Chapter Text
The Troupe’s looming tents have long since left Dirtmouth, leaving behind only a small yurt at the edge of town. A single red lantern serves as Hornet’s beacon as she marches along. Ghost had insisted on carrying her luggage, but she declined. It’s only one carpet bag, she reasoned, and she doesn’t need a chaperon. They still followed her all the way from their shared house to the metal bench, where they sat down and watched until she was out of sight.
Hornet can’t say she doesn’t understand their concern, nor Grimm’s. It’s why she ultimately accepted his invitation. When one lives in a tent, though, how does she knock? She can’t, so she raises her voice: “I’ve arrived.”
Almost immediately after she says this, Grimm sweeps the curtains over. She catches a glimpse of the dull red lining of his cloak, before he sweeps her off her feet into an embrace. Alas, she cannot hug him back: her hands are full.
“I am not a stuffed toy,” she grumbles half-heartedly into his shoulder, as he nuzzles into her neck. He clucks with disappointment and sets her down, though he’s still smiling all the way into the tent. Though small, it is no less grand than his previous dwelling. She hangs her needle on the coat stand, puts her bag on a chair, and looks around.
Quite mysteriously, there are two openings at the far end of the room that definitely do not lead outside. She looks through both of them, seeing a bathroom and a familiar bedroom. She knew she recognized that chaise from somewhere. A blush creeps up her shell, and she retreats to the main room. Grimm, who has fixed a pot of tea, watches her expectantly from the little table. Hornet seats herself across from him.
“Ginger tea,” he explains, when she eyes the contents of her teacup. “I’m glad you took me up on my offer. It gets lonely here, what with my troupe all gone...How are your siblings?”
“They won’t stop fussing over me,” she complains. “I swear they’ve gone broody.”
“’Twould make sense. You put yourself in harm’s way, despite being gravid,” Grimm moves around the table, and drapes his arms around Hornet’s shoulders. It feels like being hugged by a warm blanket, and she gratefully leans into his touch.
She remembers standing outside of the Temple of the Black Egg, keeping vigil until little Ghost had come to vanquish the Old Light. The Hollow Knight’s pained howling still haunts her nightmares, how easy it had been to rush in and pin them down. There was no other way. Ghost couldn’t have held them still long enough.
“I was protecting my eggs,” Hornet corrects him. “If I had stood idle, there wouldn’t have been a Hallownest to raise them in.”
“Remarkable.” Grimm pulls away from her, with a sweeping bow. In a blink, he’s near the door, gathering Hornet’s belongings. She prickles a little when he touches her needle, but says nothing as he ferries her things to the bedroom. “Make yourself at home. There’s not much here in the way of entertainment, I regret, but you will at least be comfortable.”
Hornet looks down into her half-finished tea. Maybe she will.