EIGHT
Drake
She was nervous.
And why shouldn't she be?
I was.
And these were my kin, this would be my land, my ways, my customs.
Even if things had changed over the decades, it wouldn't have changed so much that it wouldn't be recognizable.
It wouldn't be a huge adjustment for me.
There would be long hours of work. My kind had always worked as a community.
If someone's roof collapsed, every able-bodied man or woman would be there helping repair it.
If you needed help wrangling your children, preparing food for winter, carrying your things to the river for washing, there was always someone to help.
I was used to work.
Harder work.
At the Winters compound.
It would be relaxing, even.
Then there were things we were meant to do as a group. Foraging. Tilling. Planting. Tending. Harvesting.
Everyone benefited, taking home a portion of the food to their family even if you had your own gardens to eat from.
The community aspect would likely be the hardest thing for me to adjust to, having been alone for so long. Even on this journey with Amy, Sal, and Smoky, we mostly kept somewhat to ourselves, no one needing to talk incessantly.
It wouldn't be like that back in my land. Talking, telling stories, that was all part of our tradition.
They'd want my story.
The thought made my stomach lurch.
How could I tell them?
Of the pain that at times overtook my entire body, that became so normal to me that I barely felt minor injuries anymore, so used to the feeling of worse ones.
How could I tell them about the taunts? The beatings? The way I was used to being spat on, humiliated, treated as a lesser being?
They wouldn't be able to relate, so secluded in their little world where no one knew they existed, so no one could do them any harm.
It would pass over, I reminded myself. Like a storm always does. They would stop asking, stop demanding details.
I could be normal again.
My adjustment would be more about showing these people who knew me as one man that I was a new one.
But Amy's adjustment would be more full.
She'd been so sheltered. And while she had never been spoiled per se, she had been pampered in her lovely house with servants and full coffers that she didn't need to contribute to.
She would be expected to work. To till land and harvest. To help the community. To make her own food.
It wasn't a lifestyle to which she was accustomed.
She would feel aches in parts of her body she didn't know existed. She would go to bed sore and exhausted.
She would learn that anything she wanted, she would have to put sweat and blood into it.
A part of me rebelled at the idea. Of her needing to face those realities, of having to work for everything. Some strange part of me wanted her to continue to be pampered, to be able to live a life of comfort.
The other, though, knew it wasn't something I had a say in, that I could shield her from.
It wouldn't be up to me.
The elders would demand she work for her keep like every other able-bodied member of our clan.
True, they might be forgiving of the fact that she wasn't of our stock, that she wasn't born of fire, that she didn't have the naturally stronger build our kind did. Her body was smaller, slighter, more easily strained or broken.
These men and women who I had been raised with, they had been kind, understanding of physical disadvantages, allowing those who could not do the same amount of work to put in fewer hours or do simpler tasks.
But no one would be allowed to sit in their home and do nothing.
Not even the old, the pregnant, the young, or the precious few missing limbs, or without sight or hearing would be allowed to do nothing, to let their lives become useless, to let their bodies become weak and more prone to sickness.
I couldn't stop that from becoming a part of Amy's life.
My gaze went to her - a few feet ahead of me, walking side-by-side with Smoky, the differences between the two women apparent, the evidence of their vastly different lifestyles clear to any who might observe them.
Amy, while slight, small even, was rounder at the hip, ass, breast, proof of a belly that had never known the concave of hunger that Smoky's taller, leaner body did.
And while both were covered in layers now to stave off the freezing cold, I had seen both with fewer clothes on. Amy was pale, blemish-less, each bit of skin milky white and flawless. Smoky was a map of scars, proof of a life of hard work, of near misses, of pain and terror.
Smoky's hair was long, tangled in parts, decorated with things she had found - or stolen.
Amy's was long, but combed relentlessly to a shine, free of any styling or decoration.
If you came across the two at a market, you would know from one glance that the women came from different worlds.
I wondered if the same could be said a year from now.
