Sue didn’t expect the bug robot to lead her away from Moonview, but figured it still fit what she had wordlessly asked them for.

The road was narrow but reasonably well worn. Not the kind with daily overwhelming traffic, but which was established enough to stand out from the surrounding grass and shrubs. Where did it lead to, why was the bug robot heading there, and why were they carrying all this wood in their baskets? Those questions were preferably for someone else to answer.

She already had her fair share of pointless thoughts filling her mind.

To Sue’s dismay, a change of surroundings helped less than she would’ve wanted. She appreciated the most acutely painful thoughts easing up, but getting rid of all this crushing pressure, of ceaseless comparisons, and of suffocating inadequacy would’ve been nice, too. Alas, none of that—so sayeth her broken soul.

She would’ve appreciated an opportunity to choke said soul into silence, just like she’d done time and again. Alas, she wouldn’t be finding it yet—for there was something else to focus on at the moment. Something just as silly and pathetic on the surface, just as threatening to shake her very foundations if she dug into it too much.

Probably not the best distraction all in all, but it was the one she was stuck with now.

As off-putting as Justice and Its intrusion into her dream has been, it was hard to deny that Its vision had left an impact on her. Even despite just how worryingly unclear it was. The basics were straightforward—she had been doing well so far, but there was still more left to do. Oh, and the stupid three-eyed thing had a chip on Its shoulder at being accused of lying, too.

The specifics were where it got... tricky, however. Tricky enough to where Sue was of half a mind to just discard this entire topic, just like she’d done after waking up. To consign it to the pile of ‘deities being dumb’. Alas, her mind really needed this distraction. And so, here she was again, pondering the exact associations of the mental image of the fucking Moon falling down onto her.

Come on you dumb mortal, you simple pawn in our quaint game of Ludo—think! Figure out this oh-so-intricate puzzle of mine, dance for my amusement and do my chores while you’re at it!

With everything they had meddled with, in her personal experiences and Moonview’s history alike, Sue wished to never see another deity again. Both because of them only ever using her like a tool for their own means, again and again, and because of a... different reason, one that reinvigorated her mind to think about. Even if just for a moment.

As awful as Sue had been and was still feeling, her realization from yesterday remained true. She didn’t want to go back to Earth. And even if she had a hard time thinking herself worthy of staying here right now, that didn’t change her underlying desires. With that realization, she grew much more keen on actually figuring out what in the world that Justice entity wanted—and then doing the exact opposite. Anything to sabotage Its plans.

Anything to not have to go back.

Alas, her pursuit of optimal contrarianism was undermined by Its plans being incomprehensible. Literal interpretation was one approach, in which case she was already all good—no way in hell was she gonna be protecting anything and anyone from the falling Moon.

Mission solved! It was time to rest on her laurels and start thinking how she would spend the rest of her life in a mutated animal wonderland.

...

...

I mean, a girl can wish.

Sue’s pitiful chuckle was lost in the noise of shuffling grass and distant, ever-intensifying clacking. By her own admission, she knew little—especially when it came to this incoherent world—but even she was positive her dream wasn’t meant to be taken literally. Not with both deities involved in her task, and their villages, being associated with the Moon.

To the best of her recollection, the Moon that fell down on her at the end of that dream was full. Full, massive, blinding in its radiance. Downright oppressive, even long before it had actually crashed into—

The metallic insect ahead of her paused mid-step at Sue’s gasp of realization. Their gaze lingered on her for one moment, then another, until finally the weird Forest Guardian got over her shock and resumed her slow march again, letting her impromptu bodyguard continue, too.

There was something—someone else she’d run into recently that had felt just as oppressive, after all. Three someones, to be exact.

The connection chilled Sue’s body to think about, even after she forced herself to keep moving again. It fit too well, but its implications were worrisome, no matter the way she tried to interpret it. If Justice intentionally drew her attention to them, that meant they were important for some reason. Her imagination didn’t shy away from suggesting the many ways in which their presence in Moonview could prove important, all of them tying into either murder, kidnapping, or—or worse.

Even with the Moon figured out, the question of what she was supposed to do about it, what she was supposed to do about them, remained. The answer her mind immediately gravitated to was simple—she had to stop them. Whether from all the horrible things she had just thought about, or from something even worse, it didn’t matter. Whatever they had in mind, whatever they had come here for, they had to be stopped. But how?

If her earlier chat with Dewdrop was any sign, Solanum and the rest of Solstice’s relatives weren’t liked in Moonview. The same, unfortunately, couldn’t be said about them being respected or worshiped—but at the very least, nobody was angling to be their friend. If the worst came to pass and they decided they wouldn’t be satisfied unless blood did spill, they were extremely outnumbered. And that was if they got over the cowardice that Solstice had mentioned.

But what if they were to be stopped in a more abstract way? What if they had to be exiled, or chased out, or even just had their rotten ideology be questioned and replaced by Solstice’s quote unquote “heresy”? Sue didn’t know, and it terrified her.

