It takes half a day for my body to heal from the majority of the silver. Hours of tossing while Morgana forbid me from moving. Sitting on my tail unable to do a thing about the commotion happening outside my door while Morgana forced tea down my throat.

Being cared for enough that those around you force you to take a break and heal is its own form of torture. Yet, I also appreciate it... except for those times the grief becomes too much. I slowly shove it down until it forms itself into a box along with the other boxes I’ve hidden away in my soul. A part of me detaches, and from that point, a numbness comes that I welcome. It’s not exactly like when I was with the Guild, not as all-encompassing... but it’s similar.

Pa eased me from that numbness and helped me feel. And with his death, I retreat into what I know.

Someday, you will need to face your demons, Cynic says, as if he were hanging laundry out to wash. But yet, I feel his sorrow. He’s not as unaffected as he’d like me to think.

Flash tries to cheer me. The boys and Essie constantly poke and prod at my healing side as if in awe of the smooth skin reduced to a scar (regardless of how my inside still feels as prickly as a cactus) while I sit on the bed, trying to smile. Both the boys have red-rimmed eyes and Jed often stares into space, talking and smiling little. Barry grins often, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Zephora ushers the boys away to get food and sunshine.

And with them gone, my mind turns to the problems I can still yet solve. I need to heal, but Videlia is in grave danger. Just the thought of the town makes my palms slick with sweat. Are they already burned to the ground by the jingoist? Are those I trained staring sightless into the sky? Or do we have time?

Either way, I need to do something other than twiddling my thumbs. Flash assured me they were preparing Were to leave as soon as I was ready, which is going to be tomorrow, no matter what Morgana says. I have no more time to wait, but I see the wisdom of being full capacity for this battle. So I will wait until tomorrow, but that is it.

A soft knock comes at the doors, and I welcome the distraction. I can smell the corn and grain Shefa Bridge feeds the bird in her hair, along with the musty scent of matted hair and something almost... reptilian. I'm forever thankful Shefa Bridge does not seem to loathe me for holding her hostage when we first met. She saved my life, and I repaid her by putting a knife to her throat.

I shake the memories from my mind.

I sit up, ignoring the slight twinge of pain in my side. It won't be long before I'll be back to normal.

“Come in,” I call out, thankful for a distraction, just so long as she doesn’t try to poke me with any of her needles.

Shefa Bridge opens the door just enough to stick her head in. The first thing I see is the conical spiral of her nest-like hair, and I remember how she always treated that bird like a baby instead of a wild animal. Speaking of, the little redheaded bird pops out, twisting its head to glare at me with one dark eye, chirping. I think it's cursing me out.

Shefa Bridge blindly pats her hair. The bird lets out a panicked tweet when her finger almost pokes its eye as it retreats into the nest.

"Yes, yes. I know, Tabitha. You are indeed correct—" she trails off, seeing me watching her. “Oh! Forgive me, dear boy, Tabitha is quite the chirpy thing, you see, talks non-stop.”

For the first time in hours, I feel a hint of a smile before the cloud of detachment again overwhelms me. In everything I’ve been through and seen… speaking to birds is, in all actuality, quite tame compared to bonding with a dragon and having an over thousand-year-old something sharing my body. She may not be as insane as I first expected.

“We came to check with you and share some good news,” she says, her smile soft.

She bustles inside, clicking as she picks up a mortal and pestle, going from one side of the hut to the other, the window on one end and the tapestry on the other just as I remember, and it brings back a bitter-sweet pang to my heart, remembering when I first met this lady healer and the Were became more than mere enemies. Back when Pa was alive and the boys and their mother were in the hands of the jingoist.

It’s odd, but I almost miss that time. The time before everyone wanted me to be a king and hero, when all I wanted was to rescue my family and get back to the peace they’d brought into my life.

Now… now that hope is dead along with my father.

Just another previous life to mourn with the death of another loved one.

I clench my fists until blood wells beneath my fingernails, and I turn my eyes to Shefa Bridge as she tidies the place. But others still have dreams, and Videlia is one place I can make a difference for.

I am a monster. The lives I took stole from my soul, but I can use that. My dreams might be dead, but there are others who haven’t been touched with the stolen innocence of my life. Shasta, Essie, Jed, Barry, and the Shifter and We’re children who look to me with awe in their eyes. The Human children in Videlia who played in the streets, making the place ring with their laughter. The way the Were and Shifter and Human children came together in Dragon Valley replays in my mind, and I smile.

They need a world they can grow in without fear. They need a place where dreams can come true, where peace gives them a chance to live before pain takes it’s due.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

And I will start with those I can reach. I can help those in Videlia and the Were in these mountains and the Shifters in my homeland... if a monster is what it takes to defeat a monster, then a monster I will be.

I look back at Shefa Bridge, a small smile on my lips. I will make a difference for those who cannot protect themselves.

Shefa Bridge makes my head spin, darting back and forth, putting up tonics and glass bottles in between wiping down counters. She even sweeps the dirt floor, replacing the threshing and adding wood to the fire.

The bird chirps, sounding a bit wobbly and almost drunk. Shefa Bridge drops into a chair beside my bed with a huff.

“There. Now alls well and alls as should be,” she says, nodding to herself.

I stay silent, unsure how to reply, but she seems not to expect one.

“How are you?” she asks, pinning me with her purple gaze that seems almost a dark plum as they darken in concern and sorrow.

“I’m not in pain,” I reply, opting for physical truth. Morgana has me so hopped up on tonics I can barely feel my feet, much less any pain in my side.

She tuts. “I was not speaking of physical. You are not fine and should not be fine for some time. Perfectly normal. Perfectly acceptable.”

