Wirt stands frozen behind the edelwood, watching as Beatrice stares warily out through the trees. There's enough shadows here that he can't be seen, but if she gets any closer she's sure to notice him. The thought spikes through his distracted thoughts with sharp terror. He backs away, careful to stay within the shadows.
Once he's far away enough he breaks into a run. Leaves crunch underneath his feet without making a sound, his footfalls are the softest of whispers. Upon reaching the Train he glances back, catching sight of Beatrice who is now also running towards the Train, hair flying wildly as she charges forward. It doesn't look like she's noticed him quite yet, her eyes fixed on the Train's front carriage and the wisps of steam still drifting in the air above it. With a panicked haste he hauls himself back into the Train and uses his whole body weight to pull the door shut behind him. It makes a loud clang as the metal slams together. Greg runs over, turtles tumbling from his head. He peers up at Wirt with wide, concerned eyes.
"Wirt?"
Wirt struggles to make words. His heartbeat thuds like a warning. His mind whirs with worried thoughts and that incessant buzzing magic of the amulet.
"…Beatrice." He gestures at the door behind him. Several of the turtles nearby shuffle protectively closer to their lord.
Greg frowns.
"Why're you running from Beatrice? She's not that scary…" He mumbles something about turkeys to himself thoughtfully, before turning his attention back to the present. "Besides, I thought we were trying to find Beatrice? That's why we were going back to Pottsfield!" Greg climbs onto a seat and reaches up to pat Wirt on the cheek. "You gotta face your fears! Beatrice is our friend, and she also has Jason Funderburker, and I really want to see him again."
Wirt sighs at Greg's hopeful face. He wants, so desperately, to be the good older brother that Greg seems to think he is. Outside, he can see Beatrice getting ever closer, fury and desperation incarnate. Fear clutches at his soul and flickers with uncertainty. He could still leave, if he made a dash to the driver's carriage. There's still time. They'd be out of there before Beatrice could reach them.
He looks back at Greg. He needs to be a better brother for him.
Wirt takes a deep breath.
"Okay." He rests a hand on Greg's shoulder. "Beatrice will be here soon. She's worried about you, I'm sure. We're going to tell her you're okay, and that I am too."
Greg hops down from the seat excitedly. "Yeah! We can tell her about all the fun we've been having, how we visited Auntie and Lorna!" A look of shock passes across his face. "Ah beans, I forgot to give them the bell back!"
Wirt wrings his hands. "Don't say anything about the… you know." He splays his fingers on either side of his head, where his antlers should have been. Greg narrows his eyes like a disappointed parent. He looks like he's about to protest when a banging sound comes from the Train door. Wirt whirls around to face it, then back around to Greg, urgency on his face.
"Greg?"
Greg sighs. "Yeah, okay. I won't say nothing."
A final crash sounds as Beatrice manages to yank the door open.
—
Beatrice hauls herself into the Train, breathing hard. She'd hardly had time to think, worried that the train would leave and Greg would slip from her grasp once more. She pushes herself up from the Train floor on shaking arms. All at once she's very aware of the reality that she may die here, or that all she'll find is a wooden corpse.
She looks up ahead of her and stops breathing.
Wirt and Greg, for all appearances completely alive and unharmed, stare back at her.
It's too good to be true.
She wonders briefly if she's hallucinating the brothers, after so long spent worrying about them. But if that were the case, then surely Wirt would look like she last saw him, blue cloaked and with that silly red cone hat. She doesn't think that her mind would conjure a different outfit for him, so hallucinations is most likely not the cause.
They could be tricks left by the Beast. Though she's never heard of the Beast possessing illusion magic, that was more the sort of thing that some witches dealt with. If the Beast could cast illusions then there would be even more edelwoods throughout the Unknown than there already is.
Ghosts is a possibility. Although they are rare, and most "ghost" sightings are actually something ordinary, like when Quincy Endicott first met his wife. She only knows of a handful of real ghost sightings.
They probably aren't ghosts.
Said probably-not-ghosts are still staring at her, though now with more confusion than before thanks to her extended silence.
Greg steps forward with a slight skip. He beams at her. "Hello again Beatrice! I found Wirt!"
Wirt gives her an awkward wave and shuffles further away from her.
