Chapter Text
There’s a spot hidden on Timber Hearth, near the Geyser Mountains, that showcases a beautiful snapshot of the solar system. It is nestled neatly inside a copse of trees and has several rocky overhangs that make for ideal fishing spots or stargazing. Or diving, if one is more inclined to try their hand at swimming. The water is always the perfect temperature—never too cold (and never can water be too hot) and fish are plentiful and healthy.
A steep, rocky incline leads up to the cluster of trees, ensuring that whoever wants a piece of privacy and quiet has to work for it.
That had always been fine with Feldspar, who discovered the secret hidey-hole as a hatchling one day when they’d strayed too far in hide-and-seek. They’d spent longer than strictly necessary for the game exploring what they rapidly decided was their new favorite hiding spot. Needless to say, they’d been victorious that day. Feldspar never spoke up about their secret location, much to Slate’s and Gossan’s exasperation.
It was already Feldspar’s favorite place, but upon revisiting the grove at nightfall, they promptly fell in love.
They’d sneak out of the cabin they shared with Gneiss some nights, just to spend some time with themselves and the broad expanse of the night sky. Rambunctious by day, Feldspar found they enjoyed the peace and quiet of temporary solitude, and the uninterrupted enjoyment of envisioning themselves among the astral bodies of the solar system.
So it persisted for years. Feldspar miraculously managed to keep their stargazing spot a secret from everyone else. They suspected Gneiss knew they had snuck out of the cabin by the end, but they never brought it up. It felt like an unspoken agreement. As long as Feldspar returned safely in the same health they’d left in, Gneiss would allow their hatchling to scurry about after dark.
It would be years before someone else stumbled across the tranquil retreat.
--
Feldspar’s fever had broken at last, several days into their return to Timber Hearth, and Gneiss finally wasn’t hovering over them worriedly every second.
Feldspar hadn’t felt up to escaping for those first long days back anyway. A broken leg, they’d told Gossan and Slate, who dutifully passed that message onto the rest of the villagers, should any ask what had befallen their hero this time. Broken limbs didn’t deter a hearty Hearthian for very long, so long as the injury was properly taken care of.
With arms folded behind their head, Feldspar slips into a light doze. A gentle breeze soothes across their heated skin, and their favorite stars glitter down on them from above like jewels. It’s peaceful, familiar, and Feldspar loses track of their surroundings as they sink into a comfortable, meditative state.
“Woah, it’s Feldspar.”
Gabbro hadn’t intended to speak at all but was far too surprised to see the Hearthian in question out and about when they were supposedly laid up with a broken leg. Gabbro’s voice isn’t even loud, but Feldspar is a light sleeper when not in their cabin or amongst friends. They wake immediately with a gasping cough and jolt upright with a speed that just isn’t possible for someone with a theoretically broken, battered body.
The serenity of the fishing hole shatters, punctuated by wet, hacking coughs that send spikes of urgency through Gabbro. Practically dropping their fishing rod and tackle, they skid on the ground to Feldspar’s side in moments, just as the coughs begin to subside.
Feldspar doesn’t react to Gabbro’s immediate presence; they’re too busy straining to pull in oxygen. The blanket around their shoulders falls to the ground as Feldspar’s body coils in on itself. Their fingers grip their thin shirt, directly over their rabbiting heart.
“Easy, easy,” Gabbro mutters, more to themself than to Feldspar. Gabbro braces behind Feldspar with one knee and rubs soothing circles on their former flight instructor’s back. Thorny vines constrict Gabbro’s chest, and briefly panicked thoughts whirl in their mind for a few hot seconds before subsiding into a forced, steady calm.
Each hard-fought inhalation sounds like it might be Feldspar’s last, and there are far, far too many of them. Time stretches out for an uncomfortably long period, but in reality can’t have lasted longer than a handful of seconds. Then—at last!—Feldspar manages a solidly strong inhale.
The thorny pressure in Gabbro’s chest gradually unwinds. From the holes left behind seep flashes of memory. Crisp, but brief, the recollections arrive without much context, though the current situation fills in a puzzle that Gabbro hadn’t even known existed.
Feldspar being front and center for many of the firefighting efforts in the village. Gabbro never remembering seeing Feldspar for several days after each fire but recalling the gravel in their voice when they finally joined in around the campfire.
Feldspar returning from some of their flights and needing to take multiple days to recover from “injuries”. Gabbro never remembering Feldspar limping or favoring any limb in particular after their reemergence, but sometimes their movements were less animated, and their complexion was paler than usual.
And the memories of Feldspar truly hobbling about? They were always still animated and lively, vocally bemoaning their sorry condition until they were cleared for takeoff once more.