Holding her eyes is hard, and I’m tempted to look away from her compassion.

A chirp and she seems to shake herself from some sort of trance.

“Oh, yes. Why I came.”

The bright red bird hops from the nest, flying across the little hut and settling on a rod of wood sticking from right beside the window. She fluffs herself up like a mother hen coming from a nest, preening the feathers along her back.

Shefa Bridge reaches a steady hand into the hole in her rat's nest of brown hair, and I hear a little peep that has me starting in surprise.

Something in her hair hatched?

She brings her hand out, and nestled in her palm is a little creature that resembles a rat. It has two tiny buck-like teeth and its head has large ears like a hound dog but also… two teeny, tiny horns sticking from the center of its blocky forehead, on either side of a single closed eye.

She sits it on my lap without any preamble, and I almost jump out of the bed.

I barely stifle the reaction down to an entire-body flinch to keep from flinging the baby… creature into the floor.

It chirps like a bird, but also, somehow, deeper. Almost more a purr like a cat, but only one short, deep sound.

It moans as it wiggles around on my lap, the long ears flopping into its eye. It brings tiny paws to push the ears from its face… and then it opens its eye.

The eye is right in the center of the head above the snout. It’s big and beady, completely black. I would call it ugly… but it’s so not cute that it is almost cute.

The single eye blinks again. The nose twitches. It mewls, scuttling back and almost falling off my leg. I feel the tiny claws through the fabric of my pants as it scrambles for purchase. But with the uncoordinated flailing of its legs, it ends up rolling on its back and slides down the side of my leg toward the floor.

A tiny cry escapes it that ends in a squeal much louder than such a tiny thing should produce.

In a knee-jerk reaction, I slip my hand beneath it and arrest its fall.

It slides into my palm, belly-up, a tiny brown creature about the size of my pinky finger. It wiggles, its four feet waving in the air as it tries to gain back control of its body.

Then I realize it’s a boy.

His stomach expands with each terrified little squeak he emits, and I can’t help feeling bad for the little thing. He just had the scare of his life and can’t help that he was taken from his warm nest and placed into a bad situation without support or even a helping hand.

Maybe I can be to him a bit of what Pa gave to me. The thought makes a sad smile pull at my lips and emotion leak from the box I put my sorrow in.

I tickle his belly, and he wiggles beneath me, mewling and letting out a screeching cry. He moves his head quicker than thought and snaps at my finger, sinking into my pinky with sharp teeth.

Oops. Didn’t mean to frighten him further.

I gently shake the little mouth loose and wipe the blood from my finger, revealing skin that’s already healed. He goes back to trying to shove upright. He reminds me of a turtle that can’t get back upright.

He tries to bite every time I bring my finger close. Time for a different tactic.

I bring him close and cup him in my hands, letting him hear the rhythmic beat of my heart.

The whimpers slowly subside. I hear the sighs of breath grow even.

I uncup my hand and bring him up to eye level.

A soothing sound comes from the little guy, something between a sigh and the whispering whistle of wind.

He blinks his eye at me, still upside down. He almost seems confused. His ear flops down into his face when he tries to twist back upright.

He huffs, and I can’t help a tiny chuckle at his frustration.

I use a shaking finger to roll him over. What I thought was skin is actually teeny tiny scales that are almost cool to the touch. His tail spins in a circle as he plops over. His claws sink into my skin to keep him in place and he lets out another peaceful sigh mixed with song.

It… soothes something deep in me that was broken with my father’s death.

At the reminder, I pull back from the little guy, placing him back in Shefa Bridge’s hand as if he’d bit me.

Well… he had, but that is beside the point.

Shefa Bridge has a gentle smile on her face that makes me wary. She puts the little guy back in her hair, watching me all the while.

“What?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing. The Koopa needs a name. Heard you’re good at naming things,” she surmises, watching me closely.

I shake my head, bringing my hands up. “I—“

She pats my cheek, and her brows furrow when I flinch away from her, unable to suppress it in time. Her smile grows sad. “Don’t fear. I was only teasing. I heard you wanted to call that magnificent creature of yours Firebreath.”

I huff out a surprised laugh, and her smile grows softer. “That’s what I was looking for. The Koopa already has a name. Honourem Danithin Errol Coriustitiae.”

Honoring Dan Errol, heart of righteousness.

The Were always have the strangest names... but each is rich with meaning.

I look away to hide the glimmer of tears in my eyes.

“We will call him Dani for short. It’s a worthy name. An honourable name.”

She stands, going to the window. I hear the friction of her hands against wood as she sets them on the sill and the gentle coo of the mother bird as she flies back in her nest, settling on the newly christened Dani.

“He hatched at the same moment of your howl, as if something had drawn him from years of stasis.”

My heart aches as her words being forth emotion I thought deadened inside, but it is bitter-sweet before I shove it down once more.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice soft. Genuine.

She turns, giving me a bow as her eyes slit and a tear trickles from her cheek. “As little as it helps, we are sorry, Roland.”

The many times I’ve heard that… each time is a dagger to my heart. I get the sentiment, appreciate it, even, but… it drills that he’s gone deeper into my soul each time I hear those simple words.

I bow my head as she leaves me to my sorrow, taking the newborn Koopa and adopted momma bird with her.

New Life in the midst of Death.

It seems poetic, somehow.

Something my father would've loved. I like to imagine he’s smiling above, laughing from watching me fumble with the tiny creature. I was terrified I was going to hurt it.

I turn my eyes to the ceiling, a small smile creasing my lips.

We’ll be fine, Father. Enjoy your adventure.