#the tiny little flowers and the giant swath of sky

[why-bless-your-heart]

My mom sent me a watercolor she just did and I’m going a little crazy over it, tbh.

[gumnut-logic]

Wire (Bit 11)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6 | Bit 7 | Bit 8 | Bit 9 | Bit 10

Bit 11

Written between 1am and 4.30am. Guess who has insomnia again. But eh, we gets fic.

Special thanks to @katblu42 for the plot suggestion that was added into this bit ::hugs:: Also to @janetm74 @scribbles97 and @tsarinatorment for their amazing support ::squeezes you so tight::

This is still whump. Sorry, guys. A little bit of a longer bit this time at 1337 words.

-o-o-o-

Virgil ran a corn leaf through his fingers.

It was the depth of summer and the sky was brilliant with sun, the corn silks drying and brown above swollen husks while the giant flower heads at the top of each plant danced in the wind.

Ever so tall.

Cornstalks rustled as if speaking to each other, whispering his name.

He couldn’t see out of the field. It appeared to go on forever and he didn’t know how he had ended up in the maze in the first place.

Scott had been yelling his name. There had been pain and movement and Grandpa urging him on.

But now there was just the cornfield.

The wind hissed.

They weren’t supposed to play amongst the corn. There were snakes in the field and Grandma did not like losing sight of her charges.

Of course, Scott had dragged him in once.

Only once.

The field was mysterious and exciting. They hadn’t gone far, but Grandpa had discovered them and the fallout had been extensive.

They both learnt that day exactly why they shouldn’t go into the cornfield as Grandpa had found a snake, showed it to them and then listed off exactly what happened to someone who was bitten.

Scott hadn’t been a fan of snakes ever since.

Of course, Grandma followed that lecture up with some extensive first aid training for what to do if you were bitten by a snake.

It had been a long few days after that.

They never went into the cornfield again.

Until now.

And Scott wasn’t here.

Virgil shivered. He wasn’t a kid anymore and had faced far worse dangers than a snake infested cornfield, but there was something more going on here.

He knew it deep in his soul.

His IR uniform was gone and in its place his comfortable flannel shirt, jeans and boots were a stark contrast against the green stalks.

The leaf was rough between his fingertips, silica strong, almost like wire, but sharper, prone to those thin slices like paper cuts.

“Virgil.”

He startled. His name was sudden, yet as whispered on the wind as the rattling leaves.

“Gordon?”

The wind shook stalks and continued to whisper unintelligibly, ignoring him.

Two hands landed on his shoulders.

His gasp was swallowed as those small hands gently turned him around on the spot.

Eyes dark and so like his own looked up at him with so much love any remaining fear evaporated and fluttered away.

“Mom?”

-o-o-o-

Scott stood in a hospital doorway still wearing the suit he wore for the press conference yesterday.

He felt grimy and he was sprouting stubble on his chin to match his lack of self care over the last forty-eight hours or so. He wasn’t sure of the exact number.

Numbers hurt.

The door he was standing in wasn’t Virgil’s. No, he had left his brother for yet another necessary task as the eldest, the protector of his family.

John had offered to do it for him, but Scott felt an irrational and driven need to see that what his brother had given everything for was worth it.

Of course, every life was worth it. That was the Tracy motto.

But Scott was human. Ever more so now he was in pain. And he felt the need to make sure...it was worth it.

The paediatric ward was brightly painted. A stark lie to the children it contained in an attempt to distract them from the pain these halls actually contained.

The tiny figure in the bed was quiet, strawberry blond hair falling over closed eyes. He looked much more peaceful now he wasn’t bleeding.

Scott was grateful Virgil had succeeded in saving the little boy. His name was John and he did look a little like Gordon.

Toddler Gordon.

Despite everything, Scott did smile just a little. At age three, Gords had been an absolute terror. Virgil, for whatever reason, had taken it upon himself to prevent the little brat from killing himself or others and the resultant hilarity of watching his twelve year old brother chase after the three year old was legendary.

Until the day Virgil actually did save Gordon. Fish baby or no, a dam on the farm was no place for a three year old.

Although this was not Gordon, this little boy was just as lucky as Scott’s little fish brother, even if it took the rest of the Tracys to finally get him out from under that building.

Little John had two broken legs, some nasty bruising, and had inhaled far too much concrete dust and fumes. This last coupled with some internal bleeding and a three year old’s tiny body had made it very touch and go. Virgil had protected him as much as he could, but there had only been so much his critically injured brother could do.

But the doctors had saved him and although he had a tough path ahead, Virgil hadn’t risked himself in vain.

It was worth it.

Worth the lax and non-responsive figure in that too white bed on the other side of the hospital.

Scott swallowed hard.

Focus.

The boy’s mother finally caught sight of him and he forced himself to straighten up and feign presentability.

“Mr Tracy!” She hurried over, eyes wide. “Ohmigod, I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

Something must have shown in his eyes because hers widened and she held herself back.

“Come in, sir. Have a seat.” She stepped away and offered him one of the same plastic hospital chairs he had already spent a good part of the day sitting in on the other side of the building.

He held up a kind hand. “No, no, I’m only here for a moment. I just wanted to see how little John was doing.”

The woman’s breath was harsh at the mention and he prayed she wouldn’t burst into tears because he did not have the reserves right now and would likely join her.

She glanced at her son. “The doctors expect him to make a full recovery thanks to your brother.” A pause and he knew what she was going ask. “How is he?”

The image of Virgil lying ever so still, head swathed in bandages from literal brain surgery coupled with a belly full of even more stitches...

“He’s...” Another harsh swallow. “...hanging in there.”

The gentle hand on his arm nearly broke him.

He drew in a breath and mentally shook himself. “Um, I came over here to give you this.” He held out the piece of paper he had signed himself not twenty minutes ago. “When...” He tried again. God, he was tired. “When people heard Virgil was injured he was sent gifts and money.” They were still coming in. His brother was truly loved by the general public. Virgil Tracy and his giant flying green machine. Virgil would smile and wave it off, but really, people loved him. “My brothers and I know that Virgil would want you to have this, to help John in his recovery.” The cheque had a considerable number of zeros written on it.

Her eyes widened as she read them. “My god.” She blinked. “Thank you. I can’t lie. We need this. But...but what about the others?”

“Virgil saved the rest. There were some minor injuries. They’ve all been seen to.” He glanced at the bed. “John was the last one.” Scott blinked rapidly. John’s babysitter hadn’t made it, killed in the initial collapse. John had been very, very lucky.

“Thank you.” And her hands were clutching his arm again.

Scott looked down at her. Virgil would definitely want this. He dropped his hand over hers. “You’re welcome.” Now he had to leave.

She nodded and let him go. But she didn’t step back, only staring up at him.

“Mr Tracy, all my hopes for your brother...”

Scott nodded abruptly, but had no more words. A dip of his head as he backed out of the room and stalked down the hallway.

All his hopes...

-o-o-o-

Next

[littlesparklight]

Six Little Lights

The first sketch of a fic for the beginnings of the six children of Kronos and Rhea. Mind the distress, brief mentions of imprisonment, references to metaphysical vore, etc.

*

Hestia gets five days before Gaia and Ouranos whisper poison, true poison, but poison nonetheless, in her father's ear. She has five days in the sunlight, reaching for the warmth of it, as some innate part of her is drawn to it. She nearly falls into the hearth because the flames entrance her and she cannot yet capture or control them, protesting when her mother catches her and pulls her away. Five days in the light, in the warmth of her parents' arms, with her mother drowning her in kisses, sleeping curled up on her father's knees. Five days she will later consider both some of her most treasured memories and the purest, most cruel torture, for from them she understands what might have been.

What never would have been allowed to be, both by Gaia's contrivance and her father's pride and fear.

There's only her and Kronos in the room when it happens; a moment of sitting in a patch of sunlight, a puzzle before her, made of the world. Pieces slipping into place, and then the shadow of her father cutting out the sunlight. Greater than it should be, but Hestia misses that until she looks up, smiling, expecting nothing but the kind presence and supporting hand of her father. He towers - more than he should - his eyes are terrible - no warmth there - his hand is too big - it closes her within the prison of his fingers and she is too startled to scream.

Later, much, much later, when Rhea is holding her for the first time, rocking her like she is a tiny child and whispering into her hair, her voice raw enough it's cutting the air, Hestia finds out Kronos had pretended ignorance when Rhea couldn't find their firstborn daughter.

*** Demeter has a couple hours before darkness swallows her. She spends them in her mother's arms, soaking up ambrosial milk, and smiling at the blooming myrtle by the window. She asks what it is, and though some part of her might already have known when Rhea names it, the name of the plant settles in her mind like a gift. It's important. She watches the swaying leaves from the safety of Rhea's soft, rounded arms. The shifting greens of them, the delicate blooms nearly glowing in the sunlight; the scent from the flowers seem a near physical thing, and Demeter is so entranced her mother falls asleep long before she does.

She does not fear when the door opens and a towering god comes in, for what does she have to fear? The Titan is as unfamiliar as he's not as he strides across the floor; the closer he comes the more familiar he becomes, and Demeter is reaching for her father when he stops by the bed. He smiles at her, but his eyes are dark. So very, very dark, and he's also in the way of her view to the window. She's about to ask him to move, or maybe to pick her up and carry her to the window when he reaches for her, scooping her up gentle as anything in a hand that is... much too large, she's sure, he wasn't this large just a moment before.

She doesn't get a chance to ask why.

Demeter screams right before the darkness snaps her down, right before there's something hesitant and un/familiar reaching for her in this nowhere place, and it's only later, a lot later, that she finds out Rhea had awoken thanks to that scream, and Kronos had asked her where their newborn daughter was. They'd gone looking, husband and wife, and Rhea had shaken in the same grief that is now guilt as she holds her daughter after getting her back, her mother whispering apology on apology that she should've gotten suspicious before he managed to swallow her.

Maybe she should have, and maybe Demeter is a little slow to embrace her, but Demeter finds in herself only a slowly boiling anger for her father. He's the guilty one, here.

