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While it is not yet the myriad of creatures we lost, it is a start. The more stories that come, the more nature will have the fortitude to replenish itself.

Cries spring from Fae mouths. Half of our kin sprint into Faerie.

The humans take careful steps to the borderline and go no further, not with their iron weaponry abandoned. Yet they watch as the environment shifts before them, revealing a portion of this conflict they hadn’t known. None of the Solitaries threaten them not to enter. Our kin simply jet past the humans in a mad search to reunite with the restored fauna.

“Fables be damned,” I say.

“Same,” Puck utters with a grin.

Yet Cerulean’s reaction surmounts ours. That’s when the core of his story becomes evident.

Among the wild noises are those of a pack he’s familiar with. The howl of a wolverine. The roar of a mountain lion. The call of a ram. My brother hasn’t heard these sounds in what feels like an eternity, and as they descend from the zeniths, recognition constricts his voice.

“Father,” Cerulean chokes out as Tímien shadows his son.

Moth’s voice splinters, tears leaking through. “Well? What the hell are we waiting for?”

An excellent question. My brother kisses his mate, then shoots with his father into the firmament while Lark swings atop her nightingale companion, and Moth takes to the sky after them. Together, they launch toward the mountain.

As Tímien’s hoot trumpets overhead, Cove describes the scene. Above us, flapping silhouettes merge with the flying group—another flock of raptors plus one dark figure. I can imagine The Parliament of Owls coasting through the welkin with the members of our band—and a raven flitting among them.

Cerulean once told me that ravens, like crows, remember acutely the deeds done to them. While this isn’t uncommon in our fauna, the impression is everlasting with certain animals, including these corvids. Always, they remember who has wronged them and who has been kind.

Although Cerulean fought back that infamous night, he also stayed by the raven’s side while I bathed its wounds. My brother’s remorse had been palpable, perhaps as much as Scorpio’s rage when he force-fed the raven the Evermore Blossom’s essence.

The raptor has made his choice of what to commit to memory.

Puck and Juniper mount Sylvan and gallop into the forest. Thorne hitches himself onto Cypress’s back, joining Tinder astride the centaur while Foxglove runs on foot.

Coral pats my arm, then marches toward the serpentine stream leading down into the river.

Lotus remains draped around my lady’s bicep. She and I trade long looks that reach deeply, that anchor us to the earth. I clasp Cove’s hand as we stride into Faerie and rush home, because there is so much to see.

More than it has been in almost a decade, the wild is alive. So very alive.

32

Many hours later, night pours over The Deep. Crickets wheeze, strokes of noise penetrating the tunnels. Mammals and fish join the merfolk spearing through the aquamarine river, liquid sloshing against the banks.

I feel the stalactites and subterranean foliage glowing in shafts of mellow light.

From the peaks, to the forests, to the depths, we have spent the daytime hours reacquainting ourselves with the wild. It has been a marvel. Many of the fallen fauna thrive once more, and the environment is repairing itself, filling in the gaps that have marred this world like gashes. It will take more time, more written stories, but the wounds are closing, leaving scars rather than eternal suffering.

From across the river, the canal colony stands quiet apart from the cascades racing down rock mantels. Strewn through the alleys, foot paths, and bridges, lanterns pulse with audible flames. Yet not a soul crosses through the underground city.

Allied and enemy Faeries alike have returned to their homes and hollows scattered throughout into the river’s tunnels. Though this is the hour to rise, all Solitaries will sleep for a while, perhaps into the next eventide and longer still. The iron needs to drain from our systems.

Also, it was a long fucking battle.

Because of this, The Fauna Tides is vacant but for the aquatic dwellers. Plus, one other soul.

She sits like a beacon at the end of a pier balanced on stilts. Errant wisps flutter from the loose bun that slumps against the back of her neck. For once, she wears a dark color, a swathe of black that glitters with a thousand mer scales. A single waterdrop glistens down her backless dress, the pendant shaped like a tear.

Her presence is a safe harbor, a marker in this darkness. Her light is strong enough to cut through the murk.

Bulrushes fence in the platform. Beside my lady, I hear a canal boat moored to the dock. The transport flutters over the water’s surface, the prow’s lantern jostling. It is the vessel I’d given Cove during her game.

She scissors her limbs in the water, her feet paddling through the aquamarine flux. Whatever creature she’s engaging with, the exchange dabs her lips into a smile.