Brittle’s hollow chest burned as he ran. Needled branches whipped out like claws, tearing at his antlers as his wee body hurtled past. Had Brittle been a beast born of nature, it would have been around this point that he noticed the inability to draw fresh breath within his shriveled lungs. Fortunately, begot by magic, he had no need for anatomically correct organs and was thus forced to merely envision what that must have felt like.

It was terrible. Almost as bad as trying to sprint through an overgrown forest on the leg equivalent of toothpicks.

“Brittle!” Lastar, still in skunk form, moved like a streak of zigzagging black and white lightning beside him. The demigod managed only a few words between desperate gulps of air. “Where are you” – gasp – “going?”

Waves of panic crashed and swelled within Brittle’s rickety bones. The answer had not been abundantly clear at first. There hadn’t been a plan back at Rochelle’s cottage. The moment he was able to sneak back to the tree line undetected was the same moment he started to run. From there, he merely kept at it, because it was the only thing he could think to do. His limbs took over after that, intent on carrying him as far from Rochelle’s destroyed cottage as possible.

It wasn’t until he was already halfway into the journey that Brittle realized his cork bark feet were taking him down a familiar, albeit terrifying, path. He wiped the hot tears from his eyes and uttered a single, impossibly dry word. “Home.”

“Thank the gods,” Lastar whimpered with relief. “Finally some sense from you.”

“Edvin and Thom will know what to do.”

“Precisely,” Lastar agreed. “They’ll know to stay out of it.”

Deep down, past the nauseous churning in the pit of his stomach, Brittle feared Lastar was right. Edvin had already forbidden him from playing with Rochelle once before. He imagined trying to spring her from prison would be met with similar protest. That worry was for later, however, entirely dependent on whether or not he actually made it back to the cottage without keeling over from exhaustion first.

The dark rows of trees on either side condensed into parallel blurs as a fresh burst of energy built within Brittle’s stumpy legs, driving him forward ever faster. His feet barely touched the dry, needle-riddled ground. It was like flying, but without all of that flapping nonsense. Brittle was moving at an impressive hurtle, smashing through hedge and brush alike, when a dark shape leapt out and seized him by the arm, dragging him to a halt.

Brittle spun around, panic caught in his throat, and promptly swallowed it when he recognized the gaunt, wide-eyed face staring back at him.

Sir Thomassin’s golden, sap-colored curls were wet and plastered to his slick forehead. There were bags under his eyes in need of their own suitcases and a tremble in his square jaw. “Brittle?” It sounded more like a squeak. “Cripes, boy, where have you been?”

Brittle was surprised to find himself pulled into a crushing hug. The sudden squeezing wasn’t doing his figurative lungs any favors.

“Thom,” Brittle croaked, desperately tapping the man’s arm to release his crushing grip.

Sir Thomassin stepped back, still keeping his hands pressed to Brittle’s shoulders. Whether it was out of comfort or simply a measure to ensure Brittle didn’t go scampering off again, Brittle didn’t know. There was a time Brittle would’ve assumed it was out of love, but being a wanted fugitive on the lam had undoubtedly changed the nature of their relationship.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine, it’s–”

“Good, because you’re in a heap of trouble!” Sir Thomassin’s voice was no longer soft, but thunderous, with more life in it than Brittle had seen since moving to Pleasant Valley. Thom craned his head back and released a series of sharp whistles that carried throughout the still forest before laying back into Brittle with fresh vigor. “What were you thinking running off like that? We’ve been worried sick, tearing the forest apart looking for you.”

“Thom, stop! You have to listen!” If Sir Thomassin’s voice was a roll of thunder, then Brittle’s would have been the heavens opening up to rain down boulders. Brittle swore even the trees stood to attention. “It’s Rochelle,” he said, notably softer. “Something’s happened. She and her grandad have been arrested.”

Sir Thomassin was too busy processing this information to respond. The ground shook in the distance, growing steadily closer as something very large barreled through the trees towards them. Brittle flinched at each approaching step. He had to get his message across quickly, before Edvin arrived and the conversation deteriorated into another tedious screaming match.

“I overheard some boys from the village talking. They said something about a,” Brittle paused, desperately racking his hollow head for the correct word. “...A swinging, I think?”

Sir Thomassin’s face pulled the impressive feat of turning even paler than before. “They’re going to be hanged?”

“Yes!” Brittle said. While he’s certainly come a long way from being the naive little bog log beast aimlessly wandering the swamp, there were still many human phrases and customs that stumped him. This particular word was no exception. “That’s bad, right?”

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The thunderous steps were nearly upon them now. Sir Thomassin stood very still, caught in thought, as though he didn’t notice the way the ground heaved violently beneath their feet. “Very bad. Were you with her when it happened? Did anyone see you?”

Brittle side-eyed the stretch of forest to his left, wondering if it would be sensible to move out of the way before Edvin knocked the whole lot down in his wake. “No.”

