She knew she had no reason to be afraid.
This Dragon…'Spyro', as she recalled, was the being that had saved her life. Twice. Not only that, but he had also willingly given up a part of his own home so they could have theirs, despite them being the trespasser. He was family to the fairies of Feywild, truly was a dragon that defied all expectations for his species. There was no reason to be afraid of him.
Expect, even with all the reasoning on her side, she couldn't help being a little…anxious.
Mrs. Brisby stared, wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape, at the sight of the massive beast that had stepped straight out of legend and into the real world, unable to tear her gaze away from the living, breathing dragon that stood on the riverbed's edge, watching her with his own wide-eyed stare. His dark-purple scales glistened like polished amethysts in the evening sun, and his underbelly shimmered like gold. His wing membrane was a fiery orange-red, and the way they fluttered slightly in the wind almost reminded her of the way open flame danced. And his fiery draconian eyes, glowing in the dim light, locked on her with the intensity of tiny suns, trying and failing to comprehend why on earth this little creature had wandered back into its dining hall; the last place in the world he had ever expected her to return, she imagined.
He had no idea why on earth she would return to this horrid place. A place where she had almost died. So, to see her back must've been surprising and a little suspicious.
She attempted to swallow her nervousness but failed, for her mouth was as dry as the riverbed she was in, leaving her licking the roof of it behind her teeth in an attempt to find her voice.
"Hel-…H-H-Hello…" She croaked, wringing her paws together; it was all she could bring herself to say.
If 'Spyro' could speak, he didn't. He just continued to stare at her, blinking his secondary set of eyelids for moisture, not taking his eyes off her for a second. Even as he stepped forward towards the edge of the river and climbed down the side of the cliff, hopping down the steep bank much like a cat would, he continued to keep her in his direct line of sight. It was all Mrs. Brisby could do to stay where she was, curling up on herself as the dragon stepped down into the riverbed and slowly approached her, pausing every now and then to sniff the air like an animal, taking in her scent, as well as the scent of the blood staining her fur and clothes.
It was now, when he was this close and she was not utterly consumed by fear, that she was able to get a good, up-close look at this creature of stories, and notice things she hadn't before.
The first thing that definitely stood out was how big he was...though, he was not nearly as big as she was expecting. If she were a normal sized mouse, and Nimh a land of normal-sized creatures and plants, then this dragon would about the size of a wolf (not including the extra length of his neck, wings, and long tail). Still truly giant compared to her small self, but hardly the gigantic monster that towered over forests and stretched as long as rivers, as many a minstrel's fancies had sung them as. They had rooms in Rosebush City's grand palace, such as the throne room and courtroom, that could comfortably hold him within its walls without crowding.
The next thing she noticed was how small he seemed. Not in terms of size, but rather in body: of how parts of his body looked either a tad smaller or a tad larger than it was supposed to be, even if she didn't know what the 'supposed to be' really was: the neck and torso that looked to be slimmer than it was supposed to, limbs that looked a bit too long for their width, wings that were a tiny bit short for his body, and eyes that were a touch large for the head. Something about all these factors was ringing a bell deep within her core, and she felt herself drawn even harder to him, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out why.
But the thing she certainly noticed the most, by far, now that she could see them, were the scars.
They decorated his body from nose to tail tip, painting his body like a tapestry of war and violence; scars that ranged in size and shape from small cuts to large gashes. Some straight and clean from blades, and other ragged and torn by claws; some around his paws were clearly burn marks (how a dragon could receive burns was beyond her), while his wings sported many holes and tears along the edges of his membranes, the ones further inward having healed and scarred over long ago.
This was a creature that had endured many great and terrible battles in his life, and simply being alive was the proof he had that he had won each and every one. The weasels he killed weren't even worth the effort it took to kill them by comparison, were they?
Not when he had faced so much worse before.
She was so caught up in looking over the dragon's features (especially his scars) that she didn't even realize how close he was getting until his shadow fell over her tiny form. She blinked in surprise before leaning back to gawk at the massive head that approached her; there was no time to get up and step away, as she was still sitting upon the rock, and could only pull her legs up and crawl backwards to the other edge, giving a small, nervous hiccup of a squeak as the dragon leaned his head in until his snout was no more than a foot or two away from her; close enough for her to touch him if she had the courage to do so.
She could feel the heat of an open flame blast against her face, ruffling her fur, with every exhale the beast took, similar to the heat from a large bonfire. Hear the sound of his scales shifting against each other with his every movement. Feel the rumbling vibrations in the very earth beneath her every time he inhaled a breath.
And his eyes.
Dear Frith Above, his eyes.
He was close enough so that she could see her frightened expression staring back at her deep within his silt pupils, their glow casting an intense light over her like a beam of sunlight through the clouds. Never before had seen eyes that radiated with such 'power', for lack of a better word, gleaming with a primordial strength and ferocity that could not be found in all of Frith's creations.
She might as well have been under the gaze of the Great Circle himself.
And yet, for all the sheer intensity of his eyes, the power of his form, and the hateful ruggedness of his scarred body, he showed her no signs of hostility whatsoever. His mouth remained closed, sealing away his many sharp teeth from view, and for all their bright, fiery intensity, not a single drop of anger or malice was to be seen in his eyes. Only an innocent, almost child-like curiosity…along with that look of resigned sorrow that was all too familiar to her.
