The Briar Patch (BP) Ch. 11 - The Enigmas (Pt. 2)

This one was easy, Zeal grinned, he'd have it open in no Time.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

No amount of poking and prodding, twisting and pulling, would undo the box.

Nothing would bloody give, and the mercenary was almost convinced it was a mere wooden block with carvings and a couple decorations strewn on its surface.

Vye tried as well, but to no avail, and the Bluepine chortled to themselves, throwing the occasional encouragement.

Finally, late past the Sun's descent, did they pass it back to the severed Shol.

Lockes barely spared the box a glance, from where they were bathing in the warmth of the fire, before snickering, "Maybe you should try being warmer if you want it to open up to you."

That was just in poor taste. Having spent an entire evening fraying his nerves with the bloody thing, Zeal snapped out, "It's a wooden contraption."

He snorted in exasperation, tossing it to Vye and storming off. The Bluepine stared after him calmly.

Even Vye seemed a little ruffled and was sulking by the fire, eyeing the puzzle in his hands.

But Lockes, unperturbed, simply chuckled, "Keep at it, boys." and went back to licking a particularly messy tangle of plumes.

"Bloody Shol." Zeal grumbled under his breath, pacing the length of the room before sighing and settling beside Vye.

Small grabby hands reached for him and he let the young Shol have his way, clambering into his lap where he then went about inspecting the box, only to find it just the same as all the countless Times before.

It was as Vye turned it over in his hands by the fire, and he heard the creaking, that it clicked.

"Maybe you should try being warmer if you want it to open up to you."

That bloody shol.

Zeal snarled and snatched the Enigma and thrust it towards the crackling flames in the pit, ignoring Vye's alarm.

"Zeal don't!" Vye didn't know much of Sholian culture, but it wasn't difficult to tell how lovingly each piece was crafted, and their priceless value as both a wealth of knowledge and sentimental piece. He tugged at the Reaper in dismay, but to Vye's surprise Lockes simply stared on in interest, seemingly indifferent to the commotion and distress.

And then there was a long creak and a sharp clacking sound, and they watched in awed silence as the oddly patterned gears overlaying the box shifted.

With a slow realization, Zeal realized the gear with the tree resembled... the world?

The voices of both Lockes and Vye echoed in his ear.

In Sholian lore, the Yggdrasill is the one from which all came, and around the first Fairy Ring, from which he arose did a plethora of green burgeon. Amongst them the daunting bramble that would forever protect first Ring, the Briar Patch.

The Yggdrasill, from which all arose, meant the world to the Shols. The picks were not simply the teeth of a gear as he presumed, they were thorns, the fine branches of the tree entwining along the edges of the gear, was bramble.

The world is turning.

They waited, and the decorative hourglass slowly swiveled, so that the sand once below, now sat above.

"Time is... up."

Had that been intentional? From the sly smile the severed Shol was sporting, yes, yes it had been.

A finger traced the hourglass, before with sudden confidence, he grasped the wooden piece and pressed down.

Would've, but the thing didn't budge.

"You must be joking." Zeal growled, contemplating flinging the Enigma into the hearty fire with all due seriousness this Time.

There was a jovial laugh, a sharp contrast from Zeal's sour mood, "Come now Reaper, have some patience! You're almost there!"

Zeal begged to differ. He had spent 6 hours worth of patience on this bloody contraption.

Ohhh---They were so close! There was but one mechanism left, and the Bluepine watched with bated breath, a giddy and child-like grin stretching cheek to cheek.

But.

This was a Reaper, not a Shol, and Lockes hesitated. Would a Reaper be able to read the final chapter?

Any Shol would've been able to unlock this box in a Heartseed.

Well, most Shols anyhow. The severed gave a sidelong glance at Vye who remained blissfully ignorant of the fact.

The Enigmas were reserved for Shols who had reached maturation. Vye was still far too young to understand and truly participate.

