Finding the Path

My third Fan Fiction short story from the World of Warcraft forums:

The prompt:

“The Challenge:
We’ve set some pretty tough challenges for you over the previous weeks and we intend to keep them up, but we thought we’d give you a bit more freedom to create and impress us and your fellow community members. This week, we’re calling for a free skate. Write anything you like so long as it takes place within World of Warcraft. The possibilities are endless.”


Finding the Path

For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Sala Wildmane flicked her tail to unsettle the bloodsucking bugs which had landed over her body. Though her fur did much to keep all but the most persistent creatures from achieving their goal, they still made her skin twitch in an unpleasant manner.

The mere thought of them crawling over her made her shiver, and she shook herself from head to hooves to banish the feeling. The grey fur of her main resettled down her neck and back, just as her long, heavy braids of the same color ceased to swing.

Sala took a deep breath, and her nostrils flared wide to take in the scents of the marshland around her. Traces of decay could be smelled in every breath she took, though it was stronger in certain portions of the area. They were lucky in their position, since the hot winds of Hellfire Peninsula would sometimes blow through the pass and clear out the dense air.

Though it could certainly be said that Zangarmarsh held a beauty of its own, with the clear pools, many islands, and interesting plant and animal life—it was still a marsh. The humidity in the air was heavy, and settled over Sala’s body like a burdensome, wet blanket. She rubbed a hand over her muzzle, wiping some of the sweat away, and recalling a time when she wasn’t sweating proved difficult.

Her brown eyes scanned the surrounding outpost as she looked for someone in particular. She found Ysiel, standing as she usually did on the balcony of the inn. Sala nodded as she passed the few who were stationed here, fellow Cenarion Expedition personnel as well as Druids.

As Ysiel saw Sala approach, she watched the Night Elf take a deep breath as though to gather her patience.

“Sala, how are you this day?” Ysiel asked, and her voice betrayed no hint of any frustration she may have toward the young Tauren.

“Good day, Ysiel, I am well; and you?” Sala replied. Though Sala was frustrated with her current status, her mother had taught her better than to be rude to others.

“The swamp continues to have problems that must be remedied, but that is my burden as the expedition leader,” Ysiel said, concerned. “The Naga have done much to damage the area, and it must be set to rights if balance is to be preserved.”

Sala knew that some adventurers had come through the area not long before she had been stationed here, and defeated the Naga infesting Serpent Lake. They’d been draining Zangarmarsh dry, and though the Coilfang Reserve had been shut down, there were still problems with the remnants of the Naga machinery.

Sala had been thoroughly disappointed to find most of the work already done before she’d arrived in Zangarmarsh, and couldn’t fathom why she’d been stationed there. All because I’m a new druid, she thought bitterly, new druids always get the worst assignments.

As though reading her thoughts, Ysiel chuckled. “I know you are eager for more action than can be offered, but you are still new to being a Druid. You must take the time to find what path is best for you,” Ysiel said, sagely.

Sala sighed in frustration, but nodded glumly. “As you say, Ysiel.”

Just as Sala was turning to leave, a speck in the sky appeared, and grew larger as the two looked on. It was a Druid in flight form, speeding right toward them.

Ysiel’s visage grew worried as she watched the Druid backwing, just in time to ensure he didn’t crash into them.

“Ysiel, we’re have a problem at the Reservoir,” the young Night Elf gushed, out of breath. Sala could not recall his name, but she’d never had a knack for such things.

“Slow down, Shonrus, what is the problem?” Ysiel said.

Shonrus took a deep breath. “We were preparing to breakdown some of the Reservoir when a Naga party attacked,” he said, voice desperate.

“How many?” Ysiel asked, and grim determination replaced her earlier worry.

“At least twenty,” he said, still slightly out of breath. Ysiel nodded. Sala recalled only five Druids, including Shonrus, were on this mission.

“Go and gather five of the Guardians to take back with you,” she said to Shonrus, and then turned to Sala. “You are to accompany his as well, but use caution—I would hate to lose you to death before such stubbornness and determination could be put to good use,” Ysiel said, and amusement flickered across her features.