They seem to be real…
She drops the axe and it clatters against the floor, staining the carpet with black oil. Before she can get caught up worrying again she strides forward, grabbing Wirt's arm and pulling him down next to Greg. He yelps at the contact and starts to pull away, but not before she's able to wrap her arms around both brothers in a hug. Relieved tears fill her eyes as she holds her friends close, safe. Greg wriggles around until he's able to extract an arm from the embrace to return the hug. Wirt is stiff, his only movement the frantic rise and fall of his chest. He's unnaturally cold, and she wonders how long he's been lost, wandering through the winter's chill.
Eventually she releases them, blinking back tears. Something skitters on the edge of her vision and her eyes dart to the movement, but nothing's there.
Wirt still kneels where she dragged him. It seems like his mind is elsewhere, his eyes unfocused. His breathing is shallow and he appears to be desperately trying not to cry. Greg takes his brothers hand gently and Wirt flinches in surprise, then relaxes upon seeing his brother. He stands hesitantly.
"Hi." He says, then stares off into the distance as though trying to recall something. "Uh… Greg said you were… looking for us? Right?" His hands unconsciously reaches for a necklace he wears and starts fiddling with it.
Beatrice nods. "Yeah… I was worried about you. With the Train around again…" She curses inwardly at her foolishness. She'd let herself forget the danger of this place. "The Beast! Is he here? Did you see?" She looks around nervously and could swear that more somethings scuttle away in the shadows. Wirt twists his necklace back and forth. He laughs, discordant and forced. The smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"There's no Beast here." His eyes flick downwards. "I'm sure."
Greg looks from his brother to her.
"Yeah, don't you remember? Wirt beat the Beast! I mean, I didn't see it, but he told me all about it later and I bet it was so cool! He's the Pilgrim, like the tavern people said! A hero and all that!"
So the Train is running on it's own? She knows it had roamed freely without the Beast before, but the sudden change in its behaviour had to mean something.
"What happened to you, Greg? Back in Pottsfield, I thought…" She sighs. "I thought the Beast took you."
"Nah." Greg smiles like the one word answers everything.
She stares pointedly at Greg, who remains oblivious to her concern. Wirt's eyes dart frantically between her, Greg, and the necklace he still twists and turns in his fingers.
She turns to him instead. "Can you tell me what happened? Were you there?" She frowns. "Why are you here, anyway? Greg said you ran away…?"
Wirt jumps at the attention. "We're all fine! Uh.. that is… the Beast didn't take Greg… and I didn't run away! I left home… very briefly… and I got lost. But it's all fine now because this very safe and helpful train is going to take us home? Right Greg?" He smiles unconvincingly. Greg nods enthusiastically.
She crosses her arms.
"You're lying to me."
"No…! I'm not!"
"Wirt, you're so bad at lying it's painful to watch."
He backs into the wall behind him. Something darts around near her feet, nipping at an ankle before disappearing once more into the shadows. Dread rises in her throat.
"Why are you lying to me, Wirt? Greg?" The young boy presses in closer to his brother and says nothing. Wirt just hangs his head in silent shame.
"What happened?!" She continues, searching the faces of the two brothers for an answer. It's then that she sees it.
Wirt's eyes are leaking black. With one hand he wipes at them in panic, the other continues to pull gently at the necklace around his neck. She recalls an old rhyme told about the Beast.
Tears dark as night and blackened soot
Fall to where the trees take root
For what cruel joke it is to say
The Beast, bowed low, mourns its prey
She steps back. "Your eyes…"
His head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide, deceptively human despite the oil continuing to pour from them.
Greg steps in front of of his brother protectively.
"It's a cold!"
Her blood feels like ice. "That's not what a cold looks like Greg…"
"It's a really rare one called… uh… turtle pox!"
"That's not your brother Greg."
And she lifts the discarded axe from the floor.
—
Beatrice lunges at him with the axe, stopping short inches from his neck. She tilts the blade, trapping him against the side of the carriage. One wrong move and his throat would be cleanly slit.
He thinks for a second about the fact that it wouldn't even kill him. Not anymore.
It's not as comforting a thought as he had hoped.
There's too many thoughts passing through his mind to settle on just one. In this moment he has never felt so helpless, any solution or reasoning just out of reach. So many different conflicting thoughts and worries that his mind might as well be blank.
The amulet buzzes painfully, echoing within his skull. The headache makes him feel as though his head is about to split open, and he wonders whether it'll be the amulet or Beatrice's axe to make the first crack. It's not funny, but a half delirious laugh still escapes him. Beatrice's eyes narrow, and she pushes the axe closer, drawing a thin line of oil black blood that trickles uncomfortably down his neck. Through the noise in his head he can hear Greg crying, begging Beatrice to stop as he clings to her, his fist pummelling uselessly against her thick wool cloak. She curses under her breath, using her spare arm to block Greg from reaching his brother.
