Chapter 24 – Building Trust

On top of their nighttime shifts to chip at the hole in the cabinet’s base, during the day the Shy had stepped up their efforts to better communicate with Wyatt and gain his trust. They started with subtle gestures—pointing out more Shy words for things then asking for the human translation, walking up closer to the boy when he approached, escalating to more physical contact such as patting his fingers if he got close enough. At first, Wyatt had been his usual timid self, fumbling over the few but growing number of Shy words that he knew and tiptoeing around his diminutive charges, but as their exchanges grew longer and more involved, so did his confidence.

Sylven observed Wyatt as he sat cross-legged on the workshop floor close to the doors of the Shy’s cabinet. The boy’s massive form loomed, but his movements were cautious and deliberate, as though acutely aware of his size difference and the potential to frighten the tiny people close by. The younger Shy clustered behind Mara and Eryl, giggling nervously as they watched, their curiosity tempered by their parents’ warnings.

Framed by unruly brown hair, Wyatt’s face was scrunched up in a frown of intense concentration as he fiddled with the bundle of discarded human objects spread out before him.

“What’s he doing now?” Mara muttered, craning her neck to see over Sylven’s shoulder.

“Looks like he’s… tying string to stuff,” Sela said, squinting at the boy’s hands.

“Let’s see,” Sylven remarked as he peered through the mesh.

Wyatt held up his latest creation with a triumphant smile—a series of bottle caps strung together, with a thread looped on one end to pull it. It was roughly cobbled-together, to be sure, but the thoughtfulness behind it was clear.

“Sled, for little ones,” Wyatt explained as he approached the cabinet. His pronunciation was clumsy but earnest. He tugged at the string, making the caps slide across the floor. “To pull things.”

The Shy exchanged hesitant looks.

“That’s sweet,” Sela quipped, her voice softening.

Ilkin snorted. “Sweet doesn’t mean safe.” He gestured toward Wyatt with a jerk of his chin. “He’s still a child himself, no matter how big he looks. He can easily forget how small we are and how much stronger he is.”

Mara nodded in agreement. “He could get carried away when interacting with us. Especially around the kids.”

Sylven stepped closer to the door, catching Wyatt’s eye. “Wait,” he said firmly in human speech, holding up a hand.

Wyatt froze, tilting his head in confusion. Sylven mimed gently picking up a small object, then placed his hand palm up on the cabinet floor, gesturing for Wyatt to mimic him.

Wyatt’s brow furrowed as he copied the motion. His large hand moved slowly, his fingers curling carefully.

Sylven nodded, satisfied, and pointed to himself. “Sylven,” he said pointing to himself, then gestured to Wyatt’s hand. “Trust.”

Wyatt’s expression brightened. “Trust,” he repeated.

Sela stepped forward and placed a hand on Sylven’s arm. “You’re not actually going to let him carry us around yet, are you?”

Sylven shook his head. “Not yet. But he needs to understand how careful he must be.”

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The next evening, Wyatt fiddled with a tiny figure he had apparently carved himself from wood scraps. The figure’s details were crude—a rough and simple Shy-sized figure with etched lines for its features. He placed it carefully next to the other wooden small figures he had whittled: from a dog to a horse and cart, even a miniature rowboat.

Inside the cabinet, Sylven watched the boy intently, his eyes narrowed. “What’s he up to this time?” he wondered out loud.

Sela crouched beside him, peering through the mesh. “Is he making more toys again?” She asked, though with less suspicion this time.

“Makes me think he sees us as playthings,” Ilkin said, arms folded.

“Maybe,” Sylven countered. “But he’s still making an effort to communicate, and that counts for something.”

The boy carefully pushed one of the carved figures forward to the front of the cabinet. “Play?” he asked, his voice hesitant but clear.

Sylven stepped closer to the mesh. “No,” he called out in human speech, holding up a hand. Wyatt froze, his large brown eyes fixed on Sylven.

“Shy are not toys. You cannot play with Shy like toys,” Sylven mimed picking up a tiny object and cradling it gently in his hands. Then he pointed to Wyatt’s large hands. “Be careful with Shy. So we trust you. Understand?” he asked pointedly.

