THEY had been traveling for nearly four days now. Four days of walking from dawn until dusk, following the trade routes through the forest path before the path finally led them toward the dense shadow of the Haunted Forest that bordered the edge of the Great Kells, that would take them to Kiamo Ko.
The journey had been quiet but not unpleasant. Though the weight of Ryn's missing father and Boq's mission to deal with Elphaba's flying monkeys lingered between them like an unspoken worry, the long stretches of walking had given them time to talk, filling the miles with quiet conversation.
Boq hadn't expected to learn so much about her. But Ryn had a way of speaking hesitantly at first, then growing braver the longer she talked, as if each sentence encouraged the next. And so, in scattered moments along the way, she had told him things. Small things. She had never traveled beyond Munchkinland before coming to the Emerald City. That she loved the smell of cinnamon, because when she was little, her mother used to bake spiced sweetbread on cold winter mornings, and the whole house would smell warm. She had a nervous habit of smoothing her skirts or tucking her hair back behind her ears when she didn't know what to do with her hands.
She had asked about him, too—gently, cautiously, as if afraid she might say something wrong.
Boq only shared what he could bear to say aloud—that he had been born to a humble, simple-minded woodcutter and his wife. As a boy, he had learned everything there was to know about wood from his father. His parents had always expected him to follow in his father's footsteps, but he had longed for more. He had dreamed of leaving Munchkinland, of studying agriculture instead of trees already felled. So, he had left. Gone to Shiz.
And when he did, his parents hadn't even noticed. He told Ryn how he had once served Governess Nessarose Thropp—albeit forcefully. How his life had once been different. How he had once been human.
But he hadn't told her everything. He hadn't told her how it felt to rust in the rain. How it felt the moment he realized he would never again feel the warmth of the sun on his skin or the warmth of another person's touch. Or about the things he had lost long before he even knew they were gone.
The path grew more uneven as they ventured deeper into the forest, the trees pressing in around them like twisted fingers against the purple-red sky. Boq noticed a slight drag in his left knee joint just as Ryn's hand unexpectedly touched his leg.
"Oh! Um, your knee is catching, and well, I…I mean, if you don't mind, I could maybe—here, just let me," she stammered softly, her fingers hovering uncertainly before gently exploring the mechanical joint. "I think I see what's wrong…"
"That's very kind of you, but that's not necessary. I—I usually manage on my own," Boq began softly, his joints creaking nervously as he moved to step back—but something in her careful touch made him still. Her slender fingers moved with a combination of gentleness and precision, working a small twig free from between his metal plates.
"There," she said quietly, a note of triumph in her shy, sweet voice as she tossed the twig aside. "Does that feel better?"
The unexpected intimacy of the moment caught him off guard—her touch so careful, so matter-of-fact, as if mending a tin man was the most natural thing in the world. Boq's joints felt smoother, but it was something else entirely that made him feel lighter.
"Yes, much better," he said after a moment, his voice wavering with surprise at his softness. "Thank you..."
As they walked, Boq hadn't realized he'd been touching the seam of his chest plate until he caught Ryn watching him. His fingers awkwardly traced the junction where metal met metal—a gesture he'd developed unconsciously since his transformation, a habit of feeling different, of feeling broken, of feeling inhuman.
"Does… does it hurt you?" she asked softly. "Being tin, I mean."
Boq stiffened. How many times had he braced himself for pity, for that look of horror or revulsion? But when he glanced down, Ryn's eyes were different. Soft. Curious. Compassionate. No judgment. Just understanding.
"Sometimes..." he admitted, surprised by his honesty. The words felt like rusting flaking away. "When the rust comes, you see, and... and my joints grow stiff..." His fingers tapped uncertainly against his chest. "And sometimes I feel...I feel so very...well...inhuman."
Ryn was quiet for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. Then, almost as if testing the weight of her own words, she confessed, "I—well—sometimes I also feel like I'm not—I mean, what I'm trying to say is..." she trailed off, fidgeting with her skirt before taking a breath. "I understand how it feels to think you're not enough."
