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Anne doesn’t know why she’d readily agreed to this.
Thick, stagnant air weighs heavily on her shoulders, a wretched pressure-cooker heat overwhelming her. It’s been like this for hours whilst traipsing through Wartwood’s outskirting forest – well, further out, her heat-addled mind thinks. If she recalls correctly, the carefully sketched map she’d seen earlier had said Mold Rot Forest which, from the rotten dead fall and decaying trees, sounds about right.
Awful. All of it. Frog, she’d already nearly lost her remaining shoe from wading through bubbling, oozing mud. Cakes of it cling to her calves, half-dried and half-moist, with itching dry flakes peeling away irritatingly at every step. And her sock? Oh, don’t even go there: it’s gross.
Yet, she’s here nonetheless; Anne doesn’t know why.
Maybe, part of her enjoys it – Amphibia, that is. Despite everything, it’s not actually that bad at all. Nowhere near as bad as she’d previously thought. The more she thinks about it, the more she’s slowly grown to love it. There’s a certain charm to the place; it’s more than just a moss-ridden wetland infested with man-eating bugs. It’s comforting how easily she can just be herself. No need to play the part, no need to live up to a role thrust onto her. Humble, cosy and comfortable. It’s a haven. It’s a home.
Still, a small part of her would rather head back than be out here. Wandering through another set of scratching brambles only reminds Anne how tired she is. Her body aches all over and despite the cover from the diseased misshapen trees, it’s hot, sweltering. Sweat slicks along skin, clothes sticking to her uncomfortably and annoyingly, they keep catching on the passing branches. Twigs pull, twisting, creating more intricate tears and frayed threads than there’d already been. Paper-thin nicks and purpling bruises litter her limbs, all gained during this single trek after navigating swinging tree arms and tripping on straying roots. And again, Anne’s exhausted; her legs hurt, her arms ache and she could just go back. Back to the farm and rest her weary legs, or back to Wartwood where she could soothe away the heat with a cooling drink. Just anywhere that isn’t here. Truly, Anne doesn’t know why she’s doing this.
Well, no. That’s a teeny, tiny lie.
“C’mere you,” an excited sing-song voice sounds ahead and immediately, all that terrible burden lifts, air beginning to clear.
Further along the trail, Marcy’s stopped, waiting patiently ahead. A cool, soothing breeze flows in with Anne sighing in relief. The wind wails and swoops between tree trunks, branches rustling as clusters of leaves pull gently apart. The woodland canopy above breaks for a moment. Dappling warm sunlight cascades downwards, bathing Marcy within a bloom of luminous, soft patchwork yellows. The colour halos her, trickling dotted lines within her hair, yellows striking along the tips of her cloak and highlighting armour. A dark blue leather book is tucked under her shoulder – Marcy had insisted on carrying it – which she readjusts every so often, moving a hand to pull her cape away from where it catches on the book’s spine. Sunshine flickers within the now amber-like browns of Marcy’s eyes, a welcoming smile pulling at her lips and Anne’s chest flutters, flurrying, and she can’t help but smile back.
“Thanks again for coming with me. Oh, and don’t worry, it shouldn’t be too much further now,” Marcy continues before pausing, looking around attentively, seeing something Anne can’t comprehend. She rubs her chin, thinking, then snaps her fingers decisively and turns to Anne, eyes still bright, “according to the notes, that is. I’m pretty sure we’re close. Ah well, this is fun though, right?”
Of course, that’s why: Marcy had wanted to. It’s for her book, the one about Amphibia. Marcy had explained it to her before. With them staying in Wartwood, now’s the perfect time to study more bugs, wildlife and plants in Frog Valley. So, when Marcy had practically bounded towards her, a bundle of excitement and joy, eagerly asking if Anne would want to come with her, well, all Anne could do was take her hands within hers, that same flutter to her chest enveloping her, and say yes. Anne couldn’t say no. It’s not like they’ve had a chance to hang out together between everything else going on and in truth, it hasn’t been just the two of them for a long time. Anne misses it. Misses her.
Maybe that’s the cause of that neverending thrumming sensation on her chest.
“Yeah, sure, I’m having fun. Why wouldn’t I be?” Anne calls back happily, ignoring that pulsing warmth spreading along her torso again. Using the back of her hand, she wipes her forehead, sticking her tongue out in disgust when it comes back damp with sweat, and it entices a laugh from Marcy. “Alright, I’m coming over now, wait for me?”
“Oh, c’mon, you know I’d wait a lifetime for you,” Marcy promises, a soft laugh still humming within her voice, her head lightly tipping to one side and a sweet smile to her face.
Honestly, an eternity together doesn’t sound bad at all.
Foliage swatting from all sides, Anne pries her way through with her sword. She doesn’t know how Marcy managed to get there so easily. Methodically, she hacks and slashes, pushing offshooting greenery out from her path, cutting a swath through the overhanging branches. Gradually, she gets closer, and when Anne looks up mid-swipe, Marcy’s smile widens. In the light, something dances across her expression. It’s unreadable, disappearing like a passing gust to a veil and as soon as Anne’s finally within reach, Marcy only offers a hand out, one which Anne gladly accepts.