*** Hera's first moments are with the scent of the sea on the air, the sound of a river nearby, and watching long, thin willow branches with their oval leaves dance in the wind as she lays between her mother's shaking knees. She does not know why her mother is shaking as Rhea fights to stand up so soon after birth, why her voice is shaking, her hands are shaking, shushing her when Hera is not crying, asking her to be quiet, please be quiet, Hera, darling. Quiet.

She's not making a sound, not after her first attempt at asking, but the repetition frustrates and confuses her, and when Rhea attempts to swaddle her, her hands still shaking, which makes the procedure of it take a lot longer, makes the fabric catch and chafe against her, Hera starts to fuss. Her mother gets more upset, Hera gets angrier, and finally she twists, still quiet, kicks away from Rhea's hands and staggers to her feet, running off towards where some of the longest of the low willow's branches reach towards the ground.

She runs right into a pair of legs, and Hera looks up at a giant, at his furious expression, the swell of his essence, and screams for her mother.

Her mother doesn't reach her in time, but she can feel her reaching behind her, can feel a swipe, a punch against the god's - her father's - chest just missing her dangling feet, and she tries to match, to copy, but he ignores them both. The darkness isn't as scary as Hera thought it might be, but the fussing of other hands, these not shaking or jostling her, are welcome still.

Later, with autumn sunlight on their heads, honey scent on the air, and her mother's arms around her, Hera and Rhea both cry. Later still Hera will be angry and not be quite sure for why, but right then and there, there are only tears and the warmth of her mother's arms around her. She does not mind the shaking, not immediately so, anyway.

*** Hades is born with his mother's screams in his ears.

She curses, threatens, swears the most terrible vengeance of earth and sky that she could hand him - no. Not him. This is not about him, Hades understands, just as one set of hands, gentle, soft, desperately clutching at his flesh so hard even divinity cannot keep it from bruising, are swept aside for another pair. Not a pair; just one hand. Monstrous in size, it traps him, and Hades is too small, too slow, too weak and unformed in power to fight, both for himself and his screaming mother. He still tries, though, and the unformed wave of power almost allows him to slip up, tearing gouges out of the hand grasping him. It only clutches tighter, and he cannot help the gasp of pain. He regrets it as his mother cries again, can feel her reaching for him and be pushed away, and who is doing this? Who is allowed to do this?

Where is his father?

He only understands that his father is right there, that it's his father doing this when, faced with a roiling darkness reaching for him, Rhea begs Kronos not to swallow his firstborn son. His father only laughs, and then there is nothing. Nothing but a vague sense of not being alone, of hands and essences reaching for his, larger than he is but barely any less formed.

Later, when his mother is crying too much to so much as whisper, her hands on him shaking as she feels out his features, still wavering under her gentle grip, Hades understands his birth was the first time Rhea was chained down for. She'd been locked inside after Hera's birth, but to ensure she wouldn't be too troublesome after she'd birthed her and Kronos' fourth child, Kronos had had her chained to the bed.

He's not yet strong enough to fight and defend himself, his siblings, his mother, but Hades vows he will be.

*** Poseidon is aware of crying before he's even fully out in the world, and he's screaming in confused, protesting defiance for it. He's not something to cry over! There's a hand that catches him, gently pulling him out the last little bit, and the gasping cries and hiccuping tears turn to pleading. Pleading in among a metallic jingling, jarring into clanking every other moment.

Poseidon falls quiet, frowning up into dark, narrow eyes. Twists around in the huge hand to see chains, to see his mother trying to reach for him but unable to, so tightly do the golden chains hold her. The room is fairly swathed in them, in fact, to chain down a goddess who ought not to be able to be chained, her nature against such things. Poseidon yells once more and bites the nearest finger, but that avails him little. He's too small, too soft, too weak. And if his mother cannot protect him, he will have to do that himself.

But he cannot do that yet, and so Kronos swallows him - but at least the landing is gentle, though he quickly squirms away, deciding he will need no help. It's not a decision much changed later, though a lot less later than for his other siblings, when Rhea reaches for him. He lets her. He holds her by the shoulders and lets her touch, leaning down to kiss her brow, but they are perfunctorily gestures. She could not protect him, and they both know it.

*** Rhea gives birth to Zeus on Crete, far away from Mount Othrys and hidden in a cave as deep as she can go, wishing it was deeper still. She gets out of the palace thanks to Metis, who had repeatedly reassured her it would be best to wait for as long as possible near to birth before they got her out of there. Rhea is a little ashamed to admit she thought Metis had decided to not go through with it, that it wasn't worth the risk, before the door opened and Metis had helped her up as the first contraction shook her. Metis leaves as they stand on the last beach before endless sea, telling her she will find Gaia and tell her Rhea needs her advice, and then she leaves.

This, too, has reason; if Kronos figures out Rhea had help, it's better no one is with her to find that help. If he figures out it's Metis, better Metis not know where she is.

So Rhea goes to Crete by herself, and hides away in a cave like a shaking hind, terror for the child she's bringing forth, terror for her husband wracking her limbs. Terror and anger. She will not let him touch her again, as soon as she can make sure he does not know her son lives, and where. She gives birth silently, and she's nearly scared out of her wits when Gaia reaches up through the earth to catch her newborn - a son, her Zeus, her bright and darling youngest. He's smaller than he should be, but she and Metis had worked on that too. Confuse things by having Zeus born a month earlier.

Rhea takes her baby in her hands and does not dare to give him her breast while Gaia gives her a small stone, as large as Zeus is, and tells her how to prepare it, to give it to Kronos wound up in lies he will believe.

She has to leave her baby there in the darkness, and she does not want to. She sings him asleep, peels his tiny fingers away from her one large one, sets him down on part of her discarded clothing and leaves, but - and whether that's luck or Gaia taking mercy, she meets a nymph partway down the mountain.

Zeus will not grow up alone, without guarding hands and kind intent, and Rhea stands tearless on the beach of the southernmost tip of the land they call their own, far away from precious, sunlit Crete and her even more precious son, hidden away in the middle of mortal noise. It's there Kronos finds her, and she curses him once more, curses him as he takes the swaddled stone, lunges at him with her knees still shaking. Misses the stone, dodges the hand he reaches for her.

Unburdened, she flees.

Not back to Crete - she can afford to be found, but her son cannot if her husband finds out he has been tricked, and he will be distracted with her, this way.

Rhea returns to Mount Othrys only much later, closer to when Zeus is ready, closer to when the curses she's hurled on Kronos' head four times have will be fulfilled. He will suffer as she has suffered, and he will regret doing this to her, to their children.

[bethelina]

Big Trouble in Radiant Garden

Contains: Tiny Ven, Big Terra, Big Aqua, Big Lea, Big Isa, size shenanigans, handhelds, protective angst

Word Count: ~4,475

Warnings: Drowning mention, Birth by Sleep mid-game spoilers(?) 

Summary: When Ventus leaves Castle of Dreams and arrives in Radian Garden, he finds that he is still only a few inches tall. Ventus spots Terra and tries to flag him down. Unfortunately for Ven, it isn’t Terra that notices him, but the Unversed.

Note: I’m sorry for this stupid little dabble, but I was challenged to rewrite the scene where Ven and Lea meet, but in a G/t context. I wasn’t planning on posting this, but I was pressured into it. XD This was a quick one-shot, so it’s not my best writing. But it’s a fun little haha romp nonetheless. 

Ventus strode across the smooth expanse of stone that comprised a great courtyard, looking at his surroundings with wide eyes. Something felt off about this new world. For some reason, this enormous courtyard seemed to span a mile in diameter, easily. Behind him and flanking the edges of the great expanse lay huge swaths of flowers. Flowers that stood taller than the young keybearer.

 “What is going on?” Ventus muttered to himself. His mind must have been playing tricks on him, but he quickly realized something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t just his imagination.

 “Why am I still so small?!” he shouted to no one in particular.

 The last world he had visited had been truly bizarre. He had found himself greatly outsized by everything around him. At first, he assumed it was a world of giants. He could now see that he had somehow shrunk down to just a few inches in height. And to make matters worse, leaving that world did nothing to alleviate him of his… condition.

 Previously, he had met a young lady named Cinderella. She was so big (or rather, he was so small), he had easily fit within her hand. She had mistaken him for a mouse, which didn’t make any sense to Ventus. Granted, she did have talking mice as friends… and those mice also wore clothes. During his travels, Ventus had learned that every world was completely different and unique. He had accepted that talking mice wearing shirts and shoes was par for the course.

 “I wonder what happened to me?” he asked softly. He lifted his arms and examined them. Holding out his hand, he easily summoned his keyblade. “At least that is still okay.” Sighing, he dismissed his weapon and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I better start walking.”

 His trek across the courtyard was taking a lot longer than he expected. This place was even bigger than he had originally thought. He considered summoning his keyblade glider, but decided against it. He couldn’t afford any locals spotting his otherworldly weapon. Speaking of which, he spotted a giant young boy walking alongside an even bigger man near the far edge of the expanse. He would have been shocked to see their huge sizes, if he hadn’t already met Cinderella. He briefly wondered if they would be mindful of his tiny size. Thankfully, the two were walking in a different direction.

 After nearly ten minutes, Ventus reached the far side of the courtyard at the bottom of a huge slope. The flowers, with their assortment of colors, intrigued him. Just for fun, he decided to measure himself next to a yellow tulip.

 “Yep, they’re taller than me alright,” he chuckled to himself.

 Behind him, Ventus felt a rumble that quickly grew in intensity. Someone was coming! THUD! A shoe twice as long as he was pounded the ground right next to him. Before he could think, a curtain of cloth swept over him and sent Ventus rolling away into the flowerbed.

 “Ah!” Ventus fearfully shouted when he finally stopped rolling. It had all happened so quickly. The titan didn’t hear him and continued on his path. Shaking his head, he slowly lifted himself upward, unable to see past the tops of the flowers. As quick as he could, he ran out onto the paved floor to catch a sight of the giant that had sent him sprawling.

 His heart dropped. The giant of a man wore sweeping, light-brown samurai pants, a dark skin-tight shirt, and had stylized brown hair.

 “Terra?” the boy whispered, reaching out a tentative hand. Terra seemed to be on a mission, focused forward, and getting farther with every booming step. He hadn’t even noticed that he had nearly trampled little Ventus in his haste. And if Ventus didn’t do something soon, he would never notice him.

