The World Turned Upside Down

Hair conditioner.

Instead of a razor… I’m given hair conditioner.

Well, mane conditioner, as the bottle says, but it’s basically the same thing, right? It even has a designer logo in the form of a pink, five-petalled flower. Honey Breeze by Spring Blossom.

I lower the bottle and reread the note that came with it.

***

To share.

***

She certainly has a way with words, I’ll give her that.

I lower the note as well and peer down at the wicker basket I’d found them in. A fresh bar of soap with a travel case, a flask of perfume, another of mouthwash, a slightly oversized pair of nail clippers, and a neatly folded flannel. It reminds me of the gift bundles I’d see in every raffle at Mum’s old chess club. I used to think they were pretty worthless then, but I was young and foolish, and hadn’t been stuck in the wilderness for… however long I’ve been out here. Can’t be more than a fortnight.

Hard to believe I’m already losing count.

In any case, I return them to the basket and pick it up, then glance over at Amber.

She sits beside a small ring of stones with a bundle of twigs and dry leaves in the centre, a stick between her hooves as she tries to start a fire. And she’s having more luck than I ever would — it’s already smoking.

“So, do you want to go first, or should I?”

Her ears pin back slightly and she frowns at the kindling, but doesn’t respond.

“Amber?”

“I’m busy.”

I resist the urge to groan. “I’m just asking.”

“Yeah, and I’m busy.” She stops twisting the stick and scowls up at me. Her mane is a little more unkempt than usual, and she has dark patches under her eyes. “If you want a cooked breakfast, don’t break my concentration.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“What do you think?”

I don’t dignify that with an answer.

“Go on, pamper yourself. Be Selene’s pet.”

“The basket’s for both of us.”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

“Well, it is. It even says on the note.”

“I don’t care what the note says; she got you everything you wanted, and then some. Hearth’s Warming came early for you, didn’t it?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Hearth’s Warming?”

She blinks, and then buries her face in a waiting foreleg. “For goodness sake, do I have to explain everything?”

Again, I don’t reply.

Slowly, her foreleg slides back down to the ground and she slumps along with it, letting out an audible, but not heavy sigh. “It’s a holiday,” she states without much passion, refusing to look at me, and continues after a short pause. “Happens in winter, around the end of the year. Something about celebrating the founding of Equestria. You sing carols, give gifts, watch a play — stuff like that. And in the evening, you sit around a fire, listening to stories, drinking hot cocoa with little marshmallows in it. Whipped cream, too. And gingerbread. And chocolate wafers.”

I stay quiet.

She stares the sticks she’d been trying to set alight. Her head is angled just enough that I can’t see the exact look on her face, but if her ears are anything to go by, she doesn’t seem mad anymore. More like…

Melancholy.

“…It’s—”

“Sounds like a holiday where I’m from.”

In an instant, her ears perk up and she turns to me with an unreadable expression, though her brows are creased and her lips are parted ever so slightly.

Once more, I remain silent.

“So?” she asks, her voice taking on a familiar edge.

“So, nothing,” I say, refusing the bait. “It’s just a thought.”

She lingers on me for a long while — assessing me, I suppose — before eventually blinking again and shaking her head dismissively, returning to the task of starting a fire.

“My offer still stands, though.”

“Go away.”

“Are you sure?”

“Rule Two, dingus.” She glances up at me. “And what do you care?”

“Well, A, if you go first, you won’t have to worry about washing yourself with my filth.”

Her scowl reappears and she stops and snaps back to me, opening her mouth to scold me.

“And, B,” I quickly interrupt, taking a step back and holding my hand out defensively, “you need it more than I do.”

She blinks again and draws her head back slightly, her scowl softening to a cagey frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I pause, letting my arm return to my side and watching her carefully, wondering if I’m being too presumptuous. But there’s no mistaking it; I’ve been in her place before, and I’ve seen the same look in my own eyes. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

Her response doesn’t come immediately. “Your point?”

“My point, Amber… is that I’m offering you an olive branch.”

“…A what?”

“A truce, a peace offering — whatever you want to call it. I’m trying to make amends. To build a bridge, as Selene put it. Because, this?” I gesture back and forth between us and shake my head. “This isn’t what a healthy relationship looks like.”