"Greg, you have to listen to me. That's the Beast. I'm so sorry, but Wirt is gone. The Beast must have killed him."
She turns back to Wirt and he shrinks under her glare. The shadows at his feet start to whirl around his ankles in an anxious dance.
"What did you do to him?"
His words catch in his throat. A stabbing pain in his temples makes him gasp, more black tears rising to his eyes. Beatrice regards him with disgust.
He'd always imagined people looking at him like that. Always worried about their opinions of him behind his back. Always spent too long planning what to say, how to act, just to ensure he wasn't hated.
"Answer me!"
Yet despite all his work, he's hated. By the one friend he'd most opened up to, the one who'd heard about his weirdness and seen him at his most vulnerable and still stood by him.
Maybe he could let her slit his throat. Let her think that she killed him, and run away when her back is turned. A painful plan surely, but perhaps necessary. Besides, staying here is already causing its own type of pain, both physically and emotionally.
He can't just leave Greg though. His brother deserves to go home, and he doesn't deserve seeing his older brother like this. Somehow, he has to fix this.
"I… didn't… I'm not…" The press of the axe halts his words. He feels it scrape against bone. It sends a shudder up his spine, the ringing, buzzing, screaming ache of the amulet growing in power along with it. He glances down at the acorn necklace, silently willing it to stop.
Beatrice follows his line of sight and snatches the amulet, pulling the cord taut. "This. What is it? You keep looking at it."
He's messed up again. Wirt laughs weakly. He's revealed the amulet to her, just because he couldn't ignore it a bit longer. What a surprise.
She shakes the amulet aggressively in his face, demanding that he answer her. It's sure to break if she keeps this up, and if it breaks…
The words spill from him in a panic.
"Magic… Whispers… she gave me…"
Greg pulls at Beatrice's cloak insistently. Tears cut tracks through the dirt on his face. "We got it from Auntie and Lorna. Wirt wanted to look different because he thought you wouldn't like him! But you do, you do like him, you're friends, right? Let him go please…?"
Greg's voice sounds so pitiful and desperate, and Wirt feels an overwhelming urge to pick him up and hold him tight, safe and comfortable in a hug.
The axe at his throat prevents that though.
That, and his once-friend, who pushes Greg away from him with her spare arm. Her furious gaze would cut through to his soul, if it still resided within him.
"You've done something to Greg. Some sort of enchantment. And it's connected to this amulet…?"
"No!" The thought appalls him. That he would do that. That she would think he would do that.
The shadows climb higher, flickering around his waist and in the corners of the Train carriage. Twisted, screaming faces of horror and despair fade in and out of their swirling depths. Turtles scurry through them, in and out, blending in with the darkness as they coordinate.
Beatrice ignores them. She's the one in control here. She grins, all bitter anger and resentment.
"Why don't we find out?" Beatrice yanks the amulet hard, the cord holding valiantly for a few seconds before giving way. She lets it drop to the floor. It rolls slightly, then is absorbed into the mass of shadows and turtles under a seat. He doesn't notice though.
Finally.
It's as though he's breathing fresh air after drowning. It's as though he's woken from a nightmare. He sags against the wall with the sheer relief flooding him, despite the part of him that knows he should be concerned. He should be horrified that Beatrice is seeing him like this, that Greg has to see him like this again, but the relief is overpowering.
Antlers reach out from his skull once more as the illusion breaks. His eyes return to their shifting red blue yellow, bright and saturated with his fear. The shadows gathering around him thicken to voids, half his body and patches of the Train turned to empty blackness. The edelwood branches that adorn the Train start to writhe.
He's never felt so alive.
Beatrice's eyes widen and she instinctively steps back. He takes the welcome opportunity to slip away from under her axe, whirling around behind her to the other side of the carriage. Putting as much distance between them as he can, while still keeping Greg in sight.
Beatrice grabs Greg and shoves him behind her, levelling her axe at Wirt's chest. She doesn't move. Neither does he. Just stares at her with fire bright eyes.
"The Lantern!" She hisses to Greg.
Greg shakes his head stubbornly. His tears start to dry on his face, the danger to his brother lessened.
"Don't know where it is. You should ask your friend Wirt 'bout it." He folds his arms. "But I don't think he'll want you to see it right now because you're not being very nice to him."
"Greg!"
