Behold another chapter of character development, whether or not you consider that a good thing. Along with more words based off of things I've found in a Gaelic dictionary, because I can. I know I was quite pleased with this chapter, especially since original characters are really not my strong suit.

Chapter 2: Boys

Wren opened the door and stomped out of the room, stopping only when she had reached the stairs to listen out for any sign of her father below, and when all remained quiet, she continued down old, worn steps that creaked beneath her weight as she descended them. She arrived in a small room with a round table that would lean if it weren't for the piece of wood set beneath one leg, surrounded by chairs, the original four already reduced to three, set near a stove and counters with dishes and cups stacked neatly, among other supplies needed for cooking and eating, just as Lilli liked them. A door off to the side led to Father's room.

She made her way to the coat hooks and slung on a jacket over her tunic before heading outside to deal with chores she had put off since yesterday, that she would have more time for had father actually allowed for such a thing. How could she focus on collecting firewood and water from the well and all manner of other things when she was forced to work in that stupid smithy all day? When she didn't leave early once she could no longer stand him, that is, but that was his fault, not hers.

He claimed it was for her own good, that, for whatever reason, if she was to be a soldier one day, she ought to learn how to forge her own weapons, as that was apparently the best way to learn how to use them. Which it wasn't. Practicing with them was, which she no longer had much time for and which was rather difficult when her arms were far too sore from hammering away at hunks of metal for her to even think about wielding a sword. But, she practiced when she was able, with a sword she had made herself, working on her form and technique out in the woods where no one could tease her, saying look how hard Wren is trying to become a boy, maybe that's why she's starting to look like one, or to avoid the disapproving looks the adults gave her at not fitting in to the mold decided on for her since birth.

She would not grow up to be a housewife. She would not have children and cook and clean and knit socks, and she would not weave baskets just because Mother did or become a blacksmith just because Father forced it on her. Those respective roles fit her older siblings just fine, but she was not them. She was Wren. Not Lilli. Not Boar. And certainly not her father or the silly townsfolk that were so content to live out dull, pointless existences doing whatever everyone else decided on for them.

Boar understood this. He knew who she was. Not just a teenage girl, or a tomboy, and not even just his youngest sister. Just Wren, who hunted with him and sparred with him and who aided him in all kinds of mischief because that's the kind of people they were. That's what they enjoyed doing, and it was okay that she was a girl. It didn't matter to him. Not one bit. And though he would beat up those that picked on her, it didn't mean she didn't pay him back in other ways, as she was the more crafty of the two and good at getting back at those that bugged him in her own, less obvious ways. Because he wasn't there to rescue her from her troubles like she was a helpless, little girl. He wasn't there to belittle her and give her knowledge about the world like she was a child. They were a team. Equals. He was fine with her just as she was.

And then, one day, like all boys had to do, he accepted a bet, a completely idiotic bet where they dared him to go out into the woods, deep into the pines where the majority of superstitions originated from, and bring back the skull of a blue bubble. He wasn't afraid, he said, and why should he be when that place was no more haunted than the inside of his boot? But, it was still stupid, because everyone knew that people did go missing out there, and she told him that he'd probably be mauled by a pack of wolfos, but he went anyway, and she and his friends watched him stride out into the woods that very night, armed with a sword of his own design, as he was a blacksmith, as well, and she couldn't ignore the knot in her gut or the sneaking suspicion that she had smelled alcohol on his breath.

That was the last time she saw him, when he looked back once more over his shoulder to direct a toothy grin at them before he was lost to the night. And then lost for good.

That's why boys were stupid.

That's why her own brother was, as well, because all men, all boys, were so obsessed with proving their own manhood, as if anyone but them really cared, that they would trek out into the woods alone in the middle of the night, drunk, without a second thought. Because they were such idiots, that they'd be willing to leave their little sister behind, who they supposedly loved, just for their own foolish pride. Why had that meant so much to him? They were a team; why did her advice mean nothing?

Wren kicked the ground, only to cough when she stirred up a cloud of dust. But, she didn't need him. She never needed him. She could take care of herself, and she would, too. Once her father stopped pushing her around. Boar had thrown his life away, while Lilli was soon to squander hers in the same way all silly girls do, with their frilly dresses and goofy hairstyles, not to mention a whole pack of screaming children. And Father, he could do whatever he wanted with his life. It didn't matter one bit to her, because soon she would have a life they would all secretly envy (Boar would have, too, if he was still around to do so).