And after seeing the condition his body was in, she now had a good idea as to why they held such sorrow.
The dragon said nothing as he closed the distance between them, pressing his snout against her stomach; she gave another nervous squeak as the rock-solid scales pressed into her, causing her to freeze on the spot in shock; it felt like a solid wall of smooth river stones being pushed against her. She could feel the air pulling at her as he sniffed her fur, which was visibly fluttering with the moving air of each breath, each sniff outright pulling on her body and clothes as he took in her scent, like a dog sniffing a new-found friend.
Then his mouth opened just enough to allow his long, forked tongue to slide out towards her like a giant snake.
"W-Wait!" Mrs. Brisby cried, instinctively putting her mitten-wrapped hands up in a desperate attempt to stop him from doing what he was intending to do.
This, however, only seemed to be what he wanted, as without even pausing, he leaned in and gave a soft, small lick across her open palms…well, small by his standards. She grimaced as the large slab of meat and tastebuds ran across her lower arms, coating them in the sensation of hot, sticky saliva that soaked clear through the bandages, causing a shiver of disgust to run through her body…
…only for it to be followed by a sudden sensation of intense relief as the burning of her hands ceased.
The gauze around her paws began to rip and fall away, like wet tissue paper in a stream of hot water, allowing her fingers to wiggle free in the air. It was then she saw them, and her eyes widened in surprise: her hands were healing. The scrapes that covered the palms, gained from her tumble into the river, were literally mending before her very eyes, the tiny cuts and wounds sealing closed with fresh, newly-healed skin and the inflamed redness fading into a healthy, cool pink. And as they disappeared, so too did their lingering ache. Soon they were as good as new, as if the tumble never happened.
She could scarcely believe her eyes, even as she flexed her fingers in testing, only to feel no pain from their movement.
It had to be magic.
Dragon magic.
She barely had time to comprehend what had happened before the dragon in question stuck out his tongue again, this time weaving it under her arms and running across her lower torso, sending an intense tickling sensation through her body. She gave a high-pitched squeal of a giggle at the sensation, squirming in a futile attempt to get away, only for him to lick at her body again.
"A-A-Ah! P-P-Please s-stop!" Mrs. Brisby stammered as she pushed herself away from the dragon's touch, scooting backwards on the rock she sat on. "T-T-That t-t-tickles!"
That, however, only seemed to encourage Spyro to continue, a trill of amusement coming from his throat as he licked her one final time before retracting his tongue, leaving her with a rather sticky-wet corset, soaked with saliva as well. However, just as before, she could feel the pain fading from her ribs as they were magically mended, the ache in her body fading in an outright pleasant sensation. She gave a heavy sigh of relief as she was finally able to sit properly without hurting her sides, wiping her hands off her dress to clean them of spit.
Only for the dragon's tongue to promptly smack her in the face, running upwards in one long lick.
"…Ew." Was all she could bring herself to say, the fur on her head now sticking straight up and her whisker slick with spit. Even as her head began to feel better and her thoughts became clearer as the injury on her forehead mended, she couldn't stop the second shiver of disgust from running through her. Instead of saying anything, she simply brought her hands up and wiped her face clean in a very mouse-like manner, matting her fur back down and cleaning her whiskers.
All that was left was her ankle; the one part that hurt the most. She was almost anticipating the relief she would get from it. However, 'Spyro' didn't make a move to tend it, at least not at first; he stood there and looked at her feet, which were hidden beneath her skirts, before turning his gaze up to her in waiting. It took her a moment to realize that he was actually waiting for her permission. Blushing a little, she obliged and lifted her skirt up just enough to show him her ankle, which was still in the makeshift splint Zoe had made for her.
To that, Spyro leaned down and finished tending to the poor mouse's wounds; his tongue lapped the top of the digitigrade ankle joint, causing a little bit of pain from the pressure at first…but she could've outright wept with relief then and there at the outright-euphoric sensation of the pain of a twisted ankle slipping away, like filth being washed away with water. She could outright see the swelling of the joint fade, the angry bloated red slowly shrinking down to a wonderful chocolate-milk brown. The splint around her ankle gave way as the wet gauze crumbled away from her foot, the two sticks falling to the ground with a clatter.
The dragon then retracted his tongue, licking the end of his snout before closing his jaws again, hiding away his sharp teeth once more.
Mrs. Brisby pushed her skirt back down and stood up, now able to do so without pain, looking up at the great beast with a newfound sense of appreciation; if there had been any remaining doubt of his kindness, it was now completely gone, along with any form of anxiety she may have felt (as well as any pain her body had previously endured from the fall).
"You truly are kind, aren't you?" She asked, her voice filled with relief.
The reaction she got to that was one she was not expecting at all; he blanched a little at her words, before giving a grumbling trill of a croon as he looked away to the side, eyes narrowed as he tried not to meet her gaze, warbling sounds like muttering growls under his breath.
For a moment, she wondered what he was doing, afraid he might be offended, until it hit her:
He was pouting.
Just like Martin did whenever she praised him for being kind to his mother or to his siblings; he was at that age where he felt being strong and tough were what made a male mouse, going on about how nothing ever scared him (a flat out lie, if the Spider Incident was anything to judge by), and thinking that being nice was something that made one look weak and soft. And thus always got upset when his mom praised him for his acts of kindness towards others, making him feel as such.
