#gentle gianrs

[imagine-darksiders]

Haven - Chapter 6.

First Steps

Summary: The Black Hammer’s infamous mettle is put to the test when he finds himself approached by a sleepy, human youngling. You get your hands looked at and learn a little bit more about your massive guardians in the process. 

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As soon as the minuscule woman sitting in front of him finally succumbs to the persistent lull of sleep, Ulthane nearly lets slip a powerful sigh, only just managing to snap his lips shut in time to catch it.

The giant is not about to utter any sound that might risk waking you up again, not when you're so clearly in desperate need of a long, uninterrupted rest.

Balancing an elbow on each knee, the maker slumps forwards and scrubs tiredly at his face with a thick, calloused hand which he drags down just enough to peer at you over his fingers.

For perhaps longer than he ought to, Ulthane meticulously studies the side of your face that isn't pressed up against the tree bark, unaware that his own features are becoming softer and softer with each passing second.

Although you're sitting right in front of him and he's even held you, touched you and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're real and here, he still can't quite believe that he'd managed to save both you and the children. Admittedly, he's reluctant to stand and leave, and he tells himself that a few more minutes of keeping watch is just a sensible idea, certainly not paranoia setting in. 'Besides,' he thinks, scanning the room and taking note of both the awkward angle at which you've lain yourself against the wall and the broken 'glasses' that sit at the end of Archie's bed. 'There're some things I need to take care of...'

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Slowly, the sconces flickering on the walls burn lower and lower, dripping wax onto the wooden ground until at last, the maker decides your sleep is deep enough that he could move you to a bedroll without waking you up. Glaciers would have moved faster than Ulthane in that moment as he rises to his feet, wincing at every creak of his leather tunic and the clanking, metal belt fastened around his waist. Soon enough though, he's upright once again and he bends down, inching his fingers closer to you until he's able to slide them gently around your back, fingertips brushing over delicate vertebrae and his heart begins to hammer when you scrunch up your face and emit a small moan. For several beats, the maker remains frozen in place until you settle down again.

Breathing a gentle sigh that ruffles your hair, Ulthane carefully works his fingers around and underneath you, having to wiggle them so that your legs sit comfortably across his palm, allowing the maker to press his thumb to your front and pull you up against his chest.

With cautious steps – which would have been cause for amusement had anyone been there as a witness – Ulthane carries you over to the spare bedroll and lays you down upon it, mindful of your head the whole way. Once again, he retracts his hand with an almost painful slowness but the moment his fingers slip out from underneath you, he's startled when you unexpectedly roll towards him in your sleep and fling an arm out, draping it loosely around his forefinger.

The maker's breath catches like a hook in his throat.

Fragile lips part slightly and you let out a soft sigh of contentment, your features relaxing until the lines in your forehead begin to diminish.

Ulthane swallows, captivated by the sight. He'll just have to stay where he is then....

Fine. No problem. Clearly you're subconsciously seeking comfort wherever you can find it, and who is he to deny you that?

The maker is more than ready to crouch here all night if he has to. But then... he considers what a shock it might be for a fetching, young human like you to wake up with a scruffy giant looming over them. Suddenly, staying doesn't seem like the most prudent of ideas.

“Sorry, lass,” he breathes, giving his finger a careful tug until it slides out from under your arm. For a second or two, your lips twitch down at the loss of warm contact, but soon after, you fall still on the bedroll, your breathing slow and even, which is more of a reassurance to the maker than you could possibly know. It's a simple facet of biology he never realised could be a comfort to him after seeing so many humans whose chests were motionless, as if they'd been turned to stone.

Ulthane indulges himself in another few seconds of watching your ribs expand and contract before he pushes himself to his feet again and treads back over to the entrance, bypassing Archie's bunk along the way.

Tree bark scrapes noisily against the maker's braid as he hunkers down against the wall, opening his palm up and squinting curiously down at the fragile spectacles now laying within it. Shifting his weight slightly to one side, he flips the lid of a pouch on his belt and digs around in it for a moment until he pulls out a handful of small tools, those typically saved for his more delicate work.

Settling back against the tree bark, Ulthane readies himself for a long and hopefully peaceful vigil.