Before he could speak, her hand brushed his arm—a touch so light it barely registered against his metal surface.
"I've never met anyone like you, Boq. You're more human than anybody else I've ever known," she said quietly. "Tin or not."
A warmth he shouldn't have been able to feel spread through his hollow frame, like sunlight catching on metal. Yet something was changing between them.
With each step, with each shared story, the walls he'd built around himself seemed to soften. Ryn had listened. She always listened.
And when Ryn looked at him, it wasn't with pity or fear, but something else—something soft, something uncertain, something almost…intimate. Something he refused to name. Boq forced himself to bury the thought deep in his hollow frame as they neared the dark outline of the trees ahead.
The forest path at their feet had narrowed into an uneven trail, half-choked with roots and damp leaves. The Haunted Forest waited before them, its crooked branches reaching outward like skeletal fingers, and whatever warmth the late afternoon had vanished the moment they crossed beneath the thick canopy.
As Ryn carefully navigated a particularly treacherous section of tangled roots, her foot slipped on a moss-covered log. Before she could fall, Boq's tin hand caught her elbow, steadying her. For a moment, they were close—close enough that she could see the faint glint of light reflecting off the seams of his body, close enough to hear the soft creak of metal as he moved, close enough to feel the slight warmth radiating from his metal frame.
"Thank you," Ryn whispered, her hand lingering briefly on his arm. Their eyes met, and there was a softness there—an understanding that went beyond words. Boq's heart clock ticked a fraction faster, and Ryn's cheeks flushed a delicate pink.
Then the moment passed, but the quiet intimacy remained, hanging in the air between them like a half-spoken promise. The air around them grew thick and damp, and the earth beneath Boq's metal feet had grown soft, almost reluctant, sucking at his steps with each motion.
Boq slowed slightly, watching as Ryn carefully lifted the hem of her dress to clear the tangled roots. A pang of guilt seeped into his joints like rust as he watched her. She shouldn't be here. She should be back in the Emerald City, safe, far from whatever waited for them in the forest ahead and at Kiamo Ko.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, his gentle voice full of concern.
Ryn startled slightly, looking up at him with wide brown eyes before quickly nodding. "Yes. It's just…a little steeper than I expected."
Boq scanned the knotted roots beneath them. "These roots are treacherous," he fretted quietly, more to himself than to her. His voice was tender with worry. "I wouldn't want you to slip."
"I'll be careful," Ryn assured him, a faint pink blush speckling along her cheeks. She adjusted the strap of her satchel, nearly breaking the strap of her bag before forcing herself to stop. "I don't want to slow us down."
Her voice was light, but Boq could hear the slight self-consciousness beneath it. She had done that before—kept her worries small. Shrunk them into careful words, as if saying them too plainly would be an inconvenience to others. Boq exhaled, though the sound came out more like the scrape of wind through metal.
"We should...we really should keep going," Boq spoke quietly, his tin frame quivering with uncertainty.
Ryn nodded and hurried forward, matching his pace. The forest deepened around them. The deeper they ventured, the more the trees seemed to press in around them, their branches reaching like twisted fingers against the purple-red sky as nightfall neared.
As Boq glanced around the forest, he realized with a jolt that rippled through his tin frame that something had changed. At first, he wasn't sure what had, but then he realized—
There were no birds. No insects. No wind stirring the leaves above. It was as if the usual sounds of the forest had vanished entirely, leaving behind an eerie silence. Even the sound of their footsteps seemed muffled as if the earth had grown too thick, too soft, swallowing every noise before it could fully form. Boq's fingers curled around the handle of his axe. His chest felt too light—not weightless, but hollow, in a way that had nothing to do with what he was made of.
The wind shifted.
And then—
"Tiiiick-tock goes the heart clock... counting down... counting down..."
Boq froze mid-step. His metal frame locked so suddenly that Ryn nearly collided with him, catching herself just in time.
"Boq?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. The voice had been soft, stretched thin, like a whisper carried from a great distance away—but he knew it. Boq's fingers clenched, metal grinding against metal. It wasn't real. It was just the spooks that dwelled in the Haunted Forest, trying to frighten him, nothing more.