The atmosphere gradually returns to something peaceful, ushered in when Feldspar draws in a second deep lungful of air. Gabbro breathes with them and their heart rate at last slows from its gradually rabbiting pace. A jagged cough interrupts Feldspar’s second exhalation.
Though explosively brief, the tenuous tranquility shatters once more. Just a single cough, but Feldspar’s back heaves under Gabbro’s hand. Even afterwards, their shoulders hitch, rising and falling spasmodically. Gabbro pretends not to hear the small, strained sound that ekes from Feldspar’s throat when several more coughs spill through.
Despite the mild temperature that’s just perfect for fishing or even swimming, cold permeates Feldspar’s body. The sudden onset of coughing is frustrating—infuriating, even—but should be manageable. Feldspar hasn’t had a coughing bout from something as mundane as inhaling in years.
A minor upset.
Nothing they should be too worried about.
Whether they’re still mentally and physically exhausted from their recent convalescence or something else, it was the second cough that tips Feldspar over the edge. The sudden loss of oxygen, the resurgence of that burning, jagged pain in their throat—even for a fleeting moment. The single, innocuous cough is somehow more terrifying than the prolonged bout that spread fire throughout their throat and chest.
What if this time they just won’t go away?
What if my throat tears?
What if my ribs crack?
The thoughts lodge—irrational, illogical, foolish—at the back of their mind, spreading roots deep into Feldspar’s core. They aren’t used to such intense, unconquerable uncertainty. They don’t know how to handle it because they’ve always been so sure about everything, ever since they’d first set their eyes on the stars.
Feldspar gasps haltingly. Fear spreads icily from their weakened lungs—now a useless chunk of ice—to every corner of them. Wide, unseeing eyes stare out over the pond as they fight doggedly for air, deaf to everything save the blood pounding in their ears and panicked, whispered catastrophes in their mind.
A quick, worried glance at their former coach’s face tells Gabbro everything.
They can handle this much.
Gabbro forcibly turns Feldspar to face them, grabs one of their rigidly clawed hands, and maneuvers it onto their own chest. Over their heart. Feldspar jolts, having completely forgotten Gabbro’s existence, and another small but ragged cough slips through their lips. Feldspar’s fingers twitch, then gradually relax against the rhythmic th-thmp th-thmp of Gabbro’s heartbeat.
Their bottom eyes scrunch shut with unshed tears glistening in their corners. The other two lock onto Gabbro’s face with naked desperation and fear.
In one epiphanous, belated moment, Gabbro knows that this is new to Feldspar. Obviously the coughing is something Feldspar has begrudging experience with, whereas this combination of breathing (or lack thereof) and ensuing panic is something entirely novel.
“Breathe with me, buddy,” Gabbro says, slipping with familiarity into the soft tone and gentle words they use to help Riebeck calm from a nightmare.
Gabbro inhales deeply and steadily. They hold Feldspar’s hand against their chest so they can feel the rhythmic breathing and regular heartbeat. To Feldspar’s credit, they try but only manage a quarter of a breath before another cough pushes from their chest. Still holding Feldspar’s gaze, Gabbro slowly closes their eyes.
Feldspar is bright; they’d get the idea.
Feldspar did.
Their top pair of eyes instinctively follows Gabbro’s lead. They close and Feldspar’s world narrows to a new single point, anchored by the warmth in their palm against Gabbro’s chest.
The unfamiliar icy chains constricting their chest and lungs and tethering them into a frozen fearfulness loosens. Warmth from Gabbro’s hand and body heat brings a modicum of relaxation and peace.
Inhale.
Despite the frustration of the first fumbled inhale, Feldspar doggedly manages the second. It’s painful as it drags over the glass in their throat. But one success paves the way for more.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Feldspar has always been—and still is—a swift learner. Despite a couple more hitches in their breaths, they sharpen their focus on the comforting, repetitive rhythm of Gabbro’s heartbeat. Feldspar experiences the sensations as music, with the legato inhalations and exhalations providing a pleasant addition to the comparatively upbeat rhythm of Gabbro’s heartbeat.
Before they realize it, Feldspar immerses themself in the soft susurration of water lapping at the rocky sides in the pond below, in the nearby rushing of the Geyser Mountains, and the quiet droning of insects of Timber Hearth.
“Better?”
Warm reassurance emanates from Gabbro’s tone more than the gentle word. Feldspar nods, eyes still closed and continues to follow the cadence of Gabbro’s breathing for several more blissful seconds. Eventually, Feldspar’s fingers twitch and Gabbro releases their friend’s hand, allowing them to pull away and return fully to themself.
A plethora of emotions flood Feldspar as the serenity of the moment passes. Shame is first and foremost, something they haven’t felt since they were a sickly hatchling trying to prove themself. Their shoulders hunch imperceptively and Feldspar quickly glances at Gabbro and begins to turn back towards the pond. A hand on their shoulder gives them pause, and they look back at their former student.
