SHE WAS STANDING in the low doorframe, staring at the adjacent wall. The Wytch could not bring herself to look; to turn her head and see the human tending to the Faerie he called a friend.

It caused her stomach to churn simply to be where she was. The smell of the Faerie and herbs and spells that had been stewing for Hekate-knows-how-long within the cottage overwhelmed her senses. It made it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

The cottage —if she could even call it that —could be traversed within six paces, and was missing half of the roof and one wall. Everything else from the bed to the other pieces of furniture were upset and piled together like an abstract art installation.

What had occurred to cause such destruction?

She suspected it had been the Faerie itself, in an unwitting transformation into a beast.

To be sure, she lightly sniffed —even with the strong smell of earth and undergrowth, she picked out the scent of...squid ink. What a curious magic echo for something that could travel on land. Then Kynes frowned and stilled. More than one smell. The Faerie had not been alone prior to their visit for at least a week. A shiver then barrelled up her spine.

The Wytch came to two conclusions: either something else had caused the damage, or it had indeed been the Faerie —but only after provocation. Or worse: as the after-effect of a wicked hex.

She would wait, however, and keep quiet instead of sharing her revelation. After all, she was a stirrer of trouble and a liker of things. And then suddenly as if by some unjustly karma for making that resolve, the urge to vomit festered in the pit of her stomach.

She then stated, "I hate this."

It went ignored.

The human was rather unfazed by Kynes' pissy mood. His focus was on rummaging through the ingredients which lined the far back wall.

"How do you know what to do?" asked the Wytch. "Have you healed a lot of creatures of magic?"

"No. There's a recipe over there," he deflected, pointing to a large open book sitting on a stool.

She frowned. She was not near it but her vision was sharp enough to know that the book was not open to such directions for making a healing salve.

Why would he lie about that? she wondered. He...does seem too familiar with the methods.

It did not matter that much though, especially not to her personally, so she let it slide. Then she coughed softly. The stuffy air was getting to her again. Even if Kynes had not been nauseous, she still would have remained outside for ease of movement.

The human seemed busy in there enough, pacing back and forth between what she was surprised to discover was an intact long table, and the Faerie.

The effects of Kynes' magic would not wear off. The frost did not melt and the bark remained an off-blue. It could very much stay that way —and she knew that. It could live with the marks of her magic forever.

She was not feeling guilty about anything. Its kind had done far worse and irreversible damage.

"I hope that you're proud of yourself," the man hissed, unscrewing a cap of bottled herbs and spilling the contents into a mortar, before crushing it with a pestle. His muscles rippled with the grinding action, and Kynes did not waste the opportunity to stare.

It took her a few seconds afterwards to register his voice. She sneered, then quipped, "I will not apologise for something over which I feel no remorse."

The human clicked his tongue, before gently rubbing whatever paste he had ground up onto the Faerie's legs, arms and wings. The limbs quivered ever so slightly in time with every gentle stroke on the thin wings —making Kynes raise an eyebrow.

"You do know that wings are unfathomably sensitive?" she said slyly, her unease momentarily replaced with something coarse and mischievous. "Especially the type with a thin, delicate membrane. You might as well be pleasuring your friend there."

She was not sure of what sort of reaction he would give, but she was prepared to laugh.

"Just how far has that foul mouth of yours gotten you?" was his retort; his movements slowing.

What struck her, was that he was not repulsed. So he had not quite gone off of the things of pleasure as of yet. Kynes paused for a fraction of a second, before smiling, "Further than you, I can guarantee that."

"I don't doubt that," he grunted, shaking his head.

There was supposed to be something offensive in that, but the Wytch chose to ignore it.

Instead, she held her breath as the Faerie's movements became less erratic and more of an indication of life. Then it abruptly shot up, its wings flaring and knocking over a pillar of broken wood.

Large void and foggy dark green eyes scanned the surroundings. Recognition glinted there, even though it was blind. The Faerie opened its mouth, the red mortal blood still staining its lips and teeth. "...Outlander," it rasped.

Kynes sucked in a breath and tripped over nothing; holding onto the doorframe as she stumbled. A forbidden topic. An awful idea stirred in the Wytch's mind as she considered the Faerie's reason for saying it.

An Outlander had been here.

The human looked between the two creatures of magic, hoping that either would elaborate.

"An Outlander...is a stranger; not of the lands," Kynes took it upon herself to explain. "This particular one...they could have come from anywhere."

That was a lie. She had a rough idea from where it had come. Somewhere either underwater, or vast wetlands. But she did not want panic to ensue.

"From the Beyond," added the Faerie —thankfully vaguely, as though it understood the minimal processing capacity of the human brain. "The Unnamed Planes."

Only the World-Weavers and gods knew of such places. No being dared to venture there —only arrogant Faeries and humans who had been eager to prove themselves. And none of them had ever returned.

"What did it do here?" the man asked tightly, his jaw clenching in effort to rein in his anger.

The Faerie went quiet. Kynes wondered if it was too traumatised to say, but by the furrow of its brow she concluded that it was attempting to recall the events.

"...It was the middle of the day," began the Faerie. "Nobody comes to these woods, so it had not mattered what time it chose. At first, I thought it was a Time-Eater. But when it shredded the nearby trees, I realised that I was mistaken. Very sorely mistaken."

"Did it do this?" Kynes asked, her eyes flickering upwards at the caved part of the roof and wall.

"It did nothing but pry the door open," answered the Faerie. "I think that I did the rest."

"What had it come for?" Kynes clipped. Her patience was wearing thin. "Was it searching for something?"