“Relationship?”

I hesitate, but only for a split second. “Yes, relationship,” I answer evenly. “And right now, it’s toxic. It’s a little better than before, but if we don’t do something about it, another bubble’s going to burst. And if Selene’s not here next time, what then?”

“What happened to not wanting me to change?”

“I haven’t forgotten, Amber. And that’s not what I’m asking.”

“Then what?” she growls.

I look away and let out a quiet sigh. The morning air is just cool enough to make out the vapours of my breath. “I’m asking…” I begin, and soon drift off, then sigh again and turn back to her. “I want to know how I can help.”

“…Help?”

“Yeah.”

“…What kind of help?”

“You tell me.” I shrug. “Maybe I could carry your bag for you every once in a while.”

“…You? Carry my stuff?”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t trust you, for starters.”

Part of me wants to know what she expects me to do with her things when she’s not looking, but that’d just be testing her patience, of which she has little, and is dwindling by the second. And, consciously or not, I think that’s what she’s after; an excuse to be mad.

Stoking the fire is easy. Keeping it checked is not.

So, I have to approach the argument from a different angle. I have to put her on the backfoot, but not aggressively. And the only way I can think of doing that is by… as hackneyed as it sounds… appealing to her better nature. A part of her I know she has — I’ve seen it with my own two eyes, however fleeting those moments were.

“Do you want to?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Do you want to trust me?”

With the faintest twitch of her ears, and the slight widening of her eyes, she seems genuinely taken aback. “…What kind of question is that?”

“The kind where I want to know, for certain, why you won’t give me a chance.”

“…You know why.”

“Yes, I know, I get it. And I don’t blame you. If I were in your place, I’d probably do the same. But the thing is, Amber… I just want to go home. I don’t want to ruin your life more than I already have. So, I know it sounds weird, especially coming from me, but if there’s any way to… you know… not make this worse for you… I’ll do it.”

She doesn’t reply. And the longer the silence drags on, the further back her ears go, and the lower her wings droop, still folded at her sides. The air around her becomes apprehensive, but through it all, she never looks away.

“You don’t have to like me, Amber. I just want to be bearable.”

An uncomfortably long while passes, and still, she makes no response, though her frown deepens in what I can only hope is surprise.

I blink and glance away, shaking my head. “Look, just have the stupid bath,” I mumble, setting the basket down and ambling towards her. “Take as long as you want — I won’t complain. It’s the least you deserve.”

She watches me closely, but only seems to realise that I’m approaching when she’s within arm’s reach. And as soon as it dawns on her, she quickly stands up and backs away.

“Go on,” I encourage, sitting by the firepit and waving to the lake. “I’ll hold the fort. And don’t worry, I won’t look through your bag while you’re gone.”

Still, no response. She just stares at me with wide eyes, furrowed brows, an open mouth and pinned ears. And, honestly, the longer this silence is dragged out, the more disturbed I feel, like I’ve broken some unspeakable taboo. Taking the wind out of her sails isn’t that big of a deal — I’ve done it before — but this is… something else. Something more.

Then she glances at the lake, and looks back to me with a heavy dose of what appears to be bewildered confusion. Another moment passes, but just as I’m about to egg her on a little more, she takes a step toward the basket, then another, and another, then turns away and slowly walks off.

A weight lifts off my shoulders, and is lessened even further the closer she draws to Selene’s care package, and when she’s a few strides away from it, I feel safe enough to look elsewhere.

My attention falls on the kindling, and the stick she was using, and I figure that, if she’s going to take a while, there’s no harm in squeezing in some practice. It certainly seemed easy enough — start at the top, twist my way down, rinse and repeat. And if I succeeded, I’d be doing us both a favour.

So, I retrieve it, get into position, and double-check that I won’t be getting any splinters while doing this.

And then I look up.

Amber’s still there. And she’s watching me again. Not testily or anything like that, which I’m used to seeing when it comes to encroaching on her personal space, as such. Instead, she seems a little dazed, as if in shock, and she needs someone to slap her out of it.

The thought crosses my mind, but I dismiss it with another shake of the head. “Go, Amber,” I insist and wave her off again. “Trust me, you’ll thank yourself later.”