Gabbro’s expression is neutral but their gaze exudes a comfortably weighty understanding.
“Sorry,” Feldspar bites out awkwardly, “That was—I don’t know what that was.”
Gabbro shakes their head and offers an easy smile. Their twig-infested hat had been knocked askew by the past few minutes, and it lent them an air of infectious relaxation and calm.
“Nah. It’s all good. I’ve helped Riebeck with similar stuff. Just glad the breathing trick worked.”
“What was that?” Somehow Feldspar manages to sound offended by what was a natural physiological response to overwhelming stress anxiety.
“Anxiety? Panic, maybe?” Gabbro didn’t clarify that that’s how Riebeck had described the feelings whenever Gabbro helped them calm down.
Feldspar grimaces and pulls their blanket up from where it had fallen on the ground. They wrap it back around their shoulders but remain half turned to Gabbro and half turned to the pond. One leg dangles off the edge, giving them the false sensation of weightlessness in at least one limb. It’s a small, silly connection to the freedom of space, but one that brings them comfort nonetheless.
“What a role model, huh? Can’t even handle a little scare,” the voice is soft but the words hold bitter self-recrimination.
Gabbro doesn’t think the words were meant to be heard, but the vitriol contained in Feldspar’s voice prompts them to respond anyway.
“Psh, Feldspar, you don’t need to act like a role model around me. I still remember you running in and out of burning huts—scaring Gneiss half to death, now I think about it—and testing anything Slate ever built. Riebeck and Chert probably don’t remember as much, but no luck with me, buddy.”
Feldspar’s brow scrunches and they throw Gabbro an almost wary—but definitely sulky—look. Gabbro bites back a grin and focuses once more on their fishing line.
“Okay then, Gabbro, how do I act around you? What am I?”
Gabbro looks from their fishing rod to Feldspar, then back out to the pond to cast their line out.
“Hmm…” they tilt their head thoughtfully. So many of the boxes that Feldspar ticks for others in the village just don’t apply to Gabbro, now that they really think about it. “You’re not exactly my teacher anymore, so that’s out…”
Many other Hearthians don’t give Gabbro enough credit when it comes to thinking, and that’s fine by them. The reality is that Gabbro thinks quite a lot, but doesn't often feel the need to vocalize or voice their thoughts. But now they think hard about what Feldspar is to them.
Gabbro thinks hard because they feel as if something precious hangs in the balance of their answer. The Feldspar sitting next to them is one that rarely shows their face, and Gabbro distinctly gets the impression that some answers are better than others.
Feldspar knows what they are. They know where they stand, broadly, amongst the villagers. The first Hearthian intentionally launched into space. The first pioneer into the wilds proper. The one who brought back the best stories because they went farther than Gossan. They were the go-to for tales of adventure amongst the stars. They’d been the one who brought Hornfels so many things that they’d needed to open a museum to showcase everything the great, starry expanse had to offer.
Role model.
Test dummy.
Astronaut.
Sibling.
“Do you like fishing?”
Feldspar blinks.
Fishing?
Come to think of it, Feldspar hasn’t actually fished in longer than they can remember. Their life has boiled down to testing Slate’s new inventions, taking off to explore, returning (and, if unlucky, recovering), telling of their adventures, shoving whatever new thing they’d found at Hornfels, and returning to space.
They haven’t had time for fishing.
Distant memories of spending time with Gneiss by one of the usual fishing holes as a hatchling warmly bubble up over Feldspar’s bemusement. They smile and look out into the pond below, where Gabbro’s lure bobs.
“Haven’t been in ages, but…yeah, I like fishing.”
“Haha, great! In that case, since you barged into my secret fishing spot and like fishing, you’ll be ‘Feldspar, Gabbro’s fishing buddy’.”
The simplicity with which Gabbro speaks briefly throws Feldspar for a loop. But then, after all, isn’t that simply just Gabbro? Very keen observation, a very quick learner, able to adapt to any situation. That’s what Feldspar had learned about Gabbro while training them. Feldspar even recalled eagerly wondering just what sort of astronaut Gabbro would turn out to be, once Slate had finished their ship.
‘Feldspar, Gabbro’s fishing buddy’ has a nice ring to it. It’s something new, something different.
Something not as heavy as ‘hero of Timber Hearth’.
“Hey. Just so you know, you’re the one who barged into my secret spot. I found this place when I was a hatchling, waaaay before you’d even hatched.”
“Oh yeah?”
Gabbro glances at Feldspar and their grin widens.
“You got good taste, buddy.”
A moment of peaceful silence, and then Feldspar bursts into laughter loud enough that several fish-shaped shadows just under the water’s surface flee. “Yeah, I do. That’s why you’re my favorite student!”