She growls in frustration and starts herding the boy towards the door, eyes focused on Wirt the whole time. Greg yells and protests but she ignores him.
The turtles finally emerge from their hiding places within the shadows, a roiling wave of shiny black shells that encircle her and Greg, blocking the exit. Greg laughs and pets the shells as they pass, giving praise and encouragement. Beatrice goes still, not daring to touch the Beast's creatures.
Wirt glides forward, shadows flowing in his wake. His fear feels more distant like this. Without the amulet confusing his mind he feels more whole, more real. It gives him strength he hadn't expected, a strange calm muffling his anxieties.
"Beatrice. Listen to me. Please?"
She spits at him. "Save your words Beast. I know your tricks."
He pauses. Considers.
"You remember Endicott?"
She blinks. "Huh?"
"We had to get two pennies for the ferry. So you made me search the armoire for money. We got trapped, and I told you my worst secrets. The ones I had at that time, at least."
Beatrice stares at him in confusion. Her grip on the axe loosens ever so slightly.
He presses on.
"No one else was there. You know that. I was there, and I told you about Sara, and my clarinet, and… my poetry. Because I am me… I mean I am Wirt." He steps closer, watching the axe cautiously. "I should have said something from the start. Greg told me to… I should have listened. I didn't want you to…" He sighs. "I didn't want you to see me as a monster. Too late now I guess."
She lowers the axe an inch. "You look like the Beast." Her voice is uncertain.
Wirt shrugs. "Side effect of killing him it seems."
"The Train…?"
"It found me. I don't really know what's going on with it most of the time… I mean I know it has something to do with the Beast…" He reaches a hand towards her. The shaking in his hand, in his voice, is almost unnoticeable.
"I didn't want to take Greg like that. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I just… I keep messing stuff up but I am trying, I promise."
She turns to Greg and gives the younger brother a questioning look. He smiles somewhat sadly.
"I wanted to tell you about Wirt's cool antlers and pretty eyes but he said not to. Didn't want to worry him." He wades through the sea of turtles towards Wirt and throws his arms wide. "But you see now how cool Wirt and all his turtle friends are! I've gotta introduce you to them all! And then we can all go together and visit Auntie and Lorna again, or Unkie Endicott and Auntie Grey and Fred! Or Jason's ferry friends… or those kids from the school!" He twirls in excitement. Wirt smiles hesitantly, looking at Beatrice with a silent plea.
She thinks about his words. He was right, only her and Wirt would know what happened during their attempts to steal from Endicott. Unless the Beast made a habit of hiding in the armoires of rich people's mansions… which she highly doubted he did.
Besides, the antlered boy before her is so very Wirt in his mannerisms and how he speaks.
She broke the amulet… and yet Greg still remains happily and faithfully by his brother's side. Because that is his brother there, that is Wirt. Her friend, who she'd just drawn an axe on. Her friend, with black blood still seeping from a deep cut in his neck. The carriage feels like it's spinning around her, the relief of finding Wirt turned to fear of the Beast, turned once more to relief at finding Wirt and mortification at her actions. It's a lot to wrap her head around. She lets herself collapse into a seat, the turtles dutifully letting her move now that the danger to their lord has passed. Wirt sits next to her awkwardly.
"You believe me…?"
She sighs. "Yeah. Wirt..." Her eyes catch sight of the blood again and she looks away, picking at the lace of her sleeve as she thinks.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you. I thought…"
"You wanted to protect Greg. I wasn't exactly giving the best impression." He buries his head in his hands. His laugh is muffled. "I mean… I didn't even plan properly. I was so focused on hiding how I looked…"
Greg hops up to sit next to him. He leans his head against his brother's arm and closes his eyes. "That's why you need me! I'm very good at planning."
Wirt makes an unconvinced sound in response. He does not dare to look at Beatrice and see her reaction, what she thinks of him.
Instead he focuses on the line of turtles determinedly making their way up his leg to offer support. He recognises some of the ones that Greg and him had named earlier, the slightly mossy shell of Aarghaumont, the crown-like ridges of Princess Andy's head. Baron Doctor and Tubbs Tarbell accompany Woody Guthrie, one of the turtles he's started to grow particularly attached to.
Beatrice breaks the silence.
"What happened…?" She reaches a hand as though to lay it on his shoulder, then remembers the blood-like edelwood oil that still streaks it and draws it away quickly. "Are you… cursed?"