Once more, she lingers on me, then turns around, picks up the basket with her mouth, and sluggishly descends the lakeside embankment.

The air is cooler and drier at the base of the pass, and the river on our left and its surrounding trees have both thinned out somewhat. The way ahead twists and turns up a steep slope, but to call it a path would be a lie; there’s nothing to suggest that this route has been travelled much, aside from a rusted pole with a long strip of yellow tape swaying idly in the breeze, and another about a kilometre up. Maybe. It’s hard to tell from so far off.

The ground we’ll be travelling appears firm; packed earth with clods of grass and shrubs, including large patches of bare stone. Rocks about the size beachballs sit half-buried in the dirt, with microbial fungi staining their surfaces, as if they too are rusting away like the route marker.

The sky remains clear, though a few wisps of clouds are peaking over the southern ridge of the valley. Nothing to be scared of — they’re not low or thick enough to rain. And even if they were, I’ve dealt with worse. Much, much worse.

…Great. I’m developing a fear of thunder, aren’t I?

Guess I’ll never listen to AC/DC again. Not that they were my favourite band to begin with.

A sharp jab to the ankle snaps me out of my musings. “Quit daydreaming.”

“Ow!” It doesn’t hurt me so much as it startles me, but I still bring my leg up and nurse it as I hop a step away. “Careful, Amber. That’s my bad foot.”

“You’re walking just fine,” she states indifferently, strolling onwards. “Keep walking. We’ve already lost enough time as it is.”

I roll my eyes and follow behind. And keep the pressure on my ankle to a minimum, just in case. “A few minutes at most, Amber. It won’t make that much of a difference in the long run.”

“If we’re together a few minutes longer, it makes a difference to me.”

“So, the bath meant nothing to you, I take it?”

An ear twitches, but she doesn’t look back. Nor does she answer.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask for it. You caught me off-guard.”

“That’s a first.”

Another pause. “Don’t do it again.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t be nice again?”

Another twitch, and another pause. “You know what I mean. And don’t twist my words.”

“Well, that’s how it came across.”

“I beg to differ.”

I watch the back of her head for a moment, still with my eyebrow high, then cast my eyes down and pay closer attention to the ground, careful not to trip on something. The last thing I need is for her to see me in an even less favourable light. Which leads me to think about what happened at the lake, and how we found ourselves here. And how I could push her buttons in just the right way again.

…That doesn’t sound too manipulative, does it?

I hope it doesn’t. I’m not a schemer. I don’t want to be one either. There’s something inherently… off about mind games. Not wrong, but definitely not right either. Granted, I’m not bending the truth by any stretch of the imagination, but… despite knowing that I’m not… bad… part of me can’t help but worry — worry that I’m on a slippery slope.

I guess that’s what happens when you think too much before you act.

“You know, you didn’t answer my question.”

Her pace falters for a moment, and she appears to tense up, but she doesn’t stop.

“You haven’t answered a lot of questions, actually.”

“Save your breath.”

“Is that an order?”

“Save your breath. The less you talk, the less water you need.”

“Ah.” I nod to myself. “Well, at least we’re looking out for each other.”

Amber stops and turns to face me side-on with an open mouth and an exasperated frown.

I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Again, just a thought.”

Her frown softens somewhat. “Keep it to yourself,” she says after a short pause, then turns back and continues walking. Perhaps a little faster.

My arms flop back down and I squint at her curiously. Her response wasn’t a flat rejection, which surprises me, but more than that, it’s her tone of voice that catches my ear. There was strength behind it, certainly, and her characteristic snark, but at the same time… I hear anxiety. Trepidation. Fear. They haven’t completely taken root, but the seeds are sown. “Are you sure I can’t hold your bag for a while?” I muse, glancing up at the pass. “Looks like quite a hike.”

“What did I just say about keeping quiet?” she retorts. “And no, you can’t. I don’t trust you.”

“Then I’ll ask again: do you want to?”

She slows herself to a halt and swings about and scowls. “Why’re you making such a big deal out of this?”

“Why’re you dodging the question?”

Her ears fold and she draws her head back, seemingly stunned. But then her eyes narrow, and she leans forward, and she sneers. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

I raise my hands again. “I never said that.”

