Chapter 32
Trewoofe
The wind raged against his ward as Trewoofe sat warm and content with Avice on their pallet.
He did not know when he had started thinking of the bed as ‘theirs’, but the moment she had said ‘ours’ he knew he was right in thinking that it belonged to them both.
Just like if she came to the Underneath with him, his nest would also be theirs.
She set a bowl of broth on the floor for Bramble to lap at and then gave the tiniest cup Trewoofe had ever seen to Ashling.
“Thank you!” The Wisp cooled his flames and tipped the liquid onto himself.
Avice handed Trewoofe a steaming bowl. She had dropped in some more herbs and dried mushrooms from one of the jars she retrieved from the cellar and topped it off with more healing waters. The mushrooms had plumped up in the liquid and given it a distinctly woody scent that made his stomach growl.
She gave him a spoon. Befuddled, he looked from the bowl to the strange tool, and then to Avice.
She sat happily next to him on the pallet with a contended hum, inhaling the scent of her meal with a smile, and used the spoon to deliver it to her mouth.
He watched as her throat shifted as she swallowed.
If I can sew, I can do this.
Trewoofe tried, he really did, but he just ended up spilling the broth from the spoon back into the bowl. The utensil was too big to manipulate with his claw tips – like he did with the needle – but too small for his hand. He grunted loudly with frustration, his stomach roaring in protest.
That caught Avice’s attention. “What is it, Lord?”
He brandished the spoon. “I cannot make this work.”
She giggled and shrugged. “Then do not use it. Just drink from the bowl.”
“But you are using it,” he huffed.
She took the spoon from his hand, along with her own, and tossed them away. They clattered into a corner, hidden from sight by the flickering shadows.
“Now I am not.”
She smiled up at him before taking a sip of her steaming broth with a little sigh.
“Drink up, Lord.”
Trewoofe melted at the gesture. He was delighted that she would be happy to accommodate him in such a simple way. He knew then that she understood, because he was not in his normal body, some things would be more difficult for him.
“You are wonderful,” he purred before taking a sip.
The mushrooms had thickened the broth and added a taste that reminded him of Autumn. He closed his eyes and groaned.
“Wonderful? Why?”
He opened them to see her looking up at him, her bowl resting on her chin, and her plump lips open as though the question was still on her tongue.
“Because you allow me to be myself. You understand that I may find some things more difficult, and it is not a problem for you,” he explained before taking a second slurp.
She scrunched her face. “It is simply what I wish was done for me.”
Empathy radiated off her in waves, and he stared in awe at her. “It is a gift you have given me, along with your friendship and my life. To be understood.”
He realised he had struck a nerve in her as he watched tears pool in the corner of her eyes.
She blinked them away. “I have spent most of my life wishing to be understood, and understanding those who – like me – do not fit in.”
Trewoofe cocked his head. “Can you explain further? I wish to know you better.”
Avice sipped and rolled the broth around in her mouth before swallowing.
“Bramble and Ashling understand me. My mother and great-aunt understood me, but they were also witches. I thought John understood me, but he did not defend me.” She took a breath as she placed her empty bowl onto the furs.
“I do not fit in with humans, Trewoofe. I do not match with what Christendom says is the perfect woman: meek, obedient, virginal, then married and a mother. I tried to follow these ideals, but they betrayed me. What worthiness is in it if it has failed me? Why should I try to be good if it does not keep me safe?” She tucked her chin to her chest and ran her fingers over her pendant.
He swallowed his mouthful before stacking his empty bowl into hers. “May I—”
“Yes, Lord,” she chuckled through her stifled sob. “You may touch me.”
Trewoofe wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his lap.
He scented her hair – honey and lavender – and fought down the flush that threatened to colour his throat.
He longed to lick away the tears from her cheeks, to take her pain and bear it as his own.
Trewoofe stopped himself, he knew that sometimes you just needed to feel and let it out.
Nature knew he had done it enough over his many turns of seasons.
She sighed into his chest, and he squeezed her tighter. “Do not break another stitch,” she mumbled into his bandages.
He chuckled and tucked her head under his chin. “I will make every effort not to.”
Avice?
She turned to her familiar. “Yes, Bramble?”
Are you well? he asked, tail wagging weakly.
She sat straight in Trewoofe’s lap, wiggling against him in a way that made him bite his tongue to stifle a moan.
“I am better now.” She reached forward to rough his ears. “Has everyone finished eating?”
“Yes.”
Yes.
“Yes.”
Answered her all at once.
“Pudding always makes me feel better,” Avice asserted before bouncing from his lap and onto her feet.
The movement had his heart racing, and he pressed his palm to his chest, willing it to settle. “What is ‘pudding’?”
Ashling drifted over and landed on his horn. “You will enjoy it; it is sweet.”
“It is sweet,” Avice said at the same time as Ashling.
She gathered their abandoned bowls, Bramble’s dish, and Ashling’s tiny cup. Trewoofe watched as she was about to go through the routine of washing them, just like the Wisp had taught him.
“Let me do that. Once we are done with ‘pudding’, I will clean them all,” he promised.
