Nettle felt her cheeks flush hot, but more than that, she felt her glowflare.
Perhaps that itself was more shocking than his scrutiny.
Immediately, she turned and zipped further down the path, though it did nothing for how fast her heart was beating.
Her glow had been dim and inconsistent for months. On occasion a burst of excitement would bring it back, but it would dim until it was gone again. She knew better than to trust its fickle, flickering presence. It wouldn’t stay fixed. Her court could no longer count on her if she didn’t have her magic.
Silver seemed to know just how to ruffle her wings. She didn’t care to be summed up in such a way, as if her life experience was so much lesser than his. He would not survive a day among the Fey Court, she thought viciously. It did bring her some comfort.
The few moments before he caught up to her again was time enough to let her embarrassment fade.
“Slow down, Firebug,” he called, as she came to a stop before a rocky outcropping covered in brush and roots. “I can’t do the job if you lose me on the way there.”
It seemed he had settled on Firebug more than other names.
His eyes lingered over her lower half, and suddenly she wished for a few more leaves to wrap herself in, or maybe a whole bush to duck and hide in.
Above her knees, her legs glowed with a soft luminescence, becoming brightest at her rounded bottom. The soft glow of light swathed her hips just under the edge of her flower tunic.
Here in the gathering dusk, it was increasingly obvious. Luminescent specs drifted off her, like the sun catching on pollen.
It had been so commonplace at her home in the Fey Court, it had never occurred to her how strange it would be to the other beings of the Common World.
Not everyone glowed.
“My name is Nettlewisp,” she seethed.
Silver just waved a hand. “I don’t care to remember names.”
“I suppose that’s why you don’t have one, then.”
He stopped walking at that, looking at her, raising a brow like he had a story to tell. “The camp of orcs further North, deep in the Whispering Woods. They used to call me Silvertongue.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek, caught between a snide remark and prompting him further, before she asked, “They found you particularly persuasive?”
He gave a little grimace, shrugging. “To some end, sure. But I’m not there now, so no one calls me that anymore. Mostly just, ‘You there, bounty hunter.’”
She hadn’t thought a grizzled bounty hunter would be particularly chatty.
“You can just call me Silver,” he offered, his voice a little too soft. She didn’t like what it did to her.
“Fine, sure– this is the entrance. It’s a little hidden–” she began, gesturing to the thick wall of roots and vines that covered a large gap in the rocks. She frowned. Perhaps she was wrong. Maybe he would be able to enter the gauntlet.
No sooner had she pointed it out, Silver stepped up, waving her off. “Alright, wait here.”
“What–no! You won’t be able to get in without me, it’s locked–”
“You didn’t say there was a lock.”
“You didn’t ask. Besides, this is my task, I have to go.”
“No, no. I’m not a babysitter.”
Indignantly, Nettle buzzed up to his face, stopping right in front of his nose. “I don’t need babysitting, I’ve already been–”
“People don’t hire me so they can find what they need for themselves,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Look, give me the directions, tell me what it is you’re looking for, and I’ll bring it back out with me. I do better work when I’m not tripping over pixies.”
“No, I need to go there myself.”
