Teresa Brisby finished bringing the last of the seeds out of storage, dumping the large sack of coconut-sized corn seeds onto the pile. She gave a tired sigh afterwards, rubbing the soreness from her arms; all of winter months spent underground always took their toll on a working mouse's muscles, turning them soft from lack of use for such a long period of time. It would be a few weeks before she and the rest of her family would regain their usual strength, and farming could properly begin.
Currently twelve years of age, Teresa had only been about three when her father moved his family away from Rosebush City and built their little home here, at the Lee of the Stone; only a few weeks after Martin was born. She barely remembered anything of the capital city, though; her life was that of a field mouse, through and through. And it was a good life, overall: peaceful most of the time, with plenty of food on the table, a strong roof over their heads, and a loving family.
But she'd be lying if she said it wasn't a little…empty.
When her father said they were going to get away from it all, he hadn't been joking: some days, the Lee of the Stone felt like a tiny island separated from the rest of Nimh by a sea of grass and trees. The closest place where other mice lived was Dapplewood, and that was at least a three-day trip by foot. She and her siblings had a few friends there, but they only saw them once every few months, whenever they visited to buy supplies, tools, and other things needed for the farm, as well as sell some of their produce in the market.
The only non-family member they ever saw on a regular basis was her mother's adoptive 'aunt', Auntie Shrew, but she was a mean-tempered, no-nonsense old rodent with absolutely no sense of humor and barely any patience for the antics of children; she and Martin constantly got on each other's nerves, getting into shouting fights all the time. There was also Mr. Ages, an old friend of her father back in the day, but he lived almost half a day's travel from the stone, in one of the old human ruins. He was also a complete and utter recluse that didn't like visitors at all, only interacting with others when he absolutely had to. The only reason he even gave them any time of the day was because they were related to his friend.
It other words, it was a rather dull life for the children; no friends to play with or talk to outside of each other, and nowhere to go that didn't require their parents to watch them…
…or their mother to watch them, as it was now.
The furling paused and closed her eyes, bracing herself as the wave of sadness passed over her, triggered by the knowledge that she was never going to see her father again. The memory of that horrible night when they received the news was still clear as day, and the wound it made still open in all their hearts. None more-so than her mother, who now carried the burden of taking care of her family all by herself, having assumed the role of family leader after his passing.
A difficult job for her, as she was not nearly as experienced in the matters of providing for a family as her husband had been. She had always been the one to take care of the children while he brought home the cheese, so to speak. Which now left her struggling to adapt to this more-demanding life, made all the more difficult by the emotional pain of the loss (and the fear of the now-uncertain future), constantly hanging overhead like a dark cloud.
It was heart-breaking to watch; their poor mother, carrying the weight of it all on top of the gaping hole in her heart, trying her hardest to protect her children from a world that was simply waiting for her to make a mistake.
She couldn't stay like this forever. None of them could; lost and weary of the life and love they would never have again.
Things needed to change, and soon. For all their sake.
Teresa pushed these thoughts down, taking a deep breath; that could wait. There was work to be finished for the day, and now they had to make every moment count if they hoped to harvest before winter. But before that, she needed to check on her siblings to make sure they were doing alright…or doing work at all. She gave a flat look of annoyance at that thought: Martin was supposed to be collecting firewood, but given his absence around the face-cord stack, it was likely he had slipped away to take a nap, as he often did when no one was-
"-if you would just give me a second to explain! I've got no interest in you or your mouse friends!"
The young mouse's ears perked up at the unfamiliar shout; she didn't recognize that voice. Who was that?
"Think you can come sneaking about, destroying our crops, and terrorizing our furlings? Now that there's no one around to stop you?"
That voice she did recognize. It was Auntie Shrew's, and she sounded very unhappy, more so than usual. Who was she talking to? She barely had time to ponder the question before it was answered in what was, perhaps, the most peculiar sight she had ever seen:
Strung up like a fresh roast ready for the oven and being dragged through the dirt by her cantankerous aunt, was an Honest-to-Frith Fairy: a sight the furling had honestly never expected to ever see outside of bedtime storybooks and dreams. She looked just how her father use to describe them in his tales of his past; like a furless, clear-skinned, slim-bodied woman with pointy ears, large butterfly-like wings, and other insect body-parts; she was even wearing a pretty yellow-and-orange dress made from flower petals to complete the image. She was much bigger than Teresa had pictured them from said stories, though: easily as large as Justin, her father's old rat friend from Rosebush City, by no means the tiny fluttering pixie of fairy-tales.
She was also outright snarling like an angry weasel, baring teeth that were far too sharp and cat-like to be in the mouth of such a human-like creature, though given her current situation she could hardly be blamed for it.
Her entire body was bound in several yards of Auntie's Shrew's home-woven 'No-Fae String', from her ankles to her shoulders, binding her legs together while pinning her arms to her sides and her wings to her back, leaving the Fae unable to do much else but wiggle like a stuck caterpillar as she was dragged across the ground by the shrew, who had the ugliest look of contempt Teresa had even seen (and contempt was her natural state of emotion, so that was saying something). The shrew pulled her captive along by the string around the heels, dragging her out from the depths of the cornfield and towards the old, almost-dead bush that stood at the edge of the farm; a bush they used to hang items up off the ground. A web of similar strings hung from its bare, skeletal branches, normally used to string up baskets of food off the ground to keep the bugs from getting them, though today they were about to used for something very different.
And beside it all was a trembling Cynthia, who was all but clinging to Auntie Shrew, holding onto her aunt's scarf with her good hand as if her life depended on it, forcing the older rodentkin to almost dance her steps around the frightened furling.
It took a moment for Teresa to find her voice again, so taken aback by the unexpectedness of the situation.
"…A-Auntie Shrew, what's going on?" she finally asked as she caught up to them near the base of the bush, hesitantly approaching the commotion with cautious steps.
"Ah, Teresa! Perfect timing!" Auntie Shrew said as she promptly let go of her captive, allowing the fairy's legs to fall to the ground. "I found this ruffian caught up in one of my traps." She explained as she guided Cynthia from her side to the older furling. She then turned back to her captive with another ugly glare. "It appears she's the one responsible for hurting dear Cynthia, conjuring images of giant monsters to scare the wits out of the poor dear!"
"If you call simply stumbling across each other 'to scare the wits out of someone'." The fairy growled as she squirmed against her bonds, to no avail.
"Hmph! You're not fooling me with your forked-tongued lies!" The elderly rodentkin harrumphed, fetching one of the long strings hanging down from the bush. "I know all about you Fae and your trickster ways!"