Avice brightened at that. “Another human lesson?”
Trewoofe nodded and flicked his eyes up to the Wisp perched on his horn. “He is a very good teacher.”
Avice pottered around. She collected bowls, unsealed one of the jars they fetched from the cellar, and returned with a dish and tiny cup filled with a golden-brown mushy substance. Trewoofe flared his nostrils at the sweet scent making his mouth water with anticipation.
The Grim and the Wisp tucked in while Avice wandered over with a bowl in each hand. She sat comfortably between his legs and brandished one at him.
“You will love it,” she promised, before bringing the bowl to her lips and sipping the syrup. “Ah, so good! Puddings are a treat, especially this long into Winter.”
Trewoofe chuckled at her enthusiasm and lifted the bowl to his mouth. He took an experimental slurp, sucking up some of the soft fruit. It melted on his tongue. He closed his eyes as he swallowed, the delightful sweetness coating his throat.
“Oh, Avice,” he murmured. “I think I like this even better than honey cakes. What is it again?”
She giggled at him. “Stewed apple. You boil it for a long time and add some honey or flowers for extra taste. You should try it with custard or cream.”
He opened his eyes and gave her a puzzled look. “What is ‘custard’ and ‘cream’?”
She licked the syrup from her lips, making his pulse quicken. “It is made from the milk of a cow or sheep. It is sweet and adds another layer of flavour to puddings.”
“Why do you not have ‘milk’ to make these things?” he asked, before slurping again.
“I do not have it because it comes with Spring, when cows have their calves and sheep have their lambs,” Avice explained.
He swallowed and furrowed his brow. “I do not understand.”
She chewed thoughtfully. “Because, when the cows and sheep have their babies, they produce milk from their udders to feed them with. Humans collect it and keep some of it for their own use. To make things like butter, cheese, cream, and custard.”
“That is very different to Knuckerlings,” Trewoofe observed. “When my daughters hatched, I brought them prey, chewed and spat out for them to consume.”
“I did not know that. So, baby Knuckers can eat softened solid food straight from being hatched?” she enthused.
He nodded, absorbed at how delighted she was to be learning something new. “Human offspring do not eat food?”
She shook her head. “Not as newborns. They drink milk from their mothers, like cows and sheep.”
Trewoofe blanched, his mouth opening and closing. “Human females have ‘udders’?”
Avice let out a short sharp laugh. “No, Lord.”
His frowned deepened. “Little witch, I do not understand.”
A rosy flush bloomed on her cheeks. “Ah, I, well…” She patted the very top of her breasts. “These are for feeding our babies. When women give birth, our breasts become swollen with milk to feed them.”
She looks so adorable when she is flustered. Trewoofe slurped his last mouthful. “So, they are not just to look appealing?”
Avice coughed violently on her pudding mid-sip.
“Little witch!”
Avice! Bramble barked.
“Thump her back, Lord! She is choking!” Ashling exclaimed.
Trewoofe reached around her back and balled his fist, whacking between her shoulder blades several times until she reached to catch his wrist.
“Thank you,” she coughed, trying to catch her breath. “Your question caught me off guard.”
Bramble put his forepaws on the pallet and licked the tears that had trickled down her cheek during her coughing fit. You are alright?
“Yes, yes, I promise.” She scratched his head before he hopped down and wandered to his favourite spot by the hearth.
“Avice, please forgive me, I did not know my question would have that outcome.” Trewoofe rubbed soothing circles on her back, and she relaxed into his touch.
“It is alright. You… you find them appealing?” she asked hoarsely.
“I find yours appealing, yes,” he replied, turning his rubbing circles into gentle kneading.
He tilted his chin down so their eyes met.
“I find everything about you alluring. The way you think, the way you speak, the way you feel, the way you see the world, and – despite that I am a Knucker, and you are a human – the way you look.”
She said nothing but melted into his massaging hand.
Trewoofe took the moment to let his mind wander: their bodies entwined when he was in his human body, her nuzzling his snout when he was in his Knucker shape, him dancing for her, Avice accepting his courtship, him bringing her food from his hunts, and even her belly growing round with his youngling.
Trewoofe purred at the indulgent imaginings. It was early days between them, and he had not even asked her if he could court her yet. Though, when she was here, with only a thin chemise separating her skin from his palm, he felt that it could all come true.
Avice yawned and rubbed her eyes. She dropped her hands to her lap and looked up at him blearily though her eyelashes.
“You are exhausted,” Trewoofe stated. “Sleep. I will do the dishes.”
“Do not be too long,” she murmured as she lowered herself to the bedding. “It is cold, and we need to stay warm.”
Trewoofe chuckled as he stood. It was not cold in the cottage – Ashling had seen to that with his blazing fire in the hearth.
The pretence of holding one another due to the Winter temperature was amusing, and he wondered when they would admit that it was because they both enjoyed being in each other’s arms.
The Well King collected their second round of dishes and wandered over to the table where the snow in the cauldrons had melted into usable, clean water. Ashling floated over and landed on his shoulder, supervising the important task of cleaning them, ready for use the next day.