Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The forests were quiet now in the late summer. The evening held a wet chill and the sunset painted the sky in pink and orange, the clouds a dark blue as the light fell away from the sky.

As Jinn began to return to their homes, dens and trees or logs fashioned to apartments, the bugs and night life began to wake.

The boggan on the back of a grackle watching the forest floor from above breathed in the brisk breeze and sighed. He nudged his knees into the bird and it gave out a caw before taking off from the branch.

As he flew over the forest floor and through tree limbs, the boggan listened to the bugs begin to chirp and skitter like they do at nightfall. Crickets began singing, moths began fluttering, and song birds went to fall asleep as owls began to take to the skies.

The sound of the forest at night only carried so far, as when he crossed from lush green trees and long grass to barren logs and stagnant water, all noise faded into the black of dusk and life seemed to vanish from the vicinity.

The only sign of life was the bird’s shadow as it descended and glided over the bog.

It gave another series of caws as it came upon a huge uprooted and fallen tree. Long dead, the entire trunk of the tree had since rotted away after falling and the stump of the tree was jagged and splintered.

The bird landed on a shard of bark, allowing the rider to crawl into one of the many holes of the hollowed out wood.

From above he looked like a rat scampering around, a rat that looked sick or thin, but a rat nonetheless.

That is if you ignored the dragging back limbs and the skull stripped of its fur.

Dagda stopped crawling and stood up, dusting off his coat and beginning his trek through the tunnels in the wood. This part of Wrathwood was always quiet now. No singing, no humming, no sounds of laughter or playful sparring. Just…quiet.

He followed the lone scent of his father into one of the many large chambers, his dad’s trophy room.

He poked his head in and frowned, “Dad? You here?”

Mandrake lifted his head from his stool, having been sharpening a blade. “In here, son.”

Dagda put down his standard bow and turned the slight curved corner to see his dad sitting on a stool, a stone dagger in one hand and a sharpening rock in the other.

He set the stone on his lap and looked up at Dagda, “What do you have to report?”

Dagda was casual, he had no reputation to hold in front of his father. He scratched the back of his neck and pulled off stray moss, “The leafmen had tried to stretch out their borders this evening. We managed to chase them off but they will probably be back tomorrow.” He flicked the moss away.

Mandrake hummed, “Did they give you any trouble?”

Dagda thought for a moment, “Uh, nope, no. No trouble at all.”

“Good,” Mandrake nodded and continued sharpening the blade he was working on.

Dagda yawned and crawled up the wall to one of the higher tunnels that led deeper into the tree, planning on shouting at some of the other soldiers, when he stopped and hung slightly off the wall out of the tunnel.

“Hey dad. Has mom come back from hunting yet?”

It was by habit now, he did it unconsciously, but it still sent a shot of pain through both of them even though they had this same exchange every day.

They both knew the answer, but they were so used to it, and neither wanted to break the routine. The depressing depressing routine.

They didn’t want to admit that she was gone.

“No,” Mandrake stopped and frowned at the floor. “Must be a long trip.”

His mate said that she was leaving for a hunt.

That was three years ago now.

Dagda looked at the ground with a tight lip and he sighed, going through the tunnel.

That was everyday for them.

Everyday for three years.

Gone were the days Mandrake screamed at the Earth in pain and grief, sending out search parties day in and out, mourned the empty cold space in his bed. Gone were the days Dagda watched the treeline hoping she’d come out of the limbs and leaves, where he’d catch extra food in case she suddenly returned.

When her hawk came back without her, they knew.

They wouldn’t talk about it, they tried to hope she was alive, but they knew. Her hawk never left her side, not willingly.

But even now Mandrake dropped his head, put down what he was doing, and covered his face, wiping tears from his eyes.

She had been his wife of fourteen years when she had gone missing. She had went out on a hunting trip, alone, something she had done countless times before. But this time…she never came back. It wasn’t odd for her to be gone for days at a time, but when weeks started passing and she still wasn’t home…

He put the dagger away and set the sharpening block down with a heavy sigh. Mandrake stood up, popping his back in the process.

With night falling meant that he took lead command of the troops while Dagda, his son and trusted general, rested.

He grabbed his cudgel from where he had it set, where it couldn’t rot the rest of the fortress. He could feel the wet chill from outside as he neared the opening of the tunnel. Fall was well on its way now. It wouldn’t be long before the (in his opinion) disgusting eye-straining green of the trees turned into rich fiery shades of orange, red and yellow, and then finally, browns and greys.

His grackle ruffled its neck feathers and gave a hoarse call as Mandrake approached, lowering its head. He settled his hand along its neck, smiling slightly. His mount had been the strongest and fittest of all the birds, the largest out of their brood, and still remained the most responsive and well trained bird of the entire flock. Mandrake ran his fingers through the bird’s feathers and hummed. It gave a coo back and nudged his head.

He gave its neck a squeeze with his thighs and the grackle took off.

Thankfully the moon was mostly hidden behind the Earth’s shadow, barely poking out in a sliver of white moonlight. The darkness slowly engulfed the forest as the sun completely hid behind the horizon, hiding Mandrake and his bird in plain sight. Leafmen, after all, have horrible sight in the dark, while boggans were born, bred, and raised in darkness.

He dove and took the bird low to the ground, just over the grass as he crossed into the woods, hearing gasps and shrieks from sparse jinn below.

He grinned and quickly pulled up into the trees. Bats couldn’t dive down or climb into the air quite like a grackle, but no animal had yet compared to the hawk that claimed the skies over this part of the forest.

It wasn’t strange for a single hawk to claim territory, but it was strange for this one.

This hawk aggressively defended its territory but it only hunted a large field off the country road that ran through the woods, hardly ever straying into the forest. From what he could recall the bird continued to roost in an old house in the middle of said field, having laid vacant all this time.

His wife had named it Acreage.

Speaking of that house…

His grackle gave a shrill caw as it landed on a branch, staring out at the field ahead.

The house stood forebodingly in the middle of the field, like a sole mausoleum in an empty graveyard. It was old and pale, a ghost from a time when roads and cars weren’t constantly encroaching further and further into the forests.

The old country road passed by in front of the house but it hadn’t been travelled on in decades. The only cars regularly going down the road belonged to the stompers in the other house over, the ones that aided the leafmen and coddled the jinn.

He had never expected that a human would realize the existence of the world just underneath their feet, especially not the one that had been chasing after them for decades.

Then his daughter came along and ruined things.

His wife nonetheless took a liking to the girl (something about enjoying her snark) and after having healed Dagda, she took fun in annoying the girl whether she noticed it or not. A dead bird on her window sill, chasing mice into her room, pestering the dog at night to keep her up. She was relentless but all in good fun. And his wife spoke of it like it was no different than her teasing Dagda or himself.

Otherwise, the road went untravelled. They only seemed to go the opposite direction of the house, anyways. Towards the highway and the nearest stomper city, never going any farther down the road than their own hovel.

Had Mandrake dared he would fly closer to the house to hunt mice or rats, but the threat of the hawk, Acreage, was too great.

Yet something caught his eye. Something was missing from the normally rustic picture.

The decades old “For Sale” sign was gone.

—

MK had heard the truck drive down the road before she even saw it. Now, she was just watching the back end of it go down the road, followed by a black motorcycle. Weird, was there another house down the road?

“Hey, dad!” She leaned her back away from the window, calling out behind her.

“Yeah? Y-Yes!” She shook her head with a smirk at the sound of boxes being knocked over. “MK? What’s up?” Her dad poked his head around the corner, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Is there a house on the other side of those trees?” She asked, still looking out the window.

“Hm?” He came up behind her and tilted his head. He looked out the window and perked up, “Oh yeah! But no one’s lived in it for years! Why?”

MK shrugged, “I think someone may have just moved in.”

Bomba lit up and grinned, “Really?”

“Well a moving truck just went by,” MK raised a brow.

He bounced on his feet, “I haven’t had a neighbor ever since I, uh I mean, we, moved out here!”

“Seriously?” MK turned to watch him run out the room to the kitchen.

“Yeah!” He opened the fridge and started taking out various foodstuff, “The closest house isn’t for another three miles on the other side of the highway!”

MK’s dad started randomly opening cabinets, mumbling “where is it, where is it?” Finally, he shot up and hit his head on a cabinet door, “Aha-ow!”

MK snorted. “You good there, dad?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he nodded while holding his head, a large bowl in one hand. “Just,” he heaved the bowl onto the kitchen table and scrambled around for the food he got out, “getting a-a-a, a house warming!—“ he managed to knock everything over, “—gift.”

She laughed and walked over, bending down to pick up the apple now rolling on the floor. “I don’t think the new neighbors would like our groceries,” she put it back in the large clear bowl and placed them both on the table.

Her dad rubbed the back of his neck with a chuckle, “No, I guess not.”

“How about we just go say ‘hi’ first,” she offered and started putting on her shoes.

He put his hands on his hips and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, good idea.”

MK opened the door, the little pug next to her running off barking. “Ozzie,” she laughed. “You wanna meet the new neighbor too?”

He yapped and ran around in circles ahead of them as they walked down the tree shaded road, leaves blowing in the wind. They heard a few caws above and saw grackles fly overhead.

MK sneered, “Ugh, boggans.”

“They’re only doing what they’re supposed to,” Bomba said with a smile.

“Yeah well you didn’t have to see their ugly faces up close,” MK snorted.

“Don’t get ugly yourself,” he laughed. “The day’s so pretty!”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. He was right. It was a beautiful day. The air was cool but the sun kept everything nice and warm, perfect white clouds hung in the bright blue sky, and the trees and grass and bushes were all rich green. Every so often there was a brown leaf here, a dying bush there, but that didn’t take away from the sound of birds and squirrels chittering about in the forest around them.

“How come I’ve never seen this house before?” MK asked as the woods separating the two properties grew thinner and thinner, revealing the pale house that was just meters away from theirs.

“Well, we usually go south-west on our hikes and jaunts around the forest,” her dad explained, “and your friends live deeper in the woods, so we never had a reason to come this way before.”

“Huh,” she shrugged while they made their way up the drive. The moving truck was parked alongside the house, boxes being unloaded by the side of the house near a patio. “Guess that makes sense.”

As they walked around the truck, a tall mess of hair heaved a large box into their arms with an “oof” and tried to walk up the step of the patio. “Oh! Let me help you with that!” Bomba rushed forward and took half the weight of the box.

The person made a squeak and nearly dropped the box. “Oh! T-Thank you,” they stammered. They walked the large box onto the porch and set it down in front of the door, revealing the woman’s face.

“You’re welcome,” Bomba said with a happy grin, but then he took a double-take as soon as the woman stood up all the way.

She was huge! She had a good half a foot on him in terms of height but it wasn’t just that. She looked skinny and lean but Bomba could’ve probably fit two of himself within the span of her shoulders.

Which wasn’t a big accomplishment, he was a thin man.

“Wow, you’re tall,” he laughed in his traditional nervous way.

She smiled and chuckled, eyes closing. Her smile made her ragged and scarred face look softer. “Heh, yeah, I get that a lot,” she rubbed her neck.

MK had to stifle a noise from her chest when her eyes landed on the woman.

She looked so familiar…she couldn’t quite place it. Something about her face, her eyes, her brow and cheeks, made a small tinge of nervousness blossom deep in her lungs. Her eyes were a shade of green she hadn’t seen on a person before and her hair was a wild mess, a shade of deep brown with strands that brightened in the sun light, grey hairs peaking out through dark brown roots.

Something was just off, especially with her eyes.

Sure, green eyes were scarce in general and usually bright, but her eyes were strangely saturated, almost like a cat’s.

MK swore she had seen that exact same shade before, but she couldn’t remember where. Why were her eyes so familiar?

“Sorry about the sudden visit,” Bomba rubbed the back of his neck. “We live right next door past those trees,” he pointed towards the thin woods separating the two fields. “We just wanted to say hi! I haven’t had a neighbor in years.”

“Oh no problem at all,” she said with a smile. “I just bought the land a couple months back and finally got around to moving in.”

Bomba held out his hand, “I’m Radcliffe, Radcliffe Bomba.”

She startled at his hand and looked between him and his outreached arm in surprise.

“Rogon,” she gently took his hand and shook. “Rogon Novak. Pardon the stains, work accident.”

He didn’t even notice the stains. His first thought was on how rough her hands were.

His second…

“You’ve got quite a grip there,” he said with a waver in his voice. Always the flighty man.

She gave a gruff chuckle. “Thanks.”

He smiled. MK carefully took a couple steps forwards, “Oh! This is my daughter, MK!”

She let out an “ack!” as her dad pulled her in by the arm. “Dad, really?” She snorted.

Rogon’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” she gave a friendly smirk, hands on her hips.

She felt her face heat up. She had such a deep and rumbly voice. “Oh uh…” she swallowed. “N-Nice, nice to meet you, too-too.”

She cringed at herself and face palmed internally. Dammit!

Rogon didn’t seem to mind her stammer. In fact, she smiled and laughed. “Don’t mind the scars,” she said, “I’m not that rough around the edges.”

“Oh no-no!” MK quickly waved her hands and shook her head. “It’s not that! Ah, I…sorry,” she laughed and pushed back her bangs, blushing fiercely. “You’re just…really really tall.” She cursed herself under her breath.

She gave her a soft and sweet smile. Like she knew her.

Bomba cleared his throat. “W-Would you like some help?”

“Oh,” her eyebrows went up. “S-Sure. I’d love that.”

Rogon was trying hard to hide her grey blush as Bomba and MK helped carry boxes into the house, used box cutters to open them up and helped her unpack.

They spent the afternoon unloading the truck and bringing what little furniture she had in, things she had brought from various places and some things she bought new.

She really wanted everything to look and feel nice, like home.

A new home.

“I haven’t really gotten around to cleaning yet,” she said as she opened a box and took out a lamp stand, “so sorry about the dust.”

“No problem, it’s still not as bad as our house when I moved back in,” MK snorted and snickered when her dad threw a ball of packing tape at her.

“Oh, when did you move in with your dad?” Rogon asked.

“Like, 4 years ago,” MK shrugged.

Though Rogon didn’t really need to ask.

She already knew. She knew the exact date as well.

Rogon poured a pitcher of lemonade into a few cups and brought them over. “Thank you for helping me unpack,” she said with a smile, handing MK and her dad a cup.

Bomba smiled brightly, “It’s no problem!”

MK thanked her as she took the solo cup and took a sip. She lit up. It was tart but sweet, like a lemon cookie. It bit her tongue but soothed it with the sugary taste of some kind of berry. “Mm! This is really good!”

Rogon beamed. “Thank you! I put a little bit of blueberries and raspberries in it, makes it sweeter,” she winked. “It’s a party killer.”

She went to hand Bomba the next cup while talking to MK, “You look like you’re old enough to be in college, MK.” She said it like she was asking a question.

“Hm? Oh yeah,” she nodded. “I’m turning 21 in September.”

“Neat,” Rogon smiled at her and took a sip of her own lemonade. “You going to school nearby?”

How did she know she was in college?

“Yeah, but I’m taking a semester off.”

Rogon hummed and shook her head. “I don’t think I could go live in the city, even if only for a few months for school. Guess thats why I moved out here,” she laughed with a shrug. “It’s quieter, not as chaotic.”

“Absolutely,” Bomba agreed, pausing to comment on how nice the drink was before going back on topic. “New York is just absolutely insane! And there aren’t enough parks! I mean, Central Park can only provide so much.”

Rogon nodded in agreement, though she was noticeably wary of his eccentricities.

As the sun began to grow lower in the sky, Rogon opened the door for them as they left the house. “Thank you for helping,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Bomba said. “Happy to help!”

“Call us over if you need anything,” MK added.

Rogon laughed and nodded, “I will, thank you.”

She waved goodbye as they started down the lane, the moving truck long gone now.

Rogon smiled slightly. But then she turned and stared wistfully at the tree line, 200 yards away.

She sighed and went back inside, closing the door. She still had a lot of work to do on the house before she could make any attempt on the forest.

Immediately when MK got home she turned on the monitor she used to talk to Nod. As she expected, he was waiting for her.

“Hey,” she smiled.

“Oh, hey, MK!” He brightened and stood up straight. “Where’ve you been all day?”

“Someone moved in next door,” she explained.

“Next door?” He asked. “You mean that falling apart farm house?”

“Yeah, weird right?” She shrugged. “My dad said it’s been vacant for years.”

“You kidding? That place is older than Ronin!…probably,” he said. “Have you met them yet?”

“Yeah, she seems nice,” MK rested her dace on her hand. “She’s, like, really tall. And has a bunch of scars on her face.”

“Huh,” he sat cross legged on the camera platform. “What’s her name?”

“Rogon. Kind of a weird name, huh?”

“To you, maybe,” he shrugged. “Sounds normal to me.”

“True,” she laughed.

They didn’t talk about her for the rest of the night, except for when MK told Nod that he should tell Ronin that there might be a new person walking around the woods.

When MK told Nod goodnight and she watched him fly off on his bird, she yawned and stretched her arms behind her head.

She rolled away from the monitor and got up, ready to go up the stairs.

As the monitors began turning off due to inactivity, one caught a faint glimpse of a dark shadow running through the woods.

Chapter Text

For once the Bomba’s actually began spending time outside of the house and not in the woods!

It had been quiet for a few days after their new neighbor had moved in, save for the faint sounds of a saw running. But then two days after they had first met, MK’s dad was alerted to someone at the door by Ozzie’s barking.

He jumped seeing Rogon, drywall dust in her hair and paint on her white shirt.

She rubbed her shoulder sheepishly, hair tied back in a loose bun. “Uh hey, so…about helping me out…”

He chuckled and told her they’d be over in a minute.

