A change of pace and points of view. I hope you like it! (the next chapter will be back to Manon and Dorian)
entire work on ao3
master list of chapters 1-13
At the sound from the hall, Fallon ran to open her door. No one was there. She’d been waiting for Manon or Dorian to come out so she could go see Banshee. The twists and turns from the wyvern cave to their rooms were forgotten last night as she’d been distracted. Not wanting to bother them, she’d been listening for their door since getting out of bed.
She turned to go back inside but noticed a small basket on the floor. Checking the hallway and finding no signs of who left it, she picked it up. The basket held bread, fruit, and all the makings for tea. A huge improvement to the food they’d been eating on the road. The warm, fresh bread alone set her mouth watering. Fallon tore into it, only finding the berry jam after she’d eaten most of the small loaf. She spread it on the remaining few bites, sighing as she chewed.
Much too late, she realized she should probably have checked the food for any poison. In fact, she should be a lot more suspicious of things than she was. You idiot Fallon! And Sorrel left you behind to protect Manon! The bread quickly turned into a lump in her throat as she berated herself for failing in her duties.
But Manon had seemed to trust them. Aven was her grandmother, and Catrin had warmed up to them. Alastair was overwhelmingly friendly. Dorian had taken to him quickly. Well they are both humans, she thought. Even if Fallon’s instincts had been telling her to be cautious, Manon’s opinion carried more weight.
That witchling with the white braids wasn’t very friendly, she thought, reminding herself that not everyone here would be so welcoming. The arrogant witch had touched a nerve in Fallon, referring to Manon as soft. That was the worst insult a Blackbeak could receive. Witches had been beaten for the slightest sign of weakness. And witches had been killed if they were labeled soft. She thought of Lin’s mother. Imogen’s. Her own.
Why so many of us, she wondered, realizing Manon’s mother had died at the hands of the Matron. Just as hers had died at the hands of her grandmother. Why were so many of the Thirteen left without our mothers?
She heard the door across the hall open and close. Fallon shot up and checked again.
But instead of Manon or Dorian, she found Aven.
The little old witch smiled sweetly. “Good morning witchling. Can I help you with something?”
“Oh, no. I thought Manon might be going to check on our wyverns. I’m afraid I didn’t pay attention last night and I’m not sure how to get back.”
Aven chuckled and said, “I can show you the way. I’m headed in that direction. I think those two would like some privacy anyway.”
Fallon smiled hesitantly, noticing the twinkle in the Crochan’s eyes but feeling uncomfortable about what she was insinuating. She knew Manon and Dorian were together. Happily so despite their recent disagreement. But it was still a bit strange to see her wing leader with a man. To Fallon’s knowledge, Manon had never been one to associate frequently with males, human or fae. Or females either for that matter. She assumed it happened even if she wasn’t aware of it. Before they’d been called back to the Ferian Gap, when they’d been sent on missions, witches would be on their own for months at a time. So who knew what she’d done then. But unlike Asterin and Faline, and others in the coven, Manon never spoke of those things, had never left the Omega or Morath for any kind of fun. So, while she liked Dorian very much, and was pleased to see her wing leader happy, Fallon still felt awkward, unsure how to react to it sometimes.
Aven was watching her curiously, then said, “Did you get the food I left? I was just speaking to Manon. We will have a small ceremony for your friend this evening. Will that suit you?”
She nodded and Aven gestured for her to follow, starting down the tunnel. Fallon appreciated that Aven didn’t force her to talk while they made their way to the wyvern cave. She hated trying to make small talk, even with someone as polite as Aven. Faline was the one for that. She could talk to anyone, come up with clever replies to questions, get people to do whatever she wanted. She huffed a little laugh. A skill she perfected on me I think.
