Thalia slapped at her neck as yet another of the unholy insects of the forest alighted on her sweat-damp skin. The creature, a shadowy blob in the gloom and murk of the thick forest at evening, made a horrifically solid sound as its hefty chitinous form rebounded off of a nearby tree. Thalia shivered in disgust despite herself and grumbled as she reiterated to herself -in her own mind, of course, lest her quarry hear her- this is why she moved to the city. She hated bugs, mud, and the odd humidity seemed to build up in the Wylde. Grimacing as she kneeled into the underbrush she narrowed her eyes and peered through the shadows. She was no ranger and stalking prey through the wilderness was profoundly not within her skillset. She’d barely had enough time to send a message to Inquirer Reid informing him she was pursuing her quarry outside of the city, let alone alerting the rangers her quarry was heading into the Wylde. Even if she had known at the time, which she hadn’t. She’d have to hope Reid would send them after her, if only to bring her back to be reprimanded for taking a little too much leeway with her orders. It's not like she could have known when he told her to capture them they’d be leaving Midburg, could she?
Returning her attention to the muddy earth in front of her, it only took a moment for her to find the deep furrows in the ground where her quarry had traipsed through without a care in the world, reassuring Thalia she was still on their trail. Stifling a curse as she stood back up on aching knees, she settled for a sigh before setting off after the pair. Pushing aside low hanging branches, she still felt the phantom sensation of insect legs scurrying across the skin of her neck, forcing her to ask herself what she was doing out here. Surely, she reasoned, the two poachers had to return to Midburg at some point? As soon as they had left the city she should have turned around and gone to Inquirer Reid for support. He could have had the Skullcaps and Wardens put a watch on the gates and simply detain the two when they returned.
Yet for some reason Thalia had felt called to be here, sallying forth from the city without any support. After all, who knew what damage the two of them could perpetrate outside the city? Furthermore, it was her duty to protect the citizens of the kingdom at large when and where she could, was it not? Thalia almost managed to convince herself she had pursued them entirely for such altruistic reasons, and not because she loved the hunt, hungered after the satisfaction of being the one to bring them in. Remembering the two of them had escaped her once already chafed at her as she worried what crimes they may have propagated directly because she failed to catch them.
Unable to even stomp her feet in irritation in fear of giving away her position and alerting the two poachers, Thalia ground her teeth and pushed through a particularly thick bit of brush with perhaps more force than necessary. She stumbled through as the plants gave way with less resistance than she had anticipated, catching her feet in an area of relative openness after the dense clutter of the underbrush behind her. Relieved as she was to have a little space, she checked her surroundings for her quarry. They had quite a lead on her, as she’d had to stalk them from afar on the road here and they were both more confident in the Wylde than she and didn’t have to worry about not making a racket as they traveled. She assumed they were a good hour or two ahead of her now, but didn’t mean they hadn't set up camp in this convenient clearing. Only once she was satisfied there was no one immediately present did she allow herself to take in the sight.
Her breath was stolen away as she inspected the clearing, a great mirror-like pond ringed on all sides by enormous flowers. In fact just a few paces before her the grandest assortment of blossoms she had ever seen bloomed, a riotous collaboration of all the colors she could name and a few she suspected she could not. For the second time today Thalia regretted not paying more attention when her mother had instructed her in the flowers, plants, and names of such things. Instead all she could do is gape at each plant, though even with her limited knowledge she could tell there were several varieties of plants here that wouldn't normally coexist or share habitats. Part of Thalia yearned to pluck a blossom ro bring home to Eleanore, to touch the perfect reflection of the wooden canopy reflected in the pond just to assure herself it was truly just a reflection but she didn’t. Something deep within told her to meddle with this place was a bad idea, she was a tolerated guest here but the situation could quickly change.