Solanum unnerved her; Nightbane made her want to run and never turn back. The third yellow one, Solstice’s father if she remembered correctly... she didn’t know what was up with him, but he was just as suspicious as the other two. Solstice’s reminder that they wouldn’t dare strike while so outnumbered rang hollow as she thought back to Nightbane’s predatory, hungry glare, the way he stared at her like a trophy to be taken after a successful pillage. Especially since, even if they would be ultimately defeated, they would still hurt and kill many before they’d be stopped.

And that assumed it would be just these three.

Sue almost let out another gasp at the realization she didn’t even know if these three were here on their own. They apparently only ever visited in the past on their own and weren’t thought of highly amongst their people in the first place, but… who was to say this would be like those past occasions?

No matter whether it was just these three or their entire tribe, she couldn’t let whatever they were planning happen. She had no idea how to do that, or any confidence whether trying to be watchful of them would even accomplish anything, however. She’d have to drill into Solstice and Sundance and everyone she could reach to watch out for them. To make sure that someone is keeping track of them and knows what they’re up to as long as they remain in Moonview, and—

...

And everything else that would ultimately only fulfill what Justice wanted her to do. That would ‘complete’ her task here, or at least bring it closer to completion. To bring on her ‘reward’ of being thrown back to Earth, alone once more, with this entire world becoming nothing but a hazy memory.

With everyone here ceasing to exist, as far as her continued existence was concerned.

The realization drove a rusted nail into Sue’s heart, but she refused to scream. It... hurt. She couldn’t even pretend that it didn’t, that it wouldn’t if she were to complete her task here. At the end of the day, however, it was her continued fantasy being weighed against the wellbeing of everyone else here, in either village or even beyond. She didn’t have a leg to stand on, and she wouldn’t even pretend to. She’d do what was right, even if it took carving her heart out to accomplish that.

It took immense effort for Sue to maintain her composure. Her steps lost their cadence, her clenched fist shook something intense; even the steadily building distant noises were making her jump more and more. And yet, she persisted regardless, keeping the hurt well-hidden, hiding it from the judging eyes of a single insectoid robot that wasn’t even looking in her direction. It wasn’t even about being seen, after all.

It was about having earned the right to that hurt.

A change in mental topic was in short order, but... there was one connection she’d realized just now, shocking enough to briefly freeze her dread where it lay. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but stunned silence inside her. As she was recalling everything she knew about Solstice’s relatives, any shred of her limited knowledge that would help her and others stop whatever they were planning, a... peculiar detail popped up. One offhandedly conveyed by the fiery vixen a few days prior.

Solanum and the rest of her rotten ilk lived over of a week away on foot—and yet, they were here the very morning after Justice’s warning.

The contradiction was stark, starker still with the most obvious answer for it getting dismissed out of hand. If them venturing all the way here was tied to Sue having showed up all those days ago, they wouldn’t have acted the way they have. They disrespected her, sure, but she was just a footnote compared to all the ire and dismay they held towards their relative. They came here for Solstice, for Comet, not for Sue.

Which, of course, raised an obvious question. Why did they arrive here on this specific day? How did Justice know they would show up? Sure, Solanum and others arriving here might’ve just been a Fateful accident; the two facts could’ve been entirely unrelated, merely a stroke of cosmic un-luck—Sue wasn’t buying that, though. Not for a second.

After all, Justice was awfully shy to actually name the deity that had supposedly brought her here—

*buzz, buzz?*

The bug robot’s words snapped Sue out of her increasingly unhinged train of thought, bringing her back to the surrounding reality. A wild, terrifying reality, one that featured psychics and ghosts and beasts of fire, of lightning, of ice. Dragons, gods, and awful relatives alike.

One where the builder was staring down at her, confused, from approximately two feet away.

Their confused emotions were muffled, taking Sue aback once she’d tried to focus on them. Sure, not everyone expressed their emotions—or even felt them—as strongly as others, but the red bug’s feelings were especially hard to make out. With most people, it was like she could feel their emotions by touch, be they smooth and silky or spiky and fiery-hot. Here, though, it was as if she was trying to do so through a blanket.

Or, in night kin’s case, through a brick wall.

Sue tried to gather words, uneasy at the sudden confrontation. As they buzzed on to an audience of effectively nobody, their uncertainty steadily waned, turning into relief. By the time she remembered to focus on establishing a connection with them, however, they were already done, turning away and heading off in the middle of her makeshift ritual.

At least they feel better after getting whatever that was off their chest.

Embarrassed and not wanting to be left behind, Sue scooted ahead, wincing at her injured leg as she caught up with them. She didn’t have to run for long, though—they had arrived.

The sizable clearing was split between a few areas, a few of which she could make out from its entrance. To her right laid what appeared to be a quarry, a wound in the earth stretching for a few dozen meters, showing off bare soil and light-colored rock at the bottom. A dozen or so blocks of stone were roughly lined up beside the quarry’s exit ramp, raw and uncut. From the thudding steps and light taps, Sue could tell there was someone in there working on the next block, but her view was obscured by the nearby cliff.