Yet the Times had changed, and circumstances withstanding, the Bluepine would see that the torch holding all they knew, would be passed unto the young Coty, that it too may light his way. For there was not the luxury of Time as they had in the past to take one's Time with self discovery and maturation. Unfortunate that Vye could not experience the same moment of joy that the wonder and joy the Shols before him had, but such was the Times.

Zeal stared hard at the box. Something about all this seemed oddly familiar.

And then it struck him.

Bloody. Shols. How he despised their inconvenient roundabout ways of riddles and mischief.

The Bluepine had given them the answer long ago.

The polished surface of the gear depicting the Earth rotated before his eyes. Beside it, the needle of a compass now pointed accusingly at the other gear.

For the Earth that's ever turning. 

His dark eyes traveled to the mechanism triggered.

... and we can but mark its passing.

Suddenly, and with startling finality, the hourglass clicked, a subtle shift in its rotation. And kept clicking, accompanied by a minute shift each Time.

The hourglass is turned, And the sands of Time now fall.

Zeal started as the countdown began.

Time's up. They had until the hourglass turned a full circle.

His mind raced, searching for clues.

Yet never must we let, The panic to appall. 

Letting out a slow breath, he turned to the Bluepine, "Lockes. What was that poem you recited earlier?"

The dark Shol perked at their name, rousing from their thoughts. They stared at him, and with a small smile, began the recitation.

Like the rise of golden sun, And the moon that's too soon setting.

If his suspicions were correct.... Carefully he counted the teeth of the gear, starting from where the compass's point had been indicating, but going counterclockwise. Had almost gone clockwise, as most temporal mechanisms operated in the sanctuaries--but this was no city district.

11 sharp... 3 blunt... 2 missing... For the Earth that's ever turning.

3 sharp... 2 blunt... 2 missing And we can but mark its passing.

1 sharp... 1 blunt... 1 missing... 2 blunt... 1 missing... 3 blunt... 1 missing... 4 blunt... The hourglass is turned, And the sands of Time now fall. Yet never must we let, The panic to appall.

It all matched.

The thorns and teeth of the gear he had assumed to have been jagged in poor craftsmanship, were in fact a code. Where there were empty spaces, there were stops, two indicated a break and the start of a new sentence. The quantity of large teeth following indicated the stanza, while the smaller teeth, a line within the verse. If there were consecutive lines of the same stanza, it was indicated by a break (missing tooth), and then a blunt.

And so it continued.

The story here began much the same as the poem had, but soon strewn the recited piece in a darker light.

For the Earth that's ever turning. And we can but mark its passing. 

The hourglass is turned, And the sands of Time now fall. Yet never must we let, The panic to appall.  

No honor to be gained, Nor name of eternal fame. For our progeny to come, 

Yet nothing of the future, Bestowed with precious lore, That can only be but messy.  

To you of now do I beseech, That which we all should already know.

Of a never ending quest to be, Because only from within, Do we find what truly we need. 

Yet by all must we remember, We are equal, all the same. That one day we too will be but memories, To guide you--and the world you mold.  

And return to Earth we must, Like the rise of golden sun, In all its blazen glory. 

For we have seen our last. Of a forest we wont know. That we hope will one day grow.    

Zeal finished, and was at a loss. The hourglass had almost finished its full circle.

Vye had fallen into a despondent silence, staring at the Enigma.

It wasn't as if he hadn't witnessed the Circle of Life. How, when the Time had come, a Shol would pick out a location of fond attachment--where could be found sunbathing most, a favored nook, or a soft patch in the shade, and the like.

They would rest there, surrounded by all they so cherished and loved, and doze off in a final slumber. To return to the Earth and become one, a forest new, that they could never know.

It was the last farewell, the final parting gift of a Shol, to leave unto the Circle the flora they had so cultivated the span of their natural lives.

That they too may taste the fruits and nectar, and remember that which once was, and still is.

To extend to their progeny a greater abundance wherever they inhabited, extending the Verdance and returning to their predecessor.

A distant memory flitted behind glazed eyes.

