Angela and her friends returned to the castle once they had finished their patrol. Elisa informed them that Brooklyn and Goliath had already returned and Goliath had retired to the library.
"I'm starting to forget what he looks like again," Lexington said dryly.
"Look, there's a lot on his mind," Brooklyn replied defensively.
"I know but-
"Maybe, I'd better have a talk with him," Elisa suggested.
"He told me that he was working on something," Brooklyn explained, "Something that needed to be finished urgently. And we shouldn't expect to see much of him until tomorrow night."
Broadway eyes widened in curiosity, "What do you make of that?"
Brooklyn shrugged, "It must have something to do with her. I thought maybe some kind of spell, maybe to help contain her?"
"No," Lexington disagreed, "I don't think Goliath would get involved in sorcery."
"Aye," Hudson agreed, "We've had enough problems caused by witchcraft. Best to leave that alone."
Brooklyn shrugged again, "I guess we'll have to wait until tomorrow night."
"Let's go eat," Broadway changed the subject.
"You guys go ahead," Angela said and Brooklyn looked at her with concern.
"We're starting to miss you too, you know," he said.
"I'm sorry. It's important though."
"Alright," he conceded, "But you should try and be back up for dessert. Broadway made that caramel cheesecake thing."
"Your favorite," Broadway said, grinning and she kissed him on the cheek before taking her leave.
She descended from the tower toward the battlement below, prepared to follow the now-familiar path to Demona's cell, but she was flagged down by Xanatos who beckoned to her from outside a large conservatory that was nestled in a corner of the courtyard. Angela had never had reason to enter the conservatory before, but the large panels of foggy glass allowed an impression of bright, tropical plants from the outside.
"Are you looking for Demona?" Xanatos asked her as she landed, and Angela nodded.
"Excellent. She's been anxious to see you. She's in there," he explained, gesturing toward the conservatory.
Angela's head tilted in surprise.
"In there? Why?" She glanced at the very vulnerable-looking structure, "How do you expect to get her to stay in there?"
Xanatos laughed arrogantly.
"I've got that covered. Here," he handed her a small device that looked like a simple remote control. It had one prominently large button, and two sets of four smaller ones.
"What's this thing?" she asked suspiciously.
"That is your panic button," he explained, "If she tries anything, just give it a push, and the implants that have been installed in her will instantly transform her into the sweetest pile of unconscious villainess you ever did see. The same will occur if she steps a toe out of the bounds she has been given." Angela looked at the remote skeptically. She didn't like the sound of what Xanatos was describing.
"Will it hurt?" she asked nervously.
"You won't feel a thing," he insisted.
Angela glared at him, "I'm being serious."
"The implants themselves won't cause her any pain. But if she wants to play games with me and trips her implants, I can't guarantee she will land on anything soft. That's one of the drawbacks of being a dangerous, bloodthirsty, killer. She got me once, when she took advantage of my trusting and fun-loving nature and tricked me into turning the entire city into stone. I'm not having that again, no matter how uncomfortable I have to make her! But having some freedom has to be better for her than being shut up in that tiny cell forever."
"So much for 'trust' though," Angela said glumly, "I can't very well promise her that she can trust me on one hand and then on the other hand say, 'but if you step out of line, I'll switch you off like a microwave.'"
"Why not?" Xanatos demanded, raising his eyebrows as if what she said made no sense whatsoever. She sighed.
"That isn't the way loving relationships work. Trust is crucial."
"Not really," Xanatos disagreed, "I love Alex more than anything, but I still put little plastic covers on all the electrical outlets, hide all of bleach and sharp knives, and lock up my collections of historic torture devices and semi-automatic assault rifles." Angela snorted.
"Alex is a toddler," she reminded him, "And Demona is…" She didn't know how to finish that thought, but apparently Xanatos did.
"Allow me to step out of character for a moment and tell you something personal, Angela. Something I have only spoken about with my wife and no one else."
Surprised, but curious about what a man like Xanatos could possibly have to say that was pertinent to the situation in which she had found herself, she nodded and said, "Okay."
