Vignette- Dungeons and Dimwits

Valkirk sighed, leaning back from a cherry red wooden bar. Why did they always have to argue the same damn things?

“-I’m telling you, we are doing this all wrong. Where are the tanks?” Hogen belligerently sprayed over his flagon of rum.

“And I have told you repeatedly that you're an idiot! How the hell is a man in a tin can suit going to stop a hog’s charge?” Nacre exaustedly replied. Valkirk had no sympathy for him. Exhaustion was the natural result of feeding a troll.

“Enchanted armor and physical enhancement spells obviously!”

“Oh, and why don’t you show me these mythical enchantments and spells?” Nacre did an overly exaggerated up and down look at Hogen. All of 5’8, even after the beast meat, muddy brown hair, acne and with a decidedly scrawny build, he wasn’t exactly the pinup image of a tank. Unfortunately, while there might be truth in alcohol, there was definitely idiocy. Hogan, oblivious to the look, continued full speed ahead. “That's exactly it. Gotta tell Morgen that. We need spells for a tank!”

Sure, a couple of low end guardians telling one of the three pathfinder leaders of the city what spells she needed to create… ya that was a great idea. He stood up and quietly walked away, leaving his teammates to argue the never ending story. Just because the magic of the town was influenced (inspired?) by old Gygax, didn’t mean the world was a game. A five man party of a tank, 2 damage dealers, a healer and a trap detector was hardly the holy grail for adventurers.

Few wild beasts laid traps, so a trap detector wasn’t terribly useful. A good scout though? That was golden. Lots of sneaky creeping beasties out there just waiting for the inattentive. He guessed they weren’t that far off.

What about a tank though? Anyone willing to wear 60 pounds of metal in this heat needed to get their head checked. Both for heat stroke and insanity. He couldn’t see them being that useful in a fight either. Might protect you from some of the smaller nasty critters, but a charging hog wouldn’t care how much metal you were wearing. It was matching human weakness against a beast's strength. Beasts had size and strong bodies. Humans had small size and big brains. Well, most humans he reflected, glancing at the continuing argument.

Much like trapping vs scouting, there was a place for someone to trap and control the battlefield. Grasping Vines was a particular favorite around here. Maybe that could be considered tanking? He shook his head, now he was getting drawn into the stupid argument. What you called the role didn’t matter, survival did.

Survival, he grimaced. That led to the last role. Unfortunately early healing had been anything but a rousing success. Between them, Morgan, Johan and Yeats created several effective full body healing spells. But using them on another person was a good way to make a mortal enemy.

Or a corpse.

Caused a hell of a row in those early days. Wounds would close, then the person would die anyway. They eventually got an explanation from upstream, not that it made much sense. Intent this, aspect of self that. Add in something about an unstable identity construct… Some people just had to make everything confusing. Thankfully Morgen was a good sort. She didn’t mind translating into plain language. Bless her.

A man's will was what controlled and moved his body. Animated it. Making it more than just a statue of flesh, blood and bone. Valkirk thought of it as his soul, though Morgan never used that term. Working a healing spell required the healer to enforce their will through the injured party's aura, experiencing that once was enough. What should be yours to control suddenly belonging to someone else? It was a violation. That was deeply unpleasant but expected from hostile spell effects. But from a healer? That wasn’t even the worst of it. They had to will the body to heal. But it wasn’t your will that gave the order. Somebody else was ordering your body. Interfering with your soul.

Even if you survived it, the violation would leave behind bits and pieces of foreign influence. It had to be dealt with, and as quickly as possible. Just like eating tiered beast meat, even after it was purified and properly prepared, a body still had to work to remove a few useless parts and assimilate all the good stuff. Leave bits and pieces of it around long enough and it led to some serious issues. Deadly serious. Mutations. Like growing a pig's snout or having your skin color shift to look like the healers. The second sounded pretty mild. Not so much. If it got far enough for mutations of any kind to show up, death was not far behind. A not so quick very painful death.

No, if you need healing, do it yourself. Either with a spell or a self activated potion. If you were unconscious and bleeding out then all you could do was hope to hell that the healer was skilled enough to use specific healing spells. Ones that didn’t target the full body but just the wound itself. Using very little, very focused magic. That took precision and understanding. Oh sure, closing up a bleeding cut was possible. But any kind of deeper injury? Not many could pull that off. Maybe ten in the entire hold. But sure as shooting, such precious talents weren’t going to be with him out in the jungle when the shit hit the fan.