She brought her hand up to her mouth, her fingers brushing over her lips as she held back a giggle. Seeing this giant, fire-breathing beast of legend acting just like her eldest son just tickled her pink. Making her realize just how silly her past fears had been all this time.
It was outright cute.
His pouting, however, turn into a more serious look of concern as his eyes ran over her form, settling the spots that he had just tended to, before he looked back to her with a questioning, almost displeased, look: 'Why did you come back, after all this?', he seemed to say.
"I'm…I'm sorry if I caused you any worry, coming back here." Mrs. Brisby said softly, now confident that he could understand her, if his reactions were anything to go by. "But, you see, my son's life is in great danger."
To that revelation, Spyro's eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side with a croon of questioning.
"He's very sick with Pneumonia; he can't even get out of bed." The mouse continued, rubbing her paws together. "This morning, I went to Mr. Ages to get some medicine for him, and I was heading home with it when the weasels attacked, and I lost the medicine down here when I fell…"
"Of all the repulsive, disgusting, asinine shit I've ever had to put up with…" Zoe muttered under her breath as she flew back up the riverbed, occupied with removing a brand-new coating of animal remains from her person. She was so preoccupied with her current task that she almost missed the fact that Spyro had returned, taking notice of her dragon only mere seconds before she almost revealed herself. She blinked in surprise before instinctively darting down behind one of his larger kills, keeping herself hidden as she watched the scene before her.
Mrs. Brisby was actually speaking to Spyro. Talking to him as if she didn't see him as a giant, terrible monster anymore. And given her missing bandages (as well as her shinier fur), she had a good guess why.
Part of her wanting to step in and stop this interaction; her duties to her dragon, as well as King Oberon's orders, told her that she needed to keep Spyro as far away from the Rodentkin as possible. There was too much at risk to allow Spyro to be discovered by them as a whole. All it would take was for one of them (most likely the old Shrew) to scream 'dragon' and then everyone would know the truth, and the entire continent would descend into chaos.
But at the same time, something deep within her gut told her to sit back and let this play out. To see what would come of this interaction between the mighty and the meek…
"…and Mr. Ages won't be back until it's too late."
By the time she had finished her explanation, she was fighting outright to keep the tears from falling; the image of dear little Timmy, helpless and weak in his bed, dominated her mind as a heavy cloud of despair. All the while, Spyro remained silent at his listened with rapt attention, his gaze not once breaking away from her.
"That's why I've come back." She sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes with the edge of her cloak. "I have to find Timmy's medicine, or he won't last the night."
A moment of silence passed between the two, broken only by Mrs. Brisby's attempts to keep herself from openly crying, the poor mouse left sniffling into her cloak.
Then she heard the dragon move.
She looked up to see the great beast stepping away from her before turning to her left, heading towards the empty spot where she had first fallen into the river. He ignored the remains of the weasels and lowered his snout to the ground, taking in slow, deliberate sniffs of the earth, nostrils flaring with a flame-like glow. Mrs. Brisby watched silently as the dragon then followed the scent he had caught; along the same path she had taken to avoid him when they first met.
She felt rather silly about that now, knowing that all of that fear and caution had ultimately been in vain. She watched, curious, wondering what he could possibly be doing, as he continued to follow the trail up the side of the same cliff-face she had climbed, standing up on his hind legs and propping himself up against it with his forelimbs, much like how a dog would stand against a tree, barking up at a cat it had chased up it. But instead of barking at anything, Spyro continued to follow the scent he was on, climbing up the side of the cliff-face like a large lizard, until he came to the exact same tangle of roots that she had climbed up in her attempt to go home…and nearly fell from when they gave out from beneath her, leaving-
Wait…
Her ears perked up in realization, and she looked up with a spark of hope in her eyes. Was he-?
Spyro promptly grabbed the largest of the roots with his jaws and ripped it from the ground above him with a single, mighty pull. There was a loud cracking noise as the tree above outright shifted in place, leaves falling from its branches from the force of the tug, as well as a shower of earth as the tangle was pulled apart by the dragon's raw strength alone; said shower peppered his scaly face with dirt and stones, following to the riverbed alone in a cloud of dust.
And there, flung from the tangle the moment he pulled it free and now fluttering in the air like a beautiful butterfly of white, was Timmy's medicine.
Mrs. Brisby's heart felt like it would burst from sheer joy, her face beaming in an open-mouth smile as the white envelope floated down, spinning in the air, before finally coming to land just in front of the rock she was sitting on. No longer bound in place by her injuries, the mouse wasted no time rushing forward and snatching up the parcel in a tight hug.
"That's it! Timmy's Medicine!" She cried with joy, twirling in place with the sheer emotion. "You found it! Oh, Frith Above, you found it!"
Zoe gave a heavy sigh of relief as she slumped against the carcass of the boar, a hand over her thankful heart. She had not been prepared to return empty-handed, and thus was spared from having to deliver the bad news. She gave a weary smile as she looked back at her dragon, beaming with pride as he hopped back down on all fours and turned to face the ecstatic mouse.
Leave it to Spyro to save the day when all else failed…
Spyro hopped back down into the riverbed and lowered his head down to the elated mother, giving a curious and hopeful croon as he did so; Mrs. Brisby looked up at him with a truly happy expression, her eyes filled with joy and gratitude.