"...Boq? What is it? What's wrong?" Her voice was quieter now, hesitant.
Boq barely noticed the way she lifted her hand slightly, hovering just inches from his arm, as if she wanted to touch him but wasn't sure if she should. He willed his joints forward. "... perhaps it's just the wind," he whispered, though his voice quavered. "But please... stay close..."
Ryn paused. For a moment, she almost looked as if she might say something. But instead, she lowered her hand and gave a small nod.
"Alright," she murmured.
As they pressed forward, he couldn't help but notice how Ryn kept glancing over her shoulder, her brows pinched, as if she expected to see someone—or something—behind them. Boq felt it too.
There was a weight to the air now, pressing in from all sides, thick and heavy, making his tin frame feel more solid than it should. The trees leaned too closely, their branches like twisted ribs overhead, and even the light that fought through the canopy seemed duller as if the very forest was swallowing it whole.
A sharp gust of wind whipped through the branches, sending a low, shuddering groan through the trees. The noise made Ryn flinch slightly, and she pressed a little closer to him before she caught herself.
Boq forced himself to continue forward, one step at a time. "We'd better find a spot to make camp soon. The light's fading fast, and we'll lose the path if we keep going."
Ryn nodded quickly, her fingers absently tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears, that nervous habit he'd come to recognize. "Do…do you think we're close to Kiamo Ko?"
"Mm, maybe another mile yet..." Boq gazed anxiously at the darkening purple and red sky through the branches, his tin fingers tapping nervously against his chest. "The light's fading so quickly, and... and I worry about going further when it's getting so dark..."
"...Right," she said softly. She didn't press the subject, but Boq noticed how her arms crossed lightly over her chest as if warding off a chill that hadn't fully settled yet.
Something caught his eye—gouge marks high on one of the trees. Boq stilled, fingers tracing the four deep slashes. These weren't from wolves or random claws—these were from something landing. "They've been here," he said quietly.
"The flying monkeys?" Ryn inhaled sharply.
He scanned the branches above, and that's when he saw it—a single crimson feather, caught on the edge of a twisted branch, its delicate strands trembling with the lightest breeze. Boq didn't move. Something inside his metal frame constricted, though he had nothing inside him to constrict.
"Boq?" Ryn's voice was nervous. She had followed his gaze and now stared at the feather as if it were something unnatural. Something cursed.
Boq stepped closer, reaching out. The moment his fingers brushed the delicate quill, the feather broke loose from the branch. It drifted downward, slow and soundless like a drop of blood falling into dark water. He caught it before it could hit the ground. It was soft, lighter than air, but it burned against his metal palm as if it carried some unseen weight.
"We should move," Boq swallowed. Ryn's hands tightened around her satchel, her knuckles faintly white. She didn't ask why. She simply nodded. She trusted him. Even when she was afraid. Even when she shouldn't.
Boq turned and kept walking. And behind them, the wind stirred the trees, sending a new shuddering groan through the canopy—one that sounded less like branches shifting, and more like something watching from above.
Ryn turned as if to continue their progress when she suddenly stopped. "What's wrong?" Boq turned, alarmed.
Her brow furrowed as she studied the trees, fingers pressing against her chest. "I don't know, but...somehow it all feels familiar," she said uncertainly.
Boq's heart clock ticked loudly in the silence. He didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. She had never been here before. He knew that. So why did she sound so sure? His joints shifted uneasily.
The forest had been wrong from the start, but this—this was worse. Something was changing. And he didn't know what to do about it.
"We should keep moving," he said, his voice uneven. He turned to Ryn, only to find her already watching him, her expression gentle. There was something so unbearably sweet in the way she looked at him, something that made his throat lock up, made his tin joints feel too stiff, too solid. He attempted a smile and forced his voice up from his throat. "Come on."
Ryn hesitated. Words seemed to catch in her throat, but in the end, she only exhaled softly. "Y-yes, of course... you're probably right... I mean, you would know, wouldn't you? About the forest and... everything..." she trailed off, looking concerned into Boq's eyes. She quickly fell into step beside him, and the forest swallowed them whole as they continued, searching for a safe place to rest before the last traces of light vanished entirely.