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There wasn't any particular reason why Lucia jerked awake in the middle of the night. Only one thing is for sure though, she tells herself adamantly as she clutches at the front of her thin, cotton shirt and gulps down a lungful of air – Waking up has absolutely nothing to do with a nightmare. Definitely not at her age. She's seven, after all. Far too old to be afraid of such babyish things as bad dreams, even those that are filled with gnashing jaws and grey, lifeless eyes, or of hulking monsters who have four arms that raise high above her, just moments away from squashing her flat against the ground below....

Groggily, Lucia twists her head around to see her classmate, Kitty, is still sleeping soundly on the bed next to her.

Kitty has always been a heavy sleeper, and she doesn't even stir as Lucia shuffles tiredly to the ladder at the end of their bunkbed and slides her bare feet onto the first, wooden rung. The girl's descent is painfully slow and she can barely keep her eyes open to see where she needs to place her hands, yet somehow, she manages to make it down to the ground in one piece.

The young girl blearily peers towards the enormous doorway where you and the giant were sitting last night after she and her classmates had climbed into their respective beds. Glassy, sleep-deprived eyes seek out your familiar shape, yet they fail to find you in the spot they expected you to be, an outcome that causes Lucia's throat to tighten. Not a moment later however, she catches sight of Ulthane and her chest hitches apprehensively.

The giant of a man is still sitting propped up against the tree wall with his piercing, blue eyes fixed in her direction, hard and unflinching as stone. It's an unnerving thing to be held underneath that gaze, and yet, as abrupt as Ulthane's appearance is, Lucia doesn't retreat back up into the bunk bed. Rather, she blinks slowly up at him and rubs one of her eyelids with a closed fist. She's tired and she's hungry and she wants nothing more than to see her mother again, to fall into a pair of warm, comforting arms and be reassured that this is all just an unusually long dream. Nevertheless, with a distinct lack of any other viable grownup in the vicinity, the girl's sleep-addled brain seeks out the next nearest source of safety and protection.  

Ulthane stiffens and his jaw grows tight when the human youngling begins a slow march across the tree towards him, dragging her feet the whole way.

As she stumbles past Archie's bed, Lucia doesn't even seem to notice that her classmate's glasses are no longer discarded at the foot of it, but instead lay just beside his head, looking polished and brand new without a single crack marring the lenses. Why would she notice, after all, when her sights are set on the mountain of a man sitting in the entrance, his blue gaze tracking her vigilantly across the tree? Perhaps if she'd been even slightly more awake, her stomach might have churned at the thought of venturing closer to something so formidably colossal.

The tiny girl comes to a stop in the space between Ulthane's boots and she tips her heavy head back to peer up at him whilst he, in turn, stares down at her, the bushy eyebrows sitting on his forehead slowly raising with every second that ticks by.

Not for the first time, the Old one is completely lost for what to do.

He'd been prepared for the human younglings to avoid him altogether, not for one to approach him, alone, in the dead of night and without her guardian present.

Swallowing thickly, the maker flicks his eyes up to seek you out on the other side of the room and he momentarily considers making a loud noise or clearing his throat, something that might jar you awake so you can intercept the exhausted child currently yawning up at him. He's quick to scrap that idea, however, sharply reminding himself that he's a maker, for the love of Stone, and the Black Hammer to boot. He's faced down scores of undead, battled against invading, demonic armies! His hands have shaped cities and crafted weapons capable of cataclysmic destruction! He – Ulthane Black Hammer – has no reason to be so tense in the presence of -! 'Oh, maker's beard, she's trying to climb me.'

Apparently, following any lack of a rejection from the giant she'd so boldly approached, Lucia's childish mind has reasoned that it's safe to proceed. So, without a word, she ventures right up to the enormous chain dangling from his equally large, leather belt and, before he has the time to flinch at the prospect of a child getting so close, she reaches up and slips her hands around one of the chain loops and begins hauling herself up into the giant's lap.

The angle at which Ulthane is propped up against the tree works to Lucia's advantage and her hands and feet find easy purchase on the maker's intricately adorned apron, allowing her to crawl onto his stomach without much difficulty, proceeding onwards until she comes to a halt directly over his thundering heart.

Any breath that had once occupied Ulthane's lungs no longer exists as he wheezes it out, all pretence of bravado fleeing him whilst the little human makes herself comfortable upon his chest. Hands like fragile glass twist into his blue, striped cowl and tug it close, seeking comfort in the soft fabric and then, after parting her jaw around yet another yawn, Lucia plops herself down on her belly, head turned to the side so that Ulthane can see her eyes flutter closed.