“But you think it — playing your little word games, hoping to trip me up. And for what? So I lower my guard?” She shakes her head. “That’s not happening. I don’t trust you, I’ll never trust you, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

“But is it the way you want it to stay?”

Her eyes bulge, her mouth shuts, and she glances in frustration, before finally glaring back at me. “What part of this don’t you understand?! This isn’t some fantasy land where everything’s hunky-dory by the end of the day: this is real life! Your apology means jack; I’m still out here and I’m still stuck with you, and that’s never going to change unless you grow a heart and let me go home!”

“…Saying sorry meant nothing to you?”

“You weren’t doing it because you wanted to; you were doing it because you were told to. For her sake; not mine.”

I blink, then narrow my eyes. “So, in your books… nothing I say will ever be sincere?”

She doesn’t answer. She merely stares.

I feel like I’ve been slapped. Hard. “That hurts, you know.”

“Good.”

My brows lower. Her sharp, snide, almost automatic response is like rubbing salt in the wound, and, despite last night’s apology, I can’t let this slide. I’ve turned the other cheek enough times already.

I just need to be careful that I don’t take it too far.

“Do you get a kick out of that?”

“Out of what?”

“Being mean.”

Amber pauses, her head and ears both perking up somewhat. “I’m not mean.”

“Then what are you?”

“…Private.”

“And I can respect that. But I’m not after your deepest, darkest secrets here; I’m offering to help. And you’re refusing it. And now you’re saying that I can’t even try to make it up to you, because I’m not really feeling empathy: I’m just acting on her behalf. So, what, as far as you’re concerned, I’m just supposed to be this distant, emotionless husk? Screw that! I care for you, Amber! Sure, you’re pushy, you’re rude, you’re stubborn, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’re living alone, but I care for you!”

“Don’t say that.” Her voice catches at the end. She shakes her head as her ears pin back, her wings droop, and her breathing becomes more ragged. “Don’t say that.”

I hesitate, taking in the moment. “It’s the truth, Amber.”

“Shut up.”

“I care for you because I’m the reason you’re out here — I’m responsible for this.”

“Shut up.”

“And I’ve rolled with the punches because I get why you’re mad, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

“I said shut up!”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

With a sudden burst of speed, she gallops towards me, then rears up and shunts me with enough force that I don’t have a chance to stumble before I fall flat on my backpack. From there, she stands over me, hindlegs straddling my lower body and forehooves pinning me down by the shoulders, staring into my eyes. Her wings are spread, she huffs through flared nostrils, and her pupils have once again shrunken to their unusually small — and admittedly cartoonish — sizes.

It doesn’t make her any less scary, though.

“Why’re you doing this to me?!” she demands hoarsely. “Why?!”

“…Doing what?”

“Everything!” A hoof slams into the ground, almost clipping my ear. “Every damned thing! Why’d you have to show up on my doorstep?! Why’d you have to rope Selene into this?! And why — O sweet stars above, why — are you acting so touchy-feely all of a sudden?!”

I don’t dare answer. She’s after an excuse, not a response. And I won’t give her one.

“Why couldn’t it have been somepony else? Somepony who isn’t a powder keg. Somepony who didn’t spend two whole years of her life building that house from scratch, away from everypony, only to have some ugly, no good, loudmouthed freak of nature — if I can even call you that — fall from the sky and take it all away, just because she was trying to be nice.”

“…Nice?”

“Yes, nice!” she barks, and then pauses for a good, long while, panting heavily as her pupils slowly return to normal. “I saved you. I gave you food and water and a place to sleep, and even my own frigging blanket. And I tried to be nice — I tried — but you had to keep pushing my buttons, didn’t you? You just couldn’t help yourself. You had to wonder, time and time again, what’s my limit. Well, congratulations, dingus: you win.”

No, I haven’t. Neither of us have.

Her eyes begin to water. “I gave you warning signs.” Her voice trembles. “I gave you rules. But you didn’t listen — you never listen — and I’m the one being punished for it.”

I have to say something.

A tear blinks free. “Why?”

I struggle for words.

Another tear follows. “Why?!”

My mind comes up blank.

A weary face, desperate and exhausted, is all I can see. “What do you want from me?”