“Why, thank you, darling,” Anne says but she’s breathless, unable to get her words out. It’s meant to be off-handed but she’s exhausted, tired. Her brain doesn’t think but her heart follows. Sleepily, she takes a bow, pulling Marcy’s hand to her lips as she tiredly presses a light kiss to it.
Marcy giggles and it’s the sweetest thing in the world. “Anything for you, my dearest,” she replies and when Anne looks up, dismissing her burning cheeks, Marcy comically does a curtsy in return, still with her book under her arm.
It’s so silly. It’s so them.
“I mean it though, thank you for joining me. I know this isn’t entirely your thing, you know?” Marcy says thoughtfully, fingers entangling within Anne’s. Their joined arms swing gracefully as she turns to lead the way again, this time by Anne’s side, “chasing down bugs and filling out notes? Doing a report? I just didn’t think you’d be interested, that’s all.”
Once upon a time, Marcy would’ve been right. The Anne of before wouldn’t have bothered, wouldn’t have made the effort. It was all about taking things easy. No big deal, right?
“It’s important to you, that’s what matters,” Anne vows, squeezing Marcy’s hand in response. It’s true. If it’s something that Marcy enjoys and clearly cares about, then Anne wants to make the effort. Even if she doesn’t completely understand, she wants to be there to support her. If Marcy cares, then Anne does too. Besides, that’s what friends are for. “I promise, I’m having fun. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. Anyway, you think I’d turn down being with one of my best friends?”
Marcy doesn’t look back, only humming in agreement.
Just as Marcy had promised her, it’s not long until they reach their destination.
Marcy’s always been good like that, always so smart, witty and helpful, something Anne’s forever thankful for. Truthfully, she doesn’t know where she’d be without her – of course, Anne’s found her feet since, more than she’d ever done back home, but whenever she’s with Marcy, it’s like something of a safety net. A balance. Someone who she can fall back on, knowing she’ll always be there to catch her, the same as how Anne would do the same for her.
Reliable: the word she’s after, but her heart skips a beat nonetheless and says it’s more than just that.
Continuing on, still hand in hand, the forest begins to thin. The surrounding trees they’d become accustomed to peel away one by one, gaps within the overhanging canopy progressively growing wider and wider. Sunlight pools at their feet, the colour chequering a path ahead, leading the way. The woodland lessens, growing more and more sparse as a sprawling open clearing replaces it. Eventually, they find themselves at the banks of a vast lake.
“Oh wow, Anne, just look at this place!” Marcy says, voice lilted and tinged awestruck. Something collapses within Anne’s chest when Marcy begins pulling away, their hands falling tragically apart as Anne watches her go ahead, skipping giddily towards the water’s edge. “What a find! I’d seen it on the map, sure, but I didn’t expect it to be this incredible. Amazing, isn’t it?”
You are, Anne catches herself from saying aloud.
Marcy’s right; the lake is grand. On the horizon, more of the woodland they’d left behind continues, arching around the lake from all sides. From where the treeline ends, there’s open grassland coated in a variety of flowers, a colourful display of blues, greens and pinks . The terrain levels out before dipping towards the water, where reeds and water lilies dwell and grow. The lake itself is deceptively calm, almost still save for the small rippling waves echoing outwards from its deeper waters and the afternoon sunlight sparkles atop its surface.
A beautiful backdrop for a beautiful girl.
Heart thundering, Anne only stares when Marcy twirls back to face her. A beaming toothy smile pulls at Marcy’s cheeks, thrilled wide eyes glinting within the light and the feeling is infectious. Warmth catches where Anne’s chest had crumbled, sparks imploding as a fire lights on her skin. Like kindling to an open flame, it spreads, dancing along her veins and soaking into her muscles, relieving that ache and exhaustion from earlier. Frog, what she would give to march over there and bundle Marcy into a sweeping hug, or maybe even pepper her cheeks with fluttering kisses – if only to rid the butterflies that flock in her stomach.
“It looks like a good spot to rest for a while,” Anne suggests instead, ignoring the way her heart somersaults in protest, “and then, how about you show me exactly what we’re looking for here? I’d love to be able to help.”
The smile on Marcy’s face is more than enough.
They choose a spot by the water’s edge. Pulling her backpack from around her shoulders, Anne winces at how her shirt sticks wetly to her back before setting the bag on the ground. She follows it down, crouching, her knees cracking as she does. From the bag, she first takes a small water flask, taking a quick swig of the cool liquid, relieving that scratchy, parched sensation from her throat. Then, she grabs two chocopede buns from what Hop Pop had kindly packed for her – he knows they’re her favourite – and takes a seat on the floor where Marcy’s already plopped down, cross-legged. In front of them, the book Marcy had been carrying lays spread wide open as she excitedly flicks through the pages.
