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Truthless Recluse would be upset with him, that much was certain.
Sage summoned a ball of light in his hand, letting it hover in front of him as a beacon while he navigated through the dim forest. Even with the light, his antennae had to warn him of unseen foliage and spider webs threatening to snare him out of the dark. Sage tucked his wings tighter against his back. He hadn't intended on being out this late, truly! It had simply grown dark around him. Cataloguing the flora of this end of the forest had ended up far more intensive than Sage had assumed when he'd begun. At least he had other research projects to occupy his time when pesky events such as Earthbread's daily rotation away from the sun got in the way of his progress.
Which brought him back to his current conundrum.
Sage ducked under a low branch, trying to simultaneously remember the way back to the main path and think of a clever excuse at the same time. Perhaps he could curtail Truthless Recluse's anger by presenting the situation in a certain way. Time really had gotten away from him! He'd started making his way back as soon as he'd realized how late it was! Neither of those statements was a lie.
He stepped around a thorny bush, feeling a bit more confident now that he had a plan of action. Maybe he was overthinking things. Perhaps it wasn't even that late at all! His dear Recluse would not be mad at him in that case. Maybe he'd find it silly that he'd jumped to such conclusions. Sage could imagine it now. A cut-off sigh, the slump in Truthless Recluse's shoulders as he shook his head.
"As long as you're back and you're safe, that's what matters."
Yes, of course! Sage nodded to himself, darting around yet another tree branch that threatened to hit him in the face. That's how it would go. He couldn't have been gone for that long. It was easy enough to verify his theory.
Sage dimmed the magic light for a moment, squinting up at the stars between the tree branches. From the position of the moon and the constellations, he could make the rough guesstimate that it was currently—
Two in the morning.
Ah.
So much for that hypothesis.
Sage sighed, turning the light back up to full illumination once more as he resumed his trek through the forest. Perhaps it would be easier to accept his fate. Maybe Truthless Recluse would be tired enough to at least put off the lecture until it was bright outside once more.
It took Sage another hour to stumble through the overgrowth and find the main path through the woods. Only then did he start to fly—or hover, really. Even with the magic light, it was still too dark to spread his wings safely. The idea of an errant branch or thorn tearing through them from a wrong turn was more than enough to given him pause. Even Sage wasn't that reckless. But he could already feel the clock ticking on Truthless Recluse's anger, and floating a few inches off the ground gained more speed than walking.
Sage continued his way down, turning onto a concealed side path without a second thought. He flew underneath the large caps of a mushroom patch, the light briefly making their gills glow, winding deeper and deeper into the darkness where no one else dared walk or wander.
Well. None save two. And those in pursuit of the second.
…How many visitors had Truthless Recluse gained since Sage had wandered his way into his home? He'd have to remember that question for later. Once he wasn't mad at him for staying out all night.
Sage doused his light when he heard the sound of running water. The mushroom patch turned to moss covered brambles, a light orange glow catching on the edges on an uncountable number of nightshade leaves. They poked through the thorns, wrapping themselves over every surface, their growth taking advantage of the trickling stream just out of sight. The only other living object visible were the hanging strings of ivy drooping down from dead tree branches high above.
At first glance, the orange light seemed like fireflies, but Sage knew better. Some were enchanted lamps that Truthless Recluse had set who knew how long ago, since he refused to tell Sage. The other source was a bit further on.
Truthless Recluse had the kind of home that took a second glance to see. In the deepest part of the swamp, through the thickest tangle of hanging ivy, where all manner of spores and fungi and unnamed plants thrived in the dark, that was where Truthless Recluse lived, tending to his odd garden. The shack was set into the trunk of the massive dead tree in the center of the swamp, its roof and walls covered in moss that constantly threatened to overtake it. And yet, the windows were always bright, the most welcoming sight in the darkest part of the woods.
The first time they'd met, Truthless Recluse had said that he kept the lights going as a beacon. Anyone who found themselves this deep in the woods was either lost, or not wanting to be found. Sage knew where he fell under that description. The interesting part was that he wasn't sure which one Truthless Recluse was. At least, not yet.