"Clearly." Said Fae muttered as the old rodent tied the hanging rope to the one binding her ankles.
"Silver-tongued devils, the lot of you!" She continued on her tirade as she pulled hard on the other end of it; the fairy gave a light yelp of surprise as she was suddenly hoisted up into the air by her feet like the load of a pulley, hanging upside down like a cocooned caterpillar. Numerous items she had in her skirt-pockets fell out with a clatter, scattering lightly across the ground around her. "Your kind thinks, just because you have magical power over the world, that you can just torment and harass the 'lesser mortals' however you please, right?"
"Well…" The fairy began with a snide voice.
"Wrrrrong!" Auntie Shrew interrupted, tying the string off around an upturned root, giving it an extra yank for good measure. "You, in particular, have a lot of nerve: poisoning the crops and terrorizing the furlings of a young, recently-widowed mother. Have you no shame in yourself?"
That actually made the winged girl blanch a bit, her apathetic face actually twisting in an almost comical look of realization. "I…well, dang. When you put it that way…I am a bit of a twat, aren't I?" She asked.
Teresa made a face at that remark, too late to cover her little sister's ears but instinctively placing her paws over them anyway; she didn't know what the word meant, but she knew a swear word when she heard one. Hardly the kind of language she expected a graceful, dainty fairy like the ones in the stories to say.
She also hoped Martin hadn't been nearby when she said that, otherwise she'd predict there would be many mouthfuls of soap coming his way in the future.
Auntie Shrew continued rattling on without missing a beat, grabbing a second string, and looping it around the fairy's head. "The sooner you self-serving ruffians learn to treat your fellow Soul Bearers with respect, the better!"
"Look, for the last sarding time, I was just passing through and w-I spooked her by accident! I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt!" The fairy said in a truly exasperated voice, sounding completely and utterly done with the situation she had found herself in. "It would save us both a lot of trouble if you would just let me-MMPPHHH!"
Whatever she was about to say was abruptly cut off as the string was pulled around her head in a way that not only pulled her up into a horizontal position, but also slip directly through her open mouth like a horse's bridle, effectively gagging her on the spot.
"That's enough out of you!" The shrew snapped, tying the string off near the first, effectively stringing her up like a slab of meat for all the predators of the wild to snack upon. "A few days out here ought to give you time to rethink your lot in life!"
"D-Don't you think that's a bit harsh, Auntie?" Teresa asked, even as Cynthia timidly clung to her dress in fear. "She did say it was an accident."
The older rodentkin gave her a look of disapproval. "Teresa, dear, do remember everything I taught you about the Fae people." She scolded her, taking on her 'teaching stance' as she often did when lecturing them. "They live for the trickery of Rodentkin; everything that comes out of their mouths is in the name of deceiving us into their vile tricks, so they may swoop in and make off with our livelihoods and even our children when we least expect it! Why, she would go as far as to trick us into believing she was King Nicodemus himself if it meant getting us to lower our guards!"
Teresa pretended to be listening to her aunt's word with rapt attention, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the bound fairy had stopped struggling to watch the shrew with a completely dumbfounded look, as if she herself couldn't believe the sheer nonsense she was hearing.
And to be honest, the young mouse found herself equally doubtful, although she was wise enough not to show it.
But no more objections could be made, as she found her aunt pulling her over by the wrist, away from Cynthia towards the bound fairy.
"Now, I want you and your brother to keep an eye on this hooligan and make sure she doesn't get away, until I can get help!" She instructed her firmly as she handed her the string that held the trap together; Teresa took it hesitantly, unsure of the whole situation. The old rodentkin picked up her walking stick and promptly poked the fairy in the side of the head with it. "And as for you, you fluttering floozy!" She snapped, resulting in an insulted *mmph!* of anger. "I wouldn't try anything. I shall…return!"
And with that, she promptly hobbled off in a huff, muttering under her breath as she began the long trip to Mr. Age's house, leaving the two children to watch over their 'captive'.
Zoe waited until the shrew disappeared into the woods before she gave a truly exasperated sigh and slumped against her bonds, unable to do much more than hang limply in the air. There were many ways she had planned to spend the first day she and Spyro returned to Nimh, and believe it or not, this was not one of them.
'You just had to try the nice route, didn't you?' She mentally berated herself in agitation, both from her own mistake of getting caught and from the anti-fae ropes that were starting to irritate her skin. 'Couldn't have just blown the farm off the face of the map and be done with it when you had the chance, could you?! You just had to go and be Miss Goody Two Shoes for once?! Now look at you: captured by an old hag and a bunch of furlings! Next time Mr. Shoulder Angel decides to open his big mouth, he's going on the spit!'
She gave a weary groan, utterly done with the situation but unable to do anything to get out of it. Spyro was never going to let her live it down when he came back for her, and the Hollow forbid Oberon and the council ever find out about this little screw-up.
She was pulled out of her internal rant when another furling emerged from the nearby grass: the grey boy mouse with the blue T-shirt. And judging from both his timing and the grumpy look on his face, he had been waiting until the shrew left until he revealed himself. A smart move on his part, Zoe thought.
"That bossy bullfrog…" the boy furling grumbled, slapping his palm with his stick as if it was a weapon. "Who does she think she is? Ordering us around like she's Mom…"
"Martin!" The girl furling, 'Teresa', hissed at her brother.
Zoe turned her attention away from the incoming sibling conflict to try her luck escaping. The shrew had made a mistake stringing the gag in her mouth; while it may have had the ability to cancel out fay magic, her teeth were still as sharp and deadly as ever. She bit down into the rope, ignoring the burning sting of salt in her mouth, and began working her jaws back and forth in a sawing motion. She could feel the tiny threads snap one by one against the sharp edges of her fangs.
If she could keep this up without being caught for just a few seconds longer…
A sudden weight pulled on her from the side, causing her to bob mid-air and the strings to dig into her arms and legs. She gave a muffled yelp of pain before straining her neck over to see what caused it; out of the corner of her eye, she saw the boy furling, 'Martin', climbing up one of the strings, moving with a surprising amount of agility than she would've thought a creature of his girth could.
"Martin, what are you doing?!" Teresa asked in a fretful tone.
"I'm untying her, what does it look like?" He stated as if it was the most obvious thing, shimmying up until he plopped himself on Zoe's back as if riding a horse; despite being less than half her size, she could still feel the additional weight pull on her bonds. His soft fur also tickled her bare arms, and it took a good deal of willpower to keep from reacting.