She met them at the end of their laneway wearing her white shirt with an image of sunflowers on it tucked into a pale pair of mom jeans, still covered in dry wall, dust, and paint.

She looked so out of place in those clothes. A battered and scarred tall woman straight from a fantasy battle RPG and she was dressed like a first time DIYer.

And above that she looked skittish. Nervous, like if she did one thing wrong she would scare them off.

In reality, they came to find out, it was out of embarrassment.

Because, in her own words, she “could build an entire cabin out of logs but she couldn’t figure out how to paint a ceiling”.

She could fix things and make things, she couldn’t figure out the rest.

So, while she replaced door hinges and windows, they took up painting and hanging up light fixtures (after she had done the wiring, of course). Plumbing was no problem for her but tiling was a nightmare. She could put up cabinets and install appliances but she had no clue what the hell trim was.

And MK and her dad were happy to help. Instead of doing who knows what at their house, probably talking about the leafmen and the jinn and their culture or theories or questions to ask, they were helping Rogon fix walls and ceilings, redoing wood floors, painting walls and cleaning the kitchen.

Going back and forth from the houses became routine for a few weeks, even when they weren’t working on renovations.  Rogon would make them iced tea or lemonade, sometimes in the morning she would have coffee, and in the evening she may even have a hand made pizza in the oven for them to share.

Over the course of only two weeks, Rogon had grown comfortable asking them over for help, or asking if they needed any help at all. “I hate that you’re doing so much for me and I have nothing to repay you with!” She had said.

“You don’t have to repay us,” Bomba said with a cheerful laugh as him and MK rolled paint onto the newly patched ceiling. “That’s what good neighbors are for!”

She smiled warmly and went back to work with her drill.

But when she asked if they could help her put up some cameras, they grew slightly concerned. What kind of cameras?

“Security cameras,” Rogon said, checking on the boxes that held the equipment in them. “I was going to put them up along the property line. I would’ve done trail cameras, but those only take pictures if they detect motion.”

“Why do you want to put up security cameras in the woods?” MK asked with furrowed brows.

“I…ah,” she looked away, unease in her eyes and voice. “I like…knowing what’s going on around me! Um…past trouble kind of stuff. You know how it is.” She waved her hand and cracked her knuckles, taking out a tablet and tapping on its screen, checking the code on one of the cameras, then tapping some more.

Bomba didn’t see it but MK clued in on her paranoia, especially when she was helping her hook up the cameras along her property line.

“So, did you like,” MK leaned against the tree as she held the next piece of equipment, Rogon above her securing the camera to a branch, “have a lot of break ins, or something?”

Rogon laughed quietly. “Sort of,” she said. “Uh…I guess you could call it gang trouble,” her words were laced with a kind of nervousness that MK could pick up on, it was something she heard at college when people would talk about crime in the big city.

She didn’t ask anymore questions.

Rogon didn’t say so outright (probably afraid to seem rude) but she clearly didn’t want to talk about the subject. So MK talked about their cameras instead.

“If you want we can let you into our camera network too,” she offered. “If it’d make you more comfortable. We have a ton all throughout the forest.”

“Are you sure?” Rogon looked at her in surprise as they walked along the trail to the next spot. “I-I don’t want to intrude—“

“No, it’s fine,” MK waved her off. “My dad uses them for research reasons, it’s not like we have security issues.”

Rogon smiled lightly, “Thanks. I…it means a lot.”

“No problem, I can talk to my dad about it,” MK shrugged. “How many more do you gotta put up?”

“Just this one and the one you’re holding,” she said, carrying her own box. “Then I’ll be putting up some around the house.”

“Man you got this stuff locked down,” MK laughed.

“You have no idea,” she grinned.

Rogon stopped in her tracks and MK froze. “What is it?” She asked but Rogon shushed her.

She crouched down and MK ducked with her.

Her eyes were locked ahead but her ears looked like they were almost twitching, like cats ears swiveling in search of a sound.

The bushes up ahead crackled and snapped, and out from the leaves came a slender doe.

MK lit up, “Ooh.”

Rogon smiled lightly.

The doe turned its head towards them, big black eyes reflecting a shimmer of light.

Then it turned and slowly crossed the trail, disappearing into the woods.

“Wow,” MK said as Rogon stood up beside her. “I haven’t seen a deer that close in years.”

Rogon just smiled and they went on their way.

It had only been a few weeks since she had moved in but MK felt like she was an amazing neighbor! So long as she didn’t find out about-

MK stopped in her tracks when she saw where Rogon was heading.

Just ahead where the trees began to thin and where the foliage began to die she could see the edges of a stagnant pool of black water.

Her chest tightened.

“Uh, Rogon?” She swallowed. “How bout we not go this way?”

“Why?” She turned her head and stopped, raising a brow and tilting her head.

“Uh, that swamp,” she pointed ahead.

Rogon looked at it and pulled her lips to one side.

“Yeah?” She looked back at her.

“Well, it’s, uh…” she was scratching her head trying to figure out what to tell her. She couldn’t just say “tiny little goblins live in a big dead tree right in the middle of this swamp!” Then she’d sound just as crazy as her dad did! Or well, used to. He probably still sounded crazy to other people. If only they knew.

“Just…kind of creepy. Do you have to—“

“Chill, kid,” She laughed, “I can put this camera up on my own, no problem.” She shifted to box under her arm and pointed to her right, “There’s another trail over there, follow it and put that last camera up by the torn down fence posts. You’ll know what I’m talking about.”

MK let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, okay,” she nodded, walking around the swamp and finding a thin deer trail leading back into the woods.

Rogon chuckled to herself and shook her head. It was funny that the girl was still spooked by the Boggans’ territory, even when at her size they were barely even pests.

She walked around the pocket of water and muck, keeping to the firm edges, and made it to the other side of the area, where the pothole bottlenecked out and tapered into the woods.

She grunted as she got up onto a tree, trying to secure herself on the strongest points of it. Thankfully the boggans hadn’t gotten to this one and she was able to hang off the limbs as she strapped the camera down.

With a couple clicks and a beep, the wireless receiver clicked on and dinged.

She smiled to herself.

Rogon looked over the small marsh, surrounded completely by lush green forest, and felt her heart ache. She knew that deep within the swamp there was a tree she had called home, and she was just a few steps from seeing her family.

If only.

She sighed and dropped down, landing in the mud.

Her heart ached as she left the area, a part of her wanting to run into the swamp and never leave again.

She wished she had never left that day, but she couldn’t do anything about it now. And not then, either.

After picking up MK from where the property line ended, marked only by three lone and broken fence posts, they started the trek back to the house.

“Hey, mind if you and dad helped me with some bat houses?” She asked.

“Bat houses?” MK raised a brow. “What are those?”

“You know, bat houses,” she shrugged. “They’re like bird houses, but, er, for bats.”

MK frowned. “Why? They’re…bats.”

“Oh, come on,” Rogon snorted. “They aren’t that bad! Besides, they need shelter, especially when it gets cold,” she explained. “Keeps them from roosting in your attic in the winter.”

“I mean,” MK looked up in thought but Rogon only gave her a lopsided smile. “I guess we could.”

Rogon only smirked when she could hear MK grumble under her breath, “Just hope it wont keep the boggans warm during winter too.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” MK jolted and flushed pink.

Rogon laughed.

With the empty boxes under an arm, MK glanced up at Rogon discreetly, lips slightly parting.

Even though the scars that littered her face tugged and pulled at her skin, making her look rough and honestly scary, she had a softness in her face. A warmth that was bolstered by the sunlight coming through the leaves of the trees around them. Her scars, even though deep in her skin, only magnified her peacefulness. It wrapped her up into a painted visage of someone aged and tired, someone who obviously had been through a lot, but wished to set that aside.

Her expression reminded her of how Ronin looked; stoic and aware of her surroundings, but distant. Both in the present moment, but watching something she could not see herself.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

Rogon smirked and chuckled, “Sure. Shoot.”

MK swallowed, a little hesitant, a little worried of her reaction.

“Where’d you get some of those scars?” she asked.

Rogon smiled slightly, looking at her from the corner of her eye. “Which ones?”

All of them, she wanted to say, but seeing how they continued down her neck, her arms, and across her chest, she didn’t want to be stuck all day. Though she wouldn’t have minded. The woman must’ve had many stories to tell.

She hummed and tilted her head, scanning Rogon’s face.

“How about those ones?” She pointed, Rogon’s eyes following her finger to her forehead.

She smiled, “Those? Those are some of my first,” she said with a breathy chuckle. “I ran into a barbwire fence when I was seven. Scratched my whole face up.”

MK laughed. “Wait,” she snorted, “really? Thats it?”

Rogon nodded with a tooth filled grin and closed her eyes. “I was being chased by a coyote out in Kansas, some pasture or something I was walking through, I liked messing with the goats and cows out there,” she recounted with a laugh and a cheeky smile, looking up as she told her story. “Anyways, I’m coming up on the fence and the coyote is right on my tail, like I’m feeling it panting down my shoulders. Im so distracted by this coyot’ trying to nip my heels, I barrel straight into the barbwire fence!”

“Really?” MK raised her brows with a dropped jaw.

“Yup,” Rogon nodded with a proud grin. “Snagged my forehead and tore me up. I crashed right through, still running with half this fence wrapped around me. It was like a reverse Wile E. Coyote scenario. Coyote chased me, Im the one that goes clunk!”

“Oh my god,” MK started laughing, hand covering her mouth. She doubled over as Rogon beamed, coming out of the woods joking around.

“I’ll tell you, thats the last time I ever ran through those pastures,” Rogon said with a head shake. “Not head first, at least! I started hurdling those fences.”

MK sat down on her porch as Rogon put the box up, shaking her head while laughing up a storm.

“That’s—“ she snickered and covered her face, shaking her head while trying to regain her composure. Keyword: trying. “That’s—that’s so funny!” She wheezed.

Rogon started laughing with her and pushed back her hair. “Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all day,” she playfully bowed and winked.

The redhead’s laugh trickled down to a fit of giggles, Rogon sitting down in her porch chair, now with a glass of whiskey in one hand.

“Your dad coming over today?” She asked, taking a sip.

“No,” she shook her head. “He’s working.”

Rogon smirked, a glint of something sly in her eyes. It was a little unsettling. “What’s your dad do, anyways?” She asked, taking another sip.

“Oh uh…” MK looked away. “He’s a biologist…”

“Really? What field?” Rogon tilted her head. Had MK not had been invested in her own internal debacle over figuring out what to say, she would’ve noticed the knowing smile, the smug look in her eyes. The expression you make that says “I know something you don’t.”

“Uh Im not sure,” she answered, looking up. “I know he used to be a field biologist. He just…makes money off of patents and stuff.”

“What kind of patents?”

“Equipment,” MK perked up. “Like video cameras and monitor programs.”

“Oh, so thats how he buys groceries,” Rogon said and looked up with a nod. “Always wondered how he made money when he’s constantly taking romps around the woods.”

Now that was genuine. She had no clue how Bomba made an income. Perhaps that camera system was more advanced than she thought.

“What about you?” MK asked. “What do you do?”

Rogon went straight-faced, eyebrows raised. Shit, what was she supposed to say?

What did she used to say? Or use as a cover?

Can’t mention drugs, that doesn’t work in this company.

“Security guard,” she answered before MK could notice her pause. “I was like a bouncer at a few clubs.”

“Really?” MK tilted her head. “Why the hell did you move out here then?”

“I told you,” she softly chuckled. “It’s quiet.” Rogon leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, arm hanging over the back of it. “It’s too loud anywhere else. I like it out here.”

She breathed in and sighed. Her gaze slowly drew to her whiskey glass and she swirled it around, slightly rolling her lips in.

MK noticed Rogon wet her lips. Her lipstick must’ve been very nice because it didn’t move at all as she drank her whiskey or licked her lips. No smears of black. If anything, it seemed her bottom lip grew darker.

“And,” Rogon added after a moment of quiet, “I don’t know…it’s something about these woods.” She looked out to the tree line and frowned. “It feels like home.”

MK looked out too, but she smiled.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, I get that.”

Rogon looked to her and gave a lopsided grin, ruffling her hair. “Come on,” she pushed herself up and stretched, “help me get the wood from inside the house so we can start those bat houses.”

“Wait,” MK turned to call after her as she walked into the house, “you were serious? But they’re bats!”

“I like watching them!” Rogon laughed from inside the house.

“You’re so weird!”

“I know!”

—

Later that day Rogon dropped to her sofa with an ‘oof’ , reclining back all sprawled out. She reached into the cushions and pulled out her tablet.

After a few swipes, she pulled up the video camera’s feed from deep in the forest, not quite to the boggans’ swamp but just about.

She scrolled back a few hours and stopped. A few grackles were checking out the camera sometime around dusk.

She slowed down the feed and turned up the volume.

Her pupils relaxed into slits as she listened to the shrill voices coming from the creatures riding the birds.

“We should tell the general about this,” one hissed to the other.

They both nodded and took off.

Rogon frowned and hummed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The house was cluttered with empty paint cans, step ladders and stools, paint brushes, hammers, drills, and rags upon rags upon rags, dirty and clean.

And it’s been three weeks since she had moved in.

Her snores were soft in the still quiet of the morning. The house made silent noises as the sun rose, settling as the dew outside evaporated, the chillness of the fall making the floors and walls groan and creak.

Rogon was sprawled across the sofa, the warmest and softest of light coming through the windows of the den, dust floating around between the shadows of the blinds.

The light slowly crawled across her face, the brightest of the beam just gracing her eye.

She cringed and growled quietly, arms crossing over her chest. After a moment, her ear flicked and her nose twitched, and finally her eyes slowly peeled open.

Did she fall asleep on the couch again? She groaned and rubbed her face. She was still in her clothes from the night before. She looked down. Paint and wood caulk were stuck dried to her overalls, and one button of said overalls was undone, leaving to hang off one shoulder. The shirt underneath even had paint splotches on it.

Rogon dropped her head back once more and threw her arms over the back of the couch. She didn’t even have a working shower yet (though that was mostly her fault as she tried to fix it herself).

Eventually she got up to eat. She couldn’t exactly remember how long it was after she woke up, but the sun’s angle was slightly different. That didn’t really matter, not out here, near civilization and not, well, the middle of nowhere.

Even her fridge was empty. Just like her house. No matter.

She picked between her teeth while bent over, looking at her nails before flicking a crumb away and shutting the refrigerator door.

Her shadow passed the cabinets and counters, almost rippling even though she wasn’t passing anything bumpy or textured. It was all her own shadow.

She stretched and yawned all while slipping off the strap of her overalls, letting them hang at her waist as she scratched her neck. There was a huge chunk missing from her right shoulder, right out of her trapezius muscle.

She pulled her shirt over her head and threw it aside, arms over her head as her spine crackled and popped. Her skin stretched tightly across her back, not only from the large growths that yearned to emerge from her skin, but from the warped and mottled flesh that pulled in every which way across the right side of her midback. The burns reached at her sides and up farther for her shoulder like licking flames, some parts deep and textured, others shiny like skin rubbed raw.

With one hand she undid her messy bun, the other opened a cabinet and rummaged the shelves. Her hair was even messier down.

More like a mane, really. She ran her fingers through her hair, the strands fluffing up at her touch while she lightly picked at the scars on the nape of her neck, courtesy of having the back of her head smashed through dozens of windows throughout her life.

Rogon ruffled the back of her head and grabbed a box of cereal. “Might as well,” she sighed and grabbed the nearest dish as well.

It was a coffee mug.

She looked at it, shrugged, poured the cereal into the mug, and put the box back up before dumping some of it into her mouth. She chewed loudly and opened the back door with a grunt, leaning in the door frame.

It was still quiet out. Even while the sun was completely up, casting a shadow of the house across the field ahead, the birds were distant and quiet. The only sound was of the grass moving in the breeze. It was a nice sound. The rustling of the tall grass was soothing to her. It reminded her of days where she was able to escape home, wherever home was that month, and sit in pastures and fields or among hills or the woods, somewhere far away from her life, and just lay quiet for hours upon hours.

Maybe that’s why she grew so attached to this area in the first place.

No, that wasn’t the reason. She knew her reasons, and they were deep in the woods, currently giving the tiny fae in the forest a hard time.

She sighed and poured another mouthful of cereal into her mouth.

Beep beep

Her left ear twitched. With a sigh, she put her finger to the little black object nestled in her ear and pressed lightly. “What?” She said through a full mouth.

“Morning Rogon,” a mellow yet chipper voice said through her earpiece.

“Tom,” she moved the mug to her other arm and relaxed into the doorway, “I told you not to call me unless its an emergency.”

They laughed nervously, “Yeah, well, I just…well wanted to see how you were doing. You move in ok? Nothing happen? Nobody followed you?”

Rogon sighed and shook her head with a smile. Good ole Tom. “Yeah, we’re good.” She tilted her head and held her elbow with her other hand. “Where are you? You don’t sound like you’re that far…you still in Massachusetts?”

“Virginia,” he replied.

“Well shit,” she smirked, “why don’t you come up here if you’re so worried?”

“I’m not driving all the way up to Connecticut for you!”

“You didn’t say that when we met,” she bit her lip. She nearly busted out laughing when he told her it was too early for that shit. All the while Tom was saying “Buffy, no!” “Down. Ack—no, Buffy!”

Rogon laughed like a hissing pipe and rested her head on the doorway. “Dogs give you any trouble?” She asked.

“Besides mine?” He asked and laughed, loud wet sniffing coming through the receiver. “Buffy wants to say hi.”

She smiled, “Hi Buffy. She must be happy to have some buddies to play with, huh?”

