The following days passed in a noxious blur. Brittle felt adrift, caught in an unrelenting tide as time came and went with neither rhyme nor rhythm. A phantom shell of his former self, he followed direction without protest, treading metaphorical water to keep from slipping beneath the murky depths of anguish. Brittle didn’t talk. He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t stomach much more than a mouthful of soggy mulch without it working its way back up again. The only thing he seemed good for was holding Rochelle’s hand and refusing to let go.

Every now and then a piece of memory would claw its way to the surface of his roiling thoughts and break free, gasping for air. For a brief moment Brittle would recall the relief of reuniting with Edvin and Thom, the crush of watching Rochelle search for her granddad amongst them, and then holding her while she screamed and cried at the realization he wasn’t coming back. The long journey started shortly afterwards. Pleasant Valley was no longer safe for them. Sheriff Rodrick may have been dead, but there were others still looking for them.

Thus, the endless walking began. The five of them journeyed for hours, days, weeks, years even – if Brittle’s aching feet were to be believed. He stayed by Rochelle’s side throughout all of it, clutching her hand as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. During brief moments of clarity, when Brittle’s mindfulness resurfaced and he remembered to check on those around him, he often found Rochelle staring out into space with the same numb expression he felt deep in his hollow bones.

He wanted to offer her comfort, an encouraging word, a praise, an empty platitude, anything at all, but words failed him. And then, perhaps out of shame, guilt, or simple exhaustion, Brittle would retreat back into himself, allowing his mind to drift out onto the tide of empty nothingness once more.

They traveled to the edge of the forest, up and over the Stone Cap Mountains, and into the lands beyond. Eventually they reached another town, bigger than the one they’d left. It was a farming district, Lastar had explained, known for its bountiful exports. He’d gone on to explain each one in great detail, but Brittle stopped listening almost immediately. It didn’t matter to him what sort of grain the town specialized in. All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere dark and damp and hide until he started to feel like himself again. He got his wish, mostly, in the form of an old, rundown farmhouse, out deep in the hills where no one would notice.

It was a shame that, even after weeks in hiding, his old self didn’t return.

Brittle had reached the realm beyond caring and had no intention of leaving it ever again. If he let his inner walls down, even for a second, he knew it would all come crashing back. The old pains would rise anew, breaking his brittle body beneath their crushing weight. He’d be forced to confront the new pains, too. The ones that hadn’t sunk in quite yet.

The straw mattress dipped down beside him, snapping Brittle from his daze with a lackluster start. He found himself seated on the edge of an unmade bed, staring at the bare, water-stained wall across from him. The surrounding room was small and cramped, furnished with two rustic bunks, a single nightstand, and a water basin. There was a window along the wall near Brittle’s head. The golden light filtering in through the smudged glass hinted that it was morning again.

From the corner of his eye, Brittle saw a single-horse carriage waiting outside. He looked away again, clenching his hands so tight, he could feel the tips of twiggy fingers boring holes within his wooden palms.

Edvin sat beside him on the sagging bed, staring at the scuffed floor between his feet. “It’s time.”

What a ridiculous sentiment, Brittle thought. Of course it was time. At any given minute it was time for something, be it breakfast, lessons, or ultimate betrayal. The wee bog log beast bit back his venom-laced words as heat built within his hollow trunk.

“Might and muscle, kid, you haven’t said a single word in weeks,” Edvin said, still staring at the floor in defeat. “Frankly, I didn’t think that was possible. You always have something to say.”

The thought trailed on a ways before, like Edvin’s voice, coming to the conclusion that it had nowhere to go. The god stopped talking, drew breath in through his nose and held it for an unnatural span of time. Having collected his thoughts, Edvin attempted once more. “I know you’re angry, but they’ll be off soon. Go say goodbye. Do it without words if you have to, because maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day you’re going to look back and regret it if you don’t.”

There were many things Brittle regretted. Partaking in this one-sided conversation was definitely one of them.

For some terrible reason, Edvin kept talking, reminding Brittle of all the justifiable reasons he had to be angry. “I know you wanted your friend to stay, but it’s not fair to her. No amount of good luck is going to keep her safe with everything we’ve got going on. Between your unstable powers, my inadequacies, and Thom’s wallowing, we’re a walking disaster. Rochelle deserves better.”