Teresa looked outright alarmed at the idea. "B-But you heard what Auntie Shrew said!" She objected, still holding onto the string she had been handed. "If we let her go-!"
"Since when does anything that loud-mouth says actually comes true?" Martin scoffed dismissively as he fiddled with the binding around the fairy's head. "Besides, Dad always said the fairies were his friends; even had adventures with some before he met Mom! I'll believe him over that old shrew any day."
That brought a look of conflict to the female furling's face. "Well, y-yeah. But…" She stammered, now unsure.
Whatever further objections she could've made were rendered moot; whether the boy furling had finished untying the string around the fairy's mouth or said fairy's teeth had finally finished biting through it, the gag around her head snapped loose. Zoe barely had time to get a gasp of fresh air before she fell from her suspended trap, landing face-first on the ground with an audible 'THUMP!'. Cynthia gave an audible squeak of fear before she scampered behind her sister's skirts, while the older furling herself gave a small chirp of surprise at the sudden fall.
Zoe, meanwhile, lifted her face out of the dirt and promptly spat the loose strands of string out of her mouth. "Thank you very much! You have no idea how much this stuff burns."
"She's talking!" Cynthia squeaked, only vaguely aware that she wasn't supposed to listen to fairies speak.
The brown-haired fairy only gave the furling an unamused look before she wriggled over onto her back; with a lift and a heave with her legs, she managed to flip herself up into a sitting position, folding her bound legs against themselves to keep herself steady. Then, with an impressive amount of bodily control, she managed to heave herself forward and push herself up onto her feet; at that point, it was merely an act of standing up without falling over and she was upright again. The furlings all stared up in awe at how tall she was; at least the same height as the average rat, standing more than twice their own height.
"Yes, yes, it is I: The Great and Terrible Zoe, here to steal all your left socks, turn your grannies into slugs, and all that other evil fairy stuff. You have that for an aunt, you know the drill." She stated flatly, wobbling back and forth in place like a sack full of water. The furlings gathered around her, their expressions now those of curiosity rather than fear. "Now that we've established that, can you untie me now? As I said, these strings burn something fierce."
"What are you doing here?" Teresa asked as she walked around her, hesitantly unwinding her bonds yet still genuinely curious.
"You know, I'm actually here to ask you guys the exact same thing." Zoe told her, turning her body in place to follow her gaze. This ended up being a mistake, though; she barely had time to realize this action had thrown off her already-weakened balance when she felt herself begin to tilt forward.
"Legs! Legs! LEEEEEEEGS!" She cried, but it was too late.
Cynthia, who was following her sister with the end of the string in her good hand, barely had time to drop said string and scamper out of Zoe's shadow before the fairy keeled over like a falling tree and once again found herself becoming personally (and painfully) acquainted with the earth.
"Ow…" She grumbled in the dirt; something definitely broke that time.
She felt the pitter-patter of paws in front of her, and she pulled her face up out of the dirt to see Cynthia leaning in to examine her, her large, outright comically-adorable eyes wide with a mix of childlike wonder and caution.
"Oh, the poor bumble-bee lady fell down." She cooed in a pitiful tone, as if trying to make her feel better.
Zoe blanched, taken quite aback by that statement, before promptly rolling over onto her side.
"I-wha-…where in the Hollow did you get Bumble-Bee from?" she asked in an exasperatedly-incredulous manner, pushing herself up into a sitting position again; it was by no means the worst thing she had been called, not by a long shot, but she was still dumbfounded by it. "A Butterfly, maybe, but why a Bumble-Bee?"
The blonde furling pointed to Zoe's abdomen-tail and, with all the tactfulness a three-year-old could possibly have, matter-of-factly said: "You have a bumble bee butt."
Teresa had to clap her hands over her mouth to stop the squeak of laughter from escaping her lips, failing to suppress the giggles from escaping. Martin didn't even bother to try hiding it, outright rolling onto his back with his arms around his stomach, openly guffawing. Cynthia was completely unaware as to why her siblings were laughing, but laughter is nothing if not contagious for children, and soon she was giggling as well, even if she didn't truly know why.
Zoe watched the three giggling away without a care in the world, their smiles pure and untainted by the burdens of the world, and she felt that pesky bite of ol' Mr. Conscience gnaw at her insides…until a fourth voice brushed against the tips of her ears; one that she was far more familiar with. It was so deliberately distant and quiet, she almost missed it completely, but her fairy ears were just sharp enough to pick up noises that mouse ears evidently could not…and the guttural rattle of saurian vocalizations was undeniable.
Keeping an unamused expression on her face, she glanced in the direction of the noise; this made it look like she was merely rolling her eyes at the laughing children, so as to avoid drawing their attention to where Spyro was hiding.
And sure enough, there he was.
In the cornfield behind the furlings, concealed within the shadows, she spotted him; the dim light barely reflected off his scales, casting a dim outline of his large form in the shade. If that wasn't enough, the star-like glow of his eyes was shining forth in the dark, and within those eyes, even from all the way over here, she could see it: that unmistakable glint of amusement, as well as the gleaming reflection of his teeth, his jaws open and his lips curled up as the quiet guttural laughter bubbled up from his throat.
The fairy fought the urge to snarl in disbelief as well as exasperation; had he been there the entire time?! Just sitting back and watching her be dragged around like a sack of dead meat, letting these cheese-nibbling rascals use her as a glorified punching bag?! She narrowed her eyes dangerously at him, hoping he could see her displeasure from this distance; it sure was easy to laugh at one's humiliation when you weren't the one going through it, wasn't it?!
The Bond she shared with him be damned; once she got out of this mess, she was going to turn his tail into a dragon-scale purse! It would go nicely with the boots she made out of the rest of him!
"So…" Teresa started, prompting the scowling fairy to drop her frown and turn her attention back to the mice. "If you aren't here to 'curse our farm' or that kinda stuff, then why are you here?"
"As I said before, that's the very question I came to ask you." Zoe told her. "You mice are a few days afar from Dapplewood, don't you think?"
"What do you mean? We live here." Martin answered rather firmly, taking a bit of a defensive tone towards her question. "This is our home."
"And your home is on our land." She fired right back, unfazed by his remark. "This is Feywild: Fae Territory, that you've built your farm on, and we don't like trespassers." She motioned to the stone towering over them with a nod of the head. "The Lee of the Stone, in particular, is also a very important place to us fairies: a place we gave to a very close friend of ours."
After saying this, she took the moment to observe their reactions.
