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The sound of rushing water danced all around Fern, a gentle breeze blowing against his fur. His tail swayed discontentedly behind him.
In all honesty, he wasn't quite sure why he'd come back here. After trying so long to be on his own, after stumbling from place to place to place searching for a new identity he'd be more capable of stealing, it seemed that he kept just finding his way back to old places he used to know, places from when he was Finn. This time, he'd staggered his way back to the place where he'd met Huntress Wizard, the place he'd only so recently started going to as his alone spot.
He hadn't meant to come back. He really was trying to find new places and make new memories, to estrange himself from himself and be born anew as Fern. Nevertheless, every step he took always seemed to lead him right back to somewhere already taken by Finn.
Like a rat in a labyrinth, not quite sure if it's looking for food or freedom.
The forest floor beneath him felt almost too soft, too gentle, too welcoming in the way it depressed just ever so slightly beneath him yet refused to break and plunge him into the river. His feet (which bore only two toes, split at the ends like damaged hairs) lay submerged mere inches into the water.
Despite everything, despite himself (or the lack thereof), Fern found that his thoughts weren't racing nearly as much as he'd come to expect them to. Rather, they dripped into his head slowly, one by one like pitch yet to be observed. They didn't seem to be any less venomous - most revolving around spitting bitters towards himself, wondering about wandering - yet Fern still inexplicably found himself to be calmer in the face of them than he'd ever been.
Something about this all felt... right.
It wasn't entirely right, of course. Nothing ever was, not anymore; Fern got the feeling that it would be a long, long while before he learnt what “right” really meant to him now.
That being said, perhaps this was the closest he'd gotten since he became him.
The Sun shone down on him through the foliage overhead, providing a warmth he tried so very hard to accept. It felt almost like an insult, the way the forest welcomed him so easily. The way he couldn't seem to simply welcome it back, couldn't seem to welcome anything back. No matter what tethers he tried to place, they all seemed to wither away before making their stake in the ground, rotting in the shadow of who Fern isn't and unwilling to help him find who he is.
A small scraping sound cut through the tar, dragging Fern's gaze up to a tiny squirrel making her way up a nearby old oak. Or perhaps it was a willow? He couldn't quite tell.
The Sun bore down on her, too, illuminating every strand of fur. Her gorgeous greys seemed to blend so perfectly with the Sun-painted skin of her tree, hiding her from the eyes of unkind creatures.
For just one moment, Fern swore he held his breath. Something about the sight was so eerily peaceful, the only disturbance being the soft murmuring of the leaves dancing in the wind. He refused to upset it, opting instead to trace the path of the squirrel with his eyes as if he, too, were looking for a hollow.
And just like that, the creature was gone. She'd disappeared into a tree, making her way to safety with the help of her shaded fur and the Sun's fire.
Fern let himself relax, not even realizing how much he'd tensed. Was he really that anxious to see her to safety? Either way, he had the river to himself once more.
Something warmed in his head, perhaps also lit by the dear Sun's ever-warm embrace, and the venom seemed to trickle away. Slowly, like a poison setting in, like a pill taking effect, his thoughts shifted from pitch to tar to a warm brackish bayou, swaying in tune with the breeze beneath his feet.
For once, Fern let himself welcome it. He flopped backwards onto the grass, stretching his arms out. He felt his hair between himself and the ground, the dirt beneath his fingers, the gentle dip of the unstable grassy ledge with the shift of his weight.
For just a few moments he entertained the thought of moving lest the ledge give out beneath him, though it wasn't long before he decided he'd rather stay like this. It wasn't like the water could harm him, anyways; he knew there weren't any particularly horrible beasts living within, none he couldn't handle at least, and it wasn’t exactly like he could drown since he’d lost the ability to breathe.
Or maybe he could, the way a plant could be overwatered? He wasn’t sure.
The bayou trickled steadily, making its way from his head to his heart as the Sun heated his chest. His face, his torso, his entire being slowly began to accept her embrace, warmth tracing all throughout him. A thought about that squirrel ran through his mind, and for what he hadn't yet realized was the first time, it wasn't begrudgingly that he let the Sun nourish him.
He felt so... grounded. After everything he'd been through, after a million or more 'maybe's that never seemed to get answered, Fern felt like he'd finally found a root.
Just one, he could tell. It really didn't promise him much.
Nevertheless, he decided to accept it.
Droplets from the river lapped gently onto his legs as he lay. Not very long after, he felt something lightly ticklish moving atop his chest. When he raised his eyes to look, his head lifting slightly from the ground, he was greeted by the sight of a single fat little bee perched happily on his torso.
And wouldn't you know it, the most gorgeous flowers and fungi traced themselves all along his being like lighting for her a landing. Indeed, the little bee seemed perfectly at home where she sat.