Chapter 15.
1072 Words
The lower plateau was a shelf of grey stone dusted with the first persistent powder of winter. It was far enough from the Great Hall to offer Rhiannon a sense of solitude, but close enough that the scent of the fireplace still clung to the wind.
She was focusing on her stride, trying to mimic the "heel-to-toe" rhythm Fenris had shown her. She didn't look up at the sky- not anymore, but she kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the mountain peaks met the heavy clouds.
Crunch. Step. Balance.
A sudden, sharp giggle erupted from behind a cluster of frost-covered boulders.
Rhiannon spun around, her hand instinctively flying to the collar of her tunic. Emerging from the rocks were four girls, none older than fifteen. They were a tangle of messy braids, oversized furs, and eyes that glowed with the bright, restless amber of young wolves.
"See? I told you she was out here!" the smallest one whispered, though her "whisper" carried easily in the crisp air.
They didn't approach with the lethal grace of the warriors or the quiet respect of Sora. They descended upon Rhiannon like a pack of clumsy, overexcited pups. Within seconds, Rhiannon was surrounded, the air filled with the scent of wet wool and woodsmoke.
"Are you really a fairy?" the tallest girl asked, her nose wrinkling as she sniffed the air near Rhiannon’s shoulder. "You don't smell like the woods. You smell like... rain and old paper."
"I... yes," Rhiannon stammered, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of their energy. "I am Rhiannon."
"I'm Mila," the tall one said, then pointed at the others in a blur. "That’s Sif, Elka, and the little one is Pip. We’ve never seen a fairy. My grand-dad said you were all ten feet tall and lived in bubbles."
"I definitely don't live in a bubble," Rhiannon said, a small, unexpected huff of a laugh escaping her.
"Is your blood really blue?" Pip asked, stepping dangerously close and peering at the veins in Rhiannon’s wrist. "Kael said it was like melted sapphires."
"It's just red," Rhiannon replied, showing them the pale skin of her arm. "Though it feels a bit colder than yours, I think."
"Can you talk to bugs?" Elka chimed in, leaning forward with wide, earnest eyes. "Can you tell the spiders to stop building webs in my boots? They’re very rude."
"I can... understand them, sometimes," Rhiannon said, thinking of the thirsty moss in the glen. "But spiders are very independent. They don't usually take directions."
The girls groaned in collective disappointment, but their curiosity was far from sated. They circled her, touching the hem of her cloak, marveling at the deep, unnatural blue of her hair. It was a strange sensation- to be poked and prodded not as a victim, but as a wonder. To these girls, she wasn't "broken." She was a myth come to life.
Then, the air shifted. The youngest, Pip, reached out a hand toward Rhiannon’s back, her fingers stopping just short of the heavy wool of her cloak.
"Where are they?" Pip asked softly, the chaos of the group suddenly dampening. "The stories say fairies have wings like dragonflies, but made of light. Why don't you have yours?"
The question hit Rhiannon like a physical blow. The static in her head flared for a second, a sharp white noise that tasted of iron and shame. She looked at the four expectant faces- innocent, blunt, and entirely without malice. They weren't trying to hurt her; they simply didn't understand that some things, once lost, leave a hole that can never be filled.
"They were taken," Rhiannon said, her voice dropping to a low, hollow tone.
"By who?" Mila asked, her brow furrowing in a protective, wolfish scowl. "Did you lose a fight? Did a monster catch you?"
Rhiannon looked down at her boots, her mind searching the fog of her memories. She saw the flash of the silver shears. But the crime that had led her to that stone altar- remained locked behind a door she couldn't open.
"I don't remember," she whispered, and the honesty of it felt heavier than a lie. "I remember the cold of the metal. I remember the way the sky felt when it was suddenly too far away. But I don't know why I was cast out. I don't know what I did to deserve the silence."
The girls fell silent. In the wolf pack, memory was everything- ancestry, lineage, and the stories of the hunt were the glue that held them together. To not know your own story was, to them, the ultimate tragedy.
Sif, the quietest of the group, stepped forward. She didn't offer pity. Instead, she reached into her furs and pulled out a small, dried mountain flower- a hardy blue blossom that grew only in the cracks of the highest rocks.
"My mom says that the mountain takes things sometimes," Sif said, pressing the flower into Rhiannon’s hand. "But it always gives something else back. Maybe you don't need to remember why they took your wings. Maybe you just need to remember how to walk on the stone with us."
Rhiannon looked at the small, dried flower, then at the girl. A lump formed in her throat, a strange, sweet ache.
"Thank you," she managed to say.
"Race you to the watch-fire!" Pip suddenly shrieked, breaking the tension with the flick of a tail.
The girls vanished as quickly as they had appeared, a whirlwind of fur and laughter sprinting back toward the Hall. Rhiannon stood alone on the plateau, the blue flower clutched in her palm.
She turned and saw a familiar silhouette standing on a higher ridge, watching the exchange. Fenris didn't move, but the wind carried the faint scent of cedar toward her. He had seen it all- the questions, the vulnerability, and the small, blue gift.
Rhiannon didn't pull her cloak tighter. She didn't look for a place to hide. She simply tucked the flower into her belt, squared her shoulders, and took another step forward. The ground was cold, and the sky was still out of reach, but for the first time, the static in her head sounded a little bit more like a song.
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