She would see things they would only dream about and meet interesting people that knew about more than just how to skin a deer or fletch an arrow. She would be one of the few from this village to actually live. It was not often people left this place for any extended period of time, but she would. She would put this whole, rotten bit of her life behind her, and she would never look back. There was no reason to return when she would have so many more interesting places to go and when the people here did nothing but condemn her for being different anyway.

She would've stayed here for Boar. He was content to be a blacksmith like Father. He believed he would forge swords of such quality that he wouldn't need to go out and see the world because his fine craftsmanship would bring the world to them. He would make this sad, little village into something truly spectacular, he had told her on more than one occasion, and while she had her doubts, she really hoped his words were true. And maybe what he had said could have come to pass, if he didn't ignore her warning and give in to the prodding of his friends.

She didn't talk to them, now that Boar was gone. They were responsible for what he did, almost as much as he was. Plus, she knew they only had a grudging tolerance for her on account of the fact that Boar thought so highly of her. And he would break their noses and make them squeal like little girls if they ever messed with his little sister and best buddy in the whole wide woods. That's what he had said, and that was one thing she never doubted. He had meant it, that they were best pals, even if he had abandoned her as he did just so he could look like a big shot to his friends, but that's how boys were. She couldn't fault him, not entirely, at least, for having the same obnoxious ego they all were too quick to flaunt.

Wren went about her usual chores for the day, which included collecting more firewood for the impending winter, which were always long and brutal affairs out here in the mountains, and she splashed her face, now hot and dusty with her toils despite the cool air, with water she had collected from the well before bringing the rest home for that evening's dinner. Once inside, the air smelling fishy as something sizzled in a covered pan on the stove, she gave a grunt in response to Lilli's greeting and dropped the bucket on the table, some of its contents spilling over the edges, before peeling her jacket off to return it to its usual spot. Her sister spun about at the racket the bucket made, the movement of her long skirt continuing even after she went still, before putting a fist to her hip, expression turning strict when she saw the mess on the table.

"Wren…" Her fist dropped to her side again, and she proceeded to move the bucket to the floor and wipe the table dry with the dishtowel.

"It's just water," Wren said as she went about wiping the dust from her hands onto her tunic.

"It'll leave stains."

"But, it's just water." She started to head for her room, stopping in her tracks, however, when Lilli straightened again to direct the expression she had just given the table at her, both fists now at her waist.

"And wash up, Wren. You're filthy. And change that shirt."

"I'm not going to be eating my shirt."

Dropping the towel on the table, Lilli bent down to grab the bucket, grasping the handle with both hands as she shuffled over to her younger sister. "Take this. Wash your hands…in the wash basin, not right out of the bucket; don't look at me like that, I know you've done that more than once before. Then, bring it back. Okay? Is that too much to handle?"

Wren grinned. "So I don't have to change my shirt, then?"

Her sister remained unimpressed. "Wash hands. Change shirt. Come back. Easy. And if you skip something, Father might just have to spank you."

Her expression turned sour, and she took notice of how Lilli's arms were beginning to shake. "You'll need stronger arms that that once you're married. I bet babies are pretty heavy." She snatched the bucket from her, making a point of carrying it away with one hand. She supposed some good came from working as a blacksmith's apprentice. And punching people in the nose had since become far more effective.

"And don't forget to get under your nails!" Lilli added.

"I can't! Too many instructions to remember!"

Wren largely did as she was told, in slow motion, even taking the water upstairs to the basin in their room when she could have just used the one in the bathroom downstairs. She washed her hands, with water only, as the soap was in the bathroom, plus Lilli didn't specify such a detail, and she only put half an effort into washing under her short, scraggly nails. And she did indeed change into a new tunic, tossing the old one onto the pile in the corner that she refused to pick up, as she wanted to see how long Lilli would last before giving in and doing it herself.

She dumped the basin water out, and directed a grin at the boy whose narrowed gaze shot up at her when he ended up with one wet pant leg. It was one of Boar's old friends, in fact, and he knew better than to tattle. Not since the last time she had kneed him in a rather personal place. She tittered at him in a most obvious fashion, knowing full well that his pals would now accuse him of wetting himself if he was unable to return home unseen, before retreating back inside when he directed a few profanities at her. If old Mrs. Cieala was still out and about, she'd whack him good for what he had just said.

Her renewed cheer was dampened (not unlike Petro's pants, oh, Wren, that was a good one), however, when she returned downstairs, bucket in hand, to find her father and sister already at the table, the plates set before them bearing the trout father had caught that day, much less on Lilli's plate than his (she was dieting before her wedding, even when she was already as thin as a sapling). They looked over as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the vigor in her steps now greatly reduced, and her father raised an eyebrow at her presence.