I watch her carefully, examining her, noticing the twitch in her eye, the quiver of her jaw, the shimmer in her eyes, and the shiver in her shoulders. All I can offer her is the truth. “I want to make this easy for you.”

Something in her eyes change, though I’m not sure what, and she slightly draws her head back once again. “…That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Then what do you want me to say?”

Her expression changes — subtly, of course — morphing from desperation to shock. And as she strains for an answer, shock becomes fear. She tries again to form a response, but when no words come, she slowly backs away, wings limp, teeth clenched, eyes glazing over with tears.

When she’s out of reach, I sit up.

Amber continues walking backwards. Stumbling, rather, but without looking like she’s about to trip over; her hooves hesitate with every step, but her momentum forces them down, and forces her to retreat even further. And when she finally takes a deep, gasping breath in, everything falls apart. She turns about, ambles around, tramping to and fro at random, snivelling and sobbing and clearly trying with all her heart to stop.

But she can’t. And as soon as she realises that, she falls on her rump, facing away from me, and hangs her head and cries. Not loudly, though; hers is a stuttered whimpering, broken by a wet sniff and a long, soft, pained whine.

I’m struck dumb. I wasn’t expecting this — at most, a blank expression and a tense few minutes of absolute silence. Instead, she’s having a complete emotional breakdown. And all I can do is sit and watch.

I want to help. I really, really do. But I know how these things work. Consoling her when I’m the one who’s brought her to tears would only add insult to injury, and if I tried, she’d either lash out or shrink further into herself. Neither outcome’s appealing, and would wind up hurting us both. So, as with most our problems, the only answer I can see is time and space — an old and tired solution, but effective nonetheless.

Even if it might be the reason I’d found myself here in the first place.

Quietly as I can, I pick myself up and, with an anxious crease in my brows, peruse the landscape for something to do. “Amber, listen,” I murmur, returning to her, “if you need me… I’ll be foraging.”

She doesn’t react, aside from another snivelling gasp, but I know I was loud enough to hear.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, then turn left head for the river.

Still, no reply comes. In fact, her weeping descends into bawling and blubbering, and the pots and pans rattle as she falls flat on her belly and covers her head in her hooves.

My insides churn themselves up over what to do — over whether I’m just making things worse. It’s enough to stop me in my tracks and stand frozen, watching her, feeling sorry for the two of us… but I don’t do that. I force my feet onwards. Time and space, I tell myself. Time and space.

We have food enough already, yes, but if I’m going to wait this out, I may as well make the most of it and be productive. Yin and yang — the good in the bad — that sort of thing.

I bet one of Selene’s aunts had that mindset down to a T.

The sound of sobbing fades and the familiar crunch of leaflitter takes its place. Also filling the void is the slow and steady trickle of running water, which grows louder the deeper I trek. The gentle warmth of the sun leaves my shoulders as a blanket of shadows hides it from view.

My mind finally registers that I’ve reached the river. Or, at least, the forest surrounding it. I’ve strolled down an incline and meandered my way around a few tall bushes, and now I’m standing in the centre of a small clearing, staring absently at nothing in particular. The air is slightly cooler here — naturally, being under the shade of the trees — and carries the smell of fresh, pure water and damp earth.

A calming vista. Welcome. But at the same time, not.

It feels wrong, if I’m the only one to enjoy it.

Selene’s words enter my mind, about focussing on what can be changed, and I’m thankful for them. My head shakes on impulse and I look about, scanning the shrubs and trees for a splash of colour that isn’t green, grey, black, brown or blue.

No luck, naturally. So, I tread deeper.

The sound of water grows clearer, and I consider stopping by for a quick sip, only to dismiss the idea almost immediately; my throat might be dry, and I’ve elected to give her a little breathing room, but I shouldn’t indulge myself. She might not know or care, especially if I keep my mouth shut, but it’s the right thing to do. This trip has come at her expense enough already.

As well as the feeling of… duty, for lack of a better word, there’s also the feeling of being judged, somehow. Or at the very least, watched. Which is quite possible, I suppose, considering Selene can teleport at will, and could be hidden in the shadows, or the mountaintops peeking through the forest canopy, observing the goings-on of her trusted spy and his overwhelmed escort.