Every rise and fall of the maker's chest seems far too violent a motion, prompting him to try to keep his breathing as shallow as possible, even though his lungs begin to burn with the effort and his throat bobs as he swallows a thick lump, tilting his chin to peer down his nose at the child.

All right.... All right, he can do this. He can be gentle. After all, he's been gentle with younglings before. Although come to think of it, maker younglings are far, far sturdier than humans. One glance at the girl's twig-thin arms and he clenches his jaw, his immeasurable nerve actually beginning to waver.

It's laughable really. The mighty Black Hammer's famous courage shaken by a tiny, little girl.

If his brother could see him now, he'd be bent double, howling with laughter.

Then again...

Ulthane's shoulders lose some of their tension and with the speed of a melting icicle, his forefinger creeps steadily towards the human.

….Thane has never had something so fragile laying beneath his palms. Thane has never had the terrifying responsibility of holding a body so breakable that just breathing in its direction seems like too much of a risk.

The pad of Ulthane's finger finally touches the child's spine, feather-light and hesitant to the point that he can barely feel her individual vertebrae beneath his toughened skin.

Maker's beard... She barely even covers the length of his palm... He holds his breath when she lets out a soft noise and shifts, curling her legs up tight against her stomach and pushing the curve of her spine a little more noticeably into Ulthane's touch, causing his heart to lurch in response. There's a tenderness to his frown as he hesitantly sweeps the pad of his forefinger down her flimsy shirt and finds himself momentarily exasperated that humans don't bother wearing any kind of armour. They aren't exactly fast enough to outrun their enemies. Nor are they especially strong. Their bones can shatter after a short fall and a single fracture in their spinal column could render them completely incapable of movement. Why, all it would take is a single slip of his finger and....

Shuddering, Ulthane withdraws his hand and lays it on his stomach, just below the girl's feet. In the museum, carrying the humans had been different. He hadn't exactly had much of a choice. Now though, with enough time to stop and think about all the ways a being of his size could unwittingly damage them, Ulthane is far more hesitant and his mind begins to race because suddenly, he has to be so, unfalteringly aware of himself, uncomfortably so.

In direct contrast to the maker's frenetic brain, Lucia isn't really thinking much about anything. All she knows is that she feels a lot safer now than she had in the bunkbed. No nightmare would dare to touch her here, not with the giant keeping watch. With this in mind, the girl lets out a last, lingering yawn before she buries her face in the blue fabric clutched between her fingers and finally drops back off to sleep.

Ulthane is so busy wondering what your reaction will be if you awaken to catch him like this that he doesn't even notice Lucia has fallen asleep on him until he sees her hands go slack around his cowl and her back starts to rise and fall at a much slower pace.

For countless hours – or perhaps it was only mere minutes – the maker watches his charge as she sleeps, every now and then casting his watchful eye over the rest of the group.

Lucia doesn't stir again, not even when Ulthane eventually plucks up the nerve to relax, leaning a little further back into the wood behind him. Not even when, a few minutes later, he curls one of his vast hands over her back whilst she continues to sleep, being beyond careful not to put any weight on her.

All of a sudden, just as he lets his head drop to rest against the bark, it hits him that this girl – this impossibly small, innocent human child might just have wordlessly admitted that she trusts him, and he very nearly shoots upright once more at the revelation.

Outside the tree, the first of Earth's birds begin to sing, hailing the sun as it brightens the eastern sky and while Ulthane's ear twitches at the sound, he doesn't tear his eyes from the girl curled up on his broad chest. Slowly, the maker's forehead wrinkles into a frown.

He doesn't deserve her trust. He doesn't deserve the trust of any human, not least that of those he's taken into his care. If they knew... If they ever found out about what he's done, who he's conspired with, then he would have that tenuous trust ripped away from him and replaced with cold, angry hatred. 'And that,' he tells himself with a solemn sort of acceptance, 'is something I do deserve.'

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It's with a grim and despondent weariness that your head eventually raises from the soft surface it lays upon. Unlike last night, awareness comes back to you in a rush, slapping you harshly across the face with the memory of where you are and what has happened to the world around you. The temptation to simply let your head fall back against the pillow is almost overpowering.