Further along, past that quarry, laid another excavation. It was much shallower than the first one, only uncovering silvery dirt as opposed to stone. Its significance wasn’t immediately apparent, but if the fenced-off stretch of drying bricks and tiles next to it was any sign, the ‘dirt’ was actually clay.

As nice as it felt to figure out where in the world all the neat bricks and tiles in Moonview were coming from, the rest of the clearing wasn’t as... straightforward to examine. The last of its many attractions looked by far the most industrial, a complex setup of several water basins, sieves, piles of various plant materials, and free-standing, barren walls.

It was overwhelming, but the bug robot was here to explain it all—or at least to demonstrate what its purpose was. They first lifted the nearest basin from what had initially looked like a pedestal but turned out to be a charcoal fired furnace, and placed it down further along the clearing. They then grabbed the basin that was already laying there and brought it back to the furnace. No matter what this entire process entailed, Sue was... unsure whether having the water inside the second basin be as murky as it had been was a good idea—it wasn’t her place to judge, either way.

...

Not competently judge, at least.

With the basin set down, they began to toss charcoal into the furnace, one pincer-ful at a time. Freed from her duty to gawk at anything even remotely interesting going on around her, Sue walked the last few feet to a fallen log beside the clearing’s entrance, its top side being stripped of bark signaling its purpose. The small basket of goodies—mostly roasted fruit slices and thick crackers—beside it hinted at this being some sort of break area as well. Sue wasn’t sure if she was hungry right now, but even if she was, there was no way in hell she’d be caught stealing from someone else’s lunchbox.

Especially with that someone else being a six-foot-tall red robot that, for all she knew, was already only barely putting up with her stalking them.

The robot’s charcoal-pouring duty was interrupted a couple times by them flinching at a particularly loud sound coming from the quarry. For the most part, the clacking of stone against stone had a steady, rhythmic pace to it, but sometimes it would slow down, each strike turning so powerful Sue could feel it going through her body.

Seems excavating all this stone is a lotta effort even with magical powers.

Even with the ground shaking and their hands busy, the person inside the quarry was still eager to chit chat some, speaking up before the next round of clacking noises began. Their rumbling growls echoed through the clearing, perking the robot’s head up. Sue wasn’t having any more luck with understanding them than she usually did, but she... recognized them, she thought. Where from, and what did they mean, she had no idea, but she could’ve sworn she had heard them before.

As the stranger and the tall bug chatted on, the latter wrapped up fueling the furnace, capping it off with a small bundle of kindling. They then picked up a couple of pieces of flint and got to work, chipping the stone and raining sparks over their body and the ground alike as they got some fire going.

It didn’t take long.

With the flames building up and the clacking resuming, the bug turned to the baskets of wood they had brought with themselves. Sawdust was unceremoniously tossed straight into the basin, but the larger chunks had to be broken down first, unceremoniously crushed between the robot’s pincers along the grain. Wood wasn’t the hardest material out there, but the ease with which they reduced chunk after chunk to splinters with their bare hands was... impressive. Quite terrifying, too, but definitely impressive.

Even with all the wood added, the robot’s job there wasn’t done yet, however. They began making rounds between piles and jars of ingredients lining the edges of the clearing, scooping a pincerful of each material before breaking it apart and adding it to the wooden broth. Some of them Sue could recognize well enough—cotton, inner layers of bark, branches of hemp. Others were tricker to figure out, though, such as what looked like shredded rags, or an unknown white powder. They only grabbed a small pile of the latter, but whatever it was, it still stung Sue’s eyes, even from a distance.

Suppose this answers why all this isn’t closer to Moonview.

All the ingredients were added, which just left stirring the off-white soup—and calling for help. The bug’s whistle was closer to a car alarm going off than any sound Sue thought could be made by a living being, but it was all the more successful because of that. The ear-piercing noise was followed by a loud call, finally beckoning the robot’s assistant over. Unfortunately.

Sue held in a groan at seeing the pink bat scorpion yet again, putting her utmost effort into not letting her dissatisfaction show on her face. Sure, they might have apologized for Joy getting hurt, but if they thought that would be enough to get themselves off her shit list, they were sorely mistaken. After all, they still had done it, right? They still thought it would be oh-so-funny to hurt a little girl who could barely talk, to bully her so much their mere sight had her clinging to her guardian. Joy might have forgiven them, but Sue hadn’t.

And she wasn’t terribly fond of that fact.

As vivid as that kind of righteous anger felt, Sue was well aware she wasn’t in the right anymore—assuming she’d ever been in the first place. Yes, they had hurt someone and didn’t reconcile until prompted by someone else, but... was she literally any better? Hell, if anything, she was worse because of being one apology behind. She didn’t have a moral leg to stand on, and she was well aware.