 “TERRA!!!” he shouted, scrambling into an all-out sprint. His heart pounded and spurred him faster after the quickly retreating giant. What was he going to do if he couldn’t get Terra’s attention? His mind raced with fearful predictions. He had to catch up to Terra! He just had to!

 THUD thud thud. He was too far away. There was no way Terra was going to see him now. Ven slowed to a walk, finally collapsing to his knees, his hands bracing on the stone. Squeezing his eyes shut, he quietly asked, “How am I supposed to get help now?”

 Ventus didn’t have very long to contemplate before he heard more sounds of life around him. This time, they were the unmistakable squirming sound of Unversed. Jumping into a defensive stance, he summoned his keyblade.

 “Oh no…”

 A group of the squiggly floods surrounded him, accompanied by three archravens. Normally, Ventus would have these pesky interlopers dealt with in no time. That is, if they were not several times his size.

 “That’s not fair!” he shouted at them. “Why aren’t you small like the Unversed in Cinderella’s world?”

 The floods merely twitched their spikey appendages as they silently judged him. One made a lunge, and Ventus quickly countered with his keyblade. It barely budged under his pressure. Another was approaching from the side. With quick thinking, Ventus threw his keyblade in its direction. His weapon bounced off its side, only annoying the creature more than anything. These things were way too big!

 He winced and held out his hand for his returning keyblade. However, an archraven plucked him off the ground as easily as it would a worm as it took to the sky, forcing his keyblade to clatter across the stone.

 Ventus watched with horror as the ground fell away from him. He dangled precariously from the beak of the bird by the scruff of his collar. “Put me down this instant!” he shouted. The Unversed didn’t seem to care.

 He held out his trembling arm and willed his weapon to return, his whole body being battered by the winds whipping by. As soon as it reappeared within his grasp, the boy thrust it backwards toward the monster. The motion only succeeded in twisting him around. Without anything to stand on, he was horribly unstable.

 The archraven flew at stomach-churning speed, passing many houses, stores, and fountains. Ventus scanned the rapidly passing scenery. Something around here could be of use.

 Even better, someone—two someones.  

 In the courtyard below stood two keyblade wielders. One had cropped blue hair, while the other was nearly responsible for his earlier demise. They both were squaring up with an (even more) monstrous Unversed.

 “Aqua!” shouted the tiny blond at the top of his lungs. “Terra!”

 Aqua and Terra didn’t seem to notice. The archraven was circling too high. Not to mention they had their hands full, deflecting attacks from the huge armor-like creature. Just when Ventus was about to give up hope, luck would have the archraven swoop down toward the two new victims.

 “AQUA! TERRA!” He twisted, kicked, and shouted with all his might. “Up here! Look up here!!”

 Aqua’s head whipped around as she zeroed in on her dangling friend. A gasp escaped her lips. “Ven?!”

 Ventus waved even harder. “Aqua! It’s me! Help!”

 Terra finally noticed the commotion. A look of confused shock rippled across his face. “Ven? What happened?” The armored Unversed didn’t let this opening go to waste as it zoomed forward with a counterattack. The two older keyblade wielders refocused on their enemy, just barely holding their ground.

 “We’ll come help you Ven! Just as soon as we can!” Aqua yelled, her eyes still locked on the enormous monster.

 The archraven must have decided these two new victims weren’t worth its trouble. With two powerful flaps, it zoomed off. Ventus irritably swung his keyblade at the bird again. He swung back and forth, but made no contact.

 An idea quickly brewed in his mind and he began swinging from side to side, gaining momentum. At the peak of his swing, he threw his keyblade in an arc upwards—right at the creature’s eye.

 “Let me go!”

 Amazingly, it hit the target despite the forward motion and air resistance. The archraven recoiled and opened its beak just enough to allow his collar to slip out. Ventus’ expression went blank as he fell.

 Falling towards the ground backwards was the most terrifying thing Ventus had ever experienced. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. Then—splash! He was submerged in water. More water poured and spilled all around, mixing together with the already accumulated liquid. The boy spun round and round in the churning water, unsure of which way was up. A panic welled up inside him, and air began to bubble out of his lungs.

 Something large and cushiony swept underneath him, pulling him upward. He breached the surface, sputtering and gasping for air. Feeling the surface of his leathery platform, Ventus quickly realized what he was sitting on—a hand. He looked upward past the orange top and yellow scarf to the face of the giant who had saved him.

 The teen’s sea-green eyes widened as they locked onto his tiny form. He exhaled and shook his head in wonder, his bright red hair swaying as he did so. “What are you?” he asked curiously, the giant’s voice reverberating around him. “And what were you doing in the water?”

 Ventus laughed nervously and began to wipe the water off of his face and arms. The guy looked to be about his age—maybe a year or two older. If he was kind enough to pull him out of the water, he was mostly likely in safe hands. “I kinda fell in.”

 The redhead smirked. “I noticed.”

 “Lea,” said a booming voice behind them. “What are you doing now? Rescuing stray puppies from the fountain?” Another teenage boy came into view. This one had similar eyes, but his hair was a dark blue, not unlike Aqua’s. “We have things to do.”

 Lea turned to his friend. “Not a puppy, Isa…” He held his hand out to display the tiny human held entirely within his cupped palm.

 The giant named Isa zeroed in on Ventus, subtly balking at the sight.

 “Hi, I’m Ventus,” he offered to the two giants with a little wave. “But you can call me Ven.” Since they were so big, he could only look at one at a time.

 The redhead cued in on his tiny motion, a huge smile breaking out over his face at the sight. “The name’s Lea,” he said with bravado, pointing his free thumb at his chest. “And this doofus—” he added, pointing backwards, “is Isa.”

 Isa bonked Lea on the back of his head. “I think you’re confusing yourself with me.” He attempted to appear annoyed, but a whisper of a smile on his lip betrayed his front.

 Ventus grinned up at the two giants, feeling much more at ease. He was suddenly glad that it was a warm day. Even though this giant’s hand gave off a nice warmth, he would have caught a chill from that dunking. Regardless, when a small wind whipped around them, it sent a shiver up his spine. The giant seemed to notice and removed the yellow bandana from around his neck. He extended it out to the tiny boy standing in his palm.

 “Thanks Lea,” Ventus said, graciously accepting a very small corner of the enormous cloth as he began to wipe himself down. It could have been cut in half four times, and each piece would have been able to cover a double bed with room to spare. “And thanks for saving me.”

 “No prob. You’re really small, you know? You could get hurt!”

 He rubbed his face and neck down. “You’re telling me.”

 Isa watched with quiet curiosity, a faint smile still lingering on his face.

 He finished wiping the remaining water as best he could and returned the bandana into the awaiting hand. Lea lowered the parachute-sized cloth out of sight, presumably to his lap Ventus imagined.

 “So Ven, what are you?” Lea asked, lifting him a bit higher. His eyes searched him with curiosity. “Some kind of fae?

 The tiny blond felt a bit self-conscious under the scrutiny of such large beings. Was fae another word for a fairy? He had never met a fairy, but if they were the same size as his current stature, they would be tiny things indeed. Ventus made a mental note to be slow and gentle should he ever encounter one.

 “I’m not normally this small,” he said, looking down to examine his body. “I’m usually at least this much bigger.” He hovered his hand a few inches over his head. At least, it was a few inches relative to him.

 This elicited a full-blown smirk out of Isa and a hearty laugh out of Lea. The hand holding Ventus shook with his laughter, causing the blond to stumble. Before he could fall, the other hand came swooping up to steady him between finger and thumb.

 “Heh, sorry about that, little guy.”

 Ventus let go of the retreating fingers and tried his best to give a confident stance on his ever-shifting platform. “It’s alright,” he said, giving a thumbs up. “I was my proper size this morning. And then…” he motioned to himself, “this.”

 Ventus did not think it wise to mention this size seemed to be a left-over from the previous world. He knew, above all else, he had to keep the knowledge of other worlds a secret.

 “Did someone preform experiments on you?” Lea asked, his eyes growing. A curled finger approached and gently lifted one of Ventus’ arms for closer examination.

 “No,” the blond said. He allowed this but shifted nervously on the enormous palm. He didn’t think the giant would hurt him; nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy at being so easily manipulated. “Well, at least, I don’t think so.”

 Lea’s finger withdrew. “It’s like someone tried to make you the size of a squirrel, Ven!”

 “More like a mouse,” Isa added.

 “Never heard that one before,” Ventus sarcastically retorted with a playful grin.

 “Maybe it was that wizard who moved in recently,” Lea mused.

 Isa shook his head. “More likely, it was the lord scientist.”

 “Who?” Upon their looks of disbelief, Ventus quickly added, “I’m actually not from around here.”

 This seemed reasonable enough to Lea as he explained. “The lord of the castle. They call him Ansem the Wise. He’s a scientist, goes everywhere in a white lab coat.”

 Ventus cocked his head. “Wait. Does he have really long blond hair?”

 Isa nodded silently.

 “I think I saw him earlier today. He was with a little—eh, well—a young boy. Blue hair.”

 “That’s him,” Lea said. “The two of them like to get ice cream from the same place we do.”

 “Same flavor too,” Isa said.

 “There’s been some weird stuff happening around here lately. We think he’s doing some experiments.” Lea continued. “We’re kinda worried about the kid. He’s never said so much as a word to us. The lord seems a nice enough guy, but…”

 “We’re not entirely convinced,” Isa finished.

 Ventus nodded at the two giants.

 “We hope that the lord isn’t doing any kind of experiments on him. But something is happening. Somewhere in that castle.”

 “Which is where we were going before you got side-tracked, Lea,” the blue-haired teen said in a tone that reminded Ventus of the Master.

 “Yeah, but how could I have let our new little friend drown?” Lea flashed him the biggest puppy-dog eyes as he lifted Ventus level with his head. The tiny boy had to grab his raised thumb for balance, flashing a nervous smile at the blue-haired giant.

 Isa sighed and shook his huge head, placing a hand on his side. “You’re obnoxious. What am I ever going to with you? The both of you.”

