaking at the ground around the outcrop. He didn't see any shimmering silver--of course nothing could be easy. He groaned and dropped to his knees to dig at the earth more thoroughly. He pushed at the thick brush growing up around the gray stone. He even dug his fingers into brown piles of leaves, unearthing dens of worm-like grub and scuttling beetles that nested in the thorny roots. 

"Oi, Mister?" 

Bezel scowled. "Of course you're still here." He grumbled into the bush occupying most of his space. 

"Mister?" 

Bezel snapped upright so quickly he scraped his nose on thorny brambles and soft green leaves. "I said no more questions!" He spun around on his legs, turning to face the little Faun. She stood firm, his kris cradled in her bent elbows. Bezel shoved up to his full height and snatched the sword from her grasp, careful to keep the curved blade from her skin as he withdrew. "Don't touch this either! It isn't safe." 

She huffed, puffing out her bottom lip. Bezel groaned, forcefully adding a mumbled. "But thanks." 

She grinned, showing the gaps in her baby teeth. Bezel breezed past her, ignoring her crestfallen expression at being dismissed. To his great displeasure, she hopped along behind him. 

"Where are ya going now, Mister?" She asked. "To find ya friends?" 

"I hope." He grunted in plain reply. 

"Where are ya friends?" She asked, skipping along the scattered leaves. 

"In Heneth," Bezel muttered. "I hope." 

"Are ya going to Heneth?" She asked. 

"I hope." Bezel answered. 

"Ya hope a lot, Mister." She laughed. 

"Well, it's the next best thing." Bezel shrugged. 

"Next to what, Mister?" Vernvalt questioned. 

"Next to having a plan. Are you going to follow me all the way to Heneth?" He paused, turning on his heels to stare down at her. She filled her cheeks with air and shook her head. "Oh, uh, where are you going?" As much as he wanted to go on alone, having the little girl wander off on her own somehow felt irresponsible.  

She pointed the way they had come--the way Bezel was swiftly walking away from and said with a humorous shrug, "I am going back to Heneth, Mister." 

"Great." Bezel grunted. "This is just great--perfect." 

"Do ya want to follow me, Mister?" Vernvalt offered. 

"No." Bezel muttered. "I'll figure it out. Just, y'know, scamper off or whatever you Faun do. Go pick berries. Or play in mud." 

Vernvalt frowned and lifted up a small brown sack attached to a cord around her neck. "I already picked berries, Mister. Now I have to take them back to my mama. Ya can come, too! My mama makes good jam." 

"No." He said for what could have only been the hundredth time. "Are you always this inviting to strangers?" 

"My mama said to be weary of strangers but to also help those in need." She nodded as if it was obvious which category Bezel fell into. 

"I'm not in need-" he groaned and palmed his black hair, shoving it off his forehead. "I'm. . . fine. I have this handled." 

She raised her eyebrows doubtfully and shrugged up her small shoulders. "How are ya going to find ya friends?" 

Bezel wanted to deny that it was any of her business but before he could do that he could feel his tongue dutifully explaining. "They should be with my sister." 

The little Faun perked up, perching on the tips of her hooves with an excited squeal. "Ya have a sister, Mister? Can she fly, too? Does she have wings like ya?" 

"Yes--and no." Bezel answered with a flinch. "Look, drop the wing talk." 

She sighed, curling down into a dejected slump before suddenly snapping upright again. "Do ya live with ya sister? I live with my mama and I have three sisters." 

"No." Bezel said, moving forward again in the direction Vernvalt had pointed out to be correct. She fell into step beside him, hopping every few steps to meet his long strides. "I don't live with her--I haven't seen her for a . . . a very long time." 

"Are ya excited?" Vernvalt asked. 

"No." Bezel answered. 

"Oh. . . nervous?" 

"No." 

"Um, then-" 

"I'm not anything." He interrupted. "I just have to go there. It's business, kid." 

"Vernvalt." 

"Whatever." 

"Are ya going dressed like. . . that?" Vernvalt gestured at his half dissolved, mud-caked, and ripped clothing. 