Martin remained stubbornly firm on his stance, scowling at her like she was the one in the wrong here. Teresa, on the other hand, seemed to recognize the severity of the situation, if the look of concerned fear coming over her face was anything to judge by.
Zoe was impressed at that; it appears that at least one of them was smarter than the rustic surroundings would lead others to believe. That meant that at least one of their parents had the smarts to school their children at home, far away from any towns and the schools they had. A luxury not a lot of Mice Rodentkin could afford, as higher education was usually something only the Rats or richer families of lesser rodentkin were granted access to through privilege.
And Cynthia was…wait, where was the-?
That's when she saw her, and the fairy had to bite down on her own tongue to keep from outright screaming.
While they had been talking, the youngest mouse had wandered over to where all of Zoe's belongings had fallen across the ground and was now going through them like the child she was, fascinated by all the shiny new toys to play with. And the one she decided to play with was none other than the Speaking Crystal that she had just been talking to Oberon with! And she was rubbing her good paw across the surface! If she touched it two more times like that, the spell would activate, and she would get a personal introduction to the King of Feywild!
Then there would be no chance for negotiation at that point.
Zoe wanted to shout at her not to touch it, but she realized doing so would only make things worse; not only was the tension between them already dangerously tense at this point, but revealing she had direct connections to the king of all fairy kind would probably only encourage them to use it. The very innocence of childhood that was her saving grace was now turned against her in the most ironic sense.
Truly a double-edged sword.
"Well, we were here first!" Martin snapped at her, drawing her attention back to the conversation. "And we've never seen this 'special friend' of yours."
Zoe turned back to the two older mice, though she kept the nerve-wracking sight of Cynthia playing with the crystal in her peripheral vision. "That's because said friend and I have been away for a while, and only just got back this morning." She explained, already aware of how contrived that sounded.
"How do we know you're not lying?" Martin continued, waving his little stick at her face like a sword.
Zoe cocked an eyebrow at the rather silly display of childish bravado. "Let me ask you this, then: how long have you mice lived here?"
Martin opened his mouth to say something, but Teresa beat him to it. "About nine years." She explained, looking a little skeptical herself but still playing the role of peace-keeper. "Dad moved us here a few weeks after Martin was born."
'Figures…' The fairy thought to herself; literally only one year after she and Spyro had left for the Dragon Realms…and roughly the time they were supposed to come back home to Nimh, were it not for the greenskin idiot with the eggshell ego dragging them into that stupid quest to save said realms.
"And we've been gone for ten, so you just missed us." She told them with a sigh, already internally cringing from how much of a lie it sounded like; even if it was true, it sounded way too convenient to be believable. And they apparently thought so too, if their now-doubtful faces were anything to go by. Teresa gave her own sigh and glanced toward her brother expectantly, who only nodded in response.
"Okay…maybe Auntie Shrew was right this time." He admitted, picking up the string that he had untied Zoe from, earning a groan of defeat from the fairy. "Guess fairies can't be trusted after all."
Zoe gave the mouse boy a flat, unamused glance, as if she was about to say something, until a sudden movement behind them caught her eye.
The movement of a very large creature that finally decided to act.
Martin had barely taken a step towards her before she spoke again, a bright gleam of pride and smugness in her eyes. "Then perhaps you'll believe his word instead."
The furling boy paused in confusion, turning to look at his equally confused sister, when a deep, draconian growl thundered through their bones like the rumble of an earthquake, impacting them with all the subtlety of a thunderclap. They didn't have the time to comprehend their own shocked fear before the cornstalks behind them began to sway and crack, the tall plants being shoved aside as a massive saurian form pushed its way through. Large wings shoved the wall apart as their owner stepped out from his hiding place, his form and power looming over the four creatures with all the presence of a dormant volcano, just waiting to erupt.
Cynthia stared up in overwhelming horror as the monster she had just encountered made its presence known.
Whatever bravery Martin had been flaunting quickly crumbled away as he realized the sheer size and form of the beast before them.
And in later years, Teresa would look back on this moment and question what kind of sick-humored deity would answer her prayer for change like this.
For nothing, not even all the imagination her father had given them with his stories and teaching, and not even the surprise of seeing a real-life fairy in the flesh, could've prepared any of them for the moment they would first come face to face with a Dragon.
For a minute that felt like an eternity, none of the mice dared to move. Not a single word was spoken, and not even a single squeak was made, for they were all but frozen where they stood out of sheer survival instinct.
For all the desire Teresa had to scream in terror, or to turn tail and flee as if the Great Owl himself was after her, she couldn't. It was as if her body itself had been turned to stone, her limbs outright refusing to obey her desire to escape out of sheer instinct of survival, leaving her unable to do anything but tremble and gape in absolute fear at the sight before them.
It was if her body was keeping her from doing anything that could draw the attention of one of, if not the most dangerous beast to ever roam the realms.
A Dragon. And not the great Beast-Cat of the name given to it by mice, but an Honest-to-Frith Dragon! One of the great winged, fire-breathing reptiles of the far north, not just here on Nimh, but on their farm! And just as massive and terrifying as the legends made them out to be. The color of its scales made it look even more-so like a creature of legend: a sharp royal purple in color, making it stand out almost blindingly against the winter-dried brown of the cornfield it was currently standing in, its back half still hidden within the wall of stalks and its fiery-orange wings folded against its sides.
But the most demanding feature of the beast was definitely its eyes...its fierce, draconian eyes that burned with the fire that could destroy entire kingdoms.
Her body may have been frozen on the spot, her tiny heart pounding furiously in her chest, but her terrified mind was racing with thousands of questions at once: What was it doing here? Was this the special friend that the fairy had been talking about? She had been telling the truth?! And if so, then where in the world had this thing been for the past ten years?! It couldn't have been here; if a dragon had been living at the Stone before they had moved here, surely they would've seen it by now!
Or, more likely, it would've burned them to ash by now.
Whatever ancient, blood-rooted instinct was keeping her in place prevented her from taking her eyes off the sight of the creature towering over them, but she could just make out her siblings in the corner of her eyes.
Like she was, Martin was all but rooted in place out of pure mousey terror, eyes almost comically-wide and jaw quivering with the emotion; any and all of his previous bravado had vanished from his shaking form, the stick he had been using as a make-believe weapon having fallen out of his shaking paws. While she could hardly blame him for feeling such a way, she also felt that small, almost instinctual pinch of exasperation nip through her fear; Martin liked to think of himself as a fearless mouse like their father had been, but it was when confronted with any form of danger that the true strength of his 'courage', or lack thereof, revealed itself. This was the incident with the spider all over again…
Cynthia, on the other hand, had a completely different reaction.
