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~~~

                “Alright, so what are you going to do when you get home?” Wirt asked his younger brother as they both strolled into the woods together, the waxing moon overhead illuminating their path.

                “Give mom the letter and say I found it in your room!” Greg replied.

                “Great,” Wirt said and opened his mouth to continue, only to be interrupted.

                “Can I tell her you’re going to live in the forest now?” Greg queried.

                “What? No. I’m going to find a town, start a new life. Maybe become a roving bard, minstrel of the Unknown.” Wirt replied with a dramatic flourish of his arm.

                “Yeah, except aren’t those guys supposed to be able to sing?” Greg pointed out. Wirt looked ahead.

                “No reason I can’t be a performer of spoken poetry,” Wirt replied. “People here seem to like storytelling, there might be a living to be made off that.”

                “Can I tell mom that?” Greg said.

                “No, then she’ll worry that I went crazy and turned into a hobo or something,” Wirt said with a slight head shake.

                “So, what can I tell her so she won’t worry?” Greg pressed, rubbing his chin.

                “…that I just need some time to grow up. Be on my own. I can write her letters when I’m settled in,” Wirt sighed, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately. He knew very well his mother wasn’t going to react well to his sudden disappearance, feeling a pang of guilt knowing his was putting Greg in a very awkward place at the moment. “You can tell her that I love her, that it was a hard decision----”

                “Should I be writing this down?” Greg said, looking up at his older brother with a frown. Wirt realized he was once again making this much more complicated than it had to be, shaking his head.

                “Ah, nevermind.” Wirt said, absolving Greg of his duty as a messenger. “Just say you found the letter in my room and leave it at that. I’ll write her another letter to send with you next time you visit.”

                “You got it captain, my captain,” Greg said with a loose salute, suddenly turning away from Wirt and going in a different direction. “Bye!”

                “Bye? I was going to walk you to your short cut. Just in case I might need it?”

                “Silly Wirt, you can’t use my shortcut.” Greg said with a giggle as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You have to find your own.”

                “Oh. Well, bye then.” Wirt said, unable to argue since Greg was the one trailblazing between realms on a regular basis. Greg gave another wave before disappearing into the brush. Wirt stared for a few moments, waiting for the scamp to pop back out and announce he was just kidding. Several moments passed and still no ‘psyche’ moment from Gregory, though Wirt had a hard time believing that he just went back home. Wirt removed his back pack and took a seat on a stump in the middle of the clearing, watching the spot Greg had exited. Was it really just that easy? It couldn’t have been. For a while, he just sat and stared, making sure that he didn’t move if Greg suddenly ran back and needed help. That became less and less likely as time went on, the teenager finding it harder and harder to keep awake. He eventually set his pack down at the base of the stump, Wirt deciding that it was as good a place as any to rest. He sat down on the grass and leaned back, taking several moments to adjust his sweat shirt and lumpy pack to a semi-comfortable position before he closed his eyes to rest.

                The sound of crickets and frogs provided a serene background sonnet to the midsummer night. Just as it had been the night before, it was warm and somewhat damp, the temperature not dropping drastically through the evening. At some point, a deep chill pulled Wirt from his light, uncomfortable slumber, the scrabble of an animal’s claws on the stump above his head rousing him. His body didn’t seem to want to cooperate as he forced open his eyelids, groggily lifting his head up. Wirt grunted as he tried to make out just what was standing over him through bleary vision. It had the hunched silhouette of a crow, its head framed out with multiple twigs and brambles, eyes a luminescent, vibrant green.

                “Hnf…shoo,” Wirt muttered, though was unable to move his arms to physically shoo it away. At the statement, the bird tilted its head to stare Wirt down with one eye. From this angle, Wirt could see a prickly shelled seed held daintily in its beak. It wasn’t a threatening creature, that was for sure, but it made Wirt uneasy, the traveling poet putting a bit more strength in his words. “Go on…shoo!”

