Page 63 of Evil Hearts

Chapter Six

O ryn doesn’t remember falling asleep but the lazy haze that always accompanies light sleep has overtaken him. His eyes are bleary and his throat is dry, but nuzzled to his warm chest is his little fox. He’d thought enough to cover her with a wing before he drifted at least, and she seemed comfortable enough next to him on the mossy forest floor. The glowing bugs are out, blinking languidly in the distance and he can see a few stars through the canopy telling him it’s late in the night.

He thinks about everything that happened, how unreal it all feels, and looks down between his arms to ensure his little fox is actually there and he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Her dark hair covers one of his scaled arms, and it’s tangled in one of the crystals growing from his elbow. The Prince curses the jutting rock as if it had intentionally sought to catch her hair before he slides his clawed fingers through the strands to free them.

She stirs at the contact and opens her deep brown eyes to look up at him. When she finds his face, a sweet smile pulls at the corners of her lips, then she reddens and buries her face in his chest again.

“Why the embarrassment?” Oryn questions, fearing she might regret what they shared.

“Not embarrassment exactly,” his fox says against his thick hide. “Surprise. It was amazing, I just …” She pauses, her mouth opening and closing. “I just remembered what I said and how downright vulgar I was.” She peeks upward to look at him and Oryn shakes his head. “I didn’t expect it of myself.”

“I enjoyed it. After all, being wanted by someone you want in return is always a good thing,” he says, a brightness growing in his chest, illuminating the dimness between them.

“Quoting me now?” she teases, then bites his chest. It still doesn’t hurt, but dragons often bite their children as a sign of affection, and sometimes even close friends share that kind of connection, so being bitten by her feels comfortable and sweet to him. His fox yawns widely then, her eyes closing and scrunching tightly from the force of it.

“Sleep, little fox. I’m tired too,” Oryn tells her, then squeezes her tightly against himself. When she rolls over, he pulls her body against his and tucks her tightly with his wing. Oryn sighs happily and begins to drift back to sleep. The last thing he hears is her sleepy voice.

“We can’t wait until you find…” The words are slurred with sleep, and he isn’t sure what she meant to say, but his own sleep is too close for him to ask.

When Oryn wakes again, the sun is high in the sky and the Nathairfae is alive and bustling with sound. His fox is gone, and the sleepy haze he felt upon waking in the night is gone as well. Oryn sits up and looks around the clearing to find her, thinking she might have gone to attend to her needs, but even when he strains his ears to listen for her, Oryn can’t seem to locate his little fox. Did she run away? Had she been too embarrassed to face the day with him? Maybe she regrets their time together? Oryn worries about the possibility that he did something wrong and her sleepy words come to him.

She’d said something about not being able to wait until he found … something. Could she have meant herself? She also told him that the Wood had brought her to him. No, not the Wood itself, the fruit of the Nathairfae. That she was there to fulfill his desires. She’d commented about him being comfortable during their time together as if that time were finite. Oryn stands and makes his way around the clearing, squinting into the branches of the flowering purple tree he’d first seen her hiding in. Instead of finding his fox, a long tongue flicks beyond one of the branches and Oryn stumbles away from it in surprise.

“Are you well, my friend?” Islwyn’s familiar voice calls to him from within the tree. His head follows his voice, and pokes out from the drooping branches. “You seem like you’re looking for something. Can I help?” he offers, his tone is genuine though it’s laced with concern.

“No, unfortunately you cannot help me find what I’ve lost,” Oryn says sadly before sweeping his gaze across the clearing, still hoping she will step out from behind a tree trunk. Memories of what happened the previous night flash in his mind. The silence between the two dragons grows and Oryn finally turns away from what his mind is showing him to look at his friend.

“Reliving the night?” Islwyn questions and Oryn nods his head. “Was it an enjoyable adventure?”

“Oh yes, very enjoyable indeed,” Oryn says with a toothy smile that belies the sinking hole in his chest. He looks past Islwyn, searching.

“Though, it seems to have left you saddened in some way,” the wyvern comments.

“Just mourning the loss of something that wasn’t real,” Oryn replies with severity and sadness. He rustles his wings, unable to sit still, and catches her scent in the wafting air. His eyes close as he inhales deeply before spinning to see if she is standing there.

“Just because the Nathairfae took back what it brought it to you doesn’t mean it wasn’t real,” Islwyn says, his tone soothing.

“What did you say?” Oryn questions, his eyes popping open as he turns back to his friend before his body tenses.

“That just because the Nathairfae took back what it brought you doesn’t mean what happened wasn’t real. I’ve gone on enough journeys with the Wood to know that sometimes it’s just for fun, while others …” Islwyn’s words are slow. “Others are meant as much more. Evaluate what happened. Listen to the words that were spoken again. If there were words. Write the events down. Study them. There might be a reason you are feeling such a loss, and it might just be the magic of the Wood telling you something.” Islwyn rises to his hind legs and wraps his wings around his shoulders. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s been known to poke itself in where it doesn’t belong just to push events where it wants them.” Islwyn bobs his green streaked head away from the clearing. “Let’s take a walk. Get some sun on your face so you can wake.”

“I know the Nathairfae is magic, just as all our territories are in their own ways, but are you telling me that the Wood might be trying to actually tell me something? Guide me?” Oryn presses, his words rushed.

“How do you think my family learned about making more faedragons to keep Drandaris alive to begin with?” he retorts with a sly tilt of his head.

Oryn nods absently while his eyes flit over the clearing. He can’t stop hoping his fox will just appear again. If the Wood brought her to him, it could surely bring her back. He knows it’s futile. That she’s gone, or even that she was never actually with him.

“I think some sun is a good idea,” he finally concedes with sadness before motioning for his friend to lead the way. When bright sunlight streams onto his features, Oryn basks in its warth. Islwyn doesn’t speak, instead he walks alongside Oryn in silence, allowing him the time and space he needs to process his thoughts. The pair finally come to a stop on the small sandy beach Oryn frequents, and determination fills him. His fox wants him to find her. She said she couldn’t wait, so Oryn will find her. No matter how long it takes him.