Of the meek morning sun, filtering between tender leaves, to a soft patch of blackberry sitting inconspicuously at the base of the old, groaning, oak. And he could almost still see the Shol curled up against the gnarled knotted roots. Sometimes, he swore he could.

But that was then, and this was now. The hourglass was ticking still.

And suddenly, he knew what needed to be done.

"What are you--"

Reaching from where he was, hanging on Zeal's shoulder, Vye pointed at the gears, "Zeal, the hourglass is turning towards the right, and it's making the sun set."

His brow quirked and he stared at the Enigma.

"Clever little Coty." Lockes whispered, smiling behind their hand. Finally the pieces were falling into place.

The hourglass was turning clockwise, as was typical of sundial instruments that marked the passing of Time. Yet by doing so it turned the compass counterclockwise, thus allowing the sun to travel in its great arc from East to West, and in the same breath, turned the final gear, the Yggdrasill, such that it was read as it should be--in the clockwise direction. In the correct passage of Time.

"Curl your fingers and tap it with your palm when and where the sun 'sets'." Vye made the gesture, "It's a sign we make to symbolize Life, it's how we greet Coties that nudge through the Fairy Ring, and how we send off those who become the forest."

Zeal looked to have some doubts. If Vye was wrong, Time would be up, likely resetting the mechanisms.

But he gave his silent consent, mimicking the gesture, and Vye nodded his approval.

And they waited. Tick by tick, until the carved sun, descended behind the carved bramble.

With a firm smack, a sharp clacking sound reverberated in the box, and the two turned to look at one another.

They tried the lid, and it came off.

The den exploded with cheers and smiles as Vye eagerly turned the lid over to gaze at the inner workings of the Enigma that had so confounded them, and began clamoring at once, "Zeal it was a metal bar! The heat made it expand and it displaced this... is magnetic! Look, there's a small magnetic ball in here that was keeping the lid from budging... "

The Reaper, unlike his curious charge, was content to lay back, more relieved than anything else. Though there was a certain smugness to his droopy gaze, the Bluepine noted. A small flicker of pride and accomplishment.

It was a simple, but an elegant design that told much of Shols.

And they had figured it out.

How strange Life could be. That a Reaper should find such amusement and triumph in solving a Sholian contraption, one of many a Shol would have to overcome in their rite of passage.

The long forgotten sands of the hourglass on the low table had finally finished flowing, and Lockes plucked it up, holding up a hand to hide the genuine smile that threatened to stretch cheek to cheek.

The scene of the two by the fire was almost one they found endearing.

But the trial was now over, and though they were reluctant to break the cheer, the Bluepine would impress upon them its significance.

"Impressive, the both of you!" They laughed, and joined the two by the firelight, "And now, you will each receive your own Time."

At this, Zeal looked to Vye for an explanation, but the young Shol seemed just as lost as he was.

The Briar Patch (BP) Ch. 11 - The Enigmas (Pt. 1)

There was nothing to do.

Just what had Lockes done in all their years of solitary survival? It was maddening. Long had Zeal learned patience, endurance, to persist in the most grueling spit of earth, or wait for the prey, still as death even as as others were drove to brashness by the itching of anticipation, like the bite of a summer mosquito.

Yet never before had he been left in such idleness as this. Where there was no chase to be had. Naught of peril nor treacherous terrain. There was no purpose, other than the slow healing of his wounds.

Even the pain would've been a blessing, for it meant a distraction.

Poem: Enigmas

A recitation that preludes every Shol's initiation into the Enigmas so enamored by the children of the Verdance. This one in particular was transcribed by Zeal, whose dedication and efforts have seen many such significant pieces persist the test of Time.

The hourglass is turned,
And the sands of Time now fall.
Yet never must we let,
The panic to apall. 

With clearer minds we seek
The truth hidden in each seed.
Because only from within,
Do we find what truly we need. 

Though Time ever goes,
and we can but mark its passing.
Like the rise of golden sun,
And the moon that's too soon setting. 

