Peet’s thoughts were scrambled.
Random thoughts and bits of poetry and horrifying flashes of memory rattled around his head, and he felt caged. And it wasn’t just the socks enveloping his hands, it was himself. He could see – sense – Artham somewhere in the deepest part of himself, but he didn’t want to. Artham was a man he had abandoned in Throg.
Along with Esben.
The very name screamed in his mind, along with hundreds of other voices. Esben’s blue eyes flecked with yellow flashed over his vision, and Peet trembled. He covered his face with his socked hands as if he could keep himself blind to them. Tears began to pour down his cheeks, and he curled into a ball in the boughs of a glipwood tree and softly whimpered.
I left him!
Peet sobbed. His heart coiled and burned in his chest as grief and the deepest of sorrows choked him. He wasn’t just remembering Throg, he was in Throg at that very moment, experiencing those long, torturous three years over and over and over again.
But even in his darkest moments, he had felt the Maker’s touch. Even though His presence was faint, he could still sense his creator’s love echoing in his own heart. And in the limbs of that glipwood tree, Artham Wingfeather clung tightly to the Maker’s embrace because his life depended on it.
Peet’s breathing slowed as he hummed an old Annieran melody, the words barely forming on his lips. It might have been one his mother sung to him as she tucked him in bed at night, but he couldn’t recall the lyrics. The words floated at the edge of his reach, but the bittersweet tune flowed from his lips like sombre birdsong.
And, just as quickly as it came, the song, the memory, and Artham himself fled his mind. Only Peet remained, along with a strange haze that was somehow comforting. He didn’t want to remember anything. It was almost nice to just be Peet.
With a curious and wide-eyed gaze, Peet looked up and balanced his crouching form on the precarious branches. He scanned the forest below for toothy cows or horned hounds or any other manner of deadly creature before leaping. He landed with a strange grace and cautiously rose, hastily pulling his socks up to his elbows again.
A small voice stirred him to wander into Glipwood again. He had wandered there from Fort Lamendron a few days ago, and found…
What was it?
Peet wracked his brain as he lurched forward and ambled between the trees. It was something important, someone important. Who was it?
Bits of blurred faces formed in his mind, but he couldn’t piece them together. Frustration billowed in his chest as he forged ahead, leery of the digtoad that croaked nearby. He wished he had his sword.
Did he have a sword? Had he had one before?
Peet brushed the thought away as he came to the edge of the forest. A path cutting through a field formed in front of him, and he dashed through it, cartwheeling and giggling along the way. It was almost… freeing to be so ridiculous. It was one of his only freedoms left.
He arrived in Glipwood covered in dirt after rolling on the ground, his white hair a tousled mess. He wasn’t aware of the townsfolk’s strange stares or glances at his socks as he murmured a strange rhyming verse to himself.
And, not too long after he tumbled into the alleyway beside Books and Crannies, he stopped. Something was extremely familiar about the family that was entering the bookshop. The youngest of the three children, a small girl on a crutch with the most wild and beautiful blonde curls turned to look at him. Her blue eyes shone in the morning sun, and she waved at him with a gentle smile.
For a reason Peet couldn’t explain, joy blossomed in his heart and he felt the urge to shout. But instead, he squeaked and dashed into the alleyway again. His heart pounded against his rib cage, and he began hyperventilating. He clawed at the bricks in the wall for support as he pressed himself against the wall, wishing he could melt into it.
He recognised that girl. That sweet little girl, his precious niece.
Leeli.
The name surfaced in his mind in a gentle whisper, like a mother softly rousing her children to wake. That was her name. That was his niece.
He had a niece?
Yes, Peet nodded to himself, daring to peer beyond the alley. The mother and her father and the children had entered the bookstore by now, but he stared at the space where his niece had stood. And almost as quickly as they had gone in, the mother and her father stepped back out.
Peet cowered a bit, half hoping they would see him. Part of himself wanted to be seen by them, to run and weep and embrace them with his weary, broken hands. The other part of himself wanted to run and hide and keep himself as far away from them as possible.
He looked down to his socked hands, his thoughts roaming to what was beneath them. Would they accept him? Would they understand? Would they welcome him back with open arms, despite his brokenness, despite his failure? Or would they reject him? Would they judge him? Would they cast him off because he was a freak, because he was a coward?
Tears blurred Peet’s vision as he pulled his hands to his chest in shame.
“Artham?”
At the sound of that name, Peet glanced up, finding himself staring into Nia Wingfeather’s tender eyes.
A woman stood only a stone’s throw away, her hand to her mouth and her eyes watering. Her father stood behind her, his burly arms crossed over his barrel chest as he glared with a surly eye.
“Nia…,” he mumbled with some difficulty, though the name was hard to form on his lips. That was her name, wasn’t it?
The woman took a step forward, cautious. “Artham, is that you?”
At that name, Peet recoiled, shifting his weight as though preparing to run. He didn’t answer.
“Artham?” she repeated.
Peet whimpered and turned away, covering his face. He didn’t want to hear that name. That name wasn’t his. It couldn’t be his name. That name belonged to a different man, one who had died in Throg.
A warm, gentle hand placed itself on Peet’s shoulder. He jumped with a squeak and shuffled away, keeping his socked hands over his face. The hand found its way to him again, and he kept still this time. For whatever reason, hot tears formed in his eyes, which were squeezed shut. His breathing heightened again.
“Artham, it’s me,” the woman’s delicate, strong voice said behind him. It calmed his anxieties, and his heart slowed. Slowly, he lowered his hands and opened one eye, then the other. He turned, hesitantly meeting the woman’s eyes again. “It’s Nia.”
Nia, yes, that was her name. She stood a head shorter than him, looking up to him with an overjoyed smile. Tears streamed down her rosy and freckled cheeks, and without warning, embraced him. Artham froze, his anxiety crashing over him like a roaring ocean wave. He didn’t move, didn’t dare allow her to touch his hands.
Finally, Nia released him and wiped a tear from her eye. “Artham, it’s so good to see you.”
Peet looked away, unable to say a word.
Concern darkened her expression, and her smile was quickly doused. “What’s wrong?”
Everything, Nia. He wanted to tell her. Anniera fell, the Wingfeathers are scattered, and your husband…
Esben is…
Tears flooded his eyes again, and he put his back to her. He couldn’t bear it. The sound of her voice, the joy in her eyes, the warmth of her embrace – he didn’t deserve it. He had fallen prey to the Stone Keeper’s temptation, twisted himself, and left –
He swallowed.
Left Esben behind.
Without a single word, Peet tore away from them with a wail, running out of Glipwood and into the forest.
😭😭😭😭😭This is so good and so sad! It’s almost exactly like I imagined it. Good job!😭😭😭
What detail! Poor Artham...
Ooh. This is so good. Poor Peet!