And yet, she still had a hard time not feeling angry towards them. She caught herself leering at them, even as they harmlessly talked with the robot before dashing off to the basin the bug had previously removed from the furnace. She had to forcibly pry her eyes away as they went on about their day, stirring the water in the basin before submerging a large sieve in it and giving it a hearty shake.

She was being fucking pathetic.

Thankfully, this time, she at least caught her thoughts before they could spiral all the way out. Good as coming here might’ve been for escaping from her self-destructive thoughts, focusing on the bat threatened to undo all that tenuous progress. She didn’t want to, or even really could, make it back to Moonview on her own, which just left a stroll around the clearing. Away from the bat, away from the guilt. Preferably, away from her own brain, too.

With an exasperated sigh, Sue stood back up and turned towards the quarry half of the clearing, trying to focus on anything but her thoughts. The terrain here was much more uneven than back at the village, interspersing the already demanding walk with occasional grunts of pain when she had to put a lot of force on her injured leg. A footnote compared to everything else going on, though.

The intense, brief shock that went through the bat—no doubt at having spotted her—didn’t help either.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Now that she was walking along the quarry’s edge, she could actually make out the being working there. Good news was that she recognized them—or rather, her. Bad news was that she still remembered Kantaro’s warning about not interrupting the blue bipedal rhino, Daisy, pushing her towards keeping even more distance between each other. Sure, she didn’t want to fall in and hurt herself, but what she didn’t want even more was to inconvenience someone else and have them grow annoyed at her. Nightmare fuel, that.

Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about how the elderly builder worked. Daisy’s tools weren’t as distinguished as those Sue had seen others use in Moonview proper, but she was making it work all the same. A stick of charcoal, what seemed to be a wooden level, a long, pointed rock, much darker than the surrounding stone, and finally, her own body.

Sue always wondered how blocks of stone were cut out from the surrounding material—at least, before industrial tooling—and the rhino was set to give her a demonstration of just that. The outline of the desired block was drawn on the stone in charcoal, the black line clearly visible on the light stone. Or, at least, the parts of it that hadn’t already been dotted with cracks and indentations, both along the sketched lines and where the block connected to the surrounding stone. Daisy’s chisel held steady as she hammered it along the remaining edges with her bare hand, each strike hard enough to either make or deepen the cracks in the rock.

Wherever she could reach, however, she preferred to use her all-natural tool instead. Sue would’ve guessed that using her horn for this would be excruciating—or at the very least, a recipe for repeated concussions—and yet, the builder managed without a care in the world, swiftly wrapping up the block’s outline with a few well-aimed strikes. Her horn glowing throughout that entire process gave Sue a pause, but what did she know? Maybe that was the secret to her not shattering her head open with all the forces involved.

Fun as all this has been to watch, there was a walk to be done. With a deep breath, Sue refocused on the treacherous path ahead and resumed her walk, expecting the chipping sounds to resume shortly after—

*RUMBLErumblerumble...*

The world shook for just a second, but that second was enough to swipe any balance from underneath her. Sue shrieked as she tumbled, half-grabbing and half slamming into a nearby tree to remain upright. The rough bark dug into her skin and she was quite sure it had left a scrape or two, but other than that and the ringing in her ears, she seemed to be alright.

The trees had not failed her once more.

The alarmed noises going on from behind her didn’t help, though. The robot bug’s call was aimed in her direction, its harshness unnerving. Before she could react, it was joined by another call, one much more obviously alarmed and from much closer. Still remembering Kantaro’s remark, Sue slowly turned around towards Daisy—and only saw warm, genuine concern on her face. Beside her, an uneven stone block, successfully separated from the surrounding wall.

Sue didn’t know how to react, gaze snapping between the blue builder, her recent efforts, and her red coworker in the distance. She shouldn’t be here and she knew it, the thought chilling despite nobody else being visibly angry or anything. What they were, though, was uncertain, and her lack of response sure wasn’t helping that any.

Daisy knew what to do, though. Rambling on in her low grumbles and growls, she lifted her hand and beckoned Sue over before pointing toward the seat the Forest Guardian had just gotten up from minutes earlier. It was the clearest instruction Sue’d be getting here, and with the lack of any hostility—or even annoyance—she didn’t hesitate before following along.

Once she’d sat down, she watched the blue dino climb out of the quarry and approach her, bestial laughter interrupting her every other sentence. It was quite a contrast to Sue’s motionless, silent self, too stuck in a bind between not wanting to cause further trouble, being apologetic, and dealing with a metric shitton of nasty thoughts to even acknowledge the builder’s thoughts.

Daisy didn’t mind though—she knew just how to handle this. She grabbed the entire basket of goodies and sat down beside the fallen log, sending aftershocks as she impacted the ground. She then pulled out a hearty, pear-like fruit for herself and passed on a few thick crackers to Sue, before finally leaning back and relaxing some.

Guess a snack won’t hurt.