"Growing up, my mother was sick. Sometimes she felt well and then she was a lovely woman and the best mother in the world. But then she'd get worse and things got bad."
"What was wrong with her?" Angela asked,"Was it cancer?" Gargoyles didn't typically get diseases, but Angela had heard of humans being very ill from cancer and suffering from it for years. Xanatos' face went very grim and for a moment he almost seemed embarrassed.
"No, it..wasn't that kind of sickness. It was the kind that gets into your mind."
Realization came over her and she nodded.
"Well, as I got older, she started getting worse. Sometimes she had to go into a sort of special hospital, and it was just me and my Pop, who was no fun whatsoever, even when he wasn't in terrible grief. I'd get angry that she wasn't there for me, and my father would always tell me that she was fighting, and she would come back when she could. Well, it got to a point where she couldn't fight anymore, because she died when I was just seven."
"I'm sorry, Xanatos," Angela said genuinely.
"Well, I wasn't sorry. I was angry that she had abandoned me, before and after her death. And I was angry at my father because he always forgave her when I couldn't. He had loved her so much; he wouldn't hear a word against her. So, I never spoke of her, and I just ignored my father when he did. I told myself that I didn't need either of them and I would look out for myself. Which I did. And I came to the conclusion that since I couldn't rely on her love, and it didn't seem as if I could earn my father's love, that I could just make do without love entirely and I'd be better off for it. And while I did do without it for a long time, it turns out that I wasn't nearly as well off as I thought I was. I learned that from becoming a husband and a father myself. And now I wish I had tried a little harder to love her, in spite of her inability to be what I needed her to be. I wish I could have loved her through her sickness, the way my father was able to do."
Angela didn't really know what to say. This was the last thing she could have ever expected Xanatos to tell her. While she could certainly sympathize with the tragedy of his story, loving and forgiving an innocent woman who suffered from mental illness was a lot different from loving and forgiving someone who would murder your whole family in cold blood at the first opportunity.
"I'm sorry for your pain, Xanatos," she said finally, "But this is a little different."
"A little different?" he replied incredulously, "It's completely different! What can I do now to love my mother now? She's dead." Angela's eyes widened at his bluntness. Meanwhile, the temporary suspension of Xanatos' typical, haughty countenance seemed to be lifting and he said,
"We needn't talk about that sort of thing anymore. Go on. She was worried that you wouldn't come back to see her tonight."
Angela entered the conservatory and found Demona sitting in a white-enameled iron chair surrounded by small citrus trees. Bronx was sitting upright at her side, and she absent-mindedly stroked his ears with one claw as she read from a piece of paper with the other. The gushing of a large water feature echoed loudly against the hard, glass walls and tile floor, so much so that Demona didn't notice Angela until Bronx's ears perked up and he began wagging his tail happily at the sight of her. Demona looked immensely relieved once she caught sight of her as well.
"I thought perhaps you were too angry with me to come back," she admitted.
"No," Angela replied, "I was on patrol with my friends and we stopped to talk for a while. I'm not angry with you anymore."
"Really?" she asked, "Well, then, I suppose I'm two-for-two tonight, though I don't know what I did to receive all these pardons."
"What do you mean?" Angela asked her as she patted Bronx and sat down beside them.
"Xanatos did me the courtesy of passing this letter on to me this afternoon," she explained, "It's from Macbeth. Read it for yourself, if you want."
Angela took the paper from her and read.
My Poor Demona,
My apologies that I was unable to reply to your message sooner. I am currently abroad. I'm working on something of a mission at the moment and it has consumed all of my attention, so I've been behind on my correspondence. Perhaps I will have the chance to tell you about it someday.
I am saddened, though not at all surprised to hear of your suffering. Even from as far away as I am, I have sensed it. Believe me, there are few that can sympathize better than I with the toll despair can take on the soul, but I cannot come to you at this time.
The time will come when you and I will leave this world together, but I believe your clock is fast. We both have adventures that lay ahead of us in this world. Though it may be presumptuous for me to say so, it seems that your next adventure must be reconciliation between yourself and your clan for who you have been waiting for so terribly long.