“More like harass! I feel so bad for them, she’s such a bully.”

“Eh, they probably deserve it,” Rogon shrugged. “They’re assholes anyways, somebody needs to put them in their place.”

Tom chuckled and she could hear him sit down. “When do you want me to let them loose?”

“It’ll take em a bit to get here. Give me another week, I’m still working on stuff.”

“Alright, got it. You eaten recently?”

She was tempted to be snarky and tell him she was eating cereal right then, but she knew that wasn’t what he meant.

“I ate before I got here.”

“Alright, that’s good. Just uh…don’t starve yourself?”

“Hard thing to accomplish right there,” she smiled.

She could hear his smile and took another “sip” of cereal. “How’re your neighbors? They ok?”

“The Bombas?” She asked. “Yeah, they’re good. Honestly, I didn’t think they’d grow on me.” She chuckled hesitantly. “They’re…a lot nicer than I expected.”

“Awww you’ve made new friends!”

“You’re still close enough for me to beat you up.”

“I’m so proud, it’s like sending your kid to school for the first time!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too. I gotta go, about to start driving and Jared is asking who I’m talking to.”

“Don’t want him to know you’re cheating on him with someone older.”

“Haha,” he said sarcastically and she scrunched her face up with a toothy grin. “Bye, you mad woman.”

“Bye, Tommy.”

The blue light on her earpiece turned off and Rogon sighed, standing straight.

She looked down at the remaining cereal in her cup. Huh, she thought she was eating cheerios.

She shrugged with a nonchalant noise and dumped the rest of the cereal into her mouth. Rogon slid the cup across the counter behind her and closed the door, disappearing into the house. She had stuff to do.

—

Mandrake threw the mouse he had just caught up onto a sharp splinter of wood, impaling it on the bark of Wrathwood. With a sharpened rock in one hand and his other keeping the mouse still, he raised his arm and made quick work gutting the dead animal.

Footsteps pattered from down the chamber, growing closer. The boggan tripped over his own floppy feet, panting heavily with a raspy breath.

He skidded to a halt, stumbling over himself at the entrance to the chamber. Mandrake stopped, one hand still under the fur of the mouse, and let out an annoyed breath as the boggan soldier shot up as straight as he could and saluted. “Sir! Word from the scouts on the north side!” He croaked.

“What is it?” Mandrake asked, peeling away the hide of the mouse a little at a time.

“A new stomper, in the old house,” he said, hunched over and fidgeting with his fingers.

Mandrake’s ears shot up. He stilled, looking up. He knew that the house was sold, but he hadn’t thought someone would move in. It was more of a hovel than a house last he checked. If anything he was hoping it was a development company coming to tear down the forest. That would’ve been a fun sight to see.

Ugh and he was looking forward to lunch.

“Alert your general, tell him I will be at the old human house,” he told a soldier as he made his way out to where his bird was perched, accompanied by two other boggans.

The boggan saluted and scampered off as he mounted his bird, staff in hand. With a slight tug of the grackle’s feathers, it took off and flew over the swamp of Wrathwood.

It was bad enough when the red headed dolt made it his mission to just watch them, but now that he knew they were really out there, well the leafmen weren’t the only ones worried about people finding out. If this was another one of those scientists, who knows what havoc would be caused.

And normally, Mandrake would like a little havoc. But it seemed the human world much preferred the leafmen and jinn over the boggans. So, the less who knew the harm they were causing the forest’s tiniest occupants, the better for him.

The ears of his cape whipped in the wind behind him. He pulled tight on his bird’s feathers. It gave out a caw and dove down. Mandrake scoured the forest floor for a moment. They were flying over a dirt path, the shadows of the three grackles rippling over the rocks and trail.

He frowned. This trail was recently used. It smelled like…smoke? Not fire smoke, what was that?

He couldn’t place it. It was familiar, stirring something inside him that made him want to choke up, but it wasn’t enough to trigger a clear memory.

He and his scouting party climbed up in the air just a few wing beats away from crossing into the clearing, perching in a tree half covered in fungi. The boggans stationed there saluted to Mandrake and he gave a quick snort.

“Is it at the house now?” He asked.

“Yes,” one of boggans nodded quickly, crouched down on the end of a rotted stick with leaves as a covering. “It’s in the field right now.”

“It’s been outside for hours,” another boggan said, head low.

“Doing what?”

“We’ve been betting on it,” a gangly boggan said from a branch above them, kicking their feet in the air. “I think it’s digging a hole.”

“No it’s clearing out the grass!” The first scoffed.

“You saw it bring out a shovel!”

“But have you seen it dig anything? No.”

They squabbled and hissed back and forth at each other back, sounding like a couple of screaming foxes as they argued.

Mandrake, however, just deadpanned and stared out towards the clearing as his own scout party joined in on the bickering.

The house looked better than it had in the past decades. Cleaner, brighter. The overgrowth that had climbed up the sides of the walls and wood had been cut back substantially, discoloration painted over so well that he could notice the difference from across the field.

He frowned. Mandrake could just barely see the figure, walking around from the other side of the house, a large bag on their shoulder.

What were they doing? He never saw the others just doing stuff outside. Hm, maybe if he could get a closer look…

Curiosity getting the better of him, Mandrake nudged his grackle with his knee. It fluffed up and spread its wings, taking off quickly. The other boggans jolted as he flew through the branches, out into the field with his bird giving out a caw. The two that accompanied followed suit, a couple leaves falling from their scramble to keep up.

His own grackle seemed agitated being in this meadow. Strange. The hawk wasn’t around, there was no reason for his bird to be frightened. Especially when his Nightshade was abnormally hard to spook.

Nevertheless, his grackle swooped up and landed on the top of a tall pole a short distance from the house’s porch. There was a few boxes strapped to the pole, paired with perches that the other two boggans landed upon.

“Smells like bats,” the larger of his scouts said.

Mandrake looked down at the box he was over. “Hm,” he raised a brow, “must be some kind of roost.” An artificial roost? Why would a human make a roost for bats?

“At least the bats won’t migrate far for winter,” the other scout said.

That got his attention. Enough so that his ear perked up. Their bats always migrated to an abandoned structure up in the city during the colder season, shielded away from the elements while the boggans had to rely solely on their grackles for travel. Would they change up their pattern for a couple boxes near a hawk’s residence?

Suddenly all three birds began to rear back. Feathers raised, shuffling, giving quiet nervous calls. “Woah, woah!” Mandrake tightened his grip on his bird. “Hey, hey,” he reached out and ran his hand along the crown of his bird’s head, trying to smooth down the feathers. What spooked them? Nightshade never freaked out, why would she suddenly—

He looked down.

The human came out from inside the house, shaking her head much like a dog would do. Her hair flew around her head, went back, wrapped around her face, then fell around her shoulders. Her hair wasn’t shiny like the other two. Instead it sucked up all the light that went through it, making it look warmer, not smoother. It was thicker too. Not like strands but like tufts.

Broad shoulders, tall. Yes, a bit redundant seeing as all stompers were gigantic compared to them, but she was taller than the normal stomper was. At least, she was taller than the red headed one was.

Her steps were heavy but considerably quiet. Her strides were long and slow, but careful. Not clumsy or clueless or flighty. She was steady, balanced, sure-footed. Even from up there, as her arms bent back behind her and her shoulders contorted, he could hear every crackle and snap of her bones popping.

She fell into her next step after stretching, bent down, hands wrapping around the heavy bag she had left out, and lifted it up onto her shoulder with fluid ease.

One of his boggans finally spoke. “That’s it. That’s the one we’ve been seeing around the forest.”

Mandrake sneered.

The stomper gave a low grunt (sounded more like a growl in his opinion) and dropped the bag to the ground beside the porch with a heavy thud. She stood up straight, rolling her neck like one would roll dough: slow and thorough.

From her pocket she pulled out a rolled stub. Almost like those ridiculous cigars Bufo would smuggle throughout the forest, just oversized. She raised it to her lips and took a deep breath in of it. When did she light it? The cigar lit up from the inside, glowing a green color.

She lowered it and blew out a greenish smoke, something black peeking through her lips before she licked it away. Then she put the cigar back between her teeth, reached down as she raised her foot, took a knife from the inside of her boot, squished the large bag underneath her sole, and cut a large gash through the side of the bag.

Pounds upon pounds of gravel tumbled out of the side of the bag.

She picked up the end of the bag and began dragging it across the ground, creating a trail of rocks and sand just outside the porch. A few passes and she had layered it around the corner of the porch. The bag emptied, small pieces of rock falling to ground as she shook the now empty bag and tossed it.

“Well it’s not a hole,” the boggan to his left said.

“It could’ve been. The dirt looked turned over.”

“Why don’t you go tell that to Mull, he’ll have a blast with that.”

“I’d rather fall into a mouse hole than tell him. You go do it.”

“You.”

“You.”

“You!”

Mandrake whacked his staff against the wood.

They both yelped and stood at attention, facing forwards.

The grackles however began to squabble.

The stomper turned her attention upwards, chin raised towards the top of the pole.

She tilted her head and smirked.

When Mandrake turned his head back, she was already in the house. For beings that were so big and slow, they got around fast.

The door creaked open, woman opening it with her hip with holding something in her hand. She sliced it up with her knife, smiling to herself. She looked back up, smirked, and gave a sharp noise.

All the birds stopped and turned their heads towards her.

He was expecting her to talk at them like humans usually did, cooing at any random animal they saw.

But no.

Instead, she opened her mouth and out came the short slide like sound of a grackle. Multiple times, with two quick chirps in between.

Now that certainly got the grackles turning their heads, alert, wings flicking. The other two even chattered back, shuffling on their perches like they were waiting for something.

“What on Earth-“ Mandrake raised a brow.

She tossed her hand up into the air and released slices of white and yellow.

The grackles dove.

Mandrake snorted at the alarmed shrieks of his own soldiers as their birds swooped into air, catching bits of boiled egg and coming back to perch.

She did it again, and the other bird caught some of the slices before perching once more, throwing the egg into its mouth.

The stomper looked up and caught Mandrake’s own grackle’s attention. He smirked and held tightly. When the egg hit the air, Nightshade cawed and dove for it. Even he managed to snag a little for himself out of the tossed slices.

“Can’t pass up a snack!” One of scouts licked his fingers.

“And we didn’t even have to raid a bird’s nest for it!” The other grinned.

Mandrake threw the bits and pieces of egg into his mouth, now looking real smug.

Had the human unknowingly picked a side? Had favorites? Shelters for bats, happy to feed the grackles, fostering a little bit of an edge the same as the other two humans, who fed the song and hummingbirds. True, they knew what they were doing, but would that matter? The playing fields might be level again.

She certainly seemed to already have a speedy impact, unlike her neighbors who took years to make any sort of movement in aiding the leafmen.

The woman smiled up at the grackles, unknowing of the boggans riding them but still seeming to have an inkling of knowing behind her eyes, and turned around, heading back inside. He watched her through the window and noticed her messing with something and then slow melodies, muffled by the house’s walls, began playing inside.

How did they play music without instruments?

He was about to take his grackle to the window to investigate when he heard several wing beats behind him.

“Dad!”

He turned. It was his son with his own patrol group.

“Son,” he raised his head and smiled slightly. “What is it?”

Dagda’s bird hovered in the air. He panted, eyes wide, hands tight on his grackle’s feathers.

What he said made his heart stop.

“A couple boggans overheard gossip from Bufo’s lackeys!” He shouted over. “He’s running his mouth about mom! That toad says he knows what happened to her!”

Mandrake’s jaw clenched.

He took off with Dagda by his side quicker than his scouting party could follow.

Chapter Text

Of course, when the day had been busiest —what, with leafmen at his door once again to give him a warning, losing money off of a high stakes race, and finding his drug wares have been eaten by ants— it just had to get worse.

Bufo paced back and forth just outside the tree, yelling his grievances at his lackeys, cursing up a storm, hardly noticing the pair of black silhouettes coming through the trees.

“Above all that, I have nothin to sell!” He kicked over a mushroom. “How the fucking hell am I supposed to make back all that money, huh? Huh?!”

“Uh, boss,” one of his racers recoiled and pointed behind him nervously.

“Shut up!” Bufo snapped at him. “Don’ talk over me, how many times do I gotta tell ya that?” He huffed and puffed and kept stomping around while the birds grew closer behind him. “How the fuck is it that complicated? I tell one of you to win, you win! I tell one of you to lose, you lose! Understand?”

“Boss,” all his lackey’s started backing up.

He pinched his brow, “I don’ know how I’m gonna to explain this to Imb, but if I don’ get that money back, we’re dea—“

“Boss!”

“What?!” He snapped. The sound of large wings shut him up and he froze, head perking up. Bufo turned, shoulders falling as the two grackles landed on the end of the tree stump.

“Ugh,” he rolled his eyes as Mandrake jumped off his bird, “just my luck.” he whispered under his breath before straightening his blazer. “What can I do for the disturbed duo?” He added in a gruff mumble, “Like my day couldn’t get any worse—“

“I assure you, your day is about to get A LOT worse if you don’t tell me what you’ve been saying about my wife,” Mandrake stormed up to him.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Bufo immediately started back pedaling with his hands up, “hold up there Mandrake! I haven’t said anything about Roach! What do you take me for?”

“Really?” His voice was mockingly calm but his words ended in a snarl and a sneer. “Then why have I heard otherwise?”

“Why would I talk about your wife?” Bufo stammered. He felt his heart race, eyes bulging out of his head while he backed up farther, putting himself beside his lackeys as if they’d protect him. “I-I wouldn’t do anything to-to disrespect her! Especi-especially if I thought you’d hear, heh!”

Mandrake rolled his eyes at his rambling. “Uh huh, sure.”

“Seriously!” Bufo said. “I would never, ever—“

The mosquito racer leaned towards him and whispered, but not quiet enough, “Weren’t you telling that beetle over by the pond that she was shot out of the sky?”

Bufo snapped around, “Shutupshutupshutup!”

His eyes darted to Mandrake. He let the jinn go and put his hands up. “Heh heh,” he grinned nervously.

Mandrake’s eyes narrowed.

His lackeys screamed and dove out of the way as Bufo’s body crashed through the doorway and into the wall.

“Take it from me, Bufo,” Mandrake ducked under the doorway into the tree, teeth bared in a snarl, “you don’t want to be on the wrong end of my patience, because it is waning and it is waning fast.” He grabbed the toad by his shirt and lifted him up so Bufo met his eyes. “What do you know?”

“I swear! I don’t know anything! It was all just rumors, thats all! Rumors!”

“Who did you hear this from? What have you been saying?” He growled.

“Nothing! No one!” Bufo cried out. “I didn’t hear anything, I swear!”

“That’s not what I’ve been told,” Mandrake scoffed and dropped him. He couldn’t even groan, not like he had the time. The moment Bufo’s head raised, the wind was knocked out of him by a foot to the ribs. Dagda flinched as he came in through the doorway, watching with a screwed up nose.

“Talk!” Mandrake barked. He stooped down, grabbed him by the throat, and squeezed, “Or have you choked on your own tongue? Perhaps I need to loosen it up for you.”

Bufo’s lips pulled up in a sneer while he coughed. “I don’t need to tell you shit!” He yelled as he got to his feet again, practically shaking. “It’s not like any of it would bring her back anyways,” Mandrake’s eyes lit up in anger, “you twisted basta—!”

He wasn’t given the opportunity to finish.

The only thing louder than the crack of bone when Mandrake’s fist struck his face was Bufo’s scream.

Mandrake slammed him against the wall, pinned by his shirt with his feet dangling helplessly.

“What do you know?” He snarled. He didn’t give him a chance to speak. He slammed him again into the wall with no restraint. “What do you know?”

Bufo choked, kicking his legs but failing to do anything more than struggle. “I told you—“ he clawed at Mandrake’s hands, “I don’t—“

“Enough!” He snapped. “I am losing my patience. If you don’t start running your mouth—since it’s the only thing you’re good at!— I will be having frog legs for lunch!” He pressed his hand against his throat, getting a choked yelp out of him.

The toad had tears coming out of his eyes, although it was hard when one of his eyes was nearly swollen shut. He started sobbing.

“What do you know about my wife?” Mandrake asked again.

“L-Look I didn’t mean any harm by it,” he stammered. Mandrake squeezed his throat. Bufo clutched at the hand on his throat, trying hopelessly to pry his hand off. “I-I swear! I didn’t-didn’t—I don’t even know the details, I wasn’t there!”

“What happened to her?” Mandrake ground his teeth.

He gasped for breath, hands slapping at Mandrake’s claws with no use. “There’re—There’re rumors, around the forest!” He said, “Tha-tha-that she ha-had trouble with s-some fae—ACK!”

Mandrake squeezed so tight that he thought the toad’s eyes were going to pop out.

“Who told you this?” He asked, eyes darting across Bufo’s face for any sign of him lying to him, but he found none. It felt like his chest was going to explode.

“I just heard it from someone, that’s-that’s all! D-Down the grape vine!”

“You’re a bad liar,” Mandrake tried to laugh away the tightness growing inside his throat, but it only made him grow closer to snapping. “Who?”

“I-I don’t know! I don’t even remember who I heard it from, I get around! I don’t remember half the people I talk to-“

For a second time, Mandrake knocked the air out of his lungs with a punch to the gut. He was done with the talking, he only snarled as he picked Bufo up again and held him up by his throat.

His pleas fell on deaf ears. All Mandrake could see was red. Even while the color drained from the toad’s face, when his eyes began bulging from his skull, and his skin began turning blue from the lack of oxygen, Mandrake only saw red.