The treat was much thicker than any biscuit she ever had back on Earth, closer to an unleavened flatbread or hard tack than a digestive. That didn’t mean it wasn’t tasty, though—not by a long shot. Salty with a hint of vinegar and an herbal aroma, the perfect junk food to turn one’s brain off to, if only for a minute. And, alas, a minute was all that Sue would get before Daisy got to gesturing again, this time drawing a line in the air between Sue’s head and her own.

Here goes nothing.

Pushing through the combined effects of her emotional discomfort, aching in her horn, and hesitation, Sue went through her little ritual, hands weaving through the air as she manipulated the extension of her mind. She was growing so used to all this that it began to obscure just how fascinating having those abilities was. Not something to ponder on here and now, though.

After controlling her mental tentacle with enough grace for Daisy to not even flinch at the connection being established, Sue took a deep breath and opened her eyes again, firmly nodding towards the blue rhino. “Hear ya?” Daisy asked, her accent clear despite the less than ideal translation. It raised the question of whether said accent was coming from her or if Sue’s recollection of their brief chat was affecting how she was understanding the builder.

A question that would go unanswered for the time being. “Yes, yes, I can hear you,” Sue answered, rolling her shoulders as she prepared to be... questioned, she guessed.

“Good! What with ya, girl? Not look like anywhere walk person. No light, anger, power like yesterday.”

What was up with Sue indeed.

She didn’t piece every single detail of Daisy’s question, but the thrust was clear—and the answers were muddled. “It’s—it’s been a lot, *sigh*. I’ve... I’ve done things I regret, and now they just won’t let go of me, and I can’t stop thinking about them.”

The hefty bipedal rhino pensively nodded at Sue’s conundrum, raising her paw towards her chin as if to rest her head on it—only to just scratch her chin and chuckle out, “Mistakes ya make? Everyone make mistakes, girl. I make four, all days! Bad measure, rough cut. Much thinking on them never help. Drink, another measure, another cut, recover all can.”

It was a delightfully simple response to Sue’s worries, one that—had she been feeling any better already—she would’ve tried to take. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t, and considering the details of what she’d done, it wouldn’t even be appropriate here. “It wasn’t just some measuring mistake though, I-I hurt someone—”

*buzz-buzz?*

The metallic noise cut Sue’s murmurs off, yanking her and Daisy’s attention towards the robot bug that had since moved to stand in front of them. As Sue reeled back from their sudden presence here, the blue builder continued, unamused. “Nah Chisel, not good way. It—pardon. Sue girl, hear Chisel can?”

The Forest Guardian blinked at being addressed, connecting the dots soon after. At last, the robot had been baptized with a name, and assuming Sue could repeat her earlier feat with Splitleaf and Basil, she’d be finally able to hear from them herself. Another moment of concentration, another mental tendril, right beside the first one and aimed at the red builder. Reaching their mind proved much trickier than Sue had anticipated, tying into her earlier difficulties with sensing their emotions. She’d have to ask Sundance or... probably just Sundance right now when she got back.

But that was then—and now it was time to keep chatting. “I-I think I have it now,” Sue muttered, keeping the aching in her horn at bay with stable breathing. “Hello, Chisel.”

“Greetings,” the robot insect answered. Her voice was no less choppy and compressed-sounding even with translation, but at least the mood and gender were easier to tell now—calm and feminine, respectively. “Realize you deaf me earlier. Correct?”

Sue reeled at Chisel’s words before realizing she probably didn’t mean ‘deaf’ in a literal way. That would’ve been... impressive to do on accident, if utterly terrifying and disgusting on every level. Maybe she meant Sue was the deaf one? She wasn’t and hoped she’d never be, but considering her lack of reaction to the last time the robot bug had attempted to talk to her, she could understand why she’d think so.

“I didn’t understand you when we were walking here, yeah,” Sue admitted. She watched as Chisel took a deep sigh at that, her emotions muffled enough for her earlier uncertainty to have only become noticeable now after it’d changed into relief.

“Fortunate. Considering, then: Greetings again. I, Chisel. I, others, everyone—thank you, yesterday for.”

The fluster at being thanked so directly didn’t undo her worries or anxiety, but it shone beautifully for the few seconds it decorated her cheeks. The moment of thick silence that followed left her unsure if either of the two builders was expecting her to say something in return, sending Sue’s brain wracking to come up with something to fill the air—

But Daisy had her back. “Aye, mighty thanks, Sue. As I saying Chisel—not good idea. If weigh good to avoid bad, no relief. Just hide bad. Just let bad get dirty. Dirty, nasty, shameful. Have clean it, have look it, have responsibility. Use it, not let bad beat you with it.”

Sue wouldn’t have even dreamed of using the arguable few good things she’d done to pretend she’d done nothing wrong. She wasn’t the best person, but she wasn’t that, and not a small part of her insecurity over making things right was to make sure she would never become someone like that. The messaging about pride being a sin she’d heard during the mass when she was little might’ve all been consciously forgotten by now, but its associations haven’t.

