The Briar Patch (BP): Ch. 10 - One step Forward

Zeal stood by the entrance of the Hollow, waiting upon their return.

A gesture that Lockes despised, for they were obligated to acknowledge the dubious sincerity of the concern behind it.

It was wearing on them heavily.

"Go inside, Reaper. Your wounds are yet fresh." They muttered as they brushed past to ascend into the hollow.

A hand reached for their shoulder and Lockes turned to dodge the touch, only for it to swipe again and firmly grasp them.

Standing stiffly where they were, the Bluepine waited. To hear what the Reaper had to say.

"... It's Zeal."

What a laugh. The smile that overtook them was one that bespoke of the madness that all sane creatures partook of, "I call you by who you are, and nothing more."

"The name is Zeal." he again asserted, to be met with a derisive snarl.

"And 'tis nothing more than a mask."

"Naught more of a mask than the pretense of righteousness in the grudge you harbor." 

For a moment Zeal swore there was a savage gleam in Lockes's eyes as they turned to look at him, but when he looked again they were the same inky pools from which one could little scry joy from despair, or perhaps it was all the same to the Alpione Shol.

Their chest rose, and fell, in a deep silent exhalation. Slow and steady. At length they spoke again, "... perhaps. My sorrows equate to nothing in the grand schemes of the one before me. Aye, nothing more than a 'pretense of righteousness', aye? Do you think me some maudlin? What good are right or wrong when it changes nothing? It matters not to me whether what I do is justified by your book, or whether I lay in the good standings of whatever defunct your moral compass you possess. Just the outcome it yields." They turned away, "You say you are the one Vye calls Zeal? Don't make me laugh. To say you are what you are not is deceit, and only solidifies your nature to be naught more than that of a Reaper through and through, for were you anything else, your hands would not be so stained in blood."

"I'll not speak in riddles for whatever fanciful and romanticized philosophy you would. You speak of right and wrong as nonsense? Then what of yourself?" Zeal narrowed his eyes before leaning in close, "I've given nothing but my all for Vye's merry chase. That should be proof enough of my allegiance."

"... And you would have me play the fool and forgive all that has come to pass? To forgive you after all that has happened, and the failures to amend? Even now you threaten me with force, a Reaper's prerogative, 'submit or die'." They gave a barking laugh. "I tolerate you out of necessity and what faith I place in Vye's questionable judgement, but know this Reaper, I've no love nor trust lost for your kind. You have no place in our Circles."

The languid eyes seemed sharper somehow, and with a rough shove, Lockes was slammed into and pinned against the cambium. "Hold onto your hatred, Shol." But the severed Shol though winded by the blow, leveled him with a glare, unfazed by the aggression. "You wear a mask thick enough to fool even yourself. A Reaper's specialty, no?" Lockes bit out, "Vye may have fallen for this ridiculous facade, but do not think we are all so ignorant to your tricks."

Not again.

"I am not. A Reaper." Zeal's grip tightened painfully.

But the severed Shol tossed back unflinchingly, "Prove it. Prove it here and now that the bone upon your wrists aren't proof enough! Prove that you've more than just your own gain!"

They waited with bated breath, and to their own anger--hope. Hope that they may yet be wrong.

To which there was nothing but the wind.

The severed Shol's humorless grin grew, and they knocked off the loosening grip, "That's what I thought, Reaper."

This Time they weren't stopped as they turned to leave.

At the entrance Lockes paused, shoulders falling with a sigh and their voice soft, "I'm--I'm sorry. Look, I appreciate your efforts, but give it Time, and... And just leave me be. Healing the body is simple, but there is no succor nor mending for these wounds of mine bore not on flesh."

Nay. Lockes knew, and these thoughts they kept privy to the confidence of none. "There is nothing that can be said or done, no salve to soothe the anger, or peace to be found in these waking nightmares. None except perhaps the passage of Time."

"Lockes--"

"...There is already too much to mourn for. Leave me be, that there may not yet be another." They slumped heavily against the hollow entrance, holding themselves, "Zeal." 

At his name he paused. Never before had Lockes addressed him as anything but a reaper.

"Mayhaps there will be a Time in the far off future where I see you for who you are, and I apologize that I can't do so at this point in Time. But in the present--please just leave me be."

And with that Lockes disappeared into the tunnel.

Zeal watched them go and sighed.

That didn't go near as well as he'd hoped. If anything, he had handled that in the worst way possible. It had been his intention to see to the Bluepine and ensure their well-being, yet when confronted, with that which he'd withheld for so long...

"Prove it. Prove it here and now that the bone upon your wrists aren't proof enough! Prove that you've more than just your own gain!"

The way he'd handled the situation, and how the mercenary lashed out, had been proof enough.

Had he been more tactful, it would perhaps still have brewed distrust, but at the very least he would've done best by himself to heal the still fresh wound that had been, and still did, bleed in the dark Shol's Heart all this Time.