Until we meet again, try to live for what you love, rather than what you hate. Seek vengeance no longer and instead, seek hope. There are still good things in the world worth living for.
Sincerely,
Macbeth
"I didn't realize that you had attempted to contact him," Angela said.
"Many times," Demona told her, "Since the last time I saw you, months ago."
"Demona, I know it isn't any of my business, but these don't seem like the words of an enemy."
Demona sighed, crumpling the paper and dropping into the gravel beneath her.
"Right on both accounts," she replied. Then she laughed coldly, "I'm running out of enemies. At this rate, I shall be down to one before the end of the week."
Angela humphed at the morbid attempt at humor and asked sarcastically,
"Why bother even hanging on to one then?"
Demona's face fell and she looked away quickly.
"The last one must never be forgiven," was her cryptic reply and something about the sudden darkness of Demona's tone indicated that the conversation needed an immediate shift in topic.
"Broadway and Lexington were telling me about you tonight."
"Oh?"
"Yes, they remember many good things about you. They told me about how you got in trouble over teaching them to read without permission."
"I'm surprised they remember that," she said softly, "They were very young."
"They do. And Brooklyn told me about a time you were willing to take a whipping for them, from one of your elders." Demona's eyes widened.
"That night, that whole time when the clan was separated and I was left in charge, was a complete fiasco," she groaned as if embarrassed that the events should even be remembered.
"It wasn't to Brooklyn," Angela informed her, "What you did meant a lot to him. And Hudson told me about how you came to be apprenticed to the Archmage. He fears that he failed you then."
Demona looked alarmed at her last statement.
"He mustn't! He did nothing wrong!" Then she added, somewhat angrily, "Why are they telling you such strange stories? Of all the things they might have told you!"
"I wanted Goliath to tell me something of your life together. But it was hard for him."
"That's understandable," she responded irritably.
"All that he was able to tell me was that you were happy. That you had a very deep bond. That you believed in one another. He mentioned that you taught him to read as well." She paused, as she noticed that Demona looked grieved at her words.
"Is it painful for you? To remember that?" Angela asked her after a long silence. Demona breathed in sharply and hesitated a while before finally answering.
"Everything is painful for me, Child. But I suppose that ultimately, it's good for me to think back on those times, even if it's painful. I've thought back on those memories many times, in my darkest moments, and they've given me relief from my grief." She fell silent again and Angela was torn. How she wanted her mother to continue, but she was afraid to ask.
"What is it you wanted to know," Demona asked in a quiet, but determined voice.
"How did you first know that you loved him?" Angela asked earnestly.
In truth, Demona couldn't remember a time she had not loved Goliath. From the earliest memories of their childhood, they had a special bond. Even at such a young age, they each seemed to recognize something in their friend that they themselves deeply needed. She found in him a courage to learn, which she shared, a passion for justice which she admired, and a spirit that sought the good in everything that not only uplifted her, but frequently left her in a mixture of awe and shame. She openly favored him among her brothers, and her affections touched him, for she seemed to see a great goodness in him that no one else ever noticed.
Not to say that the rest of the clan didn't notice or appreciate him. Indeed, he was always a favorite among their rookery for most of the clan. But while the elders proudly celebrated his unsurpassed physical strength, she admired the gentle confidence with which he encouraged the rest of their rookery. While they were shocked and pleased by his cunning strategy when training for battle, she valued his intellect and the quiet, joyful wonder with which he explored and studied the world. And while they observed his baffling fearlessness in combat, she saw a soul with the courage to stand up against injustice. As they and their rookery grew in body and spirit, not one in the clan, nor among the people they protected, would doubt that the gifted young lad would become the greatest of warriors when he came of age. Perhaps, she had been the first to understand that he would also be the greatest of leaders.
