“Maybe if you’re a halfling who can’t see in the dark,” Ren replied with a snort. “Speaking of, didn’t I already tell you not to wander around the forest this late? Do youwantto get lost or are you just trying to annoy me?”
Okay. She definitely deserved that one. But even so, Pansyrefused to give Ren the satisfaction of admitting it aloud. “Whatever.” She sniffed, waving away their less-than-kind concern with a haphazard flick of her hand. “It all turned out fine, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, this time,” Ren pointed out. “But, you know, if one night out here is enough to send you running back to your village at first light, maybe you should do yourself a favor and just stay there.”
Plowlines of confusion streaked across Pansy’s brow. “What are you talking about? I just went to pick up some groceries.” She lifted the shopping basket to illustrate. “Didn’t you read my note? I left it right by the door.”
Something flitted across Ren’s face at the mention of the note, a barely there flicker that vanished so swiftly Pansy was almost tempted to discount it as nothing but a figment of her imagination. “No,” they said, shaking their head a touch too vigorously. “I didn’t see a—That’s a cat.” Their voice flattened with disbelief as their gaze snapped, at last, to Pansy’s basket and the tiny kitten peeking out over its rim.
“Oh, yes!” Pansy said, her expression brightening with a mischievous twist. “My friend’s cat had kittens, and she asked me if I wanted one. Of course, the second I saw this little guy’s cute, fuzzy face I had to say yes. Don’t you think he’s adorable?” She thrust the basket towards Ren – kitten and all – and noted, with no small amount of delight, that they immediately recoiled, mouth thinning in what she suspected was barely restrained disgust, given the way their ears flattened in turn.
Maybe Blossom was onto something…
“Do you even know how to take care of a cat?” Ren asked, their eyes flicking back up to meet hers.
“My friend gave me a rundown of the basics,” Pansyanswered, curling her fingers into the soft fur beneath the kitten’s chin once more.Good boy! Keep doing what you’re doing. We’ll get Ren to leave in no time!
“What about a name?” Ren asked.
“Huh?” Pansy looked up, her fingers briefly stilling until a plaintive meow kicked them back into action.
Ren rolled their eyes. “Did you give the kitten a name yet?”
“Not yet,” Pansy replied with a shake of her head. “Why? Did you want to do the honors?” She grinned, wicked-bright.
“Absolutely not,” Ren said with a derisive snort. “He’s your cat. You take care of him.”
Looking down at the still-purring kitten, now butting his head against the flat of Pansy’s palm, she let out a thoughtful, “Hmm.”
She’d never named anything before; anything other than a recipe, at least. But those were easy – especially when you followed the tried-and-true rule of “what it says on the tin”. Unfortunately, that method wouldn’t do her much good here. She could hardly name the kitten “Cat” or any variation thereof. Ren would almost certainly mock her for it if she did. Except, hadn’t they named that pig of theirs “Pig”? Still, Pansy swore she could do better than that. She had to. Her pride demanded it!
“I’m sure something will come to me,” she told the kitten as she headed for the door, more for her own benefit than his.
Pansy managed one step into the cottage before she jerked to a stop, her eyes widening as the smell hit her – dizzyingly sweet, like syrup drizzled over hot, sugar-powdered dough. She frowned, brow furrowing as she tried to place the source, a tall ask even after she’d cranked on the surrounding oil lamps, vestiges of halfling architecture jutting out from wild tangles of goblin-cultivated greenery.
Speaking of, there seemed to be more of it now. The moss she’d accidentally dislodged upon her arrival had been returned to its proper place, nestled high above in intricate swirls. She guessed Ren had figured out a way to salvage it. If she wasn’t so preoccupied with pinpointing the origin of the smell, still bearing down upon her with the warm weight of a loved one’s embrace, she might’ve noted that they’d kicked up a fuss for nothing. But, as it was, there was nothing beyond the singular question currently burning a hole through her thoughts.
“What in the world is that smell?” she wondered aloud, her gaze sweeping across the entry hall again and again, always to no avail.
“The consequences of your own actions,” Ren declared without missing a beat. Contrary to Pansy’s expectations, they’d followed her inside. Now, they stood in the open doorway, hands on their hips, their chest puffed up in unabashed triumph.
Pansy blinked, the snag of her own confusion upending her thoughts as much as the sight of Ren’s exultant grin. Wait – did they think shedislikedthe smell? How very wrong, but also – charming? It was the second time she’d used the word to describe Ren, and though it certainlyfit, she couldn’t help but wonder, somewhat distantly, whether she ought to be using it. Ren was a goblin – more specifically, a goblin she was actively trying to get rid of – and goblins weren’tsupposedto be charming. They were mean and cruel and, well, evil! Just like the dark lords who commanded them. And yet, the truth of this did nothing to quell the easy warmth seeping into her chest, buoying her up from the inside out.
She giggled, unable to stop herself. “The ‘consequences of my own actions’, huh? Then you better let me know exactly what I did, so I can do it again!”
“You – what? Youlikeit?” Ren promptly deflated, their expression splintering to pieces against the spearpoint of their own confusion.
“It smells good! So, what is it?”
“A paste. For the moss,” Ren explained, almost grudgingly, as they pointed overhead.
“Interesting. I’d expect something like that to smell sour, not sweet.” A beat. “Is it weird that it actually makes me want to bake something?” Pansy asked, a sheepish smile unfurling across her lips.
“You want to bake something?” Ren’s ears perked up at that, revealing their interest despite an otherwise neutral expression.
“Mm-hmm. I’m thinking maybe some shortbread cookies.” She needed to do a test batch anyway, the perils of an unfamiliar kitchen (and oven!) an already hard-learned lesson. The last thing she needed was for the cookies she’d promised Mrs. Millwood to go the same way as the cake she and Blossom had prepared for Blossom’s mother’s fortieth birthday several years ago – namely, hard and charcoal-like. No doubt, Pansy would never hear the end of it if they did.
“Any objections?” she asked, looking at Ren.