She missed her twin deeply. They usually managed to get missions together, only separating a few times over their years as members of the Thirteen. And those times had been difficult for her. Without Faline, Fallon found it harder to keep herself from the darkness. Although it was something that never really went away for her, Faline could distract her, listen to her when she felt like talking about it. Or, just be with her. When Sorrel had ordered her to stay behind, she’d almost objected. If it hadn’t been for Banshee’s lingering injury, she would have. But even so, Fallon wasn’t the type to disobey or cause trouble. Especially if she was the only one disobeying. Faline turned the bad behavior into a game that rarely got them reprimanded. But she’d been smart enough not to push things with their leaders. Asterin was an exception. But Sorrel and Manon didn’t take well to jokes and games. Vesta had always been the buffer, coming after Sorrel in the coven’s hierarchy. And now she’s gone, Fallon thought, idly picking at her nails.
As with the other witches in the Thirteen, Vesta had been like an older sister to her and Faline, often provoking their behavior and encouraging mischief. They weren’t supposed to be friends. The Matron’s rules prohibited it, along with any other visible signs of emotion or weakness. But they’d worked their way around it in the lower ranks. It would have been impossible not to become friends with witches you’d spent most of your life with. The Matron was an idiot to think otherwise. She shook her head. Manon had been forced to maintain some semblance of order. But she only ever punished them when she had to, when others were watching. The Thirteen knew Manon was different from her grandmother, even if Manon hadn’t seen it herself until recently. But they also knew she was unable to fight back without risking their lives. And while they’d gladly have given their lives for Manon, they knew she would have fought them tooth and nail to prevent it.
But Manon had changed. Was changing. Some of it had to do with Dorian. His support allowed her to be more open with her feelings without fear of reprisal or shame. But Fallon and the others had noticed it happening months ago. The wyverns and their renewed ability to take to the skies had sent a shock wave through the witches, regardless of coven. Even the Yellowlegs. Though, those bitches didn’t deserve to return to the air, not when they treated their wyverns as little more than pack animals. Fallon’s normally subdued temper rose sharply at the memory of Iskra’s coven whipping their wyverns into submission before the war games that decided the Ironteeth Wing Leader. How anyone could treat an intelligent creature like that…
“Witchling?”
Fallon stopped and looked up. They’d reached the cave. “Shit,” she muttered. “Oh, excuse me.” She smiled apologetically at Aven. “It seems I didn’t pay attention again. I’m sorry.”
Aven smiled, “That’s ok. Catrin or Alastair can show you the way back. He is without patients at the moment so they will likely be in and out today. If I see them, I’ll have them bring extra lunch for you. Will that be alright?”
Fallon said, “Yes, thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“You’re very welcome witchling,” Aven said, patting her arm then turning to go.
“Aven?”
“Yes Fallon?”
“I’m… I don’t know if it will matter, but…” She hesitated. Unsure how to say what she suddenly felt the urge to say. “I’m sorry for all we’ve done to your people. It’s no excuse, but… I think if we’d been told… Taught differently… Things could have been different. Better.” Fallon shook her head and looked away, feeling stupid for offering such a poor apology.
“Witchling,” Aven said, taking her gently by the shoulders and waiting until Fallon met her eyes. “I know how badly the Ironteeth have been misled, as do many others here. Some feel it doesn’t absolve the violence between the clans. But some do, believing the only way we can move forward is through forgiveness.”
Before she could stop herself, Fallon asked, “And what do you believe?”
Aven sighed deeply. “Witches are like all living things - some good, some bad, many in between. I believe that there are some Ironteeth who would have hunted us regardless of their upbringing.” Iskra’s image floated through Fallon’s mind, along with her grandmother’s. “But I also believe that most would not have. Especially if they’d been given the choice of how to live. Given the opportunity to feel love and kindness. Or the freedom to feel sad.” Fallon looked away. Aven dropped her hands and said, “Forgiveness is not an easy thing. It takes time and effort. But I believe it is possible, even in this situation. Even after centuries of war and death.”
“How?” Fallon asked.
