A resourceful man.I nearly smiled, despite the pressing danger.
“Clara?” He pointed to Hesper.
“And Hesper!” He pointed to me, his forehead gleaming with sweat.
“The other way around,” I said. Hesper still had her hand at her side, wary and ready. I tried to come out from behind her, but she pushed me back into place.
Ass.
“What’s the other way around?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.
“Our names,” I said from behind Hesper. How ridiculous this must look.
“Those aren’t your names?”
“Those are our names.” I scratched at my head.
“But they are the wrong way around,” he replied seriously.
“No, I, uh. I’m Clara, and that’s Hesper.” He shoved his forehead into the palm of his hand.
“Forgive me! Clesper and Hara.” At that, Hesper’s hands relaxed at her side, and she released me from my place of protection. Any threat this man posed had more to do with memory than maiming. I stifled a laugh despite myself. Still, some fear lingered. There was no reason to trust him, not yet at least.
“Clara and Hesper,” I corrected gently.
He stared at us for a long moment, smiling widely and making no move to say or do anything else.
“And your name?” I broke the silence. He shook his head vigorously, reemerging into reality.
“Angus Laurel, mayor of Dwindle, at your service! And you, Clesper—oh, forgive me—Clara, are here to save our town! Save us!”
He gave a loud clap of his calloused hands.
Cottage doors burst open, people rolled out from behind carts, a few pixies flew out of the coffee spout at Bards & Brew, and a dwarf popped out of the dead flower boxes beside me, startling me right into Hesper’s arms. She caught me and gruffly placed me back on my feet. There was such a swarm of beings all around us that, if they meant us harm, we’d notstand a chance—even if Hesper was a fae warrior. Perhaps she’d escape, hewing her way through the fray, but I’d be trapped.
We were encircled by the entire town by the looks of it. Humans, dwarves, pixies, small folk, and nymphs. They all wore an array of different clothing, reminding me of the Lore market streets. Everyone looked like they were from everywhere. The only thing that they shared among them was the tattered state of their clothing—and the hope. Such hope was in all of their eyes, their smiles, every part of them.
My heart sank so low, I thought it might have left my body entirely.
The sun rose high over a little village shaped like boots, pots, and old hats.
—opening line attempt 110
I stared wide-eyed at the people of Dwindle, not speaking and certainly not breathing.
Too many stories rushed through my head—all the tales Rosie and I’d grown up hearing of this town and the people here. Of the dangers of withering magic and what it would do to any who went near it. Hells, it had resulted in Hesper going full evil mode. Yet, here was Dwindle, a place so close to the Witherings, and these folk could not be further from those tales. Were the stories just stories and nothing more? How had they managed to survive, not succumbing to the magic that resided so close to them? Or was this some ploy by the Prince and his magic? I scrambled for words, but I had none to give to the gathering crowd.
“Are we scaring her, you think?” a voice tinkled quietly from somewhere in the crowd.
“Probably so,” the pixies above my head replied in unison.
I flinched at their nearness.
“Her eye twitched, she’s definitely scared,” one of the pixies whispered loudly to the other.
Hesper grasped my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. I held on tightly.
“I’m just so excited to see her!” the dwarf in the flowerpot said, the old roots of what I presumed once lived there now clinging to his head like a hat. He rested his bulbous head on his hands and sighed with admiration.
