Six whole days had passed since Pug arrived in the village. For six whole days he had been inundated under a litany of chores, and if getting to Hummingbird Hearth on time had been difficult before then it was impossible now. And as though the entire village was working together to keep his mind off of his dreary thoughts, the tasks kept coming in. He carried all manner of groceries and luggage, he transported wares and supplies, delivered mail, and once had even served as a secretary for the mayor. He was kept unremittingly busy from the moment he woke until the instant he collapsed into his bed. When he tried to ask after Lina he was told she was stable, but still needed time. When he asked after Inky he was told she was too busy to meet with him.
So it was completely understandable, at least in Pug’s admittedly biased opinion, that on the seventh day he would see his friend and he would cut down anyone who stood in his way. When he missed his morning check in the mayor, one Mister Crab Brittlegill, went to check in on his guest. He found the fairy in his room, fervently sharpening the head of his spear with his knife laying bare on the bed beside him, clearly next in line. Crab met Pug’s gaze, looked deeply into the eyes of a man who had been given the runaround for a little too long, and promptly delivered the good news he’d meant to share at their morning meetup. Lina had awoken the night before, and was finally able to accept visitors. If the myconid breathed like other mortal races, it would have let out a deep sigh of relief as the fairy stalked past him and out the front door without a word.
***
The gnome was curled up into a ball at the bottom of a deep, dark hole. Stone surrounded her on all sides, and this was good for she was of stone and earth, gems and metal. The gnome dreamt no dreams and thought no thoughts, yet she was content. She did not want to dream, or to think, and the pit she resided in was good for because it hid her from such flights of fancy. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in the pit, but over time she became aware of a distant light.
Nebulous and faint at first, a green tendril of luminescence crawled its way down the stony walls of the pit. At first it was a distant thing, its glow hardly noticeable, but as it slowly quested forward with inquisitive probes the light intensified. It poked and prodded and doubled back from dead ends, slithering ever onward, ever deeper. Finally it reached the gnome, and seemed to be what it wanted. It enveloped her in leafy fronds and thick vines, bundling her tightly before it began to retract itself out of the mouth of the pit. Even though she was comfortable and content, the gnome did not struggle. To struggle would invite thought and strife and discontent, and she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel those things. To want to stay was to invite hopes and dreams, and she did not want to dream.
So the gnome chose to remain content, and stayed in her leafy cocoon. She continued to not think, and refused to dream. She did not notice that outside of the green light encapsulating her a greater luminosity was taking hold. White and pure, this new light promised thoughts, feelings, dreams, and therefore pain. The gnome would have to enjoy her contentment while it lasted for soon enough it would be impossible for her to hold on to it.
***
Pug flew low over the streets of the myconid township, whose name he was still unable to pronounce, disturbing pedestrians as he weaved his way through narrow city streets. Several myconids ducked and called out in irritation but he ignored each of them, favoring the loudest among them with a bitter frown. He’d tried to go with the flow of foot traffic but myconids live with only slightly more urgency than their non-sapient fungal cousins. As he finally closed in on Inky’s hall he cut his wings and dropped from the air like a stone, hitting the ground running and pushing through the doorway.
He sped across the few short steps to Tourmaline’s bed, the one closest to the door, where he’d set her what felt like ages ago. Standing at her side was a nurse who leaned over her sleeping form, checking her vitals. She spun on one heel as he skid to a stop, her rather dull and expressionless doing absolutely nothing to hide the irritation she felt. She held one squishy gray finger to her faux lips, shushing him.
The sense of worry Pug felt when he saw Lina was all too familiar. It had grown cold and numb in the days he hadn’t seen her, but now it sank into his stomach like a leaden weight. She looked the same as she had when he’d last seen her, though bathed and treated her skin was still sallow and thin. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths, but her eyes remained closed. Pug bit his lip and gave the nurse an inquisitive glare. She forestalled any exclamation he would make with an outstretched appendage moved in a way he assumed was meant to be soothing. The nurse pulled him away a fair distance so they wouldn’t disturb her charge.
“What happened? I’d heard she awoken-” He began before she cut him off with a hiss.
“Shush, Meat.”
Her voice had the same bland tone as most myconids he’d spoken with, though with its own particular notes and flavors which indicated to Pug while she was being short with him, she was not being unkind. Neither was her nickname cruel. Indeed, many of the fungal lifeforms seemed to have conceptual difficulties with the idea of creatures being made of meat. To them it was a quirky characteristic, even if to Pug it sounded a little crude.