Wyatt nodded solemnly and repeated the word, “Yes. I… be careful with Shy. Shy are not toys.”

Mara frowned. “Do you really think he’s ready for this?”

Sylven turned to her, his expression serious. “If we’re going to involve him in the plan, we need to know he can handle us—literally. We can’t keep playing around with him. It’s about trust.”

Sela glanced at the Shy children, who were peering out from behind the adults, their wide eyes filled with curiosity. “We start slowly,” she said. “One of the adults who won’t freak out, any volunteers?”

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“I’ll go, can’t be any worse than what I’ve already been through.” Sylven stepped out from the group and gestured to Wyatt. “Carry me,” he said, pointing to himself. Then he mimed stepping onto the boy’s hand.

Wyatt’s face lit up with cautious excitement, his knees drawn up to his chest as he crouched by the cabinet. He placed one hand flat on the floor and cupped the other, forming a fleshy platform with a backrest. Sylven climbed onto the boy’s palm, his body tense as he adjusted to the sensation of being lifted.

The room fell silent as Wyatt slowly raised his hand to eye level. Sylven crouched and leaned against the cupped fingers, keeping his balance as the boy’s hand trembled slightly.

“You’re doing fine,” Sylven said, patting the palm in encouragement.

Wyatt smiled shyly. “Careful with Shy,” he said, nodding to himself.

After a few moments, Sylven gave a thumbs-up. “Alright. Let me down now.”

Wyatt lowered his hand back to the floor. To Sylven, the descent was appreciably steadier. He hopped off the boy’s palm, smiling back up at Wyatt before turning to face the others. “He can do it.”

The Shy murmured among themselves, some still hesitant. Mara crossed her arms. “Handling you is one thing. All the rest of us is another.”

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The next evening, Wyatt returned with a small pouch slung over his shoulder. He opened it to reveal a treasure trove of treats for the Shy community, crumbs of cake and cookies, chunks of cheese, and even an entire banana, already half peeled. The Shy children gasped, their eyes lighting up as Wyatt carefully placed the food inside the cabinet.

“I brought… snacks,” Wyatt called out hesitantly, as if unsure if he had chosen the right things.

One of the older children, a spirited boy named Fenn, stepped forward boldly to claim a cake crumb. “Thank you,” he said in straight human speech.

Wyatt’s face broke into a grin. “Welcome,” he replied.

As the children gathered around the food, taking the crumbs away to nibble on just out of his reach, Wyatt watched them enjoy their snack together with a wistful expression.

Sylven moved to the window, studying the boy closely. “You don’t have friends your own size, do you?” he asked.

Wyatt shook his head sadly. “No friends,” he murmured.

Sela stepped beside Sylven and looked up at the solitary boy watching over them. “He’s just a kid. And he’s lonely,” she whispered.

Sylven nodded, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “Alright,” he said, turning back to Wyatt. “If you want to help, start with this.”

He gestured toward the Shy children, who were still cautious but clearly curious about the boy. “Build something they can play with. Something safe.”

Wyatt’s eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly.

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In the days that followed, Wyatt spent even more time in the workshop than usual. Each visit was marked by thoughtful gifts and gestures, and he made sure to time these interactions to when the human adults were on break or dozing off. He brought scraps of better, more varied food—bits of fresh bread and fruit, and even a piece of honeycomb, which the Shy children stickily devoured with enthusiasm.

One afternoon, he approached the cabinet with a small stack of wooden sticks, buttons, metal strips and other random objects.

“What’s he doing now?” Ilkin grumbled, peering out from behind Brynnal, his curiosity overriding his suspicion.

Using wire and glue, Wyatt was carefully putting the materials together into equipment appropriately sized for the littlest Shy.

“Looks like he’s building a playground,” Eryl pointed out.

The human boy sat on the workshop floor, a spool of thread in one hand and a few buttons in the other. His large fingers fumbled slightly as he tried to knot the thread through the holes of two matching buttons. Each disc was the size of a dinner plate to the Shy, and his awkward movements made Sylven, watching through the mesh, wince.

"Careful," Sylven called, half expecting the thread to snap under the boy’s clumsy strength.