Almost.

Pressing your eyelids together, you take a moment to brace yourself before stretching your arms up over your head, jaw parting into a yawn.

Warm firelight greets you when you blink into the room, disoriented for a few seconds as you realise you're no longer sitting in the tree's entrance with a maker in front of you. In fact, it abruptly occurs to you that you're now laying down, a fact that causes you to give a start, struggling up onto trembling arms and pushing your face up off a scratchy, green pillow.

Glancing around, you deduce that at some point during the night, you must have been moved to the bedroll Ulthane had mentioned. Of course, you're fairly certain you haven't suddenly begun to sleepwalk, so you imagine that the culprit is none other than the maker himself. Blearily, you rove your gaze across the chamber towards the hollow that leads out into the main trunk. It doesn't take you long to spot him, and when you do, your heart leaps into your throat for a second before you manage to swallow it back down.

Ulthane is leant up against the wooden wall just inside the hollow with a restful smile on his face, but what draws your focus are his hands that are cupped gently over a familiar child. The unruly pair of jet-black buns poking out over the top of his thumb are unmistakably Lucia's.

Suddenly much more awake, you throw the ratty blanket off your legs and clamber upright.

In a flash, Ulthane's head jerks up and he feels his hackles raise, only relaxing once he realises it's just you shuffling over to him, the heel of your palm scrubbing at eyes still thick with sleep.

“Mornin',” he rumbles quietly, raking his gaze from your head to your feet.

A little self-conscious under his probing stare, you throw out an automatic reply of, “Good morning,” before drawing to a halt just beyond his boots, wringing your hands together and shooting anxious glances between him and your student. The maker must have been able to guess what you can't quite find the courage to voice because his ears droop and a crestfallen line appears between his eyebrows.

Guilt slugs you hard in the chest when you pick up on his hurt expression, so you force yourself to pry your hands apart and send him a tired, albeit hesitant smile, whispering, “What happened?”

It's a relief to see the maker's face soften at your question.

With a grin that's borderline sheepish, Ulthane removes one of his gargantuan hands to reveal Lucia curled up underneath it on his sternum, her comparatively miniscule fingers twisted into the fabric of his soft, blue cowl. The loss of her makeshift blanket causes the youngster to frown lightly and utter a sound of protest before she settles down again. You can't help but sag with noticeable relief upon seeing that she's unharmed and apparently very comfortable on her newfound bed.

Huffing out a soft laugh, Ulthane admits, “Think this littl'un might've had a bad dream... She rolled out of bed a couple o' hours ago and... Well.” He tips his bearded chin indicatively at the girl.

Sparing her an exasperated look, you shake your head and sigh, “Sorry about that, Ulthane. You should've woken me up so I could take her back to bed.”

The maker's shoulders move as if they're about to lift into a shrug, but he thinks better of it when Lucia emits another, quiet whine and buries her face into his scarf.

Flicking his eyes from the girl up to you again, he instead murmurs, “Didn't want to disturb you. You looked like you needed the rest.” His broad mouth tilts up in one corner and he drops his gaze to Lucia, eyes crinkling fondly at their edges. “'Sides, she weren't exactly any trouble.” He decides to leave out the part where she'd clambered into his lap and almost gave him a heart attack.

“Huh...” you muse thoughtfully, sparing the maker an appraising look, “Guess she must trust you after all.”

Ulthane's smile falters for a second and his ears seem to wilt, you assume due to disbelief. You have no idea that your words only twist at the barbed-wire coiled around his heart as he's once again reminded that he's just one confession away from being a monster in all of your eyes.  

Be it from the rumble of his chest underneath her ear or the tug of his cowl as the giant lifts his head to look at you, but Lucia abruptly shifts, stretching her legs out and pushing sleepily on his sternum to raise her torso from the unconventional bed.

There's something considerably amusing about a nine tonne giant bristling with apprehension as a child no larger than his finger lifts her head and blinks tiredly up at his looming face. You can hardly fault her when she lets out a yelp and lurches backwards onto her knees, startled by the enormous man peering back down at her. However, in doing so, she begins to topple over at the awkward angle and would have fallen down the length of Ulthane's chest had he not flipped his hand over with surprising speed to catch her in his palm. She lands against him with a soft yelp and scrabbles at his calloused skin for a moment, trying to take stock of her situation.