Then something happened that neither dragon, fairy, nor even Rodentkin could've ever predicted was coming:
Spyro froze, dead-still, as he once again experienced the softness of a mouse's fur against him.
Zoe's jaw dropped as she stared in complete and utter disbelief, eyes wide as dinner plates.
And Mrs. Brisby said nothing as she closed the gap between her and her son's savior and hugged the end of his snout as tightly as she could, snuggling him with all the warmth and love a mother could muster for the one who had saved her child.
"You saved my life today." She whispered to him, pulling away just enough to meet his surprised gaze with her own loving one, tears of happiness gathering in her eyes. "Not just mine, but my son's as well, and for that I don't think I can ever repay such a wonderful kindness to me." She rested her head against his snout, closing her eyes to take in the warm embrace. "Thank you so much. Truly…thank you."
The entire riverbed fell into a frozen silence, broken only by the wind.
Then something hot and wet splashed against the top of her head.
Mrs. Brisby's eyes opened in surprise, and she pulled back from the hug to look up, half-expecting to see that the storm had finally reached them. However, not a single drop of rain was to be seen; the skies were cloudy, yes, but the rain still had yet to fall. She reached up and felt her hair, which was now wet from water rather than spit. She frowned, looking over her wet fingertips in confusion. What was-?
Then she saw them, and her whole world changed at that very moment.
Spyro stared at her in complete silence, his reptilian face as stoic and expressionless as ever…but where his face gave nothing away, his eyes were a much different story…as were the tears running down the grooves of his scales from them; large and heavy, they were spilling from his eyes with no attempt on the dragon's part to fight against them or hide them away to save pride. He just stared at her with rounded, transfixed pupils, as if hypnotized by the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life…or, more precisely, moved by the most wonderful thing he had experienced in his life. A mixture of happiness mixed with pain, conflict, and anger towards the world for denying him it for so long.
She knew that look in his eyes. She recognized it now. All the different times where it had compelled her before, drew her to him, she now knew why. Because those eyes…those longing, angry, hurt, sorrow-filled eyes…she had seen them before. And not in her own reflection, as that was no longer an accurate comparison. No, she had seen them before in no other than her own children: on that one horrible, horrible night not to long ago, when they all had to learn that their father was dead and never coming home.
The eyes of a child who had lost the light that once filled their heart.
Her own eyes widened with realization, and she stepped back in a stumble, her hands covering her mouth in a failed attempt to hide the shocked gasp of horror that escaped her lips.
It all added up together, all the pieces falling into place. His small size. His leaner body. His enlarged features. His silly attitude. His fear at nearly losing her twice. And the eyes that had seen the true horrors of the world, tasted the full bite of pain and injustice that was the worst of life itself, and could only ask one question:
Why?
"You…you're a-"
*KRA-KOOOOMMM!*
Whatever she was about to say was lost to the explosion of thunder that shook the land, a not-so-distant bolt of lightning streaking across the sky like a blaze of heaven fire. Spyro's rounded pupils immediately narrowed into full slits at the sight of the lightning, and he recoiled from Mrs. Brisby's touch, knocking her onto her rear as he stumbled back onto his hind legs and let out an animalistic shriek of fear.
"W-Wait! Easy, easy!" Mrs. Brisby cried out as the dragon continued to panic as another thunderclap rang across the horizon. "It's okay! It's not going to-!"
"LOOK OUT!"
*BOOOOM!*
That was all she heard before she was tackled from the side by Zoe, who pushed her out of the way just in time to avoid getting smashed by Spyro's thrashing tail; the stone she was on not a second before was shattered into pebbles by the sheer force of the blow, which sent both mouse and fairy tumbling further across the dirt, the latter using her body to shield the former from the hailstorm of dirt that the dragon's wings kicked up, which were flapping erratically as he attempted to take flight, only to fail.
"We have to go! Now!" Zoe told her, pulling her up to her feet.
Mrs. Brisby tried to resist, her focus on the frightened dragon, who continued to thrash and roar as the thunder continued to roll through the sky.
"B-But he needs help!" She stammered. "We have to-"
But Zoe wouldn't let her approach, scooping her up bridal-style again. "He's too dangerous to approach in this state!" She told her. "There's nothing we can do for him right now; we have to get out of range before we're crushed like insects!"
"But-!"
*CRAAASH!*
They looked up to see the dragon falling backwards into the side of the riverbed, roaring mindlessly as he crashed into the same cliff-face he had just pulled the medicine from; the very rock-face split down the middle from the sheer force of the impact, the dragon's numerous dorsal spines digging deep into the solid stone. That was it for Zoe, who quickly took flight and zoomed out of the river with Mrs. Brisby in her arms. For once, Mrs. Brisby paid the heights no mind, her hands clutching Timmy's medicine and her heart reaching for the poor dragon frightened by the approaching storm.
"He's a dragon, Miss Mouse, not a furling." Zoe told her firmly, looking her straight in the eye as they gained height. "A living force of nature. He can't be approached by mere mortals when he's like this, even if he needs us to…" She sighed, shaking her head in her own sadness. "Believe me, I want to help him just as much as you do…but even I know better than to walk into a raging forest fire."
Mrs. Brisby wanted to object, any and all instinct of fear and self-preservation completely overridden by a far more powerful drive she was equally as familiar with. But in the end, all she could do was hugged the envelope and look back, even as they flew away into the forest, at the sight of a mighty, fire-breathing dragon continue to wail and lash out in terror, sounding just like the heart-breaking screams for help from a lost furling in her ears.
