The flameless lights strung across the domed ceiling illuminated the cluttered sitting area below in a warm, yellow glow. Mara stood between a sagging flounced couch and the short-legged table, hands on her hips. Her heated glare rested on Sir Thomassin’s unconscious body, as if he were fresh dog droppings left on her otherwise pristine lawn. Mara shook her head. Her dark, frizzy curls bounced along her exposed collarbones.

“If I had a gold piece for every noble knight that’s come charging into my cave uninvited, I’d have enough to put in a moat by now. Sprinkle in a few water monsters, and my days of being bothered would be through.” Mara called over to Brittle without lifting her stare from Sir Thomassin. “Are you ready yet, Brittle? This one’s getting drool on my rug.”

“Almost finished with the cleanup, Great Maker.” Brittle gathered the plates from the table and piled them into a stack, before tottering on over to the open kitchen area.

“I told you, call me Mara. Also, you really don’t have to do that.”

For the umpteenth time that day, Brittle found himself quoting Mama. “Tidiness is next to goddess-lyness.”

“He says, to his goddess,” Mara muttered under her breath.

“Besides, you’re going to get munch beetles if you leave food lying around.”

“The munch beetles can come and go as they please. I don’t care.”

Brittle smirked, wondering if even Mama would have dared scold a goddess for the lack of upkeep in her home. He wandered into the kitchen, suddenly realizing he didn’t know where the goddess kept her dirty dishes. He decided the curious humming chest beside her clay oven was as good of a place as any. Mara had pulled the uncooked sausages from it earlier, muttering something about frost burn before moving on to simultaneously over and undercook dinner.

If food came out of the curious box, it stood to reason that it went back in just as well. Brittle lifted the lid with a creak, shocked to find the inner walls were coated in a thin layer of ice. He placed the dishes and any remnants from dinner onto the sparse shelf inside and then slammed the lid shut again. He turned to find the goddess had not yet lifted her glare from Sir Thomassin’s still body.

“I’ll give the numbskull this, he got farther than anyone else ever has,” Mara said. “The collapsing bridge rarely fails.”

“That’s because Sir Thomassin is pure of heart.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Sir Thomassin said a deity’s powers are useless against the purehearted.”

“A pure heart is just something people tell themselves to justify their selfish actions, Brittle.”

It seemed to have worked for Sir Thomassin. Right up until it didn’t, Brittle supposed. They had gotten through the perils unscathed, however. Perhaps a pure heart only worked from a distance. It wasn’t unheard of. Mama used to insist Uncle Burl Wood was more tolerable that way.

“Alright,” Mara said with a sigh, sounding less than enthusiastic with what she was about to do. “Let’s get this over with. Brittle, Gilly, come over here. We may as well all portal out together.”

Brittle scuttled over with Gilly at his heels. “Are we not using the door?”

“Absolutely not. I try to avoid traveling by foot whenever I can. After my third spill from the canyon, I finally figured out how to use the portal system.” Mara wiggled her fingertips vigorously, as if working up an invisible magic, before realizing she’d forgotten one crucial detail. “Where in the swamp should I be taking you? It’s a rather big area, after all.”

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“Do you know the old tree that got struck by lightning?”

“Intimately,” she said. “I was passing under it when the lightning struck.”

“Around there would be good.”

“Alright, stand aside. Here we go.” Mara held her hands out in front of her, fingers dancing like marsh worms in moonlight. A spot of light appeared in front of them. With a few expert moves of her hand, the goddess expanded the point of light until the circle was nearly the size of a doorway. Brittle could see trees on the other side. The familiar scents of green algae and mud drifted through the open portal, filling Mara’s stuffy living room with all the best swamp smells.

“You two go through first. I’ll follow.” Mara rolled up her puffy yellow sleeves and seized Sir Thomassin by the legs. She started to pull, every muscle in her neck visibly straining with effort. “Dear me, what does this man eat? Rocks?”

Gilly swished her tail nervously, hesitant to cross over.

Determined to earn back some of his grown-lad pride, Brittle went first to show Gilly it was safe. He stepped through the glowing portal and nearly lost his dinner. Dancing firefly lights erupted across his vision. The world shifted for a second, dark and light whirling so quickly it made the inside of his hollow head spin.

Brittle held back the wretched taste of burnt sausages and silt that was trying to claw its way up his trunk. Forcing his rattling legs a few steps more, he reached the other side and collapsed into a bank of tall grass. The thin, sawtooth leaves felt blessedly cool against his sweltering bark.

Gilly came barreling through after him. She circled the patch of grass, nudging Brittle’s trunk with her snout to ensure he was alive.

“I’ve finally done it, Gilly. I’ve broken every hollow bone in my poor, brittle body.”

The pink and orange swamp monitor looked him up and down with concern. Some of the worry faded from her black eyes when she realized Brittle was still in one piece. It may have been a complaining piece but, unfortunately, that wasn’t something that could be fixed with a little pitch and swamp tar.

Brittle wallowed in his brokenness. “My legs are shattered, Gilly Girl. They’re nothing more than wee stumps now.”

Gilly sat and patiently waited for Brittle’s dramatics to run their impassioned and, inevitably, short course.

“I can’t feel my tail anymore, either.”

The lizard blew a puff of warm air out her nose.

“What do you mean I didn’t have a tail?” Brittle repeated, horror-stricken. He raised his head just far enough to lock eyes with Gilly. “Oh no. My memory must be slipping too.”

There was an uproarious clatter behind them. Mara came lumbering through the open portal, dragging the unconscious knight inch by inch with her. “Lousy, stupid armor,” she cursed between desperate gasps for air. “I swear, these knights get heavier and heavier each time!”

Finally, she and Sir Thomassin made it all the way through. Mara released his legs, allowing the knight to thump back onto the moist ground in an unceremonious pile. With a wave of her hand, the glowing portal closed behind her. “Oh, that air feels good,” she said, arching her back gratefully. “I don’t leave the canyon much anymore. I forget how refreshing the cool night air feels on my skin.”

“Why is that?” Brittle wondered.

“Come again?”

“Why is it you don’t leave your lair?”

“There’s nothing for me out here, Brittle. Not anymore. Any time I come across people, they either expect something from me, or blame me for their failed crops, thinning hair, creaky joints, and what have you. It’s easier to keep to myself.”

“You can come visit me,” he said. “Gilly and I won’t expect anything of you.”

She offered him a wan smile. “Maybe one day. For now, you should get on home. It’s late.”

Brittle’s hollow gaze dropped to the pile of shiny armor slumped over the grass at the goddess’s feet. “What about Sir Thomassin?”

“He’ll be fine. With any luck, he’ll wake up in the morning covered in slugs.” the goddess said, her smile transitioning to something a little less sad around the edges. “Remember to come see me again tomorrow. Afternoon, preferably. I can arrange a portal for you.”

“Oh goddess no.” Brittle felt the contents of his stomach start to heave upwards again. “If it’s fine by you, I’ll stick to walking. I remember the way. Do you suppose you could work your powers on the cave traps, so I can make it through safely again?”

Something about Mara’s expression changed. It glimmered in her deep brown, almost black eyes, as though she understood truths far beyond what a simple bog beast could fathom. “I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”

He certainly hoped that was her cryptic way of saying ‘yes’. Brittle heaved back onto his wobbly feet and started home. “Goodnight, Great Maker. See you tomorrow.”

“Mara.” Her voice rang out behind him.

“If you say so. See you to-mara.”