“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” Vela walked alongside Fian. “You didn’t actually do that, did you?”
Fian glanced at her sideways. “I don’t follow, what exactly did I do? The nice badger lady just wanted to say thanks… I certainly didn’t plan for us to run into her right now.” Vela snorted in annoyance. “That’s not the point at all.”
“Then what is?”
“Well, this …” She took a breath and, in a cloyingly sweet voice, mimicked: “‘I’d like to thank you again; you were just so kind. How about we bake some cookies at my place this afternoon? And your cute little girlfriend is invited, too.'” Her gaze turned icy, as did her tone. “And what did you do?”
Fian gave her a lopsided look. “Well, she asked nicely, so naturally I said yes. Or do you not like homemade cookies?” She swiped a claw in frustration, striking a thick tree branch. “You know exactly what I mean!” As Fian tried to sidestep away, she grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back. “Oh, no, no, no… not so fast.” Fian’s ears flattened. “Well, we don’t have to go. But I’d actually like to bake cookies with the badger lady… If you don’t want to, then don’t, I am sure I’ll manage just fine without you.”
She turned him by the scruff so they were face-to-face. “‘Your cute little girlfriend?’ She said that on purpose, you know,” she remarked sharply, then let him go. Fian gave himself a quick shake before looking back at Vela with an expression that was both innocent and slightly overwhelmed. “Vela, you know she’s an elderly badger lady,” he began cautiously, taking a step back onto the soft, mossy ground of the path, safely out of reach of her claws. “She wears spectacles mended with thread, and she likely bakes with dried rowan berries and forest honey. To her, anyone under fifty summers is either a mere youngster or, well… ‘cute.’ What was I supposed to say? ‘No thank you, my dear lady; the companion whom fate has thrust upon me would likely view your exquisite baked goods as a personal affront’?”
“She called me a ‘friend’!” Vela hissed, following him and crossing her arms over her chest, the tip of her tail lashing irritably from side to side. “And she looked at me as if I were some stray ferret that needed to be pacified with a piece of lard-cake, all while she was busy discussing her secret herbal blends for breads and pastries with you!” Fian couldn’t quite suppress a wry, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his snout. “Fair point, I suppose, … but in my defense, what was I supposed to say? When you aren’t out hunting in the dead of night with those eerily glowing eyes, admit it, you are, well… let’s call it ‘compact,’ aren’t you? I mean, when you aren’t busy hacking branches off poor, defenseless oaks, you don’t look entirely terrifying.” Vela’s gaze narrowed into two thin, ice-blue slits. Her ears flattened against her head. “Say that one more time, and I’ll make sure your lute ends up serving as a rolling pin this afternoon.” “Alright, alright!” Fian said, raising both paws in a soothing gesture, and let out a soft sigh into the cool autumn woods. “Look…” he continued, his tone calmer now, tilting his head slightly, “I was simply helping the good lady pull her cart out of the mud pit by the stream. The fact that she promised us fresh cookies in return is just… gratitude! Hospitality, really. The sort of thing one offers to travelers. Nothing more. I honestly don’t see what you’re so worked up about. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Vela stopped in her tracks and crossed her arms over her chest. “She didn’t… you messed this up!” Fian stayed just out of her reach and turned around. “And what exactly did I do?”
“Nothing,” she replied.
He tilted his head, deep in thought.
She crept closer and knocked him on the head with the back of her claw. “Well, have you figured it out yet?” she asked, sounding annoyed. “Or do you need another hint from your… ‘ cutest girl friend ever’?”
Fian rubbed his forehead. “Oh, man – you mean the ‘friend’ bit?” Vela kept her arms crossed, glaring at him. “Huh… so, you just have to knock on someone’s skull, and then, *hello* – someone answers…”
Fian held her gaze. “Good grief, you’re sensitive. What’s so wrong with wanting to have friends?” Fian perked up his ears and looked at her, full of curiosity. For a fleeting fraction of a second, Vela froze. Then her muzzle twitched, and for a fleeting moment, the unbridled cold of the Eternals flared in her ice-blue eyes, accompanied by a deep, guttural growl. “Friends?” she spat out, stepping back and surveying the vastness of the forest. “I am a huntress, Fian. I roam the depths of these woods without mercy, to demand tribute according to the laws of claw and fang; not to host tea parties or… or to dance in a fire circle, holding hands!”
“You see,” Fian replied, calm and composed, his ears tilting slightly forward as he studied her with that insufferably understanding gaze, “that’s exactly what I mean. No one said anything about dancing. It’s about cookies.” She spun around abruptly. “It’s never about cookies! Friends make you sentimental. Friends want to talk. Friends… friends could even end up being the next tribute…”
Fian stepped closer and placed his paw gently on her shoulder. His voice was earnest. “Yes. But friends are also there for one another; they fetch help when it’s needed. Friends trust each other when they’re in trouble. Friends even help a small, lost bard wearing a collar, even though they didn’t have to, and had only known him for a single afternoon. They’re simply there. Even when it doesn’t make any logical sense.”
Vela tensed her shoulders. The fur on the back of her neck bristled at his touch, yet she didn’t swat his paw away. Instead, she took a step forward and slowly turned back to face him. In her eyes, the eerie blue of eternity shimmered. “Don’t ever remind me of that again,” she said quietly. “It was a moment of weakness, nothing more.” Fian returned her gaze without a word, his ears pricked forward, attentive. Vela held his stare for a few heartbeats before jerking her head away to the side. She reached for the strap of her hunting knife and marched with brisk, energetic strides down the winding path, the very direction from which the delicate scent of burning birch wood and warm baked goods was already drifting through the autumnal thicket.
“Come on, bard,” she called out over her shoulder, without slowing her pace. “If that badger lady serves us some of her dough-treats, you’re the one who’ll have to warble the polite songs. Not me.”
A warm, subtle smile spread across Fian’s muzzle. He adjusted the strap of his lute and followed her tracks through the moss.