For that's exactly what he was, she now knew, his cries tearing at her heart and pulling hard at the deepest, strongest, and most primal of instincts within it:
For all his size, and all his power, he was just a furling. A pup. Whatever dragons called their young.
A Child.
She was still looking back as they came in for a landing.
Mrs. Brisby had barely acknowledged the fact they had been flying in the first place, her fear of heights all but forgotten in the swirling maelstrom of thoughts that ravaged her mind. She simply braced herself as they dropped down into a clearing within the forest, just on the edge of the Stone's glade; the same where Spyro had encountered Cynthia not so long ago.
And she didn't say anything as Zoe set her down on her feet, simply staring back towards the distant river with a longing look on her face.
"There was nothing you could've done." Zoe stated simply, brushing the dust and gunk from her person as she landed next to the mouse. "Nothing that wouldn't have resulted in you getting accidentally crushed."
"There should've been something…" Mrs. Brisby said forlornly, her heart still aching from the pain in those cries. "…Anything."
The fairy sighed. "I know…I know it all too well…" She admitted, placing a hand on the mother's shoulder. "But you are just a mouse, and I am just a fairy, whereas he is a dragon. Some differences in species are simply too extreme to cross. It would've been suicide to approach him when he's in that state of emotion." She patted her shoulder reassuringly. "What we can do is wait for the storm to pass, and then comfort him afterwards. In the meantime, I believe we have other pressing matters to attend to before it's too late."
That seemed to snap her out of it, and she nodded in agreement, hugging the medicine envelope to her chest. The two then made their way toward the distant shadow of the Lee of the Stone, just as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Never before, in her entire life, had Mrs. Brisby been so happy to see the Lee of the Stone.
Home Sweet Home. Too many times in one day she thought she would never see it again, and part of her wanted to never leave its comforting, protective presence ever again. And hopefully, if all went well, she wouldn't have to for a while.
"I have to admit, as loathe as the dragon fairy within me is to do so: you guys have a pretty good thing going here for yourselves." Zoe commented as she followed the mouse down the main path towards the stone, using her wings as a makeshift umbrella. "The protection of the stone, a sturdy cozy-looking den, rich farming soil, permanent access to water via the river. If I were a mouse, I'd pick this place to build my burrow as well."
Mrs. Brisby smiled warmly at the compliment, a flow of equally-warm memories passing through her mind's eye. "Thank you. Johnathan built it with his own two paws." She told her. "Took a better part of a year, but it was more than worth it."
"And you've been living here for just a bit under a decade, right?"
The mouse nodded, a concerned look crossing her face. "Yes...did my children tell you that?"
"Teresa did. Said you all came here just after Martin was born." Zoe confirmed, arms folded behind her head in causal laid-backness. "You literally just missed us, honestly: we left on a voyage across the sea just one year before. One we've literally just got back from about five days ago."
Well, that explained why she hadn't seen Spyro or his fairy up until now.
"Ten years..." Mrs. Brisby thought aloud. "...that's a long time to be away from home."
Zoe scowled. "Made even longer by the fact that our original purpose of the voyage was a complete waste of time." She snarled bitterly. When the mouse gave her a confused look, she simply waved her off. "It's a long story, I'll tell you about it later, if you want. Just know it doesn't have a happy ending."
Mrs. Brisby nodded. "No...I suppose it doesn't..." She murmured, the image of all those horrible scars flashing through her mind.
The rain had just started to fall in earnest by the time they finally made it under the stone's cover, where the weather could not touch them; the over-arching end of the stone served as a natural shelther from the storm, shielding everything beneath it from the elements, very much like a large cave would. This allowed them to relax as they walked up to the front door, which was of a rough design, fashioned out of several stout grass-stakes lashed together with twine, and without any doorknob or handle. Mrs. Brisby stepped forward, reaching to push the door open, when muffled voices from beyond it caught both of their attention.
"…Cast not pearls before swine, I always say, and that includes impudent piglets. Good day!"
They heard some heavy steps marching up to the door, followed by a scream, and then what sounded like a large, water-filled sack tumbling down a flight of stairs. The children's laughter carried all the way up to the door. Sparing each other a confused glance, the two pushed the door open and made their way inside.
The interior of the Brisby home came as quite a surprise to Zoe, who had been expecting a dug-out hole with some straw bedding at best, as that was what most Fae thought of the rodentkin. Instead, the sheer level of civilization and care put into it was amazing: with stone boulders and wooden beams securely reinforcing the earthen walls, and a couple of small, glassless windows providing ventilation, the Brisby home was semi-subterranean, built in a hollowed-out cave underneath the Stone. It was very homely: a massive stone fireplace providing heat and light, the kitchen was furnished with a large, well-scrubbed table, some wooden benches and stools and a dresser filled with earthenware pottery and dishes. The dirt floor was covered in giant rabbit-skin rugs, making the place look most cozy and welcoming. A massive tree root protruding from the floor by the front door had been carved into a flight of stairs, leading down into the kitchen.
This was how the Rodentkin were able to survive both the harsh winters and giant predators native to Nimh: within their subterranean dwellings, built into elaborate underground homes. The perfect shelters for braving the long, freezing winters of these lands.
