Snippets and Stories: (BP) Distrust

When they first met, he had been such a desperate little thing. Searching for someone, anyone, who would accompany him on his merry chase, journeying into an unchartered, restricted, and if that wasn't enough, quarantine zone. And even after, journey with him still.

A companion.

A friend.

A brethren.

He was none of those things and he made a point of showing his pursuer the same.

But still the little thing insisted on tailing him so adamantly, undeterred by the cold shoulder that they were met with at every turn.

Why him?

Was it his reputation as the best Seeker? His impossible record of success in every Hunt? Or perhaps the absurdity of some of the tasks he had been put up to by some client or another?

After all, so long as the contracts were full and of worthwhile exchange, he was indiscriminate of the assignment or the issuer.

Certainly, he seemed the perfect candidate for the task. Yet despite the fool's errands he put up with, Zeal was no such individual himself.

And there was too much about this dubious case that had him turning away.

A desperate client.

Alone.

Willingly to offer a king's ransom with no apparent source.

Unwilling to divulge any background, be it of themselves or the circumstances.

The sparse and reluctant details divulged regarding both the quest and their own background.

The quest itself being of only vague directions with no solid objective.

Even after an hour of interrogation, the conversation yielded not more than seemingly aimless wandering of thereabout directions of travel with no real destination noted. A long journey of undetermined length with no understanding of where, what, or why, nor a solid objective.

Everything about the case gave him pause.

And so he declined. With a firm finality.

That was currently being made not so final.

He flew on his feet, losing his small pursuer in the hustle and bustle of the bazaar. This was becoming a real nuisance.

A day or two he could understand. Not an entire month of pursuit, so strong, or perhaps desperation born, was their resolve.

But it made no difference to him, he would evade the little one as he always did.

But just as he'd lost his tail, what started as a territorial dispute between stalls had blown into a full fledged scuffle, vendors and market-goers alike were gtting caught up in its wake.

And he would be too if he lingered.

The mercenary tsked, glaring at the commotion. There had been rumors of the precious substance being circulated in these parts. But such delicate inquiries over topics mandating appropriate discretion could not be made with all the fuss.

Another wasted attempt.

He leaped onto the roofing, taking note with passing interest that the mob seemed to be fighting for something.

Zeal lighted down in an alley and had been ready to hightail it out of there when he heard it.

From where he was, the voices came loud and clear even in the rush.

It couldn't be.

Staring at the fray, he gave a sigh and readied himself to take back to the rooftops to scour.

He couldn't miss this opportunity.

But there was a harsh tug on his shirt and he stopped in his tracks.

Not again.

"Contract." Angry tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, his face tense with frustration yet pleading with him just the same, "Help!"

He scowled, "No."

"I--" they struggled to speak, small hands clenched at his shirt, as if to keep him there by force, "I can give you--"

What a laugh.

"Nothing I don't already have." With that the seeker none too gently, shook off the small hands clinging to him, "Shoo."

"I--I have it! What you're after!" they cried out, voice growing hysterical.

How.

Zeal turned, glaring down at the small creature. If the little one would play him for a fool, he would regret it, "Certain are you? Then name it. What is it I so desire."

Shaking hands reached into the folds of the cloak and pulled out a thin, corked vial.

The reaction was nigh instantaneous.

"That's..." Pupils blown wide, so much so that his iris appeared almost entirely black.

Zeal took in a slow shuddering breath as a light floral scent permeated the area even through the porous stopper.

He needn't see the scintillating fluid within to know what it was.

"How...?"

Had he managed to procure the very item that had eluded him?

But there wasn't any Time.

The commotion in the bazaar was moving, footsteps were hurtling towards them.

It seemed today was one full of disruption.

Zeal grit his teeth and snatched the offered vial, turning he grabbed the small one in his other arm, tucking him under as he ran.

Never stopping as they turned alley after alley in the maze of the city, and with a quick backwards glance to check for tails, he transported them to his current dwelling.

Certain they were alone, he dropped the poor thing unceremoniously on the floor, much to its discontent, which was made clear with a sharp cry.

Zeal stared at the vial.

He couldn't believe it.

Pure, undiluted, liguid gold. Free of impurities.

This was impossible. Shols went extinct over a century ago, for there to still exist such a priceless substance untainted...

Zeal turned towards the little one and his breath caught.

As all his questions were answered.

Pushing himself up on the floor, the small creature shook his head, the movement following down its child-like body as it ruffled its downy plumes. The hood that had come loose in the struggle had fallen, revealing the unmistakable tender green foliage that had been hidden beneath.

"You're... A shol."