                He managed to lift his arm a bit and flick a hand at the creature, the crow fanning out its wings a bit as though surprised. It was then that a third eye on the bird’s chest burst open to glare at the offending human, the unexpected sight causing Wirt to immediately sit up and wake in a cold sweat. As he caught his breath, Wirt squinted in the early morning sun, realizing that it had been some sort of bizarre dream. No longer was he chilled, though he had an unshakeable feeling something very important was missing. He checked his pockets and then his bag, finding that his meager belongings were all in place. Wirt looked at the path Greg had left by and saw no signs that he had returned at all through the night, deciding that must have been what he was feeling. He was just missing Greg.

                “He’ll be back. Beatrice said he’s visited lots of times already,” Wirt said in order to assure himself as he stood up and stretched, then scratched his head. He could feel a knot, rubbing the sore spot with a bit of a frown. “Must have bumped it last night…what else could go wrong?”

                If he had bumped his head, that might have explained the bizarrely vivid dream he had last night right before waking. What was an adventure without a concussion? Wirt looked around the clearing, silently debating what his options were. He had no reason to go back to the Wentworth’s mill, everything he brought with him was right here. He could just go, start walking down the path to the nearest town and find a job, start working.

                On the other hand, the exit he had made left a sour taste in his mouth. He cared deeply for Beatrice and, after a little bit of mental replay, realized he did sound quite a bit like an ass the night before. Wirt began to pace, thinking that Beatrice probably didn’t want to see his face again, so it probably was best to just move on, right? He shook his head at the thought. No way he would be able to live with himself leaving on a note like that with Beatrice. After some mental arguing, Wirt figured out what he’d do. He’d go back and apologize for the night before, then go to start his new life at whatever town was nearest as long as it wasn’t Pottersfield.

                “I can’t go empty handed though,” Wirt said as he looked about the clearing. There weren’t any flowers that he could take to her, not that she’d probably want them anyways. It was then that he noticed that the surrounding bushes were filled with ripe, black skinned berries. How perfect! Wirt pulled his backpack on over his shoulders and began picking berries, starting to pile them into the outstretched front of his hoodie, holding the hem with one hand and picking with the other. He could see the juice already staining the red fabric. “This would be a lot easier if I had a basket.”

                He went to move to the side, only for his foot to nudge something under the bush. Wirt looked down, noticing a sloppily woven grapevine basket beneath the brambles of the bush. He felt a bit silly for not seeing it earlier as he grabbed it and began dumping the berries he had into it, his front and fingers stained with juice. He continued to gather more until the shallow basket seemed adequately full and then began making his trek back to the mill. When it came into view, he was happy to see Beatrice out starting her morning chores, the red head hanging up laundry on a sagging drying line.

                “Beatrice! Hey!” Wirt called as he approached, Beatrice looking up from her task at hand.

                “Oh look, you didn’t get eaten.” Beatrice said and continued pinning clothes up. Though her tone was flat, there was relief evident in her expression that Wirt had come back.

                “You thought I was going to get eaten?”

                “If I really did, do you think I’d just let you spend the night out there?” Beatrice asked.

                “Oh, most definitely.”

                “Okay, maybe after last night,” Beatrice replied. She had a bit of a smile now though, letting Wirt know that she wasn’t still entirely upset about his sudden departure and dramatic ‘poor me’ lament that had occurred the evening before. She spotted the basket he was carrying and became curious. “What are those?”

                “Apology berries,” Wirt stated simply, clearing his throat as he put together exactly what he was going to say. “I know I sounded like a jerk…”

                “Sounded like a jerk?” Beatrice repeated and crossed her arms, making sure that was the choice of words he really wanted to go with.

                “I was being a jerk last night,” Wirt said uncertainly, Beatrice’s nod and loosened stance afterwards letting him know that was the correct answer. “And I’m sorry.”

                “Apology accepted.” Beatrice said. “Though, getting straight to the point and apologizing? Are you sure you’re the same Wirt that I remember?”

                “A lot happened over the past couple of years.” Wirt replied as Beatrice helped herself to a berry. “I’ll be completely honest, I have no idea if these are edible or not.”

                “When you spend some time as a blue bird, you figure out which berries are okay to eat,” Beatrice said, popping another couple into her mouth. “You picked some good ones. Mulberries it looks like. Where’d you find them?”

                “In the clearing by the stump,” Wirt said and pointed with his free hand. “The basket was under a bush, so I’ll need to put it back later.”