And it was at the bottom of these stairs that the source of all the commotion was visible. Auntie Shrew was lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs, having tripped on her oversized shawl. The Children were all in differing fits of laughter, from trying to hide it behind their hands to openly pointing and laughing. Zoe had to hold back the urge to laugh at the scene herself. Mrs. Brisby, on the other hand, didn't find it very funny.
"Martin!" She scolded from atop the stairs. "Auntie Shrew, what is going on?"
The rotund shrew rolled over onto her stomach, struggling to get to her feet. "Well! There you are, Elizabeth!" She muttered, dusting herself off without looking up. "I've just about had it with that rotten brat you call a son! I have half a mind to-" That when she looked up, and her eyes bugged out with horror. "GOOD HEAVENS, CHILD!"
"Huh?" Mrs. Brisby asked, confused, until she remembered the state she was in. "Oh."
The young mother was, to put it frankly, a complete and utter mess straight out of a nightmare. Spyro may have been able to heal her wounds, but he hadn't been able to mend her clothes or clean her of the mess she was in. Her dress was torn in many places and utterly soaked in blood from the riverbed's corpses, her sleeves and skirt damp with it. The unraveled remains of her bandages still hung from around her head and off her elbows, almost giving her the appearance of a mummy. Were she to play dead, one could mistake her for a mauled corpse.
"I-It's not as bad as it looks! Honest!" She stammered as the old shrew all but flew up the steps to her. "There were these weasels, and-"
"Weasels?!" Auntie Shrew exclaimed, fretting all over the mouse and searching her for any wounds. "How-...you went off the main path, didn't you?" To that, Brisby simply nodded. "Elizabeth, you know the dangers of leaving the path! You could've been killed!"
"I nearly was." Mrs. Brisby admitted, looking away in shame, only for her gaze to turn warm as the memories resurfaced. "But I was saved. By a truly kind creature."
"Is that so?" Auntie Shrew asked, sounding skeptical. "Well, whoever it was, they certainly did it without-" It was then, and only then, did she finally notice Zoe standing in the hallway leading to the door, the fairy's face twisted into an exaggerated smile, and her vision went red. "...YOU!"
"Ah, Honeydew!" Zoe cursed aloud before jumping forward, barely missing getting walloped over the head by the old rodent's walking stick.
"Ms. Zoe?!" Teresa exclaimed in surprise as the fairy flew overhead, clearly not expecting their new secret friend to be with their mother. "What are you doing here?!"
"Trying to keep my head on my shoulders!" Zoe called back as she put herself into the inner corner of the roof, clinging to the far wall like a giant moth. Didn't stop the old shrew from grabbing the nearest cushion from the nearby couch and throwing it at her. "Hey! Watch it!"
"Are you the one responsible for this?!" Auntie Shrew shouted in a fit of fury, chucking another pillow at her. "You fairies and your trickery with wild beasts! I should've known this was your doing!" Her next attempt to throw something was halted when Martin clutched onto his arm, using his weight to pull the shrew back.
"Hey, leave her alone!" He snapped. "She didn't do nuthin'!"
"Get off me, you little brat! We can't let her get away!" She exclaimed, struggling to pull away from Martin, when Teresa and Cynthia did the same with her other arm, resulting in them all tumbling backwards onto the couch in a big pile of fur, objections, and insults, sending the entire piece of furniture falling backwards with a clatter of wood and a flurry of feather stuffing.
Mrs. Brisby came scampering down the stairs and up to the commotion.
"Stop this, all of you!" she exclaimed as she pulled her children off of her aunt one by one, eventually helping the old shrew to her feet. "Auntie, please. Miss Zoe is not a threat: she helped me after I was attacked by the weasels; I wouldn't have gotten back home if it wasn't for her!" This was partially true, though Mrs. Brisby decided it was probably best not to tell her already-paranoid aunt about the giant dragon that now lurked in the forests around the Stone.
"Or, more likely, she used her evil spells on those horrible beasts to trick you into letting her into your home!" Auntie Shrew objected, tapping her walking stick against the floor in reprimand. "I've warned you about Fairy-kind and their devious schemes for years, and you go and let one into your home! Especially after everything this one has done?!"
"For the last sarding time, that was all an accident!" Zoe snapped from her perch, refusing to come down while the present threat was still in the room. "Unlike you snaring me in your trap and leaving me strung up like a Christmas ham for whatever predator found me!"
That got a scowl of disapproval from Mrs. Brisby. "Auntie…" She chided. "She saved me today, for no reason other than kindness. I trust her."
"Miss Zoe's not a bad fairy." Teresa spoke up. "She didn't do anything wrong."
"That whole thing was an accident." Martin also added.
Cynthia merely nodded in agreement, unsure of what to say.
Seeing that she was fighting a losing battle, the shrew ended up submitting in the end, speaking in a softer, but no less disapproving tone. "I'm not the one in charge of this household, so it isn't my place to dismiss any visitors you let in…" she huffed in defeat. "But I do hope to Frith Above that you know what you're doing, especially for the children's sake…ill-mannered brats as they may be." She shot Martin a glare, who stuck his tongue out at her in response.
"As for you, you magical hoodlum!" She addressed Zoe, earning a half-hearted 'Heyyy…' in response to her insult. "If you even so much as think about trying any of your dirty fairy tricks on this family, I'll see to it that you'll rue the day you got your wings! Do I make myself clear?!"