The small Shol stared up at him, frightened, but determined.

"Make a contract with me." They uttered in their broken imitation of speech.

Zeal stared at the vial of golden nectar.

What a surprising bit of moxie.

"Fine."

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Different

Zeal wasn't one easily drunk under the table, and had an unusually high tolerance for hitting the bottle.

While most found the trait of unmatched alcohol tolerance to be enviable and coveted it greatly, Zeal felt nothing for it.

Though it proved useful when collecting information--for he could easily drink away the night with mind intact while loosening the tongue and memories of fellow patrons--it made matters difficult to dispose of when he desired nothing more than the comfort found in the bottom of a glass, for the sheer quantity and necessary for him to feel the utterly delightful pull of drunken disregard was all but inconvenient. Inconvenient and expensive, for he had a penchant for only the choice glass, and preferred a drink of quality rather than quantity.

Which was why it came as a pleasant surprise when the familiar warmth washed over him after throwing back a mere shot. One of many that he would partake of that night.

The Bluepine had, warned him with a click of their tongue, "Ah-ah, not too much, Reaper. This is a potent brew."

To which Zeal brushed off after taking a tentative sip. He'd heard the same boasts of many a spirit, and thus far the strength of Sholian concoctions didn't prove an anomaly, nor did they seem to fall beyond the normal range. This drink too, didn't seem particularly strong, and the sweetness like mead made it go down easily.

Yet Shols seemed full of surprises as they were wont to do.

Another few glasses and the intoxication had him firmly in its sweet grasp, a feeling he all but surrendered to, for there was a distinctive sense of complacency and contentment in doing what he did best--not giving a damn.

It was unusual for him to become involved and for so long. Having a hefty personal investment in Vye's merry chase had been more than wearisome, and for the first Time in far too long, he slept well. 

Unusual, for his occupation scarce afforded such luxuries.

"... Frankly, it's impressive that he wasn't downed after two. This is our most potent brew and Fleshlings, despite their larger size, rarely tolerate such spirits as well as a Shol. That he can hold his cup so well..." the Bluepine chuckled, "Your guardian is full of surprises."

Vye nodded dumbly as he watched the gentle rise and fall of Zeal's chest as he snored softly against the Bluepine's lap. The severed Shol had taken it upon themselves to take care of his intoxicated guardian and the inevitable hangover that would follow the next morning.

For now though, lending their lap would be enough. The Bluepine smiled, cradling Zeal's head on their folded legs. An idle hand daintily coiled a lock of hair before stray fingers found their way into the tangled mess of hair, working at the knots.

There was a Time when they had similarly done the same for another. But that Time had passed.

"Lockes?"

The Shol glanced up at their name, humming an acknowledgement nonchalantly.

"How did you... Get away from the Reapers?" Maybe... Maybe he could learn. And--Lockes was so talented and proficient in the arts. Arts he never knew could be honed so.

Vye stared at the hearth where the fire burned merrily. Things he didn't know his kind could do.

There was much he didn't know. Thought he'd known.

Truth be told, until they ran into the Bluepine, he'd thought himself, at the very least, competent. Certainly, in the company of his Ring his abilities had been sufficient, for they did little more than nourish the Earth, partake of the Verdance's bounty, and bask in the light of the Solar Warden, reveling in it's warmth. There was little need to do otherwise, and lesser still the incentive. The Bræmbel Ring had provided but a simple Life, where they went through the walks of life but at their own pace. 

But in the wake of the fight, it was doubtless that what he'd known was but a pond.

Lockes was right, in the face of the Bluepine's mastery, he was but a seedling who knew nothing of his own kind. Who had yet to realize that the lush green that adorned him was but the seed leaves and believed the grass around him a forest. Having seen the ocean in the horizon of the puddle he knew, there was but a long and difficult road ahead. And the only path forward.

With a start, he realized Lockes hadn't answered and he raised his head only to see a similar pair studying him closely.

The scrutiny was unbearably uncomfortable, and the young Shol averted his gaze. Unseen was the smile and quiet scoff as the other huffed,

Vye was still far too young, so easily unnerved.

Yet here he was, embarking on a journey that could only be arduous as only Life could be.

Lockes chuckled. There were many who were better equipped and suited for such--and yet.

They gave the Coty a sidelong glance, "It's a long story. Too long to be spun before Lun descends and Sol follows, ever 'n pursuit." The smile the severed Shol gives him, though unchanging in their warmth, held no invitation for further conversation.

They sat in silence, Lockes still smiling and combing Zeal's hair. Vye took the break in conversation with a lot less grace, fidgeting with his sleeve and fretting over nothing.