“This one’s for you,” Anne says, passing a bun to Marcy who gratefully accepts, eyes never leaving the pages but there’s a muffled thank you as she takes a bite. “I think HP got them from Maddie this morning so they should be relatively fresh. Oh, minus the, you know, ‘jostling around in a hot bag for a couple of hours’ taste.”
Marcy hums in satisfaction and Anne leans over instinctively, wiping smudges of chocolate from Marcy’s cheeks as her own burns a fluorescent pink. “They’re really good! Remind me to thank them when we get back later,” Marcy says, seemingly unphased by the gesture, instead dusting crumbs off her fingers by wiping them on her skirt. She turns the page once again and as she does, she suddenly sits up, lightly slapping a hand on the page for emphasis, “oh, oh, oh! Here we go. So, around here, there’s been reports of the usual grubhogs. I don’t know if you’ve seen them but they’re like these cute little guys, oh and they’ve got some water striders and… oh, okay. We should be careful of snakes – did you know I already had to deal with a cobra back in Newtopia?”
Anne doesn’t mean to tune out at Marcy’s rambling, and really, she is listening. Right now, Marcy’s happily explaining about the cobra fight: how she’d worked with the other Night Guards, how it was her own team leading the distraction, how she’d worked on harnessing a trebuchet to bring that sucker down. Then, she changes her attention to the bugs in her book, and it’s cute how she taps one hand to her knees excitedly, the other pointing out the scrawled notes paired with detailed sketches. Incredible really; and it is interesting. It’s just that Anne can’t focus, not when she’s lost in a perfect world within Marcy’s twinkling eyes.
It makes the whole trip worth it.
For as long as Anne’s known her, Marcy’s always been dedicated to her interests, holding an eagerness to share – and it’s never been in that condescending way of showing off her knowledge or how obviously smart she is. This is genuine, her excitement to share something she loves with the people she cares about. And Anne might’ve never noticed it before, but that’s what she loves about Marcy: the way that no fear holds Marcy back. No matter what, she’ll still try to experience the things she enjoys with the people she loves.
Anne loves it; loves her.
“So,” Marcy’s voice calls her flurrying heart back to reality, eyes locking with Anne’s once more, “where do you want to start?”
Finishing the remainder of her food, Anne rattles her brain, recalling their options. “Well, I think if we skirt around the banks, that might be a good start?”
Marcy nods approvingly. “Oh, I hear what you’re saying,” she says, smiling into her food as she takes another bite, “that’s perfect, what would I do without you?”
Oh Marcy, what would I do without you?
“Hey, dude, I’m just going off what you’re saying,” Anne laughs, playfully knocking Marcy’s shoulder who chuckles, giving the biggest grin back, “it also means we’ll avoid all that mud again which, if it’s alright, I’d like to clean off before we start,” – and Anne rests her head to Marcy’s shoulder, puffing out her bottom lip – “it’s making my legs itchy and unbearable and it’s all gross and yucky and–”
“Alright, alright!” Marcy giggles, putting her hands up, feigning defeat, “why don’t you go do that and I’ll put all this away, deal?”
“Deal,” Anne agrees, taking one of Marcy’s hands to shake on it, giving a tiny squeeze, “thanks Mar-Mar.”
Marcy squeezes back and Anne’s heart thunders all over again. “Anytime, Anna-Banana.”
Anne heads towards the lake and like molten magma spilling into gelid waters, she steps in. Cool water pools into her shoe and socks, liquid spilling across fabric, lashing over skin and muscle before sending a jittering chill up and along her legs. The sensation spreads further, before ricocheting all over and then, blissfully, a numbness overtakes, settling, and it’s actually pretty soothing the longer Anne stays there. A much welcome feeling after all that tiresome walking in the heat and humidity. Treading carefully further, water splashes heavily upon every step. She doesn’t go any deeper. There’s no need to get completely soaked. The mud’s mainly splattered along the back of her legs and encased around her ankles anyway, and the further out she steps, the quicker the underlying bedrock seems to drop before completely disappearing into a deep, blackened abyss.
Strange. Anne didn’t think a lake this size could be that deep.
Something to ask Marcy later. For now, Anne focuses on cleaning up, cupping freshwater into her hands before splashing it where dried mud still clings on. It takes several attempts and she even has to scratch at it with her fingernails, but eventually, the muck and grime start rubbing away. The turquoise waves dim, plumes of muddy browns and stale greys seeping away, the colours undulating as they spill and mix. Around her, the water fades into a murky brown, dirt billowing further like gasoline layering atop the surface. As the water turns dark and turbid, Anne realises she can barely see the lakebed anymore. Her legs dipped deep beneath a mass of shadow, like something had swallowed the sun, and she’s sure that there wasn’t that much mud to cause all of–
“Anne, look out!”
Something brushes along her legs and before Anne can react, she’s pulled under.
Drowning: it’s the worst way to go.