Though their progress hadn't taken them very far at all when they heard it—a sound, thin and distant, floating between the trees. A cry. Ryn stopped so suddenly that her satchel swung forward against her hip.
"D-did you—I mean, maybe it was nothing, but did you hear something just now?" she asked, wringing her hands nervously.
"Oh, merely the wind," Boq said stiffly. "Though... perhaps we'd better keep our eyes open."
Ryn's eyes snapped to his. "You heard it too."
Boq didn't answer. Because he had. And he did not like it. He parted his lips to speak, but before he could say a word, the sound came again. Soft. Trembling. Pained.
"There it is again. It's coming from over there." Ryn took a cautious step forward, but Boq caught her wrist before he could stop himself.
"Ryn, please wait," Boq called softly, his voice catching with worry. "Just... just a moment..." She looked up at him, startled—not at the contact, but at the pleading urgency in his voice. "T-there's no telling what might be out there," he said carefully.
Ryn froze. But then the cry came again—weaker this time, like something giving up. Her fingers tightened against her satchel, then unclenched.
"But what if—Boq, what if something's really hurt out there? I know we should be careful, but—" She exhaled sharply and smoothed her skirt. "We have to at least look, don't we?" Then, as if steeling herself, she straightened. Determination cut through her nervous stammering. "I'm going." A glance at Boq, and then she darted forward before he could stop her.
Boq let out a frustrated exhale through his nose. Of course she was. Without another word, he followed her into the trees.
They found it tangled in the brambles—a tiny, hunched figure, barely the size of a small child. Its frail limbs twitched weakly, caught in the sharp vines, and one leathery wing hung at an awkward angle.
Boq froze, his heart clock skipping a beat. A baby flying monkey. His fingers trembled as he took in its injuries, that familiar ache of compassion filling his chest. It was still alive. And it was suffering terribly.
"Oh, the poor thing," he whispered, even as worry for Ryn crept through his frame. They didn't know if its family was nearby, if this was some kind of trap. His protective instincts warred with his natural tendency toward kindness.
Ryn moved first, already kneeling beside the creature, her hands gentle as she began parting the tangled brambles. The monkey flinched weakly.
"Ryn, wait," Boq fretted. "We should be careful. What if its family is watching? What if it's hurt worse than we can see?"
"I know we should be careful, but... I mean... we can't just... it needs help, Boq!" she exclaimed, words tumbling out in her concern. The monkey whimpered, a sound that would have gone straight to Boq's heart if he'd still had one.
"Well... I-I suppose we can't very well leave the poor thing here," he admitted, kneeling beside her. "But we must be ever so careful..."
The monkey stiffened at first—then, to Boq's surprise, it curled toward Ryn's touch. Its tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb, and it made a sound almost like a hiccup.
Her eyes widened with delight as she let out a soft gasp. "Did you hear that?" She pressed her hands together excitedly. "It's just like... I mean, the sound is so... it's like a little pip!" She gave a nervous little laugh, quickly dropping her gaze.
"Ryn…" Boq's voice held a note of warning coupled with dread. He knew that tone in her voice, had heard it too many times when he had traveled with Dorothy. That gentle wonder that always led to—
"Pip," she said again, more decisively this time. "That's what we should call you."
Boq felt his joints lock up and his face nearly freeze as he took in Ryn's words.
"Oh no no no—we can't—" Boq wrung his hands nervously. "Ryn, you mustn't give it a name. The moment you name something, you start to…" His tin fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against his chest. "Well, then your heart just can't help but care about it..." He trailed off, his voice soft with understanding.
"Well, I—that is—" She let out a soft, albeit nervous chuckle as she carefully cradled the monkey's injured wing. "I suppose we're already sort of... I mean, look how sweet he is! And your heart clock is ticking faster too, so..."
