Chapter 12 #2
Avice’s smile broadened into a grin. “That would be wonderful, thank you. I would like to pass on the news to Goodwife Joan. She understands she may never see her daughter again… but I think some word of her wellbeing would bring her comfort.”
Trewoofe lingered a moment, before deciding to take the leap again. “Would you like to come with me?”
He watched as she jolted, her jaw dropping and snapping up again. She looked at the baby in her arms, not giving him an answer.
“If you are scared of the Faeries of the Underneath, there is no need to be, not when you are travelling with me,” he reassured.
Avice looked up and her throat bobbed before she replied, “It is not that I am scared of the Good Neighbours of your Kingdom. Though, if I am honest, I have a healthy fear of all Faeries – present company excluded, of course.”
She softly smiled down at Bramble, who wagged his tail in response. Avice then turned her grin to Trewoofe. The Knucker felt his own tail swish in answer, a flood of joy travelling down his spine to his very tail tip, making it move under its own violation.
“I fear being underground. Something, well… something happened to me when I was younger. It is why I have these scars, why I do not want to —”
Sympathy panged in Trewoofe’s chest. “It is alright, little witch.” He offered his forepaw. “Should I take Boarden now?”
Avice gave him a small smile. “Yes… no!”
Trewoofe titled his head, confused at exactly what his little witch wanted. “So, I am not taking the baby?”
“No, no, you are.” Avice extracted Boarden from her cloak and pulled back the blanket covering the child. “But before you do, I wanted to ask. Have you seen a mark like this before? Did Hope have one like this?”
Trewoofe placed his paw back to the ground. He lowered his head to the baby and focused on the miniscule mark Avice spoke off. It was oval and coloured dark green, reminding him of the leaves of late Summer.
“It appears to be a Faerie mark, but not one that I recognise.”
Avice nodded, her face dropped with disappointment. Trewoofe did not like to see her upset and his nose twitched at the sight of her frown.
“How about you, Bramble?” she asked, lowering the baby slightly so her Grim could snuff at his arm.
He sniffed for several moments. I am sorry, Avice. I do not know whose mark it is, but I would agree with the King and say it is Faerie in nature.
Avice’s lips tugged down further, and Trewoofe’s heart sunk at the sight of her sadness. “I will ask the Piskie’s if they noticed any mark on Hope when I enquire about her.”
Trewoofe glanced down to his open paw. Avice nodded before placing a small kiss to the child’s forehead and settled him gently there.
“Wait for me?” Trewoofe asked. “I will bring you the news and take you home.”
Avice used her hand to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn and nodded her agreement.
Trewoofe turned from her. He strode down into his sacred well, talons clacking on the quartz steps.
A pleasant hum reached his ears as he descended, settling his galloping heart – an effect of having Avice so close.
He flicked his tongue out, scenting for Piskie-led, and headed straight for the Faeries.
“What do you mean ‘we cannot take him’?” Trewoofe growled at the Piskie guard.
It was the same male from before. He had a different guard with him this time. A second male with a scar down his face. He looked familiar to Trewoofe, but it had been a long while since he had spent any significant time with the Piskies.
That scar, likely from human iron.
Trewoofe remembered when the Piskies fled to his Kingdom after their mother grove had been cut down.
They had been butchered by the men wearing crosses and armour.
The iron weapons they carried had cut deeply and drained the Good Neighbours of their magic.
Trewoofe’s own scar, running the length of his belly, itched as he studied the Piskies.
The Faeries had called for his help, and he had answered.
Already filled with rage from his own loss to humanity, he had ripped the men apart with fangs and talons.
“It is not that we do not want to take him, Lord,” the scarred male replied. “It is that our Queen’s magic is severely depleted after healing and changing Hope. I do not think she could grow this one enough so that he could survive.”
The scarred one looked down at the baby. “He is so small!” he exclaimed, running the back of his long, twig-like fingers gently over the baby’s downy head. “Even smaller than our young! It is Nature’s Blessing he has survived so long.”
Trewoofe noticed that the two Piskie males in front of him were both tall for their kind and the top of their heads would brush Avice’s shoulder.
Perhaps that is why they have been stationed as guards, he mused.
So, for a Piskie to say Boarden is small, it truly is Nature’s blessing he still lives. Unless…
“Since you cannot save him, I would seek your opinion. On the youngling’s arm, there is a Faerie mark. Do you recognise which kind it may belong to? It is not something that I have seen before.”
The scarred Piskie blinked up at the Knucker, before turning his gaze down to the baby.
The wings on his back vibrated with a low hum as he pulled back the blanket that Avice had swaddled him in.
Trewoofe watched as the male touched the very tip of his finger to the mark.
The fractals of his silver eyes contracted and stretched as he focused.
“I do not know it,” he replied. “Apologies, Lord.”
The scarred male dipped his head as he stepped back.
Trewoofe huffed heavily and tapped a talon as he thought at what to do next. What other Good Neighbour could I ask? Definitely not the Tall Ones…
The scarred Piskie, as though he could read the Knucker’s mind, cleared his throat. “Perhaps the Wulver? They have strong changing magic.”
Trewoofe considered the idea. “The Wulver pack would make good caretakers for the child. However, they have not had pups since they moved to the Underneath. There would be no playmates for Boarden.”
A painful stab of a memory pierced his heart, two Knuckerlings chasing each other in a meadow in the forest, the dandelion fluff tickling their noses.
“He could play with Hope, and our other younglings, when he is a bit bigger,” the scarred one offered, fine lines appeared at the corner of his mouth as he tucked the blanket back around the baby.
Trewoofe tilted his head curiously. “Who are you to make such an offer?” He studied the Faerie more closely. He knew that scar and that face. “Prince Consort! Is that you?”
The Piskie raked his long nails through his hair and caught a flare of silver on the tip. “We cannot all remain so youthful and handsome, Lord. You Knuckers… well, you never seem to age a day.”
Trewoofe could not help but preen under the compliment; he was a handsome Knucker. His soul-bound had always said so, and so did Avice.
“Queen Mab, she does not seem to like your younglings mixing with others.”