Submerged under the blue, water floods in. Ruthlessly, it sloshes, crashing, colliding as it rapidly fills every crevice: mouth, nose, ears. As it does, precious air fizzles away, dissipating, locked within fleeting bubbles drifting far from reach. Nothing stands in their path, nothing preventing them from floating back to the surface, back to where you also belong. Then, a deathly cold sets in. It starts in the extremities – fingers freezing, toes numbing – and that’s when you know: the inevitable. Atop a glacial wave, it swiftly advances. Along that cold, desolate front, a tingling pin-pricking sensation leads the charge. Mercilessly, it claws its way through, frost-ridden talons tearing thick along heavy, ice-leaden limbs. The feeling remains like a prodding weight to an ulcerous bruise, ache soaking into pores and delving deep into flesh and muscle.
Death awaits and as that salt-soaked realised fear surges upwards, Anne only continues to plummet.
Everything’s blurred. She can’t see, can’t breathe. It’d all happened so fast that Anne can’t make any sense of it. All she knows is one moment, everything was perfectly fine and then the next, everything – no, the entire world – had tipped sideways. There was a fall, she’d tripped backwards, then, something cold and slimy had latched on, tugging at her ankles. Water had blanketed over her, starting first at her torso, then her neck until finally, her head, before she’d been dragged into the lake’s depths.
Now, she’s drowning.
There’s a gurgling, muffled noise reminiscent of a dying yell and Anne doesn’t recognise it as her own. Nothing but a sinking boat left adrift, she frantically tries swimming upwards, back towards light, to air, but the thing from earlier keeps her anchored in place. Panic consumes her and as she’s left dangling like fish bait, Anne’s pulled further out, away from land, from safety, with her arms flailing panickedly at her, water-clogged mind churning, trying to find a way out.
There is no escape.
Frigid water whips all around, lashing from every angle. An oceanic chill burrows into her body, a cold weight pressing against her torso. That tension grows, chest tightening, buckling under the pressure as her lungs shudder weakly, desperately needing oxygen.
There’s none to be had. She can’t breathe. Can’t leave. She’s trapped. Lost. Confused. Lakewater stings her eyes. She’s blinded. The more she tries to ignore it, the more it hurts. Beads of sand. Shards of glass. It burns and burns and burns.
Anne’s going to die down here.
Her eyes flutter, an attempt to blink away the pain as Anne peers through obscure waters. It’s dark – no surprise – but she spots bubbles trickling away, both from herself and the force dragging her along to a watery grave. Despite the fear, the pain, Anne searches. Her eyes scan everywhere, urgently looking for anything that might help.
First: her ankle. It’s lodged. Wedged between something sharp and jagged. Graciously, there’s no pain and thankfully from what she can make out, she’s uninjured. There’s no obvious trailing blood, no jutting broken bones. Good. If she had… well, Anne doesn’t want to think about that – not right now, not until she’s safe. From where she’s clasped on though, it appears that her shoe’s trapped at an awkward angle, and if she can get in a better position, or if this thing stops for just a moment, she’d be able to wriggle her way to freedom.
However, what little solace Anne feels is short-lived as the next thing only further amplifies that unsettling terror.
A colossal serpentine mass: the thing she’s attached to. It’s shrouded in shadows, enough that Anne can barely make out any specific details other than it’s big, scary and clearly angry. There’s one other thing though, and Anne wishes she never looked: a disturbing, huge orange eye, on that stares back unblinkingly. Within it, a reflection of Anne’s own bedraggled look shines back: pin-pricked eyes, paling face, bobbing throat as her lungs almost give out in shock. The worst bit: in the middle of the eye, the menacing black-slitted pupil doesn’t waver. No, it glares, ferocious and livid, piercing through Anne’s nerves like a knife through butter, sending an awful shiver down her spine.
If she’s not dead yet, it won’t be long before she is.
Before Anne can react, the mass writhes wildly. With immense force, there’s a bone-shaking tug and suddenly, she’s descending again, pulled deeper and deeper into oblivion. At the jarring movement, she’s slammed viciously against the creature’s side. Pain sparks out and naturally, Anne winces, mouth involuntarily opening as she gasps, allowing treasured bubbles of air to sputter away. Hurriedly, she rushes a hand to cover her mouth, using her fingers to pinch her nose tight. Chest shuddering violently, begging for breath, a release, everything starts to spin. A wave of nausea hits and her head swims. A dark haze slowly creeps into her vision, spots starting to twinkle in and out from nothingness. Blurred shapes pass by, shooting stars of blue, greens and pinks splattering everything she looks.
Drowning: it really is the worst way to go.
Suddenly, above – at least, she thinks it’s above – more dazzling blue flourishes. It grows, expanding in size, spreading further and further, and Anne knows it’s more than just oxygen deprivation. This is different. Wild. Free. Like fireworks in the night sky. Or, better yet, a guiding lighthouse in a storm. Dappling explosive blues scatter overhead, the colour dispersing out and lining along Anne’s floundering body, shining a path back to the surface. Around her, a highlighted sea of rough scales and leathered skin, snake-like coils contorting all around her, but before Anne can look further, she’s thrown to the side again. Startled, the creature that keeps her hostage jolts, bubbles and gas flurrying upwards, engulfing Anne within their wake. Then, another sharp turn, and she thuds harshly, fighting desperately to avoid losing more air.