Despite his fluttering wings, Sage felt like something was weighing him down the closer he drew to Truthless Recluse's home. He clenched his hands together, attempting to dispel that sinking feeling. Oh, he hated disappointing him. Would a true apology suffice? He really hadn't meant to be out for so long—
Sage landed in front of the door, one of Recluse's magic lanterns flickering above the tangle of bleached wood that formed a doorknob. His mind still spun with possible ways to explain his lateness, but none of them sufficed. Sage would have to face Truthless Recluse's disappointment. Apologize and promise to do better next time, that was all he could do.
He sighed once more, pulling the door open. Sage opened his mouth to start his apology—
And then closed it.
Underneath the low, flickering light of several lanterns hovering in the air above him, Truthless Recluse was slumped over in a chair, fast asleep.
Sage stared. It wasn't an intentional slumber, that much was obvious in the way Recluse had fallen to the side, head caught by the thick tufts of nightshade flowers sewn into the collar of his cape. His hair pooled between the dark petals, looking like golden thread. He'd been waiting, just as Sage had assumed. Sleep had returned to Recluse before Sage could.
He took a soft step forward, pulling the door closed behind him. Recluse didn't stir at the sound of the latch clicking shut, nor the slight squeak of the floorboards as Sage stepped closer.
Even in slumber, Recluse was fascinating to Sage. Despite the poisonous plants and brambles that he covered himself in, a warning to the world to stay far away from him, Sage saw it as nature accepting Recluse more than Fae society did. The opposite was true for him, even with the distance he'd gained. Anyone could see it, looking at the contrast between the two of them. Sage was bright blue and pristine white, sticking out in the swamp like a fallen piece of the sky. Recluse was deep greens and purples, the same plants he cared for providing him a safe haven. The only thing that connected them were gleaming bits of gold. Sage's wings. Recluse's hair.
He didn't know why that detail made his chest feel tight.
Sage stopped just in front of Recluse's chair, making note of what he hadn't spotted before. The eyes in his circlet and wings had closed. He'd noted long ago that they tracked Recluse eye movements, but to mimic his biological state as well—
Recluse stirred, brows pinching together. His long lashes fluttered against his cheeks, but his eyes didn't open. A long second passed before his face relaxed once again.
Sage leaned even closer. He couldn't let such a golden observation opportunity go to waste. Recluse always vanished back into his rooms before he fell asleep. Sage had seen him tired, even exhausted, but never in slumber. When Recluse was awake, Sage couldn't stare for too long without drawing a look of annoyed confusion from him. But asleep? He could observe the details of Recluse's appearance as much as he pleased.
Once more, Recluse stirred, a soft gasp escaping his lips as his face crumpled. Was he having a nightmare?
It started to dawn on Sage that perhaps he was too close. If Truthless Recluse woke up right now, if he turned his head in a certain way when he did, then—
"Don't go."
All other thoughts left Sage's mind. Recluse shuddered in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent except for two words.
"Don't go."
His hesitation gone, Sage put a hand to Truthless Recluse's shoulder, giving it a slight shake.
"Recluse, you're dreaming," he whispered. "Wake up."
A few spores from the nightshade knocked loose, falling into Sage's hand with a numbing sting, but he could deal with that later. Recluse's pained expression hurt him far more at the moment.
A second shake—
Truthless Recluse's eyes snapped open as his hand grabbed Sage's wrist.
He gasped, more out of surprise than anything else, but Recluse didn't respond. Instead, his grip on Sage's wrist tightened further.
"Recluse?" Sage asked, only half-whispering now. "I apologize for interrupting your slumber, but are you…"
Sage trailed off.
His eyes.
They stared at nothing, blank and wide, a glazed-over cast to them that reflected the light of lanterns. Recluse's poor vision was no secret to Sage, but this was something else. Was he still dreaming? He tried to pull out of Recluse's grip, but his hand locked further around Sage's wrist like a vise.
"Don't go."
That answered that question.
Swallowing, Sage reached out his other hand, shaking Recluse's other shoulder.
"It's a dream, Recluse!" he said. "Whatever you're seeing, it's a dream. Now could you please—"
With a fresh gasp, Truthless Recluse's eyes cleared. As he looked up at Sage, for just a second, he saw the walls Recluse had built crumble to nothing. That open panic wasn't directed at a dream.