But they were right. 

It was a lot to ask for after all that had transpired. If he wanted to pull the knife out it would take more than empty words and feigned concern.

After all this Time he'd hoped it would have been enough to brunt the Shol's anger and put it past their uneasy truce now.

A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Lockes suffered a great deal, and it was absolutely delightful.

His blood was nigh thrumming and he felt the desire to draw his scythe. The blood called to him, a tantaliziing voice that was nigh irresistable. 

How he missed the familiar feel of the smooth, polished, and cool touch of the bone in his grip. The warmth of the life-giving crimson running through his hands, just before it turned thick, congealed and cold.

The blood was hot in his veins, so much so that it near singed him, compelling him to drench himself in rivers red, to hear the agonized screams just before they were oh so abruptly cut off.

"Zeal?" a small voice called to him, and he blinked.

The red mist in his mind dispersed, slithering into the corners, and he fought down the rising urge to strike, to snap the neck of the fragile creature sitting at the top of the twisting branches.

It would be far too easy. A mere second to make it there, not even another to silence him forever.

He could hear the little Heart beating within, a nervous thumping. Agitated, and uncertain.

Calling to him.

The last of the red mist cleared and Zeal climbed the steps slowly, ushering his young charge into the hollow before following suit.

It was cold out and Vye was in no condition to weather such chills.

Zeal grimaced. It was a mistake to use the scythe.

To his relief the tunnel was not quite so narrow as it was the first Time he had gone down, and as it turned out, he'd been using it the wrong way anyhow.

With a little hop, Vye slid down the chute, flopping onto the bedding at the landing.

Zeal clambered into the slide to follow, though with much less grace. Even widened it was still unsuitable for one his size.

A quick scan of the room and he found Lockes beside the Hearth, but instead of the cold shoulder he had been expecting, the Shol smiled up at them with such sincerity and warmth that he was taken aback, "Welcome home."

Home.

"Thank you Zeal." Vye whispered to him.

"I didn't--" He struggled between the gentle smile, and the awed eyes directed at him, and finally muttering aside to Vye, "It was nothing. Go rest."

I didn't do anything.

Vye nodded and bounded into a moss bed, the vines there reaching for him even before he had curled up, siphoning him a plethora of nutrients. It tickled when they attached, feeling much the same as the suction cups of an octopus, as he'd experienced firsthand on one particular misadventure while crossing the Misty Isle lagoons. Thankfully Zeal had been able to pry him out of the octopode's grasp.

Zeal trudged over by the fire and sat beside Lockes, speaking in low tones lest Vye overhear, "I thought you said to leave it."

"Indeed. And it is as I asked you before, give it Time. But--" they gave him a sidelong glance, "--you were right Reaper."

"What's behind me haunts me still, but I'm no longer in the past. Whether it be my will or not, I'm here now, and the living can but move on." Lockes leaned towards the fire, an arm resting on each of their crossed legs. They basked in the firelight, "So please, be patient and forgiving when I can no longer be."

Lockes reached for him.

A gentle touch to their arm, "I know it a boon to ask, but wait for me. Let me cross the bridge when I am ready." What they would carry with them for life was one they could never forsake nor leave behind whether the severed Shol willed it so or not, chained as it was to them. And for what was to come, it would be there still. But they would learn to carry that too.

Lockes felt the warmth of the fire, but not more than on the surface.

And then there was a weight on their head.

They started, and the hand froze, before slowly resuming those oh so soothing motions, combing through the bristles of pine.

Zeal shrugged awkwardly, patting at his lap.

"It wont be comfortable, but it'll be warmer than the floor."

Lockes smiled. Foolish Reaper, an Alpione Shol felt little of Winter's wrath. But... that foolishness was one commonality their kind seemed to share.

The severed Shol crawled onto his lap.

Frankly it astonished him that Hemlockes would show him their back. The naivety of their kind never failed to amaze him.

Even after all that was, they still wanted to believe in him.

He stared at the small exposed back. This Time, truly, Lockes's guard was down. No languid vines in the background, lying still or feigning mundane tasks.

Peering through the aethor, he could sense none of the Bluepine's reach. Zeal hadn't the extensive clarity that the children of the Verdance were gifted with, but he could sense enough. They had fully relinquished their manipulation and were lax on his lap.

Was it trust? Or had their aetherical reserve finally been whittled down?

Actions spoke louder than words ever would, for it was only by doing that anything was ever done.

It was why Shols found speech both pretentious and cumbersome. Pointless, and contrived, and full of misunderstandings. A frivolity at best.

This here, spoke volumes.

Whatever it was, he wouldn't squander it.

And slowly he combed his hand through the quills, laying down the first of many beams that would one day bridge the vast abyss that spanned between them, that Lockes may meet him halfway, when they were at last ready.