But the innocent friendship of their childhood did see change as they grew older. Though they continued to train together with their peers, aspects of their training tore them in different directions. Demona was made an apprentice of the Archmage, an assignment that would subtly but firmly invoke in her a sense of pridefulness and a desire for more skill and power. Furthermore, the abuse she would frequently suffer at the wrath of her master would forever mar her spirit with a mistrust of all mankind. As the pair grew closer and closer to maturity, the lad's joking affections, warm encouragements, and genuine compliments began to sound like mockery to her ear after enduring her nightly ordeal of being assured by the Archmage that she was a worthless, ignorant, beast, fit only to serve on the battlefield until she died there. But after all, she knew the lad meant well. He spoke that way to all of their rookery. She could tolerate it. But what she couldn't tolerate was the way the humans, and to some extent, the elders seemed to think the same of him. The fact that they could praise his great strength, fearfulness, and ferocity in combat while seemingly blind to the value of his true gifts infuriated her, and what infuriated her more was his increasing willingness to accept the degrading role they seemed to plan for him.
Though he was not aware of his sister's dismay, the lad had indeed abandoned many of the interests of his childhood and focused all his efforts on becoming the great warrior they all seemed to expect of him. His efforts only intensified when, one night, their leader came down to the place where the older hatchlings were training to watch them and pulled him aside, telling him that his talents were unmatched by any hatchling he'd ever seen and that if he continued to excel, he would mentor him toward becoming his next second in command.
He had gone straight to her, full of pride, to tell her what the leader had said. He found her sitting along the beach, half hidden among the large, smooth rocks. They had often gone there together to play or swim when their training was complete, though his extended self-training had recently compelled her to go alone for the most part. She missed him terribly, though she told herself that the separation from her companion made for a good excuse for her to sit in solitude with a lantern and read. It was the faint light of the candle and her bright hair amidst the dark stone that guided him to her.
She was so engrossed in a book that she had taken from Prince Malcolm's library, that she only noticed his shadow passing over her in just enough time to press herself back into a crevice between two great stones and hide the bruising on her shoulder and back. There wasn't enough time, however, for her to hide the book she had been reading. He excitedly told her the news of the commendation he had received from their leader and she responded with a warm smile and congratulations. His face fell. It clearly wasn't the reaction he'd been hoping for.
"Why are you so different lately?" he demanded.
She bristled at the accusation.
"What do you mean by that?"
"After news like that, I should think my sister would have an embrace for me. At least, the sister I know."
She looked down at the sand then scowled back up at him.
"Are you not getting enough accolades and affection from your humans?" she asked in an accusatory tone, "I heard they've even given you a pet name."
"They call me 'Goliath'," he explained proudly, "It means a great warrior."
She scoffed at his naivety.
"It's not a compliment, my brother," she informed him, "They're calling you a barbaric monster. You are better than that. You deserve better than that." He seemed unsure of what to say, but suddenly his eyes fell on the book.
"What is this?" he demanded, picking it up.
"I believe it's called a 'book'," she replied sarcastically.
"Whose is it? Why do you have it?"
She stared at him defiantly, unable to come up with a good explanation. Their leader had given her permission to read, but even so, she had not seen fit to tell her friends about her abilities, nor had she told them about her nightly servitude to the Archmage. On one hand, she had permission and knew she wasn't doing wrong, but on the other, she still felt quite sure that Goliath would not approve and might even think poorly of her because of it. She didn't think she could bear it if he did, as his friendship was her greatest comfort, especially when she endured the torment of the Archmage's rage.
"Well?" he demanded, "These things are really valuable to humans. What possible reason could you have for taking a book? It isn't as if you could read it."
"What makes you think I couldn't read it?" she asked and he laughed lightly as if he genuinely thought she was making a joke.
"You're clever enough, Sister. But everyone knows gargoyles don't read." His laughter faded to confusion as it was met with silence from his sister, who seemed tremendously displeased.
"Sister, you must return it," he said firmly, handing it back to her. She took it from him, and without making eye contact said,
"Brother, I'm afraid you have made a mistake. Our leader has only discussed the possibility of mentoring you. You are not yet my leader."
His eyes burned with anger at her quiet defiance.
"Give it here, then," he growled.
"I will not."
"I'll tell the elders you have it," he threatened.