"Oh, but Ryn," Boq's voice trembled, his metal fingers tapping an anxious rhythm. "Don't you see how... how dangerous this could be?" His metal frame rattled as he fidgeted. "A flying monkey isn't something we can just...—they're dangerous creatures, Ryn! They're—" He glanced down at the tiny creature, now snuggling closer to Ryn's hand and chirping softly. His voice faltered. "Well… they're supposed to be dangerous," he finished weakly.
She cradled the tiny creature closer, her movements gentle but uncertain. "Well, maybe we could just..." Her fingers nervously adjusted the makeshift sling. "I mean, not forever of course! Just until the little one's wing heals..." She glanced up at Boq then quickly away again, hugging Pip protectively to her chest. "And we couldn't possibly leave him here all alone, could we? Poor little Pip..." Her voice grew softer as she stroked the monkey's head with trembling fingers.
"And where exactly do you propose we keep a baby flying monkey?" Boq protested. "How do we feed it? What if it has flying monkey diseases? What if—"
The monkey—Pip—chose that moment to reach out with its uninjured arm and pat Boq's worried hands with one tiny paw.
Boq's voice died in his throat. His heart clock made a soft, telling click. He turned away with a frustrated exhale, yet he could still feel Ryn's gaze burning into his tin face. She watched him hopefully, waiting for his answer. He parted his lips, but it took him a moment to find his voice.
"I...oh, we'll keep him, but only until its wing heals," he sighed finally, trying to sound stern but achieving something closer to tender resignation. "And at the first sign of trouble, we'll…we'll…" He sighed, watching as Pip curled trustingly into Ryn's gentle hold. "Oh, what are we getting ourselves into?"
"Something good, I think," Ryn said softly. Her fingers worked carefully, fashioning a makeshift sling for the monkey's injured wing. Pip made another hiccupping sound, but stayed remarkably still, as if understanding they were only trying to help.
"But the others..." Boq whispered, his tin frame quivering as he glanced anxiously at the shadows above. "They'll be searching..." His tin joints creaked as he shifted closer, unconsciously shielding both Ryn and their tiny charge from view. "I know one thing about these creatures - they never abandon their own. Never. And when they find us—when they find us—"
"Then we'll deal with that when it happens." Ryn's voice held that quiet certainty he'd come to know very well over the last few days, that always made his heart clock skip. She was so sure. So fearlessly kind.
"You can't just—" Boq began but stopped as Pip reached out again, tiny fingers brushing against his tin hand. The touch was so gentle, so trusting, that his protestations died in his throat. "Oh, here now, at least let me carry him," he said, his voice softening. "If we need to make a quick escape, you'll be much faster without—"
A sound suddenly interrupted him—a high, keening cry that made the leaves shiver. Boq's heart clock nearly stopped.
Ryn clutched Pip closer, the tiny creature trembling against her chest. "Was that—?"
"We must get away from here," Boq whispered, his voice trembling with worry. "Come on. It—it isn't safe."
They crept forward as quietly as they could, though Boq's joints betrayed them with occasional creaks despite his best efforts. Each sound made him wince, certain it would give them away. Pip, thankfully, seemed to understand the need for silence, going perfectly still against her chest. The cry came again, closer this time. Then another answered it from a different direction.
"They're searching in a pattern," Boq whispered. He'd seen it before—how they'd swooped down, forcing him, Lion, and Scarecrow to scatter before taking Dorothy. They would spiral inward, tightening the net of escape, until—
A shadow passed overhead, briefly dimming the forest floor. Ryn pressed herself against a tree trunk, holding Pip close. The tiny monkey buried its face against her neck, trembling. Boq moved in front of them both, trying to make his tin frame cover as much of them as possible.
"Boq," Ryn breathed, so quiet he barely heard her. "Look."
He followed her gaze to a hollow at the base of a massive oak, partially hidden by trailing vines. The space was just big enough for...
"No," he whispered, horrified. "I simply can't leave you here—"
"You're not leaving me," Ryn said firmly, though her voice shook slightly. "You're protecting us." She touched his arm gently. "Your tin reflects too much light. If they see you..."
Another shadow passed with the soft whoosh of powerful wings.
