“Will do. Give mine to yours,” Mr Brown said.
Oh, it was time to go, Sawyer realised. “We’ll be back. Let us know if you need anything brought up from town,” he offered.
Mr Brown’s eyes, old and dark, sparkled with knowing. “And you stay out of the water,” he said. “And the forest. No good will come from either.”
Sawyer stared at him, and Ciaran nodded toward the cruiser, signalling that they should leave.
Stay out of the water.
Stay out of the forest.
There was no way he could have known about Sawyer going into either, Sawyer realised. And why did Ciaran mention Mr Brown’s family, not once but twice, if not for Sawyer’s benefit? When Mr Brown lived very much alone and had no phone or television. Or electricity, for that matter. But then Sawyer remembered Ciaran mentioning some folks who lived in the mountains and never came to town.
Ever.
Ciaran had warned him not to visit them.
They got into the cruiser, the doors closing out the wind and sound, and Sawyer wasn’t quite sure how to explain how much safer he felt.
Was he scared of Mr Brown?
No.
He was scared of the pieces he was putting together.
He put the cruiser in reverse, and Ciaran gave Mr Brown a wave as they pulled away. “Nice old guy, huh?”
The small bubble of laughter that escaped Sawyer sounded a little too close to crazy for his own good. “Sure.”
Ciaran laughed, far too relaxed, as they headed back toward the road. “So...”
“Yeah, so,” Sawyer said. “He’s not human, either, is he?” He wasn’t sure why he posed that as a question when heknewit was true. “And his family are the folks in the mountains you mentioned before who don’t come to town very often, and they’re not human either.”
Ciaran grinned at him.
Of course he couldn’t agree or disagree because of whatever treaty they had in place....
“So are they, like....” Images of Mr Brown flashed through his mind: his long beard, his old wise eyes, his gnarled fingers, his old and twisted walking stick. He was the embodiment of earth and trees and damp undergrowth. “Jesus. Are they like tree people? The Ents fromThe Lord of the Rings?”
As soon as he said that, he knew it was ridiculous, and wrong. Ciaran snorted, and Sawyer shot him a look of bewildered realisation.
He couldn’t help but be a little sarcastic. “Yeah, okay, like that’s soooo much more ludicrous than cephamorphs existing. The old man looks like was forged on the forest floor from twigs and leaves at the beginning of time. I mean, tell me I’m wrong.”
Ciaran grinned at him, his eyes dancing with copper and light. “You’re not wrong.”
So that was... that was true?
“Christ, is he like some forest sprite? Like, he morphs into Puck, and his walking stick becomes his antlers or something, because that’s no more fantastical...”
Ciaran’s eyes met his, and Sawyer knew. He fucking knew he was right.
Oh.
“Holy fuck.”
Ciaran laughed and lifted Sawyer’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Those apples really are delicious.”
Chapter