"If it had been, it was not obvious," the Faerie admitted. "All I heard was its heavy breathing; claws scraping the floor; and felt cold breath in my face."

"It made you turn wild?" speculated the Wytch.

"I remember from the mix of tongues it spoke, that it was disoriented and agitated. It had not rested for a long time. I had no means of providing that escape, so it promised me that I would have to endure my fears and nightmares in the tangible world."

"You have a fear of feasting on humans?" Kynes murmured. "I can think of worse."

The very present human gave a quiet snarl in warning.

"I would never," the Faerie said tightly. "This is animal blood," it assured, hesitantly wiping its mouth with the back of its hand. "...And I remember being on fire," it added. "From within."

That did not surprise Kynes, given what its skin resembled. It also explained the shrieking and convulsing. It must have suffered greatly.

"Can you report the incident?" asked the human.

"No one will care," said the Faerie; its wings flinching slightly as they attempted to unfurl. "I am blind. My testimony will be written off as confusion."

"Even if it smelled unfamiliar?" the man added.

"I am not young," said the Faerie. "The reliability of my sense of smell may be questioned as well."

Even so, the Wytch was certain that the Dreamcatcher Authority would definitely want to hear about it.

"What if we were witnesses?" the human suggested.

"We did not see it with our own eyes," Kynes cut in. "We count for nothing on that front."

"And the Outlander's scent?"

The Wytch inhaled. "It is fading. If someone arrives within the hour, it will be almost untraceable."

"Damnit," hissed the human, slamming a fist on the table beside him in frustration.

Silence stretched, settling the realisation that there was a dead-end. Of course, Kynes would not let it go. She would find a way to investigate. She could not do it outright, lest she wanted to attract the wrong attention —but a sizeable reward awaited her for tracking down that Outlander. And she would do anything to gain that respect; something she felt was long overdue.

"...Adam," the Faerie then addressed the human. "You came back. Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to repay you for the kindness you showed when you helped me," the man admitted, sighing.

"That was a good eight years ago," said the Faerie. "I am surprised that you still remember."

"The thought never left my mind," the human insisted. "You were good to me, Luci. I couldn't ignore that."

The Faerie said nothing, but smiled a bit. The lingering blood did not help the psychotic appearance.

"I have never had a visitor," it then said softly. "This would be the very first time."

"Why not?" scoffed the human. "I would come every day if I could manage it."

"Do not force yourself."

"I wouldn't be forcing anything."

Even without sight, the Faerie's eyes met the man's; the green full of warmth and gratitude.

The Wytch was seriously considering leaving. She could not stomach the friendship of the human; Adam, as she had now learned; and the Faerie. Friendship, romantic tension —or whatever it was that was threaded between them. The way their auras interacted suggested that something like Fate was at play.

Then the Faerie turned to Kynes. "Wytch," it stated. "This is your doing." It pointed to its limbs.

Kynes stuck her chin up. "So?"

"I...do not hold anything against you," the Faerie sighed. "I am aware that this is a most merciful mar for what my people have done to you."

Kynes went still.

"When you unleashed your magic," the Faerie explained. "You sent rage and images with it."

"Shit," she clipped.

How could she have been so careless?

"I am sorry," it said. "I am truly sorry."

The Wytch paused. "...I was weak," she said tightly. "But I am not so weak anymore."

She recalled being on the verge of death, crawling through mud and leaves to a Wytches' coven. Escape would not have been possible without the help of one compassionate Shifter. She was certain they had been put to death for it. The Wytch coven had taken Kynes in, and given her a new identity. And there had been no choice in how she had been healed —giving her female parts had been quicker and more practical.

She had not held any grudge for that decision.

When she was well enough to consider choosing between male and female, she had already chosen female. She did not look at as a way of agreeing with those bastards —it had been for herself. She had found her strength and ruthlessness as a woman.

"It was not your fault," the Faerie insisted.

"I did not fight back," Kynes admitted. "Even a kick would have meant something. But I let them do it. Maybe...I wanted to change, deep down. I have grown more than adequately into this female skin."

"Don't say that," Adam said firmly. "Don't excuse them. They had no right to do what they did —whether they claimed you as a slave or not."

The Wytch curled her lip. "It happened. I moved on."

"The pile of sick outside says otherwise," he returned.

Kynes raised her middle finger.

"You have healed me," the Faerie then diverted the topic of conversation, facing Adam. "I am immensely grateful. Is there any way I can thank you?"

"No, Luci, that's unnecessary," Adam sighed.

"There must be something that I can do."

"Nothing."

Kynes rolled her eyes in exasperation. So stubborn and proud. "He cannot sleep," offered the Wytch.

"Really?" murmured the Faerie.

"We're handling the situation," Adam said through his teeth, his eyes narrowing at her. "I need to accept destiny, and it starts with receiving a vision. We're going to see a Dreamcatcher about that, today."

The Faerie's eyes widened. "Well, I am glad that you have found a solution. Is it because of the war?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Kynes hissed.

"He may be haunted by the horrors," the Faerie elaborated. "I am actually surprised that you two are travelling together, considering what he has done."

Adam stiffened and stared at the wall.

So he had fought in the war. And he had effectively lied about it by not giving Kynes a straightforward answer when she had asked. Perhaps it was less the fact that he had killed other creatures of magic as a soldier; and more to do with hiding it even after she had told him what the war had done to her.

The Wytch flexed one hand, and a hardened snowball hurled through the stale air squarely to strike the side of the human's face. He grunted, but accepted the aggression and the red mark that burned on his skin.

Then Kynes turned on her heel and stormed outside, hissing, "Be thankful that was not an icicle."

author's note |
*casually drops in more lore*