And if only Sue’s mind saw it fit to end that tangent there and then, she could’ve had some comfort in not being that person—but it didn’t. Of course it didn’t, it couldn’t, because that kind of thinking was precisely a part of the problem. If she took relief in that, that’d just be letting her pride in being good once more offset her wicked deeds. There was no relief, no mercy to be found within that mental thread, and it hurt.

But she’d bear through it.

Instead of acknowledging just how far her psyche was willing to stretch to have another sin to jot down, Sue focused on another part of Daisy’s answer, one far more unequivocally bad. “But what if you do have a chance to fix it, to take responsibility, and you just mess it up again? O-or you get too afraid to even take that chance, and the problem remains unfixed?”

“Hah!” Daisy chuckled. “Sound like another mistake!”

Correct.

“Which mean, have to fix too. Just another measure, another cut, again. Like any mistake. Look close, think what wrong, next chance. On, onward!”

Not the answer Sue thought she’d hear, and not one she cared for, either. It sounded much too... simplistic, dismissive of the underlying issue that this was about people and not slabs of rock. “This isn’t about mining or crafting something wrong though, this—I hurt someone and I haven’t apologized. It’s not like I can ‘just’ fix that; I had my chance to apologize to her, and I blew it.”

“Unfortunate,” Chisel muttered. Off in the distance behind her, all the chatter was steadily distracting the pink bat out of their task, but nobody noticed—and especially not Sue. She wanted to continue with her tangent, wanted to put words to her fears and hopelessness, reassert that everything was indeed doomed.

She didn’t get the opportunity, though.

“‘Course different with people, girl,” Daisy sighed. “Core the same—another measure, attempt. Need forgive you first, too. Nobody without mistakes. If want fix them, need calm and forgive self first. What happened is, ain’t not-happening it. Need live with that. Live, breath, measure, try. Try and try. Better not anger at you, but if, then forgive first.”

Was this really all the wisdom Daisy had? Sue clenched her hand as she listened in, the simplistic advice grating away at her composure. Wasn’t forgiveness exactly how she ended up here in the first place? If she’d just tried harder and been more relentless with herself, she would’ve pushed through and done what was needed there and then, just like with Basil. This leniency, this ‘forgiveness’, clearly had only made things worse.

She grumbled, trying to keep what remained of her cool, “But that only makes things worse, right? If you just keep forgiving yourself, you’ll grow okay with not fixing things and stay where you are. Won’t it result in stagnation, in not caring about anything bad you do just because you can forgive yourself afterwards? I-I don’t know, it just sounds like a recipe for becoming the worst sort of person, allowing us to freely hurt others before just absolving ourselves of everything wrong.”

The other two women took a while chewing through Sue’s words, the heady mix of emotion, imperfect translation and complicated topic muddling the waters further. For a while, Sue thought she had indeed ‘won’ the discussion, with Chisel turning to silence and Daisy heavily considering something. As much as she had wanted it to, that fact brought her no joy. Yes, she had won the medal for being the correctest little girl in the room—her reward was the crippling awareness of how much she’d fucked up for the rest of forever.

Sue didn’t want to be right, not this once. She wanted someone to step in and prove her wrong, to hack away at her excuses and anger, piercing through them one after another before finally reaching the wounded emotions at the core. She wanted, needed to be wrong on this, inwardly praying for someone to bash through her contrarianism and offer her a hand towards somewhere where she wouldn’t feel this awful anymore.

And Daisy was keen to deliver.

“Ya know, thinkin’. Sound like you focus mistakes. Not measures, fixes, but mistakes. It’s punishment, from us to us. Makes feel awful. Shameful, angry. Imagine raisin’ hand at yourself. Your soul. Focus mistakes is punish soul.”

The Forest Guardian had no idea where the blue builder was going with this, but she had her entire attention.

Daisy continued, “Thing—nobody like punishment. It hurts, from us or not us. Nobody want, avoid if can. Focus mistakes is punishment is pain is not want fix, because hurts.”

That sequence of events broadly tracked, yes. Of course having to think about what she’d done hurt. Whether that counted as actual punishment Sue wasn’t as sure of—it more so felt like the only right thing to do in such a situation. But, what she was more positive about, was that it was necessary. It had to hurt, otherwise there wouldn’t be any change.

Right?

Before Sue could put her doubts to words, though, Chisel had done it for her. “Need punishment occasionally,” the red robot muttered with a pensive expression. “It shapes virtue.”

The blue rhino wasn’t convinced, firmly shaking her head. “Punishment from others? Not sure if, but not that about right now. Punishment from self? Nah, never. Look—all hate punishment. All want away punishment. Not want tell elders that crops trampled if get punished. Not want force out into rain in night. All the same when you, not others. Two ways runnin’ away punishment. One good, but two common. One—you abuse self, fix mistake. Used hurt, now gone. Two—hide. Not look. Give up, hide, anythin’ not look. When two, mistake never fix. Hide from us, from mistake and shame. Disappointment, yes. Mistake hurt, punishment hurt, shame hurt less. All hurt much.”