Despite the serene smile that betrayed nothing, Vye had an inkling that not all was well.

But he could think of nothing to say, and it left him with too many needless thoughts. Lockes was an amazing storyteller, but though they spun much in their performance, few pertained to the severed Shol themselves. Though they asked many a question and story of their own misadventures, the Bluepine supplied none of the same.

Vye wanted to know more about the Circles. About his kith and kin. About Lockes.

But just as he'd reconsidered his approach and dredged up the courage to ask again, he heard his own name.

Not from the Bluepine, but from his guardian.

Zeal stirred, blinking blearily up at him, "Could ask the same of you."

He was taken back, "Ask what?"

"How come you survived? How did you get away, and stay hidden, for so many years after the Harvest Moon, when everyone was hunting for... your kind." a frown crossed the mercenary's face and he grumbled tiredly under his breath, eyes slipping shut and brow furrowed in his perplexity. And perhaps speaking from personal experience now, "There were so many others... Adversaries who were far stronger... who were far more worthy game... and made better sport. It doesn't make sense."

It was the alcohol talking. This Vye knew, but it did little to blunt the hurt.  

Zeal muttered and rolled onto his other side, "How are you alive? There's nothing special about you that would've made a difference. If anything... Your very nature makes you... more susceptible."

Nothing special.

His condition had certainly afforded him no advantage.

The Heartseed within twisted painfully and almost instinctively, Vye drew his knees to his chest. Unintentional though the insult may have been, it was one nonetheless.

At the crestfallen expression, Lockes decided now was a good a Time as any.

There was a subtle shift in the severed Shol's posture. They were themselves curious as to the circumstances pertaining to the seedling's survival and in want of answers--but not with the Reaper listening.

"Close your eyes Zeal. Sleep now." they whispered as soft motes wafted from their needles, a sight that stole the breath from the young Shol. The Reaper grunted and did as the dark Shol bade. Within moments sleep had overtaken them, for his eyes did slip shut and his breath even.

"It's fine to breath now." Lockes smiled, musing aloud as they turned to Vye, "Did you know what those were? Or have you perchance seen them before? Not many Shols can produce this miasma, after all."

Slit eyes turned their curious gaze to him. The Bluepine's voice changed. Still with the melodic lilt, but it was much more serious now, "But--"

It was Time to see if the Coty himself was familiar with the tale, and whether they understood the extent of the sacrifices made on his behalf.

They heard Vye's breath hitch, tensing in apprehension and anticipation for the coming questiin.

"I second that. How did you evade the Reapers?"

And yet more importantly, for Lockes had a fair understanding of the circumstantial "how"s, did little Vye know why he survived? Truly, it wasn't a question of how that was important, for the Bluepine could paint a fair picture of understanding, but the question of why that was most crucial in Vye's quest.

From the brief, but inexplicable and unadulterated terror that flashed across his face, yes he did know.

The Crescent moon rose silently in the night sky.

Perhaps it was too soon to dredge up the nightmares, but isolated though they were, too far caught up in this false sense of peace, there would be nothing but hardship on the road Vye would tread.

Truthfully Lockes had their hesitations as it was. 

The Harvest Moon which was once their most cherished of festivals was now far removed. Too deeply stained in blood for the silver crescent ramekin of Luna to be anything more than the cold indifference of a Reaper's scythe.

A weight nudged at his back and he shied away, staring at the vine. It pushed him beside Lockes and the other brought an arm around him in a loose hug.

A gesture he returned, albeit apprehensively.

"It's not a memory one would desire, and I loath to make you relive it. But I need to know how much you understand of the circumstances by which you were spared." Lockes bumped their nose against his, and a tendril slid out from somewhere beneath their foliage.

Vye hesitated, and for a moment realized just how small he was when confronted with what he was up against.

A diminutive creature struggling to survive, alive only by the good graces of those he'd met.

Once they left the hollows of the Alpione Circle, he would be plunged back into the cold indifference of the apathetic reality of his situation.

A thin vine extended to twine with that of the severed Shol's, and when they next opened his eyes, it was to smoke and fire.

Lockes didn't need to see much, and the vision was broken. They shuddered, the lingering touch of the memory they had briefly lived just as daunting as it had been then. Daunting not to themselves as Lockes, but to Vye.

The vision was more than just a theatrical, as one would perhaps choose to entertain by, nor was it a story to be told.

It was a life lived, not as oneself, but as another. To feel their fears, their faults, their hopes, and their pain. To the depth of the individual not your own. Privy to their every thought not as a bystander, but as the one thinking them.