“Good.” Sir Thomasson seized Brittle by the hand and started off at a hurried walk. His injured leg struggled to keep up with the rest of him, but he didn’t appear to notice. His expression was now a mask of cold determination.

Brittle staggered beside him, protesting, “The village is the other way!”

“We’re not going to the village, we’re going home. We’re packing what we can carry and then we’re leaving.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

It was at that moment Edvin’s burly shape came bounding through the trees in a flurry in twigs and broken branches. He skidded to a halt, broad chest heaving, as his eerie blue eyes swept from Brittle to Sir Edvin, taking silent stock of the situation. His curled expression looked like it was going for fury but gave up mid-try. “You’re going to have to give me a second here.” Edvin dropped his head with a moan. “Gods I miss being able to portal.”

Sir Thomassin kindly filled Edvin in whilst the god fought for breath. “Brittle says the Nettles family was arrested. We need to move on before the village comes looking for us next.”

Edvin nodded weakly, unable to do much else as his massive shoulders rose and fell with each labored gasp.

Brittle was horrified by their lack of compassion. “We can’t leave!”

“We have to,” Sir Thomassin said.

Brittle tore free of the man’s iron grasp and stumbled several paces back, massaging his throbbing wrist. He glared up at Sir Thomassin, feeling a crackling heat rise up out of his core and chase the lingering panic away. “What happened to you?” he screamed. “What happened to the man who believed in the good of the people? You faced down a goddess on the power of belief alone!”

“It wasn’t belief, it was delusion. None of what I believed was real.”

“Yeah, well I liked that guy better. Deluded or not, at least he believed in something.”

“I don’t have to rely on belief anymore because I know the truth now. It’s every man for himself.” He jutted his hand out in Brittle’s direction in a silent demand for surrender. “The sooner you realize that, the better. Now come on. We have to get back while there’s still daylight.”

The words that slid effortlessly from Brittle’s tightly clenched mouth were ones he did not recognize. “I would rather die than end up like you.”

Edvin choked on his spit. His shaved head dipped even lower as he coughed and hacked the spittle from his lungs.

“Great, you can tell me all about it on the way.” Sir Thomassin lurched forward to snatch Brittle’s arm but missed. “Seriously, Brittle, we don’t have time for this!”

“A little girl is going to be killed and you don’t even care!”

“Of course I care!”

“Then do something about it!”

Sir Thomassin gestured to Edvin, who was still bent in half making sounds similar to that of a dying animal “Why me? Why aren’t you rounding on him?”

“Because he’s a god who can’t use his powers. He’s useless.”

“Hey!” Edvin said.

“He also doesn’t know what it’s like to be mortal,” Brittle continued, ignoring the withering glare from Edvin. “You do.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sir Thomassin threw his arms wide. “I have no power either! For goodness’ sake, I’m not even a knight anymore! I’m nothing.”

“You didn’t used to be nothing. You were a hero once.”

“I was a sham.”

“You faced down a god to pull me from a burning building.”

For the briefest of moments, a flicker of recognition flooded Sir Thomassin’s sad gray eyes before it snuffed out. He winced, dismissing the pain with a shake of his head. “I don’t remember.”

“It was pretty heroic,” Edvin conceded weakly.

Thom’s gaze dropped to his feet. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“You don’t have to believe it. You said so yourself, it was all a delusion. Doesn’t mean you can’t make others believe it.” Brittle saw his chance and seized it. He edged closer, internal wheels spinning the fastest they’d ever spun. “You still have the sword and breastplate, you know. Looking the part is half the battle. With that, you’d be able to convince the village folk that you were a hero sent by the king to save them.”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this.”

Brittle’s mind was already at a full gallop, stringing the pieces together as he went. “I have the cure for the illness. All you would have to do is deliver it to the village, trade it for the Nettles’ freedom, heck, pretend you’re taking them to the kingdom, maybe. It would be a quick in and out and then we could leave and I’ll give up my life of crime forever!”

“You’re life of what?” Edvin said.

Sir Thomassin crossed his arms stubbornly. “It won’t work.”

“It will.”

“I’m not like you. Things don’t just work out for me.”

“Then take me with you.”

“You can’t just march into the middle of town looking like a stump with leg bits!”

Brittle caught a flash of white and black from beneath a nearby shrub. It sparked an idea that caught flame like a wildfire within his racing mind. “The solution then is to not look like a walking stump with leg bits.”

Sir Thomassin pushed the stringy curls from his eyes with a groan. “Now you’ve really lost me.”

“Thom, Edvin.” Brittle looked between them as he slowly started to edge backwards. “I think it’s time to formally introduce you to a good friend of mine.”

Despite his use of ‘friend’, Brittle saw Lastar’s skunk form dart away in fear.

“Crab apples!” Brittle cried as he took chase.

“Where are you going?” Edvin’s voice boomed behind him.

“Be right back! I just have to catch him first!”