Nobody was sure how to respond to Daisy’s words. In no small part because she was clearly not done yet, tapping her claws against her bulky hide. After a moment or two, she sighed and continued, voice much more somber than before. “I say because I live that. Dozens dozens Moons ago, when Moonview much small, I... afraid night kin. Afraid, angry, awful. Not Root-like, but much close than want admit.”

Sue stared at the builder wide-eyed, shocked at the admission considering how she had stood up to the badger last night. For once, she wasn’t the only one shocked at the mundane events around her, the other builder’s yellow eyes similarly wide. “...you?” Chisel asked, stunned.

“Ya, me,” Daisy admitted. “It mistake, long big mistake. I watch, Moonview change. Everyone less afraid when Solstice here. Not me, not much. Still worry. Know worry bad. Bad mistake, hurt lot, shame lot. Hurt think, so not think. Only run and away look, forever. Moons go, others less afraid. Me still afraid. Afraid about afraid. Punishment thinking about afraid. No change, only hurt, only shame.”

“Wh-what happened to change that?” Sue asked, leaning further in.

“Long talk Granite. Was afraid talk. Not want anger others, punishment others. Granite realize wrong something, listen. Hurt, but I explain what happen. I remember, he ask—‘You want change?’ Obviously yes. Then he, ‘Sit, think about night kin afraid. No you anger, no you shame. Sit, think, accept you there. No judgment.’ It hard, y’all! It very hard. He help. We sit talk. Eventually easier. Less anger at me from me. Can look at mistake without fear. Without feeling sin. After talking many times, finally can change and measure and fix. Only when no think ‘I’m bad’. ‘I’m bad’ burn, paralyze, poison. ‘I did bad’ tells fix, change. It very hard then. Talking about very hard now.”

Sue shook in her seat as she processed the admission, the lesson contained therein as straightforward as it was hard to accept. It was one thing to reassure others that just because they had done a bad thing that didn’t mean they were a bad person, but doing that to herself bordered on impossible. And in her case, it wasn’t even about her being a ‘bad’ person—she didn’t consider herself to have done enough of either good or bad to think of herself as more than just ‘a person’. ‘Worthless’, however... yeah, that tracked.

*click-growl-hiss...*

The unfamiliar, bestial sound perked Sue up, her gaze snapping towards its source. Her reaction at seeing the pink bat draped over Chisel’s shoulders was much more subdued than when she first spotted them earlier, but it still wasn’t exactly pleasant. Still, she tried her hardest to push through that subconscious emotional response—and instead, try linking with them.

Furrowing her brow and clenching her right hand, she pushed through the mounting aches as she extended the third link from her head. The first two grew treacherously weak as she maneuvered it through the air, tuning out the bat’s uncertain, pensive emotions just enough to touch the underlying mind.

The attached body just blinked in surprise at the unfamiliar sensation, getting entirely distracted from what they’d just heard. “Sorry I not hear you Chisel something distracted!” they squeaked. Their translated voice was surprisingly high-pitched for how boyish it was, and nowhere near close enough to adulthood to conceivably fool her like with Northeast.

Congratulations, you got repeatedly pissed at a kid—wait, no. I... I probably want to avoid thinking that, right?

The red builder was unsure how did the pink scorpion manage to not hear her with her mouth being inches away from his ears, but she repeated regardless. “Ultimately, apologize you?”

The bat nodded fiercely, “Yes! Apologize did but hard and Mrs. Splitleaf help.”

As Sue squirmed under the pressure of her self-consciousness, Daisy just chuckled. “Ain’t thing wrong that, Copper. Realize mistake, realize harm, take responsibility. You want apologize, afraid alone, asked help. Still apologize, all good.”

The newly named Copper clung closer to Chisel, looking away with a faint blush on his cheeks. “Mrs. Splitleaf and Ms. Cirrus talk me about it. I mean and hurt and wish not. Everyone mean and joke Joy and I think can too and... hurt hurt hurt. Hope others not mean Joy now.”

“Better others with time, sonny. Good you for apologize and think better, others time take. Believe they better get too,” Daisy beamed, about to reach up to scritch the bat on the chin before realizing she didn’t quite have the reach from her sitting position.

Unfortunately for Copper, however, Daisy wasn’t the only one who could understand him in their exchange. “Yeah, I—I hope nothing like that will happen to Joy again,” Sue muttered, catching the bat’s attention. He flinched at not just hearing, but understanding her voice, leaving her worrying she should’ve given him a heads up about it. It was too late for that now, but...

It wasn’t too late for other things.

The small gathering remained silent while Sue gathered words, green fingers tapping against white, thin legs as she stared down at the ground. A part of her didn’t want to bother with doing what she was about to do, kept chiding her for ‘admitting defeat’ like this. After all, her original anger was right—Copper had hurt Joy and took his sweet bloody time before doing anything more than pathetically running away from her.