"So you're aware."

Vye nodded solemnly, legs curling up to his chest and he huddled in the nest, "They told me."

Not that they needed to. Life did not come evenly to all creatures, and though Shols were all equals in partaking of the Verdance's gift, not all were bestowed with the same blessings. 

Lockes themselves for instance could not bloom as many Shols did when sharing nectar. Such a process was much more elaborate for the dark Shol.

Meanwhile Vye's condition came as both a blessing and a curse. The floral menagerie--or lack thereof--and nigh universal compatibility.

"And it is of your desire alone to continue in this quest?"

A nod.

"Then you know what must be done."

Another nod.

Lockes sighed, a smile that didn't quite reach their eyes lingering, "Coty, our lives are freely pledged to the Verdance before our very conception, we follow the first Yggdrasill and walk in their footsteps--not by obligation, but because we desire it. And yet, if that is not what you desire, none would fault you. You are no lesser for it."

"It's--it's not that. I--" the Coty buried his head into his knees, "I don't hate the Verdance, and I really do want to do this! It's just--" Vye struggled to find the words to convey the contrasting desires that were his alone to contest.

So caught up was Vye, they noticed not that the Bluepine had sidled beside them, never rushing, never hurrying. 

For the seeds of conflict had been sown deep, and Lockes would wait however long it may be until Vye was ready.

Frustrated tears blurred his vision as unbidden memorues surfaced. Memories of tender warmth yet whose existence but brought him endless torment and suffering.

At last the young Shol broke off into a wail, "I don't want to be alone!"

Bereft of his Bræmbel kin, Vye cried, the loss cutting deeper than ever. And the Bluepine let him.

They moved only to embrace him, brushing the foliage soothingly and tucking their face into the crook of their neck.

"There is nothing wrong with wishing to stay. None would fault you for it."

It was cruel of them, this the Bluepine knew.

Vye's mind was made, he would continue on this merry chase down a path that would be nothing but full of suffering. And to walk this arduous path, such conviction was but necessary.

Dangling this haven before them, where things so closely resembled his own Circle was a hurt that cut deeper than perhaps even the loss itself, for it was the warmth of home the young Shol's Heart desired above all else, and yet staying meant abandoning all that was sacrificed for him to be here now. Already the guilt of surviving tormented him. Yet by staying it would be a constant reminder, to consume his Heart more than it already had.

And yet Lockes would not have it any other way. Doubtlessly Vye desired an escape from his torment, and the Bluepine would be the one to offer it, to ensure that he had the choice, that the young Shol wouldn't be trapped by the weight that had been shackled to him.

It had to be Vye's choice to trudge on.

Reliving the memory Vye had entrusted them with, they knew that it was the selfsame desire of their valley borne brethren. The Shols of the Bræmbel Ring did not wish to shackle Vye with the obligation, but above all else it was their desire that he survive, for only he could do what they could not. 

What happened after would be of Vye's own choice, but at the very least they wanted to ensure there to be hope. Hope that the dawn may yet rise on their darkest hour.

But this the Coty knew as well. And yet he would walk this path still.

Lockes sighed. Everything would have been made simple had Vye given up this impossible undertaking. 

A pursuit with no end in sight.

Not that the severed Shol desired an endless night, but to raise the light of dawn was near impossible, and for one in such tender years to have chosen so adamantly to walk the troubled path.

Vye cried until there were no tears left to shed. Exhausted he lay snug against the Bluepine, worn by the weight he carried. The wails died down, and eventually the stifled hiccups and sniffles would too.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Regression

Somehow, Vye had grown weaker.

Not in the sense that his health had taken a turn for the worse, but rather his psychiatric state seemed to have drastically regressed.

His speech had developed a certain brevity, and he spoke little and less as.

As the days passed the young Shol seemed to forget his independence. In place of the fierce determination was a meek puppy that followed every step of Lockes's heel at their every beck and call, constantly seeking the severed Shol's approval.

The only change and likewise explanation for this behavioral change, would be their prolonged stay at the den. 

Snippets and Stories: (BP) A Small Comfort

Vye was elsewhere with the Bluepine, yet again.

It couldn't be helped. Similar to how an umbilical cord in placental mammals would siphon nutrients to the growing young, so too did the vines nourish Vye.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Seer's Fog

They awoke not to the solar light and warmth, but to a cold darkness that pierced deep into their body.

The visions they had seen in slumber lurked in the corner of their mind. So hauntingly vivid and far too real.

It nagged at them. Just as one knew there was something of importance to remember, yet could not recall.

But whatever grasp they had, was already fading.

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.