“Sorry there, lass,” the maker chuckles, though his nostrils are flared, betraying his prior alarm, “S'pose I'm not what you were expectin' to see first thing in the mornin', eh?”

After taking a couple of large, gulping breaths, some colour begins to return to the girl's cheeks and her eyes land on Ulthane's hesitant grin.

Instantly, her face lights up with recognition.

“Heracles?” she croaks, scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

The maker's tusks flash in the dim light as he huffs out a warm laugh.

“It's Ulthane, Lucia,” you remind her gently and the girl mumbles a quick, 'oh yeah,' in response, stretching her arms up and yawning widely.

“Miss?” a croaking voice pipes up from the bunk beds behind you. Turning about, you see Archie - roused by the commotion - tugging his legs out of the blanket and swinging them over the edge of the bed, his bare feet hardly brushing the wooden floor, he's so small. He's staring over at your group, mellow eyes wide behind his glasses.

With your brain still partially addled by sleep, it takes you a few seconds to recognise the change.

“Archie!” you blurt out louder than you'd intended to, pulling several other groggy children from their slumber, “Your glasses!”

As the boy peers over at you, you're startled to notice that there's an unmistakable lack of any break or crack in the lenses of his spectacles, a fact that seems to have shocked him as much as it shocks you. For a second, you wonder if you'd merely imagined that they were broken. You were, after all, almost falling asleep on your feet yesterday.

But then, Archie presses a few fingers daintily to the frames around his eyes and says in a small voice, “They were broken last night...”

Keeping his attention focused stubbornly on Lucia, Ulthane leans forward and deposits her on the ground next to you with the level of care and concentration one might use to set down a crystalline figurine. His slow, deliberate movements catch your attention and you tear your eyes off Archie to shoot the maker a thoughtful hum, brows slowly knitting together across your forehead when he fails to meet your gaze and instead fiddles absentmindedly with the golden buckle on his belt. Suspicious, you're about to ask him if he knows anything about the impossible circumstances of Archie's glasses when Lucia promptly reaches up and snags the sleeve of your jumper, giving it a tug and declaring that she's hungry.

Ulthane must have been relieved at the distraction because moments later, he plants his boots on the ground and heaves himself to his feet. “Hungry? Well, we can't be havin' that, now can we?” he barks, bunching up his shoulders until there's a loud and satisfying 'crack!' that causes you to wince.

Seeing the maker at his proper height sends Archie stumbling backwards until his calves hit the bunkbed's wooden frame and the resulting thud pulls Kitty's head unwillingly from her pillow.

“Ungh, dad?” the girl moans, rubbing the dust from her eyes and looking out over the edge of the bunk bed, only to let out a strangled gasp at the sight of the bearded giant looming over you.

“It's all right!” you hurriedly say as Sam and Ashleigh also flick their nervous gazes between you and the maker, “It's just Ulthane, remember? He helped us yesterday.”

The initial confusion that always follows sleep begins to dissipate, recognition instead taking its place, at least on the faces of Ashleigh and Sam. Kitty, in the meantime, adopts a scowl and stubbornly remains in her bed, even as all the other children hesitantly start to venture closer to the giant.

“Miss,” Lucia complains, pulling at your sleeve again, “I'm still hungry.”

It's a surreal thing, you ponder quietly to yourself, that the end of the world has come to pass, and yet here you are, worrying about what the children are going to eat for breakfast.

For a few, selfish seconds, you're struck by just how unfair it all seems.

'What about what I want?' You scowl down at your shoes. 'Maybe I don't want to get up and eat and tell them that everything's gonna be okay when I know that it isn't! Maybe – maybe I'd like a few, goddamn minutes to grieve! Instead of putting on a stupid smile and a brave face and... and-...'

Small, weedy fingers slip into your other hand and just like that, the agitation is sapped from you.

You know without even having to look that Archie is standing by your side with his watery, blue gaze fixed nervously on the side of your face, seeking instruction and reassurance in a world that no longer has any rules. Exhaling softly, you deflate and lift your eyes to find Ulthane watching you closely from the entrance. When he catches your gaze, you think you see his lips twitch, like he's trying to give you a smile but his heart isn't quite in it.

Eyebrows pinched, ears drooping - He looks... sad, you realise.