A much larger part of her didn’t want to be angry, though. Anger was so tiring, especially one she had to forcibly maintain with so much time having passed since the original incident. She was under no delusion that he and Joy wouldn’t be buddy buddy right away after something like that, especially with the scar still visible on the girl’s maw, but... they didn’t have to be. Healing was gonna take a while either way; what mattered was that he’d finally apologized. And if Sue could find in herself the mercy to let those bygones be bygones and actually meet the bat without judgment as an equal,

Then maybe she could figure out how to do it with herself, too.

“Hi, Copper. I... I’m sorry for getting so angry at you over those past few days,” Sue mumbled, finally finding the courage to look up at him. “I can’t imagine that helped a lot, and I only scared you a bunch...”

Surprise, hesitation, confusion—and finally, relief. “Oh! Thank thank... *click-click-click-click—*” the bat began, drifting off with repetitive noises.

“This gal Sue, Copper!” Daisy chimed in.

The bat acknowledged the clarification with a few rapid clicks. “Thank thank Ma’am Daisy and thank thank Ms. Sue!”

If he had “Ma’am”’d me I would’ve probably crumbled into dust on the spot.

“Understand I Ms. Sue. If all happen me then my mom would angry angry like you,” Copper continued, almost short-circuiting Sue’s brain. She wanted to deny that comparison—she wasn’t Joy’s mom; the very idea was... i-it was silly, and the more she could do to dispel it, the better. And yet, for all her wants, she remained silent, just nodding along and persevering through the warmth that bloomed within her at the comparison.

Unaware of any internal debate going on right beside her, Daisy continued. “Goin’ back. True Sue, forever forgive can stagnation. Can happen. But if want fix, from heart, then forgive help bunch. Forgive allow help from others. Sometimes, even true want fix not enough. Need others help. Without forgive, with anger, others help hard. Very hard. Too hurt to talk about. With forgive, remove anger, judgment, shame. Without shame, can ask help, fix. Punishment and anger make shame. Shame make not want talk, want protect. Protect the hurt to pride, hide guilt. Forgive destroy shame.”

After flicking her fingers a few more times, the builder had just the thing in mind to cap her point off with. “Forever forgive can stagnation. Forever punishment, forever shame will stagnation. Forgive not hide responsibility—allow it. Allow overcome shame, fix.”

As much as that kneejerk part of her still wanted to argue against that, to insist that she should be angry at herself and not let herself rest over this... it didn’t have the strength to do so anymore. Not now. They might’ve taken a bit of interpretation to truly grasp, but Sue wanted to take Daisy’s words to heart. Of course, even with them, even with that temporary balm of forgiveness of someone else’s making, her mind still wasn’t clear of everything that plagued it—and she knew it.

The situation with Northeast was messed up, but if it had been just that, Sue guessed she would’ve been able to apologize earlier today. And yet, she didn’t. There was more to it, a Forest Guardian-shaped scar in her mind that covered up another, much larger, person-shaped scar. The latter one was all but invisible for now, and the former still hurt to acknowledge, but at least now she felt like she was capable of it.

The chat with Daisy didn’t fix everything, but at least it left her feeling well enough to ask for help towards fixing things, be they with Northeast or Aurora. Even with the road ahead more visible now, it still wouldn’t be as straightforward as she would’ve wished for.

“If only it was this easy...” Sue sighed.

“Ha! Never easy. Not even when help. If try try try, at last succeed, girl. How feel, Sue? Better?” Daisy asked, giving the Forest Guardian a modest smile at seeing her straighten her back at least somewhat.

Sue returned the expression. “I’m better, yeah. I still have a lot on my mind, but it feels more feasible now. It’s also probably something I should talk about with someone else, heh. Thank you, Daisy, Chisel, C-Copper.”

“Anytime, girl!”

“Much appreciated.”

“Thank for talking Ms. Sue! Oh!” Copper perked up, drawing Chisel’s attention right as she was about to turn around and head back to the basin-ful of boiling something. “Can tell Joy hope I she better?”

“O-of course, Copper!” Sue answered, her earlier smile blossoming as she kept a single annoying tear from leaking out. The bat chirped happily in response, the sound high enough to peak into ultrasound and slipping out of her mental translation—assuming it was supposed to be understood as words to begin with. With all the reassurance she could reasonably expect, Sue stood up and took a deep breath, earning herself a couple pats on the back right as Daisy got up and began to head back to the quarry. She just barely avoided losing her balance this time, netting both herself and the rhino a chuckle—followed by a realization. “Um—Daisy?”

“Yah?”

“Would you mind escorting me back to Moonview? I-I know there’s a path here, but... uh—”

“‘Course!” Daisy cut through Sue’s uncertainty about how to word the current situation. “Not fret, Sue. More stone than need half Moon. Grab snack, three. Ready go now?”

No point in delaying it.

“Yeah!”

She had some well-wishes to pass on, after all.