And yet, that didn’t make Ren’s concerns any less real; the unease that percolated in the pit of their stomach. Winter would arrive soon enough – always quicker than anyone thought – and so, too, would the floods. Last year had been bad, narrowing the cave system their clan inhabited to less than half of its usual footprint and stripping away valuable sources of moss and mushrooms in the process. Now, the clan had a group of dwarves to contend with, eager, as always, to drive out any “goblin pests” they stumbled upon, and Ren could only hope that the cottage was enough to make up that shortfall too.
They looked at the food they’d set aside for themself and frowned, considering. Should they keep less? Ren’s initial knee-jerk response was,Absolutely. But, then again, they were no longer living alone. One mouth to feed had turned into two – three, if you counted Pig, who generally foraged for herself anyway. And though Pansy was certainly an adult who would manage just fine on her own, Ren’s thoughts kept flitting back to that day they’d found her with a basket full ofdeadly mushroomsand… yeah, no. Who knew what sort of “culinary delicacies” she’d scrounge out here unsupervised?
Ren would have to talk to her later about being more judicious in her use of ingredients, moresparing; but for now, the two-person share of the harvest would stay. They left it in the pantry, plain to see. So, if Pansy wanted to take from it, she could easily do so.
Perhaps Ren should’ve stuck around after that, to make sure she didn’t immediately go wild in the kitchen upon her return, especially now that she’d been crowned its ruler (another betRen never should have agreed to). But, surely, clearing out this much food in a single afternoon was beyond even her.
Confident in this conclusion, they called for Pig and headed back outside. Pig lumbered out a minute or so later, blinking the last bits of sleep from her eyes. Upon seeing the loaded wagon, she immediately perked up, the rose petals of her ears jutting up towards the sky. With a delighted squeal, she hurried to the wagon’s front, where her harness waited, a tangle of tightly woven cords.
“All right, all right,” Ren said with a smile as Pig stamped the ground impatiently, her head swiveling around so that she could deliver an all-too-pointed look. “I can only move so fast, you know.”
Pig snorted.A likely story, she seemed to say, her stare narrowing with an uncanny perspicacity.
“I want to go back just as much as you do,” Ren protested, securing the various straps in place. But did they really?
The first step in the direction of their clan’s territory landed with a leadenthump, near-identical to the weight that dropped into their belly. They couldn’t match Pig’s exuberance, the way she’d bolted out of their grasp the very second they’d finished tying that final knot. Instead, they trailed behind her and the cart she was pulling, not so much stepping as dragging their feet, the lump of iron that had plummeted into their gut growing heavier and heavier and heavier still. A pressure matched only by the vice that had clamped around their heart. By the time the dense foliage parted around a familiar clearing, the cave mouth Ren had once considered their front door stretching open wide ahead of them, the crushing feeling had become all-consuming, thinning their breaths into the shallowest of gasps.
There it was.Home. One that both was and wasn’t. Only ahandful of days had passed, and still it didn’t feel real. Ren swallowed, emotion stoppering their throat like shards of broken glass. Even on the way down, it hurt; perhaps worse than if they’d simply allowed the feeling to sit. But the thought alone proved intolerable. Because how was Ren supposed to be the lifeline their clan needed them to be if all they could ever think about was themself?
Exactly, they thought, catching their lower lip with their teeth hard enough to taste blood.This isn’t about you. It’s much more than that. It’s—
A group of children chose that moment to spill out into the clearing, interrupting Ren’s thoughts with a cacophony of high-pitched shrieks and squeals. None of them had noticed Ren thus far, too consumed with their game of make-believe to pay even Pig any mind.
“I’ve got you now, vile wizard!” cried the tallest goblin, a boy of about nine who had taken to going by Dandy as of late; short for Dandelion. He brandished a rather impressive-looking stick, about as long as a short sword.
“Is that what you think?” retorted one of the other children – the apparent “wizard”, who Ren knew as Robin. They raised their arms and waggled their fingers, as if preparing to cast a spell. “You always were a fool, Aconite. Look! You’ve walked straight into my trap! Minions, seize him!”
Following their “master’s” command, the last two children, twin girls named Holly and Ivy, stepped out from behind Robin and started towards Dandy. Ivy leapt forward with a triumphant roar, raising her own stick high above her head in what was doubtless meant to be a display of ferocity, while Holly was more subdued, dragging herself along with obvious effort.
Noticing her lack of commitment to her role, Robin let out along, frustrated groan. “Come on, Holly! You’re supposed to be my halfling minion. At leasttryto play the part.”
“I’m sick of being the smelly halfling!” Holly snapped, stamping her foot. “I want to be Aconite! You said I’d get a turn—”
“Yeah! Next time!” Dandy said, waving her off, stick still in hand.
“That’s what you said before!”
Ren smiled, the tightness in their chest unraveling into a dull, deep-seated ache. It was no surprise that the children were playing this game again. They always were. Though a lesson was in order. As much as the older children seemed aware of the concept of “taking turns”, it seemed they continued to struggle when it came to putting it into practice.
“All right. No fighting,” Ren said, stepping out from the surrounding bushes and into the clearing proper.
Four heads swiveled towards them at once, and as the children’s eyes widened with surprise – and, then, elation – the cause of their argument was swiftly forgotten.
“Ren’s back! Ren’s back!” they cheered in unison, crowding around Ren in a disorienting rush of flailing limbs and sticks.
“Did you bring us anything?” Robin asked, already peeling off to go peek into the wagon. Pig, aware that she was of less interest than her burdens, let out a decidedly unhappy snort, which went entirely ignored.
Ren chuckled. “Of course. I’d never come ho—hereempty-handed.”
Their mouth snapped shut, teeth fitting together with an audibleclack. That was close. No matter what they did, that word –home– was always there, itching on the back of their tongue, ready to spring out the moment Ren let their guard down.
The cottage is your home now, they told themself, ignoring the way their insides curdled in response, the knowledge, deep down, that the cottage could never –would never– be their home. Even if they could get rid of that damned halfling.
Ren followed the children inside, trying their best to listen to four different stories at once as they all made their way down the gently sloping path, still shiny with moisture from the most recent rainfall. No matter how many times Ren chided the children, employing the ever-relevant phrase “one at a time”, none of them was willing to take a backseat to the others. Instead, the competition for Ren’s attention rapidly devolved into a display of who could shout the loudest, which, inside the Woodward Clan’s sprawling network of caves, meant they were heard long before they arrived in the central cavern.
Homesickness or no, Ren would normally enjoy being welcomed back with all the excitement in the world. Except their echoing entrance had provided the more, shall we say,eclecticmembers of the clan with ample opportunity to stage an ambush.
Ren knew whose arms had grabbed them, lifting them up with startling ease, before the deep rumble of Thorn’s voice confirmed it. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?” asked their cousin, grinning over Ren’s shoulder.
