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Cypress snorts. “That is out of character. You always have something to say. It is annoying.”

The chuckle jumps out of me, mimicking the sudden exhale of humor coming from Cypress. Finally, he clomps around, his tail swishing. Tenderness relaxes the plains of his face. “Are you happy?”

“You know I am,” I answer. “She’s everything to me.”

“Juniper is a good mortal. She deserves you.”

“I’m the one who’s a lucky prick.”

“Nonetheless, your happiness is what I wish for. More than your love.”

“What about you?” I broach. “You happy?”

“You are here. Our home still exists. My kin live yet.” Cypress gazes upward and speaks to the layers of leaves. “I shall never know your touch, but know what it is to love you, even if on my own. That feeling belongs to me and cannot be taken away.” His face lowers to mine. “So yes, I am happy. And I see that look, Puck. Never fear. Long has my desire been cultivated, but I shall always be your friend.”

The relief is immediate. I don’t want to lose him, but I would have understood if he decided to separate himself after this battle. “We’re good, then?”

He harrumphs. “What do you take me for? A disloyal centaur who cannot function beyond the call of his loins?”

Now the laugh busts out of me. “A merry point, for sure.”

“You should know me better.”

“I should.” I give him a deliberate look. “But I do now.”

Cypress’s mouth slants fondly. “It is nice to be known, at last in every way. And I congratulate you both. For each of you are precious to me.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Warmth and humility tighten my throat. “I know it’s not a Fae thing to say thank you. But…thank you, friend.”

We trade grins, but then Cypress’s eyes grow distant, some knowledge hitting him. “The gap in the thorn path,” he muses. “I know the way.”

Thank fuck. I call the others through the roots before we rush out of there, collect Sylvan from her grazing spot, and meet them by the brambles.

Cerulean, Lark, and Foxglove are contemplating the wall of spikes twisting through the channel, but they whirl at the sound of us, their weapons anchored. Seeing me and Cypress with the deer, they relax the javelin, whip, and dagger.

I snort while jogging up to them. “Some of you are losing your sensory prowess if you couldn’t recognize the sound of our hooves.”

Cerulean’s blue mouth slants. “Consider it paranoia after being ambushed.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of which, those earrings might as well be wind chimes in enemy territory.”

“I take mine off, you take yours off. That’s how we deviants do things in the woods.”

“There’s a distinct difference between my ear caps and your dangly trinkets.”

“Too bad. I’m not removing them, so get used to it. We didn’t get attacked because I made too much noise, or you’re underestimating every Fae in this wasteland. I can move with stealth while wearing earrings, bangles, and bells—all while plucking a cello, swaggering on cloven hooves, and wielding a longbow. Not to mention the multitasking I can achieve while fucking. Try me, I dare you.”

“That was a really long answer,” Lark wisecracks.

“I dabble in really long answers,” I snark back.

Cypress alternates between inspecting the welkin and assessing the serrated hedges. “We have a source to guide us.”

Realization lifts Foxglove’s face. “The stars.”

He scans the firmament for the celestials only centaurs and Cerulean can see during the day. “They are difficult to track through the canopy, but several of the fern trees we’d passed while ‘going in circles’—” he gives Foxglove a reproachful look, “—had lost their leaves. The skeletal view enabled me to study their pattern beyond the blue, though it came to me rather delayed. They will make it easier to discern the way, rather than circuiting until the outlet becomes clear.”