The swamp beyond the clearing sung its usual song; a myriad of bugs buzzed through the bushes and shrubs, frogs matching their symphony with their own jagged crescendos; the sun diffusing through the trees their curtain, masking the beautiful performance in strands of black and gold; the occasional splash of whatever lurked beyond her clearing slashed through it all, a reminder that though she had tamed her own little space of beautiful civilization, the swamp still towered over her, a domineering force.

Gods, how she hated it.

Zahara sighed, straightening up to stretch out her back, now throbbing in protest; she wasn’t built for manual labor, yet suffer it she must. She could have magicked her food into existence, but if she did, what else would occupy her time?

“Hurry up!”

Zahara’s toes curled in frustration; of course, it didn’t help that a certain furball nagged at her.

She turned around, resting her gloved, filthy hands on her hips, careful to avoid the spellbook strapped to one side. Her pitch-black useless hairball of a cat sat before her, head poking up from among the potato plants. Her little shadow, his only color were his green and blue feathered wings tucked against his back, and his large yellow eyes that stared up from his void of a face. Only through the frustrating years that she’d put up with him, did Zahara know that Elmo was hungry, once again.

“You should pick them faster.” Elmo whined.

“And you should stop complaining.” Zahara said, snapping her fingers to vanish the sweat on her brow.

“I wouldn’t whine if I had something to do! But no, you won’t let me!”

That was true, she stopped letting him help due to how terrible he was at it. Then again, whoever expected a Tressym to push a wheelbarrow?

Zahara waved him off, before reaching up to undo the straps of her blindfold. The world faded away to its usual nothingness as she removed it, and it was only through muscle memory was she able to snap off the sweat that had drenched it. It had been a good idea to create one solely for this kind of manual labor; better this one get dirtied than her formal one.

“Maybe,” Zahara continued, tying the blindfold back on, the world slowly growing back into clarity. “if you’d actually help properly, I’d let you back into the process. But until then, sadly, it’ll be just me getting this done.”

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“Or you could feed me some mangos, and then we’d really get this all done!” Elmo squeaked.

“Not happening.” Zahara said as she turned back to the crops. She grinned as she heard Elmo’s all too familiar raspberry.

Truthfully, there wasn’t a need for Elmo to help her in the first place. Though she refused to make the food out of thin air, she wasn’t opposed to speeding up their growth. The magic she infused within the crops meant that what once took months now only took a week at best, and had Zahara been honest with herself, she didn’t need to tend to them at all. Yet, just like Elmo’s desire to help, Zahara muddled with them simply because if she didn’t, she might truly go insane.

It had been a maddening few months out here, smack dab in the middle of these god-forsaken lands. Of all the places that Maya had sent her to, and this was the best place. Yes, she was privy to plans and prophecies well beyond Zahara’s right to ever know, which probably meant that this terrible place had to be the right one. But that didn’t change the horrible fact that a swamp was by far the last place Zahara ever had hoped to find herself in.

Yet the moon was ever fickle.

Failing to stifle her sigh, Zahara straightened back up again, utterly fed up with her work. How much she yearned to run through the trees at the edge of the clearing and leave this place behind. She wouldn’t, of course. She’d been assigned a task, and Zahara always saw those through; besides, had her visitor decided to show up while she was gone, well, she didn’t want to think about the ramifications. But the thought of fleeing remained ever tempting.

A soft whoosh sounded behind her; within a second, Elmo landed on Zahara’s shoulder, a furry lump that used to knock her over as he pulled himself halfway up, back half hanging down her arm. She’d never admit it, but Elmo looked far too cute with his little feet dangling down like that.

“How loooong do we have to stay here?” Elmo whined right in her ear.

“Until our task is complete.” Zahara said, crossing her arms. She stared out into the trees, as though the foliage would magically spit out their guest. “And who knows how long that will take.”

“We should just leave then.” Elmo said, adjusting himself. “Just go home. I haven’t had a fish in years.”

“Months.” Zahara corrected.

“Okay, but it feels like years!”

“Time doesn’t stretch like that for Tressym. You know this.”

“What?!”

Zahara smirked, feeling his irritation radiate through her shoulder as Elmo dug his claws in; it was a small price to pay for her amusement.

“Why are you like this?!” Elmo demanded.

“I ask you the same question every day, and you haven’t given me a good answer yet.” Zahara replied.

“That’s because there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Zahara burst into laughter, earning her another frustrated claw dig.

“Why do I put up with you?!” Elmo said.

“Because you must. Just as I with you.” Zahara said.

“Well, I think she made a mistake. Like the mistake Maya made sending us out here!”

Zahara grimanced, her hand drifting up to her neck, fingering the moon and arrow pendant strapped to her choker.

“You shouldn’t say that.” She said.

“I can say whatever I want, she loves me!” Elmo declared.

“Well, that makes once of us.” Zahara shrugged her shoulders as she turned towards the edge of the field. “Come on, lets get something to eat.”

For once, Elmo didn’t complain.