 Lea flashed him an even wider smile, chuckling. He lowered Ven back down to mid-chest height, suddenly very solemn. “If Ven’s size really is the result of one of his experiments, we can’t let lord Ansem get his hands on him. Or any of his minions, either. We have to take him somewhere safe.”

 Ventus frowned as he concentrated. He didn’t know about this Ansem guy, but he would rather be safe than sorry. In any case, he needed to get back to Terra and Aqua. They could surely help him. Knowing how skilled they were, they were bound to be finished with the Unversed by now. If only Ventus could find them. He was way too small to go about searching for them all by himself. Even if he could find them, who’s to say they would see him? Terra didn’t notice him from just a few feet away, and nearly stepped on him to boot. However, if he could have these two new friends to help him, perhaps it was possible.

 “About that,” Ventus started, “maybe you could help me. I’ve been looking for—”

 But Ventus was never able to finish his sentence, for at that very moment, a voice from a mile or two down the path (from Ven’s perspective) shouted out, “Excuse me!”

 An eternal moment of shock froze the three teenagers. Just an instant later, it was over. The hand that had been holding Ventus suddenly folded up around him. A small yelp escaped his lips as the pillars of flesh encased him in darkness. He was rotated and lowered in an arcing motion, making his head spin. Dazed, he tried to piece together what had just happened. By his best guess, Lea had him in a fist and was hiding him behind his back. He pushed the leathery skin away from his face. He only hoped Lea could keep him hidden from this new giant, whoever it was.

 “Have either of you seen a boy about your age,” asked the voice, muffled by the folds of skin. A familiar voice. The fingers around him tensed up as the voice continued. “He has blond hair and would be about… this small.”

 Terra!

 Ventus began squirming around in the darkness. He had to somehow inform Lea that this person was his friend. The giant hand squeezed him twice in quick secession, silently asking him to keep still and quiet. The squeezes were gentle but nevertheless frightening. He realized how easily one of his tiny bones could be broken at the slightest oversight of one of these giants. Even accidently, a great deal of harm could befall little Ventus, and there was no way he could stop these titans, which to him may as well be forces of nature.

 “What’s it to you?” came Lea’s voice with a certain sharpness. Although his voice was muffled through the thick skin surrounding Ventus, it still boomed around him.

 “No need to get angry,” said a female voice. “We just need to know if you’ve seen him.”

 Aqua!

 It was just his luck. By trying to protect him, these giants were keeping him from the two people who could potentially help him. It really wasn’t his day.

 “You two get out of the castle much?” Isa’s voice snidely remarked.

 “What?” asked Terra’s voice.

 His chance at reunion was quickly slipping away. Ventus struggled with renewed vigor. Again, the hand squeezed, just as gentle, but this time slower and sustained. Lea wasn’t going to release him in front of Terra and Aqua.

 He slipped his hand through the small opening made by the creases of skin. Fervently, he patted his minuscule hand against the outer skin of the giant one. Whether Lea was too distracted to notice or couldn’t feel the slight sensation, Ventus didn’t know.

 There were no options left. Ventus summoned all of his strength and breathed in deep and steady. He cupped his hands around his mouth and aimed for the small gap in the skin.

 “TERRA!”

 Everything stopped. And then, his world in the darkness flung into motion again.

 “Where is he?!” Terra shouted. His voice came from just beside Lea. “Where are you hiding him?!”

 Lea’s hand jerked in every direction, seemingly all at once. Ventus thought he was going to be sick. Then the motions grew sharper.

 “Let me go!” Lea shouted. “Don’t you dare take him! I won’t let—aaaahhh!”

 The tiny boy was rotated upside down as Lea screamed in pain. Light streamed through parting fingers. And for the second time that day, Ventus found himself falling through the air.

 Because this fall was so brief, he had only enough time to yelp before landing into a second hand. This new hand, which was smoother with slender fingers, pulled him away from the action. From his vantage point, he could see Terra gripping Lea’s shirt with one hand and wrenching Lea’s wrist back with the other.

 “Don’t you touch him!” Lea sputtered, but Terra only gripped his shirt tighter.

 Disorientated and a bit stunned, Ventus looked up into the face of his new holder. “Aqua?” he managed, dazed.

 Aqua held him close, but only glanced down once before returning her sights on Isa. She had her keyblade pointed squarely at him. He returned her icy glare, lowering into fighting stance.

 “You gonna hurt us?” Isa snarled. “We’ll make sure to return the favor.”

 Ventus shook his head and gathered his wits. “EVERYBODY STOP!” he yelled, surprising even himself at his own volume.

 All four giants turned their eyes upon Ventus. He took a shaky breath as he met their gazes, one by one. “Nobody has to hurt anybody!”

 “Ven?” asked Aqua softly. “What are you talking about? These guys were trying to kidnap you.”

 “Kidnap?” Lea said sharply as he wiggled in Terra’s loosening grip. “Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

 “No, no!” Ventus shouted, waving his tiny arms to keep the giant’s attention. “Terra, let him go! Aqua, please! The Master would be angry if he saw what you were doing.”

 Aqua and Terra shared a confused glance but complied. Once released, Lea brushed his shirt in a huff. Isa watched Aqua’s keyblade vanish in a sparkle of light before lowering his fists, still looking on edge.

 “Lea, Isa, these are my friends. They don’t work for Ansem!”

 “You don’t? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Lea said in a huff as he crossed his arms.

 “And Terra, Aqua, they saved me. They were only trying to help.”

 “Ven,” Terra said, his huge face coming closer, “then why did you shout like that? We thought you were in danger.”

 “Well…” Ventus turned his hands up. “They thought you were going to take me away to do some experiments. So I had to shout to make sure you didn’t leave without me.” He didn’t have the heart to explain his earlier attempts in alerting Lea. But Lea quickly put two and two together. His face turned pink, and he averted his gaze.

 “I don’t want my friends to fight!” he continued. “You were all just trying to keep me safe. Please, can’t we all get along?”

 The four giants read each other’s faces, relaxing by degrees.

 “Lea, Isa, these are my two best friends, Terra and Aqua. We train under the same master. Terra, Aqua, this is Lea and Isa.” Ventus pointed to each in turn. “They rescued me from drowning.”

 “I can’t exactly take credit for that one,” Isa offered. “It was all this doofus.” Lea grinned at the recognition, putting a hand behind his head. His mood was quickly improving.

 “I’m really sorry for all the trouble,” Terra said with a slight bow. “Thank you for protecting Ven.”

 “’Was no prob,” Lea said, waving away the praise. “But could you do me a solid? You gotta tell me where I can get one of those magical disappearing and reappearing swords!”

 Terra and Aqua shared a nervous glance.

 “Is that all you can think about? New weapons?” Isa said with a raised brow. “Didn’t you get those stupid frisbees last month?”

 “They are not stupid. You’re just mad that you lost to me in every match we’ve had since I’ve gotten them!”

 “Heh, if I was mad, you’d know it,” Isa coolly retorted.

 All three keyblade wielders released a breath at the change of topic.

 “Lea, didn’t you say something about a wizard?” the tiny boy said.

 “Oh yeah! Let’s go see him together! He might be able to help you.”

 Aqua held Ventus closer, venturing a look at her vulnerable friend. “What have we got to lose?”

 ================================================

 “Hmm, yes. This is strange magic,” mused the wizard, stroking a lengthy white beard. “Strange magic indeed.”

 Ventus stood on a wooden table in a room stacked full of books and glass beakers. The wizard was using a wooden stick about as thick as he was to lift his limbs and direct him into different positions. Meanwhile, the other four giants stared down at him from around the rounded table. He was starting to feel like he really was in an experiment.

 “Can you help him, Merlin, sir?” Lea asked, trying to sound respectful.

“Now, now, my boy. You simply can’t rush these things, you know.” Merlin pulled a pair of wiry glasses from a pocket and put them on. Instantly, his already giant eyes magnified several times. Ventus didn’t know whether he felt more self-conscious or like laughing. The two emotions seemed to balance each other out, so he was able to contain himself.

After several minutes of mind-numbing silence in which Merlin continued to manipulate Ventus as he hemmed and hawed, the wizard pulled back and plopped back into a huge red armchair. “That is an easy enough spell. I’ve cast it several times before myself. However, there is something otherworldly about this magic. You’d have to go and find whoever cast this upon him in the first place. I’m afraid that if I tried to dispel it, I would only cause undue harm to the poor boy.”

 Lea and Isa looked downcast, but the three keyblade wielders shared a knowing look.

 “Ven,” Aqua asked slowly. “Have you been this small… in other places.”

 Ventus understood her messaging at once. “Yes, with a girl named Cinderella.”

 Terra stood suddenly. “I think we need to pay a certain godmother a visit.” Aqua nodded in agreement. He placed his hand flat for Ventus. The blond hesitated only a moment before clambering up onto the sprawling hand.

 “Wait, you’re leaving?” Lea said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

 “Don’t worry. Once I’m fixed, I’ll be back,” Ventus said as he turned to face the huge redhead, one hand resting on Terra’s thumb. “We’re friends after all, aren’t we?” He raised his tiny hand out toward the giant.

 Lea blinked, smiled, and leaned forward. Gently tapping his pointer finger against Ventus’ hand as a high-five, he flashed him a giant of a smile. “Always.”

[ernestsinclairs]

The Proposal - Adrian

Adrian Raines x MC (Erin)

“This is wonderful, Adrian, but I can’t seem to figure out why we’re here.”

Erin opened the brochure and flipped through it absentmindedly. “The Festival of Lights sounds interesting, but it’s not open until next month.”

“But we’re not here for that,” Adrian said smoothly, plucking the brochure from her grip and depositing it in a wastebasket nearby. Tonight is a special opening.”

“The Herminia Gardens?” Erin asked, gesturing towards a nearby information board, complete with elaborate silver embossment and blown up photographs of gardens and champagne.

“Well, yes. But I thought I’d give you a little preview first.”

“Of what? Adrian, you’ve done enough already. I don’t even know how you got this together.”

She spread her arm out towards the hall, an imposing reminder of the grandiose of the New York City elite. The New York Botanical Gardens had gone out with the decorations that evening, with silver ribbons swathed around marble pillars and the pale stone tiles scrubbed so clean, one could see their reflection in it like Narcissus’s pool. 

