Page 31 of In Your Light

Hadeom rolled his eyes, even though Fyn didn’t see. “Did Cern put you up to this?”

Fyn stopped walking and turned to look at him. “No. But he did teach me. Remember who he is, and you might remember who you are.”

Hadeom blinked. He was speechless until the wind whipped through the trees, sounding a lot like a peal of laughter.

Hadeom looked up at the swaying canopy. “Stay out of it, Cern.”

Fyn snorted. “So you’ll talk to the wind, but talking to the trees is ridiculous?”

The wind, the river.... Hadeom was beginning to wonder if he was losing his feeble grasp on reality. Despite himself, and probably because of Fyn’s boldness, Hadeom's mouth twitched.

Fyn caught it instantly. “There,” he declared, pointing triumphantly. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“A smile.”

“It wasn't.”

“It absolutely was.”

Hadeom shook his head, but the heaviness inside him shifted—not enough that it was gone, but merely rearranged until it hurt differently.

The boy was impossible.

Everything about him was impossible.

His carefree nature, his confidence, and his beauty. Surrounded by greenery, he looked almost surreal. Hadeom could see the faun in him, in his broad shoulders, his muscled arms, the way his curls clung to his head. Hadeom wanted to see his horns. He wanted to see the real Fyn.

He belonged to the forest with an ease Hadeom had forgotten anything living could possess. Every movement carried a quiet joy. The way his long eyelashes captured every blink, how his smile slowed the rotation of planets...

Or maybe that was just in Hadeom’s mind.

Fyn was already a few metres ahead before Hadeom even realised he’d been staring, transfixed and lost in errant thoughts. His heart knocked against his ribs as if to make him take notice.

Shoot.

He hurried to catch up.

“Here,” Fyn said, pausing to point. “Look.”

Tiny mushrooms clustered around fallen logs like little villages, and further along, young nettles pushed through the softened ground. Fyn knelt every few minutes, showing Hadeom what could be gathered.

“Wood sorrel.” The leaves were bright and heart-shaped. “Taste.”

Hadeom obeyed, of course, and a sharp burst of lemon spread across his tongue. His eyebrows rose.

“I know!” Fyn grinned. “The first person who convinced me to eat it said, ‘Trust me.’”

“And you did?”

“I was six.”

“And you trusted them?”

“No.”

“You ate it anyway.”