His chest ached. She was right—of course she was right. But the thought of hiding while she was exposed—
"Please," Ryn whispered. Pip whimpered against her neck.
With a last, desperate look at Ryn, Boq backed into the hollow. The vines fell around him, obscuring him from view. Through the leaves, he could just make out Ryn's shape as she tried to make herself as small as possible. The forest went silent.
Then, with a sound like leather snapping in the wind, something landed in the branches above. Leaves shuddered, raining down around Ryn as she huddled closer to the trunk, Pip trembling against her chest. Boq dared not move, though his heart clock ticked so loudly he was certain it would give them away.
A dark shape moved through the canopy—not just any flying monkey, but one Boq immediately recognized with a chill that rattled through his tin frame. It was her lead crony, the one who had always stood at Elphaba's right hand. The one who had led the attack on Dorothy here in this very forest. His fur was streaked with silver around his muzzle, and his movements were deliberate and precise. Unlike the others, who acted purely on instinct, this one had always seemed…different. More aware. More dangerous.
The monkey's head tilted, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. When he spoke, his voice was rough, broken, like stones grinding together.
"Tin Man…should not…come. Not safe. Go back…" The monkey's ancient eyes darted between the shadows of the trees as he spoke, his gnarled hands making aborted gestures as if fighting the urge to say more. When he looked back at Boq, something almost apologetic flickered across his weathered features.
Boq stilled. He hadn't known this one was an Animal, but there was something odd in the monkey's tone, something that didn't sound entirely threatening. Almost like….warning?
The monkey's gaze shifted to Ryn, then fixed on the tiny bundle in her arms. His expression changed, growing more intense. "Baby hurt? Give baby. We take…we help…"
He extended one gnarled hand, but Ryn instinctively pulled Pip closer. The baby monkey whimpered, burrowing deeper into her embrace.
"Please," Ryn stammered, face draining of color, "we didn't mean to... I mean, we just found him and he was hurt and I... we only wanted to help him!"
The rustle of leaves drew her eyes upward. Dark shapes dropped onto the surrounding branches, wings folding close as more monkeys emerged from the shadows. Pip whimpered and pressed closer to Ryn, tiny fingers clutching her dress.
The lead monkey's head snapped up, ancient eyes widening with something like horror. "No! Wait—" The lead monkey's broken voice cracked with desperation. But it was too late.
The air erupted with beating wings and angry cries. Claws raked Ryn's shoulder, tearing fabric and flesh. She curled around Pip, shielding him with her body as the monkeys descended in a furious swarm.
"Stop!" The lead monkey's broken voice rose above the chaos. "Not want—no hurt—" But the others, driven by feral instinct, paid no heed.
Boq burst from hiding, axe raised. "Don't you dare touch her!"
His appearance scattered the nearest creatures, but more swept in. The lead monkey watched with conflicted eyes, making jerky movements as if fighting himself. Rage and helplessness surged through Boq. Why wasn't he stopping this?
"Run, Ryn!" Boq swung his axe desperately, trying to reach her. But she refused to abandon Pip, even as the monkeys hemmed her in, claws screeching against Boq's metal frame. A massive monkey dove at them. Boq swung, but the creature was too swift.
Claws snagged Ryn's arm, yanking her away from Boq. She crumpled to the ground with a terrible cry that cut off too quickly. The forest floor beneath her darkened ominously.
"Ryn? RYN!" The cry tore from his hollow chest as he lunged for her, shoving roughly past the swarming monkeys. Her face had gone ghostly pale, eyes open but unseeing. "N-no, Ryn, please, stay with me!" Oil tears spilled down his tin cheeks as he gathered her broken form against his chest.
The monkeys didn't relent, their claws raking against his metal frame as they tried to tear her from his grasp. Each impact rang through his hollow body like bells of doom.
Pip wailed where he had fallen, his distress goading the swarm to new ferocity. Blood gleamed on their claws now, something feral in their eyes. They dove at Ryn again and again, forcing Boq to curl his metal body around her like a shield.