“How did you even get tickets here?”

Adrian coughed, looking around a little bit before offering his answer.

“I’m rich, Erin. And the Gardens need money for their charities. I just happen to have a lot of it.”

Suddenly grabbing her arm, he ushered her into an adjacent hallway, veering off the velvet carpet that had been put out for the night. 

“This should be it, if I’m not mistaken. I instructed it when I signed the check.”

“Adrian, what is going on,” Erin asked exasperatedly. “I thought you didn’t like secrets.”

“Well, this is a good one,” Adrian chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Quickly thumbing the door open, he ushered her into a glass walled atrium, into a mass of rich green and rose and sunset colors. His hand came to rest gently on the small of her back, guiding her forward into his making.

���Welcome to your garden.”

All around them, hundreds of roses bloomed in the night sky, illuminated by countless strands of fairy lights and wrought silver lanterns. Delicate footpaths of mirrored stones encircled each attraction. Spires of roses made their way through their air before reaching their pinnacle together. More of the blooms crept their way up the stone columns, giving the illusion of being trapped in a giant flower. In the heart of the entire garden, lay a fountain, its edges lined with tiny crystal carvings, sparkling and refracting the thousand of lights strung around the atrium.

“Adrian . . . I . .” Erin stuttered, trying to make sense of it all. Not that she could. The beauty in the entire setting was unfathomable. 

“This is yours,” Adrian whispered, bringing his face down to hers and kissing the top of her head as his arms wrapped around her in a strong embrace. “It’s your personal Garden of Eden. I had it curated for you.”

Mouth slightly ajar, she stepped forward tentatively, as if scared to scuff the shining paths. Her heels made soft clinks against the mirrored material, and she drew her feet back apprehensively.

“Don’t be scared. I had it all done for you.”

“I - I can’t. Adrian, this is too much, what if I ruin it, I should have gotten something for-”

He pressed a finger against her lips silencing her, then, in one strong movement, hoisted her up into his arms bridal style and took his own march across the paths. The only sound was from the burbling water in the fountain, and the sound of his footsteps until he set her down gently on a stone bench.

“My turn.”

He knelt before her, dropping to the classic single knee. The burbling of the water and the slight rustle of a few petals brushing up against each other faded as Erin froze. The old rom coms were right. So this really was how men did it.

“Adrian I-”

He silenced her with a simple gesture, taking both of her hands in a firm, but gentle embrace, pressing a small kiss on the knuckles before looking back up.

“I’ve been on this earth for centuries, Erin,” Adrian said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “And nothing even comes close to you.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, as if the sound was choked, kept bay by the man before her.

“When you talk, the earth shakes. When you laugh, the the stars are jealous of you. I hope you see that, because I do every day.”

He let go of her hands for a moment, Erin’s own mourning the loss of warmth before it came rushing back as he reached into his suit jacket pocket.

“I’ve longed to say these words for years, Erin,” Adrian said softly, his eyes fixated on her. They had a strange look to them, she noticed. It hit her. Vulnerability. It was so rare she saw it in this man, hardened by years of war and hardship and stress. But now, he had come to her, bared before all, for the chance at winning her heart.

“I have waited for so many years, praying for some type of miracle or person to come for me. I never expected they would actually be answered. So please, answer my last one.”

The hands moved. The box opened.

“Marry me.”

@femmeshep @kawairinrin @justendlesssummerfeels @sweetfluffyunicorn18 @mrsinclairstightpants @indiacater @hopefulmoonobject @perrieraines @universallypizzataco @lacielino-ff @elles-choices @adrian-raines @acvossthevoid @itlivesbeneath @choicesfannatalie @crispymilkshake-choices @flyawayboo @kinda-iconic @nobounderiesplease @noloveshorty @give-me-ernest-sinclaire @boneandfur @littleredroseonthevalley

[the-dancing-ghost]

6.

This post is part of a series that focuses on the backstories of Elijah and Ryder in this ‘verse. Tiny and Myx wrote it for fun; this series contains a lot of fluff but no belly kink. We hope you enjoy anyway!

- - -

“There’s a good spot for nirnroot over that way.” Ryder pointed downstream, where the high, rocky riverbanks flattened out into a gentle slope to the water’s edge. “It’s also a fairly decent place to fish.”

Elijah nodded, wearing a serious expression that suggested he was filing this fact deep in his memory. Then he suddenly turned and went bounding over the rocks, making a beeline for the big swath of blue mountain flower he had spotted.

Ryder had to bite his lip to keep himself from warning Elijah to be careful on the steep, rocky terrain. Elijah would not complain at the fussing, but he would take the instructions so deeply to heart that he would probably walk as if he were treading on a thin sheet of ice for the rest of the trip, and Ryder did not want to want to take away the carefree joy with which the boy explored the world around him.

The warning was unnecessary anyway. Despite his gangly limbs -- which made him look less like a child and more like a teenager with every passing day -- Elijah moved gracefully. He seemed at home out here, beyond the tame dirt tracks and watchful guards of Spirit’s Cross. He found sure footing without having to search for it, and his keen gaze seemed to pick out every curiosity in sight. More and more often he was beginning to bring home assortments of all kinds of little treasures -- shells, insects, flowers. He always wanted Ryder to take them but sometimes Ryder managed to convince him to trade them in at the apothecary, for a bit of spending money for himself. 

Elijah happily collected a handful of the blue mountain flowers and came scampering back, his smile open and eager for whatever Ryder’s next instructions would be. They’d come out for the afternoon to enjoy the sunshine, and Ryder had decided it would be a good opportunity to point out some of the nearby landmarks and pass on some advice about gathering for food and supplies. He’d already described the abandoned giant’s camp just south of the town, and the strange Talos shrine to the north, resting above a shallow, eerie lake. Elijah had drunk in every detail with rapt attention and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the outing as he scavenged for interesting finds.

“Those look wonderful,” said Ryder, nodding approvingly at the mountain flowers. “Very fresh. I bet Stephanie will be happy to have them.” He beckoned to the beaming boy. “Would you like to see a cave I know? It’s just a little further down the river, among the rocks. We might find some rare mushrooms there.”

Elijah nodded eagerly, and Ryder began leading him along the riverbank, picking the way carefully through the heaps of boulders and tangles of low shrubbery.

It was a lovely day. The sun gleamed on the river, turning it to a beautiful shade of blue-green tinged with white foam. The air was brisk and fresh and the mountains loomed majestically overhead. Everywhere Ryder looked, there was life -- rabbits scurrying across the path, hawks wheeling in the sky, butterflies dancing on the breeze. How lucky I am, Ryder thought, to call such a beautiful place home.

He was so absorbed in the splendor of the scenery that he didn’t notice the loose rock on the path until it was too late. He stepped on the stone and it twisted under his foot -- in an instant, his balance was gone, and he went pitching over sideways.

“Pa!” Elijah’s young voice rose high in fear as he snatched for him a moment too late, his fingers closing on empty air where Ryder’s shoulder had been a moment before. His wide, terror-stricken blue eyes disappeared from view as the world tilted wildly off-balance.

Ryder landed hard on his side. The force of the fall and the steepness of the slope caused the ground to crumble away underneath him -- he grabbed uselessly at tussocks of grass as he went skidding down the slope. Rocks and branches battered him -- all he could do was tuck his arms and legs in close to avoid catching and breaking a limb, and prepare to fall into the river.

Mercifully, it didn’t come to that. A large thicket of shrubs broke Ryder’s fall, and he came to a rest just before the water’s edge -- rather sore, but safe.

“Pa!” Another hoarse cry rang out from further up the slope. A scuffling sound somewhere above Ryder’s head signaled Elijah’s hurried descent, but before Ryder could warn him not to fall himself in his haste to get to him, the boy was there, leaning over him, his expression a mask of horror.

“I’m alri--” Ryder rushed to reassure him, but for once, Elijah was not in a listening mood.

“Are you alright? Ryder you-- oh!” Elijah gasped, shaken, as he saw the many shallow scrapes across Ryder’s legs and arms, particularly the ankle he’d twisted when he took the fall. “Stars above.” He choked out. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s-- I’ll get Stephanie--”

Elijah was reaching over Ryder, his fingers gently tugging away the twigs that had caught on the edge of his tunic, then he was kneeling to inspect the scrapes as carefully as if Ryder had taken a wound by the sword.

“Elijah,” said Ryder, “There’s nothing to w--”

“How much does it hurt?” Elijah’s voice quivered as he lifted his head and moved closer to look into Ryder’s eyes again. “Can you get up -- no, no wait, I should just-- I should go get her. Will you be okay here by yourself? Maybe I should--”

“Elijah.” Ryder reached out and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, bringing an abrupt halt to his babbling. “I’m alright. I’m fine. I promise.”

Elijah huffed in disbelief, his tone almost snappish as he pointed out, “But you’re bleeding.”

“Merely scrapes. I’m only a little bruised. My pride is more hurt than anything else.” He reached out and wrapped Elijah up in a quick hug. “We can walk back to town together. I’ll stop at Stephanie’s shop on the way home and pick up some ointment to ward off infection.”

The boy gave a little shudder in his arms, then sighed and relaxed into the hug as he wound his arms around Ryder to return the squeeze. “Okay.” He murmured, before slowly pulling back.

Ryder grunted a little in discomfort as he shifted stiffly onto his hands and knees. But it wasn’t until he tried to stand that he realized he actually had hurt himself. As soon as he attempted to put weight on his right ankle, he felt a shooting pain sharp enough to make him gasp and flinch.

“Ryder! No--” Elijah’s hands caught his shoulders and carefully (but quite insistently) lowered him to the ground again. The boy’s worried blue gaze found his and turned stern. “No, no. You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Ryder insisted. “Give me just a minute to recover and I’ll be right as rain.”

But Elijah wasn’t listening. He bit his lip, and started scanning the riverbank before he got up and started picking over the rocks. “M-maybe I can find a big branch or something, that you could use to get back.” He turned and pointed at the lower part of the bank, where the slope evened out before the water. “We could walk right along the water’s edge so you don’t have to climb, and then when we get closer to town, there’s a gentler hill. And maybe someone will see us by that p-point and can come help.”