With a wave and a tossed coin for the bartender, Valkirk stopped out of the tavern. Pausing to get a deep breath of the evening air. The massive two story building got a bit ripe with spilled booze and the press of bodies. It’s faux thatch roof and half timbered walls a pleasant distraction from the all encompassing hold walls in the background. Walls that towered three times the height of the tavern. A nice image that, he thought somewhat blearily.Comfort in the foreground, safety in the back. Some found that safety stifling, but then, he didn’t see them trying to build a house outside it’s protection. They were protected here. But sometimes people wanted to forget, at least for a while, that they needed protecting. Glancing back into the roaring jolly interior he guessed they had a space for that.

The walls did have the unfortunate side effect of blocking any breezes. His breath of fresh air felt like breathing through a wet cloth. Wet from boiling water almost. Jungle evenings resembled a sauna more than anything else he could think of.

Giving in to a sudden urge, he started lightly jogging towards the wall. It was too damn hot and muggy down here. He wanted to feel the breeze on his face. With his high tier 1 physique it didn’t take long. Another reminder of how much had changed. A few blocks and six stories of stairs at a run would have left him collapsed and gasping like a fish, if he managed it at all before the change. Now? His breath was even and unforced. His muscles were coated in sweat, but from the temperature not from exertion.

He nodded to the on duty guard through the barred windows of the sentry shacks. A rarely needed measure (or he wouldn’t be on the walls slightly buzzed!) but there were a few nocturnal bats and birds that occasionally harassed sentries. At least the hoped for breeze was here, blowing off the river and providing some blessed relief. He reveled in the cool as he slowed to walk the rest of the fairly large distance to the outer edge of the wall. They were more square than rectangle. A necessity when a charging hog could probably travel through the entire tavern, walls, people, bar and everything. Enchantments helped, but over 60 feet of reinforced stone had a magic of its own.

Making the outer face of the wall, and the second set of sentry shacks, he stood up on the fighting step, raising his head above the crenelated outer face and into the true open air breeze. Both the feel and the view were divine. Recompense, in some small way, for all they’d lost. The deceptively inviting edge of the jungle was only 300 feet or so away, vibrant colors inflamed in the light of sunset even as the heady scents of flowers, wet leaves and rotting plants mixed together into a surprisingly pleasant whole. Even the river that curled around the back of the settlement contributed to the idyllic scene. It was a good life they had, he could admit that to himself if not to his team. Something wild primal and free, so much more real than his dead end office job and the steadily expanding gut that went with it. And worse, from a family who barely talked to each other and a wife who had been getting dangerously bored.

Oh, he made the same complaints everyone else did when in his cups. There were things he missed. AC, for one, would be divine right now! But as the years passed, fading away, so did the memories. Changing from what was, into something almost mythical. Legends and stories heard rather than reality experienced. He snorted, must have had more to drink then he thought if he was getting philosophical. He took another deep breath, this had been nice, but his wife, as improved by the constant exercise and diet as he was, needed some attention. Attention he was more than happy to give. If he got home soon he could even spend a bit of time with the children before bedtime. A second chance was a rare thing and he promised himself again, he would take full advantage of it.

Then one of the delayed fireball traps went off. A large sphere of expanded flames appeared with a resounding *BANG*. Like a bucket full of cold water, the pleasant buzz from earlier left him in an instant. His eyes, suddenly focused and aggresive snapped to the spindly green forms and their shadows that danced in the brief flare of light. Training and habit took over with barely a conscious thought. His hands snapped through several precise positions even as he chanted out the somatic components to Morgan's Bell of Warning. It was a quick spell, barely a second and a half when fully trained, and he was that. A large ghostly bell took form back over the inside of the wall and it wasn’t alone. The sentries had the same training he did, in an almost painfully loud chorus the massed bells rang. He didn’t have to look to see the results. Bodies would be piling out of the tavern and homes, sprinting for their assigned positions on the walls with speeds that would make old world olympians jealous.

The sentries and the fixed defenses wouldn’t have to hold them off for long. Multiple layers of spike laden ditches and waiting spell traps in front of magi trained walls. They would hold. But he wasn’t going to make it home before bedtime. Not tonight. Part of that home would be joining him soon enough. And there were few things that lit up the blood like combat.