Indeed the shadow of this foreign, unnatural, dreadful feeling sobered her instantly, quelling the awe and wonder she had been feeling. Forcing herself to analyze her surroundings with a more critical eye she noticed the trees almost immediately. Ringing the pond and flower patch with artificial, too-precise spacing, the trees were set equidistantly from each other and each displayed meticulous carvings, all in the shape of a woman.Thalia was struck by the primal feeling she had seen such a creature before, if not the same one depicted here. As Thalia analyzed the feeling she wondered if perhaps she had not seen it, but her ancestors had lived alongside such beings. That her very blood was warning her of the danger and power the woman on the trees carried, and in the face of the mysterious threat the remnants of her desires to meddle in the affairs of the grave dried like mud on a hot summer’s day.
Eager to be gone from this place, Thalia turned her focus back to looking for traces of the poachers she had followed out to this place. Clear signs of habitation pervaded the area from trampled and broken down plants, to the remnants of a fire still smoldering. They’d intended to camp here certainly, but something had driven them off. Following their footprints, sometimes by guesswork and other times by treading through paths torn through the dense flower patches, she was surprised to see familiar patterns emerge. She may not have been a woodsman or a ranger, but her Warden instincts were honed and trained for crime scenes, and the tracks she saw wouldn't have looked out of place in one of Midburgs muddy back alleys. There were clear signs of a struggle and two different blood patterns in the foliage, though one was unusual in its light coloration and when she touched it with her fingertip and brought it closer for inspection she marveled it smelled quite sweet. More curious than that, Thalia saw what looked to be extremely tiny bootprints, smaller than even the tiniest child. Standing upright, her thought process was completely unraveled by a bright red blur swooping towards her face, right at eye level.
Thalia flinched away and brought her fists up in front of her face defensively, hunkering behind them in an attempt to prevent the projectile from striking her. She peeked past her hands nervously as the impact never came and was relieved to see the red blur was nothing more than a hummingbird. It floated in front of her patiently, watching with dark eyes as she lowered her guard. As motionless as it was, Thalia was able to see it in great detail. Seamlessly smooth feathers and consistent coloring almost tricked her into believing the creature was carved from stone, despite the blur of its wings and the fact it was hovering at eye level above the forest floor.
She approached the bird cautiously, half convinced the creature was the familiar of some witch, or perhaps a vile fey creature came to trick her. When she got within a certain distance it fled from her before coming to stop a few paces away. Thalia looked at the bird curiously, wondering if there was some intellect at work behind its enigmatic black eyes. Tentative steps away from the bird saw it fly closer and chirp in irritation until she resumed walking towards it. Once she was moving the way it apparently wanted it would fly a distance away and wait for her to catch up. Part of her warned this was clearly an intelligent denizen of the Wylde, and she should flee before she was cursed. The other, louder part of her, the Warden part of her, prodded her to follow the creature.
Shrugging and shoving the part of her feared the mystical and unknown into the back of her mind, Thalia strode after the hummingbird. Though the little red blur did nothing to indicate it, she got the sudden sense it was excited by this turn of events. It bolted through the air once more as she got close enough, flying over to the edge of the pond. Once there it began to circle in place, chittering wildly. Trotting up to it, Thalia moved up to the shore of the pond, coming to an abrupt halt as she saw a diminutive form laying on the shore. She tried to look at the hummingbird for confirmation, or perhaps further information, but the gem-like apparition was apparently satisfied with this outcome for it vanished into thin air with nary a trace. Thalia whipped around in an effort to track it but found the effort to be futile, unable to find the deceptively clever bird again
Frowning, she turned back to the small humanoid thing before her which was laying face down in the mud, its head tilted to the side so it could breathe. As she knelt and brought herself closer to the creature she became aware of two horrendous rents in its back, pooled blood beginning to dry into a thick crust over them. Given their symmetry and odd placement, Thalia’s couldn’t help but wonder if the wounds were the result of a sacrificial rite, or perhaps torture. In either case, on a human the wounds would be deep and likely fatal. Thalia unsheathed her knife from her belt and carefully brought the tip before the tiny being’s face, the flat of the blade as close as she could get to it. She withdrew it quickly and checked the knife, both shocked and relieved to see a small bit of fog near the tip evaporated almost before she could register it. The creature, whatever it was, was still breathing.
