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It was a cool, autumnal morning in the Hallowoods, and Diggory sat perched on one of the walls of the Scoutpost, watching as the sun slowly emerged from below the spiky black points of the pine trees. This had become something of a habit for them - the darkest hours before sunrise were when their white eyes could see the best, but the gentle lightening of the sky was a sight too soothing to miss.
Riot, watching their morning ritual once, had remarked that they looked like some kind of weird gargoyle, which had required some explaining. Once they’d understood the concept, though, they’d somewhat liked it. They had been crafted, after all, though not out of stone - a gravedigger, a guardian, a friend, now. Standing watch on the battlements. Behind them, within the shelter of the sturdy wooden walls, the Scoutpost was beginning to come to life, the motley survivors out here in the black pines preparing for a new day.
Diggory wondered what this day would bring. No two were the same, since they’d arrived here; despite Violet and Bern’s attempts to keep a routine, some sense of order, the forest was too full of inherent chaos to be so well-behaved. Any moment could bring an attack, some danger to be fended off, or a new guest. Revenant or human, animal or something stranger. There were plenty of strange things to be found in these woods, after all.
Diggory traced the tips of their claws along the sturdy, even stitches that lined their inner arm. The blackened fingertips fading to a greyer tone, like the first hint of light before dawn. Once, they’d thought they were the only one of their kind in the Hallowoods. The only strange, stitched-together creature in the whole world, perhaps. How would it have felt, to stay that way? Diggory Graves, just Diggory Graves, coming from a strange house in the woods with nothing more than a jacket and a strange sense of purpose in their heart.
But that compass had led them to Percy, and to the Scoutpost, and down a crooked path to a garden full of sunflowers and a group of strangers just as patchwork as they were. Irene Mend’s other orphaned creations dwelled in the Scoutpost now. The Mendies, they were called, affectionately, by the other inhabitants. Siblings, Leyland had said.
It was hard to say whether it was comforting or confusing, the feeling that that word brought. Parts of Diggory, parts of their patched-together soul, were delighted by it, glad to have a family again - again? had they ever had one to begin with? Other parts - or, rather, one rather quieter part, a part sutured less tightly to the past - were less sure. Hadn’t they made their start in this world just fine without any bindings of family? Hadn’t they chosen their friends regardless of coming from different crafts?
They’d seen what family had done for Percy. The conflict and the uncertainty that still clung to him.
These lingering thoughts were beginning to give them a headache, or perhaps that was the sudden brightness of the daylight, creeping up without them noticing. The light was stronger now, increasing from a weak glow to a glare that washed out the view ahead of them, but Diggory had come prepared. Carefully, they retrieved the dark glasses tucked into the neck of their shirt, turning them around in uncertain hands.
According to Riot, they were “aviators”, and part of Diggory recognised that word, saw gleaming lenses on a grinning face as the lights of a concert stage flashed across them. They tried a crooked smile of their own as they unfolded the glasses and slid them onto their nose, liking the way the hinges snapped into place with a crisp metal snickt. Though the arms didn’t sit quite right on their asymmetrical ears, it didn’t matter, because the scratched grey lenses did their job. The world became more muted, less caustic - the details easier to pick out.
As the amber glow on the horizon diffused higher into the sky, more colour and richness came into the world - the blue undertones of the pine needles, the deep earthy browns of the forest floor. A breeze picked up, rustling through the trees and playing with their hair. Diggory dug their claws into the soft wood of the wall, and felt - present. Awake. If not at peace, then at least ready for whatever came next, the new day to be greeted. They smiled again, to the sun and the trees it rose over.
“Hello,” Diggory said to the Hallowoods.