Bezel suppressed a wince. "Well, this outfit was priceless when I left home." 

"That must have been a very long time ago." Vernvalt muttered. 

"Feels like it." Bezel agreed. "It'll have to do. I'm short on funds and time." 

Vernvalt made another excited squeal and bounced up on her hooves. "Ya can have some of my papa's old clothes!" 

Bezel eyed her wearily. "I don't think your father would approve." 

Vernvalt just smiled fondly, shaking her fuzzy brown curls. "Papa went away--to the Forever-Gone. So it's just mama now and she says we help those in need." 

"Oh," Bezel said because nothing else felt quite fitting. "Still, no-" his voice faltered in his throat at the sudden flash of white caught in the corner of his keen eyes. His wings, he startled. They had been subconsciously stretching, fluttering to resettled against his back. He forced his eyes ahead to the trees making up the forest and said. 

"Did your dad have any cloaks?" 

Vernvalt nodded. Bezel groaned before gesturing with his fingers for her to lead the way.  

| 𓃦 |

Bezel had enough sense to know strolling into a random family's cottage was a bad idea--but he was robbed of most other choices by the stubborn Faun girl dragged him along. She had an iron-fierce grip on what remained of his pant leg and each time Bezel tried to worm free, placating her by offering to hang outside so she could bring him some coat big enough to hang over his wings, she refused and replied some meaningless kindness about how he should at least stay for tea. 

It wasn't possible for Bezel to foster headaches anymore--and he was glad for it. He could vaguely recall the migraines that Mayvalt's spirited youth had given him back in the day, and at least he knew her. He would dare to say he had cared for her. 

This girl was nothing short of a menace. Her motivations (because Bezel was rational enough to realize it was likely not to vex him to death, that much was just an annoying side effect) confused him. Why did she care how he got on? If he wandered the forest along Heneth's borders for centuries, lost as a flea in the Atlantic, it was only his business. It was a waste to care for something the could not tire, hunger, ache, or bleed. It was as effective as showering a pet rock in affection--although, now that he had entertained the possibility, he was sure the girl must have had pebbles lining each shelf of her bedroom. 

"Do ya smell that?" Vernvalt gasped in excitement. She pushed up onto the tips of her hooves, wiggling her nose at the breeze fluttering down the hill. "Mushroom broth! Come, Mister!" 

Bezel winced an 'oof' as the girl picked up their pace. They were racing up the soft green hill at that point, Bezel with a sword in his hand and full attention on how strange the scene must have been. But he had little time to strategize as they crested the top of the mound. They tumbled out of the brush into the beginning of clear lawn and blue skies. Vernvalt's house--if the little hut deserved such a title--was at the top of one of many rolling hills. They sprawled downwards, converging onto a muddled scene of leaning thatch huts, gray stone streets, smoke stacks, and crowds. Bezel didn't need a map to know he had made it--this was Heneth. Somewhere in the jumbled streets below was Bezel's sister, the Fifth Prince. If he cashed in on all his luck--then maybe he would find Ira and Mayvalt, too. He squashed down his optimism. Hoping had a way of ensuring future disasters. And he had other worries to consider first. 

Vernvalt smiled brightly, tugging Bezel towards a round stone hut at the center of the hill they had arrived at. The state of it hovered between dilapidated and cozy. Vibrant purple vines curled up the sides of the gray walls, mingling with the hay roof. The vines seemed the last line of resistance against a three inch wide crack running up the side of the stones. A small cooking fire had been lit in the yard, a short Faunish woman leaned over it with her hands pitched on her hips. Steam rose to her pink cheeks and beyond, only parting for the long block prongs stuck out of her wild red curls. 

Nearby, two more Faunish children sat in a wooden vegetable box plucking at weeds with thorn-bitten fingers. The front door squealed on rusted hinges as yet another Faunish daughter joined the scene in the yard. She had her arms clutched around a crudely fashioned basket, one overflowing with sheets. Her mother abandoned the pot in the center of her fire to help her carry the crumbling laundry basket to a crudely pitched line. 