Better meant a posh boarding school all the way across the countryside, nestled in some bustling city along the eastern coast. Rochelle would have a chance at a normal life, with normal friends, and an education to take her as far in the world as she wanted – according to Lastar, anyway, who’d pulled every godly favor he had left to make it happen. He’d be going as well. Having given up his aspirations for deityhood, Lastar had set his sights on academics instead. He was getting out of the game and taking Rochelle with him.

The others insisted it was a kindness, but the raging hurt welling up inside of Brittle insisted otherwise. Rochelle had already lost her granddad. Why’d she have to lose him, too? Brittle was her only friend in the world! And no, he wasn’t being utterly selfish by demanding she stay and keep him company. It was mutually beneficial so long as you didn’t look past the surface. Education-smeducation. She already knew how to read. What more could school offer her? Certainly not fun adventures with her best bog log beast pal, that was for sure!

Brittle nearly jumped out of his bark when Edvin’s heavy hand settled on his shoulder. “It’s not goodbye forever, you know,” the god said. “You’ll see each other again. And, in the meantime, you can write letters. Practice your penmanship or whatever.”

Oh good. What did Brittle need a best friend for when he could just write stupid letters instead? O joyous day, his problems were solved! Except for the part about being lonely, abandoned, and miserable, of course. But that was all part of growing up and becoming an equally miserable adult, apparently.

The fury dancing across Brittle’s seething expression must have been one for the books because it made big, burly Edvin wince something fierce. The god ran his hand down his face with a groan. “Never thought I’d miss the days you’d fight me with your words.”

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The harsh clack of boots against wood planks drew Brittle’s ire away from Edvin and towards the adjoining hallway. He could hear someone pacing back and forth. It was Lastar, likely, eager to be on the road and as far away from the old rundown farmhouse and its disastrous occupants as possible.

“Please?” Edvin said.

Wordlessly, Brittle stood and stomped out the bedroom door. He turned to face the pacing party and his hard heart darn near melted on the spot. It wasn’t Lastar walking restlessly up and down the hallway, but Rochelle. She froze when she saw him. Her red-rimmed eyes welled with moisture, but she refused to blink, as if prepared to keep the tears at bay through sheer tenacity alone.

“Hi.” The soft word escaped her mouth before she could think of something better to say.

Brittle fought the impulse to race back into his room and slam the door. Sorrow wormed its way into his core and intermixed with the raging inferno of fury. The results solidified and turned to stone. It weighed him down, preventing him from doing anything more than staring back at her like a slack-jawed fool. Rochelle had new clothes, he noted. A blue dress and boots that weren’t three sizes too big. His old self would have complimented the outfit. New Brittle wanted to throw it down the well.

Whereas Brittle had turned bitter, Rochelle had done the opposite. She held her head high and accepted her fate in that annoying sort of way teenagers did when they acted older than they were. In the recent weeks Brittle had heard her drop phrases like ‘it is what it is’ and ‘all things happen for a reason’ and such. She didn’t even put up a fight when Lastar first proposed boarding school. Had she actually tried, Brittle was certain their combined pleading could have convinced the others to let her stay.

But she didn’t try. In fact, he was starting to suspect she wanted to leave. Maybe being around him reminded Rochelle too much of what she’d lost.

“We’re supposed to be on the road soon,” Rochelle said, gesturing over her shoulder in the direction of the front door.

Beyond her, Brittle saw Lastar lingering near the mouth of the hallway, nervously wringing his hands. The demigod was in his newly adopted human form, managing to look remarkably sheepish despite the lack of horns and wool.

Rochelle cleared her throat. “I’m glad you came out. I didn’t want to leave without saying–”

Brittle couldn’t bear to hear the rest. He threw his arms around her to keep her from finishing her sentence. Lucky for him, it worked. Rochelle choked back her sad farewells as she hugged him in return. He felt her hot tears hit the top of his head as her brave facade started to crumble.

Realizing he couldn’t handle tears any better than he could heartfelt goodbyes, Brittle forced himself to let go. The solid rock nestled in his gut was starting to liquify and he didn’t dare linger any longer in case it started to ooze out the gaps in his bark. He turned and offered Lastar a pathetic wave. It was returned, along with a look of genuine pity.

That was the final straw that broke him. Brittle couldn’t handle any more, certainly not unchecked pity. He squeezed past Edvin into his room and slammed the door. He threw himself onto the bed and buried his head under the pillow, willing the noxious churning in his gut to settle. He heard the muffled goodbyes of the others bidding their farewells before the hallway fell deathly quiet.