"Yes, you are extremely loud." Zoe groaned, rolling her eyes, earning a small round of giggles from the furlings.
"Hmph!" The old shrew scoffed, turning her nose up in a huff as she turned back to her niece. "One last thing before I leave you to deal with this ruffian: the first storm of spring has begun, and you know that means Moving Day is at hand. Timmy's sickness may not allow you to take part in it this year, but keep in mind that all Rodentkin are expected to do their part."
"Yes, I'll have everyone ready, just in case."
"See that you do." Auntie Shrew harrumphed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll prefer to make it to my hole before the rain starts to fall too hard, as another moment with your very odd family will drive me to my wit's end. Good day."
And with that, the old shrew turned and strode out the door in a huff, muttering about disrespectful hooligans, tricksters fairies, and naïve young lady mice along the way. Everyone waited until the door closed before the breath they had collectively been holding was released in a unified sigh of relief.
"No offense to you or your lineage, be it by blood or by adoption…" Zoe quipped as she opened her wings and fluttered down from the high wall, landing next to the mice with an almost dainty flourish. "…but I've encountered badgers with more appealing personalities than your aunt."
"Do forgive her, will you?" Mrs. Brisby asked as she put the medicine envelope down on the table. "She might be a bit over-bearing, but she means well..." She then turned a disapproving glare to her children. "…which makes your behavior towards her unacceptable. Especially you, Martin."
"She started it!" Martin grumbled, folding his arms.
"That's no excuse." Mrs. Brisby stood firm, the mother in her coming into full light. "She only wants to help, and this is a very poor way to repay her for her kindness!" While she rarely lost her temper with them like their father sometimes used to, the disappointment in her voice always got the message across; Martin looked hurt, while Teresa, the least guilty, looked reproachfully at her brother with crossed arms, giving him a stern look of her own.
"I…I'm sorry, Mom." the boy stammered, staring shamefully at the floor.
Mrs. Brisby nodded, before turning her gaze to them all as a whole. "There's also another issue I've been made aware of, thanks to Zoe here." She told them all, sounding no less disappointed. "You all lied to me and Mr. Ages about Auntie's trap…and about Spyro."
All three of them looked up in alarm, eyes widening with it.
"You know about Spyro?!" Teresa gasped, looking the most worried out of all of them, though it seemed like it was more worry for the dragon than being caught.
"Yes, I do." Mrs. Brisby told them sternly, only for her voice to soften. "Because he was the one who saved me from the weasels, and then saved me when I nearly fell to my death." There was a moment of silence, all three of her children looking at her in a mix of horror, awe, and gratitude. "I know he's a good dragon and I'm not going to tell anyone about him." Zoe nodded appreciatively at that. "So, you don't need to hide anything from me anymore. Alright?"
"…we…we just wanted to keep him safe." Teresa admitted, head hung in shame.
"We didn't want anything bad to happen to him." Martin agreed.
"We needed to keep the bad rats away." Cynthia spoke up, repeating what her siblings had told her.
That got Mrs. Brisby's attention, making her blink in surprise. "Bad rats? What bad rats?"
"The one's who want to hurt the sad purple monster." Cynthia told her.
"She means Ratdom as a whole." It was Zoe who spoke up this time, bending down to pick up the blonde-furred furling in a gentle hold. "The same ones that we fairies closed our borders from to begin with: if word ever got out that a real live dragon was on Nimh, everyone would try to hunt him down and slay him." She gave Cynthia a gentle squeeze, earning a small chirp of delight from the young mouse. "I, for one, am thankful to you all for not telling anyone about him, and hope you continue to keep this secret."
"It…it wouldn't be as bad as that." Mrs. Brisby tried to object, though deep down she knew otherwise.
"Yes, it would." Zoe quipped without missing a beat, giving the mother a knowing stare. "But I digress. I believe we have a sick furling to tend to."
Mrs. Brisby's eyes went wide. "Oh goodness, Timothy!"
Without another word, she scurried over to the fireplace, where a kettle with warm water was hanging over. She reached for a rag to pick it up with, only to grimace as the blood-soaked end of her torn sleeve ran across the tabletop, leaving a long smear of blood across its surface. She barely had time to recoil in disgust, not even sure she could touch the medicine without dirtying it when another hand (one without fur or claws) picked up the rag for her.
"I'll make the broth." Zoe told her, wiping her hands clean with the rag, leaving them spotless. "You go clean yourself up so you can give it to your son without making him even sicker."
The mouse nodded, muttering her thanks before she left for the washroom. The moment she left, Zoe got to work; using a fresh rag than the one she wiped her hands with, she took the kettle with one hand and brought it to the table, using her other hand to hold a bowl in place. Teresa, Martin, and Cynthia gathered around, watching with anxious stares as the fairy poured the water into the bowl before setting the kettle down away.
"Pass me the medicine, Martin." Zoe asked with an out-held hand, as the second-oldest siblings was the closest to where it was. Martin nodded and dutifully handed her the envelope, taking care to keep it upright so it wouldn't spill. Zoe nodded her thanks as she took the envelope and opened it, reaching a slim hand inside to scoop up about half-a-handful of the herb mixture. "Three weeks. Mr. Ages made enough medicine to last for at least three weeks." She told the three as she sprinkled the mixture into the bowl, using a wooden spoon to slowly stir it into a proper broth. "That's how long it will take for Timothy to get better."