Despite the situation, Sala could not help but grin. Without even a backward glance, or word of parting, Sala jumped from the balcony and took off to find Shonrus. The thud of her hooves muffled by the soft ground as the shock from the jump reverberated up her legs. She shook off the pain and ran.

Sala found him on the edge of Refuge, and the seven of them took to the sky toward the Reservoir. The movement of the wind across her feathers made for a welcome respite from the heat, and the air grew less humid as they rose above the tall, tree-like mushrooms of the marsh.

They flew as though the Burning Legion were behind them, though it still seemed an eternity before they came to the lake. As the six followed Shonrus in his descent, the sounds of battle echoed across the waters.

Sala’s heart stopped for a moment, and then picked up speed once again when she caught sight of the Druids and Naga below. The one Druid in bear form was at the forefront, dodging tridents of the male Nagas, trying to keep them occupied. Meanwhile the two cat Druids darted and dodged the spells of the female, spellcasting Nagas, and they used their claws to try and rip open the tough scales that covered their bodies.

The only disadvantage the Naga had with their numbers, was that it was impossible to have more than three of them surrounding a particular Druid at a time. Still, if one Naga became tired, he was simply replaced with another, fresher one, spoiling for a fight.

In all the commotion, one Druid remained at the back, and dodged as many of the Naga as possible as she healed her fellow Druids. The female Night Elf’s dusky purple skin was slick with sweat, and her long green eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. Her movements and dodges were fluid, like watching water avoid the obstacles around it. She mumbled the healing spells, as she became more and more out of breath, and her hands fairly flew in their needed motions to complete the spellcasting.

Sala looked down on the scene, all the injuries and pain, and realized she had been foolish to wish for such a thing. The bluish-green light the plants of the marsh naturally gave off gave an eerie glow to the scene, and made the blood spilled across the ground look darker than it was. Sala could not take her eyes off the gore pooled on the ground, from both Druids and Nagas, and she felt a fierce determination well up from somewhere inside her.

A scream tore from her throat, and came out as the high-pitched screech of her bird form. It distracted some of the Naga on the ground, and made them look up toward her. She dive-bombed the Naga surrounding the healing Druid, and they scattered momentarily—long enough for the Night Elf to catch a short break.

Sala let her bird form flow from her body, like shedding a familiar coat. She knew only the most rudimentary of healing spells, but she would do her best to help ease the Night Elf’s burden.

“My thanks, Sister,” the Night Elf said, and continued her casting.

Sala began casting as well, and though she did not have the finesse of movement or casting of the more experienced Druid next to her, she was certainly more a help than a hindrance.

Shonrus and the Guardians joined in the battle, and the Nagas who remained soon realized that though they were not outnumbered, they were certainly outclassed. It wasn’t long before they beat a hasty retreat, and slithered down into the waters of the lake.

A cheer went up from the group of Druids, and Sala joined in; though it surely sounded exhausted. She helped the Night Elf healer, who was called Amailaeth, treat the wounds of their companions. Sala listened closely as the Amailaeth began to teach her a deeper understanding of the healing ways.

After a short rest, as Ysiel likely awaited their return, the group flew back to the Refuge. Ysiel was at her usual spot on the balcony, and Shonrus recounted what had happened for her.

“It gladdens me to see all of you return not too much worse for the wear,” Ysiel said wryly, and all the group gave a tired laugh. “Go now, and rest. We will come up with a better plan for the Reservoir on the morrow.”

The Druids nodded and filed out; headed toward their quarters for some much needed sleep.

As Sala also turned to leave, Ysiel stopped her. “I hear you may have found a path that suits you?” she inquired, a pleased smile on her face. Sala returned the happiness with her own grin, and nodded.

“I did indeed—I want to be a healer and help our allies live to bring balance back to this war-torn world,” Sala said, as her mind filled with satisfaction and her heart with determination.

Ysiel nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation gave the young Tauren a hug.

“I guess the marsh is not so dreadful, after all,” Sala said, and broke the embrace.

“Not truly, though just between you and me: I cannot stand the bugs,” Ysiel said, and sounded somewhat exasperated.

Sala could only laugh as she said goodbye and headed off toward bed, her newly found path blazing brightly ahead of her.

Silent Tears

My second Fan Fiction short story from the World of Warcraft forums.