I wonder what she’d say to how I’m handling this, and whether she could do any better.

Actually, scratch that — I know she can; she’s just… that…

…Good…

My feet slow to a halt, and I’m left staring at the dirt before them with a worried frown.

I barely know anything about her, and I’m already jumping to conclusions. And the one thing I do know for certain… isn’t very flattering.

…When I’m finished here, and when the time is right, I’m asking Amber what happened before and after she came to the throne. Provided she can answer, of course. And, come to think of it, how come Selene knows so much about her.

If they’re somehow related, I swear, I’ll smack myself harder she ever could.

I blink and look around again. To my right, the river flows freely, and to my left, the slope back up to Amber looms. Between them, however, directly in front of me, is a cluster of bushes with bristly leaves, and little specks of dark purple bunched together on the branches. Berries.

With a sigh of relief, I wander over and pick one.

It’s firm. Fleshy, but firm. Not unlike a small rubber ball, and no doubt just as hard to bite through. But I know better. They might look edible, but that doesn’t mean they are. So, I gather a few more — a fistful of six — then glance about to make sure nothing had snuck up on me, and start heading back to Amber.

…But then I stop. And, slowly, I turn around.

Nothing.

I narrow my eyes and take another, more careful look.

Still nothing.

And yet, I could have sworn I saw something, like the briefest flitter of movement, and a certain… luminance. Of course, this could be my nerves acting up — the culmination of two weeks of unrelenting stress. But if that were the case, life after high school would have made me go crazy long ago. Still, I definitely feel like I’m being watched. And if I’m not, better safe than sorry.

Scanning the trees and shadows, I gently back away, keeping my head at an angle where I can make sure the coast is clear, and glance behind if I’m scared I’ll trip. My movements are as small and quiet as possible, but to my ears, it’s never enough. All the while, the air grows heavier, denser, and a cold tingle in my chest reaches my toes and fingers. My bag, at least, keeps me from feeling completely vulnerable.

That’s when I hear wingbeats, and see a dark shape emerge from the right, only to perch on a nearby branch and stare down at me. A crow. Like the other non-speaking creatures of this world, it has a very expressive face, despite sharing an otherwise identical appearance with a normal crow. Or abnormal, depending on one’s perspective. In this case, it watches me intently. What that intent is, however, is beyond me, though it does seem, in a certain light, genuinely curious.

It disturbs me.

I risk a second glance around and, to my mute horror, spy one, two, four other crows scattered about the trees, all with their eyes on me.

Whatever I saw before, if I saw anything at all, was bigger than a small flock of birds, but this is just as frightening. The last thing I need is to find myself stuck in an Alfred Hitchcock masterpiece, terribly dated as it is.

So, following my instincts and the movie’s advice, I slowly walk away.

And on the birds watch.

The pegasus doesn’t react to the sound of my approach. Instead, she stays seated on her rock, staring vacantly at the ground. Her ears are flat, her wings are limp, her eyes are half-closed, her cheeks are damp, her hair is messy and frazzled, and every now and then, her body jolts with the force of a sudden, silent hiccup.

A dismal wreck. A shadow of her former self.

This is not a sight I wanted to see. Not again.

But, if anything, at least she’s stopped crying.

That has to count for something, right?

…Right?

Carefully, cautiously, I take the last few steps towards her. For a moment, I consider reaching out to give her a kindly pat on the shoulder, but then I think better of it, remembering Rule Four, and what happened last time I broke it, and realising that this simply isn’t the right context for that sort of thing. I mean, whatever I’d said had cut deep, and now that I’m back, I’m not sure if we’ve spent enough time apart. Not that I’m keen on returning to the crows.

Still, I can’t just stand here and say nothing; that’s weird, and creepy, and could be mistook for intimidation. “I, uh… found some berries,” I mention hopefully, offering them to her. “Look.”

She doesn’t respond, nor do her eyes move, or her ears twitch.

I slowly squat down, peering up at her with concern.

Again, no reaction.

A heavy sigh escapes me and my head sinks into a waiting palm, and I stay like that for a good, long moment, thinking of what to say. “Okay, look…” I mumble, pulling away from my hand, “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, or why you are the way you are. And if you don’t want me to, I won’t ask. But we can’t keep doing this. We need to learn to get along. For our sakes. Not hers.”

