Morning came, and the red forest did not burn.

Pyrik returned to the settlement with Cutter, where he announced to his beleaguered men the alliance that was made with the arachne in the forest. They made their disappointment known with a stir of groans, and one Hospitaller sadly rolled away the barrel of kerosene he had painstakingly scrounged together. Pyrik glanced at Cutter, feeling disturbed at their collective zeal. The captain shrugged. As though it could not be helped, which made sense in a way. Their order was dedicated to the ultimate eradication of all beastkind, and now they were told to make peace with their sworn enemy, set aside any sort of well-conditioned animosity as if it was simply a cumbersome pack they could drop on the ground. Cutter looked reasonably worried. So did she.

When Ira handed them a basket of those horrendous looking, bulbous berries, the Hospitallers turned up their noses in disgust. Like a parent to a child, Cutter popped one into his mouth to prove that other than its terrible taste, the berry was safe to consume. Eventually his men came to chew on the berry but they grumbled as they did so through the red forest.

The Hospitallers kept Ira at a distance as they walked, like she was plague-ridden rat. Ira tried hard to distract herself with her newfound pistol and stay ahead as she guided them through the forest. Pyrik stuck as feasibly close to a girl with multiple long, skittering legs that could skewer a foot like a spear through a boar. That cheered her up slightly.

Ira tugged on the lapel of Pyrik’s long coat. “I see that you have on your long coat again.”

“The stench of that Hospitaller one was starting to get on my nerve,” replied Pyrik. It smelled like something had died in it, and in all likelihood someone probably did.

Ira chuckled, showing a sliver of levity, until that gloom cloud returned. She quickly retreated to fiddling around with her puzzling contraption.

Finally, Cutter joined them after checking in with his men.

“May I?” He gestured to the pistol.

“Please.” Ira handed it to him.

Meticulously, Cutter explained the proper steps to operating the gun: priming the pan, feeding the rest of the black powder into the barrel, ramming down the lead ball with the rod, then fully cocking the hammer to fire. Pyrik resisted the urge to chuckle as she watched Ira’s expression get gradually confused. She looked bursting with questions and tears. Cutter smiled kindly, having noticed the distress on her face.

“Would you like me to go over the steps again?”

Ira nodded desperately.

As Cutter patiently taught Ira how to use the firearm, Pyrik rubbed her eyelids. She had slept for a whole day now. It would be nice to steal a nap once she arrived at the village, but there was still more work to be done, more excitement. She yawned so loudly and widely, her jaw almost dislocated from its hinges.

Any desire to sleep was gone once they arrived at the village though. It was sapped out of her like a breath from a vicious plunge into a freezing river. The arachne were on the ground, having stopped stirring the massive cauldrons to glare at the Hospitallers that wandered in. The feeling was mutual, and the Hospitallers halted from approaching any further.

Cutter had not noticed since he was glowing at how Ira finally felt comfortable with the firearm. When he did, he stared at them with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Pyrik thought he might bark at them, though instead he asked Ira, “Do you mind telling me what we have to do to prepare to assault the insectoid hive?”

Ira hesitated, but after a reassuring nod from Cutter, she puffed up her chest. “Most of us are making the silk needed to craft the, uh, spider… fire, since only we can, you know, make spider silk. So we’ll need your help in gathering the tree sap, and if you don’t mind following me I’ll take you to the taps.”

The Hospitallers shifted from foot to foot, staying put.

Ira passed a worried glance at Cutter, afraid that he might explode. And so was Pyrik. Forcing his men to cooperate might not end well. Fear and skepticism was not something that could be simply dismantled when these men were trained that way, from the drill at training camp to the brutal engagements in the field. It was practically second nature, and dogs did not forget their tricks so easily.

“Show the way,” said Cutter.

Ira hesitated, unsure whether his men would follow.

“Worry not. Just lead the way.”

So Ira led the way, and Cutter followed. So did his men after a short moment because the only comfort for a bunch of dogs in a strange place was something familiar, their captain. He practically led them along by their leashes. Pyrik had to suppress a chuckle, which was a mistake. Her entire side ached like a fresh wound and she started wincing.

“Hurt, my child?” Aella laid a hand on Pyrik’s shoulder.

She shrugged it off. “It’s nothing. I just took a shot to the side.”

Aella raised her brow in amusement. “That doesn’t sound like nothing. Stop being so stubborn and allow me to take a look, hmm?”

Pyrik tried to protest, only to pull her side and felt a punch in her ribs. “All right.” Then she looked around, her cheeks red and sheepish. “Do you mind if…”

“Of course.”

Aella pulled Pyrik aside to somewhere a little more private, where nobody could pry at the edge of the village. Just in case though, Pyrik skulked into the foliage. She removed her coat, brigandine vest, then lifted up undershirt.

“My, oh my. Quite a grotesque shade of purple and blue,” Aella commented.

“Are you going to gawk at it or will you do something about it?”

Pyrik regretted it instantly. The witch applied a cold, slimy ointment to her side and burrowed her fingers like worms in an apple as she massaged it in, making the bruise feel worse. Pyrik tried to inch away but her fingers pursued. There was no escape, and she gritted her teeth through the pain.

“How are you?”

“I think my ribs are broken.”

“I’ll have trouble sneezing without wincing for several days, but broken your ribs are not.”

Maybe there is something to this witch’s torture.

The cool sensation from the ointment was spreading throughout her side, slowly rendering it pleasantly numb to the touch.

“May I ask, have they come in yet?” Aella asked.

“Have what come in yet?”

“Your wings.”

Pyrik stared at the ground. “Once, when I lost control.”

“You’ll grow into your own, eventually. It’s no different than a shirt that’s one size too large.”

“If only it was that simple.”

“If only that was so, but that’s all a part of growing up.”

Pyrik thought about Darius, that day when he gave her the long coat. It was a size too large and it made her look silly since her hands barely filled the sleeves halfway and the tail of the coat dragged the ground like a gown. He grinned, looking proud, and promised that one day she would make it her own. The corners of her mouth turned downward.

“I don’t suppose you plan on staying in the forest forever.” Pyrik pulled down her undershirt and tossed back on her layers.

“No, I plan on moving on. I think I’ve had enough of this forest. Why do you ask, afraid that you’ll miss me?” Aella teased.

Pyrik blushed, looked away. “You appear to know quite a bit about my… condition. I just thought that maybe you can teach me how to control it.”

The witch stroked her chin, deeply considering it.

“Don’t feel like you’re obligated to help. I’ll understand if you can’t…”

“I don’t know,” Aella said, which disheartened Pyrik greatly. She prepared for the inevitable blow. “I’m not much of a teacher and I prefer to travel alone. But,” Pyrik perked up, feeling hopeful. “I can use an extra set of hands for my journey to the Arklay Mountains. So, if you find that you still want to travel with me, I could consider letting you tag along.”

“That… that would be very nice.”

“Good. Now let’s survive this ordeal first, all right?”