Wirt startles. "What? No!" He helps the last turtles struggling to climb his leg. "I'm not… huh. Maybe? I don't think I'm cursed? Wouldn't there have been some sort of… you know… spell? Curse words?" He realises what he's said. "…I mean like, words of casting a curse, not those sort of curse words."
She laughs hesitantly. "You sure you don't mean that sort?" That's how the bluebird did it."
He turns to face her in an instant. "What?" He asks incredulously.
"Yeah, just looked me in the eyes and said…" She glances over at Greg, falling asleep at Wirt's side, and decides to mouth the next two words. "…and then I became a bluebird! Some magic users can do that, cast a spell with more intent than actual incantation…"
Wirt processes her words. "Huh. But I still think I'd know if someone cursed me?"
She shrugs. "I'm not an expert."
A memory springs to his mind.
"You know… Greg wanted me to ask you if you knew any sort of magical solution. And also about where to get some magic gardening shears, but I'm not too keen on that idea."
"I can imagine."
"…be jus like th'bird scissorssss…" Greg mumbles sleepily.
Wirt winces. "I'm… not so sure about that."
Beatrice smiles. "I'm sure we'll figure something out. I'm just… I'm glad you're safe. Both of you."
Wirt's rainbow eyes go wide for a moment, and then he returns her smile.
"…Thank you. I'm glad you're okay too."
—
The moon has risen and bathed the forest in an eerie glow by the time anyone moves. The sudden glow of candles lighting themselves to illuminate the Train startles Wirt into remembering his duties, and he carefully extracts himself from under Greg, who's fallen asleep by his side. He props his brother's head up with his rolled cloak instead, then tiptoes out towards the front carriage.
Beatrice catches his eye with a concerned look.
"Where're you going?" It's a warning as much as it is a question. She's making sure he won't try and run away again.
"To the front. I'm getting us out of here… It doesn't feel right for the Train to be stopped here for so long. Not safe." He cringes inwardly. It feels wrong, talking about things like this with Beatrice. As though it's normal. As though she didn't just try and kill him over it less than an hour ago.
She just nods with semi-understanding. "You control this thing?"
"…yeah." He thinks about his time spent alone aboard the Train. "Well, not entirely but… yeah, somewhat."
"We should go to Pottsfield."
Memories of edelwood branches snaking out of the Train rise to Wirt's mind.
"What? Why…?"
She grimaces. "Left the frog there. In case… Greg turned up again."
"Oh…" Right. He'd forgotten about Jason Funderburker the second.
"Just one last reunion to go!" She jokes. Wirt's expression turns somber.
"…Wirt?"
He considers not telling her.
As if that ever went well.
"…I need to take Greg home."
Beatrice looks disappointed for a moment. Then it's gone, and her expression returns to concern.
"You know the way?"
He taps on the carriage wall. "Yeah. I can get him back home."
She finds the wording of his answer worrying.
"You'll both go home, right?"
"People don't tend to have antlers where I'm from, Bea." The words feel bitter in his mouth, the casual admittance that he's something other. She'll hate him again, she'll pick up the axe and…
"They don't here either. What's the difference?" Her tone is carefully neutral.
He sits back down with a shaky exhale. "They'd put me in some sort of lab or something. Or run me over with a tank maybe… my world really doesn't have anything like this…" The idea of returning to his old home scares him more than anything.
Beatrice doesn't recognise most of the things he mentions, but understands what he's trying to say.
"What about Greg?"
The question hits him like a sledgehammer. What about Greg?
Wirt's face flashes through a series of emotions, eyes swirling with colour. He laughs without humour and puts on a fake cheerfulness. "Well, I'll be abandoning him… again!" He clasps his hands together in mock praise. "Oh what an amazing example of a brother I am!" His tone turns to bitter regret "…can't do anything right, can I?"
"…Wirt."
He meets her gaze with a blank stare. Sighs and lets his hands drop back down to his side.
"You're doing your best."
"Not that it's doing any good…"
She glares at him half heartedly. "I turned my siblings and parents to bluebirds. All 'cause I lost it over some dumb bird. You helped me fix that. It's only right I try and help you with whatever this is that's causing you problems."
"Hmmmm."
"I mean it Wirt. I owe you… that's the bluebird rules, right?" She laughs quietly at her own joke.
He just stares at her a moment longer, lost in thought. With a jolt he snaps back to the present, his eyes flicking to the lit candles.
"…I've gotta go. Start the… Train. You know…" He sidesteps out of the carriage awkwardly.