“The Challenge:
Today’s challenge is something a bit different. We’re not looking for complete stories. We’re looking for just one brief snippet of time. One moment. One place. One experience.

vignette (vɪˈnjɛt)

1. a small illustration placed at the beginning or end of a book or chapter
2. a short graceful literary essay or sketch
3. a photograph, drawing, etc, with edges that are shaded off
4. architect a carved ornamentation that has a design based upon tendrils, leaves, etc
5. any small endearing scene, view, picture, etc.”

Silent Tears

For what reason is war fought? For pride, glory, or some grand gesture of faith? she wondered forlornly as she polished her husband’s armor, though the tears made it difficult for her to see the shine of the metal. Her hands ached from the labor, and tomorrow her skin would be cracked and bleeding.

But by tomorrow it will not matter, because he will be gone.

Another war, another summons to battle—it was never ending. She had known in her heart what the sound of hooves on the road that led to their house meant, and it was dread that clutched at her soul with icy fingers of malice.

Be brave, my love. Those would be his final words to her, as they always were, but never goodbye. Goodbye was a word too full of sorrow and desperation. It was a word of endings and partings, but not always a return. So, no, never goodbye.

Then his lips would brush across hers gently, the lightest of caresses. All the embraces and kisses filled with the heartache and fear would be had the night before, and tended to be harder and needier than their usual counterparts.

After the kiss, a hug, and then she would take in the scent of him: horses, sweat, leather, metal polish, and underneath it all the trace of something that was uniquely him. It was here that time both sped up, and slowed, as though if they never broke the embrace they could stay there forever. Which was a foolish and selfish thought. His heart was hers, but his soul belonged to the Light, and she would not be able to live with herself if she tried to keep him from his calling.

Brave? No, not me. Bravery belonged to the ones riding onto the field of battle, and it was a poor woman that planted worry in the heart of her husband before he had to do such a thing.

Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow I will show him a face with no tears as I always do. But today she would allow herself the grief and the worry that crying abated.

She wiped away the tears, but no one would have known she was crying, because the tears of a Paladin’s wife are silent in the face of his duty to the Light.

One More for the Road

This one is called, One More for the Road, based off this prompt in the World of Warcraft forums:

“The Challenge:
There are so many interesting denizens within the World of Warcraft Universe whose stories go untold. This week, we’re challenging you to choose one, and tell us the tale that no one has heard before.”

One More for the Road

Though the bar was more pristine than a Blood Elf’s armor, and held a shine despite the rough treatment it had seen in days gone by, Morag moved the clean cloth over the smooth wood out of habit. It gave his hands something to do, since they certainly weren’t preoccupied with serving anyone drinks. The green of his skin mottled with white on his knuckles as he clenched the rag, and continued to wipe with more force than necessary.

Used to be I was needed around here, he grumbled inwardly. The bar, Broken Tusk, had seen better days. Before that blasted Outland was discovered, they’d almost drink me dry every night. Morag wasn’t the only one feeling the pinch in his business’ purse. Many of the other drink and food vendors in the city rarely, if ever, saw business.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, so when Orgrimmar was rebuilt Morag had gone…nicer. His lips curled back from his teeth and tusks in disgust at the word. It couldn’t be helped, though, with all the new races joining the Horde. Like those namby-pamby Blood Elves. He’d had to adapt to cater to a wider variety of crowd, but nothing worked. The only time he saw any action was when some hot-blooded young fool would come in, order one of every drink, proceed to down them all in quick succession, and then vomit on his floor.

At least it gives me something to do, he reckoned. Cleaning up spew was almost a welcome relief to standing behind the bar, bored.

Then, to make matters worse, those Pandarens had come in with their specialty brews, and taken even more of his clientele. Morag spat in disgust, watched his spittle hit the floor, and debated whether he should bother to clean it up.

There was a time when being a barkeep had been his dream—what he had lived for. His father was the barkeep at the old inn before him. Morag had been the only one of his siblings interested in the crafting and selling of brews. The others had run off to join the Orgrimmar guards, and with three of five dead, it was only Komak and him.