Rather than freeze on the spot with fear as the other two had done, her eyes widened in horrified recognition before she gave a truly frightened cry and bolted, still clutching the Speaking Crystal to her chest while running straight for her sister. It was then, and only then, did the spell over the oldest furling finally break, letting her open her arms to catch the ball of fluff that all but barreled into her, wrapping her arms protectively around the wailing toddler as she clung to her dress as if her life depended on it, large round tears dripping down her sandy-blonde cheeks.
It was then that a bolt of realization struck: purple scales…this was the 'giant purple monster' that she had been going on about before! The one that caused that scratch on her arm!
It hadn't been a 'fairy's dastardly magic trick' after all.
Then the silence was once again broken, this time by the fairy in question.
"Well, it's about time you decided to get off your scaly ass." Zoe suddenly said with annoyance, as if she was merely snapping at an annoying sibling rather than the mightiest of all legendary creatures, no fear in her voice whatsoever. "How long did it take for you to even realize I was missing?"
The dragon's face was just as saurian as the rest of its body, which meant it couldn't make facial expressions as mammals could. But its eyes were surprisingly expressive, showing the deadpan annoyance it felt towards its evident companion.
The cornstalks cracked as it pushed forward, the rest of its massive form sliding forth like a great serpent. The ground shook softly under its footfalls, but not nearly as much as one would expect an animal of that size; it was outright cat-like, the way it quietly approached the group, the last of its very long tail slipping out from the shadows behind it. Teresa held Cynthia close as she back-pedaled several steps, breath hitching in her throat as she kept their distance, while Martin outright fell backwards into Zoe's lap, earning an 'oof' of displeasure from the fairy in question.
Then something completely unexpected happened, even for an unbelievable situation like this. Something that made Teresa's ears perk up in surprise:
The giant, terrifying, purple-scale dragon spoke.
"The moment I heard the trap ring." It stated bluntly, sounding completely unconcerned for the fairy's well-being.
Zoe bristled with indignation. "You mean you've just been sitting around, watching that mangy bag of swamp-gas drag me around like a sack of meat this entire time?!" She shrieked, scaring poor Martin off her lap as if it had suddenly burst into flame; the boy furling decided the safest place to hide was behind his sisters, leaving all three furlings huddled into a small trembling pile of fur.
The dragon appeared unmoved by the fairy's outburst, eyes narrowing as he moved to the side, his neck, body, and tail following the head in a serpentine fashion. "You're the one who let your guard down." He growled firmly, baring his all-too deadly teeth just a bit. "You have no one to blame but yourself for your humiliation."
There were two things about the dragon's voice that caught Teresa's attention.
First off: the jaws and lips didn't move when he spoke. His voice (which was obviously male, revealing that he was a boy dragon) 'felt' like it was coming from his throat and out from within his currently-closed jaws, but his mouth didn't move, and his lips didn't form the shapes needed to pronounce the words. Said lips were more like those of a lizard, so he probably couldn't even if he tried, yet the words seemed to be coming from it clear as day, even when it was shut.
Magic, perhaps? Or something special for dragons? That was her best guess.
And the second was not as unnatural, but it caught her attention even more so than the fact he could speak to begin with: the voice itself. It was a voice that thrummed with the deep rumble of an earthquake. It was a voice that crackled with the growl of a blazing forest fire. It was a voice that channeled the very spirit of the elements into an audible form, as if he was speaking with the voice of the world itself.
It was the voice…of a child.
Even as it rumbled deep and powerful, there was no mistaking the youthful quality of it. He was very well spoken for a child, speaking with a vocabulary that, even with all her father's schooling, she would've found difficult to use. But she could hear it: the higher-pitched 'chime' of a creature who was just shy of his teen years, interwoven amongst all the draconian qualities.
And when she looked across the creature's body, her mind no longer completely consumed by fear, she could see it all across his intimidating form…a form that was starting to look a bit less intimidating which each second. It would've been hard for anyone to spot in the midst of blind panic, but all the signs were there: a body that was slimmer around the neck and torso, limbs that looked a bit too long for their width, eyes that were a touch large for the head.
These were qualities of a creature that was just starting to grow into its adult form: a teenager, just like she was going to become in a year's time.
This dragon…this mighty, ferocious beast of legend, nearly as large as the Beast-Cat of the same name...he was a child.
No older than they were.
"Alright, fine! Whatever!" Zoe finally submitted. "Just get me out of this mess already, would you?"
Spyro promptly gave a deep snort of defiance, twin jets of smoke shooting out from his nostrils. As if he was going to waste his time dealing with her nonsense.
He hadn't even gotten out of the cornfield when he had heard Zoe scream, followed by the ringing chime of a bell. He had been so distracted by the Tight Emptiness that he didn't even notice that she wasn't following him. However, hearing her cry snapped him to full alert, his turmoil quickly shifting to protective instinct as he made his way back to her as quickly as he could without revealing himself…just in time to see her being found and prodded at by the old shrew that had accompanied the warm-eyed mouse in healing the furling. From there he had watched the shrew pull his fairy down, bound her up in string, and drag her out to the center of the farm, squawking non-stop like an angry buzzard the entire time.
It had been as confusing as it was amusing, so much so that he couldn't bring himself to stop it: it had been the most entertaining show he had watched in years, and he wasn't inclined to end it now.
Especially considering why she had gotten herself into this mess in the first place: she was trying to make the mice leave the Lee of the Stone so he could get it back.
This was not what he wanted. The fact that he had not already done so himself was a clear enough sign that he didn't want this, and yet she openly ignored him and tried to act of her own accord, be it doing something that she believed he wanted or not. If he had wanted to take the stone back, then he was more than capable of doing so himself.
And he nearly had in his brief moment of rage: one breath would've been enough to completely erase them and everything they had built off the face of the earth. Return everything back to the way it was before he left. To the way he remembered it.
But…as much as he longed to return to what was his, he chose not to.
After what he saw…that warmth in the mother's mouse's eyes…he couldn't bring himself to destroy everything she had made for her family, just so he could get his old sunning spot back.
This was their home now…her home now. And was not going to interfere with it any more than he already had.
With another smoke-filled huff of a breath, he promptly shifted his weight back onto his hind legs and laid himself down on the ground, tucking his legs and folding his wings into a resting position against his sides, ending it all by curling his tail around into a protective half-circle behind him.
Zoe gave an outright pained groan and rolled her head back in exasperation, almost falling backwards. "You cannot be serious right now." She outright whined.