He was even smiling as his hands popped back up into the casters' pose, beginning the chants and gestures for Yeats' many seeking missiles. All they had to do was survive the attack, and he would be getting lucky tonight!

Life was good!

Chapter 7

As the sun set, Timothy’s slim frame slid out of a solid essence rock wall that, for a moment, acted like jello. Arching out after him for a moment longer then snapped back in a series of damping ripples. It barely took three steps before he paused in front of a wild array of massed intent. Like a thicket of thorns on the magic plain, it bristled and poked at the world around it. Feeding off of the ambient mana, but rejected by it as well. The result was Jenney’s boundary, a barrier between the not so normal or humdrum world and her sanctum sanctorum. Jenney’s private little world.

A world he didn’t attempt to breach. Maybe he could slip through it unannounced, then again, maybe not. Jenney’s magic packed a hell of a punch, far more than his did, truth to tell. A side effect of their choices. Most people stored their mana in their aura. Aura, he mused, like so many magic terms it was a bastardization of old world words with new world concepts. Very loosely, it was the area around a person that their intent, unconscious and conscious, bled into and controlled. And a very useful area it was. It could be a protective barrier, mana storage and mana acquisition tool all in one. A zone of control where intent could interfaced with the world around a person, slowly overwriting the ambient raw mana into usable form. Processing it, in effect. Most auras extended a few feet. A stronger will, more forceful personality or a more magic dense body could push that distance to an extent.

But Jenney didn’t just have an aura, not even a large one, she had a domain. The boundary in front of him was edge of that domain and everything inside of it was fair game for mana storage. Throw in a massively larger surface area and her mana regen was through the roof as well. The storage was only available if she stayed inside, but that wasn’t much of a weakness when she never left.

Of course, quantity of mana wasn’t everything. With her intent covering such a large area it was unlikely she could focus on every little detail at once. Timothy might be able to reprocess her mana locally to make an entrance. But considering she’d created her own private dimension, destabilizing the dimensional boundaries without far more knowledge than he had didn’t seem like a wise choice.

Choices, he mused, her path was so very different from his. Sure they appeared shallowly similar. Both of them created a stronghold, him a tower, her a garden and built up that stronghold to improve their magic. But that superficial similarity was all they had in common. She fully dominated her space in exchange for giving up on the world outside it. He used his tower as a diving board to jump into the world at large. She gathered mana in her domain, impressing her intent upon it to create miraculous effects. He barely bothered to store personal mana at all. His enchantments linked to the mana field and drew their own charge, he didn’t use personal mana except as a bridge for establishing resonance. So as long as the enchantments he carried still had a charge, mana wasn’t an issue. It was only his will that limited the number of enchantments he could trigger. And having created the enchantments himself, that will cost was significantly discounted.

The differences kept coming. She rejected the violence of the new world in exchange for creating a small place where her peaceful ideals held sway. He attempted to limit his effect on the world at large. Even to the point of avoiding projecting his aura more than a few defensive inches. Changing the world to suit him would only blind him from learning the lessons it offered.

In his not so humble opinion, and no matter how he tried to limit his ego anything else he said would be a lie, his way was better. Such thoughts egged him on. Pushing him to attempt a break through. To prove, if only to himself, that his way was indeed superior. With considerable practice he resisted the impulse. If his path was better, and he was far from humble enough to assume otherwise, he had to remind himself constantly that it was only better for him. Paths were unique, and everyone had to find and walk their own. The ‘best’ path in the world would be useless to someone ill fitted for it. He pushed the comparisons out of his mind for now.

Besides, success or failure, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. He already had permission, all he needed to do was wait, and let her enjoy the power game. Let her be fashionably late. He could wait.

A newly acquired skill, in the old world he had been rather bad at it. His mind always darting about, looking for something new to hold its attention. From cell phone videos to reading or games he’d always had something to occupy his time. In a way that hadn’t fully changed. He still always had to have something to do, but that something was now all around him instead of contained in a small screen.