“OKAY OKAY!” He croaked hoarsely, “I heard it from my supplier! Imbroige! A dryad! He was there! Just please! Please please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—“

Mandrake sneered.

With a thud Bufo was dropped the ground. He sucked in a deep breath, holding his throat while Mandrake walked around him.

He was whacked to his belly again, body pressed to the floor. A hand grabbed him by the jaw as Mandrake forced him back down with his foot while he tried to get up.

“Where can I find him?” Mandrake demanded.

“Across the stream,” he fervently pointed away, “farthest from the road, near the culvert-“

“Show me.”

“No,” Bufo dropped shook his head with his eyes squeezed shut, out of breath finally, “no, no, no, please, they—he’ll…he’ll kill me. They—they told me not to-not to tell—…”

“And the forest would be better for it with one less toad,” Mandrake snorted and pushed his head to the ground. “Get up.”

He spared no strength in roughly picking Bufo up and throwing him out the doorway. The toad stumbled over his own feet (and Dagda’s stuck out leg) only to be pushed forcefully out by Dagda.

His lackey’s got up to follow, cowering and hunched.

But Dagda let out a snarl, backing them up as Mandrake walked out the door behind him. He snorted and followed suit, rat tail slithering on the floor like a snake as they disappeared through the door way.

“H-Hey,” Bufo held his bruising side as Mandrake and Dagda climbed onto their grackles, “wha-what about me?”

“You have your own birds,” Mandrake raised a brow with an unamused scowl, “don’t you?”

The little finch had no idea why its rider was so antsy, even when shadowed by two much larger grackles flying above it.

Bufo however was on the verge of pissing himself.

He kept his eyes glued in front of him, head tucked between his shoulders. The black masses above him never grew far, practically hovering above him and his bird the whole time.

Whatever panic going on in his head was nothing compared to the mess within Mandrake’s.

Every thought was racing a thousand miles a minute, quickly lost in the blur of words clouding his mind like a storm. And deep in his chest he felt a dread he hadn’t felt in so long. A hollow but suffocating feeling that only grew the farther they flew.

Like when he waited beside Dagda’s bed, shaking as he choked back sobs, believing he had lost him. Or the weeks where he expected the next boggan that approached him to say that they had found her body, cold and pale and lifeless.

This dread only festered. The anticipation, the tension, the anxiety . The idea that he was so close to knowing what became of his wife…and the tormented thought that he wouldn’t like the answer, whatever it may be.

Dagda glanced over. He could see it written across his father’s face. The stressed furrow in his brow and the slight squint against a light that they weren’t facing.

The stream was the farthest anyone this side of the forest would go.

The stream was where the spring that Moonhaven rested upon fed into. This particular headwater eventually fed into the Still, a river that went through the nearest city and drained to a much larger waterway. Mandrake had heard before that this much larger river continued all the way to the ocean, but he had never gone that far south before. He preferred staying west, where it was quieter.

It allowed him to be the one making the most noise.

Bufo’s little finch flapped its wings as it approached the large root of a tree and landed with a small chirp. The grackles were far less delicate and earned a shriek from the toad as he tried to get off.

Mandrake furrowed his brow and scanned the scene.

For some reason, there weren’t as many trees. For a couple meters there was just dirt and roots, a few shrubs nestled low to the ground. He could just barely see a stone arch, the culvert, and a run down bridge past the larger bushes that edged the clearing.

And alone in the center stood one large white birch. The white trunk stretched up tall and split to consume as much space as possible, bright green leaves the only foliage making up the canopy. One large branch grew low to the ground, not resting on the dirt but just above it, creating an inverted arch that seemed as if it was the perfect place to lie. Its bark was not peeling, no lichen or fungus growing on any surface. It was stark clean, disgustingly so.

He looked back at Bufo and kinked up his nose.

Bufo whimpered and cleared his throat. “Look, I swear he’s here,” he said.

“Then where is he?” Mandrake loomed over him.

“I d-don’t know,” he put his hands up as Mandrake glowered down at him, lips pulling back to show his dangerously sharp teeth. “He’s usually here, I swear! He—“

“Bufo! How wonderful of you to visit!”

The three stopped and turned.

The first thing that grabbed Mandrake’s attention was the olive green eyes that stared down at them against the stark white wood.

If he had fur it would all be standing on end.

As if his eyes were playing tricks on him, a silhouette emerged from the wood, pushing away from it as if it had peeled off the tree like bark. He hadn’t even noticed them at first, or maybe they weren’t ever there in the first place. Just showed up painted on the tree like an illusion you only see at a certain angle.

A wave of unease fell upon the entire radius, along with a fuzzy feeling across the skin as it seemed to stretch out and contort around the clearing. Magic. A kind of magic only larger fae could use to bend reality the way they wanted. That’s the only reason why this dryad, a few inches taller than the normal stomper, could hear and move and speak to them as if they were the same size.

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” He asked with a smirk and faux sweetness, draped across the tree like it was his lounge.

His eyes locked with Mandrake’s.

“And you brought friends!” He flicked a finger, a orb of water floating from the roots and into the air. He swirled it around, head tilted with the smugness of a predator toying with its prey.

Bufo nearly doubled over himself while he steepled his fingers together with a nervous grin. “Imbroige! Hey,” he said with more squeak than normal. “Uh…yeaah, sorry for bo-bothering you! But, uh-“

Mandrake stepped forward with a full snarl, “What do you know about my wife?”

The dryad’s eyes lit up.

His smirk grew.

“Oh,” he swirled the water bubble through the air, eyes never leaving Mandrake but even though his expression never changed, the aura he gave off did, “so you’re her husband.”

He seethed and ground his teeth together, nostrils flared, eyes wide and fiery.

Imbroige flashed them his oh-so sharp teeth. “I should’ve known. The both of you are smothered in her. Strange, seeing as its been, what…half a decade?” He tilted his head again, now with a tight lipped smile.

Dagda practically shoved Bufo out of the way to stand beside his dad. His ears were pinned back, mouth pulled taught as he shrunk away from the unyielding attention.

Mandrake took one step in front of Dagda unconsciously.

“3 years,” he corrected.

Imbroige rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” He stared at the ball of water as he passed it around his fingers, face falling into a dull and unamused look, but his grin never faded. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what happened to my wife,” Mandrake snapped.

“Wouldn’t say I know for certain,” Imbroige said. “After all, it’s been sooo long,” he turned his head, looked at them from the corner of his eye and grinned viciously. “Can’t say she didn’t have it coming.”

Every vessel in his body ran white hot.

He snarled and threw himself forwards, only held back by Dagda pushing against his chest. “I should tear you to the ground!” He spat, cudgel now steaming with rot.

A giggle echoed around them. “I would love to see you try,” the dryad goaded. “Learn your place, small boggan. What could you possibly do to me? Hm? Make a few leaves fall?” He asked with his hand gracing his chest, leaves and wood growing and flaking off of him with every slight wave of his arm, eyebrow raised.

Mandrake’s growl rumbled through his chest and even shook his son, but he stopped pushing. He fell back into a stand but never loosened his grip on his staff. His face was growing sore from how hard he gnashed his teeth together.

He loosened his arms, “What happened to her?”

Imbroige laid against the trunk of the tree, “She was poking her nose into places she shouldn’t have. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed her.” He shrugged and tossed the ball of water into the air, watching it fall back to his hand.

Mandrake and Dagda glanced to each other. “What do you mean?” Dagda finally spoke up.

“Oh, that abomination had a knack for getting into other peoples business,” Imbroige scoffed in amusement.

He said it as if it was the most casual word in the world, abomination. Like it was her name. Like she was an animal. A pest.

Mandrake’s nose kinked up in a snarl at the word, the connotations it held.

“Someone finally heard she was here, and I guess”, he continued and shrugged, “word got around. Around to people she was trying to avoid.”

Imbroige rolled his head on his neck, gaze wandering around, “Didn’t really think that part through. It’s like I said, Bufo, she wasn’t exactly bright. That affront to nature shouldn’t have been trying to act like she was fae in the first place.”

Bufo immediately put up his hands, “I’m not part of this no more.”

Mandrake and Dagda glanced at each other, one swallowing back nerves, the other narrowing his eyes and brow in determination. Mandrake looked back up at the dryad and squared his shoulders.

“Do you know what happened to her?”

He raised a brow. “Depends,” he popped the ball of water into his mouth, eyes closed for a moment before he turned his head back to them with no care for their urgency. There weren’t any other colors in his eyes besides a small white dot for a pupil. His eyes were only the color of his leaves. “Are you certain you want to know?”

“Of course I am,” Mandrake said. “…She’s my wife.”

Imbroige gave a “hm” and shrugged carelessly, “Well I hope you didn’t plan ever seeing her again.”

With every word after his insides threatened to collapse. A tightness formed within his chest at every next breath yet the space between his ribs felt hollow.

“A couple mortals had paid a fae mercenary to track and hunt her down,” Imbroige went on, weaving a tale that only built more pain in his gut, “paid him quite handsomely, too. She flew overhead on that bird of hers and…”

Mandrake stifled a jolt at the sound of an arrow being shot. Not an arrow, one of Imbroige’s branches snapping forward after being let go by another. A sharp twg.

“Shot her right out of the sky,” he hummed. “It took six of them with nets and prods to get her tied down, and then they drug her away.”

“Where?” Mandrake hurried forward. “Where? Where did they take her?”

“Does it look like I would know?” Imbroige scoffed and put a hand on his chest. “Odds are you wouldn’t even find her body. I wouldn’t be surprised if they killed her. Face it…your precious little Rogon is most likely dead.”

His shoulders fell. His stomach twisted over itself but he could not move. He was locked in place, staring a hundred yards out. Dead. Dead.

There was a ringing in his ear, a harsh beat against his skull like his heart or his brain was battering to get out. Bud-um, bud-um, bud-um.

He could just barely feel taloned fingers grace his shoulders and across his neck. He held onto that small memory as long as he could. It would be the last of them.

“—good riddance,” Imbroige snorted like he was talking about the latest cold front; like it was only an inconvenience to him and his existence. “That mongrel deserved far worse than whatever that silly group of mortals could have done to he—“

He narrowed his eyes.

With a grunt, he whacked his staff against the bulk of roots near him.

Imborige’s ever present grin broke. He yelped, jolting as a cluster of burns appeared on his legs. It was the first emotion other than the conceited and mocking grin that he had shown the entire time. He quickly began patting away the smoldering burns on the tree’s roots, putting out the rot.

He sighed in relief, then scoffed. “Tssk,” he sneered, “rude.”

Mandrake whipped around and stormed off, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping his staff.

Dagda looked at him as he passed and swallowed, eyes just as pained.

He hurried after his father as he got on his bird and flew off without a word. Bufo watched them and stammered, “H-Hey! What about me?”

“Actually, Bufo,” he froze in his place. Slowly he turned. Imbroige was right over him now. “Why don’t you stay a while, hm? We have a lot to discuss.”

Dagda scrunched up his face at the sound of Bufo pleading with his life, but he didn’t care about that.

Mandrake made it back to Wrathwood, and then some, faster than he ever had before.

His grackle cawed at him, however he only swung himself off slowly.

Everything was in slow motion to him. Was it getting out of the dryad’s influence?

No.

No, even he felt as if he was moving slower.

His chest felt tight. Like there was something caught in his lungs. He let out a breath he had been holding ever since he heard from his son earlier.

That breath seemed to be the only thing keeping him together.

He squeezed his eyes shut, one hand on his bird as he shuddered. She couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t. What would a bunch of mortals want with her? Why would they want her de—

He choked up.

Dea…

… dead…

His knees hit the ground hard enough to rattle him.

At this point he didn’t care. He didn’t care if anyone saw him, or if anyone stumbled upon the scene.

If this was his weakest moment so be it.

His jaw was crushing against itself, even though it was slack and agape.

Wing beats were loud behind him but slowed, warped.

“Dad?”

The sound of his son’s voice was muffled by the ringing in his ears.

If he had eaten today, he would have thrown up. His insides were twisting around themselves, tightening. His skin felt too much like a vice around him.

The scream tore through him like a fire.

He doubled over and curled in on himself. Birds flew out of the trees nearby shrieking. His own tears burned his eyes but even then his pride wouldn’t let them fall.

Dagda froze just a few steps behind him. The hand that he had reached out pulled back.

Mandrake’s body wracked with each breath he took after, eyes now bloodshot and wide as he stared at the ground.

At some point, he had to blink. Had to breath. No matter how painful it was to do so.

He fell back on his knees and stared at the earth beneath him.

The green taunted him.

He heard Dagda come up behind him but his body didn’t register it.

He swallowed.

“I’m never going to see her again,” he whispered, so hoarsely it shocked his son, “am I?”

Dagda sat beside him.

They sat there, silent. His head fell onto his dad’s shoulder.

Neither of them could talk after that.

Chapter Text

“Rogon!”

“Yeaahhh?” She yelled back with a focused crease in her brow, elbows deep in dirt.

“What exactly are we digging again?” MK shouted from the other side of the porch.

Rogon looked up and shook her head with a smile. She had already told the girl five times then. “A rain bin,” she reiterated.

“But we have the well!”

“Just in case the well goes dry,” Rogon said and turned to look at her. MK was barely even dirty. “Hey, what’d I tell you?” She laughed while pointing her trowel at her. “If you aren’t covered in dirt by the time I look back, you’re not working!”

MK threw her head back and groaned.

“I dont wanna take a shower later!”

“You should’ve thought about that before coming over!” Rogon yelled back. She laughed and dug a little more into the trough in front of her. She had started to love when the young lady came over, anticipating her at her back door every other day by lunch time. And she always had a pitcher of lemonade or tea waiting for MK on the counter.

And MK enjoyed it too.

There was something about Rogon that just felt comfortable, casual. Like nothing could bother her so she was free to be herself.

MK wiped her head and looked over her shoulder. Rogon had her hair up in a bun, showing off scars where chunks of hair were missing. She said it was because of her falling through a window. How many windows had she fallen through to be missing that much hair?

“Hey Rogon, you look tired,” she said as she pushed her shovel into the dirt. “What were you doing last night?”

Rogon lifted her head and stared out at the horizon with her mouth pressed into a straight line. The memory of her whooping and howling and hollering as she ran through the forest with a wild grin and her hair blowing wildly behind her cycled through her head like a sitcom scene.

“Oh nothing,” she lied. “Just…took a walk through the forest is all.” Yes, a walk, that is definitely why she woke up with dirty hands and feet and a mess of sticks and twigs in her mess of a mane.

“Hm,” MK shrugged, “was it nice?”

“Yesss,” Rogon smirked and laughed. After all, it’s not every night that a person can run with reckless abandon through the woods while chasing birds.

“Aw, thats good!” MK chirped and went back to digging.

“What about your night?” Rogon asked, turning around and putting her hands on her knees.

“Oh, I didn’t do much,” MK said but her smile said otherwise. “Just…talked to my friend.”

“Oooo, a friend?” Rogon raised a brow with a smirk.

“Shut up,” MK’s face went red and Rogon laughed at her own nervous snicker.

“Come on,” Rogon grinned, “you can tell me!”

“No, you’ll make fun of me!”

“Only a little bit!”

MK’s face was positively beaming. “Well,” she looked away and leaned against the shovel, “…his name’s Nod.”

Rogon’s eyes flickered and her smirk grew. “That’s an odd name,” she scoffed and raised her brows.

“Hush,” she kicked some dirt her way. Rogon laughed and shielded her face.

“So,” Rogon whistled and looked away with a grin, “is he cute?”

“ROGON!”

“What?” She laughed.

MK buried her face into her arms and screamed into them, only making Rogon laugh harder.

Ronin frowned from a distance, sitting on the back of his hummingbird. Exactly as he had been doing for a while now, perched on the branch of a far off tree.  

“You know, it’s kind ooof creepy to just be watching people for hours,” Nod laughed, arms crossed across his bird’s back.

“Something about that woman just doesn’t sit right with me,” Ronin said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Come on, man!” Nod groaned. “It’s just another stomper! Lighten up!”

“Haven’t you noticed she only feeds the grackles?” He asked, turning to face him. “ Only the grackles. Who does that?”

“Mmmm,” Nod looked up in thought, “weirdos from the city?”

Ronin scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking back towards the two ladies who were now sitting on the porch, taking a break. “And whatever she smokes leaves this strange smell everywhere. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Look, she’s not doing anything wrong,” Nod argued. “MK seems to like her. Sure, she thinks she’s a little intimidating and scary, but MK’s scared of spiders.”

Ronin smiled at the memory of the red head nearly jumping out of her boots when she saw a wolf spider crawl across the floor of her house. Him and Nod were with her, pointing out new areas on the map they had on the table.

He shook his head. “Come on,” he pulled on the reins of his bird. “Patrols aren’t going to finish themselves.”

“Aw, man,” Nod groaned as Ronin flew off. He tugged on his bird’s reins and his sparrow got into the air, “Come on! I thought it was Finn’s turn!”

They bickered along the way through the forest, Ronin making fun of Nod’s procrastination while Nod could only comeback with a couple jabs at the “old man.”

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the woods, the autumn breeze brought in something cold, and it wasn’t just the weather.

Mandrake sat at the top of the forest canopy, not quite at the absolute highest point but just about damn near close. He only had a couple tree limbs above him before he would’ve been completely exposed.

The reason why he wouldn’t go any higher?

The shrill shriek above him made his grackle bristle while his eyes stayed glued to the shape circling above them.

His wife’s hawk.

He hadn’t believed his son at first. It surely should have been another hawk, one that had moved in to fill the void Acreage had left when he retreated to the house.

But lo and behold, the hawk with the dark face and tawny chest chased both him and his son out of the air.