Is this the work of those two? Thalia thought grimly. Even if it isn’t, even if this thing isn’t human, could I abide by leaving it to die?
With a sigh she cut away a strip of cloth, the cleanest she could find, from her uniform and used it to bandage the wound as best she could. Picking the creature up gently, she cradled it against her chest like an infant. Except, she kept it face down with its face free so it could still breathe. She crossed her other arm over it, sheltering the tiny being from the growing cold of the night while simultaneously putting pressure on the makeshift bandage. Satisfied she had done all she could with her limited resources, Thalia turned and fled the clearing as quickly as she could. She made her way out of the forest with far less care than she had made her way in, only slowing to orient herself by her tracks or the various markings she had left on the way in to guide her back out. The trek back to Midburg was a long one, and she was not certain the little creature she held in her arms would make it, but she’d give it the best chance she could by moving as quickly as possible.
***
It was dawn by the time Thalia made it back to Midburg. The Skullcaps at the gate almost didn't let her in, not recognizing the wayward Warden through the various layers of dirt, grime, and foliage covering her. They’d quickly changed their tune when she tore into them, recognizing if not the appearance of the Warden, then at least familiar with the tone a Warden took when unlucky Skullcaps got in their way. Whispers about her appearance and whether she was the Warden Inquirer Reid was looking for the day before began almost immediately, but Thalia paid them no mind. Instead she broke into a run once she was through the gate, pelting down the city streets, weaving her way through any obstacles in her path. She had no idea what to do with the creature in her arms, so she decided to bring the issue to the smartest person she knew. It was lucky she was as familiar with Eleanore’s workshop as she was her own home, she just had to hope her friend was there.
Thalia’s gamble was thankfully rewarded, the first bit of good luck the beleaguered Warden had seen in hours. Bursting through the door to Eleanore’s workshop she scared her friend witless, prompting the tinkerer to leap from her seat and stare at Thalia witlessly with bloodshot, sleep deprived eyes. It took a few moments before Eleanore was able to recognize her, but when she did the effect was immediate. Stomping up to Thalia, concern and anger warring in her expression, her approach was intense enough to cause trepidation in the exhausted Warden. An anxiety grew even in spite of the fact a tiny voice whispered how cute Eleanore was when she was upset.
“Where have you been?” Eleanore began, though she quickly changed tack when she saw what Thalia had in her arms. “What in the gods’ names is that?”
Thalia wordlessly pushed the little person into Eleanore’s arms, ignoring her sputtering protest. “I don’t know what it is, but it's dying. I found it in the Wylde, following those two poachers from yesterday.”
Thalia’s exhaustion mounted as she watched her friend calculate how far away the enchanted forest was. Anger began to grow again on Eleanore’s face, entirely replacing the concern there as she realized how dangerous Thalia’s little trip had been, how isolated and at risk the Warden was out there. Seeing the oncoming tirade and deciding to cut it off, Thalia interjected.
“So, how do we save it?” Thalis blurted before Eleanore could blow up on her.
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“W-what?” Eleanore stuttered, surprise cutting away at her wrath. “Save it? I have no idea, I’m not a doctor!”
“But you know magic right? I mean, your automatons run on it.” Thalia said desperately, getting the dreadful feeling she was grasping at straws.
“What does that have to do with this?” Eleanore cried, holding up the limp and lifeless form of the tiny humanoid helplessly.
"That's a creature of magic, isn’t it? I was kind of hoping…” Thalia trailed off, hands gesticulating vaguely in a circle.
“It’s an entirely separate thing to use enchantments to move metal and to heal the mortal wounds of a magical creature!” Eleanore protested. “In fact, most wizards believe natural magic and magic mortal races practice are entirely different!”