She raised the bucket higher, saying, "I've brought water."

Receiving no response, she marched past them in a rather stiff fashion before pouring much of the water into a glass pitcher set upon the counter. Spirals of color adorned its surface, the reason why Lilli had fallen in love with it the moment the traveling salesman had pulled it out of his caravan. He knew just what to show off, and to whom, allowing him to, at one time or another, lighten the pockets of nearly every fool in the village.

Picking up the glass pitcher, she turned on one heel, her father already holding his glass out, and she moved to fill it, while his gaze was, thankfully, not directed at her, but more off at nothing in an obvious sign of his current pensiveness. She did the same for Lilli's glass and then her own, her place settings arranged for her while she had been dilly dallying upstairs. She set the pitcher down on the table and sat, before reaching for the large dish set in the middle of the table to impale two pieces of fish with a large fork to aid in their transition to her plate, taking great care not to look her father in the eyes as she did so.

She tried quite often, in fact, not to look at him, as she so often didn't like what she saw in his expression, but that face still made its way into her mind, nevertheless, like he had a way of projecting his displeasure into her thoughts even when he wasn't around. That stern, rough face with the wild hair pulled back into a short ponytail, his beard split into three. It was a face she couldn't forget, no matter how hard she tried. It was a face, whether real or imagined, that she never saw smile.

Her head jerked up, heart set into a rapid drumbeat, as her father spoke, his voice deep and booming, even with the soft tone he normally kept it in, which somehow did little to make it any less commanding.

"Lillia tells me you were quite a mess when you returned home this evening. I can only assume that means you got around to getting your work done."

She nodded, watching him as he broke off a piece of fish, skin and all, with his fingers and put it in his mouth. Now that she was looking directly at him for the first time this evening, she couldn't take her eyes off him.

"You watered the garden?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you collected more firewood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you fed the chickens?"

"Yes, sir."

"You know you must feed the chickens daily."

"Yes, sir."

"It's okay. I-I got to it yesterday, Father," Lilli said. "I always do it…when Wren…"

"That's fine," he said, before turning his attention back to his dinner. When it was clear the conversation, if that's what it could be called, had reached its end, Wren found herself exchanging glances with her sister before they both returned to meals of their own.

The rest of dinner was spent in silence except for the sound of forks on metal and the dull clink whenever a glass was set down. Despite her hunger, Wren ate slowly, as she wasn't sure what to do if she finished too early, the fish tender and the edges of the skin crispy, the only part of the skin she cared to eat. Her father ate anything. Like a moblin. She was a bit more picky. Too picky, according to Lilli, but she was one to talk. She didn't eat to begin with.

Once dinner was finished, Lilli worked on the dishes, while Wren got to lighting candles to shoo away the approaching darkness that threatened to engulf them as the last rays of sunlight slipped over the horizon, nightfall being a time when all but those with trouble in mind stayed inside, as if they believed the creatures of the forest might lose their earlier restraint to stalk only the trees outside their village and come in. Nighttime belonged to the woods, and only fools didn't know better than to respect that.

Their father resigned himself to his armchair by the fireplace for some silent reflection on the day's events, pipe in mouth, its smoke filling the room with an earthen scent that seemed to stir up the remnants of memories all but forgotten in Wren's earliest years, only a feeling remaining of times when things were better, when she still had two parents, and Boar hadn't yet become another victim of the pine woods. And it brought back actual memories, vibrant memories that didn't include their mother, but it did involve the days before Lilli had become such a girly-girl, and the three of them would laugh and scream outside, running amongst the trees in games of tag that would send Lilli into a panic over her hatred of being chased, even if it was all just for fun.

And they would pick wild berries, coming home stained almost from head to toe, leaving father to bathe them and rack his brain over how to get the stains out of their clothes. He eventually had to settle for seeking help from Mrs. Cieala the first few times, as the old woman had a remedy Lilli still called a miracle in how it could remove the toughest stains, a secret she had yet to crack, and Mrs. Cieala wasn't sharing, stating quite bluntly that it was one bit of knowledge she was taking with her to her grave. But, once Father could no longer justify pestering her time and time again to do his children's laundry, he attempted dozens of combinations of his own "secret blend", trying different kinds of soaps, along with more desperate efforts that included alcohol and various potions, among other things.