"Wen, go wash an' help Tuli han' these blankets." She shouted in the direction of the vegetable patch. 

Her woodsy accent was sharper than Vernvalt's, like she had come from even deeper in the forest. Bezel swallowed his wince. If this woman was Forest-Kin then she was trouble. Only Satyrs still roamed the woods, Fauns much preferred the arts and entertainment of modern life. Mayvalt had attempt to explain it all to him once upon a time; how Faun was just a term Bezel had been applying to the servers and hosts at his bar. The tamed and gentle version of a much wilder demon. A demon that Bezel had only seen once. The night the rangale had come to curse him. 

The old Faunish cult was full of Satyrs. They loved the violence of tearing out Bezel's heart almost as much as they hated him for straying Faun from the Satyrian way, allowing them space to experience cities, buses, ice cream, and movie streaming. 

He forced an exhale from his still lungs to shake loose the less than notable concerns. Satyrs didn't exist anymore. For all their barking about tradition and honor, they had all given into Faunish pleasure and convenience. All that was left, some thick rolled tongues and old crafting secrets--and of course, hypocrites. They had long since abandoned him, but he knew the rangale must have taken to hiding somewhere. Maybe Milan, or Shanghai. Enjoying life as Bezel enjoyed nothing. 

One of the Faunish girls seated in the dirt groaned before obediently trotting off to a small pump dug near the foundation stones of their housing hut. There was squeaking metal and the sound of trickling water as the girl began scrubbing her fingers in the little stream. 

"Mama!" Vernvalt shouted with a giggle. 

Her fist finally released Bezel's ruined suit pants, something he had begun to doubt would ever happen, and she raced across the yard to throw her arms around her mother's legs. The woman huffed in affectionate surprise, greeting her daughter with a kind smile and fingers sunken into her curls. 

"Vernie," the mother Faun laughed. "Ya goin' to topple me one of these days."

"Mother." The oldest Faun hissed. She was heads taller than the other smaller Fauns, almost taller than even her mother, with sharp black horns that spiraled up out of her braided brown hair. She had wide brown eyes, flushed with fear. But that probably had more to do with Bezel. Her mother glanced at her, startled by the alarm in her voice--until her eyes flickered towards the Prince of Hell standing awkwardly in her yard. Her face paled instantly, turning as ghostly as her freshly washed sheets. 

"G-go inside, gals." She ordered stiffly, her fingers tightening on Vernvalt's thin shoulders. 

Bezel winced. This was a bad idea--but more importantly, it was a waste of time. He almost turned to leave when Vernvalt shouted. "No! Wait!" 

Her small voice carried across the lawn, gathering the attention of all her flustered family members. The little Faun planted her arms across her chest in a stern huff and tilted up her chin. "I found him! He's my friend." 

Bezel pushed his fingers through his oil-black hair and scowled. "Friends is pushing it, kid." 

She looked wounded enough to almost trick Bezel into feeling guilt. Almost. Vernvalt's mother was scowling. Something the Prince figured he deserved. She dragged the protesting child behind the length of her dress, hiding Vernvalt in more ruffled burlap fabric. A stubborn set of her jaws was Bezel's first warning that he was about to get a motherly scolding. 

"We refuse ya, devil! We have chosen a life by our own merit on the borders--a life the Fifth Prince swears to protect. If ya dare to interfere-" 

Bezel cut her off with a dismissive flick of his wrist. She turned pink, dropping her jaw in astonishment. "I'm sorry to stop you mid speech--it was good stuff. Really powerful--but I'm just not entirely in the mood at the moment. I have had a very bad day. Uh, I think? Honestly, I don't know how long it's been. I have been boiled, burned, buried." Her eyes widened in horror, forcing Bezel to trim his list short. "Look, your kid wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to accept her charity. All I need is clothes. Something to cover these." 

He angled his back, pointing a thumb at the limbs he knew they could see. He ignored the curling sensation in his gut as their eyes popped and their mouths opened. Did he have a nose for mushroom broth? Bezel hadn't needed to eat in years--but he hadn't ever used so much of his magic before, either. Was his body beginning to draw on a different energy source? He didn't know what else could have explained the painless and forgettable twisting in his stomach as they stared at him, positioned behind that boiling pot. He quickly righted himself again, turning his wings to the abandoned forest he had crawled from.  