He looked at the boundary between the real and Jenny’s sanctum, tracing the rays of intent. Segregating what he thought he knew with well practiced ease in exchange for seeing what was. He would compare it with what he had seen previously later. Assumptions and presumptions were the death of learning. With ease brought from experience, and no little joy, he traced the lines of aspected mana, watched the interaction between the outside and the in. Enjoying the violent interplay that occured at the border and the curious twist it made to an absolutely non-violent interior. An interior ripe with the aspects of life, death, growth, healing and peace. A curious thing, that death was included but not violence. Composting and the fecund growth from the remains of the past without the brutal ending that created those remains. Her intent embedded into the dense and compliant mana. Compliant once through the barrier at least, from where he stood it might as well have been solid stone.

But if you could wrangle an invitation, that compliance could be quite useful. Access to this garden was highly sought after for a reason. Simply standing in such a concentrated bath of growth and healing intent would help a person to do exactly that. Old wounds would slowly fade and personal strength would increase. The compliance part was necessary, greatly reducing the time it took to assimilate the foreign intent.

But it wasn’t entirely one sided. Death was more than just the grim reaper and a final ending. There were many small deaths in life. Every transition and step of growth could be considered a death of the old ‘you’. On a more practical level, old wounds ‘died’ giving up the damaged tissue, even as left over contaminants were excreted. What was poison for a person, could be fertilizer for a plant. Recycling at its finest. It was a mutually beneficial feedback loop, just so long as not too many visitors were allowed in. Too many aura’s over time would destabilize her domain. Conflicting sources of intent along with differing belief sets would fight for control of the free floating mana. Jenney had a vast advantage in that fight, but enough numbers would overwhelm her. So only a limited number of guests were permitted.

As much as he appreciated the view, and it was a hell of a view with vibrant colorful plants exuding the early delight of growing things, Timothy wasn’t interested in competing for access. The beneficial inent was applied to whoever entered and while the intent was filled with ‘beneficial’ concepts, it was not his intent. It was her power, her beliefs made manifest. Like with tiered meat, it offered power, but at a ‘small’ cost he wasn’t willing to pay. His intent was a razorblade honed by discipline and austerity. His perceptions and focus were likewise monolithic in their purpose and clear of outside contamination. A bit of free power at the expense of a slight mudying of that focus was not a trade he was interested in making. Sure with considerable effort or some natural treasures foreign intentions could be purified and assimilated. At least to some degree, but was it better to regularly clean the glass, or prevent it from being dirtied in the first place?

He was largely alone in that belief. Survival being more important than slight muddying of perception. Thankfully it wasn’t a compromise he had to make. Choices again. His ability to help the hold wasn’t dependent on physical or aural strength. It was dependent on the strength of his will and depth and width of his understanding.

Those were not things you could get by simply eating. It took constant self denial and study. It was not a fast path to power. But it was a very stable path. And it focused on what was most important to him. Understanding the world and the magic that made it tick. Power was just a pleasant side effect of that journey.

The boundary before him spun. The thorny barrier of intertwining magic twisted itself into a solid backed archway, interrupting his thoughts and observations as the swirling mana flows of greens and browns became distinct branches and leaves, if only in this one location, and offering him and the mana it had held back entrance.

With a mental twitch he solidified the exterior of his aura. Separating himself from the raw mana around him, reducing his mana regen to nothing. A similar effort of will did the same for the enchantments that hung from his belt. Then he stepped forward into the deadend Jenney offered him. Refusing to flinch as the thorns rushed back in to close the way out. Foreing invasive mana full of the usual chaotic mix of every aspect in the area, from the elemental flows to more human created hints, was quickly overwhelmed, rapidly forced to conform to the gardens own peculiar mix.

It didn’t take long and then the way forward opened up in the same way, chaos and competing intent fading into extraordinary greenery and orderly mana flows. He stepped forward calmly. The mana load might be distasteful, but the flowers that spotted the now visible hedge, more than twice his height and fair bursting with life, were well worth a look. And a smell. He took his time to do both. Slowly, aimlessly, meandering forward. Pausing to enjoy a flower here, to pick a ripe tomato there. He was in no particular hurry and even if he had been it wouldn’t have mattered. He would find nothing here that she didn’t want him to, nor would he reach the end of the path any faster by running.

This was not that kind of place.

