All the running from the previous night had done a number on Lastar, as Brittle caught him relatively easily. Sure, it took a bit of tumble through a briar patch to slow the demigod down but, after a brief scramble amongst the thorny undergrowth, Brittle emerged victorious, cradling the squirming skunk safely in his arms.

“Put me down!” Lastar wailed, stumpy legs pawing uselessly in the air.

“I need your help.”

“You should know by now that I’m not the helpful type!”

Brittle picked his way through the forest back to Sir Thomassin and Edvin. Both adults were as he’d left them. Except for their expressions, of course, which looked extra confused the moment Brittle popped up out of the brush carrying a protesting skunk.

Edvin side-eyed the black and white animal something fierce. “What’cha got there, Little Loggo?”

Brittle formally introduced his friend. “This is Lastar.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re back to making friends with forest critters,” Edvin said, “but I don’t see how a skunk is going to help your plan here.”

Sir Thomassin dropped to one knee. He peered closer, squinting his pale eyes at the squirming animal held firmly in Brittle’s hands. “That’s not a skunk.”

“Polecat, fine, whatever.” Edvin dismissed him with a wave. “My point remains. It’s not going to hel–”

“For goodness’ sake, man, use your eyes! It has six legs!”

Edvin leaned closer and frowned. “...Is that not normal?”

“Brittle,” Sir Thomassin said, deciding his efforts were better spent elsewhere, “this is the spy that’s been slinking around the house, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“He befriended the spy.” Sir Thomassin stood and walked several paces away. He ran his fingers through his greasy curls whilst muttering to himself. “Of course he did, Thom. Why would you have expected anything different? It’s not like anything normal happens to you anymore.”

“Rein it in, Thom. We don’t have time for another identity crisis right now.” Strangely, it was Edvin who steered the conversation back on track. His blazing blue eyes settled over Brittle. “What’s the not-skunk spy got to do with this grand plan of yours, boy?”

Grand plan was a generous description of the string of half-formed ideas Brittle was attempting to mash together into something coherent. When it boiled down to it, his proposition was the plan equivalent of mystery stew – everything hastily thrown together with an extra dash of prayer that no one would die. “Lastar can shapeshift. Not just himself, but other people too.”

“No I can’t,” the skunk said.

Brittle continued undeterred. “He once saved me from a group of villagers by disguising me as a tree.”

“No I didn’t.”

“...So your plan is to have the skunk here disguise you as a tree? No offense here, Loggo, but it’s going to look mighty suspicious if a knight claiming to work on the behalf of the king strolls into town with a tree in tow.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Brittle sorely wished he had the parts necessary with which to roll his eyes. He gave an exasperated shake of his head instead. “He’s not going to disguise me as a tree, Edvin. He’s going to make me look human. I can pose as Sir Thomassin’s squire.”

Lastar’s desperate efforts paid off at last. He squirmed free of Brittle’s grip and struck the ground. He spun about, hackles raised high in the air. “I can’t replicate a human! Look at me! I can’t even do a skunk right.”

“You can if you practice,” Brittle insisted. “Edvin can help you. He may not be able to use his powers right now, but that doesn’t stop him from being able to coach someone else from doing it.”

“I just love being volunteered for things,” Edvin muttered.

Sir Thomassin shot him a look that said ‘want to try your hand at convincing a village to surrender their witch captives for a mushroom instead?’ Edvin averted his attention elsewhere, pretending he didn’t notice.

Brittle was relieved when neither of his supposed guardians protested the plan. It was as if they’d already accepted that he was going to get his way, and grudgingly chose the path of least resistance. The same reluctant acceptance did not apply to Lastar, who was starting to look awfully pale for a creature with naturally dark fur.

Brittle couched lower to the ground. “Please, Lastar? I’ll never ask anything of you ever again. I’ll stick to the house from here on out, too. No more adventures. Your job will be the most boring it’s ever been, I swear.”

Lastar’s resolve wavered. Brittle saw the light in his surprisingly correct number of eyes change. One last emotional push. That’s all Brittle needed to cement the deal. He offered his hand and said, “Help me remind Mara and all the other gods and goddesses that there’s still good in the world.”

“They don’t care about the fate of one little girl,” Lastar snapped.

“Exactly. They don’t, when they should. I’ll tell you who does care. That one little girl who’s probably scared out of her wits, praying for a miracle. We both know the gods aren’t going to answer. The question is, are you?”

“Oh good grief. I can’t say no to that without looking like a baddie, can I?” Lastar’s black and white body sagged miserably to the ground. “You’re going to be the death of me, Brittle. I can feel it!”

----------------------------------------

Several hours and many, many complaints later, they were ready. Well, as ready as they were ever going to be, anyway. Edvin had done what he could to teach the art of shapeshifting through lecture alone in the span of a single afternoon. By the end of it, Lastar was at least getting the correct number of appendages. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. They were out of time now.

Brittle stood on the edge of the forest, just outside of the village of Pleasant Valley with Sir Thomassin and Lastar at his side. If you didn’t look too closely, Thom’s armor nearly passed for the real thing. The former knight had spent the afternoon shaping whatever bits of metal he could find into a mock suit of armor. The whole thing was held together with straps, tree sap, and sheer tenacity.

Sir Thomassin’s gaunt face was lit by the final rays of the setting sun. The soft pink and purple hues highlighted each worry line pressed deep within his forehead. His expression was grim, that of a doomed man who’d already accepted his fate. He kept his somber gaze fixed on the rows of tiny houses as he spoke. “Are you sure about this, Brittle?”

Brittle knew he didn’t mean the plan itself, but his participation in it. Thom had tried to talk him out of it several times already. To no avail, of course. Brittle would not be swayed. Sir Thomassin needed all of the luck he could get and, for whatever reason, Brittle seemed to produce luck in spades. The other knew it, too, which is why Brittle suspected Thom hadn’t protested his participation as much as he could have.

“I’m sure,” Brittle said.

“Mara’s going to kill me if anything happens to you.”

“She can’t kill what’s already dead,” Lastar contributed helpfully.

“Oh, good. There’s an upside, after all.” Sir Thomassin readjusted the sword on his hip, one of the few pieces of his armor not fashioned from the tin remnants of their former cups and cutlery. Finished, he fitted his bucket helm over his head with a sigh. “Alright, noble squire, let’s get this over with.”

On cue, Lastar transformed into a tiny frog and leapt into the palm of Brittle’s outstretched hand. Brittle tucked him safely into his front pocket. The familiar buzz of magic rippled across Brittle’s bark hide as he stepped out from between the shaggy trees and started towards the one place he’d swore his mama he’d never go – a human village.