Why was that bird so far out in the forest? For the past three years, the hawk refused to leave the plot of land around the farm house. He hadn’t seen it in the woods in forever, much less in Boggan territory.

It never went after any jinn, never went after any boggan, just fed off the mice and rats that lived in the field and stayed in the attic of the house.

Now, he was waiting for the hawk to leave.

“Why is it out here?” Dagda asked below him, a couple branches down. “Mom’s hawk has never come out this far alone.”

Mandrake glowered at the sky, eyes like a dull fire. “As if the universe hasn’t tormented me enough,” he grumbled, “and now even her hawk has moved on.”

Dagda looked away and chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe food’s scarce?” He tried to give a different explanation. “It is fall.”

Mandrake just watched the top of the trees.

Dagda frowned, brows scrunching together.

“Or-or—!” He added quickly, “—maybe that new human drove them out! The attic’s probably not safe for him anymore!”

Mandrake could give him that. Acreage was known for diving at the two other humans. He did not like most creatures larger than a cat.

“Let’s hope that is the case,” he said. “I’d rather deal with a human than a food shortage.”

Dagda hummed in agreement. His ear perked up, and he tilted his head to listen. “He flew off,” he announced.

Mandrake nodded and gave a small nudge to his bird.

With a gruff call, he and Dagda took off through the woods once more.

Dagda stayed a hair lower than Mandrake, glancing up at him from time to time. His brows were furrowed and lips closed tight, but still, he knew better than to voice what he was thinking. At least, this certain thought that he was thinking.

…

Oh who was he kidding, he didn’t know any better.

“Dad?” Dagda spoke up.

“Hm?” He didn’t look over at him.

Dagda frowned. “It’s…been a few weeks,” he leant to try and catch Mandrake’s eye, “and we haven’t…you haven’t even mentioned it yet.”

“Dagda, please…”

The noise that came from him was one he only heard twice.

Once, when he was falling down, down, to the forest floor. There was an arrow in his chest, up near his throat. His mother, green eyes and all, softened his fall but not by much. Beside her begs for him to keep his eyes on her, he heard the crack of his dad’s voice, a sharp inhale as he barreled over.

The second…

“Not now,” Mandrake kept his face taut in an attempt to keep his emotions at bay. “Not yet.”

Dagda looked up at him with a sigh.

“Alright,” he said finally, looking back ahead.

He could’ve sworn he heard his dad mutter under his breath “Im sorry.”

The flight back to Wrathwood was quiet, neither of them having the courage to break the silence.

But while Mandrake dismounted, Dagda stayed on his bird’s back.

“I’m going to go scout out a couple old trails,” he told his dad. “Don’t wait up.”

“Take your bow with you,” Mandrake called.

“I never leave without it!” Dagda snorted and patted his bird’s head. With a chirp, it took back off. Mandrake watched warily as he disappeared back over the bog.

With a deep exhale, he shook his head and went inside.

Dagda looked back behind him. He felt bad, going solo. Especially with how much his dad worried. But he needed to get away.

He sighed and went deeper into the woods.

The air definitely had gotten colder over the past week. The leaves of each tree were turning grey and brown and the forest floor was littered with dead foliage.

Just to be annoying, he shot an arrow at the closest spot of green. Score.

His lip twitched up at the sound of a frightened shriek. “Sorry!” He yelled with a laugh.

“Damn boggan!” They yelled back at him.

Dagda snickered and flew through the branches of a large tree before turning off the trail.

He wouldn’t usually go this route, it was way too far into leafmen borders, but it was the only place he could actually feel like he had some sort of relief.

It may have been that the cold scent of smoke, mint and wet earth that reminded him of his mom continued to linger here, long after she last came down this trail.

Or it may have been the fact that the path was only taken by animals, deer and such, with only slightly flattened grass in a thin line. Not the telltale bare dirt and trampled plants that came with humans walking about.

Despite the two that clamber through the forest, despite the girl and her father that are so willing to aid the leafmen, and despite the new one that had just moved in; this trail, this trail in particular, remained untraveled by human feet.

He left his grackle, Vine, perched on a branch above him. While not anything like Nightshade, Vine was good at alerting him to those stupid hummingbirds the leafmen rode. He liked chasing them more than Nightshade did, which said something both about him and his dad.

Meanwhile, while his bird preened and plucked at his feathers, Dagda sat on the end of a large branch.

Finally, he could let his guard down just a little.

His body basically collapsed with his sigh, head falling into his hands. He pulled a knee up and let his one hand fall, the other rubbing under the skull of his rat coat.

He was tempted to remove the coat altogether, it weighed him down further than the weight upon his shoulders.

His hand drug down his face and he huffed, body sagging.

Back when he couldn’t fit in anything other than a mouse hide, his mother would bring him to spots like this. In the lush green forest where he could chase butterflies and moths, but just hidden enough in the brush where the leafmen wouldn’t find them.

Somewhere in the woods, there was a small pond where his mother had first taught him, and then later his dad, how to bow fish.

She fashioned his first bow out of the rib of a weasel, and when his dad wasn’t looking, she’d sneak him out to the pond.

She would dig up bloodworms and grubs, handing them to him to collect while she found another one. But when she’d turn around, he’d have twice as many as she had.

I swear, kid, you put a mole to shame. How’d you get so many?

Weirdly enough, she wasn’t so good at finding insects to eat. All the digging she did, and she’d only get bitten by ants. He made fun of her for it multiple times once he got older.

But she could take down a squirrel with little issue, and she was the only being—jinn, boggan or otherwise—that he had ever seen do so.

After finding all the small bugs they could, she would dump the lot of them into the pond. The first time she did that, he threw a fit. But when he saw all the minnows that began swarming on the worms, he was jumping for his bow.

She’d laugh, Chill, let me finish stringing it.

It became his favorite little activity to do with her when he was a kid.

But when his dad finally joined in, it usually turned into a contest on who could splash the other the hardest.

He had yet to find that pond again after she disappeared.

Dagda smiled lightly. If anyone could turn a sour moment sweet, it was his mom. Or at least, she used humor to her advantage.

It really helped when dealing with the leafmen.

Though the amount of times he had to dodge his mother running through the corridors of Wrathwood while his dad chased after her, usually covered in either water or some kind of egg yolk, were countless (at one point he was the target of her pranks.)

For a while, he thought she had a prank war going on with one patrol group of leafmen, because some days she’d come home covered in spiderwebs, or they’d find the same group of leafmen stuck in watered down tree sap or dangling from a tree.

He didn’t have to mention the number of nights where he’d go with her to the human’s house and help mess with the scientist. That “special attention” was turned towards the daughter when she moved in, but in a less harmful and more pesky manner.

She always seemed fond of that girl. Now that he thought about it, it was almost like—

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“ACK!” Dagda shot up with a yelp. “WHOA, WHOA!” His arms pinwheeled in the air. Didn’t stop his foot from slipping. “SHIT!”

His hand grabbed the branch just as he fell off.

“Snnrk.” He scowled at the snickering coming from the girl.

With a grunt, heaved his upper body back up onto the branch. His legs kicked and scrambled for purchase as he rolled himself back onto the branch, the girl now smirking at him.

The camera was tucked away into a mess of twigs and leaves, he actually thought it was an abandoned birds nest at first. The screen was just below it, and the red headed human was halfway glaring at him, halfway smirking at his predicament.

“Ugh,” he stood up and dusted off his shoulders, “what do you want?”

“Me?” MK scoffed. “You’re the one way too far in the Leafmen’s part of the forest.”

“They don’t own the forest,” he stuck his tongue out.

“Wow, how mature.”

Dagda rolled his eyes. Of course he managed to get comfortable at the one place this human had her phone at.

He crossed his arms and bore his teeth at her as he turned, “Just leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll just tell Ronin that you are fucking around in—“

She stopped when she noticed he didn’t react to her. His face grew…sad, falling from his sneer as he ducked his head.

“Uh…” her eyes darted around awkwardly, “you…good? You look a little…sad.”

Dagda furrowed his brow, just barely glaring at her from over his shoulder. “What do you care?”

She pursed her lips. Then she shrugged.

His back tensed. He searched her face, thinking. She looked a little older than the last time he saw her. She cut her hair.

He remembered something his mom said one night, and the sadness in his chest grew.

“You…” he swallowed and sighed, turning his head away. “Do you know what it’s like to lose your mom?” He asked solemnly.

MK’s mouth parted and her eyes widened in surprise. That was not what she was expecting.

“I…” her brow furrowed. “W-Why?” MK’s voice wavered.

Dagda pulled his coat closer.

MK frowned, but not out of annoyance or anger.

It was out of sympathy.

“It’s Dagda, right?”

He turned his head. She had closed the door to her room and sat back down on her bed. She refused to look at him as her face turned pink.

“Your mom…” she started, hesitantly, “she, uh, brought you up quite a bit.”

His shoulders relaxed as he turned, brows knitting together quizzically. “Yeah?” He tightened his lip.

MK blushed and started rubbing her shoulder, looking away. But her eyes were glassy. “I, uh,” she frowned, “gotta admit. When I saw the motion detector go off on that camera, I thought…I thought it was her.”

It was his turn to be surprised. Then his expression turned tight and pained.

MK noticed.

She looked away, guilt building up deep within her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Why, uh…why are you up here? It’s a bit far from Wrathwood.”

He sighed and rubbed his arms, looking away. Should he…?

“I just,” he shook his head, “can’t stand being there right now.”

“Hm,” she looked away.

Dagda tightened his lips and glanced at her quickly.

MK frowned and crossed her arms over her desk, “I get it.” She looked away, somewhere behind the camera. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t stay home either. It…It hurt too much.”

He looked at her and started to slowly sit down, criss-crossing his legs. “How’d you lose yours?” He asked quietly.

Her face fell, gaze now distant. “She got sick…very sick.”

“And your healers couldn’t help her?”

She shook her head, “It wasn’t that kind of sickness.” She frowned as she thought about how to explain it. “It was like…like a mold that grows on a tree,” she said, “it grew and grew, and just…fed off her. We call it cancer.”

Dagda looked down at his lap.

“How long has it been?”

“Five years,” MK shrugged.

“Do you…miss her?”

She smiled and gave a quiet and sad laugh. “Yeah,” she said.

He nodded.

She looked back at him and rested her face on her hand. “How’s your dad handling it?” She asked, though thinking about Mandrake left a bitter taste in her mouth.

He scoffed, “Thats the problem.” He copied her and put his hand against his face, “He’s not. ”

She nodded in understanding. “Yeah…my dad didn’t want to talk about it either. He just wanted to catch up on the past ten years.”

He raised a brow, “Were you not with your dad already?”

She shook her head. “He and my mom separated when I was little,” she clicked her tongue. “He grew obsessed with, eh, well, you guys. Mom got custody of me.”

Dagda furrowed his brows, confused.

“Why?” He asked.

“Why what?”

“Sure, my dad hated the leafmen with all his being,” he looked up, “but he never put that above me and mom. Why did your dad not try to—“

“He wanted to prove he wasn’t crazy,” she snipped, a little defensively. She caught it and huffed. “Sorry, I just..feel different about it now.”

Dagda hummed.

She looked back at him with her lips all puckered. “Have you guys found out what happened to her?”

His eyes widened.

MK froze when she saw his lips tighten and quiver, eyes watering as he stared at the bark.

“I’m sorry, shit,” she whispered. “Did you…fuck, did you find her—“

“No.”

She stopped at how harsh his tone was.

She forgot that while he was basically her age, he was still the boggan general. And from the scars Nod had on his chest and legs, he certainly earned the title.

“No,” he repeated, softer this time. “We…she…”

His hand went to cover his face.

“We still don’t know what happened,” he swallowed. “But, another spirit said that he, that he saw…”

His fingers drug down his face and growled loudly.

They sat in the silence, wallowing in it. It wasn’t awkward like the last pause. It was pained.

She caught the wetness of his cheek.

“I miss her.”

MK dropped her head and nodded.

“I do too.”

Dagda looked at her and frowned.

MK was looking back at that spot behind the camera again, a dull expression covering her face. “Your mom was nothing but kind to me,” she said. “Sure, she would sometimes break in and tie my hair to the bed post, but she stopped doing that after the first three months.”

He snorted.

Her lip tugged up a little. “After a while, she’d just come by to check up on me,” she continued. “See how I was doing.”

She scoffed and shook her head, “Well, one night I had a bad nightmare, and I think she saw it. The next day, she was at this camera. We talked for a bit, but I started falling asleep.”

MK looked up and smiled softly, “She…she started singing.” She gave a quick huff of hair and laughed, “I didn’t exactly register it was her until she did it, like, three different times. But it always put me to sleep. Never had a bad dream when she sang.”

Dagda’s eyes widened and he sat up. But MK went on.

“That kind of became our thing,” she said. “I set up a phone here so that she wouldn’t have to run into the Leafmen. She’d come by at night, and if I was having a rough time falling asleep, she’d, well, sing to me.”

MK wiped her eye, a stray tear wishing to escape. “I guess, I don’t know,” she shook her head, “it reminded me of my mom, back when I was very little. Something about Roach was always so…comforting.” She laughed. “I don’t know how you and her are related.”

Dagda smiled a little. “We aren’t.”

MK perked up and looked at him, “Huh?”

He adjusted his seating and got comfortable. “Dad met mom when I was very little,” he explained. “See, with boggans, once we’re born, it’s the father that takes care of a larva. Boggan women, while good moms, have a tendency to stress eat their kids.”

“What the fuck—,” MK looked horrified.

Dagda laughed at her face, “Oh, it’s not that bad!” He snorted as she stuck her tongue out in disgust and continued.

“My birth mom was from a colony a long ways away, sent me over to dad when she had me,” he looked up, more perked and relaxed. “Anyways, dad ran into mom when hunting, and they came back to Wrathwood. She always said it was instant, that she fell in love with me before she fell in love with my dad.”

MK smiled, “Aw.”

“I don’t remember a time where I didn’t have her,” he shook his head, still smiling, but a more melancholy smile, nostalgic. “She was always there for me, and dad.”

His face fell and he huffed, “Ugh, dad. ”

“In denial?” She raised a brow.

“Worse,” he huffed, “he just wants to ignore it. I can’t even bring her up without him shutting down!”

Dagda shuddered and clenched his jaw, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” MK pulled her seat in and sat up. “It’s okay. You just…you just have to give him time.”

“It’s been nearly two months since we found out,” he sneered. “He’s had all the damn time he needs!”

“Look, Dagda,” the sound of his name coming from her mouth grabbed his attention. She was looking at him sternly, but softly, like his mother always would. “My dad and my mom were not close after they separated,” she said. “My dad loved my mom, but he wasn’t grieving her, he was grieving the lost time he had with her.”

He sniffled and rubbed at his face.

“But your mom…and Mandrake,” she huffed and shook her head, pushing her hair back. “Shit, the day I first met her, Roach and your dad were basically glued at the hip when they were fighting off Ronin.”

MK looked back at Dagda and shrugged, brow knitted together, “I know its hard, and you have every right to be upset at him. Maybe you should tell him that.”

“Tell him what?”

“That your mad at him!” She laughed. “Scream, shout, go knock down a few trees,” he chuckled a little, which made her smile. “But you got to let him know that you are just as heartbroken as he is. He, He seems to care a lot about you, and he cares a lot about your mom. But you got to take the first step, or else he will definitely not do anything to help himself. He seems like the type that’d rather go do something stupid than admit his feelings.”

Dagda nodded as he laughed, wiping away at his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he snorted. She laughed with him, and when he got himself together, he looked back up at her.

“Thanks,” he said. “For this, I mean—“

“No problem, Rat,” she snorted.

He frowned and scoffed, “Well don’t ask me for any favors.”

MK was about poke fun at him again when two grackles called behind him.

“General!”

Dagda raised his head and turned.

He groaned and pushed himself to his feet, MK smirking.

The grackles landed ahead of him and the boggan that called to him waved.

“What is it?” He frowned.

“Mandrake was worrying about you, you’ve been gone for a while!” He said.

He huffed, shaking his head.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around, huh?” MK snorted.

Dagda smiled a little and whistled sharply, Vine rustling the leaves as he flew down.

“Hey,” Dagda turned. MK gave him a reassuring smile, “Im here if you need to talk, okay?”

He scoffed with a smile. “Alright.”

He mounted his bird, looking to the other two boggans with a nod as the screen turned black.

“Were you talking to a human?” One boggan, Twig, asked.

“So what?” He scoffed.

“Nothin!” The other, much larger, boggan, Oleander snickered at Twig, then Twig shoved him. “Shut up!”

Dagda rolled his eyes with a smile. “Come on, let’s go before someone starts tearing up the forest looking for me.”

The three of them dove back down to the forest floor, gliding over the hardly beaten trail.

“We found half a deer carcass on the eastern side of the bog,” Twig said in his raspy voice, “maybe we can get an actual dinner for once!”

“Yeah, cuz you need it, twerp,” Dagda grinned.

Oleander let out a bark of a laugh, “Should’ve seen him the other night, completely plastered after one drink!”

“I WAS NOT!”

“Was too.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised, Twigs,” Dagda snorted.

“You don’t say the same thing about Weevil!”

“Because Weevil can beat up the entire hoard with one hand behind her back after having seven drinks,” Dagda said. “Someone just can’t hold their blackberries.”

“It was mulberry, for your information.”

The three of them bickered back and forth loudly as they made their way through the forest. Loud enough to hide the buzz of hummingbird wings behind them.

“Oy, boggans!”

They stopped arguing and turned. There were several leafmen just behind them.

“Ugh,” Dagda looked up and groaned. “Can’t I catch a break?”