"But Moving Day will be coming to Dapplewood soon." Teresa objected; she recalled how excited Timothy had been about this year, being the first he was finally old enough to help the grownups with it. "This was going to be his first year participating in the moving."
Zoe shook her head. "I'm sorry, but he's going to have to miss it until next year." The fairy told her. "Trust me when I say Pneumonia's not a disease to take lightly: he has to stay warm and bundled up in bed for at least three weeks, no going outside whatsoever, as breathing the cold air will only make it worse, you all understand? Your mom's counting of all of you to help keep your brother safe."
All three of them nodded in agreement, their friend's words cementing their duty to their family members in their minds and hearts alike.
Mrs. Brisby returned just as Zoe finished preparing the broth. The mouse was looking much better than she had been a few minutes before, having washed herself thoroughly and having exchanged her soaked dress and cloak for a simple white nightgown. No trace of any of the horror or gore of the day beforehand was visible, leaving her looking as clean and untouched as the morning she left for the ruins.
"It's ready." She told her, placing the spoon on the edge of the bowl before handing it to her.
"Thank you so much." Mrs. Brisby said gratefully, taking the bowl in both hands. "Will you come? Just in case we need something more?"
Zoe nodded, and she followed the family of mice through a doorway obscured by a curtain, entering what was clearly the children's bedroom. Four roughly carved, child-sized beds with rabbit skin duvets were the main focus of the room, the walls decorated with painted flowers. There were some homemade toys sitting on shelves, a round rabbit-skin rug in the middle of the dirt floor, and a small fireplace providing light and heat. It truly testified to the meagre means of living most Rodentkin had, their abodes nowhere near as nice or luxurious as those of the Fae.
And yet, there was something…homely about it all. It wasn't much, but it was all theirs at the same time. That brought a small smile to the fairy's face.
And there, sleeping fitfully in the bed next to the large glass window that allowed a view of the outside world, was the only member of this little family that Zoe hadn't met yet.
Much like Cynthia, Timothy's fur was a single shade of sandy-blonde, no highlights or other markings to be seen. Unlike his sister, however, who was a healthy weight and roundness for her age, he looked terribly frail, very thin, and overall small for a mouse his age. Even his younger sister was larger than he was in terms of overall mass. He laid there, bundled up in several blankets, but still shivering from the cold. His breath was weak and shallow, as if he was unable to cough out the fluids building in his lungs.
A sight that struck a cord within Zoe that she would rather forget.
Mrs. Brisby sat down on a stool she had set up next to the bed, between it and the window, and tenderly stroked her son's damp hair. "Timmy, wake up, dear." She whispered gently, just enough to rouse the child from slumber. Timothy's heavy eyes opened just a bit, and he had no strength to greet his mother, other than a weak smile of recognition. "I've brought some medicine for you. It will make you feel better." Timothy was unable to say anything, but he was able to drink the broth as Mrs. Brisby spoon-fed it to him.
After what felt like an eternity of a day, Timothy was finally getting his medicine, taking the first much-needed step towards recovery.
Zoe knelt down on the opposite side of the bed from Mrs. Brisby, giving the furling between them a look over. She placed her fingers against his neck to feel his pulse, only to find it racing like a steam engine. Running her hand across his forehead, it felt as hot as a boiling kettle.
"Teresa, Martin, bring me some cold water and some towels from the kitchen." The fairy instructed the two siblings, who had been waiting outside the doorway to the bedroom. "It will help the medicine bring his fever down." Without questioning the odd request, Teresa hurried back to the kitchen to get the water as instructed, with Martin assisting her in carrying the towels. When they returned, Zoe took the bowl of water from Teresa and set it on the bedside table, taking a towel from Martin and dipping it into it. She let it soak for a few seconds before she pulled it out and wrung out the excess water, folding the damp cloth and taking it to Timmy's forehead.
"What are you doing?" Mrs. Brisby asked cautiously.
"Applying cold water to the forehead will help soothe the effects of the fever." Zoe said without looking up, gently dabbing the sweat from the boy's forehead.
"Are you an angel?"
Everyone fell into a stunned silence as a weak voice managed to speak out, and all eyes fell on Timothy; his glazed-over eyes were somewhat focused on the fairy, no doubt still in a state of delirium from the fever. Zoe herself looked the most surprised of all, but not because the boy spoke; rather it was what she had been called that had caught her quite off-guard.
There was a moment of tense silence, an uncertain air filling the room.
Then Zoe gave a sad smile.
"No." She told him as she continued to work, applying another towel to his forehead, soothing his fever just a touch. "I've been many things in my life, but an angel will never be one of them."
Timothy continued to stare at the fairy in his state of semi-consciousness. "Who…who are you?"
"A friend." Was all Zoe told him.
Mrs. Brisby reached over and kissed her son's cheek, trying to reassure him. "She's someone who's going to make you feel better, Timmy." She reassured him lovingly. "You just try and go back to sleep, darling." Once Timothy had finished eating his medicine, the two then helped the boy swallow some water so he wouldn't dehydrate. At that point, there was nothing more left to do but wait and hope that Mr. Ages remedy worked, as they usually did, with the young furling falling back into a much more restful slumber.
"Off to bed with you all, now." Mrs. Brisby whispered to the rest of her children; it was the end of a long day for the whole family.
And only Frith knew what tomorrow would bring for them all.