“I have hope witchling. Something my mother instilled in me from before I can remember,” she said with a sweet smile. “Hope that we can change and learn from past mistakes, but without the fear of being bold and making new ones. Hope that our love of friends and family can see us through difficult times. And hope that ultimately, regardless of how dark things may seem, the goodness in the world will conquer the bad. It may take time, but it’s worth fighting for.”
Aven pulled her into a hug. My third hug, Fallon thought with a smile. I can see where Manon gets it from.
“Thank you,” Fallon whispered, unable to stop a couple of tears from escaping.
Aven stood back, nodded to her and said, “Whenever you’re ready to leave, ask Catrin. I will be back to your rooms this evening before dinner to collect you for Vesta’s ceremony.”
Fallon turned to find Catrin standing nearby. She didn’t know what the Crochan had heard. She hoped it wasn’t much as she reflexively scrubbed at her face, trying to remove signs of her tears. But Catrin’s sympathetic expression told her she shouldn’t have bothered hiding her emotions. She’d heard the entire exchange.
Smiling, Catrin said, “Come on witchling. Let’s check on that tail. You can tell us all about wyverns since we’d never even seen one before.”
Alastair came in from the other entrance, carrying two buckets. His beard covered his smile, but Fallon could hear it in his loud “Hello,” that carried across the cave. She laughed and followed Catrin over to help.
Annabee closed the book she’d been ordered to read and sighed. She was sick of studying, sick of these meaningless assignments given by Grandmother. Sick of being molded into something she didn’t want to be. Before her mother had died - before she left, she corrected - Annabee had been spared the duties required of her bloodline. She’d been shielded from most of what her grandmother and mother did, only learning vague pieces of their daily work. But now that everything had fallen onto her shoulders… She glared at the stack of books next to her, mostly histories, but some on magic, philosophy, religion, politics.
“Gods,” she said, slumping back in her chair. She didn’t hate reading. In fact, she loved it. She just wanted to read about science and plants and animals. Not this dry, boring shit that puts me to sleep. One more book about the monarchs of Erilea and my brain will explode.
But as her grandmother’s new heir, she no longer had a choice about how she spent her time. What really pissed her off was the possibility that her grandmother might not even need an heir. If Aven was right - if her mother was right - Manon was going to become the world’s savior and Aven’s job would become obsolete. Annabee snorted at the thought. Manon saving the world. What bullshit. She paused, wishing she actually believed that it was bullshit. She knew differently, even if she would never admit it.
Suddenly in desperate need of fresh air, Annabee grabbed a pencil and sketchbook, and, reluctantly, the history book - only in case Grandmother sees me - and headed topside.
More Ironteeth wyvern patrols had been seen, but she’d be able to find a secluded spot to sit and draw. Those witches had stumbled upon Berwyn by dumb luck, surprising themselves as much as the villagers according to reports. That’s the only reason so many had been able to escape. Those who made it into the Maze told the council that they couldn’t be certain that the Ironteeth even knew they’d attacked a Crochan village. Idiots. The Ironteeth had no idea how extensive the Crochan settlements were. Above or below. No idea how many fighters they had. No idea what they were protecting. What I will have to protect.
As she neared the surface, she heard a loud snort echo from a cave just ahead of her. She slowed and peered around the corner. Shit! The wyverns! Grandmother had deliberately not told her where they were being kept, knowing she’d sneak out to see them. Alastair, Catrin, and that nasty dark-haired Blackbeak came out from between the creatures. She bit back her desire to go look at the beasts. Her fingers itched to draw them, diagram their wings… Gods, if I could ride one!
“Annabee! You need to see these animals!” Alastair’s booming voice made her jump. She’d been distracted by the wyverns, forgetting to stay hidden.
The Blackbeak witch gave her a flat stare. Still pissed for insulting her precious Manon. She tried to smirk, but the thought of Manon only made her anger rise. Anger not at the Blackbeaks, but at her mother for leaving. At her grandmother for letting her go.
“This one has spidersilk in its wings - come see!”