But then, she feels it. The tightness around her ankle starts waning.
Exhausted, tired but above all, desperate, Anne curls in on herself. Wrapping her hands around her trapped leg as best she can, with the other, she pushes her foot onto the creature’s side, trying to gain a foothold. She starts tugging, pulling with all the strength she can muster, watching as her ankle painstakingly moves side to side, with no sign of freeing. Her chest caves under the stress, and she knows she can’t last much longer but this can’t be it. She’s dealt with so much – much more than this and she can’t give up now. This isn't how she goes out. This isn’t the end of her story.
“You know I’d wait a lifetime for you.”
Anne doesn’t need a lifetime. Every minute, every second, is more than enough. Whether that’s days, months, years, it doesn’t matter. No matter the time or distance, Anne knows in her heart that they share an unbreakable bond – and she won’t lose that to some dumb snake-infested lake.
Another flash of blue lights above, but this time, something else, something filled with love, care and heart blossoms blue deep within. The colour flutters steadily, as natural as Anne’s own heartbeat as it fills her chest, a renewed burst of energy spreading all around her. Anne pulls and pushes, squirming her body, thrashing her limbs and then, she feels it. Her ankle wobbles, shifting as something begins to move, something beginning to loosen and she pulls and pulls and pulls until with an audioless pop, something gives.
Weightless, Anne tumbles backwards and she’s free.
With that blue sensation already fleeting, beginning to fade, there’s no time to waste. Using every ounce of her remaining strength, Anne heads to the surface. A monstrous, guttural sound rings out behind her and Anne doesn’t dare look back. Instead, she focuses on her goal, eyes stinging but locked onto the flares of blue guiding her. Her chest aches, lungs lurching, shuddering, and her arms and legs tremble, fatigued. But Anne continues, swimming and pushing herself onwards and upwards, never stopping, never giving up.
She needs to survive. She needs to live.
Anne breaks the surface and the world comes alive. Spluttering and gasping, she coughs out water, choking on straying drops as she finally breathes. Her lungs fill, expanding with precious air. She’ll never take something so normal, something so routine, for granted ever again. Disorientated, everything’s loud, the muffled sounds of the deep pulled forcibly away as water unclogs her ears. Waves crash against her, violently rhythmic and her heart races when above everything, all she hears is a frantic chorus of her own name.
“Anne! Anne! Are you okay?” She hears Marcy’s panic-stricken voice call out. Wiping at her eyes with one hand, the other wandering, searching blindly, Anne kicks water, trying to keep herself from sinking again. She tries to shout back in response but she only coughs, breathing still recovering, left panicked and rushed. Her vision gradually returns as she blinks the water from her eyes, and there’s a blur of blue and green by the shoreline, Marcy’s form finally coming into focus. She’s further out now, dipped into the water where Anne had been earlier, holding something high above her as she waves Anne over, “Anne, over here! Follow my voice!”
There’s no time to respond.
An abrupt crashing of waves alarms her as something gigantic tears through the lake’s surface. Water droplets spray upwards before raining down on her, and Anne barely notices the plumes of blue smoke floating atop the surface surrounding them. It’s the thing, the creature, whatever took her down the first time and Anne refuses to go down again. Not bothering to look back and quickly following Marcy’s order, she swims in her direction. Behind, a belting bestial roar rings out, confirming Anne’s fears. The sound grates deep into her eardrums, carving a fear-induced trench in her chest. She just needs to reach land, then everything will be fine.
“Just keep going!” Marcy yells again, and it’s the fastest Anne’s seen her move. She’s sprinting towards them, staying in the shallow waters as she pulls her raised arm back. Then, she flings it forward, letting loose a bright blue object from her hand. It flies high above, careening past Anne. She almost turns to see where it goes but Marcy stops her, crying out, “don’t look back! I’ve got you covered, I’ll keep you safe!”
Anne knows she will.
A loud, thunderous bang resounds behind her as there’s another explosion of blue. It lights along Anne’s retreating form, stringing along the water’s surface. The creature behind her lets out a bellowing screech. In pain or panic, Anne doesn’t know. All she does know is that it must go down hard from the impact because there’s suddenly a tremendous splash behind her, rough waters colliding into her again.
Boomshrooms. Oh, Marcy, you absolute genius.
Still, exhaustion weighs heavy on Anne. The blue sensation that’d overwhelming her is waning, strength starting to fade. Her arms ache, almost dead weight now as they weakly splash at the water, barely enough to pull her along. Her legs are just as bad, the weary kicks already beginning to slow, becoming that bit more feeble and powerless. She’ll never make it. She’s too far. Too tired.
But Marcy continues to coax her forwards, doing everything in her power to help. Anne can’t give up, not now. Not on her. Not on herself.