Despite Ryder’s embarrassment and slight exasperation -- he was not the most fond of being fussed over, especially not by a child he was supposed to protect -- he couldn’t help feeling a burgeoning hint of pride in Elijah. The poor boy was clearly terrified, but his thoughts were coherent and his plan was good. He was obviously trying very very hard to handle the situation. 

Elijah disappeared over the edge of the hill for a minute or two before he reappeared, dragging a sturdy tree limb. He stopped to break it into a good crutch height, leaving a convenient fork in the branch where Ryder could rest his shoulder, then brought it to his side, kneeling down, his face pinched in worry and a bit pale even in the afternoon sun. “How-- how much does it hurt?”

“Scarcely at all, when I don’t have weight on it.” That was a slight under-exaggeration, but Ryder felt poor Elijah had worried enough for one afternoon. “I think that branch will work perfectly. Help me up?”

Elijah offered him a hand, and between his support and that of the branch, Ryder managed to get upright on one foot.

“Good thing it’s not a long way back to town,” he said, trying to lighten the mood as he began stumping along in the damp mud by the water’s edge. The worried lines in Elijah’s brow did not uncrease. He stuck close by Ryder’s side all the way back to Spirit’s Cross.

They’d been walking along the bank that faced the inn, across the bridge in front of the meadery, and as they neared town and the wisps from smokestacks came into view, Elijah began hunting for a gradual slope that Ryder could walk up without too much pain or difficulty. Once they had found a good place and Elijah stooped to shove aside branches and loose rocks to clear the path, the sound of footsteps nearby had him racing further up the hill, calling out, “David!”

With David’s help, Ryder was soon sitting in a comfortable chair in the inn’s kitchen, out of the hustle and bustle of the common room and finally able to get off his feet with a barely-stifled groan of relief. Elijah asked David to get Stephanie and to “please hurry,” and Malia’s older brother gave them both a reassuring nod before heading for the apothecary at a brisk walk.

Elijah knelt to look at Ryder’s foot and hissed through his teeth in sympathy before he was up and bustling around the room. “It’s starting to swell up… does it hurt more than before?”

It did, honestly, but Ryder answered the question with a noncommittal shrug. “It’s not so bad.”

Elijah crouched to the ground in front of Ryder’s chair again with an armload of supplies. He overturned a clean wooden bucket and cushioned it with a small, folded pelt, nudging it under Ryder’s foot with extreme care so that the injured ankle would be raised a bit and resting comfortably. He poured some fresh water into a bowl and dampened a clean cloth, setting both aside and hesitating as he reached for Ryder’s boot. “Mmm… I don’t want to make it hurt worse…”

“I’ve got it.” Ryder leaned forward, unlaced his boot, and gingerly eased it off his foot. “I’m honestly fine, Elijah. Go sit down and rest. You’ve already helped a lot.”

Elijah seemed content to ignore him. As soon as Ryder had his boot off, Elijah took it and set it aside and began ever so carefully wiping away the dirt and gravel that had clung to the scrapes when Ryder had fallen. The boy had just stopped to rinse the cloth when a shadow fell over the doorway and they looked up to see Stephanie giving them both a knowing smile.

“What did the two of you get up to now?” The alchemist chuckled, coming further into the room, stopping to pull a chair over and sit down. 

Elijah was on his feet, facing the woman worriedly in a moment. “We were walking down on the steep part of the riverbank where it gets rocky -- Ryder slid on some loose stones and fell -- his foot hurts too much for him to walk--”

“Whoa, there. Slow down, Elijah, I think Ryder’s okay.” The reassurance in Stephanie’s eyes shifted to amusement as she turned her gaze to meet Ryder’s. “Sounds like a bit of a twisted ankle, maybe?”

Ryder nodded. “I think I twisted it as I fell. Unfortunately it’s a little too tender to bear weight at the moment.”

“Let’s have a look.” Stephanie reached into the satchel over her shoulder, pulled out a vial of healing potion, and set it on the floor next to Elijah’s bowl and cloth as she knelt to feel gently over the swelling in Ryder’s ankle. Ryder sucked in a short breath and held it, resisting the urge to flinch.

“Sprain.” Stephanie confirmed within moments, her gaze traveling over the freshly-cleaned cuts. “You did good to wash the dirt off. I expect you’ll heal up in a few days if you keep off your feet and take a dose of this each morning.” She picked up the vial and handed it to Ryder, instructing, “A swallow or two at a time -- it’s strong stuff, but it will work quickly if you keep up with the dosage. Might want to have some tea on hand or something, to mitigate the taste. It’s pretty bitter.” She reached into her bag again and pulled out a bivalve shell, sealed with a tiny latch. “You know Elijah, I think this is one of the shells you brought to me. I’ve been using them as a way to store ointments and creams.”

Stephanie and Ryder both looked up to see Elijah forcing a smile. He didn’t seem to have anything to say, and Stephanie held back a sigh as she passed the shell to Ryder. “There should be enough in here for a couple of applications. Wouldn’t want the scrapes to get infected.”

“Thank you, Stephanie.” Ryder slipped both the vial and the shell into his pocket for safekeeping.

Stephanie turned to look at Elijah again, who was clearly trying to be at the ready to help without hovering too close. “Elijah? Do you think you could take my satchel back to the apothecary for me? Micah is there working with herbs we’ve collected recently and he knows to replace the vial and cream for whatever next emergency I get called to.” She stopped to wink at Ryder.

Elijah looked between them, torn. “But--”

“I’ll make sure Ryder doesn’t damage his leg any further.” Stephanie assured him with a laugh, taking the small pouch from over her shoulder and holding it out towards the boy.

Elijah still hesitated for a moment, but finally accepted the satchel with a soft sigh and turned towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t rush if you want to visit with Micah for a bit.” Stephanie told him as he disappeared out into the inn’s main room. Once he was out of earshot, she chuckled deeply and sat down across from Ryder again, an amused gleam in her eye. “You really do need to stay off your foot for a few days. I’d make some kind of professional healer threat, but something tells me with that boy around, I’m not going to have to resort to that.”

Ryder sighed, smiling wryly. “I wonder if you could tell him something to reassure him I’m going to be alright. It’s just a twisted ankle. I don’t want him to worry.” 

Stephanie shook her head. “He’s very smart, Ryder. I’m sure he realizes you’re not exactly on death’s door, but he cares about you.” Her eyes warmed but her smile turned a little sad. “You’ve said he lost his family… children who endure such great loss are bound to be a little prone to over-worrying about someone they love. I know he’s fretting over this more than you want him to be, but I would say just try to have patience for now. His worrying isn’t pointless; he just wants take care of you. He’s really very attached to you, you know.”

Ryder paused, not quite sure what to say. It hadn’t occurred to him that Elijah might associate physical harm coming to him with memories of losing his family. But suddenly he recalled the image of Elijah’s face, blue eyes stretched wide with terror, frozen in time as the world had tilted under Ryder’s feet.

“Stephanie,” he gasped, “I just remembered -- he called me ‘Pa.’ When I fell down the hill, he didn’t yell my name. He cried out like I was his father.”

Stephanie laughed aloud at the utter bewilderment on Ryder’s face. “I’m not surprised at all.” She sobered a little and gave a small sigh. “Must have been frightening for the poor lad. He was calling you by your name in here just a minute ago though, which means he called you ‘Pa’ in a moment of fear.” She leaned forward to hold Ryder’s gaze seriously. “Which means it came straight from his heart.”

Ryder started to say something, but his voice faltered away. He felt like he was falling from another cliff. Who had deemed him worthy of this honor, this responsibility? He was only twenty-five years old -- still young, still stupid, still prone to mistakes. Who had deemed him capable of safeguarding a fragile little heart?

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Stephanie… what do I do?”

“I suspect Elijah’s going to be doing his best to stand his ground with you while you’re healing to keep you off your feet and such.” Stephanie’s smile had made a return. “Try to listen to him. It’ll be good for you, for one thing.” She glanced pointedly at Ryder’s injured foot. “But it will also go a long way towards assuring him he’s taking care of you the best he can. Once you’re back to your normal routine you can return to all your usual fussing and I’m sure he’ll meekly accept it. But for now, just let him worry. It’s a comfort to him to have someone to worry about.”

Ryder took a deep breath. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll do my best.”

Stephanie gave him an approving nod. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Elijah returned to the inn not long later, a touch breathless as if he’d run part of the way back, and Stephanie stood to greet him, catching him in an affectionate, one-armed hug. “Easy there, lad. Ryder’s still in one piece, as promised.”

“I thought of something!” Elijah burst out, looking up at her imploringly, and she gave him a reassuring pat to the back.

“What might that be?”

“Ryder’s room is upstairs in the loft.” Elijah gestured in the direction of the steps that led to the inn’s upper floor. “But it would hurt his foot to try to go up and down the stairs every morning and evening.”

“I don’t think we should worry about that,” Ryder said, but he was soundly ignored. It seemed that although the conversation was about him, he was not invited to join.

“That’s a good point.” Stephanie told Elijah, before turning to look at Ryder. “You have a spare room set aside here on the first floor, don’t you? Until your ankle has healed, you should really avoid going up those steps every night.”

Elijah turned from Stephanie to face Ryder, his expression one of eager concern. “I could bring things down from your room to the spare one if you need anything from up there?”

“That’s very kind of you, Elijah, but I can do that myself--” Ryder began unthinkingly, before breaking off at the look on the boy’s face.

Elijah had just given him a forbidding frown. “No,” He began very sternly, “Going up and down those stairs could make your ankle worse. There is no reason for you to do it and maybe hurt yourself more when I can do it without any difficulty.”

Ryder glanced from Elijah’s indignant scowl to Stephanie, who appeared to be both stifling a laugh and giving him a pointed look. He sighed deeply and gave in. “I suppose… I suppose you’re right, Elijah. Thank you. It would be a big help if you fetched me some spare clothes and the book I’ve been reading.”