Despite my words, she remains quite still. Emotional shock. Or, more accurately, withdrawal. Locked away in her own little shell, filled with thoughts ranging from empty at best, to dark at worst. I’ve seen it too many times to mistake it.

“Blazer, please,” I quietly beg, leaning a tad closer. “Don’t shut me out. I need you.”

Nothing changes. Not immediately, at least. But eventually, her eyes wander towards me, and they meet my gaze. They’re still unfocussed — fogged with the ghosts of tears, and red from it — but it’s a sign that I’m on the right track.

A genuine, if wary smile creeps its way across my lips, and I offer the berries again.

Her eyes linger on me, still vacant and glazed, but then begin to drift, gradually lowering to my shoulder, my sleeve, my arm, my wrist, and finally my open palm. And she stares at it for a while, the wheels in her head turning slowly and lazily. But then something clicks — a spark of conscious thought shines through — and her eyes snap wide in a desperate, panicked expression. “No!” she cries, slapping my hand away.

The berries spill onto a bed of packed earth and stone, and I stand up and back off.

She hops down from her perch and squashes each and every one with a few violent, frantic stomps, then turns back and looks up at me with the same horrified face. “Do you have any idea what those were?!”

I blink. “I take it they were bad, right?”

“They were juniper!”

“Juniper?” I raise an eyebrow at the pulpy remains on the ground. “That’s what juniper berries look like?”

“Yes!”

I pause for a moment, then blink again as a realisation dawns, and I return to her. “Wait a second, what’s wrong with juniper?”

“They’re…!” she begins, and quickly cuts herself off, as if choking on her own words. But soon, she recovers. Even if her ears lower a fraction further. “They’re poison.”

“Really?” I ask in surprise, then look away and narrow my eyes. “Could’ve sworn you can spice drinks with them…”

“Well, you can’t.”

The defensive tone catches my ear. “Are you sure?”

She, too, pauses. “I’ve been out here a lot longer you,” Amber slowly, quietly states. “If you won’t listen, don’t ask.”

Something in her voice sounds a little off — disingenuous — but I can’t pinpoint what, and eventually shrug and sigh. “Okay, so… what now?”

She continues to stare at me with feigned determination, then blinks and lowers her gaze. “I don’t know.” She rubs an eye and sniffs loudly. “But if you’re so insistent on helping… just sit back and let me be.”

“Well, that’s kind of what I’ve been doing, honestly.”

She snaps back to me, and I glimpse a hint of surprise.

“I could go back, if you want.”

“No,” she says, perhaps a little too quickly for her liking, because she shrinks away and shuts her eyes. “I mean… I’ll go. Because you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

I raise another eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She shuffles around me and begins ambling for the forest. “If you do, you’re just going to mess it up.”

The parting shot irks me, but her tone betrays the intent; it was a blunt statement, not a jab. So, once again, I roll with the punch and let it slide. But at the same time, I’m suddenly reminded of a very similar set of circumstances. “Actually, maybe I should come with.”

“No.” She comes to a halt and looks back to me with a face of utter exhaustion. “I need to be alone.”

“What if something happens, and I’m not there?”

She pauses once more. “I’ll manage.”

“What if it’s another cockatrice?”

Again, she says nothing, and instead shakes her head and continues walking away.

“Amber…”

She stops, she sags, and waits for me to speak.

“…Just be careful, alright? The birds were giving me funny looks.”

A moment passes, then two, then three, and the longer the silence drags on, the more doubt seeps into me, and guilt along with it. But then she sighs and resumes her trek, and from behind the mass of pots and pans and dull blue canvas, I hear her muttered, subdued response, “Sure.”

I let my breath go, then seat myself on the rock she had just used and watch her wander off. Is it irresponsible to let her go alone, despite her protests? Probably. But in order for her to trust me, I need to prove that I’m trustworthy. I’ve broken enough rules for one day.

So, I sit, I watch, and when she disappears, I wait. And as the world around me falls quiet and still, I’m left pondering the answer to three very important questions. The first: how would Selene have handled this? The second: what was up with the crows? And the third: why, of all the things to hallucinate, would I imagine seeing a bright green flash?