So, Anne pushes. Reaching deep within, there’s that inner strength that remains, filled with courageous blue. And like before, she nurtures it, allowing it to grow, to flurry. It hums, buzzing in her ears as strength pools into her thrashing, tired limbs. It’s just enough to get her to shore. She swims, growing closer and closer, Marcy’s voice getting nearer as she cheers her own. Until eventually, her hand reaches out once more, pushing water beneath her palm but then meeting with coarse sand and rocks.
Immediately, Marcy rushes forward, water splashing at every step. Anne means to stand but everything aches, exhaustion pooling over her. On her hands and knees, she lethargically drags herself along the lakebed, a hand reaching out for Marcy. Their hands meet, fingers instinctively tangling together as Marcy helps her to stand. In her other hand, she brandishes Anne’s sword. She’d completely forgotten about it – it must have been left behind with her belongings earlier. Trying to stand, Anne offers a hand to reclaim it but then suddenly, there’s a loud splash behind her. Unexpectedly, she’s pulled forward by Marcy, rapidly tucking her behind protectively. Then, with an almost feral yell that Anne’s never heard before, Marcy brings the sword down.
The sound of metal meeting fangs echo out and Anne stares in shock. The creature that’d almost drowned her finally makes a full appearance. Dragon-like scales cover its limbless body, ridges running along its back and head. On its swaying head, four hornlike appendages stick out – two atop its head and the other two resting just below them. It looks like nothing Anne’s ever seen before.
“It’s a wyrm,” Marcy explains like that means something, but her voice is strained, filled with a fury Anne’s never known. She holds fast, pushing back on the blade with a fierce yell. The creature – the wyrm – wrestles its fangs free, pulling back once again, now towering high above them. Water drips from its every feature, blazing orange eyes watching them carefully, filled with wrath. “It looks like the mythical ones people talk about back home but it’s okay. It’s pretty much just a normal worm in Amphibia.”
There’s nothing normal about it but Anne takes Marcy’s word for it.
Anne has enough to worry about. Depleted of all her energy, she can barely stand. Her legs stagger beneath her and she’s unsteadily swaying. Hopelessly, she clings onto Marcy’s arm that holds her in place. She doesn’t know what to do. Weaponless and dead weight, Anne can’t falter now, not on Marcy. They can’t afford it, not now.
Ahead, the wyrm’s jaw widens threateningly, rows of teeth bared as saliva drips from its fangs. It hisses, spitting towards them but Marcy doesn’t flinch. She stands tall ahead of her, eyes locked onto the wyrm, the sword held defensively ahead.
“Try not to move,” Marcy warns, and she intertwines her fingers within Anne’s hand, squeezing back reassuringly, “if we turn and try to run, it’ll only just lunge at us. It’s territorial, I should’ve realised that it could be here,” – at this, her voice breaks, worry and frustration seeping in as the wyrm coils around them, trapping in place, “this is fine. We’re fine. We gotta scare it off somehow. Show it that we’re stronger, yeah?”
But the wyrm doesn’t like waiting.
Before they can try and come up with a plan, it’s elongated body reels backwards. Eyes latched on, watching their every move, they pin-prick as its maw opens, unhinging, ready to take another bite.
Anne thinks fast.
Unclipping a boomshroom from Marcy’s belt, Anne quickly grabs it and taps its cap. As soon as she does, the wyrm viciously lunges. Everything slows as everything happens all at once. The wyrm’s gaping mouth unlatches, penetrating fangs and teeth aimed directly at them as it swings forwards. At the same time, Marcy whirls around to face her, a frenzied yet calculated expression on her face. Letting go of Anne’s hand, Marcy takes a fistful of Anne’s shirt before pushing her backwards, out of harm’s way. She then also jumps off in the other direction, the sword sploshing into the water as they clear the wyrm’s path. Meanwhile, Anne still clings onto the boomshroom. Falling backwards, tripping over rocks, Anne manages to launch it just before dropping, a pang of pain shooting from her shoulder as she does. It hurtles, spiralling in the air before colliding into the wyrm’s snout into a sudden explosion of blue. A torrent of water sprays out and the wyrm crashes into shallow waters.
It’s not enough though.
Orange eyes snap back, the wyrm recovering faster than she’d expected. It rises upwards again, and Anne, on her back, tries to back up, struggling to get back to her feet. It slithers closer, licking its lips, baring its ferocious teeth again as spittle dribbles along its jaw. Blood trails down from its wounded face, mixing together with the saliva as it drips away. Rock and debris fall away from its form at every movement, and its shadow soon incases Anne as goosebumps line along her arms.
There is no escape.
“Leave her alone!”
With little warning, a pop of blue bursts from the back of its head. Recoiling in pain, the wyrm sways unsteadily, dazed and confused before it furiously whips its head to look behind with a snarled warning. As its focus shifts, the coiling body moves along with it. Ahead of them both, Marcy stands, her crossbow arm stretched out, pointing towards it and a bundle of boomshrooms in her other. Anne swears she sees a hum of green within Marcy’s fearless eyes.