It was completely serious. She had no one to blame for her current predicament but herself, and he was in no rush to relieve her of the consequences of her actions.
If she wanted to get out, she could do so herself.
Another smokey snort was all he gave in response. Instead, he simply laid his head on the ground and stared out over the stone's open glade and to the river at the edge of it: one of the last parts that hadn't been turned into a farming field. His powerful muscles went slack across his body as he slowly relaxed into a comfortable slump, a small flicker of warmth shining from deep within his half-lidded eyes, as everything fell into a comfortable silence. The only sounds to be heard were his rumbling breath, the soft spring breeze rustling through the leaves, and the distant calls of songbirds.
His eyes slowly drooped shut as the warm glow of memories from the past began to flow through his mind's eye, images of happier times filling him with what he could only describe as a 'longing warmth'.
It wasn't the same as he remembered it, and he knew that it would never be so again…but now, with this, he could have a little of it back.
If only for a brief moment.
Then, just as he was feeling the weight of sleep slowly creep into his mind, the silence was broken by the most unexpected of voices:
"Y-You're…you're not going to eat us."
He had been keeping them in his peripheral vision as he had been dealing with his obnoxious Familiar: the three tiny balls of fluff that had made his former Stone their home. When he looked at them last, their bodies had been frozen out of sheer survival instinct, watching him with truly fearful eyes. A wise move on their part, honestly; they were far too small to be worth the calories it would take for a beast his size to chase and catch them, so keeping perfectly still and not doing anything to provoke ire in any way was the best chance a mortal had to survive an encounter with a dragon.
He hadn't expected any of them to do anything other than scream and run away, or remain frozen until he decided to leave (before the old shrew got back with help)…and what she said…
Shifting his head against the ground, he leaned it to the side and opened his left eye to look at them, and it took him a genuine amount of effort not to react with surprise.
The Fear. The complete, overwhelming, primordial Fear.
It was gone.
Gone? Why? Yes, the caution was there, obviously: they were all still clearly on edge, their feet shifting with the readiness to scamper away at a moment's notice…but the Fear was nowhere to be seen. Not in their bodies, not in the stances, and not even in their eyes. The trembling terror they originally stood with had disappeared from their stances, which had relaxed into those of cautious curiosity rather than blind terror. Even Cynthia, who had been hurt during their first encounter, had worked up the courage to peek out from hiding her face in her sister's chest and was watching him with timid but curious eyes.
They weren't afraid of him. They were a bit wary, yes, but the Fear…the Fear he had grown all too accustomed in seeing in everyone who beheld his form…it simply wasn't there.
They didn't fear him.
But that was impossible. It was the very nature of the world itself for all living beings to fear him. To feel the complete primordial terror of the monstrous Jendovahzoor. The Son of Malefor. The one that was feared and hated by all. Even by his own kind.
That was how it was, how it always had been, and how it always would be.
So why…?
"Why aren't you afraid?"
Teresa blinked in surprise, not at all prepared for his voice to suddenly change. What was once a thunderous growl of a living force of nature was now a soft uncertain croon. One could even call it timid. Hardly a voice she expected to come out of a dragon of all creatures.
"W-What?" she managed to ask, her voice catching out of surprise.
"All creatures fear me." he continued in the same, almost painfully-contrasting voice. "Entire armies have fled from me in complete terror. I've made the strongest warriors tremble like frightened children with a single roar. Even my own kind calls me devil." She did not miss how his voice darkened at that last statement, and how the glow of his eyes became what could only be described as a 'hateful' burn.
He then looked back at her, and she blinked again at the look he gave her; a glowing gaze that was equal parts the thunderous glare of a great fiery beast looking down upon the specks of mortal life…
…and the confused stare of an uncertain child confronted with something he didn't understand.
"So why don't you?"
This was another moment in her life Teresa would look back upon with questioning, but it would be a moment she would recall with a warm fondness: the moment the image of the legendary beast of greed, destruction, and death forever faded from the purple dragon before her, and she was able to see him for what he truly was: a fellow child, just like them. One who had been lost and alone for a very long time, if what he said about his own kind was true. One who was looking for the light that once filled their life: a light taken away by the cold clawed hands of an unkind world.
A light that they were looking for as well.
The hole in her heart that once held her father ached just a touch more.
"Is that why you're here?" Teresa asked gently as she set Cynthia down; the blonde furling stood on her own feet, but still held tightly to her sister's skirts for protection. "Did the other dragons make you leave…wherever dragons live?"
There was a moment's silence before Spyro lifted his head off the ground and turned it to look at them directly, eyes filled with confusion of being spoken to at all, let alone in such a gentle voice. Something about that idea made Teresa frown internally, though she didn't show it.
"I've always lived on Nimh." he said simply, clearly unsure of what else to say. "I was born here."
"But you left to visit them, right?" The mouse girl continued. "Just before we moved to the stone?"
The dragon's eyes darkened at that question, the memories of those days passing before them like a shadow of a raincloud.
"…Yes." He growled in his thunderous dragon voice, scratching the ground in front of his paws, his sharp claws leaving long groves in the soil. "And they didn't want me, so I came back."
"Why?" Martin was the one who asked that as he stepped out from behind his sisters, his growing curiosity and adventurous spirit finally winning out over his slowly-fading terror. "Why didn't they want you around?"
Spyro didn't answer at first. Instead, he lifted his right foreleg at the elbow and brought his hand up to his gaze. He stared at it with an unreadable expression, or more accurately he stared at the vibrant purple scales that covered it. The very same scales that represented both his blessing and his damnation.
"Because I'm purple." Was all he said.
That unexpectedly-simple answer took the children aback a bit, each expressing a different level of confusion.
"…What? That's it?" the boy furling asked incredulously. "Because you're purple?"
"It's a little more complicated than that." Zoe finally broke her own silence to jump to Spyro's defense, despite still being tied down against her will. She clicked her tongue in thought. "How do I explain this to kids…?" She murmured to herself, thinking for a second before speaking again. "Purple dragons, like Spyro, have special powers that make them unique from other dragons. And the last purple dragon they met…didn't use those powers for good." Her expression twisted into something sour, as if the very words tasted foul in her mouth. "That dragon did many horrible things and hurt a lot of people. So now everyone's scared that all other purple dragons are evil too."
"They feared him." Spyro growled in a dark tone; Zoe didn't need to play the truth down for his sake. He was more than aware of it. "He destroyed the world. Slaughtered millions. This realm has never known a greater monster."