"Do what you must." His expression flashed from anger, to confusion, and to her dismay, even hurt. She stood in silent defiance for what felt like ages, before he finally left her and she sank down into the sand, weeping, for she was sure she had lost the esteem of her favorite companion and the one whose regard meant the most to her.
She needn't have worried though. When she joined her brothers and sisters for training the next evening, he greeted her warmly. They both smiled in awkward relief as she offered him the embrace he'd wanted the night before. Though they never spoke of the incident, they both understood that all was forgiven, and they remained the dearest of friends.
Time passed, their training continued, and they were approaching their final summer as apprentice warriors. It was an exciting but anxious time for their rookery siblings, for not only would they soon be accepted as full adult members of the clan, and assigned appropriate responsibilities, but they would also be considered nubile at that time. This impending change resulted in a great deal of dramatic posturing and showing off from the males, as well as an increase in protective sisterly solidarity from the females.
Goliath, as he was now called by almost everyone except Demona, took a different approach to the situation. Maybe a spirit of duty compelled him to seek unity rather than competition. Perhaps it was because of his obvious advantage at nearly every skill that young male gargoyles would typically find to compete at. Or even more likely, it was because he realized that grandiose displays of strength and bullying of his brothers were unlikely to impress the sister his heart cherished the most. At any rate, he spent a good deal of this time peacekeeping, chastising his romanticized brothers on their disorderly behavior, and demanding them to have some respect for their sisters and one another. Their sisters, on the other hand, felt not the least bit disrespected by their brothers' antics and found them both entertaining and endearing, even if they occasionally got a bit out of hand. One evening when the regular training had ended, and after he had broken up a particularly aggressive and impressive display of dueling, Goliath overheard a rookery sister say to Demona,
"Sister, your favorite is becoming self-righteous and tiresome!"
At that, she laughed and joked, "Sister, who says he is my favorite?" Of course, she hadn't meant for him to hear it, but it sent him brooding into the woods for hours. When he emerged, he found her back along the rocky beach, unaccompanied by her sisters for the first time in weeks. He landed on the rock next to her and saw that she was studying a book again.
"You've still got that book?" he asked incredulously.
"Of course not. This is a different book," she replied haughtily without looking at him.
"And you're trying to read it?"
"No."
"You are!" he complained in frustration.
She looked up at him and said with mocking sweetness, "Don't be ridiculous, Goliath. Everyone knows that gargoyles don't read." He hated the way she emphasized the name that the humans had given him, as if it was an accusation. He snatched the book away from her and her eyes flared in anger.
"How dare you!?" she cried, lunging to grab it back.
"You aren't supposed to be doing this!"
"It's none of your business what I do!"
"But it is," he insisted, "We aren't meant to study human ways. The elders say it leads to all manner of corruption. These books could lead you to witchcraft!"
"Are you going to lecture me on taking up human ways? You, who seem hellbent on living as their slave? Who let them give you a degrading name as if you were their most prized and well-trained stallion instead of the brilliant, courageous warrior you are? Who seems to take pride in being a champion for them when they regard you as nothing more than a mindless, soulless, monster?"
Her words enraged him, and to his shock as much as hers, he swung and struck her. Demona drew back and stared at him in confusion. He hadn't injured her. In fact, they'd swung at each other much harder, many a time, when in training. But this was different. He'd never struck her, or anyone else in the clan in anger before. He looked down at his claws, as if trying to discern if they were, in fact, his own. She shook her head in bewilderment.
"Maybe I was wrong," she said finally, "Maybe they chose the perfect name for you."
"Please forgive me, my sister, I was-
"I want to go back to my sisters now," she said sharply, "Please leave me be." Despite his calling out to her, which grew fainter with the wind, she left and returned to the castle. Somehow, she managed to hold her tears until she was safe in the circle of her rookery sisters. She didn't tell them what had happened to upset her, but details weren't necessary. They comforted her devotedly and pitched threatening scowls at any brother who dared to approach them the rest of the evening.
By the time the dawn rose, her sisters had successfully cheered her to the point that she had left her tears behind and took her place on the battlement with her head held high. This haughtiness left her at once though, when she saw Goliath, glancing forlornly at her before bowing his head in sorrow, to be encased in stone by the first rays of the dawn.