Wyatt glanced up and nodded, the tip of his tongue peeking out the side of his mouth as he focused on tying the knots. When he finished, he proudly held up the threaded buttons as they swung in the air. The wooden discs dangled from two lengths of thread tied to a small twig he had whittled smooth. The whole thing looked rather precarious in his large hands, but what was delicate for a human would hold up well enough for tiny kids only two to three inches tall.

“This swing… Is good? Safe?” Wyatt asked hesitantly, tilting the swing toward Sylven. “Fun for little ones?”

Sylven stepped back to let the Shy children approach. Fenn immediately ventured forward; his wide eyes fixed on the contraption. He hopped up onto the swing as it hung from Wyatt’s hand, gripping the button’s edges tightly.

"Push gently," Sylven instructed.

Wyatt obliged, using the tip of one finger to nudge the swing forward. It glided smoothly, and Fenn let out a squeal of delight. The other Shy children quickly gathered around, clamoring to try it next.

“You’ve got a hit,” Sela said, smiling as she watched.

Wyatt waved his index finger at the lined up small Shy to keep them from clambering up the swing as he tied its strings around a beam supporting the cabinet’s upper shelf for its fixed setup. As his little fans busied themselves by spinning around on the button swing, the boy brought out a flat, straight stick and a spool of wood. He glued buttons on both ends of the stick and began experimenting with how to properly balance the stick on the curve of the spool.

The Shy adults watched curiously as Wyatt carefully adjusted the placement of the stick, testing its balance with a fingertip. Once he was satisfied, he glued the stick in place, then set his project down in front of the cabinet.

“It’s a seesaw,” Wyatt explained, beaming with pride.

The boy demonstrated how the seesaw worked, pushing one end down with his finger while balancing a button on the other side. He looked questioningly at the Shy, his expression hopeful.

“Seesaw?” Fenn repeated, tilting his head.

Wyatt nodded and gestured for two of the children to climb on. They scrambled up, sitting on the buttons on each end of the stick, their tiny bodies barely making it tilt. Wyatt gently pressed down on one side with his finger, lifting the other child into the air.

The children shrieked with laughter, clutching the edges of the stick as Wyatt carefully alternated the pressure.

“Okay, that’s actually clever,” Mara admitted, watching from the side.

The children pressed against the mesh, their curiosity outweighing their caution. Sylven spoke up at Wyatt in a mix of human and Shy speech. “Careful,” he said, miming the same delicate gestures as before. “Small. Gentle.”

Wyatt nodded. “Gentle,” he repeated solemnly.

Mara stepped forward, her gaze steady. “Sylven, I think he means well, but this is still risky.”

“I know,” Sylven said, glancing at the children. “But we need him. And if we’re going to trust him to help us escape, we have to start somewhere.”

Finally, after much deliberation with his parents, Sylven allowed Wyatt to lift Fenn, who volunteered eagerly. Wyatt’s hands trembled slightly as he cupped them together, forming a curved platform for Fenn to step onto and nestle in. The Shy boy climbed aboard, his teeny figure dwarfed by Wyatt’s massive fingers.

The room fell silent as Wyatt slowly raised Fenn to his eye level, his movements painstakingly gentle. Fenn grinned, standing proudly with a foot on each of Wyatt’s palms, spreading his arms as if he were flying.

“Wyatt is tall!” Fenn shouted in the human tongue, his little legs bouncing with excitement while looking up at Wyatt with wide eyes.

The human and Shy boy laughed together, the sound warm and unguarded. For a fleeting moment, the divide between their worlds didn’t seem so insurmountable. “Yes, I’m tall… to you,” Wyatt chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He tilted his head, marveling at the tiny figure in his hands.

“And you’re so small,” he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. Fenn laughed, and so did the other children.

“He’s just a boy,” Sela murmured, stepping beside Sylven. “Barely older than Fenn.”

Sylven nodded, his expression thoughtful. Wyatt’s serious demeanor and towering presence made it easy to forget that he was still a child. But watching him now—his earnest attempts to speak Shy, his gentle handling of the children—Sylven couldn’t help but see the melancholy in his eyes.