"Please! You're killing her!" Boq begged, straining against the wall of wings. His joints threatened to seize with each passing moment, Yackle's prophecy hammering through his hollow frame: "The shape of you now isn't the shape you'll keep." He had led Ryn straight to this fate—winter's teeth, tearing at her fragile human form.
Pip dragged himself across the ground to where Ryn lay, his small body trembling. The silver-furred monkey watched from above, war-torn conflict in his gaze. As another dove at Ryn, something in him seemed to snap.
"NO!"
The word exploded through the forest. Every monkey froze mid-attack. The lead monkey dropped between Ryn and the others, movements jerky as if fighting his own body.
"I...Chistery," he gasped. "Remember...her ways. Not...right. Not...what Mistress...taught." His ancient eyes met Boq's.
Oil tears traced gleaming paths down Boq's tin face, his voice breaking. "Please. She's—she's slipping away. You served Elphaba, you must remember kindness..."
Chistery moved closer, each step a war against instinct. His gnarled hand reached toward Ryn's wounds, then pulled back as Pip pressed himself against her. The old monkey paused, understanding crossing his weathered face.
"Little one…chooses her," he rasped. "Like us…chose Mistress." His gnarled hand dropped back to his side. "Some bonds cannot break."
"What do we do?" Boq pleaded desperately as Ryn's pulse fluttered weakly beneath his fingers.
"Take her—castle edge," Chistery managed, the words scraping like stones. "Straw man will know. How to help."
"The Scarecrow?" Boq's voice wavered between hope and disbelief. "But he left—he went even further west than this—" His tin hands curled into fists, torn between desperate hope and bitter suspicion after what had just happened. "Why should I trust you after what your cronies just did?!"
"Because—" Chistery's hand moved to touch Pip with surprising gentleness. The baby monkey reached for him with tiny fingers. "Because Mistress taught Chistery kindness." Something almost human crossed his features. "Hurry. Time…short. Tin Must must…go. Go…now."
Boq gathered Ryn in his arms, her blood staining his tin chest in crimson rivers. She felt impossibly light as if she were already becoming something less substantial. Pip clung to her torn sleeve, tiny fingers trying to anchor her to this world as every breath grew fainter.
"Keep others... away," Chistery barked to the surrounding monkeys, who chittered restlessly. "Enough... blood spilled."
As Boq fled through the darkening forest, Chistery's harsh commands kept the others at bay. But his final words followed like a prophecy:
"Mistress helps….always helps…"
Boq moved as quickly as he could through the thick undergrowth, refusing to think about anything except the next step and the next. The twisted trees of the Haunted Forest pressed closer, branches reaching like claws. Behind him, the weight of unseen eyes burned into his back, and Chistery's words echoed.
Mistress helps...
Elphaba.
What would she have wanted?
His chest ached with the force of too many emotions rusting together inside him. It didn't matter what she would have wanted. All that mattered was getting Ryn to safety.
He didn't stop until the trees began to thin, the ground shifting from soft earth to the uneven, rocky slopes of the Great Kells. His joints screamed from overuse, but the pain was nothing compared to the emptiness of being unable to warm Ryn's cooling skin.
Then he heard it. A sound so out of place it made his metal frame seize.
A song.
It curled through the trees as a whisper carried on the wind - slow, lilting, like a lullaby meant to soothe a restless child. And yet something about it was deeply, profoundly wrong. Not in the way the Haunted Forest was wrong, but in the way memory could creep up on you when you least expected it.
The song curled through the trees like a ghost—that old Vinkus melody that had no business existing here, in this dark place. Boq's joints locked so suddenly that Ryn's weight nearly slipped from his arms. Because he knew that tune, knew it from a lifetime ago when he had been flesh and bone instead of tin. He had heard it floating from a half-open dormitory window at Shiz, hummed carelessly between lazy smiles and warm afternoon sunshine. His heart clock began to tick erratically as memories realigned themselves with almost devastating clarity. Every conversation he'd had with Scarecrow, every shared journey, every moment of trust—all of it had been built on a lie.