The expression is fleeting however, and it vanishes the moment you blink.

Dragging your eyes off the maker, you look down at Lucia and Archie and force a smile onto your face. “Okay, let's go. Kitty, come on, we're going to eat now!-” Turning, you beckon for the last child to follow, yet all she does is cross her arms and glare down at you, bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“I want my dad,” she suddenly declares, and it takes a lot of effort on your part not to sigh. Gathering yourself, you school your expression out of the grimace it's collapsed into and reply, “I'm afraid he's... he's not here, kiddo.”

“What about my mummy and papá?” This question comes from Lucia, but when you open your mouth to respond to her, you find yourself interrupted by yet another question from Ashleigh, spoken far more softly than the others. “Do our parents even know where we are?”

The rooms falls silent again and a sort of hopelessness snatches the air from your lungs, leaving you feeling trapped and utterly, wholly useless. What are you supposed to tell these children? That the chances of finding any of their parents alive is astronomically small? That their mothers and fathers are, more likely than not, dead? Torn apart by demons? That they may never see their families again?

You wonder what the maker would do, if he were in your stead. You're dying to ask him, but a quick glance at his stoic face reveals no insight. Perhaps you'd be disappointed to know that Ulthane is silently referring to your judgement, unwilling to offer an answer to the difficult question simply because he, like you, hasn't the first idea of what the 'correct' response is. Should the children know the truth when they're still so young and unequipped to deal with the sort of tragedy truth inflicts? Or should they be protected from it, given hope that the following days are worth waiting for?  

Shit... He wants to take the decision out of your hands when he catches a scent of the frustration and terror that pours out of you. The silence has begun to stretch out for so long, he wracks his brains for something to fill it. Luckily for him, you take a deep breath, letting the air fill you up entirely until your lungs start to hurt and you can't fit any more in. Then, after a beat, you exhale it all roughly and clap your hands, cheerfully saying, “Look. Why don't you guys come and have some breakfast and let me sort out finding your parents, okay? I'm... sure if Ulthane and I put our heads together, we can work out a way to let them know where you are.”

Thankfully, your words take immediate effect, perking the children up a bit and putting a relieved smile on most of their faces, though you do notice that Archie, by contrast, has his head tipped towards the ground and his hand tightens around yours. Without seeing the look of panic that flashes through his eyes however, you assume he's put at ease, like the others. A plan of action – even one that's been made up on the spot - is just what they all need hear right now.

A quick glance up at the maker reveals that he isn't nearly as optimistic about your plan as the kids seem to be. However, when they turn to stare questioningly up at him, the giant's face takes on a self-assured grin, one far more authentic than you imagine yours to be.

“Aye, don't you worry littl'uns. Old Ulthane and your teacher'll suss it out.” When he turns away to face the hollow, you catch a brief glimpse of his smile as it falls to something dour, yet his voice retains its chipper tone. “C'mon then, best get some food in you, eh?”

You decide to ask Kitty one more time if she'll come down from her bunk, but again, the young girl just shakes her head and casts a mistrustful glare at the back of Ulthane's head. In the end, you just shrug and concede.

“Okay,” you tell her, starting after the giant, “I'll bring you something to eat in a bit.”

She doesn't reply.

The rest of the children are quiet as they huddle at your back and follow you tentatively out of the sleeping area, lead by an ever-watchful maker, who continues to cast backwards glances over his burly shoulder at you and the kids, as if he thinks you could disappear without any warning if he so much as takes his eyes off you.

Archie's hand remains firmly clamped around yours all the way across the wooden bridge and down into the tree's vast inner chamber.

Once you spill out onto flat, solid ground again, you allow your eyes to wander up to the top of the trunk, where a large crack has split right across the toughened wood, through which shafts of sunlight drift lazily down into the room and dapple the floor with patches of warmth.

Dimly, you realise it must be late morning.

Through the hole in the makeshift ceiling, you can distinctly hear the sound of leaves hissing and whispering like voices in the wind. But above that, you can make out something else. Whistling. High and pretty and tuneful.

“Birds...” you whisper, sporting an incredulous little smile, unaware of Ulthane's gaze drinking in the sunlight that glints off your hair.

What had once seemed such a mundane occurrence nearly reduces you to tears on the spot.

The birds are still here, chirping away amongst the colossal branches high above you. They survived. Just like you and the children have survived.