Anne’s never seen Marcy like this. It’s terrifying. It’s captivating.
The wyrm bellows angrily, springing towards Marcy but when it does, she sends another boomshroom flying in its direction. At every move it makes, Marcy only rises to meet the challenge, firing another boomshroom and then another, and another. A barrage of blue overwhelms the creature as it wails and shrieks. And at every step Marcy takes forward, the wyrm’s slowly forced backwards until ultimately, it decides to retreat, licking its wounds as it sleeks back into the deep.
A stillness falls over them. She did it; her Marcy did it.
“Marcy, you’re amazing,” Anne says, mesmerised, her voice tired yet filled with relief and awe. She remains sat in the waters, beyond exhausted. But she doesn’t care, she’s completely drenched anyway and Marcy’s safe.
Marcy, on the other hand, stands silently vigilant. Looking out to the waters, she must be searching for signs of the creature’s return. The waters look still, empty, just as they had before. A second passes, and then another, and Anne starts to get a little unnerved but whe Marcy’s finally satisfied that they’re in the clear, she whips back and all those fears seep away.
“Anne,” Marcy says, completely breathless and that’s all she says because the next thing Anne knows, Marcy’s running at her.
Welcoming her with open arms, Anne doesn’t bother getting up. On instinct, she catches Marcy who dives towards her, crashing into her body with a soft thud. Following the momentum, they fall backwards with the water splashing up, soaking Anne again. She doesn’t care – she’s okay, Marcy’s okay and she beat that damned wyrm!
Laughing in relief and joy, Anne tries to sit back up again, with Marcy wrapped around her in a desperate, much needed hug. They could stay like that for hours, Anne wouldn’t complain. Unfortunately though, it doesn’t last long enough, with Marcy pulling back to rest on her knees by Anne’s side, using one arm to lean on. With the other, it lingers, cupping at Anne’s cheek and Anne can’t help but smile into the touch. Marcy leans forwards and Anne’s heart flurries, fluttering in her chest and–.
Then, they’re kissing. The shock of it doesn’t even register. If anything, it melts. Anne melts. It’s uncharted waters, and Anne feels like she’s drowning all over again but this is something different, something serene. Breathless. Falling as something collapses in her chest. Her heartbeat thunders in her eardrums, pulse racing. Her skin alights, cheeks and ears burning under an unseeable heat and Anne slides her hand around Marcy’s shoulders, resting on her back as she leans further into the kiss. Her brain short circuits, unable to make sense of it – Marcy kissing her. Her kissing Marcy.
When they break apart, Anne can’t help but stare back, smitten and dumbstruck.
“Are you okay?” Marcy asks, like she’s not just set a wildfire in Anne’s heart. Lightly, she bumps her forehead against hers though, resting, careful eyes searching Anne’s.
“Never been better,” Anne reassures, cheeks still flushed, mind still playing catch-up.
Brows furrowed, worry etches along Marcy’s every feature and Anne can’t figure out why. Awfully, Marcy pulls back completely now, standing up before helping Anne to her feet. This time, Anne manages to stand, all that ache, pain and exhaustion miraculously gone. Numbed perhaps. Adrenaline, probably.
Or, the kiss was just that magical.
“Anne, you’re wounded,” Marcy’s voice cuts through the haze.
Distressed, she’s standing in front of her now. Anne doesn’t remember when their hands had wrapped together, but with her other, Marcy directs towards her shoulder. Making a hum of confusion, Anne looks to where she’s indicating and sure enough, there’s blood. Not a lot, but there’s a tear in her shirt where red spills through, more trickling down her arm.
“Oh, I didn’t notice,” Anne trails off. Now that she sees it, it does hurt. It must have been when she fell earlier but the wound only sends Marcy into a spiral of worry.
“Let’s head back, we’ll need to get this properly looked at, I think,” Marcy stresses, and she pulls Anne back to shore where her packed bag remains.
Leaning down, Marcy digs through the bag, fishing out the water from earlier and some bandages. Truthfully, Anne doesn’t even remember packing them.
“It doesn’t look deep but it looks painful,” Marcy continues, unscrewing the flask’s cap. Her eyes lock with Anne’s, waiting for permission to clean it which Anne happily gives. She flinches when the water hits the open wound, but it doesn’t take long for Marcy to finish cleaning it with what she has, and wrapping it up in a bandage. “Here, you can take this too, you’re bound to be cold after all that water.”
Oh, Anne is cold. She can feel it when the breeze blows in, her still damp skin pricking at the coolness. Silently, Anne watches as Marcy fumbles, trying to unclip the shell on her cape before successfully unlatching it. Then, she swings it around Anne’s shoulders. It’s warm, comfy, smells of Marcy and Marcy starts clasping it back into place. But her fingers are shaking, hands trembling and Anne doesn’t understand what’s wrong, everything should be fine.
Anne wants nothing more than to kiss her all over again, but she doesn’t think it’ll help.
“Marcy,” Anne says, voice steady and calm as her hands hold onto Marcy’s again, “I’m more than okay, I promise.”