“Lady Meat is fine.” She reassured him. “She is simply tired from healing. She sleeps now, and will wake when she is ready. The difference between now and before is you can wake her by yelling and slamming doors.”
Pug was gracious enough to ignore their last jab, though he did feel the need to respond to at least one part of what she said.
“Please, don’t call her Lady Meat. She’ll definitely take the wrong way if she hears it.” The mushroom nurse at least had the decency to look confused.
“But she is a woman, yes?” She demanded. “And she is meat! Tougher meat than you, but still meat.”
“Just trust me on this. Her name is Lina, you should call her if you can.” Pug insisted, gentle but firm.
“Your silly names are too much for me.” The nurse had now acquired the aspect of a jaded old biddy in Pug’s mind. An old grandma who didn’t have time to deal with young people’s idiosyncrasies anymore. “She will be Meat and you will be Man Meat, then.”
“Hey, wait! That’s even-” Pug sputtered.
“No more! It’s final.” She stated before walking away, leaving him mouth agape.
Pug had to chuckle, and secretly hoped she was just teasing him, though he doubted she understood the common tongue well enough to do so. He wasn’t aware of any other patients in the clinic, so he wasn’t quite sure what she was busy with aside from avoiding this conversation. He sat down on the stool at Lina’s bedside with a small huff, wrapping her hand tightly in his own. Her hand was warm, which he took to be a good sign, and her face no longer drawn with pain, nor was it covered in sweat like it had been on their journey between the fort and the village.
As eager as he was to hear her voice, to be absolutely certain she was okay, Pug had to resign himself to being patient. The urge to wake her bunched up in his throat and took up residence with the worry seemed to be a permanent feature there these days. Even if he did manage to wake her, he’d wind up in trouble with both the nurse and Lina, who probably wouldn’t be in the best of moods. She’d have every right to be angry with him. He led them straight into attack.
Shaking his head, he pushed thought down, locked it away with the growing pile of things he didn’t want to think about. In a futile attempt to force himself to relax, Pug crossed his arms on Lin’s cot and laid his head atop them. He was a hand’s breadth or two from her face in this position, and he suddenly found himself nurturing a small interest in seeing the exact moment she woke. He fixed his eyes, unblinking, on her face which was actually kind of cute. Though he’d never admit to her.
Perhaps it was arrogant of him to assume such a relaxed position, for within moments he could feel the weight of sleep beginning to deaden his limbs. He’d not slept well since they arrived at the village, harried by nightmares that woke him from his slumber despite his exhaustion after days full of chores. Here, beside his treasured friend, he found himself relaxing enough to begin to drift away. His breath subconsciously synced with her deep, even breathing as his eyes crept closed.
“Pug?” Days worth of confusion hung on one simple word.
Looking back, Pug would never be able to tell if he had managed to sleep, or if she had woken the very moment he let go. It would certainly be in character for her to wake at such an inopportune time as the moment he fell asleep. Whatever the case, hearing his name from her lips brought him to full awareness without even a speck of sleep lingering in his thoughts. He snapped upright, wiping the drool from his cheek where it had begun to pool. Tourmaline didn’t seem to notice, her eyes, which were clear and bright, taking in their surroundings. A bit of color had returned to her face and he was struck by how different, how lively her expression was. How it completely contrasted her wounded stillness of the days prior.
“Where are we? What happened?” She looked a little lost, questions burning in her eyes as faced him.
“W-what do you remember?” Pug stammered, dumbly, still startled by the sudden turn of events.
“We’d just been ambushed by those horrid creatures. I was going for my satchel, but that’s the last thing I really remember. A bit of fighting after that?” She frowned, her face twisting with concentration.
Pug nodded and cut in, filling her in before she worked herself up. He explained the ambush, and the hit she’d taken from the goblin slinger. He told her about the journey to the myconid village in broad strokes. He’d attempted to circumvent the fort entirely but his friend was more alert and astute than he’d expected and she questioned him intensely when he stumbled in his explanation. Pug reluctantly covered the fight with the goblin’s boss, flinching when he saw the guilt flash through Lina’s eyes. He’d expected her to react like this, upset she’d not been there when he and Slink were in danger.
“You were hurt so badly, you couldn’t have done anything to help even if you’d been awake.” Pug said soothingly, trying to assuage her, in his opinion, misplaced guilt.
She seemed slow to accept she bore no responsibility for her condition, at least until Pug chided her rather sternly about taking on burden’s she didn’t have the right to bear. He finished off the tale with their arrival to the village. She didn’t seem to have any questions about the monstrosity that had entered the clearing after their fight, which was good as he was still unsettled by the abomination. There was a moment of silence as Tourmaline guzzled water directly from the pitcher left at her beside, her hand raised to forestall any talking. Only once she’d completely drained it did she lower her hand and allow him to speak again.