As he spoke, he channeled a small bit of his power into the paw he was observing; like glowing cracks in lava-rock spreading from the pressure of the magma below, long, vein-like streaks of a burning purple energy flowed down his limb and to his fingers, his claws igniting with a burst of magenta flame. The light reflected in his eyes, mixing a touch of purple with their golden glow.
To the children, it was a wondrous sight that left them in wide-eyed awe; the first time any of them had seen true magic.
But to Spyro, it was only yet another painful reminder of the truth.
The truth of what he was.
He clenched his paw into a fist, snuffing the flames out with a soft hiss of steam, and he lowered both his limb and his gaze to the ground.
"I'm the same kind of dragon he was…so I've been damned a monster as well."
With that final statement, he lowered his limb and turned away from the small, young mice, returning to his position of rest as he laid his head back on the ground, the glow of his eyes dimming to a low, lifeless glimmer.
An almost deathly quiet fell over the Lee of the Stone, broken only by the rushing water of the distant river and the wind blowing through the grass. Even the songbirds in the nearby trees seem to have fallen silent, casting the glade into a morbid silence. The dragon held back the urge to bark a spiteful laugh; no doubt they had been scared into silence by his power…or perhaps even they had taken head of his word and fled while they had the chance.
He expected the furlings would be fleeing soon as well; the Fear had to have returned now. Now that they knew what he truly was.
Any creature that valued their life would not ignore the danger; even hatchlings would not be foolish enough to linger in the presence of such a threat. They would flee for the safety of their home…for their mother's warmth…then he could take his string-bound fairy and leave before she or the other adults had the chance to check on the children's frightened claims of the evil dragon lurking in the dark forest. As far as they would know it, the fairy that had caused mischief to their farm escaped a faulty trap, and they would never be the wiser. And they would never have to be cursed by his presence again.
He closed his eyes, a soft thrumming sigh escaping his lungs as twin streams of smoke from his nostrils.
It was the way it had always been. It was the natural order of the world.
It was-
Soft.
It was so small and sudden that he froze, giving off a soft warble of surprise as his eyes snapped open. Something small, soft, and warm pressing itself against his face, just beneath his left eye. A pleasant sensation so alien to him that his mind locked for a split moment trying to comprehend it.
And when he looked down, what he saw outright destroyed everything he knew about the world.
Teresa, the oldest and smartest of the three, perhaps the only one who could possibly comprehend the true danger of his presence and thus had more reason to be afraid than her siblings, had pressed herself against the side of his face, her arms laid out across it as if she were hugging him. She was much too small to actually wrap them around his head, but she embraced him regardless, gently nuzzling his scaly cheek. Her fur was unbelievably soft, softer than even the finest of Fae hair, and warm in the rays of the sun. The palms of her hands were slightly calloused (which was to be expected from the average farm mouse, he supposed), but still soft and gentle to the touch, though in a different way than their fur was.
She pulled back from her nuzzle to look up at him a saddened expression, her eyes full not of fear, but of...understanding.
He didn't even have time to get over the mental shock when a second one joined it: Martin had hesitated at first, perhaps still wary of the creature that had first scared them so badly, or perhaps a young boy's silly pride against showing any kind of emotion that could suggest a perceived weakness. But after a moment of standing back and looking conflicted, he ultimately came up to Spyro and simply sat down next to him, leaning against the side of the dragon's snout without a word. His fur was a little coarser than his sister's, dirtied from his time doing chores throughout the farm, but was no less warm to the touch. He too shared the look of sad understanding his sister did.
Of someone who knew his pain. Maybe not the exact same kind of pain, but one that was similar none the less: one that came from within rather than a wound.
From the Tight Emptiness.
Spyro could only stare at them, barely moving otherwise. His voice, both physical and telepathic, had been lost in a sea of conflict and confusion. And deep within his chest, which had only known the Tight Emptiness for as long as he could remember, something flickered. A soft bloom of something…warm. It licked at the inside of his breastbone like the tongue of an open flame, causing an irritating heat to constrict his throat and his lungs to grow heavier with each breath; he found himself instinctively taking a deep one, pushing it against the sensation of weight within him.
"…Why don't you run?" he finally asked again, his voice quiet and wavering. "I was the one who got you hurt…drained your crops…tried to take your home." He felt something sharp and hot prick behind his eyes, and he blinked his secondary eyelids to try to clear it away. "Why do you welcome me into it?"
There was another moment of silence, before Teresa looked up at him and answered, her voice as gentle as her touch and her eyes as warm as a hearth's fire.
"Because it's your home too."
For one split second, one brief, sudden moment in eternity, and for the first time in his long draconian life, the Tight Emptiness was gone.
And in its place was just a touch of warmth.
"…Come on then, you old flim-flam! I've left the children alone with that trickster!"
Sadly, it was not meant to last. The moment of blissful peace between kindred souls was interrupted by the sound of distant voices, coming from the direction the shrew had hobbled off in. Spyro reluctantly pulled his head away from the two and lifted it to look in said direction, eyes narrowing as a soft growl instinctively rumbled between his jaws; the old rodent had returned, just as she had said she would, and she wasn't alone.
That was it for Zoe, who had been silently watching the exchange with an unreadable expression, and she sat up with a jolt of panic. "Okay, no more games, I'm being serious: we have to leave! Now!" Her tone made the urgency clear, all traces of previous sarcasm and exasperation gone. "We can't let the adults see you here: they do, and we're both dead!"
Spyro gave an outright-pained croon, wanting nothing more in that moment than to stay. After all these years, he had finally found it: something that made the Tight Emptiness go away completely, here with these mice Rodentkin. He had been searching for so long, not even knowing what he was searching for, and now, when he finally felt that he had found it, he had to leave it behind for those who would take it away.
"W-Wait! You don't have to go!" Martin said, looking almost sad that their newest friend was leaving. "We can explain to Mom! I'm sure she'll be okay if you stay!"
"Martin…" Teresa sighed, shaking her head no. She didn't want to say goodbye either, but she knew better; the grown-ups would be afraid of the dragon, and he could get into a lot of trouble, even danger, if he was seen by them.
Spyro stared at them in silence, the glow of his eyes almost completely gone; he wished that was true...he really, truly wished it was...but he knew it wasn't. And as the voices grew closer, it knew it was time for him to go.
There was one last thing to do first, though.
So he gave a long, guttural sigh and slowly got up, taking care not to knock into the furlings that were so close to him; they scampered back as he rose, clearing his path as to not get under his feet. His softly shook his body in an almost dog-like fashion, flexing the blood back into his limbs, before turning his gaze to Cynthia; the only one of the furlings who had yet to approach. She stood frozen on the spot, like a deer caught in the light of a hunter's lantern, the only one still genuinely afraid of the gigantic beast towering over her; given their first encounter ended with her getting wounded, that was fair. She clutched the Speaking Crystal to her chest, as if it was the only thing keeping her safe.