If our father could see us now, both his sons failures, Morag thought bitterly. Komak had been promoted to Overseer by Garrosh, but didn’t last long before he was demoted back down to Grunt. Komak wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even Morag, about what had happened. Since his brother was his only consistent patron all day, though, he didn’t want to upset him. Gods forbid I lose the one person paying me money. Though most days Morag didn’t even charge Komak. He was the only brother Morag had left, and he was going through a rough time. Blood was thicker than coin, he reckoned.

“You going to clean that up?” Komak asked, with a slight slur to his voice. Considering his brother had come in to start drinking almost the same time the sun had risen, and it was now nearing evening, his fortitude was impressive.

“What’s the point?” Morag sighed, threw the rag onto the floor, and thunked his head down onto the bar, defeated. Komak didn’t take his gaze from his brew, and Morag thought that the end of it.

It was a supreme surprise when his brother’s favorite knife thudded down into the bar, mere inches from where Morag’s head rested. He looked up into his brother’s eyes, and determination that Morag had not seen in Komak since he was a Grunt the first time, burned there like the fires of Deathwing.

“Because you can’t give up your passion, Morag. Just because things aren’t so great right now doesn’t mean they’ll always be that way. When things are good, it’s easy to stoke that fire in your belly for your work. The true test of someone’s aspirations come when folks put you down for no other reason than they can, or even when they don’t notice you at all,” Komak said.

The alcohol on his breath burned Morag’s eyes, but his words rekindled a flame in his soul.

“So, what is it going to be, Brother? Will you lie down like a dog in the street and be trampled? Or will you clean up the floor and push on to better times?”

Morag paused for only a moment, then bent over to pick up the rag and proceeded to clean the spit.

“You talk too much, has anyone ever told you that?” Morag asked, and poured his brother another beer.

Komak took it, gratefully, and downed it in one swig.

“Yeah, Garrosh,” he replied, and went back to his place at the bar.

Morag poured him another beer, which Komak drank at a more leisurely pace than the last one, and the two of them fell into silence for the rest of the night.

The hustle and bustle of Orgrimmar droned on into the evening, but the thought of all those people not coming into his bar didn’t bother Morag as much now. As the time came when Komak usually headed home, he glanced at his brother from the end of the bar.

“You going to take that knife out?” he asked, and jerked his chin toward where it was embedded in the wood.

Morag glanced down at it, but looked up at his brother with a half-smile.

“Nah, figured I’d leave it there as a reminder from you to not be an idiot,” Morag said, and cleaned the bar around the knife.

Komak grunted, and a ghost of a smile danced across his lips.

“One more for the road?” Morag asked his brother.

“Sure,” Komak said, “and I’ll even pay you for this one.”

The two of them shared a chuckle, and Komak went on his way with a skin of Mulgore Firewater. Morag moved about the bar with a spring in his step, (if such a thing was possible for Orcs, that is), his purpose in life renewed by his brother’s words. He went out to the doorway of the bar, and looked up at the stars that blanketed the sky above Orgrimmar. People moved about with a sense of purpose, and he gave a welcoming smile to those who looked his way.

Better times are coming.


Here you can see Barkeep Morag, who is the Orc behind the bar, Komak, his brother in front of the bar, and the knife now being left embedded in the bar.

War of the Wee Ones, Final Chapter

Final Chapter

            Dogwood and his fellow Guardians had carefully scouted the area, and now they waited for the others as close to the edge of the clearing as they dared get. The rogues and Beigads had set up in a small cave, and cleared the surrounding trees away so no one could sneak up on them. Even with the low light from the torches the enemy would still easily see their approach. There was a lot of commotion going on inside the cave, if the amount of noise and yelling coming from it was any indication. He wasn’t sure if this boded well, or bad, for them.

Anger still burned hot in Dogwood’s blood and mind, and the time they spent waiting on Sage did nothing to abate it. Logically he knew he should approach this tactfully, as they were holding hostages and an attack could trigger them to kill said hostages. Dogwood gripped the hilt of his sword hard enough that the worn leather bit into the skin on his fingers and palms. 

Calm down, my love, and think of our daughter, the sensible voice of his wife rang through his mind, and he was so shocked he almost fell from the branch he was perched on.