Of Amy.
Would she still look like she would often host high tea, had rubbed shoulders with royalty?
Or would she start to look more like Smoky, more rugged, more weather-beaten, her body a map of her own scars?
"She'll be fine," Sal told me, coming out of nowhere. Last I had seen him, he had rushed ahead to do a circle around us, making sure we weren't being followed.
He and Smoky took turns, Smoky going up to swing between the trees, getting a better vantage point.
Both of them created a protective circle around us, knowing what was at stake if we were captured.
And even if Smoky maybe had her own motivations, it felt nice to have people around you who had your back, who were looking out for your interest.
It had been so long since I knew what that was like.
"She's not used to the kind of life my kind lives," I admitted to him.
"The Winters live in a giant compound full of servants," he seemed to agree with me.
"Yeah."
"You saw her place in the city, Drake," he told me, shrugging when my gaze went to him.
"If you spread your arms out, you could practically touch all the walls.
She went from a giant estate to a little hole.
She went from having everything handed to her to having to work for it.
I think she is more adaptable than you are giving her credit for.
She just wants a life on her own terms, with freedom to choose what she does, who she associates with.
If that means she will have to put some labor in, I think she will be fine with that.
" He paused, letting that sink in. "I think she is more worried about the social aspect of it. "
"How so?"
"My kind, your kind, we come from communities, from groups of people who think similarly, act similarly.
Amethyst comes from a very solitary upbringing.
The Winters, while feared and maybe begrudgingly respected, have never been popular members of any society, happy to keep to themselves, foster their secrets, plot their schemes.
She spent time in the human realm, likely studying their ways, so she felt relatively comfortable going into that world, connecting with those people.
She knows nothing of your people, doesn't know how to act with them, doesn't know if they will think less of her, look down on her. "
He was right.
She was worried about being accepted, having connections, fitting in. About having to be alone again. Without a friend in the world.
I understood that.
Having been alone for so long, without anyone I could call a friend, I knew that desire for more. And I also knew I was guaranteed to find that when I went home.
Amy didn't have that guarantee.
And I couldn't even promise it to her.
I didn't know who would still be around.
I didn't know who she could build bonds with.
All I could promise her, I had.
She would have me.
No matter what happened, no matter how much she may struggle to find connections elsewhere, she would have me.
And maybe I could find a way to get messages from my land to her brother or sister.
In fact...
"Would you ever be able to get messages to the Light Court?" I asked Sal, noticing his gaze pinned to the back of Smoky who had been ignoring him for hours after some kind of dispute on where the better area was to gather berries in summer - of all things.
"For Amy?" he asked, shooting me a knowing look.
"Yeah. I could drop by every now and again to carry some messages to and from the Seelie Court.
My family is always on my case about paying my respects to Ang more often.
They'd be happy to know I was there more frequently.
We could work out an arrangement. The first day of each season or something. Meet where we met the first time."
"You can pay me however much a bag of those almonds costs. Give me an excuse to head into the human realm every now and again."
That seemed more than fair.
It only cost a few dollars for the almonds.
From what I understood - loosely - of human money, it was very little.
And Amy had thousands of human dollars that would be mostly useless to her except to trade with those who knew how the human realm worked, and were willing to step over into it every now and again.
"You got a deal," I agreed, nodding. "I think it will help," I added. "Letting her keep some of her old connections. Even if she can't see them, just to be able to know what was going on with their lives might help her feel more comfortable."
"I'm happy to help."
He meant that, too.
I wasn't sure if it was simply true of his kind - as it was true of my kind that we tried to be non-violent whenever possible - but Sal was very giving, very easy-going.
"You're going to try to give her the almonds, aren't you?" I asked, making him let out a snort.
"I think I am going to suddenly become very bad at cards," he told me, smirking. "That way, she can win them. Sort of. Without feeling like her pride needs to take a hit. The stubborn ass woman."
"You ever going to give up on her?"