When they woke at sundown, she did everything in her power to avoid him, though her heart ached when she saw the sadness still in his eyes. She hurried to her duties, serving the Archmage, even remaining later than she normally would to ensure there was no time to linger before their training which would give him an opportunity to approach her. When training was complete, she clung tightly to her sisters, who recognized her changed disposition and continued to provide her a social sanctuary without asking any questions. As this went on, night after night, they became genuinely concerned that something was seriously wrong.
Then, one night, she failed to arrive on time to their training. Goliath, who had been so abnormally distracted and despondent that even the elders had noticed it and were growing concerned, looked about in confusion and anxiety as their training master began their usual exercises without her.
"Please!' he interrupted, and everyone stared at him in surprise, "Our sister isn't here with us. Where is she?" The training master's expression changed from annoyance to understanding.
"She was excused from training for tonight. She was injured earlier."
"Injured? How?"
"Well, I don't rightly know, but I'm sure it's nothing too-
"May I be excused to go see her?" The master studied him slowly, measuring the urgency in his expression, and sighed.
"Aye, laddie," he agreed, "I suppose I won't get your focus back anyway, until you've seen her yourself."
Goliath raced back over the castle wall, hurrying to a small shelter in the courtyard, full of hay and straw, where he found her being tended by a female elder. Demona cringed in both pain and embarrassment as he approached.
"Here he comes to scold me again," she groaned to the elder, who glanced at the frantically approaching warrior over her shoulder, before shaking her head and returning her attention to the strange wounds she was tending.
"I heard you were injured," he panted. She didn't respond so the elder confirmed, "Yes. She's been burned, but I've never seen a burn like this, and assume from the fact that she won't say a word about how she got it, there was some mischief involved." The elder eyed Goliath suspiciously. "I don't suppose you have any idea what happened." Goliath shook his head truthfully and the elder sighed and rolled her eyes.
"You maddening young ones! You can apply that balm there. Though I doubt it'll do much good, that's all I have for the moment. I'll go and see if I can find something to help with the pain." To Demona's evident dismay, the elder left them alone. Goliath picked up a jar of some sort of balm and went to apply it to the angry blisters that appeared from her hip and down a good half of the side of her thigh. Her eyes shut and she winced as she fought back the pain.
"How did this happen?" he asked her, but she turned her face away from him and didn't reply.
"You won't even tell me?" he asked incredulously, "You used to confide in me." She continued to ignore him, gritting her teeth with the pain. He looked at the burns again.
"These don't look like normal burns. What on earth were you doing, Sister?"
"I was minding my own business, which is something you might try," she replied coldly. He reached to touch her face and she didn't pull away. His touch was far more effective at soothing her than the balm was.
"I say it is my business," he began in a gentle tone, "Not on any authority other than our friendship. You are my dearest friend and I suspect those burns are the result of sorcery and fear you are in danger." She turned to look at him, her eyes brimming with tears and her body trembling a bit.
"You're my dearest friend as well," she whispered, "That's why I don't want to tell you."
"If you won't tell me, then at least tell our leader. He cares for you, and he'll protect you."
"Our leader already knows," she confessed tearfully, "As do most of the elders." She raised her claw to touch his, still caressing her face.
"I don't want you to ever look at me the way they do," she sobbed.
"I promise there's nothing you could tell me that would change how much you mean to me. I will always be your friend. I only want to protect you."
Begrudgingly, she told him about her servitude to the Archmage and how it began. Humiliated, she confessed to him the cruelty she frequently suffered at his hands and how he had burned her that night as a punishment for her inattentiveness to her duties. His eyes flared as he filled with rage.
"But this is outrageous! Surely your service has replaced the book you damaged after several years, and yet he dares to continue to demand your labor, even threatening, insulting, and injuring you? Why would you allow it?"