Rosemary’s laugh, like the sound of wind moving gently through tiny bells, sounded at his reaction. Dogwood felt the warm presence of his wife like a fire being lit from within.

 I am not surprised at your shock, but I am surprised at your anger. Will you truly risk the life of our daughter, and that of your budding new love, simply because you are angered by the Gods?

Her question brought his mind to a stuttering halt, and he came close to sputtering out loud. I…you know about Snowdrop? He asked, as guilt welled up inside of him. 

Hmph, leave it to a man to focus on that first. Yes, I know of Snowdrop. Who do you think has been guiding the two of you close together? I want nothing but yours and Laurel’s happiness. Snowdrop contributes to that, as I am not able.

Before he could reply, or apologize, she continued. 

That is not what is important, at the moment. Your actions now can either prevent or start a war. If you go in brandishing your weapon and trying to kill every rogue and Beigad in sight, you will do more than cost your daughter and Snowdrop their lives; you will trigger a reaction that could be the start of many a bad thing. As in, everyone in the Clan dying, and all manner of supernatural being kicked from the reserve.

Shock raced through him again, but this time he kept his place on the branch. Not much could shock him more than hearing the voice of his dead wife, but what she revealed certainly came close. He closed his eyes and he could almost picture her nod at his comprehension. 

The impact of what you do today will reverberate in either a positive or negative way to many more than just the rogues, Beigads, and those of our Clan. This is why the Gods permitted us this contact.

The words he spoke earlier toward the Gods rushed back, and chagrin washed through him. 

The Gods are forgiving beings, dear one, but don’t worry overlong on that now. My time here is almost done, as my message has been delivered. Make the correct choice, as I know you can. Also, live and love, husband. It is what I want for both you and Laurel. Goodbye, handsome, she said, and finished with her nickname for him. It almost made him weep to hear her say those words, and picture the smile that went with them.

The presence of Rosemary’s spirit left him, and the urge to murder every rouge and Beigad in the generally vicinity melted away. The young ones would be upset, but if what his wife had said was true there would be worse things to happen if he proceeded. Revenge would be bittersweet in more ways than one.

As though his timing was set by the Gods, and maybe it had been, Sage drifted down to where Dogwood knelt on a branch and joined him.

“I have the full force of the Guardians here, save for a skeleton number guarding everyone gathered in the town center. How are we going to proceed?” Sage asked, carefully, not quite knowing what mood his Captain was in.

“I got a little message from…someone, and was informed that there would be dire consequences if we go to war with the rogues and Beigads,” Dogwood said, and Sage raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I had not expected us to go in hot-headed and kill everything in sight. They’d kill the hostages that way,” Sage commented wryly. Dogwood was thankful that it was dark where they were perched, or Sage would have seen him blush, embarrassed.

“That’s too bad; I would have rather had a good fight. I hear you’re one of the best, Sage. Seems a shame to waste such talents,” said a brash voice from the entrance to the cave.

All the Pixies hiding amongst the trees froze, followed by an angry buzzing as they gave voice to their rage, and their wings beat fast.

“Hold your positions,” shouted Dogwood, and all but a low murmur of voices continued.

Dogwood dropped from his perch, and flew to the edge of the clearing, followed by Sage. As they broke from the tree line, only two rogues were halfway into the clearing, with the remainder of the rogues and the Beigads at the mouth of the cave. Dogwood held his arm at a ninety-degree angle, with his fist closed, and indicated he wanted the rest of the Pixies to continue to hold their positions.

He and Sage came up to where the two rogues were, though they stopped with enough distance that the rogues could not easily get the jump on them.

“Do you truly wish for a fight?” Dogwood asked, and kept all emotion from his voice. His wife’s words remained present in his mind, and if he showed anger here it could provoke everyone into doing something regrettable.

The one he assumed was the leader, as he stood a little in front of his companion, tilted his head. Green locks of hair, made darker by the firelight and shadows, shifted across his forehead.

“We have attacked your lands. I am surprised you do not appear to want a fight,” he cajoled, and his face broke out in a roguish grin that befit his title. Though his face spoke of laughter, his cranberry red eyes conveyed nothing but seriousness. It gave Dogwood hope.