“Magic is magic!” Thalia protested feebly. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and dirty, and regardless of how she felt about magic and mystical creatures she didn’t want the poor thing to die, even if it couldn’t help with the poacher. Feeling heat begin to build up behind her eyes, Thalia blinked rapidly to drive the tears away. Eleanore snapped back a reply, not yet sensing her friend’s mood.
“The source is the same, but the structure of our two magic systems is completely different! There’s no telling what would happen if I even tried…” Eleanore stopped as she saw Thalia’s expression. Stepping forward, she reached her free hand forward and patted Thalia’s head gently, having to get on her tiptoes to reach.
“I’m sorry Thalia.” She stated, her voice calm and soothing. “This isn’t the time to be freaking out. Not for me, and not for you.” Thalia nodded, blinking back tears that were suddenly fighting even more ferociously to get out.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Warden.” Eleanore stressed Thalia’s position slightly, and the reminder of her rank and responsibility resonated with the Warden. She felt her back straight and her shoulders square, the tension in her brow smoothing. “You’re going to go report to Inquirer Reid. He’s worried sick about you, but more than he should be able to get assistance from the royal mages. Hopefully they’ll know a bit more about how to help this little guy.”
Thalia swallowed, forcing down a painful lump in her throat she hadn’t known was there, feeling a measure of calmness return to her. The long night and stress of keeping the creature alive had worn on her, but knowing she could count on Reid and the Warden’s aid buoyed her. Even if she knew he was going to be less than happy with her, and she’d likely be in for a stern lecture when this was all over. Thalia moved to leave but stopped abruptly, looking at the tiny human-like being in Eleanore’s arms.
“I’ll do my best to make sure he survives.” Eleanore reassured her. “Now I know you’re tired but if we’re going to save him you have to go, and you have to go now.”
As she said it, Eleanore ushered Thalia to the door, pushing the tired Warden by bumping Thalia with her hips. All the while Eleanore reassured the Warden she’d watch after her charge as the Warden voiced concerns. With one final gentle-but-firm push from Eleanore she found herself standing on the street outside the workshop once again. Thalia hesitated for a moment before shrugging tiredly and breaking out into a loping run towards her office where she suspected Reid was waiting, stewing in his anger.
***
Eleanore waited with bated breath as she listened through the door, only releasing it when she heard the rapid patter of Thalia’s feet against the cobblestone street. She allowed herself a moment of relief, now she knew her friend was going to be alright, before the limp form in her arms twitched and moaned in pain. Suddenly, frightfully aware of the state of her new ward, she rushed back over to her workbench and made a rough cot for the creature to rest on out of an old overcoat she’d left laying on the back of a chair.
Deliberately setting the creature on its stomach so as not to agitate its wounds, Eleanore peeled back the makeshift bandage Thalia had used. Grimacing at the ghastly rents opened in the poor thing’s back, she opened a drawer on her workbench and pulled out a few basic medical supplies she kept on hand in case of an accident with her work. Hoping the creature didn’t have any odd, mystical, antagonistic relationships with basic first aid supplies, she used distilled water she had on hand to clean the wounds and a small swab of cotton hastily but securely wrapped around a dowel to make sure the wound was clear of debris.
Satisfied she’d cleaned the wounds as best she could, Eleanore found herself torn on how to proceed. Did she clean it with strong spirits and apply an ointment like she would her own wounds? There was a non-zero possibility the poor thing would react poorly to any treatment she attempted. The old tales told to children had numerous examples of magical creatures reacting poorly to iron, silver, and all sorts of materials. She was in the middle of her internal debate when a knock at her door shook her out of her deliberations.
Eleanore had been rather engaged in her treatment of her patient, so she wasn’t certain how long Thalia had been gone. Her gut told her the warden hadn’t been gone long enough to inform Inquirer Reid, gather a wizard, and make it all the way home. Still, not a moment could be wasted in this situation so Eleanore sprung up from her perch on her stool and ran to the door of her workshop. She threw it open to find not only was it not her dear friend, or Inquirer Reid, or a wizard from the court, but rather an old crone she’d never seen before. The wizened old woman had a kindly face and curly white hair pulled back into a bun, but her eyes were dark as night and colder than stone. Eleanore was struck by the understanding this was an old woman and so much more.