Deep in the depths of your heart, deeper than the blood and the cells, a tiny ember of hope flickers to life.

'Maybe,' you tell yourself, 'the world isn't as dead as it seems.'

Meanwhile, behind you, the children are busy making their own discoveries.

Lucia's bottomless supply of curiosity must have won out over her trepidation, for she's the first to venture away from the safety of your leg and take several, tentative steps out into the room, her eyes roving to and fro until they're little more than a blur.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention away from the ceiling and you jerk backwards as a large, wooden crate is promptly dropped at your side by an eager Elanya.

“Mornin' humans!” she calls down to you, startling the children and earning a subtle growl from Ulthane which she expertly ignores, “Got you some good eats in 'ere!”

With a hand held over your racing heart, you give the young maker a tight-lipped smile and reply, “Good morning to you too. Kids, this kind lady has brought us something to eat, what do we say?”

Ulthane's eyebrows raise in amusement when there's a shy, stuttered chorus of 'thank you's' from the children. Elanya meanwhile, is positively beaming.

“Ha! 'Lady,” she echoes, flicking one of her blonde plaits over a shoulder and bending down to the crate, taking the lid between her hands before pausing to glance up at you. “Don't think flattery will make me forget what we're doin' later, missus,” she warns playfully, keeping her eyes locked on your hands even as she gives the crate's lid a single yank, tearing it free of the nails keeping it in place. Admittedly, you have to admire her persistence.

“My hands are fine,” you tell her as she tosses the lid aside and dusts off her gloves, “They stopped bleeding last night.”

Unconvinced, the maker cocks her hip and squints down at you. “Doesn't mean they won't still need seein' to.”

“S'probably for the best, lass,” Ulthane mutters to you, wincing at the look of betrayal you toss him, “Can't have you hurtin' if we can do somethin' about it.”

“Well, what about your arm?” The maker narrows his eyes but you don't falter, refusing to be the sole person on the receiving end of Elanya's doting. “You said you'd let her look at it if I let her see my hands.”

Quick as a flash, Elanya's amber eyes dart from you to her fellow maker. “Arm? What happened to your arm?” she barks.

“Oh. I – er -”

Try as he might to twist himself sideways and hide his injury, the youngling's sharp gaze finds its target and she lets a hiss slip out of her mouth. “Maker's beard! That's a doozie!”

There's something highly entertaining in the way Ulthane shrinks back as she marches over to him and grabs his arm, but as much as you'd like to continue watching him utter halfhearted complaints and try to escape her grasp, you decide to use the distraction to address the hungry children behind you.

Every mouth is watering like broken faucets at the sight of a crate full of food, yet none of them have made a move towards it, instead dragging their hopeful gazes back and forth between you and the wooden box. You have to admit, you're impressed with their self-restraint.

All of a sudden, before you can open your mouth to tell them to go ahead and dig in, a hulking shadow falls across the tree's entrance and when you lift your gaze towards it, you see the third maker trudging heavily inside.

As soon as he spots the children staring back at him through wide, frightened eyes, Yarin stops dead in his tracks, every muscle in his massive body turning rigid.

“Er...” Perplexed, he roves his eyes up to you and blinks, surprised to see you standing behind the younglings for a change, not in front of them.

In the span of seconds, the air inside the tree grows thick with disquiet and you're convinced that at least some of the kids are about to turn tail and dive behind you in search of protection.

It's Elanya's voice that ends up cutting through the uneasy tension.

“Yarin!” she exclaims, gesturing towards the children, “Just in time'! Mind keepin' an eye on the bairns while I see to these accident-prone ninnies?”

No sooner does the suggestion leave her lips than your heart drops down into your shoes faster than a stone sinks in a puddle and you begin moving towards the kids, noting that some of their faces have gone pale.

“Uh, I – I don't think-” you start, only to be cut off by a heavy but gentle hand falling upon your shoulder, almost throwing you off balance despite the care with which it's placed there. Glancing backwards, you find yourself peering up the length of Ulthane's muscular arm and meeting his powder-blue eyes.

Sensing your obvious hesitance, the maker offers you his trademark grin. “They'll be okay, bonnie,” he rumbles quietly, “Yarin'd sooner pull his own teeth out than let anythin' happen to those littl'uns.”