Elijah had abruptly relaxed in relief as if he’d been prepared to have to argue with Ryder for a while longer, and he nodded happily, turning for the door to get the things Ryder had asked for. Stephanie helped Ryder to his feet and guided him to sit down in the inn’s spare room, and before Elijah returned with the clothes and book, she fixed him with a benign glare.

“It’ll only be a few days. Without potionry, a sprain like yours would take weeks to heal, so don’t drag it out longer than you have to by pushing yourself too far for things that little Elijah is more than happy to help you with.”

She’d scarcely finished speaking when the boy appeared in the doorway with an armload of Ryder’s things. With a final nod to them both, Stephanie left to return to the apothecary, and Elijah quickly set about setting the folded clothes on a table near the bed before he came to Ryder’s side and laid his book gently in his lap.

“Thank you, Elijah.” Ryder reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, prompting a huge grin. As Elijah turned and scampered away, Ryder sighed. If it made Elijah that happy to fuss over him, he supposed he could let it happen.

Over the next few days, Elijah flatly refused to let Ryder do anything that involved standing up and walking around. When he hobbled into the kitchen the following morning to boil water for tea, Elijah snatched the kettle out of his hand.

“Elijah!” Ryder was more alarmed than offended. “What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast.” Elijah answered calmly, nodding to a nearby chair. “You should sit down. I’ll have the tea ready in just a minute.” He started moving dishes around, including the griddle Ryder used to fry strips of beef for inn guests in the morning. When he looked over his shoulder and saw Ryder hesitating, he gave a big, reassuring smile. “I can actually cook, you know.”

It went on like that all day. When the breakfast dishes were ready to be washed, Elijah insisted on swapping their usual roles, scouring the plates and pans himself while Ryder dried them from the comfort of a chair. When Ryder guiltily tried to sneak in a little sweeping, Elijah came swooping in and gave him such a look of dismay and betrayal that Ryder surrendered the broom on the spot and obediently retreated to a chair.

“I need to do some kind of work, Elijah,” he protested weakly as the boy bustled around the common room. “I can’t just sit here all day.”

Elijah paused, seeming to think furiously. He propped the broom against the wall and vanished, only to return a minute later with an inkwell and Ryder’s ledger.

“You can do this sitting down and it’s something that’s really important for the inn, right?” Elijah gave him a proud smile, setting the inkwell down and placing a fresh quill next to it. 

Ryder sighed and then smiled faintly, accepting the book. “Good thought,” he admitted, causing Elijah to beam as he returned to sweeping.

It felt so strange. Ryder had always been extremely self-sufficient. He’d had to be. Nobody had ever fussed over him like this -- even Einar had treated him fondly, but never as anything other than an independent adult. This sudden removal of so much responsibility -- especially by someone so young -- was very jarring.

But… perhaps... it was not entirely unpleasant….

Still, Ryder was glad when Stephanie’s medicines started having their effect. A few days after the fall, Ryder could stand on his foot without any pain. It wouldn’t be long, he reasoned, before he could get back to his ordinary work.

The day before Ryder had been told he could begin to walk normally again, he woke up to the sounds of someone moving around the kitchen much earlier in the morning than usual. As he started to get up and the bed creaked underneath him, the quiet sounds in the kitchen stopped and a few seconds later, a soft knock came at the door of the spare room.

“Yes?” said Ryder.

Elijah opened the door by a crack and peered inside, smiling sheepishly when he saw Ryder sitting up.

“I’m sorry.” The boy slipped inside the room and closed the door behind himself, and Ryder could see then that he was carrying the kitchen’s larger kettle with him. “I was trying to be quiet… but if you’re not planning to go back to sleep, I brought something that might be good for your foot?”

Elijah had crossed the room as he spoke and was retrieving one of the clean, stacked wooden buckets from the corner. “I heated it a little just a minute ago, but maybe we can cool it off with some cold water if it’s too hot…”

Ryder watched him bemusedly. “Little one, what are you doing?”

Elijah brought the bucket over near the bed, set it down in a good place for Ryder to rest his foot in, and began filling it from the kettle he was carrying. The aroma that wafted up was dewy and refreshing and faintly mineralistic, and he scooted back to give Ryder space to lift his foot and place it in the warm water. “It’s from the Steamshallows. Everyone says that the waters from the springs are healing... I thought it might help since you’ll be on your feet again tomorrow.” “Oh!” Ryder raised his eyebrows. “You went all the way there already this morning?”

Elijah nodded. “Thought it would be best to go early before things became busy.”

“Well,” said Ryder, impressed. “That was extremely kind of you.” He dipped his foot into the bucket of water, sighing at the feeling of warmth. “Mmm. Feels nice.”

A big smile spread over the boy’s face. He beamed at Ryder for a sunny moment, then rose to his feet and turned for the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

“Elijah?” Ryder said on a sudden impulse.

The boy stopped and turned back around. “Yes?”

“Something has been on my mind.” Ryder hesitated, a touch nervous. He had been spending the past several days debating whether to broach the subject, unsure whether it would bring Elijah joy or pain. “That day that I fell. You didn’t shout my name as I fell. You called me Pa.”

The poor boy immediately stiffened, his face turning red before he ducked his chin, lowering his gaze from Ryder’s face as if deeply ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked after a second’s hesitation, “I didn’t mean to.”

For an instant, Ryder felt his own expression falling. Didn’t mean to. Maybe he honestly hadn’t meant to -- maybe it had been a spur-of-the-moment mix-up, the way it was easy to call a well-known village elder “Ma” or “Pa” by mistake.

But… the look on Elijah’s face. It wasn’t simply embarrassment. There was a deep sadness to it -- as though the imagined rejection had devastated him.

Ryder smiled, a little shakily, nerves sparking. “Oh little one, that’s not what I meant. I… only wanted to tell you that -- well, I was quite flattered by the thought that you might view me as a father figure,” he said. “I… would not like to disrespect the memory of your actual father. And perhaps it’s silly, considering there are scarcely ten years between us. But to be honest, I’ve started to think of you rather like a son.”

Elijah looked back up, the embarrassment and sadness melting away in an instant to be replaced by an absolutely thunderstruck expression. He gave a little swallow before he managed, in a small voice, “You-- you don’t mind?”

“To the contrary.” Ryder’s nerves came out in a bubble of laughter. “The idea of being your father makes me very happy.”

Elijah gaped openly at him again, took a step, then hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He mustered his courage and crossed the room, and -- careful not to jostle Ryder’s foot resting in the warm water -- nudged close and wrapped his arms around him, leaning over slightly so he could bury his face against Ryder’s shoulder. Then, with a nervous tremor in his voice, he murmured, “I-- I’ve been pretending in my head for a long time that-- that you were and-- but I didn’t mean to say it out loud, it just-- it just slipped out and I was worried you’d be mad, so…”

The boy paused for a breath, then his fingers curled in the loose fabric of Ryder’s tunic. “I… I don’t think he’d mind. I’m sure he wouldn’t--” Elijah’s voice cracked but he forced the last of the words out, “They… they loved me... but no one else has until-- not until you.”

Ryder felt his eyes burning. For a minute, he couldn’t speak — only held Elijah tightly in a warm, secure hug.

“I suppose your father’s spirit knows,” he said eventually, voice hoarse, “that I plan to take very good care of you, always.” He leaned in to kiss the boy’s hair.

Elijah made a soft, heartfelt sound, hugging Ryder a bit tighter for a moment before drawing back. Curiously, he chuckled a bit as he did, then leaned over to get the kettle he’d brought in with him. He spoke his thoughts aloud as he turned for the door, teasing, “Not until you can walk again!”

“Which will be tomorrow!” Ryder added with mock sharpness.

A happy giggle floated back down the hallway, and Ryder smiled.

True to his word, he was back on his feet the next day. Stephanie dropped by that afternoon to double check everything was alright, and seemed very pleased when Ryder showed her how much the swelling in his ankle and had gone down.

“Well look at that!” The alchemist slid him a knowing grin as she stood up from where she’d bent to inspect the healed sprain. “I’m honestly quite impressed you didn’t start walking again before you were ready. Well done.”

“I can’t take all the credit.” Ryder raised his voice so that Elijah, who was around the corner in the kitchen peeling potatoes for that night’s dinner, would be able to hear him. “A certain someone made sure I was very vigilant about following the doctor’s orders.”

A soft laugh rang out from around the corner, and Ryder and Stephanie exchanged glances and smiled.

- - -

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[cabaltera]

The Girl from Bauko

a short story by an Ilocano writer.

BAUKO IS a remote mountain town up in the wilds of the Cordilleras. It is some five thousand feet above sea level, and thick fog covers the towering mountain slopes every day, even in mid-summer, and the golden sun hardly be seen at high noon.

Of all stories - love stories - worth remembering my Father told me, not one can surpass the poignant story of a ravishing and winsome mountain lass by the name of Maila.

Maila was a Kankanay, one of the principal tribes of mountain Province. Indeed, Maila was a bundle of unsurpassed pulchitrude and vivacity, possessing a pair of bewitching dimples in her rosy checks, deep as the ravines surrounding her father's luxuriant mountain clearing up in Bauko.

The epic story of World War II would be incomplete and colorless without this beauteous mountain lass Maila, Father would tell me with a sparkle in his eyes, because Maila was everything to him during those dismal , difficult years of enemy occupation.

Father was a guerillero during the war. He was not a professional soldier, he repeatedly told me, since before the outbreak of the Pacific War he was still young, vibrant and innicent, and was bent on his studies at the U.P. in Padua Faura.

Those days were the golden days of the Commonwealth under the tutelage of the charismatic political leader, Manuel L. Quezon. Padre Faura then was quiet and shady with giant acacia trees, branching towards the sky on both shoulders of the street, affording cool shades for the boisterous groups of colegialas heading towards the big and spacious corridors of the State University and the Ateneo.

Father joined the army probably because of compulsion of maybe he was afraid of those slit-eyed Japanese soldiers. In the mid-thirties, the cream of the Filipino manhood was called to undergo compulsory five-and-a-half-mo the training in a care all over the islands; Father was among them, although he opted to take summer infantry training in Camp Murphy, the premier army camp I those days.

Prewar trainees and cadets of the ROTC units of Manila's colleges, were on the list of the Japanese Empire and sure death was the penalty for being one of them.