He rolled his eyes and took his bow into his hands. “Relax!” He yelled at the leafmen, “We’re just flying through!”

An arrow whizzed by his face as he deadpanned.

Oleander frowned. “Well, now we’re not.”

“Motherfucking—,” Dagda nocked his arrow, “leafmen!”

The hummingbirds were on them fast. Twig flew up as Oleander took low. Dagda stood on his bird and aimed again, firing another arrow.

While Twig mobbed two hummingbirds, Oleander took after three others, leaving Dagda with one.

“I really didn’t wanna have to deal with this today,” Dagda grunted as he ducked from a passing arrow.

“Please,” he whipped around to find the leafmen on his bird, “its not like you had to pass through.”

Dagda sneered.

The leafman’s sword went past his shoulder as he ducked down. He dropped, gave a few steps to his bird’s shoulder, and grabbed the leafman by his feet.

Vine cawed and climbed into the air, up near the canopy of the trees.

The leafman grunted and kicked at Dagda’s face. He grunted and let go, hand reaching for his bow.

He nocked another arrow, went to aim—

And was tackled into the air.

Dagda yelled out, the leafman now on the back of his own hummingbird.

The air whistled past his ears, him left scratching at the wind.

It wasn’t as far as a fall as before, it couldn’t have been. Maybe he would survive this one.

The tail of his coat whipped above him. Just like before.

But it was not the ground that met him as he tried to call for his bird.

It was a nest of sharp metal barbs along an old wire fence.

Chapter Text

Humming a song to herself and rocking out on a air box guitar, Rogon kicked her front door closed behind her. She practically skipped to her kitchen and put the stack of cardboard boxes down on the counter.

She had been waiting weeks— weeks! —for these! They had been backordered ever since she moved in, she had no clue why. Unless a ton of rodents decided they were going to refurnish their homes, who the hell needed functional quarter-scale dishes?

Sure, was she going overboard? Maybe. But she didn’t want to have to deal with her son, or hell even her idiot of a husband, making a mess trying to eat out a human sized bowl.

And she was speaking from experience.

It wasn’t much, just some bowls, plates, and cups. The next box had the door conversions she had been wanting to put in next to the windows, as well as ledging that would go on the outside.

Essentially, she was trying to make her house boggan-accessible.

She had no idea when she’d ever return to  jinn size. Outside of turning into a mouse, she didn’t have access to the same people she did when she first met Mandrake.

They were either dead or refused to keep in touch.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, she didn’t exactly have the best reputation, and it was honestly safer. The less people connected to her, the less people that would get hurt.

Rogon started to frown as she opened the next box. She hadn’t wanted to be gone so long. She hadn’t want to leave, period.

No, “leave” wasn’t the right term. She was taken, captured, stolen away.

The moment she escaped, the moment she had started to run, she wanted to get back to her family in the woods as soon as possible. But when she stopped, had the briefest moment of quiet, she realized she couldn’t.

If she had returned right then and there, they’d just come back and find her. Then they’d realize why she kept going back, and she did not want to drag Mandrake and Dagda into her mess.

They’ve been through so much already.

The past three years hadn’t been a total loss, though. She had new scars, new stories, and new friends. Tom was always just a call away, somewhere down in Massachusetts continuing college after the whole fiasco she accidentally brought him into.

And she was making new friends here. The Bomba’s invited her to dinner, would come with her on hikes or ask if she could help set up equipment. She even showed MK how to sneak up on deer and rabbits. What took her two years previously only took a couple months to rebuild. Trust.

The last box was not the same as the other two. It was much heavier, despite not being any larger than the other two. She had a feeling she knew what it was, so she didn’t use a knife to open it. Instead, she fully unsheathed a claw and sliced the tape apart.

Inside was a black case. Of course the bastard had to cover it up with a normal ass UAPS box. Rogon rolled her eyes and gently took the case out, shoving the box away with the rest.

It looked almost like in those movies where the villain has a big suitcase of money or diamonds. Or weapons.

She’d sooner lop this one in with the latter than anything else, no matter how expensive.

The latches unclipped with a click, but the case didn’t automatically open. It had several pegs that kept it closed, for extra security.

With a pop as seal released, Rogon opened up the case.

Exactly like with a gun, the case was filled with a black foam, but it wasn’t the foam that she cared about.

It was the single bottle of glowing, shimmering powder that the foam cradled.

The inside of the case’s lid has a big bold WARNING label on it.

WARNING

Contents of case may be unstable after delivery

Please refrain from handling until contents have settled

Rogon hummed, face cold and stern as she reached for the vial inside. Wrapped around it was a thin slip of paper, which fell as she plucked the vial out.

She raised a brow and picked it up, unrolling it with two fingers as she held the vial in her other hand.

Rogon,

You asked for raw magic, I tried to find you the rawest magic concentrate I could get my hands on. Straight from the source, the only other way you’d get this wide of a threshold is if you were next to an Archfey itself.

Dont waste it, even though it has the same amount of power as a nuclear bomb, the whole vial only has a half life of two weeks once settled. I’d recommend only using a little at a time, that way you can save it.

Easiest way to get it evenly dispersed is to put it into your air conditioning, but I included that diffuser you asked about. It should work about just as well.

You’re a crazy bitch, Rogon, but hope this works for you

— Mason

Rogon’s lip twitched up as she carefully set the glass vial back in its case, lifting the foam up. She  could always count on that hermit to come through.

Just as he said, he had included the diffuser.

She took it out of the box and set it on the counter upright, tilting her head with a raised brow.

It…did not look like what she was expecting.

She thought a diffuser was one of those large tulip shaped things that those “holistic medicine” ladies used to fill the air with essential oils. The ones that always gave her allergies because, well, lots of essential oils are poisonous to animals, and she’s basically as close to an animal as a humanoid can get.

This did not look like that. It actually looked like a lava rock with all its holes and edges and sponge like—wait a fucking minute, was this just a lava rock?

She picked it up with the most bewildered look on her face. How the fuck was she supposed to use this? What the—how—

She groaned and put it back down. Thank fuck MK left after lunch, she couldn’t even explain this if she wanted to.

Before she could call up the sender to ask “what the FUCK”, there was a tapping at her window.

“Huh?” She turned.

The tall hawk she called her companion ruffled and tapped the window with his beak again.

“Acreage? Whatchya doin down here?” She strode over and unlatched the window, opening it up.

Acreage hopped onto the counter and start walking.

She tilted her head and raised a brow. What was up with this bird?

He stopped at the edge of the counter and turned his head at her. What was he-?

Without any hesitation, Acreage nabbed the package with the tiny plates!

“Hey!” She shouted. Acreage immediately took off through the window. She swiped at him but he was already outside. “Those are mine!”

Rogon slammed the door open and started sprinting after the bird. He was PURPOSEFULLY flying low. “GIVE THOSE BACK!” She yelled.

She chased him straight through the field, and he flew into the forest, but not through the trail. Rogon growled and dropped to all fours, scrambling under the bushes.

“You little brat!” She laughed. “I need those!”

She was chasing the sound of him going through branches and leaves now, having lost sight of him. He never flew up though, he was toying with her. She never knew him to be playful, but she wasn’t complaining.

She hopped and tried to swipe the bag out of his beak as he circled back and over her, missing by a hair. She laughed and followed after him when he turned a different direction.

She was just out here! She had caught a deer and drug what she didn’t eat to the other side of the woods!

“You’re lucky you’re cute!” She shouted after the hawk, “or I’d turn you into a rotisserie chicken!”

He chirped at her.

“I DO NOT!” She gasped in offense. “OH YOU ARE SO GONNA GET IT!”

Rogon let out an otherworldly laugh as Acreage took a sharp turn, making her skid as she tried to catch up.

“Can’t fly forever!” She called out while Acreage flew through a particular thick brush and swooped to land.

She bounded through the bushes with a grin, hitting bare dirt as she slid to a stop, “GOTCHYA—“

Her face fell and ears folded back.

He stood perched on one of the lone fence posts, barbed wire falling to the ground with a rat caught in it.

Rogon screamed as her eyes fell on the creature wearing the rat skin, “DAGDA!”

Twig kicked at the leafman try to throw him off the branch he found himself on, hands barring the staff he wielded from coming any closer.

The leafmen yelled out and fell back as the tank of a boggan Oleander dropped down and threw him to the side. “Have you seen the general?” He asked loudly.

“No!” Twig panted, taking an arrow and firing it at the branch another leafmen was standing on, causing it to rot away. “I lost sight of him when we split up!”

“Ugh,” Oleander used his club to splinter the rest of the branch they were on, sending the leafmen he threw back into the air. “We need to get to him and fall back,” he grunted.

“Okay,” Twig nodded quickly, “I saw him go that way, let’s—“

The bush shook as a huge clawed foot fell onto the ground. They yelled out and clung to the branch for dear life as the human—humans have clawed feet?—ran past.

“Where’d that come from?” Oleander asked loudly.

Twig shrugged, then gasped.

“What?” Twig pointed upwards and Oleander turned. His eyes widened and they both froze in place in shock.

The human was clutching Dagda to their chest.

“Shit,” Oleander whispered.

“We have to go tell Mandrake—ACK!” Twig screamed as a leafman dropped from the top of the bush and pushed him to the floor. Oleander snapped around and slammed his club against the shield of another dropping leafman.

She slammed the back door open as she barreled inside, nearly throwing cabinet doors off their hinges as she frantically dug through them.

“Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?” She murmured on repeat, trying to keep as much pressure off the wire as possible. She couldn’t untangle him from the barbed wire so she had to break the entire tangle off and rush back, with him still in the middle.

She cut her lips and gums trying to bite through the wire, but she managed to get it to her molars and easily snapped it apart.

Her ears shot up and she took out a bright red first aid kit, sliding it onto the kitchen island before setting Dagda down. She could hear him cry out in pain, almost like the way a rabbit or mouse shrieks when attacked by a bird or fox.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she sobbed and hurried to open the kit, popping the lid off. She rummaged through the mess of gauze and different antiseptics. Then something fired off in her head and she gasped. “Clippers!” Her claws scraped across the wood floors as she ran to a closet, “I need clippers!”

The closet door flung open and everything rattled around before Rogon came scurrying back with a pair of wire cutters.

The wire snapped into pieces with ease.

Every time she unwound a strand off of him, she stopped just to make sure he wasn’t feeling any pain.

Getting no reaction was somehow worse.

She couldn’t tell if she was hurting him, she couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

The clippers clattered on the floor as she sobbed brokenly, claws digging into the counter.

She had to do something, she had to. She didn’t know what, but she had to. If only she had—

Rogon’s focus shot up to the black case still on the countertop, open.

She growled and snatched up the gold vial as she stormed by it.

Several boggans gasped and hissed before being shoved out of the way, feet slapping against the wood as the two panted and slipped trying to run.

Mandrake had his arms crossed, talking to a tiny boggan with a lizard skull on her head and a mantle of feathers around her neck.

“Move, move!” A voice boomed down the hallway, catching both of their attentions.

Twig and Oleander pushed through the couple of boggan guards and into the chamber, out of breath, wide eyed, and covered in scratches and dirt.

“Twig!” Weevil rolled her eyes and groaned, hands on her hips. “Where the hell have you been! You were late to—“

“Can it, Weevil!“ Oleander jabbed a finger towards her, but it didn’t last long as he doubled over and put his hands on his knees. “We-We got jumped by a troop of leafmen.”

“Oh so thats why you’re out of breath,” she scoffed. “I thought you were getting chased by a opossum again!”

“No, no—!” Twig shook his head, “it’s the general! It’s Dagda! He’s been captured by a stomper!”

Mandrake’s blood went ice cold.

“What?!”

Chapter Text

Fuck his arm hurt.

Dagda groaned and screwed his eyes as tightly closed as he could. There was a stiff pain in his back running all the way up and down his spine. His chest felt stiff too, as did his right arm. He couldn’t really feel his left.

He felt his skin prickle and heard something metal quietly and occasionally hitting against something else.

Finally, much to his chagrin, his eyes peeled open. “Ugh,” he scrunched up his face and turned his head away from whatever light decided to blind him, raising his right arm slightly.

When his eyes decided to adjust, he lifted his head, blinking away the cloudiness in his eyes.

With a groan, Dagda pushed himself up with one arm, wincing at the pain that dug into his side as he did so. “Agh,” he grunted and bore his teeth at the stiffness, “what the—“

“Don’t move.” A voice broke the hum of the atmosphere. “You’ll rip out your stitches.”

His head whipped around.

Past the fog of his brain, his blurry surroundings began to sharpen and settle outside of the dizziness. He was inside a room bathed in warm light, the sky darkening from sunset pink to a deep and dark blue outside past the gigantic window with cabinets framing both sides. There was a stretch of counter under the window, directly underneath being a metal tub with a faucet.

“Where—?” His gaze swiveled and his chest went tight as he froze.

He locked onto the back of large person standing in front of a stomper-sized oven, stirring a large and tall pot atop of a flame.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“‘Don’t move’ also means ‘don’t freak out,’” the voice tssked, the human raising the spoon out of the pot, tapping it on the side, and then setting it away. They were moving faster than a stomper would, like they were the same size as him.

“Where am I?” He demanded, though it wasn’t at all intimidating with his scratchy and strained throat, “Who are you?”

“Easy, easy,” the voice was thrown behind him, not coming from the stomper ahead. “I didn’t have any numbing agent, you are going to—”

He turned. Then let out a hiss in pain. It blistered from his side and his chest, all the way up to his left arm. Like a searing and cutting pain that hit different spots at the same time.

“ —…hurt yourself.”

Dagda looked down and raised his left arm as much as he could.

“Huh?” He shuddered and sucked in a breath, winded, seeing himself bare with dressing wrapped around his shoulder and chest.

“ Do you remember what happened ?” The voice was quieter as the stomper left the room, the kitchen unattended.

Dagda held his head with one hand, screwing his eyes shut. “Agh,” he grunted, “I…don’t know? I was on my bird and…“ His eyes opened and looked back around and frowned, “Hey, hey! Why would you want to know? None of your business!”

“Seeing as you were bleeding out on my side of the woods, it is some of my business,”  they stressed as the stomper walked back in.

Dagda jolted and followed the stomper as they walked back to the pot, picking up the spoon.

“You don’t have to stare so hard, you know,” the voice grew louder, now obviously coming from the stomper. “I won’t hurt you.”

His head whipped behind him. Wasn’t that voice—? He looked back at the stomper, then behind him, and back again.

Dagda frowned in confusion, bracing himself up on his arm once more. Why were they moving so fast? How could they see him, hear him?

And why was their voice triggering so many memories in the back of his mind that he couldn’t place?

“How’d you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?” Their head turned slightly.

“That—that voice thing?”

She chuckled quietly, stirring whatever was steaming in the pot. Whatever it was, it smelled good.

“Didn’t want to scare you,” she said. “Thought if I threw my voice a little, it wouldn’t be so shocking.”

“I’m not scared!” He tried to shout, but the pain flared up and sent him clutching at his side with one hand.

“Careful, careful,” she dropped the spoon and took two big steps over as he turned away, baring his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut in a vain attempt to soothe the pain. “Sh sh shshh, it’s okay, it’s…okay. ”

Her voice broke and warbled with a sob, her cheeks still stained and eyes still burning from the innumerable tears she had shed.

“You were tangled up in a lot of barbed wire,” she tried to explain, hands hovering uselessly over him. “I had to cut you out of it and suture up the worst of the wounds. I…I’m sorry,” she tightened her lip. “I didn’t know how much healing aid to give you without overdosing.”

He cringed, turning fully to his other side. That movement alone made him whine. “Gah,” he went from holding his side to squeezing his shoulder, the pain ensnaring his entire torso in sharp and searing agony.

“Here,” she stepped back and started moving around the kitchen, “let’s get you some water.”

Dagda felt his shoulder and side throb as the pain eased, almost in time with the pipes rattling as the person turned on the sink. “Shit,” he heard her curse, the water quickly slowing.

Where the hell was he? What kind of human is able to see and talk to jinn and boggans? Maybe she was part fae? A changeling?

Why did she care?

“Here,” her hand appeared by his side with a small cup between two black claws.

He tried to twist around to catch a glimpse of her face but she had already turned around, leaving the cup on the counter beside him.

Dagda glanced at the cup, looked back at the woman now facing away from him once again, and then snatched the cup.

He sniffed it, the cup itself was some sort of manmade material, but it didn’t smell like anything other than water.

He threw all his caution to wind when the first drop of water hit his tongue. He hadn’t even noticed his mouth was so dry, but now he was chugging the water like he was a dog dying of thirst.

From over her shoulder, she smiled.

While he stopped to take a few heavy breaths, now sipping the water slowly, she continued to cook.

A silence draped over the room like a thick curtain, Dagda staring at the counter top, eyes darting to the corner of his vision, while the woman turned the flame of the stove down, jaw slightly clenched.

She had been planning this moment for years now, yet now she has the opportunity and she can’t even speak to her own son.

She tightened her lips and focused on the boiling soup under her nose. Ugh, if only the tension would pop like the damn bubbles in the broth.

Her hair was beginning to annoy her as it scratched at her neck and scars, skin prickling from both the steam and nerves. How does she even come out? How would she even tell him where she’s been, what has happened?

What would happen if she did tell him…how would he react to seeing her like this?

Her ear twitched towards the sound of him adjusting on the cushion she had him on. It was one of those flat dog beds for crates that she had cut up for some other reason. Apparently it worked just as well as a cot for a recovering boggan as it does for a weasel.

She had to move him from the dishtowel she had him on since it was drenched with boggan blood and, at that moment, in the wash.

She was trying to calm down from it all. Seeing Dagda like that again—a hair’s breadth away from death again—it…

…it didn’t do her any good.