Biting your lip, you swivel your head around to look at the strange maker again. Ulthane you've started to trust and Elanya is slowly but surely endearing herself to you. Yarin, however, is a complete unknown. You've hardly heard him say two words and so far, you've found he's been the most difficult maker to get a bead on.

Shaking your head, you briefly resist against Ulthane's hand as he tries to pull you towards the spot where Elanya stands waiting, a wet cloth dangling from her fingers.

“I don't know...” you mutter even as the Old one succeeds in half steering, half dragging you across the tree and parking you in front of the younger maker, who bends onto her knees and slowly reaches out for you.

“You're not goin' any further from 'em than here,” Ulthane continues to murmur reassurances as he leans against the stone structure, observing Elanya's hands with rapt attention, ready to reprimand her if she becomes too rough.

You're so focused on Yarin as he cautiously settles himself next to the crate that you jump when large, warm fingers slide underneath your hands and lift them into the air and you very nearly end up pulling away, but two thumbs pressed gently against your palms keep you in place.

Whipping your head around yet again, you come face to face with Elanya's sunny grin and find that she's the one with her hands cupped oh-so carefully under yours. She almost seems mesmerised as she strokes the pads of her fingers along your delicate wrists, only catching herself once Ulthane very deliberately clears his throat, causing her to give a start and lean over to inspect the dried wounds on your palms more closely, tutting at the Old one's possessiveness.

“You don't have to worry about Yarin, you know” the youngling says matter of factly. Briefly, her gaze flicks up to your face before returning to your hands once more and she adds, “Aye, he looks like the sort of brute who'd eat humans up for breakfast, but between you and me?-” Pausing, she squeezes one eye into a wink and lowers her voice, whispering, “- he's a ruddy great softie, he is.”

As if to prove her point, she raises her chin and smiles fondly over your head and after following her gaze, you actually let a chary little bubble of laughter burst from your mouth at the sight before you.

Surprisingly, it's Ashleigh who appears to have approached the moustached behemoth first. She stands in front of his crossed legs, kneading her fingers into her bright, yellow dress as Yarin scoops something out of the crate and slowly holds his hand out towards her with a small sandwich packet sitting in the centre of his comparatively gargantuan palm, looking thoroughly lost.

It takes a couple of tense seconds, but gradually, the girl begins to inch forwards and pries her fingers away from the fabric of her dress, all the while staring up at the maker warily.

However, when he doesn't suddenly spring forwards and snatch her up, she grows a little bolder and stretches out over his fingers until she can reach the sandwich. Then, with the hesitancy of a doe, Ashleigh draws the precious food close to her chest and even from halfway across the tree, you can hear her meekly say, “Thank you,” giving Yarin one of her rare and peaceable smiles for good measure.

Behind you, Ulthane lets out a chuckle as his fellow maker's ears prick forwards happily and his cheeks are stretched by a beaming grin, as though the young human had just handed him the sun itself.

“Well, would you look at that,” Elanya murmurs, gently dabbing at your palms with the wet cloth, “I've nae seen him smile that wide since Dagny was born.”

Suppressing a wince from her ministrations, you raise an eyebrow and ask, “Who's Dagny?”

The blonde maker hesitates, her mouth hanging open as though she's only just realised what she's let slip and now has to decide whether or not it's her place to say more. In the end however, she resumes cleaning the dried blood off your palms and slowly mutters, “She was... Yarin's bairn.”

“Yarin... has a daughter?” you breathe, looking back at the brawny giant with newfound curiosity.

To your rear, unseen, Ulthane's eyes slip closed and he bows his head, exhaling a regretful sigh that escapes his lips in the form of a single word. “Had...”

You don't ask him to elaborate. 

“I’m... christ. I’m so sorry,” you croak to the makers behind you instead, regarding Yarin with a little less caution and far more sympathy, “I never even considered...” Ashamed, you trail off at the realisation that all this time, you haven’t really given any thought to the idea that these large and incredible beings might also have families, just the same as humans do. You find yourself humbled by this new piece of knowledge and make a private vow to offer Yarin an apology for the way you’ve been staring at him, as though he were a threat to the kids. 

Observing him now as he sits with his shoulders hunched and his head tucked in to make himself appear smaller for the sake of easing the children’s nerves, you berate yourself for being so quick to judge.