It was pointed right at him.
Recluse released his wrist, and Sage stumbled back a step. Within a second, that haunted, shadowed look returned to Recluse's gaze. He'd returned to how Sage had known him this past half a year, the living embodiment of the title he went by.
Sage tried not to be too disappointed.
"My apologies," Recluse said, running a hand across his face. "I…didn't realize I'd dozed off."
He made it sound like he'd only been caught napping. Ignoring the odd prickling feeling in his chest, Sage rubbed his wrist with his other hand.
"Well! Good that I'd returned to wake you from your nightmare, then," Sage said with a little more aggression than he'd intended. "Are the symptoms of sleep talk and sleep walking a common occurrence for you? Or did I just get lucky?"
There it was, that confused and exasperated expression from Recluse that he'd grown so familiar with these last few months. Sage half turned away, but not before noticing Recluse's gaze shift to see the way he was holding his wrist.
"Did I harm you?" he asked.
Sage scoffed. "I've survived far worse," he said. "It was…surprising, is all." He paused. "No, you didn't hurt me."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sage watched Truthless Recluse stand from the chair and take the few steps to close the space between them.
"I'm sorry all the same," Recluse said. "For you having to see me like that."
Silence dropped between them once more. Sage could hear the slight flicker of the magical flame in the lanterns floating above them.
"I haven't had that dream in a long time," Recluse continued. "But it's familiar. I should've recognized it for what it was sooner."
Sage finally looked back at him. Recluse stared up at the lanterns, jaw set. Despite the even tone of his voice, his brows were drawn together. He was obviously upset, but at what, Sage couldn't guess. Himself?
"Would you like to talk about it?" Sage offered before he could think better of it.
Truthless Recluse turned his mismatched eyes away from the lantern and towards him. And there it was again. Just a flicker of an opening. A glimpse of someone soft-hearted and kind underneath the literal thorns he covered himself in.
Someone with the same kind of loneliness that Sage recognized in himself.
But then he looked away.
"It's better left in the past," Recluse said, shifting his shoulders to readjust his cape.
Sage fought back the urge to scowl as the nightshade blooms blocked his view of Recluse's face. One step forward, two steps back. He sighed internally. Although, Sage consoled himself, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun if Recluse gave up all his secrets just because he'd asked.
"But," Truthless Recluse continued, "perhaps you could answer a question for me, Sage."
"Oh?" Sage turned towards him, wings fluttering before he got them back under control. He couldn't act too eager, otherwise his dear Recluse might change his mind. "And what would that be?"
There was a slight smile on Recluse's face still visible just above the nightshade blooms, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I worked well into the night making sure that all the lanterns were lit," he said, the words soft and slow. "Just in case you were having trouble finding the path. And I considered going after you. But this morning you'd insisted that you would return by night. And that I should trust you to keep your word."
Oh.
Sage bit his lip.
He'd been caught.
"So I am very interested in hearing what you got up to, while I was waiting and worrying if I'd made the wrong choice to believe your promise," Recluse continued, his blue and gold eyes burning into him. "Please, tell me, Sage. What were you doing out in the woods so late?"
Sage blinked, and then let out a nervous laugh. "You see, dear Recluse," he said, "there is such an array of unique flora surrounding the swamp and in the woods beyond that a single day is simply—"
He cut himself off at the glare that Truthless Recluse pointed at him. Apologize and promise to do better next time, Sage reminded himself. That was the original plan.
"I'm sor—"
"As long as you're back and you're safe, that's what matters," Recluse sighed.
And before Sage could fully swallow his words, Truthless Recluse had crossed the floor, heading towards his room.
Sage stared at his retreating back, trying to process what he'd just heard. He'd hoped for that kind of response, back in the woods, but actually hearing it was something else.
Sage's wings involuntarily fluttered against his back again as Truthless Recluse disappeared from sight. Maybe, just maybe, he was closer to a breakthrough on his companion's mysteries than he thought.
For now though, he would take the small victory of not receiving a lecture on lateness from his dear Truthless Recluse.