She liked Alastair. He encouraged her interests and often sought her advice for new ideas on healing remedies and techniques. Their interactions had become less frequent and more clandestine now that she was training to replace her grandmother. But he hadn’t given them up. Catrin knew how hard this transition had been for her. So they’d done what they could to help her through it. Sighing, not wanting to hurt his feelings, Annabee forgot about going topside and made her way into the cave.
Catrin was smiling and chatting with the Blackbeak. Now that did piss her off. Why is she being so friendly?, Annabee thought. These witches killed her best friend and she’s acting like they’re long lost family. She narrowed her eyes at Catrin but Alastair pulled her over to look at the wings.
“Look at how it’s part of the skin. I can’t imagine how they got so much spidersilk.”
She knelt down to look more closely but the wyvern flicked his wing away from her and let out a low, deep growl, his head snaking around to glare at her. At its first movement, Annabee had jumped back defensively. But she held her ground, not wanting to appear too submissive to him.
“Whoa little guy,” Alastair bellowed. “Calm down. We just want to see your shiny wings.”
Annabee made her way back towards him slowly. “You must belong to the White Demon. Such a fearsome beast you are,” she cooed.
The wyvern tilted his head back and forth, staring at her. Studying her. He took a long inhale, scenting her. Annabee stared back, trying to keep the smile from her face. He knows I’m related to his rider. Smart little thing. Her thought was confirmed when he plopped down on the ground and stretched a wing out for her to look at, closing his eyes as if bored.
Alastair laughed and she did too. When she noticed the Blackbeak watching her, she forced her face into a scowl. But it was too late. The dark-haired witch merely smiled at her, not intimidated in the least. Nice, she thought, bending down to look at the wing. Even this wyvern is fiercer than me.
“His name is Abraxos,” the witch said, coming to stand by her. Annabee ignored her, trying to figure out how they attached the spidersilk to the thin, leathery skin. It was… embedded somehow, maybe using magic?
“I think they used some type of adhesive during the grafting. It was a long recovery, but without the spidersilk, he lacked the strength to fly.”
Annabee turned and glared at the Blackbeak witch, hoping it would scare her off. Or just shut her up. But she was watching Abraxos, not her.
“He’d been chained as a bait beast until Manon rescued him. His teeth were rotting and they’d removed the spike from his tail. So she had them replaced.”
“Was I speaking to you? I don’t remember asking for your help.”
The witch frowned, her bright green eyes suddenly becoming dull and distant. As if she was fading back into herself. It happened quickly but was so pronounced that Annabee opened her mouth, about to apologize. But before she could, the young witch nodded, turned, and walked back to the other wyvern.
Catrin gave her a dirty look and followed the witch. Annabee didn’t care if she’d been rude. She didn’t owe the Blackbeaks anything. Especially that one, she thought, scowling as she remembered the witch’s snarl the first time they’d met. She went back to the wing, touching it gently. She could see some of the scarring left from the skin and silk grafts, but it was faint. Like I needed to be told his iron teeth were added, she huffed to herself. Or that he’d been treated poorly. His brown-black-green mottled skin was laced with scars. Does she think I’m that stupid?
“Annabee.”
She whirled to find Alastair standing behind her. He was pissed at her too. Annabee sighed, knowing she’d been an ass. But for him and Catrin to just side with the Blackbeak… She stared at him, hands on her hips, her face defiant to mask the shame.
“You know she just lost her friend right?”
“That’s not my problem Alastair. We lost people too.”
He nodded. “Yes, we did. But that doesn’t give you the right to be rude. You don’t need to be friends with them Annabee. But the least you could do is be civil. Especially when they are being kind. With very little effort I might point out.”
Putting his hand on her shoulder, he said, “I know this is hard for you. But there are greater concerns at the moment. We need their help. All of us, not just the Crochans.”
Yes, yes. She knew. Fate of the world and all that shit. She was so tired of hearing it. So tired of giving up things she loved. All for some greater good that felt so distant and unreal that she no longer cared about it. Especially after her mother had died. Why should she care about the world when hers had been taken from her?