Being as slow and non-threatening as he could make himself out to be, Spyro gave a soft trill as he took a step forward, slowly lowering his head down to her.
Her chocolate-brown eyes widened in fear, and her breath quickened into frightened gasps, but she remained where she stood, even as his snout came no closer than a few inches from her. She could feel the heat of the dragon's breath against her fur, akin to the heat of an open hearth. She hugged the crystal tightly as she trembled like a leaf in the wind, not ready to face the scary giant purple monster again. Teresa and Martin showed looks of concern, unsure of what was going to happen.
But then the monster opened his jaws just enough for his long, snake-like tongue to slide out from between his teeth.
There, clutched in its forked tips, was her doll. Her ears perked up at the sight of it, the fear in her eyes replace with surprised, if uncertain, happiness. One of the arms was missing, looking as if it had been burned off, and it was a bit ruffed up and dirty, but it was otherwise still in one piece.
"I didn't mean to scare you when we first met." Spyro told her softly, in a voice that was so quiet and soft that it sounded like that of a fellow mouse. "I came to give this back to you...will you trade my fairy and crystal for it?"
Cynthia didn't say anything, still very nervous, her eyes darting between his own and the doll in his grasp. She took a hesitant step forward, ready to jump back on a hair trigger, and slowly reached for her doll with her good arm. Spyro remained motionless and quiet, watching with soft eyes as she took her toy from his tongue's coils. As she did, she let the Speaking Crystal drop to the ground with a soft clink; the dragon could hear Zoe give an audible 'Phew!' of relief, but ignored her as his tongue slid back before sliding out again, scooping the crystal up and bringing it into the safety of his mouth. Cynthia, meanwhile, hugged her doll lovingly, a beaming smile on her face as she cuddled it.
Teresa cleared her throat. "Cynthia, what do we say?"
Cynthia looked up shyly at the Spyro, who pulled his head back to its normal position; her eyes no longer held their original fear of the monster that had 'attacked' her in the woods, though she was still a bit intimidated by him.
"T-Thank you, Mr. Dragon." She muttered softly, hiding behind her favorite toy.
To that, Spyro simply nodded with a thrilling croon. He then took a step back and turned away from the children, turning his attention to Zoe. He gave a snort of amusement before he leaned in and bit down on the string holding her in the air; the flimsy strings stood no chance against the dragon's sharp teeth and were instantly severed. Then, with a soft rumble, he leaned down and picked up the still-bound Zoe with his jaws, his teeth gripping the loops of string around her torso. She gave a huff as he lifted her up by her back, much like a cat would carry a kitten, leaving her to dangle in silent embarrassment. He paid her frustrations no mind as he scooped up her fallen items with his right claw.
He gave the furlings a soft, thankful look before turning away in a serpentine manner, his long form curving around like a great snake through the air, his footfalls as silent as ever as he made his way back to the cornfield, lowering his head to push the stalks out of the way.
"Wait!" Teresa suddenly called after him. Spyro paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Do you have a name?"
The purple dragon stayed silent for a moment, as if pondering how to answer, before looking back one last time, draconian eyes gleaming in the light of the sun.
"Spyro."
And with that, he turned and silently slipped into the cornfield. They watched as the last of his long tails disappeared into the darkness of the stalks, which continue to bend and sway as he ran through them and back into the forest: the great beast returning to the dark woods from wence it came. The only sign that he had ever been there at all was a large patch of flattened grass where he laid, a pile of torn enchanted string that had once been a fairy trap, and three furlings that could barely believe such a world-shaking event had just happened…
…along with a heavy sadness lingering within their hearts, their little world suddenly feeling a lot smaller.
That evening after dinner, Mrs. Brisby couldn't figure out what was causing all this excitement amongst her children.
As she sat by the warm fire of the hearth, quietly humming to herself as she sewed together the beginnings of a new arm for Cynthia's damaged doll, she caught herself curiously glancing over to where they were playing. They were whispering to each other in hushed but no-less excited voices, as if they had an exciting new secret to share amongst each other. When she had asked what they were talking about, Cynthia, ever the chatter-box, had tried explaining to her about 'making friends with the sad purple monster', but was instantly shushed by her siblings.
In the end, Mrs. Brisby decided it must've been some game her children had been playing and left it at that.
It could've also had something to do with that supposed 'Fairy Attack' that Auntie Shrew had been outright raving about that morning; Mrs. Brisby's youngest son, Timothy, had woken up feeling unwell, so she had stayed inside to tend to him. It was only when she overheard Auntie Shrew and Mr. Ages getting into a shouting match had she decided to come outside.
Auntie Shrew had insisted to heaven and back that she had caught a Feywild Fairy in one of her traps and had left the children in charge of watching over the intruder as she went to get help. But when she returned, accompanied by a very irate Mr. Ages, both carrying ropes and harnesses, she was outraged to find the trap severed and the supposed fairy missing. When Mrs. Brisby had asked her children about it, they denied ever seeing a fairy in the first place, claiming it was a butterfly that had been caught in the trap, much to Auntie Shrew's outraged objections.
Mr. Ages, on the other hand, had been furious that he'd been dragged all the way out here, away from his work, on account of mistaken identity. When Auntie Shrew furiously defended herself, pointing out that she had seen the fairy with her own eyes, he simply accused her of wasting his time with another of her paranoid fantasies.
The argument eventually escalated into a hysterical Auntie Shrew chasing the red-faced Ages away with her walking stick; a result of the rather offensive name he called her, all the while the children watched, overwhelmed with laughter.
Despite all the chaos of the day (and the words that she would now have to teach them not to say), it was genuinely good to see her children laughing again. Ever since Johnathan had passed away, they had all fallen into a state of loss, the holes his absence left in their hearts still fresh in most of them. So, to see them happy and playing again, even if by living in their own little magical world of make-believe…it brought a smile to her own face, a small glimpse of hope slowly returning to their lives.
Now all that was left was to hope that Timmy would be fine, and whatever he could be sick with wasn't too serious.
The young, widowed mouse could've never predicted that what looked like the start of a simple cold would become something much worse, or that the upcoming days would soon lead to an encounter she could never have imagined.
An encounter that would result in a chain of events that would ultimately change not only their lives, but the entire land of Nimh as a whole forever.