But for too long, Ren said nothing, their expression as still as the breath caught in Pansy’s throat. And then she saw it: the slightest twitch of their ear – a sign that had taken her multiple ten-days to understand but one she could now read as easily as the spark of interest in another halfling’s eyes.
“You’ll do it?” she asked, not even waiting for Ren to put it into words, her lips stretching around a grin so wide it nearly hurt.
They blinked at her, seemingly taken aback by the certainty in her voice. “How did you—”
“Your ear.” She gestured towards it. “It twitches when you’re interested in something, I think.”
Their cheeks darkening anew, Ren clapped a hand over the offending appendage, as if that might erase the secrets it hadalready so thoroughly divulged. “I can’t believe you noticed that,” they grumbled.
“I’m very observant,” Pansy declared sagely.
Letting out a soft huff of laughter, Ren allowed their hand to drop back down against the mattress. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea. If a bit of sugarfern is all it takes for everyone to lose their minds, how do you think a full-on goblin will fare?”
“It’s okay. No one will be able to think anything bad about you once they see our enormous pumpkin. The easiest way to a halfling’s heart is through their stomach, you know.”
Ren snorted. “Is that why you’ve been so insistent on feeding me all this time?”
Somehow, the statement proved just as shocking to Ren as it did to Pansy. They stared at her with wide eyes, lips parted around a tinyoh. Then they began to stammer, the flush from before deepening to a ruddy, orange-tinted brick. “I didn’t – that wasn’t –it was a joke.”
“R-right,” Pansy agreed, her own face feeling equally as hot. “A joke. Of course.” She laughed weakly.
Ren quickly rolled away from her, kicking away the blankets they’d (once again) snatched from Pansy’s half of the bed. “If I’m going with you, I should go get ready,” they said, pointedly keeping their back facing her as they moved about the room. No doubt, they meant to hide their blush. However, the tips of their ears had been lost to that same bright flood and remained as visible as ever, poking out from in-between their sleep-tangled locks.
It was cute. Almost painfully so. As she continued to watch Ren dig through their wardrobe, every outfit seemingly ill-suited for the day’s events, a rush of fondness squeezed aroundPansy’s heart. And she knew that whatever awaited her in Haverow, she could face it easily so long as she had Ren at her side.
They didn’t encounter much in the way of obstacles on the way to Haverow, and even less once inside the village. Granted, it was still early. Most people would be either in their homes, preparing dishes for tonight’s feast, or down in the nearby meadow, working on the festival grounds themselves. The few people theydidencounter in the street barely spared them a passing glance; Ren, out of not unfounded caution, had opted to wear their cloak with the hood up, disguising the most telling of their goblin features, at least for a casual observer.
Thankfully, Pansy had been right about the guards – namely, the lack thereof. Evidently, Mrs. Millwood hadn’t completely lost her sense of proportionality, which was heartening to see. Or perhaps she’d just been so swamped with preparations for the festival that Pansy (and any and all chaos associated with her presence) had simply slipped her mind. Honestly, Pansy was betting on the latter.
It was plain to see that Mrs. Millwood and the rest of the council had spared no expense in outfitting the town for the day’s festivities. Banners in harvest gold, orange and red unfurled overhead in scintillating streams, strung from one iron lamp post to the next, each inundated with wheatsheaves and garlands of strawflower, copper beech and sunflowers. Blossom’s handiwork, no doubt.
Pansy’s chest clenched at the thought of her friend, who she hadn’t seen since that disastrous afternoon in her parents’ burrow. It had been easy to lose herself in caring for Ren’sgarden, carrying water from the cottage’s nearby stream, picking beans and ambervine, encouraging pests away from the garden with netting and offers of a new, alternative home. She had replaced the deep-seated sting of regret with the marvel of new growth. But as the day of the Harvest Festival had drawn closer and closer, the weight of her damaged relationship with Blossom had borne down with oppressive force. Now, as she navigated the familiar cobblestone streets of Haverow, all choked with her best friend’s blooms, she couldn’t think of anything else.
And not just her relationship with Blossom. Her parents had been there too, their silence in that moment when their words would have mattered most even more deafening. No doubt they would be at the festival, too; they all would. Perhaps, if she kept to where the crowds were thickest, she could avoid them. But was that really what she wanted?
No. Of course not. Her heart clenched, choking the breath from her lungs. Running away would be easier. So much easier, she realized, as her eyes snapped to her parents’ burrow, fast approaching on the left. However, she had come here to fix things, and that meant facing her fears head-on. All of them.
Ren’s hand found her elbow as her apprehension stretched taut beneath her skin, their touch almost tentative. “You don’t have to see them if you don’t want to.”
Pansy shook her head. “I’ll likely see them at the festival anyway. It’s”– she swallowed, her fingers finding Ren’s and giving them a grateful squeeze – “better to do this now. Rip off the bandage, you know?”
Ren’s brow furrowed. “You shouldn’trip offa bandage,” they said, sounding moderately horrified by the idea.
She waved a hand. “It’s an old halfling saying.”
“It sounds barbaric.”
“Be nice,” Pansy chided.
“I am nice!” Ren protested, their free hand sweeping out in a dramatic arc. They looked at Pig, lagging slightly behind them, her muscles straining against the weight of the cart, now heavy with their pumpkin. “Aren’t I being nice, Pig?” A snort. “See? She agrees!”
“If you say so…”
A few more steps, each punctuated by the sharpclackof the wagon’s wheels against the dark cobbles, and they’d arrived. Pansy put one hand on the wooden gate, ready to push it aside, but found herself unable to put the necessary force behind the movement. It was as if every last scrap of strength had left her, evaporating without a trace.
“Pansy?” Ren was once again at her side, their fingers an anchor on her elbow.
“Sorry, I’m—”Tired, she’d wanted to say. But the lie caught in her throat, filling her mouth with bitter salt.
