Faithful Pebble
Part One Hundred and Thirteen

When the boy awoke, he found eyes staring back at him. In the mid-morning light, their pupils smoldered, gleamed unnaturally through the forest's lingering gloom. Over a smoky fire, they hovered like the dirty clearing scattered about them, or the cliff teetering dangerously above their heads. They gasped silently, the cliff, the eyes and the shack. They gaped down at him with wet open mouths hungry and gaunt, like the woodcutter's cloak, like the wanderer's piercing glare. They stared. They watched. They waited. But it wasn't the shack that kept the boy's attention, drew his eye and held it. No, it wasn't the shack nor the cliff nor the eyes, but the tree.

Built into the cliff's base, the shack watched him through broken windows, through a rusted barn door crooked and creaking and craving. It was held open by a small brick, but its door... that was hidden... well, overshadowed really, by the monstrous tree growing unkempt before its tattered mouth. He gasped seeing it, the kitten, the boy, the fourth member of that monstrous pickpocket gang. Seeing its monstrously large trunk, the boy had no problems recognizing which tree it was and what shack-like entrance he was staring at. It spread sprawling green branches laced with leaves violet and vibrant through the rising smoke of their campsite. He tried to glimpse the legendary plaques his grandfather said were nailed to its base, the legendary four graves he'd swore on many a time. Yet, he couldn't see them. And the grins of the soldiers about him seemed to indicate that they weren't shocked by his confusion. In fact, their crooked smiles nearly relished the reveal, if only too openly. The boy sitting on a log with his hands tied uncomfortably behind his back swallowed sharply. He tried to speak through the ruckus of their conversations. The brothers, the honored soldiers he'd recognize immediately, quicker than even the tree, ignored his shouts and excuses. All but one ignored him and he wasn't grinning.

He quietly stepped out of the barn gate, the mine's obvious entry, with something dangling between his fingers. Olive green hair, a handsome square jaw neatly shaved, set green eyes and a lean, yet sturdy build, he stood looming etched with strength and decorated armor. He played with the snake like chain as he moved to sit across from the child. The other men quieted as he entered. They quickly scattered to make room for him. Only the fire between them crackled, only the fire and the smoke dared to interrupt their gaze, the boy and his hero.

The hero snarled, "I believe when I gave you this, I told you to stay out of the woods."

Silently, the boy's frightened features sank into shame. He looked away as the firelight, bright in the forest's gloom, highlighted the husky cleft of his chin, his own square jaw.

"I guess, it was a good thing I gave you this. My suspicions were correct, though they rarely aren't. You snuck into the woods. Still, we would notice you anywhere being the mayor's grandson and all." His hero sighed a little. He leaned forward resting his elbows upon his knees. "I believe," he said just as softly, just as carefully, "that I also told you to watch the well dweller as well and to come find me whenever you saw someone near her. You didn't do that, either. Did you?" He paused a moment staring at the boy over the dancing flames. He let the child squirm, let him quake just a little. Then, he lifted up the dragon necklace, dangling it precariously over the fire. "Not even when that stranger rescued her did you ever stop to think that you should come and get me. Instead, you put yourself in danger and followed them through the woods where you knew IT lived. How foolish. Luckily, one of us saw you and followed the three of you. He says he snagged you just as the well dweller nearly did your head in with an arrow."

Here, the boy snapped. His excuses bubbled out in unorganized chaos. " That's not right!" he shouted. "The girl only fired at me, because your guy attacked me when I wasn't looking. I screamed and she fired. She didn't know I was there..." the boy trailed off seeing his hero smirk.

"Aww...you like her," a soldier accused slyly.

The boy grit his teeth.

"I guess you won't tell me where she is or where that stranger went." The hero sat up and crossed his arms. "It's a good thing the scout found that out for us. It will make our task easier."

The boy shot up. "What task?"

In silence, the hero glared at the child. His eyes whispered words the boy could easily read, words the pendent nestled in his hand almost seemed to mock. Rules are rules, they said. The boy could feel dread well up behind his eyes making them water. "No, she just got out of the well," he cried. "Make an exception, please?"

The lack of pity in the man's eyes, his hero's eyes, was slight enough, too little enough that the boy knew. He knew his answer. So did the soldiers. So did the cliff and the fire and the shack and the tree, the monstrous tree that stood ten times taller than the "monstrous" kitten who shrank into his seat. The man shook his head. "Good for you we don't have time to tackle this right now, but as your guardian, since your mother is not around, it is my duty to take charge of the wrong done by you here. My hands are tied and it's your fault. The good news is that because of your presence here the secret of your family business can now be passed on. It's an appropriate punishment, I think." The hero ignored the uncertainty that shifted across the fire from mouth to mouth, from ear to ear of the soldiers of Warble Heights. Instead, the hero's cold stare stayed glued to the boy's. "Take him to the barn and make sure he has a good view." The man's words were obeyed and the boy choked as rough hands hefted him to his feet. They marched him through the barn's tattered door where theshadows engulfed him like a grave.

— Calla