He waited, breath drawn, heart pounding within his chest, for the raging swell to settle. The swelling pressure built instead, sloshing against his insides as it rose higher, higher, higher. Brittle didn’t understand. He’d said his goodbyes, hadn’t he? He hadn’t screamed or raged or begged Rochelle to stay. And yet, still, she’d looked on at him with that pitiful look, as if he’d cut her open all over again. It wasn’t his fault! He didn’t do anything wrong. She was the one leaving, not him!

She lost the person most important to her, and you’re making this about you?

Brittle gasped at the unwelcomed thought. He didn’t know where it’d come from, or it was even his to begin with. Unfortunately, regardless of whether it was his own or not, the intrusive thought wasn't finished with him yet.

So now she gets to lose Granddad and you too? And you’re the one who’s angry?

Oh dear. Just as Edvin had warned, regret struck him low. Its icy chill filled Brittle’s lungs until it hurt to breathe. Outside, the creak and clatter of wooden wheels pulled him from his emotional spiral. Heart pounding in his ears, Brittle climbed high onto the bed and watched as the carriage lurched away from the house.

It wasn’t far. There was still time. He could make everything right again.

Brittle heaved the window open and fought his way through. He struck the ground and started to run. The carriage was already at the bottom of the hill, almost to the road. Brittle willed his cork bark feet to move the fastest they’d ever moved before. The swaying field of wild grass shot past in a dizzying blur.

“Rochelle!” Brittle caught the carriage as it clattered out onto the dirt road. His short legs tripped and stumbled as he fought to keep pace with the trotting horse. “Rochelle, I’m sorry! About everything. I still want to be your friend.”

Rochelle whipped her head around, startled to see Brittle making an absolute fool of himself along the road, no doubt. For the first time in weeks, the mask of maturity slipped from her face. She stood on the seat, ignoring Lastar’s concerns for safety, and waved goodbye, all while making silly faces at him.

“Good luck in the city! And with your learning,” Brittle called as the carriage gradually started to pull ahead. Rochelle called something back, but her words were lost in the distance. Brittle’s steps slowed to a stop as she grew smaller and smaller, until Rochelle, Lastar, and the carriage disappeared beyond the bend in the road altogether. “...Don’t forget me.”

His insides still hurt, but a little less than before.

Brittle waited until the carriage’s dust cloud settled before starting back for the farmhouse. He was only steps into the journey when he felt a warm pulse emitting from his pocket. Confused, he reached into his moss and lichen coat and withdrew a drawstring bag. The pulsing shifted from his pocket to his hand, its warm tendrils leeching deep into his bark and worming its way inside. The warmth sparked something within his shattered heart.

Under any other circumstances he might have shoved the drawstring bag back into his pocket and pretended it didn’t happen, but now seemed the perfect time for a distraction. Brittle focused on the buzzing pulse, channeling it within his core until its energy burned away all of the terrible things sloshing around on the inside. Pale light lifted from his hand. Brittle concentrated harder until the magic wove itself into a string of dancing blue orbs. The path snaked from the bag of seedlings clutched in his hand into the field of overgrown grass.

He glanced over his shoulder at the farmhouse and then back at the string of bobbing lights. The breeze rustled the tops of the flowering grasses, beckoning him to follow. A long-eared rabbit popped its head up over the weeds and wiggled its nose at him.

“I don’t know,” Brittle admitted. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a new adventure rife with discovery. There’s still so much wallowing to be done.”

The rabbit’s ears twitched in response.

“I know I made a promise to Zabel, but this seems like the sort of thing I should ask permission for first.”

Dear goddess, who even was he? Brittle Rotten Wood didn’t ask for permission! He did what he wanted! When he wanted! Come swell or high water.

The rabbit made a very compelling argument by saying nothing at all. It merely stared back at him with black, vacant eyes.

“Yes, yes, you’re right, of course. It would be irresponsible of me to shirk my duties.” Brittle feigned a reluctant sigh as his tottering steps led him up the sloped embankment and deep into the forest of swaying grass. He followed the line of blue bobbing lights as his spirits shook free of their iron shackles and started to lift. “I’m not sure I’m ready. Might make the going easier if I had an animal companion to keep me company, you know. Just sayin’.”