So in each of these Enigmas,
Bestowed with precious lore.
For our progeny to come,
And a gift that's much, much, more. 

To tell what we cannot,
For once the future 's past.
And return to Earth we must,
For we have seen our last. 

Yet by all must we remember,
That never is it the end.
For to raise the prismatic arc.
To the future we must send. 

Yet nothing of the future,
Can be claimed with all due certainty,
And heavy is the duty,
And the mounting pressure plenty.  

To the Shols we now sow,
That we hope will one day grow.
To sturdy oaks and pines.
Of a forest we wont know. 

To you of now do I beseech,
To carry on a perpetual legacy,
Of a never ending quest to be,
That can only be but messy. 

No honor to be gained,
Nor name of eternal fame.
For though we bear the flora unique,
We are equal, all the same. 

And now you know the truth,
In all its blazen glory.
For the Earth that's ever turning,
And the stars of endless story. 

But I digress, for I've said too much,
The story has since been told.
And now I leave you stories more,
To guide you--and the world you mold. 

With heavy Heart now does this verse draw to a close,
But it's not the end--at least, not really. 

For in riddles have we ever told,
The Enigma we all should already know. 

That one day we too will be but memories,
Yet ever live on in our endless stories.

Hemlockes
Pillar of the Alpione Ring

 

Snippets and Stories: (BP) In a Nut Shell

There was a lot Vye didn't understand about his own kind, young as he was.

From the beginning, he had been born not of an established Fairy Ring millenniums old as Hemlocke's had been, but a freshly sown Circle, barely breaching the turn of a century.

As it was, it lacked the same cultivation and depth, preoccupied as they were in establishing the Ring, such finer points of frivolity and luxury, they would forego.

There would be Time for that later.

Or so they had thought.

As such, the knowledge was never passed, and whatever secrets his Circle held, they took with them, far over the stars.

But it was okay. For there was another to light his way, and guide the young Coty now.

And it was as if a separate world had been opened before their eyes. Pried open by Lockes like a hefty oyster, and presented to him so that Vye may partake of the succulent and sweet flesh within.

The older Shol had patiently sat through their Enigma trials, as they each struggled to test their mettle with the various intricate, and meticulously crafted boxes, created and passed down amongst Hemlocke's Circle.

The Bluepine passed to him the culinary arts that his predecessors couldn't, showed Vye that there was more than simply biting into a piece of ripened fruit.

For the following moon, the air of the den was thick with the sweet scent of jams, fruit leather, creams, confections, baked bread and sweet pies, hot cider and chocolate, and more. So much more.

And then there was today.

Lockes was a seasoned Shol, and naturally the fastest of the three.

But contrary to Vye's belief that his natural predisposition would guide him, it was not him but Zeal who had finally completed the final Enigma--much to Vye's disappointment.

How was the mercenary so much better at this than him?

To be so much more proficient in an art his kind were so apt in.

Granted It was a separate skill altogether with little relevance to lineage.

Still it bothered the young Shol

So strongly had he desired worth, to excel at this conundrum his kind so coveted, for it helped him to feel some connection, however misplaced and distant, to the kin he would never know.

Yet as big a disappointment as he felt, bigger still was he one to his  predecessors, for he had failed them, spectacularly so. Though he knew that to be a ridiculous notion, still, it felt terrible to be so inept at an art beloved by his kind.

Like an unspoken approval of no basis, Vye felt as if excelling in the specialty of his brethren would somehow gain him the certainty of their approval as they would have in Life.

Not nearly clever enough to match wits with his kith and kin, to fill their metaphorical shoes.

But such internal strife did not go unnoticed, and Lockes pulled the young Shol aside and bit at his plumes. Tugging at the tangles, they clicked softly, "Things take Time, and of that Zeal has had a great deal. As you will too. Come, lets celebrate in his triumphs and immersion into our ways."

Vye had nodded and smiled, offering his jealous congratulations to his companion, who was oddly pleased.

And then they gathered the collective, and navigated through the lair, to find a deep hidden cellar of which only with each key were they able to open.