The imposing intent around him, her peacenik ideals in motion, was held firmly at bay by his aura, but still he felt some relaxation and peace spin through him. The results of physical nature, rather than mana. Like with music, it wasn’t always better to overwhelm a performance with magic. Skill in the instrument had its own impact. Sometimes just observing the beauty of the physical world could calm the mind and soothe the soul. He needed that after a long day’s (hell long couple weeks!) labor.

His face cracked in a smile as he was reminded, again, about the value of unstated truths. Every plant she grew in this place was influenced by the intent in the air. An intent with a heavy dose of peace in it. Like James sunlit valley, this was also a mana sink. The humor was what the effects of that intent had on the imbiber. The more intent a person had of their own, the less it would effect them, but it always had some effect. He wondered if Jenney realized that her food pacified the norms living below. Somehow he doubted she would be as amused at the situation as he was. He might have felt bad about it, if there wasn’t an equal dose of health and growth thrown in.

He pushed that from his mind, snark would not help him in the coming conversation. She needed a supportive brother, not an asshole who would rub her face in unpleasant truths. There was no point trying to tell her this was not a world where you could afford to ‘give peace a chance’. He shook his head in amusement as he realized there was something he could say. The corollary to what he couldn’t.

Sometimes it was nice, just for a few moments, to experience that peace. Just because it wasn’t a long term possibility, didn’t mean it wasn’t enjoyable.

So he did, pushing aside worries about students or unfinished projects, and just took his time to smell the flowers, and enjoy the walk. Light in this place was as much Jenny’s choice as anything else. And she had chosen sunset. It painted the already flamboyant greens, reds, blues and vibrant purples in burning shades of orange. A small slice of heaven.

Regrettably, all things must, in their time, end. He passed beneath the flowering arm of a berry bush, well spotted with ripe blueberries as big as his fists even as those same flowers promised more to come. Then Jenney’s shaded bower was in front of him. He didn’t increase, nor decrease his pace. Continuing slowly forward as he took in the space. Jenney reclined on a living vine, its twists and curls artfully arranged to provide her with comfort and support, no framework required. Another vine picked up a mug, a rough clay affair from the local kiln, nothing exotic or expensive, and deposited it in her hands. Yet another offered a similar mug to Timothy, he accepted it with a smile and a few words of thanks. A deep sniff validated his guess. Hibiscus tea. Thick and almost crimson in color.

All that stuff about how not everything needed magic in it to be great? Ya, screw that. Jenney’s Hibiscus tea was the stuff of legends, at least in Timothy’s (not so) humble opinion. It didn’t make you stronger, it didn’t cure all the worlds ills. It was probably healthy, but more importantly, it was delicious. The hibiscus trees surrounded and shaded the bower with their towering intertwined branches. A riot of colors gracing them in almost royal grandeur. Not just the red of his tee but yellows, pinks, tans and purples. Even after a mere five years in his sisters' care they’d already become something entirely more than nature may have intended. They weren’t any taller than their naturally growing cousins, between 10 and 20 feet in height, but seemed to concentrate the life and flavor within that size of a much more massive plant. Like a bonsai tree perhaps.

Too bad she guarded the proceeds from these beauties like a dragon did it's pile of gold. The only time he got to drink it was when he came visiting. Maybe it was her way of encouraging him to come more often? Despite the surly attitude maybe she really did want some company… or she was just a pain in the ass. Either was equally likely.

Sipping lightly at the mug he slowly moseyed around flower pots and bushes to a simple bean bag cushion. She didn’t have a living vine seat for him! Then again he wasn’t sure he wanted one. Those prehensile vines were a bit tentacle-like...

He suppressed a shudder as the vineticle returned again to plump the sides of the beanbag chair. He wasn’t going to be able to unsee that for quite some time… dammit.

He focused instead on Jenney, and her current state was worth more than a glance.

A wizard cannot ‘fix’ the world. It’s an important self realization that Jenney somehow missed. You cannot fix what isn’t broken. The world isn’t right or wrong, it just is. You might change some of the people in the world, or the terrain you lived in, but not what drove those people and that terrain to be what they were. What happens when you can’t accept that? Timothy had thought it would result in death, he was wrong, he could admit that. Jenney had found another answer, a small new world where her ‘truth’ could exist.

She wanted what could not be, wanted it with such potent desire that she made the impossible possible. But at what cost? As she pushed against the world, it also pushed back. The airlock style entrance wasn’t an affectation. It was a requirement. Such a large area held outside the natural laws? Those laws pushed back. And she had to bear the strain. Was it foolish? Timothy certainly thought so, but it was also impressive in a way. How many could hold to their beliefs under such relentless pressure?