None of this worked; some of them, in fact, actually made the stains worse, and in the end, they had several sets of clothing that were designated for berry-picking, their clean clothes to forever be dubbed as "forbidden" whenever they were planning on participating in such a messy task. Of course, Father would have preferred it if they never picked berries in the first place, but after Boar (it really was Boar's idea…most of the time) coaxed them into it enough times, Father finally just gave up scolding them.

But, things were no longer the same. Those carefree days were long gone, and now all Wren seemed to do was annoy her father. Even back then, when they got along, he never smiled, but he still played with her, gave her piggyback rides, and read to her while she sat on his lap. But, now it just felt like he put up with her. She felt…tolerated. Like he was waiting her out, until the day she would be gone, and he would no longer have anyone to be disappointed in. She couldn't help who she was. She wasn't trying to "fray his nerves", as he said. She was just being who she was, and there shouldn't be any punishment for that. Lilli was lucky that her personality just happened to coincide with what Father expected. Wren's did not. It wasn't her fault, though, so why did he have to act like it was?

She returned to her room with a single candle and changed into a long, plain nightgown, her second tunic of the day returned to their shared wardrobe, at the bottom of which she found the baskets they had worked on earlier that day. Wren slammed the wardrobe shut at the mere sight of her own. (And the tunic didn't get worn much that day, so there was no need to wash it. She wasn't dirty.)

She blew out the candle left beside the silly glass flower Lilli kept on the small, round table in the corner between their beds before crawling under the sheets, where she then proceeded to stare at the ceiling with her arms folded over her stomach. Another day closer to Boar's birthday, and neither of them planned on doing a thing about it. They had to care about him, didn't they? Wren couldn't be the only one. So why was she the only one bothering to show it?

The door opened, and she rolled onto her side to face the wall before Lilli could even request that she don't look, and she heard a rustling as her sister got changed into her own nightgown, a silly thing she knew to be decorated with a flower print about as bad as her dresses with the lace and the bows. She didn't change positions, however, even after she heard her sister get into her own bed, nor did she so much as budge when Lilli spoke in the soft voice people always seemed obligated to use in the dark.

"Just a couple months more until the wedding. I hope I fit in Mother's dress. I've been trying to stay trim, but I'm still unsure if…if my hips might be a bit too big."

"Maybe it's just your butt that's too big."

"Wren!"

"You're thinner than I am. It'll probably be too baggy on you." Lilli was two years her elder, and yet she was still thinner. But, Wren wasn't going to starve herself just to look nice for a boy. They should like her just as she was, brown hair and slightly bulbous nose and all. It wasn't as if they were actually anything worth looking at.

"Well, I'd rather it be too big than too tight. When the big day's almost here, Mrs. Cieala can always bring it in a bit."

"And tell me, why does she feel the need to play Mother to every person here? Can't you sew?" Wren asked with her eyes directed over her shoulder, even if it only gave her a view of the ceiling rather than the person she was speaking to.

"Well, for one thing, Mrs. Cieala has no children, so that probably accounts for some of it."

"And she likes to butt in."

"And two, a bride can't work on her own dress. That's the one time in her life when everyone has to treat her like a princess. A girl's wedding is the most magical day of her life, and she needs to spend it, and the weeks proceeding it, being pampered."

"Does Princess Zelda know you're trying to replace her?" Wren said, sniggering at the corniness of her sister's words.

"Wren, can't you ever be serious? This is important to me. You know I've always wanted to get married, ever since I was a little girl. I planned out what flowers I wanted, and how my hair would look, and I even decided long ago that I'd have my wedding in winter, when all the trees are glistening and the ground is blanketed in a shimmering sheet of snow as white as my dress. It would just be so…"

"I know, you think such nonsense is romantic, even if it only makes me want to puke. But, don't you know that every girl dreams about her wedding? It's not like it's something only you have fantasized about. I don't see what's so special about wishing for the same thing as everyone else."

"The same thing as everyone but you."

Wren grumbled and attempted to burrow further into the sheets, as she knew full well where this conversation was leading. And she had inadvertently directed it there. Maybe sometimes she just needed to give her big mouth a rest.

"Wren…"

She groaned. It was never good when Lilli's voice took on the sing-song quality such as what she had just injected into that one, single word.

"Wren, I know you'll like boys one day."

"Shut up!" Wren said into her pillow.

"You're a bit of a late bloomer, but it'll happen. Believe me, I know."

"But, you're a girl?"

"And what are you?" Lilli asked, laughter in her voice, only setting Wren's teeth on edge all the more.