                “Eh, finders keepers,” Beatrice said with a shrug, her lips and fingers stained blue from all the berry juice. “What about Greg? Did he find his way back all right?”

                “Yeah,” Wirt replied, looking a bit worried.

                “Don’t sweat it. He’ll be fine,” Beatrice said.

                “Oh, I know that.” Wirt said, setting the basket down and taking it on himself to start helping her hang laundry. “It was what he said last night that worries me.”

                “What’d he say?”

                “That I need to find my own way home,” Wirt replied. “That I couldn’t use his shortcut, whatever that means.”

                “Well, you don’t need to worry about that since it seems like you don’t seem like you want to go home any time soon,” Beatrice said, wiping her hands on her dress.

                “That’s true,” Wirt admitted, putting up the last set of clothes up to dry.

                “Come on, let’s get these berries washed and make something good for breakfast.” Beatrice said and picked up the basket, urging the other inside. “After that, I’m sure my mom has some clothes in the attic that’ll fit you. You look really silly in those half pants you’re wearing.”

                “Half pants…? You mean shorts?” Wirt queried, realizing that he wasn’t exactly wearing period style clothing.

                “Whatever you call ‘em. We’ll find you some proper pants after breakfast,” Beatrice said and continued walking towards the mill. She noticed that Wirt wasn’t following and just had to pipe up. “What’s the matter? You got somewhere else to be?”

                Wirt had originally planned on apologizing and then leaving, so what had changed? He stared at her for a moment, wringing the strap of his backpack between his hands as Beatrice stared back.

                “We still need to catch up some more,” Beatrice added, hoping that this wasn’t going to end like it had the night before. “Come on, are you gonna make me say it?”

                The poet was genuinely confused by that statement, absolutely clueless to what she meant.

                “Make you say what?” Wirt asked.

                “Jeez, you really are a dope.” Beatrice said with a roll of her eyes, Wirt not looking to happy about the accusation. “I missed you.”

                Wirt blinked, his expression softening quite a bit hearing that. Those three simple words helped to make the decision to stay for a while immensely easier.

Description

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~~~

                “Alright, so what are you going to do when you get home?” Wirt asked his younger brother as they both strolled into the woods together, the waxing moon overhead illuminating their path.

                “Give mom the letter and say I found it in your room!” Greg replied.

                “Great,” Wirt said and opened his mouth to continue, only to be interrupted.

                “Can I tell her you’re going to live in the forest now?” Greg queried.

                “What? No. I’m going to find a town, start a new life. Maybe become a roving bard, minstrel of the Unknown.” Wirt replied with a dramatic flourish of his arm.

                “Yeah, except aren’t those guys supposed to be able to sing?” Greg pointed out. Wirt looked ahead.

                “No reason I can’t be a performer of spoken poetry,” Wirt replied. “People here seem to like storytelling, there might be a living to be made off that.”

                “Can I tell mom that?” Greg said.

                “No, then she’ll worry that I went crazy and turned into a hobo or something,” Wirt said with a slight head shake.

                “So, what can I tell her so she won’t worry?” Greg pressed, rubbing his chin.

                “…that I just need some time to grow up. Be on my own. I can write her letters when I’m settled in,” Wirt sighed, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately. He knew very well his mother wasn’t going to react well to his sudden disappearance, feeling a pang of guilt knowing his was putting Greg in a very awkward place at the moment. “You can tell her that I love her, that it was a hard decision----”

                “Should I be writing this down?” Greg said, looking up at his older brother with a frown. Wirt realized he was once again making this much more complicated than it had to be, shaking his head.

                “Ah, nevermind.” Wirt said, absolving Greg of his duty as a messenger. “Just say you found the letter in my room and leave it at that. I’ll write her another letter to send with you next time you visit.”

                “You got it captain, my captain,” Greg said with a loose salute, suddenly turning away from Wirt and going in a different direction. “Bye!”

                “Bye? I was going to walk you to your short cut. Just in case I might need it?”

                “Silly Wirt, you can’t use my shortcut.” Greg said with a giggle as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You have to find your own.”