Lockes disappeared within, and brought upon their return a heavy weight they they alone struggled to bear.

A beautiful sleek wood of rounded contour stood before them. Such an odd shape, Vye had so noted, and the Bluepine had returned it with a good-natured, jovial laugh.

It was a cask. Meant to store and enrich the flavor of the contents within.

Hemlocke pried off the compressed plug of pulp, pouring out of the smooth wooden barrel a rich amber liquid.

Vye caught a whiff of various herbal infusions he could not name, before a cup was passed to him.

To the young Shol's surprise, Zeal seemed quite taken by the vast stores of Lockes's "vintages". He held an no small amount of interest and an unusual penchant for the assortment of fluids.

It was rather startling to see all the large casks, their sheer width thicker than even Zeal was tall.

But it wasn't just the impressive size nor quantity of the casks. They all seemed to contain something different, yet all of which Zeal was pleased by.

In some, there held amber in all its shades, ranging from being almost beige, to a deep, rich, and velvety black. It came in burgundy, a pale effervescent off-white color, the spicy cinnamon and clove amber of cider, and the vivid opaque blue of "misty moonshine".

They drank deep of their glasses, and were overtaken by a merry calm contentment, a deep warmth in his belly and a cloud in his head.

Vye sighed, swaying and finding purchase against Zeal.

Large hands caught him and eased him into sitting, head against the rough fabric covering Zeal's legs.

He slept soundly, and undisturbed. The best he had in far too long.

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. 

The Briar Patch (BP): Ch. 9 - Shenanigans

Zeal was not pleased to find himself covered in Shols.

Eyeing the small lumps curled on top of him, he made to sit up, and was met with a muffled, discontented grumble.

Sighing he lay back down.

The Briar Patch (BP): Ch. 8 - Sleeping Arrangements

"G' night." Lockes curled up on their vines.

One last grooming of Vye's plumes, the Shols curled up together, one lump of fluff pressed against the other.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Tough Love

Working with Silas wasn't just difficult.

The man was cold, not for animosity, for to say so would mean he felt.

Strange Place: The Dead End

Speak not of this stop, the final destination. This stop here whom most pass by, for unwise is the one to linger at Death's Door. The place only tread upon, at the very end.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) The Blind Baker

Few were privy to such a sensitive matter.

And that suited him just fine. The fewer the better, in his humble opinion.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Deceptive

Preposterous as it was, Shols were not quite so harmless as their large, curious, and wonder-filled, bright eyes and adorably diminutive, rotund forms, may suggest.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Stewing

It was a bloody pain dealing with hygiene on the road, and it was a bigger pain still, dealing with Shols.

Never mind the both of them. That was just torture.

His normal upkeep while on the move were insubstantial for the growing Shol, whose maintenance was downright grueling.

In sanctuaries, the public bathhouses were out of the question, lest they be recognized, and Vye's appearance was anything but inconspicuous.

This meant that in town Zeal had to cough up extra for a private bath. Never mind the preparations for the water itself. 

With the exception of the high altitudes, Vye turned his nose up at most every bathing opportunity they came across.

"It's running water, and clear besides. It's safe." 

But the Shol would give a tentative whiff and refuse.

Most any water was far too polluted by the Shol's absurd standards.

How had his kind ever survived?

They didn't, that's how.

The Seeker kept that last bit to himself.

Zeal had since taken to carrying filtration cores. Marbles harboring dense aetherical reservoirs capable of thoroughly filtering water.

Thankfully Lockes had taken over that duty.

Using the provided tinderbox, the warden lit the pitch black stones beneath the bath.

While that heated, Zeal helped Vye out of the multitude of layers, ruffling and fluffing up the plumes as he went.

Removing and folding his own garments, he set that on the rack and dipped a hand into the water. It had heated considerably. Satisfied, the mercenary was the first to step in, testing the waters to ensure they wouldn't scorch his charge.