Gabbro reaches up and rights their hat, “Aren’t I the only one you trained fully by yourself, though?”
“Eeehh, I mean,” Feldspar seesaws their hand and then shrugs, “Yeah, but that’s only because we decided that Gossan was better suited to training Riebeck and Chert. Besides, Gossan likes training more than flying out there, I think.”
Gabbro supposes both statements are true. While they’d enjoyed Feldspar’s teachings, they definitely felt Gossan would be a better instructor for the timid Riebeck and cautious Chert.
“Well. Thanks for letting me use your secret spot then, fishing buddy.”
“In return, you can teach me that breathing trick you mentioned earlier. If…whatever that was happens again, I want to be able to handle it myself.”
Gabbro glances at Feldspar without fully taking their eyes off their line and catches their friend’s crooked grin.
“You won’t be there every time I need it.”
Gentle silence swells between them as Gabbro thinks about Feldspar’s request. About how to put the calm restoration into words. Music, they decide, may be the easiest way.
“If you don’t have someone else with you, I’d suggest imagining a slow drumbeat, since you won’t be able to use your own heartbeat,” they lift a finger to their temple, “You need to imagine it playing loudly to drown out the blood pumping in your ears. Most importantly, you need to breathe in time to that drumbeat; inhale for one beat, exhale for the next. Try to clear your mind of anything except the drums, your breathing, or both.”
Feldspar listens intently. They’d always been prone to interruption whenever Hornfels or Slate tried to teach them (Gossan was better at the listening, and then the showing later on). Now, however, Feldspar is silent, eyes narrowed in focus. Their lips move silently as they repeat Gabbro’s words, even inhaling and exhaling slowly several times.
Eventually they finish and give Gabbro their full attention, head tilted just slightly.
“You learn this yourself?”
Gabbro shrugs; they’ve returned to their fishing. “Kinda. I don’t use it for the same thing, really, but it’s served Riebeck–and now you–pretty well. It’s just a daily thing for me; helps pass the time like nobody’s business and clears my head.”
“Huh…”
Artificially passing time just because is an outlandish concept to Feldspar. Completely antithetical to how they go about their day to day, absorbing every instant. They’d learned that at a young age, when every moment felt like it could very well be their last. But an astronaut needs an expansive repertoire, and Feldspar never truly shies away from accumulating more tools for their kit.
The two sit in companionable silence for some time then, allowing the gentle sounds of Timber Hearth to fill in the gaps. Feldspar is unused to being quiet around most people (Gneiss being a prominent exception), but Gabbro’s laissez-faire personality lends itself well to comfortable silences.
Feldspar feels as if they’ve shed some sort of mask ever since Gabbro helped them not an hour ago. No, beyond help; Gabbro may have just saved their life. Had Gabbro not shown up, Feldspar can’t help but wonder if they would have asphyxiated or worse. They’ve had life-threatening experiences before, both as a hatchling and as an adult, but none have ever left them feeling this sort of vulnerability.
What Gabbro had done deserves no small amount of gratitude, Feldspar decides. The struggle was opening themself up to genuinely impart that gratitude. It isn’t something Feldspar does very often anymore, not since they stopped returning to Timber Hearth as frequently as they should. Their skills with individual people have dwindled.
But they had to try.
“Thanks, Gabbro. For the breathing trick–for helping me. Saving me,” they grimace, their words already sounding inadequate to their own ears. Still, they soldier on. “And, you know. Treating me just like any other Hearthian.”
Gabbro looks at Feldspar with a sleepy, albeit genuine, smile. It reminds Feldspar acutely of Gneiss’s smile in its warmth.
“Yeah, you’re welcome, fishing buddy.”
They lapse back into a comfortable, amiable silence.
Gabbro doesn’t pepper Feldspar with questions. They keep their gaze trained on their lure, waiting for it to ensnare a greedy fish. They haven’t quite decided yet whether they want to bring back whatever they catch to the village or not; they’d decide once a fish gets itself hooked. Gabbro’s mind is clearer than ever, always so whenever they get a chance to fish peacefully as they are. The feeling of trepidation they’d felt is gone, and something budding and new is left in its wake.
They can’t wait to see what blossoms from it.
Feldspar has laid down, keeping the blanket wrapped close around themself, and primarily keeps their gaze on the starry night sky. Their gaze tracks the astral bodies of their beloved solar system: the Interloper’s odd trek across the sky, Hollow’s Lantern’s occasional volcanic outbursts, and the murky red storms beneath the cloudy atmosphere of Giant’s Deep. The vast allure of space calls for Feldspar even now, and despite their weakness, they already can’t wait to be back out there.
And for the first time in quite a while, Feldspar is looking forward to the return just as much.