                “Oh. Well, bye then.” Wirt said, unable to argue since Greg was the one trailblazing between realms on a regular basis. Greg gave another wave before disappearing into the brush. Wirt stared for a few moments, waiting for the scamp to pop back out and announce he was just kidding. Several moments passed and still no ‘psyche’ moment from Gregory, though Wirt had a hard time believing that he just went back home. Wirt removed his back pack and took a seat on a stump in the middle of the clearing, watching the spot Greg had exited. Was it really just that easy? It couldn’t have been. For a while, he just sat and stared, making sure that he didn’t move if Greg suddenly ran back and needed help. That became less and less likely as time went on, the teenager finding it harder and harder to keep awake. He eventually set his pack down at the base of the stump, Wirt deciding that it was as good a place as any to rest. He sat down on the grass and leaned back, taking several moments to adjust his sweat shirt and lumpy pack to a semi-comfortable position before he closed his eyes to rest.

                The sound of crickets and frogs provided a serene background sonnet to the midsummer night. Just as it had been the night before, it was warm and somewhat damp, the temperature not dropping drastically through the evening. At some point, a deep chill pulled Wirt from his light, uncomfortable slumber, the scrabble of an animal’s claws on the stump above his head rousing him. His body didn’t seem to want to cooperate as he forced open his eyelids, groggily lifting his head up. Wirt grunted as he tried to make out just what was standing over him through bleary vision. It had the hunched silhouette of a crow, its head framed out with multiple twigs and brambles, eyes a luminescent, vibrant green.

                “Hnf…shoo,” Wirt muttered, though was unable to move his arms to physically shoo it away. At the statement, the bird tilted its head to stare Wirt down with one eye. From this angle, Wirt could see a prickly shelled seed held daintily in its beak. It wasn’t a threatening creature, that was for sure, but it made Wirt uneasy, the traveling poet putting a bit more strength in his words. “Go on…shoo!”

                He managed to lift his arm a bit and flick a hand at the creature, the crow fanning out its wings a bit as though surprised. It was then that a third eye on the bird’s chest burst open to glare at the offending human, the unexpected sight causing Wirt to immediately sit up and wake in a cold sweat. As he caught his breath, Wirt squinted in the early morning sun, realizing that it had been some sort of bizarre dream. No longer was he chilled, though he had an unshakeable feeling something very important was missing. He checked his pockets and then his bag, finding that his meager belongings were all in place. Wirt looked at the path Greg had left by and saw no signs that he had returned at all through the night, deciding that must have been what he was feeling. He was just missing Greg.

                “He’ll be back. Beatrice said he’s visited lots of times already,” Wirt said in order to assure himself as he stood up and stretched, then scratched his head. He could feel a knot, rubbing the sore spot with a bit of a frown. “Must have bumped it last night…what else could go wrong?”

                If he had bumped his head, that might have explained the bizarrely vivid dream he had last night right before waking. What was an adventure without a concussion? Wirt looked around the clearing, silently debating what his options were. He had no reason to go back to the Wentworth’s mill, everything he brought with him was right here. He could just go, start walking down the path to the nearest town and find a job, start working.

                On the other hand, the exit he had made left a sour taste in his mouth. He cared deeply for Beatrice and, after a little bit of mental replay, realized he did sound quite a bit like an ass the night before. Wirt began to pace, thinking that Beatrice probably didn’t want to see his face again, so it probably was best to just move on, right? He shook his head at the thought. No way he would be able to live with himself leaving on a note like that with Beatrice. After some mental arguing, Wirt figured out what he’d do. He’d go back and apologize for the night before, then go to start his new life at whatever town was nearest as long as it wasn’t Pottersfield.

                “I can’t go empty handed though,” Wirt said as he looked about the clearing. There weren’t any flowers that he could take to her, not that she’d probably want them anyways. It was then that he noticed that the surrounding bushes were filled with ripe, black skinned berries. How perfect! Wirt pulled his backpack on over his shoulders and began picking berries, starting to pile them into the outstretched front of his hoodie, holding the hem with one hand and picking with the other. He could see the juice already staining the red fabric. “This would be a lot easier if I had a basket.”