It would be hypocritical of him to decry her stubbornness. Not, he reflected sadly, after having complained about Marry. Whatever they did, at least do it well? Jenney definitely fit that criteria. Jenney was so true to her ideals that she created an entire miniature world where they could be true. Where no violence was possible and the bounty of the natural world embraced, fed and healed any and all.

But, it always came back to this, but at what price? The years had of strain had not been kind. Her massive frame, inheriting far more from their mountain of a father than their dainty mother, was still unbowed, but deep lines graced the corners of her mouth and eyes. They weren’t laugh lines either. Like a dull stick against stone. Strain would etch marks like that. The first couple times the stone laughed at the stick. But with patient repitition… waves could erode mountains. This mountain still stood, but the erosion was there to see.

With an effort of will he pushed the image, and nearly everything else, from his mind. Lightly dropping to sit loosely cross legged he tried to recapture that earlier attitude of enjoying the moment. The moment and the stunning glass of tea that went with it. The silence lingered. A bit surly at first as Jenney waited defensively for whatever admonitionments or requests she expected, then slowly but steadily becoming more and more comfortable, companionable. The advice James had given him so long ago still applied, when you didn’t know how to fix a problem, it wasn’t a bad thing to simply offer a willing shoulder and an attentive ear.

At last she spoke. “You appreciate my garden for what it is, don’t you? For the simple beauty of its flowers and the taste of it’s produce. Not the healing properties of my mana, nor the chance to grow in strength. Just the plants for their own sake. I wish more could see that way.”

He decided to risk a question. “Don’t you appreciate it? Don’t your apprentices?” That bit still smarted, he wasn’t allowed to recruit, nor offer advice, but nearly a dozen different Holds all vied with each other to get their youngsters accepted as Jenney’s apprentice.

He still wondered if it was entirely for a solid food supply, or if they wanted to take advantage of her notoriously loose lips. He pushed that thought away as soon as it popped up. It was unworthy of him.

“I do,” She looked around languidly, but with real joy in her eyes, joy that faded a bit as she came back to the second part of his question. “Some of my apprentices do. I think it’s harder for the young. Always in a rush to go out and do something! Something big and impressive and important! Never willing to take the time to stop and enjoy the present.”

There was nothing he could say to that, she wasn’t wrong. Every student he taught had a bit of that in them. It was mostly a good thing, a drive to go out and improve your world. It had risks, but so did nearly everything else.

She stared into the distance for a time, “It won’t work.” she mused, as much to herself, he imagined, as to him. “You have to love what you do. Love the plants, love the magic, love to feed the world for its own sake, not for recognition or power. My way won’t work for those who don’t.”

Timothy silently nodded, it was a recurring problem. You could teach your path to the next generation, but paths were individual things. Based on hopes, dreams and life experience. They weren’t a good fit for just anybody. Occasionally you might find someone who thought and dreamed close enough to sort of work, but even then it was an imperfect fit. More often than not even an imperfect fit was a pipe dream. Timothy’d had to forfeit that thought early on. Instead he taught his students to study whatever they could beg, borrow or steal. Not to have, but to take inspiration from them. In time they would use the bits and pieces, magpie-like, to build their own unique way.

But did Jenney really want to train new magicians? He wasn’t sure. In some ways she was more interested in training peacenik gardeners and brewers. Her world view and ethics as much or more than the proper way of watering a gourd, peeling a ginger root or when to add the nightshade to the pot. Timothy couldn’t even blame the children, her world view was more and more alien to the life outside these walls.

She may not participate in the violence directly, withdrawing inside her sanctum, but the fruits of her garden, and the vegetables too, directly fed the war machine. Hypocrisy was a hard dish for an outsider to tolerate. Funny how easy it was to fall into it from the inside.

He pushed that thought aside as well. Focusing on the upbeat bit Jenney had let slip. “‘Some’ is better than ‘none’. If you have a few true inheritors you're doing better than 90% of the pathfinders in the Union.”

She snapped her widened eyes to him, almost seeming surprised for a moment, before closing them and leaning back. “That’s true, I suppose. It should make me feel happy.” She stared down at her opened hands for a time. “So why don’t I?”