Why and how bphe came to Bauko, he did not tell me, but guerilla rose in those difficult years lived anywhere in the wilds of Northern Luzon.

Perhaps the dense mountain growths of the Cordillera ranges provided safe sanctuary for them. They were wanted by the Japanese forces for sure and once the were caught, they were herded like animals to a monkey house with grills and baked under the burning sun to be skinned alive or tortured to death by all kinds of painful methods as by bayonet thrusts, merciless clubbings and by water cure. Japanese soldiers were no better than barbarians in Marco Polo time.

"I had a co-guerillo by the name of Lacuasan," Father would recall. "This man Lacuasan was as my age and was a native of sturdy Kankanay stock. Most of the time he wore a g-string and was armed with a hatchet and a spear. He had a perfect physique, with bulging muscles throughout his whole anatomy -- easily he could have competed with Charles Atlas or Henry Liederman.

Lacuasan was a runner, a courrier, of the famed 66th Infantry, the guerrilla outfit composed of mountain tribes -- fierce-looking Kalingas and half-civilized Bontocs and Ifugaos, much-feared headhunters of the mountain provinces. Lacuasan was fast moving in spite of his size Climbing treacherous and slippery trails like a deer, he knew every bend and waterhole in the vast plateaus of Bauko.

The 66th Infantry was commanded by a greying American officer, Major Parker Calvert, a West Pointer, who refused to follow the surrender orders of General Wainwright following the fall of Corregidor.

It was Lakuasan who invited Father to his mountain clearing atop a lonely knoll in Bauko. The hut he owned was a small one, surrounded by a wide swath of camote patch; around the hut were chayote vines laden with fruits. Below the clearing was a picturesque valley where a meandering river curled it's way with water sparkling with foam and the pine trees roared when the north wind passed by.

"I believe you feel sad and lonely," Lacuasan told Father. Although Father carried a higher Rankin their outfit, Lacuasan simply called Father by his nickname, Andy. Father liked it that way.

There was evening when Father and Lacuasan spent their time keeping away the seeping cold and wetness of Bauko weather by sipping tapey, the homemade rice wine of the natives.

This liquor was made with fermented rice, sweet varietals of the upland strains, sprinkled with binubudan, powdered rice with crushed ginger and yeast. Some was fermented and brewed using sweet upland corn.

"Have you ever visited our ulog before, Andy?" Lacuasan asked, his eyes sparkling like two tiny stars. Father shook his head, his curly hair waving in the cool breeze like young bamboo swaying with the wind in an August storm. Father at the time looked like a Robinson Crusoe, marooned on a lonely island in the South Pacific. He had gone a year without a haircut and was looking shabby with a long beard that covered the contours of his mouth.

"Come," Lacuasan said, "let's pay a visit!" The ulog was a square matchbox construction of bamboo, wood, and cogon with no opening except for a door to one side and reached by a movable staircase used by the maidens of Bauko every night. Here these young unmarried girls would sleep. Young boys, barely in their teens, frequented the ulog in the evenings to express their love to the maidens whom attracted them the most. If the young girl favors a relationship, she'd invite the boy to come up where they'd sleep together using a common pillow made of hardwood as big as the girl's thigh.

Sexual contact was strictly forbidden and a boy had better think twice before making ungentleman like advances towards the girl he loves. Bauko's young men are well disciplined so that mashing and even kissing and petting are absolutely taboo.

Lacuasan had to brief Father before an encounter with the girl he planned to date overnight. At first, Father was uneasy because he was completely ignorant of the customs of the places. But, with much tapey in his blood, he regained his courage and bravado.

Young Filipinos, they say, are fast lovers and Father did not find it hard to start. That was how he came to meet Maila. To him, Maila appeared a different breed from the rest of the girls; she was clean and neat and properly dressed in the native costume. Her hair carried a special scent like the ilang-ilang flower nipped as a bud, and a carnation petal adorned her way brownish hair. Her skin was flawless, reddish-white, and she looked like a goddess standing atop a boulder caressed by the sweet mountain air.

Maila was a half-breed, American blended with Igorot blood. Before the Great Wr she was a senior in a high school ran by Belgian sisters in Baguio. She spoke English fluently with an accent, and it was not long before Father learned that this mountain beauty was indeed very bright and intelligent. Father also found out that she was a student writer, the editor of her school paper, The Baguio Breeze.

Father was deeply impressed during the first meeting with Maila. From the start, Father enjoyed her company because, besides being a good conversationalist, she was adept at literature and could recite pieces of classic poetry from Walt Whitman to Tagore. Father fell in love with Maila on that first evening, their very first encounter.

Maila laughed loudly when father proposed to her. "You're a lowlander," she said. "I hail from a land above the clouds. How can that be possible? Shal, I stoop so easily li,e a giant from the sky to love a man from a civilized world? I'm of Igorot stock, looked down on by you lowlanders."

"No, we can never meet, " she signed heavily. The dimples in her cheek sparkled like bonfire and were very attractive in my Father's sight. "You forget that we come from two different worlds, two different spheres."

A big lump in Father's throat rendered him speechless. He knew he loved Maila and nothing would keep him from loving her more He was the type who never ran from a fight. He came from a family of hardworking peasants, unafraid to face adversity or anything that taunted his pride, courage, and honor. Now was his chance to try his luck in love. Maila was the answer to his dreams and imagination.

"Love has no boundaries, Maila," Father replied, "No, not even gaps in culture, origin, heritage, creed, skin or social status are barriers to it." Maila stared at Father hard and long. She smiled shyly and Father understood that Maila loved him too. She then stood up and muttered, " Andy, here in Bauko, we possess a priceless tradition of honor. If a suitor defeats a girl in a selected competition then she is conquered. Tomorrow, as soon as the great sun rises in the east, challenge me to a race. We wil, run uphill." She pointed to a treeless hill not far from where they stood.

"I gladly accept your challenge, Father replied, his voice a little louder than usual.

The early morning was murky in Bauko. Thick fog enveloped Lacuasan's hut atop the knoll. All around, there was an endless sea of mist. In high spirits , Father trodden the dewy grass like a colt prancing in pasture. The sun shone metallic dull and it's faint beams peeped through a thin veil of mist in the eastern horizon. He stared at the sunflowers and carnations scattered in abundance over the slopes of the Bauko mountainsides.

Maila appeared suddenly at the base of the barren hill where the race was to be held. Lacuasan was to draw the starting line. Pulling his pistol from a leather holster tucked in his waist, he advised the competitors to be ready and with the bark of his gun they were to climb the hill as fast as they could.

When the gun barked, Maila darted towards the summit like a frightened deer, her legs appeared like rapid clogs spiking furiously upwards. Meanwhile, Father sped up like a jet hitting fist-sized boulders with lightening ferocity. Father knew he was exhibiting now his prowess in the century race back in his high school years when he romped away with a gold medal in the pre-war national athletic meet in Manila. The Bauko beauty gasped for breath but she was no match for the lowlander, this soldier of fortune who had drifted up to the Bauko highland to hide from Japanese hounds.

"I surrender to you, Andy," Maila calmly admitted, breathing hard. "I didn't know you were a sprinter for the first caliber." She knelt down to catch her breath.

"And so?"

"Of course, the jog is up and I am now yours," was the curt reply. That was how Father won the the heart of Maila. Gasping for breath, Father walked slowly towards her. Clutching her by the shoulders, he gazed into her eyes. They held hands as they ascended a promontory. At the summit stood a solitary pine tree casting it's shade over a clean boulder. Here they sat together.

The sun now shone clearly and resplendent. The flowers around them bid a joyous celebration. Lacuasan followed them and congratulated both victor and vanquished and to Father for winning the heart of the fastest girl in Bauko.

IN EARLY DECEMBER, a runner from Volckmann's headquarters up in Kapangan visited the two guerrilleros. He handed Father a field order instructing them to report to headquarters for further duty as the forces of General MacArthur were fast approaching the beaches at Lingayen. In January, the liberation forces tangled with the Japanese army everywhere in Luzon. The Allied Forces surrounded the enemy in the mountain provinces by placing the infantry divisions to route Yamashita's forces holed up in Kiangan. Father and Lacuasan returned to their respective outfits to join the bloody encounters with Japanese soldiers in Bessang, Lepanto, and Kayan, the last being but a stone's throw from Bauko. In late August, the Americans issues an ultimatum to Yamashita's forces to surrender. That after the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki where thousands of Japanese were killed by atomic bombs. Yamashita had to surrender unconditionally.

The GIs boarded the jeep with Lacuasan at the wheel. Father waved at the Bauko beauties as the jeep moved away. Maila and the others waved back. He caught Maila's eyes supplicating. She had not stopped crying since their hands parted in a muted farewell. Looking back once more, he thought he saw Maila's lips, parted, imploring him to return. But the jeep made a sharp turn at the fork in the road and they were met by a strong wind from the vegetable fields lining the road, accentuating the fact that the poblacion was already behind them.

With the surrender of the wily Tiger of Malaysia and his forces, after the last prisoners of war were settled in camps in the lowlands, Father and Lakuasan hurriedly left for Bauko for a brief respite. Maila and her friends arranged a homecoming celebration for the two soldiers. That night the moon was big and round and the cool Bauko air hovered over the schoolhouse where the lively event was to be held.

On a clear Sunday morning, after the sun had dissipated the thick fog enveloping the Bauko skyline, Maila and her friends stood in front of the schoolhouse to bid Father and Lacuasan goodbye. The two GIs had a new assignment somewhere in La Union.

"Of course, I shall return," Father calmly told Maila, clutching her cold hands tightly. His lips quivered and Maila, shaking with grief, placed a lei of fresh everlasting flowers over Father's neck. She was sobbing so hard as Father consoled hee by lightly patting her back.

This short story is authored by Yolanda V. Ablang taken from Ilocano Harvest (a collection of short stories in English by Ilocano Authors). Edited by Pelagio Alcantara and Miguel S. Diaz. Published by New Day Publishing, 1988, in Quezon City.

Photos are not mine, but taken from the Internet, including australianmuseum.net.au

Additional editing done by myself.