“Slink was amazing though. He carried you, and the majority of our gear all the way here. Make sure you thank him next time we see him.” Pug stated. Everything had happened seemed like so much less in retrospect, though Lina looked upset to have missed it all.
“Next time we see him? Where’d he go?” Tourmaline looked a little hurt he’d abandoned her, but Pug was quick to explain.
“He had to leave pretty quickly.” Pug stammered. “Apparently we’re right under the Owl King’s roost, so this isn’t exactly friendly territory for him.”
“Is he going to meet up with us?” Tourmaline asked, biting her lip. “It’ll be hard to get to the Hearth without him.”
“We’ll deal with it later, for now you need more rest.” Pug stood, preparing to leave. “I know you gnomes are sturdy but you took some serious hits.”
Pug studiously ignored the surge of anxiety her words brought him. They weren’t going to make it to the Hearth, but telling her now would only distress her. He assured himself he’d talk to her about it when she was feeling better, but her ponderously slow movements and weary eyes had him wondering exactly how long would take. Biting back his worry like a rising tide of bile, he grasped her shoulder and gave it a squeeze before she sank back into her cot.
“You’re right, we’ll talk later. I know I’ve been sleeping for days, but I’m actually quite tired.” Lina’s words were faint and slurred, eked out between jaw-shattering yawns.
“I’ll come visit when I’m done with work.” Pug half-whispered, punctuating his goodbyes with a small wave.
Tourmaline’s bleary gaze followed him out the front door, though she looked tired enough he wasn’t sure she was comprehending anything she saw. He emerged from the healing hall into the vibrant light of the noonday sun, and found himself standing on a street that was nearly deserted. Myconids tended to avoid the brightest and hottest times of day, making the middle of the day a traditional period of rest in their village. Pug wasn’t sure why, but whatever the reason it allowed him to fly as fast as he pleased back to his temporary accommodations.
Reassured of Lina’s health, he threw himself into his work with gusto. He’d hardly touched down before setting about his chores, cleaning the floors and furniture, taking out the rubbish and the other odd jobs they had laying about. Pug found the trash the fungal creatures left behind to be terribly interesting. There were never any scraps of food in the trash bins, nor paper. Trash in the myconid village tended to be scraps of metal or stone, glass and other inorganic things. Pug hadn’t seen what they did with the rest of the rubbish, and he had a feeling he really didn’t want to.
Pug’s workday was relatively uneventful, though he ran into the mayor once in the midst of his work. He apologized profusely for taking the morning off, though the mayor firmly reassured him it was fine. The fairy was grateful for his forbearance, and for the work in general if he were being honest. The constant manual labor kept him from dwelling on the churning sense of unease in his gut.
He went for lunch a little later than he usually did, stopping by the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon once he had completed his chores. Myconids didn’t have to cook their food to eat it, but they seemed to enjoy the taste and had a particular fondness for meat. The mayor’s chef gave him a veritable banquet of meats to choose from, and Pug studiously picked the dishes he could identify from among them. The chef swore all of his ingredients were above board, but Pug couldn’t help but worry the fungus people had a different philosophy regarding what was edible. Pug brought his modest meal back to his room as eating alone seemed to be the norm here in the village.
The food was delicious, if a tad over- or undercooked depending on the dish. They understood seasonings with a clarity few chefs back home could match, but they understandably had a wider range of tolerance for how thoroughly cooked their meats ought to be. Likewise, meat was rarely integrated into other dishes. Instead they were served as steaks, or strips were breaded and fried. He finished it quickly, having little else to do and nothing to occupy his mind.
Sitting in silence, his heart began to whisper. Lina was awake now, and one way or another meant they were leaving. He’d gotten her hurt once already, and without Slink with them it was sure to be more risky. Was he going to get her hurt again? He’d very nearly led his friend into death in the pursuit of Jet, and he wasn’t sure he could justify it . The idea of Tourmaline leaving the village at all made him want to puke.
As the rising tide of dread and fear began to choke him Pug’s mind scurried for a way out. Looking at the problem from the other end left him feeling just as helpless. The thought of abandoning Jet had him feeling just as twisted up inside, guilt taking its spot beside its bosom-buddy self loathing at the mere thought. He fretted over his options long into the night, and when he finally got to sleep it was a fretful and restless thing. His dreams, terribly and horrifically familiar to him now, smelled of blood and echoed with screams.