His friend, his fellow traveler on the Yellow Brick Road, had been…
His metal frame stiffened with a soft creak, his voice resonating inside his hollow chest. "N-no, it—it can't be…"
But there it was—that familiar Vinkus lullaby, drifting through the trees with the same carefree spirit he remembered from their days at dear old Shiz. When the singer had been more than straw and burlap and paint, when he'd been Prince Fiyero Tigelaar of the Vinkus.
He couldn't stop the tears now, no matter how dangerous they were to his joints. He stood frozen between heartbeats, holding Ryn's broken form while that haunting melody—the song of a dead prince—floated through the darkness of the Haunted Forest like a ghostly confession. Boq's joints were already beginning to creak more loudly from the oil tears streaming down his face. Each note made his heart clock falter in its ticking. He pulled Ryn closer, her blood staining his chest in dark rivers as her breathing grew fainter.
"Oh no, no, no, stay with me just a little longer, Ryn," he whispered, his voice cracking as it carried all the warmth his tin frame couldn't. "We're very nearly there…"
His joints protested with quiet creaks as he followed the music—that sweet old lullaby about finding shelter in storms. Memories flooded his hollow frame: sunlight streaming through Shiz's great windows, the sound of careless laughter, a world that seemed so much simpler then.
The Scarecrow stood in a small clearing, face lifted to the darkening sky as he sang. Boq's whole frame trembled as the truth washed over him like rain. Every graceful step, every painted smile—it had been Fiyero all along, hidden behind straw and burlap just as surely as Boq was sealed within tin.
The Scarecrow—Fiyero—turned at the sound of Boq's joints squeaking, the song dying on his painted lips. His burlap face contorted in shock and horror at the sight before him: Boq, covered in blood that wasn't his own, oil tears streaming unchecked down his tin face as he cradled the broken form of a young Munchkin woman and an injured baby flying monkey.
"Sweet Oz," he gasped, straw rustling as he rushed forward. His eyes widened as he saw the extent of Ryn's injuries, his gloved hands hovering shakily over her wounds. "What happened? Who did this?"
"Fiyero—" Boq breathed the name like a prayer, and the Scarecrow froze for a moment, paint-drawn features tightening at being recognized. "It was the flying monkeys," Boq continued, his gentle voice strained with worry as his joints protested from the tears he couldn't brush away. Ryn made a small, broken sound against his chest, and Pip whimpered. "I beg you, we haven't a moment to spare. Please—"
"The flying monkeys did this?" Fiyero's expression darkened with understanding as he cut Boq off. "They shouldn't have, it's—" He cut himself off, glancing at Kiamo Ko's looming shadows in the near distance. "You're right, there's no time. We have to hurry. There's someone who can save her. Someone who never truly left."
"You don't mean..." Boq's voice caught like rusted gears grinding together.
"She hasn't much time," Fiyero cut him off gently, already turning toward the castle's looming shadows. "You know where we must go."
Boq nodded and quickly followed Fiyero's lead, cradling Ryn and Pip close as they exited the Haunted Forest and began to climb towards Kiamo Ko.
His heart clock ticked faster with each step, counting down precious moments as understanding dawned—of who waited in that castle. The one person who should have been nothing but memory. The only one who could save Ryn now.
"Fiyero, I... after everything we've been through, there's no time for me to say what I want to now. Please—" his voice cracked with a metallic sound as he clutched Ryn closer, oil tears streaming freely down his face. "I-I promised to keep her safe, but now she's—she's—" His joints began to creak ominously from the flood of tears he couldn't stop, his whole frame trembling. "I'm afraid I've failed her completely..."
"Boq, listen to me," Fiyero cut in sharply, gripping his friend's shoulders. "You have to hold yourself together - quite literally right now. If you rust up, you won't be able to carry her, and we need to move quickly." His painted features softened. "She needs your strength, old friend, not your tears. There's still hope if we hurry."
Ryn's fingers curled weakly against his tin chest as if trying to comfort him even now. Oil tears fell faster as they climbed toward whatever impossible magic waited above. He needed his oil can desperately, but there was no time to stop, not with Ryn's life slipping away.
His heart clock marked each moment between what was and what would be, as shadows stretched down from the witch's castle to welcome them home.