He remained silent, simply waiting.

The waiting stretched out, it could have been uncomfortably long, but not in his current state. He had no expectations of success or failure. He simply was, existing in the now as a loving and sympathetic shoulder. A shoulder she would use, or not, in her own time.

“Ma was here earlier. Nagging at me to come to dinner, to enjoy the town or come have a bath. She doesn’t understand.”

He nodded sadly, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to.

Her open hands closed like gnarled roots, twisting against each other in frustration and pain. “I can’t leave my garden without feeling the rejection. I dared to build a world apart and to make it my home. But if this is my home, then I gave up the one out there in exchange. And my home will crumble away if I’m not here to hold it. I made my choice, my bed. And I’ll sleep in it. I don’t regret it either, Tim. But I do wish I could go out and do a few of those things. Have some colcannon. Enjoy some music in the baths.”

Joy and sorrow fought for supremacy within him. The hated childhood shortening of his name felt like an overture. A reminder of years past when they were close, but the rest of her statement was pure pain. He knew about the price magic could have. He thumbed the stump of his left pinky finger. The results might be worth the price. That didn’t mean the price didn’t hurt.

Then again, the price was often specific. No reason to make it worse than it already was. “You may have some limits, Jen, but nothing says you can’t have some of what you want.”

“Oh? Are you going to tell me to drop it too?” Her tone was decidedly less friendly. Dammit Ma! Both of them were too damn stubborn for pushing to work.

“No. But I could make you a small bath. Give a couple entrance spots to musicians. Can’t imagine they wouldn’t fight for the opportunity. Maybe invite a friend or three to join you. Just because you can’t go to them, doesn’t mean they can’t come to you. And Ma wouldn’t turn you down if you offered a picnic.”

“I don’t want your, or her pity Timothy!” He leaned back from her suddenly biting voice in confusion. How did common sense and a possible solution become pity? Freaking women… “And don’t you dare tell Ma that I’m that desperate for company!” Ahh, that's where the trouble was. Cats with their backs up. Neither willing to bend.

“Alright, alright, I think you're both acting silly, but I won’t tell Ma. If you want a bath the offers open.”

“Hmph!” She crossed her arms and glared at him. Ya, should not call her silly, even when she was. Shut up and listen… right.

It took some effort, but he recaptured the attitude from earlier. Just wait and enjoy. Eventually she sighed and uncrossed her arms. “I can make the bath myself. And it's a good idea. I could do with some music and company.”

That was something. Perhaps he should push his luck a little. “You know, Ma would like some tea.”

“She stared at him for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed. The laughing went on and on. She would have fallen from her seat if the vine hadn’t curled protectively beneath her. “Ahh, I needed that. Nice try Tim. You never were a good liar, and your attempts at misleading are even worse. ‘She would like’? We both know there is no chance in hell that she ‘asked’ for anything from me right now.”

He grinned, all he could do when she already caught on. “Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it!”

“And how much of it would get to her, brother dear? Don’t think I didn’t notice how fast you scarfed that mug down.”

“I solemnly swear that she would get at least half of whatever you sent!”

“Uhuh. I’m almost tempted just to repay the laughs you gave me.”

“Almost? Come on, make that a small yes.”

“no. Ma and I will work this out on our own. You butt out of it. You hear me Timothy?” Ahh, the dreaded ‘I’m your older sister and I know best’ tone.

“Fine, fine. But please Jenney, do work it out? It’s hurting both of you right now.”

“I said butt out.”

He raised his hands in surrender.

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me. I think I’ll go work on that bath.” The vine extended, depositing her neatly and lightly on her feet. Disney princess style, and for a woman her size that was a pretty impressive piece of magic. She gave him a final decisive nod and walked out into the garden.

He waited for a time, enjoying the peace and quiet. She might want to drop in for a last word or two. But it wasn’t to be and eventually he began to feel a subtle rejection, his welcome was gradually being withdrawn. Sighing, he stood and began to walk, the same way he had entered, gradually passing through the bushes, leafy plants and flowering trees on his way, step by step reacquiring the load of worries and obligations he had set down to enter this space. Trusting still that Jenney would guide his steps to the exit.

Till at last he stepped through a final archway back into the hard stone and excitingly vivid yet harsh reality of the world at large.