"I'm not like you! I'm not going to become all boy-crazy! And besides, you started getting obsessed with them when you were twelve, and I'm three years beyond that, and I still don't see the appeal."

"You can't avoid it. It'll sneak up on you, and before you know what hit you, you'll have a boyfriend, and he'll be the only thing you'll think about."

Wren growled, the tone of her voice dropping. "Yes. I'll think only about him and the day I neuter him."

Lilli burst into laughter, and Wren flipped onto her back and shot into a sitting position to glare at her older sister, a glare that the recipient likely could hardly see in the darkness, but one which Wren could only hope she could feel.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"It's nothing!" But, considering Lilli's laughter hadn't yet abated, one hand still held to her face to cover her mouth, that was obviously a bold-faced lie.

"What is it?" Wren said again, voice rising before she could wonder if Father might hear.

She waited as her sister's laughter began to die down, Lilli's body only quivering for a few moments more as her unjustified mirth left her. Recovered, her hand returned to the one that had just been clutching her stomach, a smile on her face that was clearer now that Wren's eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness.

"Oh, Wren," she began, "do you always have to be so…intense? I'm just joking with you. And besides, what's so terrible about me liking boys? At least I like someone. You, on the other hand, don't seem to like anyone."

"And now, thanks to your great love of humanity, you're about to marry the world's biggest goon."

Now that was enough to wipe the smile off her face. "Wren, what have I told you about teasing Glain? He's the sweetest man in the world, and I'm lucky to have him."

"His mustache curls at the ends, Lilli. His mustache actually has its own smile."

"Well, I think it makes him look quite handsome."

"And he wears a feather in his hat. Dyed bright red."

Lilli's glare increased. "And that's what makes him so dashing. Wren, he is a wonderful man, and I will not have you talking about him this way. He secured my love for him the day he made me that glass rose, and my heart has been his ever since."

"More proof that he's a dandy. And how typical of you that you'd fall head over heels over a glassblower."

Lilli sat up and pulled the sheets away from her feet before crawling over to the table the two of them shared, while Wren eased herself onto her stomach and watched her. Her sister picked up with both hands the necklace she wore everyday beneath her dress, comprised of a glass ring around a simple cord, and held it, now nestled in the palms of her hands, before her.

"You see this, Wren?"

With no amount of finesse, Wren folded both arms in front of her and rested her chin upon them. "Yeah."

"Glain made me this engagement ring, and even though it doesn't contain any gems or gold or silver, it's still the most precious thing in the world because he made it for me. I just hope you can find someone that cares about you as much as Glain does for me. But, I know you never will if you won't allow it."

Wren pulled in a deep breath before letting it out again. "That's easy for you to say. You act the way people want you to. But, I'm not going to change who I am just so people approve of me."

"I'm not saying you have to." Lilli put the necklace back down on the table. "You just need to learn to open up more, and then people will have a much easier time accepting you. When you act so…cranky all the time, people have a way of acting that way right back."

Wren sniffed, her eyes dropping down to the pillow. "I'm not cranky. And our own father doesn't even approve of me, so why would anyone else?"

"He does. He's just not good at showing it. Especially when you can be…difficult."

She rolled onto her side to face the wall again, while the creaking behind her indicated Lilli to be retreating back under her own sheets again. "I'm not difficult," she said into one of the arms she had tucked under her pillow.

"Yes, you are, and you know it, seeing as you seem to try so hard to be that way."

"I'm not. It just comes out that way. When other people start stuff."

"Go to sleep," Lilli said.

"You go to sleep."

She heard a single sigh, then all was quiet again, nighttime regaining the silence it usually demanded, but Wren couldn't sleep, as she couldn't help but fret over her sister's words and how unlikely they seemed. Maybe someday people would accept her for who she was, just as Boar had, but not here, not in this tiny, close-minded village where people only approved of what was safe and familiar to them.

Fear of the unknown had become a part of their daily lives. It had sunk deep into their very souls. And it made sense when it pertained to the woods, but not when they feared someone else just because that person was different. Well, maybe no one actually feared her, but they didn't like her because she couldn't be so neatly sorted away into a box like everyone else could.

And that's why this place was so very boring, not just the village itself, but the people that lived in it. Boar had been a free spirit like her, and that's why they understood each other so well, but now that he was gone, Wren could only embrace the unknown, not cower away from it. Because the familiar things in life were what caused her pain, and she could only wait for and daydream about the day where she would finally find what was missing, that her brother was no longer around to fill.

Ghirahim is going to appear in this story. I promise.

Please review.