A blush flitters onto Marcy’s cheeks, eyes swimming with worry and care.
“Okay.”
The trip back is awful.
Physically, it’s about the same as before. This time, however, it’s made a bit easier with Marcy sticking close by, a hand holding onto hers as she leads the way, navigating the easiest route through.
It’s the silence that’s killing her.
Anne doesn’t get it. Ever since they’d left, Marcy’s been distant, untalkative, silent, everything that Marcy just usually isn’t. It’s not even that Anne’s frustrated with it, with her, she just doesn’t understand. Everything had been fine. They’d made it out alive, relatively unscathed and Anne’s shoulder still feels the same as it did before they’d left.
So, why does Marcy look so upset?
Anne hates that. Marcy being upset. Especially when she doesn’t know why.
Ahead, Marcy trudges along and she looks so lost and alone. Her heart aches tremendously at the sight, the way Marcy shrinks in on herself, wrapping her free hand around herself for comfort, shoulders hunched, unable to hide beneath the cover of her cloak. But Anne’s right here, she doesn’t need to be alone. She wants to help, she just doesn’t know what’s wrong, what to do.
Talking always helps her.
“Hey Marcy,” Anne calls out tentatively, and Marcy almost flinches at the sudden voice, only worrying Anne further, “can we stop for a moment?”
Marcy quickly turns around at that. “Is everything okay?”
Anne comes to a stop and Marcy does the same, turning to face her. As she does, Anne notices how awkward she looks: her jaw clenched tight, brows knotted in anxiety, eyes wide. Their still joined hands look more like a lifeline than two friends holding hands.
“I’m fine,” Anne assures, and she squeezes Marcy’s hand as confirmation, “but are you? You’ve been quiet this whole time.”
Marcy stares blankly and truthfully, Anne thinks her efforts are in vain. But then she breaks.
Tears cascade down her cheeks, her free hand rushing to wipe them away. Anne’s faster though, and she draws her closer, thumbing away the straying tears. “Oh, Marcy, you gotta talk to me.”
Marcy sobs, dropping her head to Anne’s shoulder and Anne holds her close, rubbing circles on her back.
“I’m sorry,” she muffles into Anne’s shoulder, and Anne doesn’t understand, “I’m sorry for everything.
“Sorry for what?” Anne immediately asks. But Marcy hasn’t done anything wrong. She can’t have known about – but then everything clicks together, all the pieces falling into place. “Oh, come on, Marcy. That clearly wasn’t your fault. I knew the risks when we agreed to come here, I should’ve been more careful and you can’t hold yourself to blame.
Marcy pulls away, shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. Well, I mean a bit of it is but…” then she trails off, throat bobbing uncomfortably, fear and worry coating her face before she continues, “I’m sorry I kissed you.”
Anne didn’t know her heart could break in five words.
“When I saw you go under, I was terrified,” Marcy starts to explain, and Anne drowns out the sounds of her own breaking heart, focusing solely on Marcy, “I thought you were dead. I thought I caused this. But when you were back! You were alive and safe and I was so, so happy and I wasn’t thinking and then I,” – she cuts herself off, half-laughing, half-sobbing – “I kissed you. I shouldn’t have, I should have asked, should’ve considered your feelings and I’ve made things weird and awkward and, frog, I’m sorry. I was so worried about losing you and now I have.”
And, just like that, Anne finally understands. All the worry. The fear. Because Anne’s been scared too, scared to admit that when she’s with Marcy, she feels like home and she is home and she needs her but what if that’s not what Marcy wants?
Anne steps forward and Marcy quietens, afraid and unsure. Tenderly, Anne takes their hands together, pulling them in front of them, just as she remembers Marcy had done all those months ago. Something twinkles within Marcy’s eyes, a faint pink spilling onto her cheeks as she stares at Anne in nervous wonder.
“You won’t lose me, I promise,” Anne vows. She takes her hand and cups it around Marcy’s cheek. It’s soft and warm, slightly pink under her touch but Marcy looks at her, her eyes never leaving Anne’s. Anne looks to her lips, then back to her eyes, steeling her nerves as she continues, “may I?”
“Always.”
Leaning forward, Anne kisses her and Marcy kisses her back.
Nothing, not all the romance serials or dramas in the world, could’ve prepared her for this. Anne kisses her and their lips brush together, Marcy relaxably humming in satisfaction. Marcy kisses her and whereas their first had been fueled by desperation, this is fueled by tenderness. Anne’s hands lace around Marcy’s waist, pulling her closer as Marcy’s hands clasp onto Anne’s biceps, careful to avoid touching her injury. Anne kisses her and her heart swells, adoration flooding her senses, thoughts filling with nothing but Marcy, Marcy, Marcy.
They pull apart and this time, Marcy looks back, stunned, dazed.
“I love you, okay?” Anne says, the words coming out so easily. She doesn’t know why she was ever worried in the first place.
Marcy laughs, intertwining their hands together, fingers filling a space as they always have, always will.
“I love you too.”