Taking advantage of Eleanore’s momentary hesitation, the elderly matron pushed past her and strode into the workshop, deceptively strong despite her apparent age. Eleanore shook herself out of her stupor and ran to catch up to the old woman, moving around her to stand in front of her and stop her advance, but the crone simply walked into Eleanore’s chest and burst into smoke-like vapors. These vapors dragged across Eleanore’s skin, cold and thick, circumventing her entirely. Eleanore turned around just in time to see the vapors coalesce back into the old woman, who continued walking as though nothing had happened. Eleanore opened her mouth to say something but found no words, following the woman cautiously. It was clear to Eleanore if the old woman meant her harm then there was little eleanore could do to stop her.
The woman strode right up to the diminutive creature laying on the workbench before coming to a stop. To Eleanore’s eyes it looked like the woman hesitated as her emotions overwhelmed her, her face filling with concern, worry, or perhaps even guilt. She reached out a trembling hand, fingers hovering just above the wounds Eleanore hadn’t had the time to pack and bandage.
“I didn’t, ah, do to him.” She said meekly, flinching as the old woman shot her a contemptuous glare.
“I know you didn’t, fool.” She snarled. The crone took a deep breath then and closed her eyes. When she opened them and spoke again she was far more calm. “My apologies. I thank you for what you’ve done for my friend. Clearly you attempted to help him as best you knew how, but if we don’t act soon he will die here.”
“You know how to save him?” Eleanore asked excitedly, and was gratified when the woman nodded. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I think there is. My friend, Pug, is a fairy. Are you familiar with fairies?” She asked, continuing once Eleanore nodded her confirmation. “Fairies are the essence of freedom, of whimsy. They’re born to flutter from amusement to amusement, to glide above the earth and all of the terrestrial concerns associated with it. If you’re familiar with fairies then you know they should have wings, and those wings are as crucial to their being as the heart.”
“But not your friend here?” Eleanore asked, curiosity getting the better of her. Thankfully the woman was lost in thought and simply nodded in response to her interruption.
“Pug here is a little special. He doesn’t know it, but his blood helped preserve him, as did the waters of the Hearth. Nevertheless, he is still dying. His magic pours from the tears in his flesh like blood, its loss not stymied by the likes of salves and bandages. Without his magic he will soon fade away.” Sadness washed across the woman’s face of such intensity and depth Eleanore’s own heart ached to see it.
“I’m not sure what I can do to help you or your friend. It’s beyond my ability to regrow his wings.” Eleanore stammered.
“No, we won’t grow him wings.” The matron laughed, chasing away her grief. “You are far more comfortable with artifice, are you not?” Eleanore nodded, not entirely surprised this stranger would know . Her work was becoming rather famous, though she wondered how far word had traveled to reach the ear of a creature like this.
“Then find any wings you may have, miss artificer, and bring them to me. Even if they are of metal and human magicks, I can use them to grant my friend a stay of execution.” A look of grim determination took hold of the old woman, and Eleanore sprung away to do as she bid.
A few minutes of rummaging about her bits and baubles and spare parts for her contraptions awarded her with a pair of wings. She’d initially intended to use them to manufacture a flying tray to carry her tools for her as she worked. It was unfortunate that even with her skill at enchanting she was unable to make them fly, but it seemed the crone was confident in her ability to succeed where Eleanore had previously failed. She rushed back to the old woman, hesitating for a moment at a distance as she heard the old woman murmuring to the crippled fairy.