                He went to move to the side, only for his foot to nudge something under the bush. Wirt looked down, noticing a sloppily woven grapevine basket beneath the brambles of the bush. He felt a bit silly for not seeing it earlier as he grabbed it and began dumping the berries he had into it, his front and fingers stained with juice. He continued to gather more until the shallow basket seemed adequately full and then began making his trek back to the mill. When it came into view, he was happy to see Beatrice out starting her morning chores, the red head hanging up laundry on a sagging drying line.

                “Beatrice! Hey!” Wirt called as he approached, Beatrice looking up from her task at hand.

                “Oh look, you didn’t get eaten.” Beatrice said and continued pinning clothes up. Though her tone was flat, there was relief evident in her expression that Wirt had come back.

                “You thought I was going to get eaten?”

                “If I really did, do you think I’d just let you spend the night out there?” Beatrice asked.

                “Oh, most definitely.”

                “Okay, maybe after last night,” Beatrice replied. She had a bit of a smile now though, letting Wirt know that she wasn’t still entirely upset about his sudden departure and dramatic ‘poor me’ lament that had occurred the evening before. She spotted the basket he was carrying and became curious. “What are those?”

                “Apology berries,” Wirt stated simply, clearing his throat as he put together exactly what he was going to say. “I know I sounded like a jerk…”

                “Sounded like a jerk?” Beatrice repeated and crossed her arms, making sure that was the choice of words he really wanted to go with.

                “I was being a jerk last night,” Wirt said uncertainly, Beatrice’s nod and loosened stance afterwards letting him know that was the correct answer. “And I’m sorry.”

                “Apology accepted.” Beatrice said. “Though, getting straight to the point and apologizing? Are you sure you’re the same Wirt that I remember?”

                “A lot happened over the past couple of years.” Wirt replied as Beatrice helped herself to a berry. “I’ll be completely honest, I have no idea if these are edible or not.”

                “When you spend some time as a blue bird, you figure out which berries are okay to eat,” Beatrice said, popping another couple into her mouth. “You picked some good ones. Mulberries it looks like. Where’d you find them?”

                “In the clearing by the stump,” Wirt said and pointed with his free hand. “The basket was under a bush, so I’ll need to put it back later.”

                “Eh, finders keepers,” Beatrice said with a shrug, her lips and fingers stained blue from all the berry juice. “What about Greg? Did he find his way back all right?”

                “Yeah,” Wirt replied, looking a bit worried.

                “Don’t sweat it. He’ll be fine,” Beatrice said.

                “Oh, I know that.” Wirt said, setting the basket down and taking it on himself to start helping her hang laundry. “It was what he said last night that worries me.”

                “What’d he say?”

                “That I need to find my own way home,” Wirt replied. “That I couldn’t use his shortcut, whatever that means.”

                “Well, you don’t need to worry about that since it seems like you don’t seem like you want to go home any time soon,” Beatrice said, wiping her hands on her dress.

                “That’s true,” Wirt admitted, putting up the last set of clothes up to dry.

                “Come on, let’s get these berries washed and make something good for breakfast.” Beatrice said and picked up the basket, urging the other inside. “After that, I’m sure my mom has some clothes in the attic that’ll fit you. You look really silly in those half pants you’re wearing.”

                “Half pants…? You mean shorts?” Wirt queried, realizing that he wasn’t exactly wearing period style clothing.

                “Whatever you call ‘em. We’ll find you some proper pants after breakfast,” Beatrice said and continued walking towards the mill. She noticed that Wirt wasn’t following and just had to pipe up. “What’s the matter? You got somewhere else to be?”

                Wirt had originally planned on apologizing and then leaving, so what had changed? He stared at her for a moment, wringing the strap of his backpack between his hands as Beatrice stared back.

                “We still need to catch up some more,” Beatrice added, hoping that this wasn’t going to end like it had the night before. “Come on, are you gonna make me say it?”

                The poet was genuinely confused by that statement, absolutely clueless to what she meant.

                “Make you say what?” Wirt asked.

                “Jeez, you really are a dope.” Beatrice said with a roll of her eyes, Wirt not looking to happy about the accusation. “I missed you.”

                Wirt blinked, his expression softening quite a bit hearing that. Those three simple words helped to make the decision to stay for a while immensely easier.