| |
The sun was below the horizon by the time Rue stepped back into the forest. As promised by the new spring, the evening still held winter’s bite, and there was just barely enough light for her to make her way to the burrow. The sky was a smear of navy and purple, the stars just beginning to glimmer far above, and the moon shone bright silver, glowing brighter as the night grew darker. It wasn’t quite full yet, but it was close enough.
Her chest squeezed tight as she approached, her peace evaporating. Fear clawed at her, fear that she would smell another meal she hadn’t been able to rescue from her family, fear that they would smell the bird on her and lash out. Her anxiety eased only slightly as the burrow came into sight at the bottom of the hill and the forest still smelled only of earth, the lake around them, and a smell unique to the family—something like sweaty feet, skunks, and the musty smell of the dirt around Rue’s mushrooms.
So no new unexpected meals. Relieved, she picked her way down the hill.
The burrow looked only like a mass of shrubs and branches arched into a dome shape, woven together and covered in pine branches that kept the rain and snow out and the warmth in. It was connected to a cave system, though a small one. They slept in the rooms of the cave, using the branch dome of the burrow for meals and socializing. The central fire must be lit, since the forest was filled with the smell of wood smoke and tendrils stretched up from the opening at the top of the dome.
Rue diligently stared straight ahead as she walked past the remnants of the fisherman’s gear glinting in the moonlight. She’d hoped by now one of the brothers would have cleaned up, but the family must have spent the day sleeping in the sun. They usually did that after a meal like the fisherman.
She reached the burrow and pulled the woven pine branch door open enough to slip inside. The fire was roaring, and, as she’d suspected, Mother and Father lounged at its side, the five brothers scattered around the room in various stages of napping, relaxed and sleepy.
She ran a hand over her head, unable to ignore the differences between her and the family after the reminder of the fisherman the day before. Each day, she was more like their meal and less like them.
To an unfamiliar eye, every member of the family was identical, other than their differences in size. All seven of them were covered from head to toe with long, reddish-brown hair that shone in the sun, except for their faces, one of the few similarities Rue shared with them. The skin of their faces was as smooth and hairless as Rue’s body. And their hands, though larger than Rue’s, looked the same.
But that was where the similarities ended. And it extended past their absence of clothing and excessive body hair.
Where Rue was calm, creative, and gentle, the family was fierce, rigid, and rough. Rue had suffered her fair share of broken bones when the brothers fought her over meals or she irritated them. It was the biggest reason she’d created the haven, and these days, she mostly kept to herself when she wasn’t required to socialize.
She would be the matriarch after Mother died. It was the only reason Mother had saved her, protected her, for all these years. And matriarch meant only one thing: she was to be mated, controlled, caged for the rest of her life. Just as soon as they announced the joining.
Rue’s eyes drifted to the mountainous form of Grun. The roughest of the family, the shortest-tempered, and the one with the worst hygiene.
Her future mate, as determined by Mother. If Rue was to be Matriarch, like Mother, Grun would be her mate in only a few months’ time. By the end of the summer, if Rue was lucky. Next week if she was not.
She wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside. The family’s smell was stronger than usual—they obviously hadn’t been to the springs in a few days to wash up—and there was still an underlying tang of blood on the air. She tiptoed around the dozing brothers, hoping she could make it to her sleeping nest without much notice.
“You smell of game,” came Mother’s rumbling voice.
Rue paused, stomach flopping in fear, heart hammering, then turned partway to face her. Mother was nestled into Father’s arm, but Father snored loudly enough to shake the air. Mother flared her nostrils, eyes piercing into Rue’s spirit as if she could see the truth.
“I was hunting today,” Rue responded, keeping her voice soft. She’d stashed her bow and quiver at the haven, but she should have switched her clothing until she could wash the smell of roasted bird from herself.
“You brought no game home,” Mother said. Her tone was harsh, cold. “Why?”
Rue took a breath, trying not to gag on the smell of the burrow. “The family ate yesterday, but I did not. There was not enough to bring home.”
It was a risk, admitting she’d eaten and hadn’t brought anything back with her. Hopefully Mother was too sleepy to do anything about it.
Luck was on her side this time. Mother rolled over and grunted. “At least bring me my wand, then,” she said, voice muffled by Father’s fur.
Rue nodded, even though Mother had turned away from her, and hurried to the room they shared. The back floor was filled with branches and grass, much like in the haven. She avoided the yellowed bones as she crossed the small space, careful not to make the mistake of identifying any of them, then dropped into the nest of grasses and reached for a rock settled into the wall, half buried by fragrant stems of lavender. She wiggled the rock, pulling it loose to reveal a small cavity extending into the stone wall. There, in its safe hiding place hidden from everyone except Mother and Rue, stood a bright white wand.
Rue reached in and grabbed the wand, sealing the cavity behind it. For a few moments, she studied it as she always did, the dim light illuminating carvings of flowers and animals along its length. Mother rarely let her handle it, so every time felt like a treat.
Power emanated from the wand, like a wave of pressure surrounding her, and she held her breath as it washed over her. Mother said she had Fae blood, which was why she had the wand in the first place, but every time Rue felt its power, she wondered if anyone could use it or just Mother. But Mother didn’t like to talk about the wand, didn’t want to share much.
Rue pushed herself to her feet, eyes still on the wand. She couldn’t keep Mother waiting much longer or Rue would regret it.
She brushed off her woven skirt and hurried back into the social room. By now, all the brothers were snoring right along with Father, but Mother rolled over as she approached. She reached one massive paw out toward Rue, and Rue dutifully placed the wand in her outstretched hand.
“You may go,” Mother said. She didn’t look at Rue, only the wand, and tapped a rock on the floor. The rock shifted and morphed, and then a cup of water stood in its place. Mother picked it up and took a long drink, then cuddled back into Father’s arms, hugging the wand to her chest.
Rue stared at the transformed cup just a moment longer, then turned toward her nest. Grun would love her to snuggle up to him like Mother was to Father, but the very thought sent insects crawling across her skin.
She hurried into the room, shivering as the warmth of the central fire faded behind her, and buried herself in the grass. She pulled a skin toward her, thankfully made of deer hide, and wrapped herself up like a caterpillar.
She might not have the fire, and she might be alone, but this was certainly better than the alternative.