For centuries, Bezel had kept his wings beneath his last remnants of magic. It was almost strange to know that they were bare now--free to reflect sunlight and be gawked at. The revelation almost sent him crawling under a bush. 

"Wi-win-g-" 

"Yep." He interrupted sharply. "Not in the mood to talk about that either."

Vernvalt cupped her palm around her lips and reached up to her mother's ear. "He's sensitive about them." 

"I'm not-" Bezel forced in an unnecessary lungful of crisp springish air and exhaled from his clenched fangs. "Can you spare anything so that I may be on my way? I have very important business to attend to." 

"He's going to see his sister." Vernvelt nodded helpfully. 

Bezel stared at her, lips drawn down into an emotionless scowl. "And other stuff."

"Like finding ya friends?" Vernvalt chirped. 

"I have to go grocery shopping. I have a coupon. Buy-one-get-one maces." Bezel answered dryly. 

The mother Faun seemed stricken--Bezel's jokes probably didn't help. She swallowed, tensing up her throat, and tightened her grip on Vernvalt's shoulders. "Are ya a devil, devil?" 

Bezel tilted his head, lazily blinking his sharp golden eyes. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" 

"We don' mix with devils here, devil." She snapped, lifting her chin. Her body trembled but her resolve refused to tremble with it. "Ya have to go find some other poor desperate soul to keep--it won' be mine or mine gals." 

Bezel took a step back, edging towards the treeline, and lifted up his palms in what he hoped looked meek. And it might have--if not for the sword grasped between his clenched fingers. The Faun's eyes fluttered to the glimmering silver. Bezel shrugged apologetically and dropped the sword to thump at his feet. "I don't want to keep anyone. I've actually been trying to get rid of a Faun for the last few thousand years. Want some more hands around here? She won't do manual labor and she curses probably more than the average sailor." 

"But?" The Faunish woman pressed, lifting an eyebrow. 

"Oh no, that was it." Bezel shrugged earnestly. 

"Not much of a pitch, devil." The Faunish woman huffed. 

Bezel shrugged again. If Mayvalt had been there, she would have gloated that it was because he didn't really want to send her away. But she wasn't, and so the words remained unsaid. The Faunish women eyed his suspiciously. He knew what she saw--how could he not? He had seen the same sight in every reflection--starting in the crisp waters of his Heimrian birth island. Devil wasn't too far off, not to describe the creature that had always stared back from the rolling waves. Bezel sighed and smiled politely. 

"Well, anyway, thanks for your time." He surrendered. "I hope I didn't frighten your kids too much." 

He stooped low to reclaim his sword from its nest in the untamed lawn. Hopefully, one fraction of this plan was still in its forward trajectory. If he could only find Ira and Mayvalt, well then they could start over again. Who could say how long it would take to track down the wolves in whatever den they had curled up in, but what else could they do but try- 

"Leave it." The Faunish woman called. 

Bezel's fingers froze over the curled handle. His eyes flickered up to her, meeting the stone-ish lines of her face. 

"Leave the weapon in the grass an' come wash. Ya look like ya need it." She scowled. Vernvalt grinned. The eldest Faunish girl recoiled, looking up at her mother with wide and confused eyes. "Soup'll be done soon."

Bezel's mouth opened and closed a few times before he straightened. His fingers parted from his kris. "Thank you," 

"Vahn," She answered. "Mine gals, Tuli, Wen, Usil, an' Vern." 

The girls gave shy waves at their mothers prompting. The oldest, Tuli, did so with a disapproving look in her sharp brown eyes. The middle two, Wen and Usil seemed to settle under their mother's judgement and resumed their tasks of assisting in hanging blankets and gathering herbs. Vernvalt grinned a wide toothy smile and clapped her hands in excitement. 

"What do they call ya, devil?" Vahn asked. 

"Bezel." He answered. "Yeah, everyone just calls me Bezel."