“Yes, and though it has angered us, I had hoped to find a peaceful resolution to our problems. Then you took hostages, and that angered me beyond measure, but I do not want anything catastrophic to happen if we make war. I would avoid that if I could,” Dogwood said, and tried to gauge the reaction of the Pixie in front of him. “What is your name?” Dogwood asked.

“Mistiltan, and you are Dogwood—famed Captain of the Thorny Guardians,” Mistiltan replied, with neither mockery or admiration; as though he were simply stating a fact. Almost in the same way Sorren had earlier.

Dogwood gave a small bow, as one would to an equal, and Mistiltan, surprised, responded in kind.

“What are we to do, Mistiltan? We would like the return of our Clanspeople, and for you to cease all hostile actions toward our lands,” Dogwood said, and continued as Mistiltan’s raised an eyebrow, “so what would it take for such a thing to happen?”

“We wanted land, and your land was promised to us by one of your Clan—if we got rid of all the annoyances to that one,” Mistiltan said.

Anger washed through Dogwood once again, but he restrained it with as he ground his teeth.

“And just who might that ‘one’ be?” Dogwood asked.

“Ah, now you have asked for three things, but have offered me nothing. Why should I give into any of your requests?” Mistiltan asked in turn, and crossed his arms over his chest. The Pixie was built in much the same manner as Sage and Dogwood: a trained fighter.

Dogwood thought for a moment, unsure of how his offer would be taken by those behind him; but in light of what he’d learned he had to try.

“What kind of…Pixies are you? Why are you not with Clans?” Dogwood asked in turn, and made sure to avoid saying ‘rogues,’ since he didn’t know how Mistiltan would react.

“Most of us came from Clans that were dispersed into others, but we did not want to integrate with them. I do not tolerate any vile offenders within my group,” Mistiltan responded, and shrugged.

“How did you come to be allied with the Beigads?”

Mistiltan laughed. “Well, they are not precisely smart on their own. With our direction they have been able to prosper in ways that would have been impossible otherwise. They are hard workers with the right incentives,” he added.

Dogwood thought for a moment, then looked at Sage, who nodded. They were usually of similar thinking, and this time was no exception.

“Then if you would kindly bring the head council out here, I think we can come to an arrangement.”


            The town center was alive with activity as everyone prepared to be addressed by the council. They had all been crammed in there for the majority of the day and night, and they were all cranky and ready to be home.

Dogwood knew, and agreed, with how they felt, but he also knew there might be trouble. Not everyone was going to be happy with the ways things had turned out, but in the end it was the best decision they could come up with.

“Nervous?” Sage asked Dogwood, as he landed next to him.

“Of course—this could still turn out badly,” he replied, and took a shaky breath.

“Well, that is why we took precautions,” Sage clapped him on the shoulder, and looked out of the window in their alcove to the bottom of the tree.

Dogwood looked as well, and Sorren dipped his head in recognition to them both. Sorren essentially equated to the human version of an atomic bomb. If things went to the Abyss in a hand basket, Sorren was there to ensure that nothing remained to alert the rangers and jeopardize all those on the reserve.

Dogwood pulled his head back in through the window, and peeked through the curtain at the alcove. No one in the assembly had noticed the guardians, carefully weaving their way unarmored and hooded through the sleepy residents. This happened just before one of them made the announcement the assembly would be addressed.

Dogwood searched around until he spotted the Pixie he was looking for. His lip curled in disgust, and it took everything in him not to pummel him for endangering everything he loved: the Clan, his daughter, and now Snowdrop. It was the last two that kept him in check, as he did not want any harm to come to them.

The signal for the head council to arrive sounded through the town center, and everyone quieted down for a moment before exploding into sound. They knew he had been one of the taken, and to see him return was a joy—for all except two.

As the one of the Pixies tried to make his way through the crowd toward an exit, he found his way blocked by Guardians who had stood in the shadows up till that point. They grabbed the Pixie, and made their way to the assembly floor.

Some saw what was happening, and shock came over them. Everyone else who did not notice quieted down as the head council called for silence. Dogwood and Sage stepped from the alcoves far above the assembly floor, as did most of the rogues from various other alcoves.