She wanted to cry still, but she couldn’t bring herself out of the shock she was in. It felt safer, almost, as if it hadn’t been hours since she bandaged him up.

Fuck, she hadn’t even thought about how long he’d been with her for. She had found him after lunch and now it was nearly dark outside and her eyes were straining against the contrast between the light in her house and the lack thereof through the window.

She sighed, ears folding down as she put the lid of the pot on top of it. Maybe some food would calm both of their nerves.

Dagda however wasn’t thinking about being hungry, or about the pain that wrapped around his body, or even about how that one leafman managed to get the jump on him.

No, he was worrying about his dad, how crazy he must have been going, and the strange person who had “rescued” him.

If he had been out the entire afternoon, he’s surprised the woods weren’t on fire.

If he was even near the woods.

“Where am I?” He broke the silence.

“Hm?” She turned her head a little. “Oh! Uh, my house. Just outside the forest. Sorry, I should’ve told you.”

There were only two houses, and the redheads lived in the other one.

This must be the farmhouse.

“Where’d you find me?” He asked.

“Where the old fence line is.” She scoffed and shook her head, “I knew I should’ve torn down that fence. What were you doing over there? That barbed wire is dangerous! I don’t think you’d like to risk getting tetanus. Unless you want me to jab you with a big needle.”

“There was food,” he bit back, “and we would’ve been fine if we hadn’t been ambushed by leafmen!”

She scoffed and shook her head. “Still just as stubborn as your father,” she murmured under her breath.

Did he hear that right?

Dagda’s head shot up. “What did you say?”

“Hm?” Her head turned.

“How do you know my dad?” Dagda asked, face twisted in confusion.

She stopped.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“Who the hell are you?” He snarled. “How the hell do you know my dad?”

Her eyes were wide, knuckles turning white as she flexed her fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How did she let that slip?! Mother of all fucking—fuck fuck fuck FUCK—

She swallowed.

Dagda narrowed his eyes. He was growing tired of only being able to see the back of her head. She had wild dark brown hair that was long enough to cover her shoulders, but said hair had ticks of grey and warm red, kind of like an old black cat. And it was the only thing of note about her.

“What are you?” He scrunched up his face sourly. “You can see me, you can hear me,” he sneered, looking her up and down even if he couldn’t see her feet, “you’re clearly not human. What are you, a changeling?”

“Hey!” She barked and turned around so fast that her hair whipped around her head like a spiral. “Look, I may not be human, but I am not some half-baked fairy shell that has to—out of all the different—a changeling? Really?”

Dagda’s ears pinned back and his eyes widened as she rambled, jaw dropping in slow motion.

Her face was carved into pieces by scars that could’ve only been caused by fights and battles, but the serrations on her forehead were exactly the same. Her teeth were large and sharp and fit for locking into flesh and crushing bone, a full set of eight fangs meant to pierce through skulls and crack through them from the bottom up. Her lips were pitch black but now cut on the right side, splitting them with a line of ashen flesh.

But her sharp jaw, cheeks and brow, and her fiery green eyes encased in dark grey instead of white; those were a constant that could never change.

She was now ranting about how ridiculous the notion was. Her? A fae? Please! Did she look fae? Did she—

Her rambling slowly ceased, unfinished, as her eyes fell back on Dagda.

Words forgotten, Rogon’s mouth hung open and her own bat like ears folded down.

His eyes stung with tears, mouth dry as he choked out, “Mom?”

The silence fell heavy over the kitchen. Rogon’s hand was left in the air as she tried to withdraw herself. Her shoulders went rigid and stiff, head tucking between them as far as it could.

“I…” she swallowed, trying to shrink away. “Hi-Hi, Dagda…” her voice cracked.

They stared at each other for a while. His lip trembled.

“MOM!” He cried.

Rogon rushed forward as he scrambled to get his feet under him, “Stop stop stop! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“I don’t care!” Dagda flung himself towards her.

She gasped and caught him just as he plowed into her chest. “Dagda!”

“Where have you been?” He sobbed into her shirt. “Where-Where we-re you?”

Rogon dropped to her knees with him cupped in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she choked, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—I couldn’t get here fast enough. I couldn’t, I-…”

They both clutched at each other like if either of them left they would have the air stolen from their lungs. Doubled into the other, Rogon holding him as gently as she could. Dagda couldn’t care less.

She didn’t feel the fuzz of magic in the air around them, or the burning of her eyes as they dried with tears still streaming down her face. She could only feel the small hands holding her claws like she was his lifeline. Pressing himself as far into her touch as he could.

A broken sigh left her. She shuddered. Whether it was from the tears or the slight sound of birds outside, she didn’t care. Rogon’s lips cracked into a smile and she cradled Dagda right against her heart, humming.

A deep breath left them both.

“Don’t ever leave like that again,” Dagda said into her shirt.

Rogon chuckled, the vibrations rumbling against him like a purr, “Don’t worry, I won’t. Never again.”

They held each other tightly, hiccuping through their words.

Until the window crashed open and sent them both shooting up in alarm.

“Huh?”

“What?”

Their hands flew to cover their ears as a shrill screech filled the kitchen.

Something fast and black barreled in like a missile.

Rogon jumped to her feet. She put Dagda on the counter and grabbed the nearest item, the soup spoon, and held it like a knife.

She looked at it and frowned, “Oh come on!“

Dagda hissed in pain and pushed himself to his feet, using his knees as a brace to stand up.

The grackle reared and began to claw at Rogon’s face, not that it did much other than annoy her as she pushed it away with the spoon. “Seriously?” She asked before yelping as it rammed its beak into her head in a swoop. “ACK!”

Dagda fell onto the side of a jar for support, hand grasping the lid. He looked up and watched as Rogon tried to swat the grackle away from her.

“SON!”

He gasped. “Dad?”

Mandrake had jumped from his bird and landed on the counter, now running towards him.

“Oh thank the Vale!” Mandrake scooped him into his arms and held tightly. “You’re alive.”

He pulled away, eyes wide in worry, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“Dad, Dad, I-I’m fine,” he stammered, wincing at the hand grasping his shoulder, “agh! My-My shoulder…”

Mandrake let go immediately and looked at the bandages, “What happened? Does it hurt? Look—Look, look at me.” He sneered and bore his teeth, “Did that thing do this to you? Did it hurt you?”

“What? Dad, no, I-“

“We have to get out of here, now,” he started looking around. “Come, we can get out through the window.”

“Dad, no! Wait, wait—!” Dagda grabbed his arm before he could start pulling him away, “It’s mom! It’s mom!”

Rogon shielded her face from Nightshade’s attack. The spoon clattered to the ground. “Oh, goddammit!”

“Dagda what are you talking about?” Mandrake shook his head fiercely. “We have to go!”

“Seriously! Dad, just listen!”

“Now is not the time to argue, let’s go—!“

“Mandrake!”

The room fell quiet. He froze in his spot at the sound of his name being shouted over the commotion.

Nightshade had stopped flying, wings held down as they tried to get out of her grip.

And holding the bird in her hands was the woman, breathing heavily as she stared down at them both.

Mandrake shoved Dagda behind him.

“Mandrake,” She swallowed, brows knitting together, “please.”

How the hell did she know his name?

How the hell was she speaking normally?

How the hell could she even see him?

How—

“Agh,” Dagda’s hand dug into his side, falling to a knee.

“Dagda!” The woman gasped and swiftly crossed the kitchen.

Mandrake sprung forward and hissed.

She stopped and drew her hand back quickly. Her fingers were tipped with thick black claws, hands and arms stained blueish-black.

They stared at each other, neither moving. Her eyes were wet.

“Mandrake…” her voice was strained, “honey, it’s…it’s me…”

His brow furrowed. Who the hell did this woman think she was?

Her lip pulled tight and she scoffed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Mandrake took this opportunity to whip around and drop to Dagda’s side.

His eyes widened at the blood that stained the bandages wrapped all around him, hands uselessly hovering over him. “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” he whispered, “I’ll—I’ll get you out. Come on, I need you to stand, son. Can you do that for m-…me…?”

Humming.

There was humming. It was quiet, but it was there.

His ears started ringing.

Eyes widened as the woman pressed her head to the counter, shoulders slack in defeat.

His head was in her lap as her long black talons traced his face, eyes closed in bliss. She watched him in adoration, the song coming from deep in her chest.

She was dressed in the fur of a weasel that was halfway between winter and summer coats, the back split into three strips and braided like a tail, wrapped around her shoulders and draping down her back like a veil. He couldn’t help but to cup her face and chuckle while tears threatened to fall from their eyes. Blood dripped from both their hands, clasped and twined together.

He had heard Dagda’s whines from the other chamber, the storm outside battering the stump they called home. But she beat him there. He peered around the door way to find her cradling the grub in her arms, rocking back and forth, eyes half lidded as she smiled and hummed.

The air was torn from his chest as he slowly rose to his feet again, a surge of emotions flooding Mandrake’s lungs yet all he could do was grimace in disbelief, in pain, in shock, in—

“Rogon?”

Ears folded back, she raised her head, wiping her eyes with the meat of her palm and sniffling.

— Reprieve. Like the sudden weight and dread of constant disaster was sucked out of his body and mind and soul, if he still had one.

“…is…is that really you?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, mouth pulled in a tight frown, eyes pleading for something, anything.

The air froze around them. They just stared at each other. One slack jawed in a barrage of emotions and a storm of thoughts, the other dying in the silence.

Neither moved, or spoke, or breathed. How could they?

The words were caught in her throat, in her stomach, like she swallowed a rock and couldn’t cough it out.

“I tried…,” her voice was broken and meek, “I tried to come back a-as quickly as I could. I did, but I-…I couldn’t.” She closed her eyes again, “…I couldn’t.”

He could breathe. It wasn’t her, it couldn’t be—

But it was , it was her.

Her face may have been covered in scars and more gaunt than it should, but that was no excuse for the fact that it was her and how did he not recognize her sooner?

“I wanted to come see you earlier,” she hiccuped, “but I-I chickened out. I couldn’t—I can’t, shit.” She cursed and turned her head, staring at the floor. “I couldn’t bring myself to see you! To face you like, like this, I-I’m not—I, I was so scared that you wouldn’t want me anymore and—!”

“Oh you silly thing…”

A small hand grabbed her finger and brought her hand up.

Rogon raised her head and swallowed back the whimper in her throat as Mandrake, face covered in thick tears and a smile trying to break through the sobs, pressed his head into the pad of her finger. “I would never not want you.”

That did it.

Rogon sobbed and dropped her head again, squeezing her eyes shit as she keened and bore her teeth with each breath.

Mandrake clutched at her claw, trying to muffle his own cries and failing, forehead pressed against her.

“I was so afraid I lost you,” he said just under his breath, like it took all his lungs to speak.

“No, Never,” Rogon shook her head. “Never.” She looked up at him with those bright green eyes flooded with tears, “You could never lose me.”

A grin grew on his face and he laughed, shaking his head.

Rogon joined in, broken sobs coming through chuckles as Mandrake left her hand for her head and took her face into his hands.

“You’re back,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against her nose.

Rogon squeezed her eyes shut, happily.

“I’m back.”

Chapter Text

Mandrake wiped his eyes and pushed away from her face, laughing, “Where have you been?” He sniffed. “We—I thought—I thought, hell, I was almost sure you were dead!”

She chuckled, “There were many times I thought I was too.”

Mandrake laughed a little more. He let his eyes wander her face. Hells, what did this to her?

“I can see that,” he said, running his hand across one of the many, many scars going down her face.

Rogon closed her eyes and leaned just a little into his touch.

“What happened to you?” He asked in a whisper.

“Where do I start?” She scoffed, trying to lift the frown that fell across his face but failing to do so for herself.

She ducked her head and her eyes squeezed shut, lips pulling back as she keened.

“I don’t know how it happened,” she said, “I was with Acreage one moment and then—fuck—those bastards, they, they—!”

“Sh sh sh,” Mandrake took her face into his hands and pressed his head against his nose, “it’s alright, honey. It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s over now. I’m-I’m never…I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again, alright?”

Her voice hiccuped, black liquid gathering at the corners of her mouth as she sobbed.

He couldn’t stop his own tears from falling down his face.

The weight of her entire body fell into the cabinets and countertop. Every choked whimper and sob wracked through her body and made her tremble.

Mandrake’s knees hit the wood. Ears pinned back, lips pulled back over his clenched teeth while he shook.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so so sorry. I should have been there, I should have-“

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” she swallowed back the tightness in her throat.

“Nothing I could’ve done?” He growled. “I could’ve melted their flesh off, that’s a start.”

Rogon snorted, cracking a smile through her tears.

He looked up at her and exhaled shortly, “Have you been here? All this time?”

Dagda’s teary and red eyes grew wide and he looked up at her.

She shook her head, well as much as she could without throwing Mandrake off the counter.

“No,” she said in a hushed voice. “No. I’ve only been here since the end of Summer.”

“That long?” His voice was tight and broken.

She nodded.

He scoffed at himself.

“It’s not your fault,” she murmured and cupped her hand around him, lifting his head gently with the end of her claw. “I haven’t made any effort to-to…well, to do anything. I wouldn’t have recognized me either, with-with all the glamours I wear and—and with Dagda, I just—“

He grunted and just fell into her touch. Cool hands that felt just as rough and comfortable as they had back then. He could practically melt into her, or were her hands just perfectly made for him no matter the size?

“Don’t excuse my ignorance,” he grumbled and shut his eyes.

Rogon stopped rambling, eyes falling on Mandrake as her shoulders dropped and softened. Her face fell into a sad and tired gaze and the exhale from her nose was deep and final.

She hummed and shook her head with a chuckle.

“Mom!”

“Ack! Dagda! No!” Rogon fell back as Dagda leapt at her face again. “How are you able to do that? Jesus fucking Christ! You have legs like a damn frog!”

Mandrake pin wheeled in the air as he was knocked over. Rogon gasped and caught him as he fell.

“Oof!” Mandrake landed flat on his back in her hands.

Rogon fell back, legs going up in the air.

She let out a grunt as her feet hit the floor once again.

“Ow.”

A snirk broke through Rogon’s lips and she cracked up in laughter.

Something swelled in Mandrake’s chest at the sound of it, the animal-like sound that belonged somewhere in the savannah, and it brought the biggest smile to his face.

Her laugh was infectious.

Dagda grinned and buried his face into Rogon’s cheek, shaking with each laugh, saying “ow” between each little breath.

Tears were starting to run down her face again when she finally attempted to pick herself up.

“I’ve missed you two so much,” her voice cracked, bringing them both to her face. She ducked her head and absolutely beamed, “My boys…”

Mandrake climbed into the crook under her neck, smiling and laughing and crying all at the same time.

“Where have you been?” Dagda sniffed, wiping his face. “We looked every where for you!”

“How are we even able to talk to you?” Mandrake pushed himself up a little. “How can you see us? You’re big! How’d you get so big?”

“It’s a long story,” she huffed, pushing herself up from the floor. “How about I explain it over a bowl of soup? Im sure you’re hungry,” she said with a smile, raising a hand and letting Mandrake swing from her chest to her hand to her shoulder as she stood.

Rogon stirred the pot with a new spoon (one that hadn’t been used to fight off a bird), bowl in hand. “I hope it tastes good,” she said nervously, pouring her own bowl before grabbing a teaspoon, “I haven’t made this stuff in a while.”

“What is it?” Dagda asked, now sitting on the table just outside the kitchen.

“It’s nothing much,” she rubbed the back of her neck and reached across the counter. Taking the baggie, she ripped it open with her teeth. Thankfully the bowls weren’t fragile and she was able to shake a couple out into her hand.

“Just some sausage and spinach in a potato and chicken-bone broth,” she said as she dipped the teaspoon in and carefully poured the soup into two tiny bowls. “Course there’s like garlic and onions and all that good stuff too, but you need something hearty, you got a lot of healing to do.”

Dagda hummed as she began to turn around.  “So…” He tapped his toes as she placed the two smaller bowls on the small wooden table, somehow without spilling, and then went to grab her bowl, “how can we talk to you? Normally we gotta use those big cameras and stuff in the woods.”

“I got some connections,” Rogon winked.

“Meaning?” Mandrake smirked.

She shrugged and leaned down on the table with her arms crossed, “A buddy of mine’s a warlock that works out in the Vale, got his hands on some raw Valen concentrate.” She pointed up to the ceiling, eyes following her finger, “I threw it into the a/c.”

“All of it?” Mandrake asked.

She deadpanned and pulled her lip tight.

“…Alright, look, I panicked when I found that one tangled up in a knot of barbed wire,” she said and gestured at Dagda with her whole hand.

Mandrake shot Dagda a look.

“Heh,” he laughed nervously, good hand rubbing his neck.

Rogon shook her head with a snort. Her eyes fell on the makeshift sling currently cradling Dagda’s left arm. The edge of it was slipping.

“Here hun, come here,” she reached out for Dagda, “I need to fix your bandage.”

It was only when she was using the very tips of her claws to nudge and adjust the straps of the sling that Dagda glanced up at her and took a good, hard look at her face. There weren’t just new scars, but there were new lines and contours of her bone and muscle, like she aged more than she had been missing for.

“Mom?”

“Hm?” Her tongue was caught just barely between her teeth.

He frowned, eyes going down her neck.

There was a star shaped scar in the flesh between her neck and left shoulder, faded and old now.

It matched the arrow scar on his chest.

Her eyes followed his gaze.

She stopped, averting her eyes.

Rogon took back her hand, nose now scrunched up as she leaned away.

“I guess you guys want to know what happened.”

They both nodded.