The rest of the Train is oddly quiet without Beatrice's hushed questions and Greg's gentle snoring. The crackle of candle flame echoes throughout the carriages as he makes his way to the front. When he starts the Train on its next trip, the rumble of movement is a relief, a sound as familiar and comforting as his own heartbeat.
By the time he returns to Beatrice and Greg they are both sound asleep. He tiptoes past on shadow soft feet, stopping briefly to scoop the amulet from the floor, and finds himself his own spot to sleep. Woody Guthrie the turtle takes up residence sleeping on top of Wirt's hair, and then more turtles start crowding around him like an ebony blanket.
Soon the heartbeat thrum of the Train lulls him to sleep, and he drifts into pleasant dreams.
—
He dreams of his Train.
The Train sings in metal creaks and whispering leaves and old forgotten melodies. It sings of rest and endings, of quiet peace. He travels the tracks as though he has done so all his life, his Train stops where he wills it, stops where it must. Each stop there is a weary soul, and he greets them with a smile as they board his Train with dreamlike calm. They sit beside him and tell their story.
Once each soul passes fully into the Unknown he leaves for the next. It is repetitive work, but it is not dull. He learns of the lives each soul has lived, and each relived smile of a passenger fills him with a happy sense of purpose.
He sings goodbyes and lullabies to soothe their lifetime worries, letting them drift away with each tired soul that journeys with him.
The tracks are his Styx, the Train his ferry. And he is Charon and Thanatos in one, the guide and the end.
The Unknown sings in the voices of grateful dead, and he is at peace.
—
Wirt wakes slowly, clinging to the remnants of his dreams. They fade from his memory fast, until all he can remember is a feeling of strange peace. The hollow space within him that once held a soul twists uncomfortably, tugging him with a gentle insistence.
He runs his fingers through Greg's hair and ruffles it, waking the young boy. Greg flops over onto his side and blinks groggily at his older brother leaning over him.
"Is't time…? Morn…ing?" He yawns.
"Yep. We've arrived at Pottsfield."
The tiredness drains from Greg's face when he realises.
"Oh boy oh boy! Jason Funderburker is waiting for me! We gotta go…!" He rolls himself off the seat and runs to wake Beatrice, who grumbles in confusion and shields her eyes against the sunlight.
"We're at Pottsfield." He says in response to Beatrice's questioning look.
"Oh. Guess we better tell them we're not dead then. Some of those weirdos were actually really concerned about Greg." She winces. "I told Enoch about my plans. That's going to take some explaining…"
Wirt recalls the feeling of metal scraping against bone. He hopes the Pottsfielders don't intend to follow up on Beatrice's past plans.
By this point they're sure to have noticed the Train's return. Hiding is futile.
"I should talk to Enoch. Apologise. He knows me somewhat… so it should be fine?" He retrieves the amulet from his pocket. "Besides, I've got this." Wirt says with fake confidence. The amulet sways where it dangles from his hand, the seemingly ordinary charm making his skin crawl. He suppresses a shudder and stuffs it back into his pocket.
"Oh right… what is that exactly?"
Greg responds before he's able to. "I told you! We went to see Auntie and Lorna and they made Wirt a magic necklace!"
"…It's some sort of… illusion charm?" Wirt clarifies.
"Auntie and Lorna…?"
"Yeah, remember? Whispers and Lorna? We met them when… oh. Right." He stops to gather his thoughts. "Uh… me and Greg met them after Adelaide… they're witches…" He notices her expression "…but not like that type of witch! We helped them with a… flesh-eating-spirit-problem."
"Lorna tried to eat us!" Greg supplies helpfully.
Beatrice stares at the two of them for a long while. Her expression is somewhere between horror and stern disappointment.
"…It wasn't actually Lorna who tried to eat us. It was the spirit, and we dealt with that so…" He wrings his hands. "Trust me, I wouldn't take Greg back there if she… yeah."
Beatrice calms slightly. "Can't leave you two alone, can I?"
Neither brother responds.
She sighs.
"Come on then. We'll go talk to Enoch and get the frog. And you can use your witch amulet from your friend who tried to eat you." She shakes her head in exasperation.
Wirt frowns in response, but dutifully follows her and Greg towards the door. He takes a breath, and ties the amulet back around his neck.
The buzzing is back, but not unbearably so. Not yet.
He has time. Time to try and fix things. Time before his mind is consumed once more by the pain and noise.
Pottsfield awaits.
Everyone's back together! Apart from Jason Funderburker. Poor frog.
See how many turtle name references you can recognise!
— Uboacore