Not bothering to reply - What difference does it make? - Annabee turned and headed towards the cave mouth leading outside. Before she left, she glanced behind her. The dark-haired Blackbeak was working on her wyvern’s claws, meticulous in her attention to the creature. The witch looked up, catching Annabee eyes on her. But after a couple of seconds, she returned to her work. Fighting back her growing shame, Annabee made her way outside, unable to push those sad, green eyes out of her mind.
Fallon continued cleaning and filing Banshee’s claws as Alastair and Catrin gathered their things to leave. She hadn’t asked for their help returning to her rooms. Honestly, she didn’t want to go back to them anyway, preferring to stay with her wyvern. She was lonely without Faline and the rest of the Thirteen. She wouldn’t bother Manon and Dorian with her troubles. So Banshee it was. The wyvern twisted her long neck around to nuzzle Fallon, making her smile.
Catrin came over just then. “They’re very affectionate.”
“Yes, with their riders. Or others they deem worthy,” Fallon said, gesturing to Catrin and her husband. The Crochan smiled. “They can be fierce when they need to be though. Abraxos is small but he’s the alpha of all the Ironteeth wyverns.”
“Your Banshee looks like she’d be good in a fight,” Alastair said, joining them.
“She is,” Fallon said, patting Banshee with pride. “She’s almost as fast as Abraxos, even though she’s much bigger than him.”
Catrin’s smile faded as she said, “I’m sorry for Annabee’s behavior Fallon. She has been through some difficult times recently. Unfortunately, her way of dealing with problems often involves taking it out on those around her. It doesn’t excuse the way she acts. But please don’t take it personally.”
Fallon nodded and turned back to work on the other claw.
“Her mother was sister to your coven leader,” Alastair said, trying to sound casual. But Fallon could hear the hurt in his voice, see the hurt on their faces.
She stood, unsure of how to respond in a way that didn’t sound trite. But after several moments of silence, she began to feel uncomfortable and finally just said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Something in their eyes made her go on. “You were friends with her mother?”
Catrin nodded, a smile on her face but the tears were forming in her eyes. “We grew up together. Annabee has always been like a daughter to me. But the past months have been… very hard. Rhiannon’s loss was… Well, it was complicated by other things. And then Annabee had to give up her dreams to take her mother’s place.”
Fallon furrowed her brow, wanting to ask questions but not wanting to pry or offend them. Instead, without thinking, she blurted, “I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me and my twin.” Why had she said that? Catrin and Alastair frowned, saddened for her life without a mother to raise her. Fallon gave them a small smile, hoping to move the conversation forward, off of her. “It wasn’t so bad I think. I didn’t know her so I had no one to miss. Faline and I have each other.”
Catrin’s doleful expression told her the attempt hadn’t worked. Why did you even say anything about it, she thought angrily. She appreciated their kindness, but she didn’t want their pity, their attention.
“Thank you for lunch,” she said awkwardly, heading around to the other side of Banshee. Not wanting to make eye contact and feel like more of an idiot, she kept her head down until they left, shaking out her saddle blankets.
She worked like that for almost an hour, busying herself with mundane tasks - grooming Abraxos, checking both harnesses for wear, making sure Banshee’s tail was healing properly. Anything to keep from thinking about how she felt, anything to keep from dwelling on the sadness that was creeping up on her. Her grief for Vesta. Her embarrassment for her conversation with Catrin and Alastair. Her stupidity for not asking for help back to her rooms. Her stupidity for not knowing how to get back to her rooms. Her growing loneliness.
“What’s his name?”
Fallon jumped and spun, her iron teeth and nails shooting out.
Annabee raised her hands up defensively. “Whoa - I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Shit, Fallon thought. This is all I need right now. She turned her back to Annabee, hoping the witch would get the hint and leave her alone.
“It is a he, right? How do you even tell?”
Sighing heavily, Fallon turned around and said, “Her name is Banshee.”