With a sigh, she reached behind her and grabbed a fold-up chair. In one smooth open, she popped it open and sat down in it, moving her bowl from the counter to the table.

She let out a deep breath and crossed her arms across the table, “Where do I start?”

Mandrake frowned and sat down, criss-crossed, “How about the beginning?”

Rogon scrunched up her nose and looked up and away without turning her head.

“How much do you know?”

Why would she even ask that?

Mandrake leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees, mouth tightened and brow screwed together.

“Why?” He asked with a slight kink in his nose and brow.

She hesitated.

“Rogon,” Mandrake’s voice was stressed and tense, “you’re making me worried—“

“Please.”

It was so quiet, like she could barely get it out in one breath.

He froze.

“A dryad, outside the forest, told us that you had been shot from the sky by a fae mercenary, that you had humans after you,” he said between pauses. “…Bufo was spreading rumors…we went to question him, and he took us past the river.”

Rogon’s hands started trembling on the table. Her claws anxiously tapped the wood. She looked away, brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a tight thin line. Her breaths was shallow. And her body went tight and closed.

She breathed in and exhaled what little air she had as she shortly nodded her head. “Yeah,” she murmured, “yeah, that’s…mhm.”

She nodded again and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Just…just one,” she held up one finger while she turned her head away, “just one thing…”

Mandrake and Dagda frowned.

“They weren’t human.”

His ears pinned back and eyes widened, “What?”

Rogon shook her head, still not looking at him. Her ears were pressed tight against her head and down.

“But he said they were mortal,” Mandrake said with a flourish of his hand, “that they had paid someone to shoot you out of the sky!”

“They were mortal,” she reaffirmed, eye sliding to look at them without moving her head. “But they weren’t human.”

“How?” Dagda asked quickly. “How could they be mortal but not human? That doesn’t make sense!”

“The same way I’m immortal—!,” every word was punctuated with a nod of her head as she spoke sharply. She stopped, eyes still shut as she breathed out, slowly as she stilled, then opened her eyes and looked up at them both, “—but I’m not fae.”

His skin prickled.

If it weren’t for the air conditioning, silence would’ve rang throughout the room.

Dagda’s voice, hoarse and quiet with shock, could barely be heard over the sound their own breathing.

“What?”

Rogon covered her head with her hands. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you,” her claws gripped at her scalp, elbows digging into the table. “I wanted to, I swear, I wanted to—

“Rogon-“

“—but I had gotten so comfortable and I was so scared you wouldn’t want me around anymore and—“

“Rogon.”

“—it was stupid of me to hide it from you, I just didn’t know how to bring it up without ruining things and I couldn’t—“

“Rogon!”

Her ears shot down and she held her hands to her chest, claws worried between fingers as her wide eyes fell back onto him.

His arm was now thrown over his knee, jaw set with a incredulous raised brow and a sigh. “Did you really think that this would change how I feel for you?” He asked.

She glanced away. There was a tightness in her throat, in her chest. “I…I did.”

“Oh honey,” the look he gave her was full of pity and she wished she could wipe his face clean of it.

She looked away with a tight lip, a splintering scratch from her claws digging into the wood of the table being her only reply.

Dagda put down his bowl, licking away the soup from his face as he sat up. “It…It doesn’t change anything though,” he said with a deep frown. “You’re still here, you’re still my mom.”

“And you’re still my wife,” Mandrake added pointedly. “Fae or not, I don’t give a shit. I didn’t marry you because of some pedigree.”

He sighed. Mandrake’s head fell as he looked down at the table, brows furrowed once again into a deep crease. “I am sorry for anything I did that made you feel that you had to hide yourself from me,” he said. “Had I been more aware, I would not have been so careless—

“What? No! Mandrake—,” her claws made a thunk noise as they released from the wood and she reached out for him, “I’ve always been—…I’ve never, but I—ugh—!” She clenched her hand into a fist in frustration. He was apologizing? Why was he apologizing? This was all her fault, her shame. There was nothing for him to feel sorry for!

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Mandrake threw his hands up like he was trying to settle a bull, shuffling to his knees. “It’s okay, Ro,” He put his hands onto her fingers, holding her as well as he could as he slowly pried her fingers out from the fist.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckle, pressing his forehead against her skin like he would when there were only a few millimeters difference in height, rather than entire feet.

“I just always thought that you would be disappointed with me, if you knew what I really was,” Rogon couldn’t even look him in the eye, let alone speak louder than such a hushed tone. “That you would hate me for it.”

“Never,” he shook his head. “Never going to happen.”

She sighed and shut her eyes.

“Why would you even think that?” He didn’t hide the way he grimaced as if it pained him to even think that she thought of herself in such a way. “Honey?”

She shook her head. He could feel her hands starting to shake under him.

“The rest of the Vale calls me an abomination—“

Dagda and Mandrake stiffened at the use of that word again. Abomination. The same term Imbroige used to insult her.

“—too much for Animalia but not enough for the Vale.” She murmured under her breath, rolling her eyes before looking away and plopping her cheek on her fist. “No magic, no curses, yet still able to survive being gutted in front of an audience.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“ Gutted?!”

“Oh…” Rogon realized just what exactly she said and her eyes widened. “Oh fuck.”

“You were gutted?!” Dagda shouted again.

“It’s not a big deal, I got better,” Rogon said, holding a hand up and spreading her fingers to emphasize her point.

Mandrake went eerily quiet, lips pulled tight together and orange eyes wide and fiery.

In Rogon’s terms: he looked pissed.

“What were their names?”

She looked at him with confusion, “What?”

“Give me their names,” he said again, “so that I know whose bones we’ll be using as living room decor.”

Rogon’s hands pressed together flat in front of her mouth as she breathed in.

“As much as I need to redecorate, I’m going to have to pass,” she said flatly. She shook her head, “Besides it’s not the worst.”

“The fact that you have to say that tells me enough,” Mandrake said sternly.

“Mandrake, it’s okay, I’m fine now—“

“It is not okay, those who have hurt you need to suffer for the pain they caused you!”

“Mandrake-” she smacked her face with her hand.

“Actually, how about you just write me a list. Dagda, what would be more efficient? Going down the list alphabetically or by form of punishment?”

Rogon burst into laughter. Even though she knew he was completely serious, the image was hilarious enough.

“Rogon,” Mandrake stood up.

“I’m sorry!” She threw her head back with a hand on her forehead, desperately trying to stop her tirade of laughter.

“I am being serious.”

“I know you are! I’m sorry! It’s just—“ her nose scrunched up as a wild sounding noise came from her throat, like the sound of something from overseas in the dry deserts and plains. “The image of you being teeny and still beating the shit out of people my size is funny!”

She covered her mouth promptly at the sight of Mandrake with crossed arms and an unamused look on his face.

Rogon cleared her throat and grinned, “Sorry.”

He shook his head.

Dagda himself was beaming ear to ear, as well, ears folded down but not out of pain or sadness.

He was happy.

“What’ch you smilin about?” Rogon plopped her chin on her fist.

“I missed your laugh,” he said, still smiling.

The smile on her face in response made up for all the years without her. Her laugh, her smile, the crinkles at the corner of her eyes, her.

But to Mandrake’s worry, it slowly fell. Like a light flickered out from her gaze and her brows furrowed together in thought.

“A lot has happened since I’ve been gone,” she said. “I took care of one thing only for something even worse to follow it. I—“ Rogon tightened her lip, staring at the table, “—I’m scared just me being here is putting you in danger. Its not even a matter of if but when they find out I’m here, and if they find out I’m here, they’ll find out you’re here, and I don’t know how to protect you.”

Mandrake frowned, “Whatever it is, we can handle it.”

His voice was so sure, always so stern and bold, that she almost believed him.

Rogon looked away. What was she even supposed to say to them? How could she explain what all had happened, what all will happen?

And Mandrake could see the internal struggle behind her eyes. He knew that face, the way her muscles pulled and creased when she was fighting about something in her head. When she was stressed.

But who were “they”?

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he said as he settled his hand onto hers. “Not right now, at least.”

She sighed and it was like all the tension fell like sand from her body.

Mandrake frowned, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Mandrake pressed his lips to her fingertips before standing and taking both his and Dagda’s bowls in hand (both of which had been devoured by the latter). He set them aside, one on top of the other, before taking Rogon’s hand again and rubbing her knuckle.

“Come on,” he murmured, “it’s getting late.”

She sighed and nodded her head. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Rogon pushed herself out of her chair by her knees. But when she reached to take the boys’ bowls, Mandrake stuck out his leg and kicked them off the table. Where they broke upon hitting the floor.

“Mandrake!”

“Don’t worry about cleaning up. You can do that later.”

“I’ll have to clean it up anyways, you broke the bowls!” She said.

“Oh leave it,” he waved her off. “It’ll be there in the morning.”

Rogon dropped her head with a huff. So much for having a clean floor.

Mandrake helped Dagda to his feet, catching him as he stumbled with a pained hiss. He swatted at Mandrake’s hands, “Dad, I’m fine.”

Rogon chuckled with a slight shake of her head.

She placed her hand on the table, letting both Mandrake and Dagda climb up into her palm.

A smirk pulled at her lips, “It’s like holding a lizard.”

“This lizard will bite you,” Mandrake said as he took perch on her thumb.

Another chuckle.

Rogon hopped over the back of the couch and landed on the cushions with a bounce. “Oof!”

When she looked back down, she couldn’t help the big smile that grew on her face seeing Dagda already burrowing himself into her shirt. She never thought she’d see that again, let alone be able to hold either of them.

Mandrake wasted no time getting comfy, as well. Though he did so in a more…annoying manner.

Rogon curled her now empty fingers with a stare up at the ceiling, a sharp breath coming out from her nose.

A breath that fanned out around Mandrake’s chest and made his cape flutter.

Smug bastard.

“Seriously?” She asked. “Right on my face?”

“Seriously,” he crossed his arms under his head with a cheeky grin on his face, eyes closed.

Rogon rolled her eyes, giving a quick growl.

When it was obvious he wasn’t moving off of her face anytime soon, Rogon sighed and closed her eyes, one hand coming up to cover Dagda like a blanket.

Mandrake, from his place resting against her nose, opened one eye and looked up at her.

As her breathing steadied and stilled, her warm breath gracing his neck and chest like a gentle breeze, he smiled and nestled against her cheek.

Sleep, for once, came easily for all of them.

Chapter Text

“Hah! You’re getting old.”

“You have no room to talk! You’re, like, a hundred.”

A week.

It had only been a week and they had fallen right back into their old habits.

Which included annoying the absolute hell out of each other.

Mandrake had taken to sitting at the top of her head and trying to nest in her hair, either braiding it or purposefully getting it into a tangled mess.

His new favorite hobby?

Finding all her grey hairs and then teasing her for it.

“Really, Ro, you’re starting to look silver!” He grinned as he leaned over her forehead to look her in the eye.

“Am not,” she scoffed.

“Are too.”

“There aren’t even that many!” She argued and sat against the arm of the couch, raising a brow up at him.

“Not from my point of view,” he said with a cheeky snicker.

“My hair is brown .”

“Have you even looked in a mirror lately?”

“Grrrr you little-“ she growled and pushed herself off the couch, stomping up the stairs and into her bathroom. She closed the medicine cabinet and flicked on the lights so she could see her reflection.

“See? Nothing!” She said, making a show out of pulling on one of her curls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Mandrake rolled onto his stomach and smirked down at her before brushing a few glittering strands into her face.

Her mouth pursed. Oh.

“That doesn’t count,” she was quick to say and left the bathroom.

He cackled, “Yes it does!”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Rogon-“

“It’s stress ,” she groaned and clomped her way downstairs. “You try being chased back and forth across the entire planet.”

He tssked and shook his head, “Excuses excuses.”

“I will flick you,” Rogon made her way back into the living room, sitting on the couch and reclining back like she had just done a whole ton of work.

“Ooo, how scary,” he mocked her and slid off of her head.

She scowled. She raised her hand and flicked in his direction, barely missing his head by a hair.

He jumped around her, cackling, much to her annoyance. She batted and swiped at him but he dodged her every move.

As she sat up and tried to reach around her as Mandrake leapt to her side and then to the back of the couch, the both of them jolted to the rhythm of several knocks at the door.

Rogon’s head snapped around towards the back door and she stood up.

“Hide,” she scooped him up and set him on her shoulder, pushing her long hair in front of him. When he settled into the divot of her shoulder scar, she breathed out and took three long steps towards the door.

She didn’t stop her eyes from lighting up when she saw MK at the door and she opened the door happily.

“MK!” Rogon grinned, “What’s the occasion?”

The girl smiled and held up a lidded container, “We made some cookies! Thought you would like some.”

Rogon’s face lit up and she clapped her hands, “Oo, yum!”

She immediately took the container in her hands and took a peek inside. She gasped and looked back up at MK while pointing at the box, “Are these—“

“Theeeeeee lemon snaps I was telling you about?” MK looked away with a smirk and held her arms behind her back before bouncing on her toes. “Yep!”

“Oh score!” Rogon pumped her fist and plucked one out with her fingers, taking a bite out of the small yellow cookie. She closed her eyes and gave a small moan of satisfaction and sighed, “So good.”

MK laughed at her reaction, “Don’t make things weird.”

“Too late,” Rogon said through a full mouth while snapping her fingers and pointing at her.

MK laughed some more, the two making idle chit-chat in the doorway.

Mandrake scowled with a hand on Rogon’s neck as he listened to her talk to the girl, mocking her chipper tone. After a while, he grew more annoyed, hand grabbing a tuft of her hair.

Rogon snorted and batted at her hair slightly, waving it off like she was swatting a fly.

Mandrake jolted, then growled at her.

“Shoo her away, we’re wasting daylight,” he grumbled.

“Hm? Oh! No, I think its just the house settling. It makes weird noises during the day,” Rogon replied to MK asking “what was that noise?—“ and proceeded to scratch behind her neck, when in reality she flicked him.

He nipped at her, baring his teeth, even though she couldn’t see him.

She breathed out in annoyance and rolled her eyes subtly.

“Anyways,” she said as she licked her fingers clean and nodded towards her living room, “wanna come in?”

“Nah,” MK waved, “I’m supposed to be going into town with my dad later, don’t want to take up all of your time.”

“Oh please, you could never,” Rogon smiled at her, and the way she spoke had Mandrake stopping for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. He missed how sweet she could sound.

“Well, I hope you and your dad have a good afternoon,” Rogon said with a sigh, ruffling MK’s hair. “Maybe tomorrow you two can come over for lunch.”

“Lunch sounds perfect,” MK said with a smile back. “So, shall I leave the cookies here?”

“Yes, you shall,” Rogon smirked, stepping back into her house. “Bye MK, I’ll see you later!”

MK waved goodbye and with a kick, Rogon closed the back door and walked into the kitchen, smiling and looking down at the cookies with dancing fingers.

“Ugh, finally!” Mandrake popped out of her hair with a groan. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“Oh hush,” Rogon snorted. “Be nice to the girl.”

“No.”

“C’mon, why?”

“I seem to recall a certain “incident” that ended up with Dagda in the healers wing, you with a dislocated shoulder, and me with a broken nose, all the while the Jinn were celebrating their new queen and that little red head was locking lips with—“

“Alright, alright!” Rogon shouted and raised her hands, “Geez.” She huffed and shook her head. “Goddamn, you can hold a grudge,” she chuckled, setting down the cookies while grabbing a glass and heading to the fridge.

“What can I say? I like to be consistent.”

“Consistently having a stick up your ass?”

He shoved her, well, as well as he could shove her, almost falling off her shoulder.

She laughed and grabbed herself a can of soda from the fridge, kicking the fridge door shut as she walked from the kitchen to the living room.

“Want something to drink?” She asked, passing by all the miniature kitchenware she had set up on the counter.

“I’ll pass,” Mandrake jumped from her shoulder to a standing lamp, swinging around it before landing on the couch’s arm rest just as Rogon sat back down.

She huffed and slumped against the couch, kicking her feet up on the coffee table.

Mandrake looked at her feet weirdly, frowning. “Why do your feet look like that?”

“Well thats not an out of the box question,” Rogon snorted.

When he gave her a look, she chuckled and started toeing off what looked like “invisible” shimmery socks. “Relax, its just an enchantment,” she said, the illusion giving way to reveal her familiar clawed feet. “Humans don’t take kindly to seeing talons,” she added with a laugh, stretching out her toes and flexing the opposable thumbs. “Don’t need to be called a demon while out on the streets.”

Mandrake frowned at her, furrowing his brows as he propped his cheek against his closed fist. “A demon?”

Rogon shrugged, “Humans dont like things that don’t look exactly like them.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No wonder they like the leafmen so much,” he said.

“Exactly.”

Rogon took a deep breath in and sighed, closing her eyes as her head fell back against the couch. With a pop, she used a claw to flick the tab off the soda can, letting it hiss. Mandrake watched her take a long drink of it, licking the foam off her lips with her long tongue before raising her head to look at him.

“Don’t you have an army to lead?” She asked, raising a brow.

He smirked and laughed. “Don’t you have some hair dye to find?”

He grinned widely as she slammed her soda down on the coffee table. “That’s it!” She shouted. “Get over here!”

Mandrake cackled and ran like a bat out of hell across the carpet, all the while Rogon chased him on all fours, ears pinned back.

“Get back here!” She yipped, knocking over a chair.

“Make me you old hag!”

“Smelly bastard!”

“You married this smelly bastard!”

“You tricked me!”

“With my good looks and irresistible charm?”

“Hah! As if!”

The house was filled with shouting and laughter, all the banter and teasing and ruckus as noisy as ever, and neither of them would have it any other of way.