The warmth of the water was a blessing for his travel worn body, the heat pleasant and soothing. Such pleasures wrought a content sigh from him. Though he could do with or without many of the conveniences and comforts of civilization, but he did admittedly miss the luxury of a heated bath.

Zeal lay back to rest his head on the edge, relishing in the all encompassing warmth and buoyant lightness of his body.

Before realizing it was blissfully quiet. Too quiet.

The mercenary pried an eye open to peer over the edge.

Vye's hands rested on top of the stone surface, staring expectantly up at him.

Zeal bit back a groan and pushed himself up so that he was sitting.

Without a word he reached over and plucked the young Shol up, settling him into the warmth of the tub and his lap. The bath was deep, and Zeal still didn't know if his charge could swim, nor was he in any mood to find out. Given that Vye was less than keen on crossing any body of water, shallow or not, Zeal had his doubts and didn't fancy tempting fate. 

The small Shol just sat there unmoving, still waiting expectantly.

Spoiled thing.

There wasn't much room with the Shol in there with him, but he managed to swipe the husk from the shelf.

Zeal combed his hands through Vye's plumes, scrubbing away at him.

The first Time they had been at a bath, it was after a trying first week of travel where the Shol refused any water as they were all deemed polluted.

"It's cleaner than you are, just get in."

And still Vye had refused.

At his wits end, and having yet to procure a means of aetherical purification at the Time, the mercenary had dragged Vye up a mountainous hike where a bath house had set up shop at the peak, fed by the pure waters of the spring.

It irked him that the Shol thought such excessive expenditure to be merely "passable" in quality.

Once in their room, he'd pushed Vye through the door and told him to clean up.

Only to walk in nearly half an hour later to find Vye sitting on the ground and nipping at his plumes.

Explaining how the bath worked helped little but to erode patience.

Vye had eyed the steaming spring suspiciously, startling when Zeal--who had deemed the whole exchange futile, grasped him in the auxiliary of the arms, and dumped the Shol into the hot water. Thinking that perhaps this was some extravagant means of preparation, the Shol froze.

Zeal had been forced to scrub Vye clean himself and dry him off.

Since then the Shol had taken to sitting limp and waiting for his guardian to bath him.

If there was one benefit to bathing the Shol, the oils Vye exuded would turn the bath water fragrant.

Normally, whatever property a Shol carried also transfers into the derived oils, and whatever Vye's subspecies was, it had a lightly floral and woody scent. Rosy, but with a residue of the same slimy viscosity of aloe. A bit unpleasant in texture, really, but at the very least it didn't seem harmful.

Thankfully Vye wasn't of a toxic subtype. That would have been disastrous.

Vye gave him an odd look when he'd mentioned it offhand, and he decided better against enlightening his charge to what had once been common uses of Shol oils in various remedies, or the medicinal properties believed to come such infusions. The extraction process, by which Shol derived oils were procured during Harvest moon, was one both gruesome and doubtlessly perturbing.

When Lockes had conceded to travel with them, Zeal had braced himself for yet more unnecessarily troublesome burdens to shoulder on the road. But contrary to his belief, things were admittedly much more convenient now that the Bluepine was with them.

For one, Vye semed more incline to use whatever stream the Bluepine deemed suitable. The Bræmbel Shol was accustomed to the deep spring water the Circles oft tapped into.

For another, Lockes was one of the few Shols to have honed their innate magic in wielding natural affinities so. Whereas most grew into it, Lockes went out of their way to pursue perfection in their Art.

Even before the rise of the Harvest Moon, the Bluepine had been a force to be reckoned with. Masterful in manipulation, proficient in the Arcane, and a seemingly inborn deftness and grace not oft seen. Even when they had first been severed and deprived of any aetherical bonds, Lockes could do more than simply hold their ground in close combat.

Now though, as a seasoned Shol that survived culling, their innate prowess had but grown. Hardened by sacrifice and loss, forced to clash with forces far greater than their own, they but improved in leaps and bounds. Because for the Bluepine, there was but one path.

The path forward. And it was on that path that they would take a step forth.