"He's an evil man, my brother," she confessed, "Prince Malcolm is a fool to trust him. He has so many plans. He could destroy us and all the humans whenever he wanted to. I see his plans. I know what he's up to. He doesn't think I understand but I do. He doesn't think I can read what he reads and writes, but I can. He doesn't have the first clue of what I'm capable of learning and doing because he assumes that I'm-
"A stupid, worthless beast," Goliath completed her thoughts, "But, Sister, you aren't performing sorcery yourself, are you?"
"I dare not with him watching me," she explained, "Then he might become suspicious. But I am watching and learning and…I believe I could. Yes, I'm certain of it. If I had to." Goliath looked relieved to hear this, but she continued.
"If we have to fight him someday, we have to know what he is capable of. Otherwise, how could we face him? That's why I continue to serve him."
"I don't like it at all," Goliath growled, "But it does make sense."
"I have managed to sabotage a few of his more dangerous plots," she confided in him with a shy smile. She pointed to the cruel-looking blisters on her thigh.
"This was for being 'inattentive' while guarding the potion he's been working on for weeks. I wasn't 'inattentive' though. Not really."
He lifted the jar of balm again and reached to apply it tenderly to her wound, but she playfully pushed his arm back.
"That stuff is rubbish and I think you'd do far more in comforting me if you touched almost any other part of my body!" Then they both shared an awkward laugh as her comment had come out far more provocative than she had intended.
"So, you really can read, then?" he asked, no longer hiding his admiration, and she nodded her affirmation.
"And our leader gave you permission?"
"Yes, he did. Years ago." Goliath looked a bit sad.
"I wish you had told me."
"I didn't think you would have liked it," she confessed. His eyes narrowed a bit, and he paused as if he was thinking over something important. Finally, he got up from the floor and excused himself for a moment. Then he returned with the book he had taken from her a few nights previously.
"Show me. Read it to me," he asked. She took the book, which happened to be a compilation of poems and songs and read a bit aloud as he watched in wonder, following the lines. At one point, she paused and caught him following along the lines of the page with his eyes. Goliath looked up at her somewhat sheepishly.
"Will you teach me? Please?"
She scoffed.
"After all the judgmental scolding I took off of you? After you accused me of corruption and witchcraft?"
Goliath's head hung slightly and said, "In the excitement of the moment, I suppose I forgot. You're right. How can I ask this of you after all that?"
"Come sit beside me," she beckoned, "I'll teach you."
They sat together for the rest of the evening, while Goliath gradually mastered one letter after another, and was soon putting words together. She soon found herself tucked beneath his wing, so they could both follow the pages together, and she forgot the pain of her injury as she enjoyed the warmth of his touch and the sound of his deep, gentle voice, reverberating in his chest. As they continued, she found herself more and more aware of a new warmth starting within her body. It confused her at first, but gradually she came to realize what it was and what it meant, and she was filled with a peaceful joy. She mused that in one evening, she had revealed her two greatest secrets to Goliath, only to be given a new one to keep.
"Is that correct?" he asked, shaking her back to attention.
"I'm sorry, brother. I got lost in thought," she told him, "I was thinking of what I said the other night. I didn't mean it. No one who knows you even a little could think of you that way. It infuriates me to think that the humans do."
Goliath set the book down, placing his arm around her shoulder to comfort her.
"I don't believe that they all think of us that way," he assured her, "And from those that do, I'm willing to tolerate it if it helps to keep our clan safe."
"Do you really believe that it does help?" she asked him.
"I do." She sighed and considered his position for a moment.
"Then I can tolerate it as well," she concluded, "Though I hate it and I always will. If you believe it keeps us safe, then I will trust in you. And I'll even call you 'Goliath', if that's what you wish."
He pulled her tightly to his side and she was quite surprised when he said, "I do not wish it."
"Oh? Very well, I shall call you 'Brother' as I always have."
"No, you won't," he replied gently, "Come the summer, you shall call me your lover…Won't you?" She gazed up at his face and found him in earnest for a reply.
"Oh, of course I will! I couldn't even imagine loving another that way! Not ever!"
"You've made me so happy!" he whispered into her ear, and he pulled her tight into his embrace. And, in silence, they remained that way until the patch of black, star-lit sky visible through the doorway became streaked with hues of purple, pink, and blue.