“Hmmm,” she said, walking towards them. Slowly. As if not wanting to upset her wyvern. “That’s a better name than Abraxos.” The little wyvern huffed angrily from where he lay nearby. Annabee laughed. “No offense! I like your name too!” Under her breath she added, “Banshee is just better.”
Fallon couldn’t help her smile as Banshee gave Abraxos a haughty look. “You can tell the difference from the adornment on their heads. Bulls have larger spikes.” She watched Annabee look back and forth between the two animals, her face quickly becoming confused. “They’re not very noticeable. Here,” she walked over and pointed to the small protrusions behind the ears. “It can be hard to tell the difference between a large female and small male,” she added.
Annabee nodded. “Can I touch her?”
Fallon paused, studying the young Crochan. “Sure. She can tell that I trust you so she’ll stay calm.”
Annabee gave her a curious look then tentatively reached a hand out towards Banshee’s muzzle. Fallon smiled, thinking that if Faline had been here, she would have jumped or made a loud noise to scare Annabee, just as her finger touched the wyvern. But Banshee lowered her head and then stayed still, letting the witch get close to look at her skin and spikes. Fallon watched the tall, slender witch as her eyes widened in awe, countless questions likely forming in her head. Followed her fingers as they moved over Banshee’s muscles. She wondered what Catrin had meant about Annabee having to take her mother’s place. Give up her own dreams.
She suddenly realized she’d been staring at Annabee. Who was now staring back. Fallon quickly dropped her eyes and turned to refold her saddle blankets. She glanced back briefly and said, “I’m sorry about your mother. Catrin told me. I’m… sure it’s not easy having us here.” Turning back to her work, she cringed and thought, What was that? You idiot.
She could hear Annabee walking in a wide circle around Banshee. As she threw the last blanket on the pile, she turned to find her still examining the wyvern. Checking the splint still on her tail, running her slight, dark hand over the leathery wing, leaning in to look at the wyvern’s wine-colored skin.
Finally, Annabee made it to where Fallon was standing. She’d thought maybe she’d angered her by bringing up her mother, but the Crochan’s expression was… Kind.
“I’m sorry for being such an ass earlier. It’s… kind of a bad habit of mine.”
“You have a bad habit of being an ass? A bad habit is,” she shrugged, “biting your fingernails. You might be beyond bad habit,” Fallon said with a faint smile and raised eyebrow, surprising herself with the words. Faline teased and joked like that, not her. But something in the witchling’s face had emboldened her.
Annabee paused, then laughed. “And you might be right Blackbeak.”
Fallon’s smile widened. “Fallon.”
“I’m Annabee. But I suppose you were already told that,” she said, moving to sit against the cave wall. Fallon joined her and they sat in silence for a short while, watching the wyverns, who did the same.
“And don’t worry about being here. It’s not entirely unexpected.”
Fallon glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“Crochan magic allows some of us to have visions. Grandmother knew Manon would come here. She just didn’t know exactly when. Or how.” Annabee turned to look at Fallon. “That’s the fun thing about prophetic visions,” she said dryly. “You get just enough information to mess with your life, but not enough detail to actually do much about it.”
Frowning, Fallon asked, “Did your mother have visions?” After a brief pause, she added, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”
Annabee watched Abraxos as he rolled over and stretched his wings. The underside sparkled, even without any light shining directly on them. She didn’t want to answer the question. Didn’t want to think about it. She’d bit back her typical, bitchy reply to any mention of her mother. But she knew her face gave her away. For some reason, she didn’t want to hurt Fallon’s feelings again. She couldn’t stop picturing how her green eyes had gone from alive to dead in the span of a second, Annabee’s words the sole cause. She turned and looked at Fallon, who sat still and quiet. Except for her fidgety thumbs. Her fingers were laced together and she rubbed the pads of her thumbs back and forth against one another.
“I guess you do know about bad habits,” Annabee said, lifting Fallon’s hand to look at her chewed nails.