Truly, Hemlockes was a marvel.

The Seeker balked, startled by the sheer depth of the admiration and respect he held for their newest companion, and the warmth that accompanied it. Their stay at Whitedew must have affected him more deeply than he'd let on.

Zeal frowned. He blamed the brews they had partook of with nonexistent reservation.

Such strong potations softened those who imbibed upon them, nurturing a sense of camaraderie. Even more irksome was how he found genuine interest and fondness for their conversations, particularly those that stretched into the wee hours of dawn. Mayhaps it had been due to his recovery and the utter boredom he suffered while his wounds mended that helped him warm to the Bluepine, desperate for any stimulation to break the redundancy of being forcibly restrained and confined until such a Time that he was considered well again.

Vye churred lightly in his lap at the ministrations, the vibrations reverberating through the both of them and pulling the Seeker from his reminiscing. Zeal had brushed the husk firmly between the midline of the small Shol's back where it was most difficult to reach the plumy quill-esque foliage, and eliciting the contented noise. It had been frustrating and near impossible, trying to reach that spot between his shoulders on his own.

Staring down at him, Zeal again thanked the Stars that Lockes was with them now. After their ordeal, the dark Shol had continued a rigorous training to bring out the full potential of their kind's innate magick, and the aetherical artes had only grown stronger. Having grown greater control over the aether, and well versed with the needs of the road, they had taken it upon themselves to filter the waters they consumed and bathed in.

Streams and private baths were now accessible for the ragtag band.

A knock on the door had them both craning their necks. Hemlockes waltzed in, wrapped in a towel that despite being thoroughly wound around them as one would a shawl--an incredibly fluffy shawl--still dragged on the ground like an overly long cape.

Shols though they both were, they were quite different as individuals. Whereas Vye tended to scuffle with the ground as he padded over, Lockes's steps were light and almost dainty in their grace. Would be, as Zeal deemed, had he not seen the Shol in combat.

Grace it may be, but Lockes was no delicate bloom to be trifled with.

"Scootch, scootch, make room!" they called to the two already soaking, making as if to scale the side.

Only to be stopped by a hand, "No, I refuse to bath in hemlock."

"How rude." they huffed, "The family name isn't just a reference for the Apiaceaes, I'll have you know."

"There isn't enough room anyhow."

Zeal regretted it the moment those words left his lips.

The mischievious glint in Hemlockes's eyes were disconcerting.

"Challenge accepted."

Technically speaking, Lockes did manage to squirm their way into the tub. Technically they did all fit in the tub.

Technically speaking was the worst bloody kind of speaking in Zeal's not so humble opinion.

"If it puts you at ease, Shols can regulate their toxins if they so choose."

That made nothing better.

"You both need to lose weight."

There were simultaneous cries of discontent while Zeal sat stiffly, feeling more than uncomfortable with both pairs of eyes glued to him.

It wasn't that he was modest, modesty had nothing to do with this. He simply respected personal space, preferring it very much undisturbed.

Right now it was nonexistent, and there was, not one, but two, fluffy, plumed blobs sitting on his belly and legs.

"Do I get a backrub too?" Lockes flashed him a grin stretching nonexistent ear to nonexistent ear.

"No."

The tub was positively cramped now, and he was all but certain that it was more Shol than water that he was bathing in.

A matter that was, only after the fact, made hilarious as it was considered the highest of opulence for the nobility to bathe in Shol infused water.

On the bright side his skin had never felt better. Pampered soft, and with an almost radiant sheen.

Zeal was still not pleased to cough up the extra fee for having flooded the entire room.

The Briar Patch (BP): Ch. 7 - Recuperating

"Zeal!"

When Zeal next came to, it was to an overwhelming pain. Everything hurt. His side especially where the frost flesh was worst, stung with a vengeance of paradoxically searing pain.

Snippets and Stories: (TWFaTB) Sunshine

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine you make happy when skies are grey--"

Her name wasn't important to her. She had too many other things to keep track of.

"--you never know dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away."