“It’s a Marsh thing,” Will chimed in, already heading over, grabbing a wooden spoon, presumably for me to bite down on, on his way.
“An act of love,” Seidon murmured. “He’s adding his essence to hers.” The male gestured to the potted blossom that had fresh blooms all over it. We’d had to put it in a bigger pot, its roots were so deep.
“I might, uh, scream,” I warned as Alfie and Brine joined us to help.
“Like a fucking girl,” Ben muttered. I actually laughed at that. Nothing could sour my mood, even as fear filled me.
Pulling off my shoe and sock, I wiggled my foot. Fear threatened to creep up, but I could do this.
“Does it have to be cut off?” Ben asked as he walked the chair he’d been sitting in back to the table.
“I- No.” How else would one remove a toe?
“Good. I hate whiny bitching. Someone has a gag?” Ben walked up to me, cracking his knuckles. I should have figured he’d want to do the honors. “Who’s holding him down?”
“Us, I guess,” Brine offered, standing shoulder to shoulder behind me with Alfie. Turning to them, I offered my thanks.
“Oh- I’ll shift,” I muttered as the thought occurred to me. “That’ll be easier.”
“You owe me, pickle,” Ben said suddenly, right as my feet partially shifted. I didn’t have time to fully turn around before so many pounds of bulky Cyclops was on me as his fist just slammed into my face. “Catch him,” Ben barked, as the room spun and I wilted.
“Timmmmmmber,” Brushe sang from the couch, and that was all I remembered.
∞∞∞
“He’s alive!” Someone announced.
Head swimming, I sat up. A thump sounded next to me. Blinking, I picked up the green oozing wad of cloth to find Ben kneeling over me, watching me, and my freshly severed toe wrapped in my kitchen towel.
Seidon glanced from me to the Cyclops, nodding. “Impressive,” he murmured, his arms folded loosely over his chest. Brine, looking a little white, blinked and shook his head. “Remind me not to piss laser eye off,” he muttered.
“It’s done?” I croaked out.
Will, wiggling a sock on my bandaged foot, nodded. “You just need to plant that thing and… limp your way to your happily ever after.”
“I-” My gaze kept darting about before going back to Ben. “Thank you,” I told Ben, and I meant it.
“No problem.” Ben gripped my forearm and hauled me up. I was so used to Aster’s manhandling I was ready for it. Clapping me on the back, he grumbled, “Just don’t fuck it up. Or I’ll fuck you up. A severed toe will be the last of your worries, pickle.” Tossing me a wink, Ben stood back.
“Can laser eye melt down a garden statuenow?”Brushe demanded, looking from his brother to Seidon, to Ben.
Dax and Segrid smirked simultaneously as Seidon and Brine turned to Brushe in exasperation.
“What?” Brushe blurted. “Oh- Pfft! Like none of you want to see it, too!”
∞∞∞
This was my mate, the mother of my unborn child, my heart’s blossom, we’re already joined in togetherness from now to happily forever after. So why was I so damn nervous?
Getting out of my car, pot in hand, glancing at the small structure she currently resided in for a very short time yet still, until we moved her things into our home, I couldn’t picture her living here. It was a grouping of condo-like structures set around a small, questionable green sludge looking pothole of a pond. Aster had admitted she was more at her marsh than here—it simply held all of her belongings. The place was a little swamp-like—Human swamp standards swamp-like. I found swamp and marsh interchangeable words in Mordenne because they were, a combination of the two, while the Human world swamps and marshes were more or less each their own things—Human world swamps more forests of varying water saturations and marshes less forest and more waterlogged wetland. Marshes of Mordenne were both, depending on the area of one’s territory you traipsed through.
Hobaug Fen, my territory, as it was known, now mine and Aster’s, I mentally corrected with a goofy smile on my face, was heavy with pale cypresses and gums in the forested areas, and yellow nutsedge (swamp grass), brown fox sedge throughout, while Ter Kefren, as I’d learned Aster’s swamp was named, was predominantly overrun by alders, maples, willows, and cattails, heavy with the greens and oranges in the swamp-scheme of things.
One glance down at the pot in my hands and I was sweating nervously. What if she didn’t like it?
No. That was silly. Aster was loving, sweet, kind. It could look like a five year old’s paste project and she’d ooh over it like it was made of gold. And not in a fake it kind of way.
Blowing out a long breath, swallowing convulsively, my feet took me right to her doorstep. About to knock, I hesitated, fist raised, at the ready. Another glance down at the pot, then spotting the small empty plant stand, and genius struck.