“Oh Pug, I’m so sorry this had to happen to you. I’m sorry for my part in leading you to it.” She said, whispered words full of pain. “Even more, I’m sorry for the pain and trials loom over your future. If you were to die here, as you ought, you would be spared these pains. I think, however, if you were given the choice you would choose to live. I’ll do all I can to give your life back to you and pray I’m not wrong.”
Before Eleanore could digest what she’d heard, the crone turned around and held out her hand. Eleanore scurried forward and set the wings in her palm and watched as her creations were scrutinized with a discerning eye. The wings were made of silver and modeled after the four wings of a dragonfly. The internal shape of the wings beyond the silver outline were a finely shaped filigree brought to mind creeping vines and thorns. This was all set to the backdrop of a thin membrane of paper, a luxury she’d specially ordered for this project, was supposed to catch the air. The crone looked curiously at this membrane before tearing it away from each wing. When Eleanore cried out against the sudden vandalism the crone gave her an arch look.
“This will do nothing but fall apart in the first summer shower. Besides, he doesn't need material there to catch the air. It's magic.” The crone explained with a wink.
The woman turned back to Pug and promptly shoved each wing into the gaping wounds in his back. The poor fairy groaned in pain even in his unconscious state, and Eleanore flinched in sympathy. The crone cupped her hands over the fairy’s form and began a low chanting. A silvery glow began in her hands and drifted down in small motes, each shining and twinkling. Where they struck the wings, the fairy, and even the table they began to glow as well until the whole area was shining. This light grew in intensity, and the chanting grew in volume, until Eleanore’s ears were ringing and her eyes watering with pain. Worse, a dull ache began to form behind her eyes, but still the human kept her eyes open and watched the ritual taking place. Her inquisitive and inventive nature reasoned that if she could learn from this her own magical working would benefit greatly.
She privately doubted, however, the process would work. The wings were set in the wounds crookedly, and there were no joints or mechanisms to allow for articulation. Even if the gashes in the fairy healed he’d just be left with two chunks of metal sticking out of his back. Eleanore wisely kept her mouth shut on this particular topic, understanding the woman in front of her was a being perhaps even more magical than the fairy on the table, and not an enemy Eleanore wanted to make. Only moments later the glow began to dim, and the crone stepped back from the work desk, breathing deeply.
Despite her fear of the old woman, Eleanore’s curiosity got the better of her and she scrambled forward to look at the result of the woman’s work. To her amazement the previously crooked wings were now properly aligned and evenly spaced. Indeed, the two wounds were nothing more than scars, though each was shiny and metallic as though the silver of the wings had bled into them. The dragonfly wings protruded from these scars seamlessly, appearing to be as much a part of the whole of the fairy as its arms or legs. The wings twitched fitfully, as though getting settled into the new body they found themselves.
Trembling with excitement, Eleanore turned to the crone to interrogate her on how such a thing was possible. For mortal races, magic had to be told exactly what to do. It would not have moved the wings and arranged them to be more anatomically similar to the true wings of a dragonfly. Eleanore wanted to know whether the crone had done all of this purposefully, or whether the magic had just followed this course naturally, like it had seemed to Eleanore. Unfortunately as Eleanore turned to ask her questions she saw she was unlikely to get any answers.
The woman was once more turning into the same thick, dark vapor she had before. This time though, it seemed to be against her will. A grimace marred her kindly face, and her dark eyes were wide with strain as her body seemed to come apart before Eleanore’s very eyes. Particles and bits seemed to be pulled away from the crone’s form, turning into streams of dark mist made long ribbons to the door of the workshop. It looked for all the world like a great whirlwind was pulling the crone in, though Eleanore did not feel even a breeze. The whole event happened so quickly before she had a chance to register what was happening the old woman was gone, the last smoke-like tendrils that were proof of her existence being pulled through the cracks of the workshop door.
Eleanore, at a loss for words, simply sat down heavily on her stool. She looked at the fairy on the top of her desk, now resting peacefully. Color had already returned to the creature’s skin, and Eleanore felt confident he would survive. She just hoped he would be able to answer some questions about what, exactly, happened here.