The Blackbeak froze at her touch. Realizing what she’d just done, Annabee dropped Fallon’s hand and turned back to the wyverns. Thank the gods they are here or this would be even more awkward, she thought, not knowing why she’d been so bold.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I forgot how different the clans are. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“It’s ok. We aren’t so different I think,” Fallon said softly. “Actually, we’re trying to change our ways a bit. Well, the Thirteen are.”
“That’s your coven?”
Fallon nodded. “We are Manon’s sentinels. All chosen by her. My twin Faline and I are the youngest.”
Annabee thought about this for a while. “So you only ever see your coven? What about your other family?” Quickly, she added, “I know Ironteeth don’t allow men to live with them.”
“Our mother died giving birth to us.” Fallon looked down at her hands. “Our grandmother is good friends with the Blackbeak Matron. So, she made certain we were trained well.”
She frowned. Trained well? Not raised? Loved? She knew there were differences between the witches. Though, they were cultural more than anything. Physically, both Crochans and Ironteeth had the same ancestors – Fae and valg, later mixing with humans. Crochans even had iron teeth and nails, a gift from the Three-Faced Goddess to all witches. They just didn’t use them often, relying more on their magic for battle or intimidation. Crochans did receive more qualities from their Fae side than the Ironteeth. Their beauty – though that’s debatable, Annabee thought - and their distinctive magic with its ability to override the subduing effects of the iron. And, she thought with a pissy huff, my new job.
But none of those things were so big they couldn’t be overcome. They had more in common than not. That’s what Grandmother had always taught her. There were plenty of Crochans who felt the opposite though. And, she had to admit, with some good reason. The Ironteeth had spent centuries hunting her people, forcing them underground. Literally and figuratively. Sometimes Annabee fell easily into that way of thinking – blaming the Ironteeth for all their troubles. But she was never able to really believe it. One memory always stopped her from giving in to the stereotypes. A day when she was little that had changed her life. A day she could never forget, but one she had never been able to fully understand.
Banshee snorted, pulling Annabee from her thoughts and back to the present. Back to the young witch next to her. “I’m sorry you never knew your mother,” she finally said. Fallon gave her a small smile in thanks. Annabee turned away to hide her smirk. The beauty thing is definitely wrong, she thought.
“May I ask a favor?” Fallon asked. She cringed faintly and added, “I’m sorry. It’s dumb…”
“Anything,” Annabee replied.
“Can you tell me how to get back to my rooms? I got distracted each time I came here…”
She laughed. “It took me over a week to learn my way through this part of the Maze. And that’s when I was paying attention,” she said smiling. “It would be dumb not to ask for help.”
Fallon’s face fell just a bit and Annabee knew she’d said something wrong. “Wait – I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Trained well. Annabee’s face hardened as she suddenly understood what the words meant. Why Fallon had reacted so badly to her touch, to what she’d just said. “Asking for help isn’t a bad thing. And it’s nothing to apologize for,” she said quietly. “Not when I am being an ass again,” she added with a grin, hoping to get Fallon to smile in return.
After a pause, she said, “Bad habits die hard,” holding up her hand.
But Annabee ignored her raggedy nails. She was too busy staring at Fallon’s deep green eyes. Crochans had such bland eye colors – brown, hazel, gray. Her own brown eyes were unique only because they were offset by her darker brown skin and white hair. But Fallon’s were a shade of green she ’d never seen before. Almost iridescent. The way the light played off the tiniest flecks of gold and blue…
Fallon looked away and Annabee smiled at the witch’s shyness.
“My directions are awful and would get you lost. I’ll walk you. And I’ll try not to distract you,” Annabee said with a grin, standing and offering her hand.
Green eyes flashed to meet hers. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, Fallon smiled and took her hand. Annabee pulled her up and led the way, her mind already busy thinking of ways to make the dark-haired witch smile like that again.
To be continued…
:)
Many thanks to @itach-i for helping me get over my writers block and @propshophannah for character insight!