“It seems we have a traitor or two in our midst. They attempted to destroy our Clan, and in turn rule with the might of the Beigads and the rogues to keep everyone in line,” the head council stated, and motioned for the Guardians to bring the struggling Pixie before him. “What do you have to say for yourself, Wood-Sorrel?” the head council asked quietly, though it was so silent in the room all could hear him.

No one had been quite as shocked as Dogwood when they found out it had primarily been Wood-Sorrel manipulating things behind the scenes, with Nettle following along like a good lackey.

“You give the honored position of Captain of the Thorny Guardians to an outsider, leaving me with the scraps of the Thistle Guardians, and you expect me to be content?” Wood-Sorrel spat at the feet of the head council, and one of his men jerked Wood-Sorrel’s arm and the two holding him forced him to kneel.

“You sought to destroy everything because you were passed up for a promotion?” someone yelled incredulously from the audience. Voices rose in outrage, but the head council motioned for silence once again.

“I will not argue or defend ourselves and our decision to you, Wood-Sorrel. And where is your accomplice—ah, there he is,” the head council said as two more guards brought Nettle forward, still wearing his atrocious yellow outfit.

It had been the signal to the rogues and Beigads that it was time to attack. Wood-Sorrel thought with Dogwood and Sage gone, and him gumming up the protocols, he’d be able to stage a coup.

When that didn’t work, he ordered some of the rogues to take hostages to ensure Dogwood’s and Sage’s cooperation. They were not able to get Snapdragon, Sage’s wife, because she had been out that day with the children; to keep their mind off their father visiting Sorren, as they had been frightened for him.

Wood-Sorrel did not count on the rogues being able to kill Dogwood and Sage, and thought to coerce them into cooperating, instead. In the end, his fear of Dogwood and Sage had been his undoing.

The guards brought Nettle to the assembly floor, and had him kneel next to Wood-Sorrel.

“Before I sentence these two, I have an announcement to make, and I want no hard feelings from anyone. As part of the arrangement for discontinuing hostilities, releasing all hostages, and providing the names of the traitors, the Beigads and the rogues will be settling on our land,” the head council announced, and for a second time that night the assembled Pixies were shocked into silence.

A few grumbles followed, and Dogwood held his breath. He knew from his earlier thoughts that hard feelings and bad blood could be difficult to overcome. But the hard look from the head council quelled most objections.

“They have agreed to a probationary period, whereupon they will decide if they wish to remain, or leave, but also to see if they are allowed to remain. They understand their status as rogues, and their attacks on our land, can cause distrust and difficulty in forgiving. However, I do ask we all try our best,” the head council concluded with a look to all the Clan members, old and recently acquired. There were still some grumbles, but most nodded.

Wood-Sorrel and Nettle looked stunned at the–mostly–acceptance by all those around them. Dogwood let out the breath he was holding, and went back into the alcove to lean out the window and give Sorren the ‘all-okay’ signal. Sorren nodded again, and trotted off for the edge of the Clansland to await the next announcement by the head council.

Dogwood made his way out of the alcove again. While he knew it was not good of him to relish the decision of their punishment, all he had to do was think back toward all the chaos these two could have caused. It made him okay with his ruthless thoughts.

“As punishment for your indiscretions, you are forthwith banished from the Clansland,” the head council stated. At this, people murmured angrily and Wood-Sorrel gave a satisfied sneer. “However, there is a certain someone waiting for you on the edge of the lands, and once you are released your lives are in his…paws,” the head council concluded. The mocking smile was wiped from Wood-Sorrel’s face and Nettle fainted. 

Ah, good times, Dogwood thought, as he watched the two of them being dragged from the assembly, one still dumbfounded with disbelief and the other out cold.

“Think Sorren will be able to catch them?” Sage inquired as he, too, watched the condemned Pixies being taken away. Pixies were fast, to be sure, but no one can run forever. There was no time limit on the decree.

“I think the better question would be; how long will he toy with them before finishing them off?”

The two men shared smiles of grim satisfaction, and as the head council dismissed all those assembled they made their way to their families.


            Maybe it was because Dogwood had been through this before, but he felt unnaturally calm. Or maybe it was because the day was so bright and beautiful it commanded nothing but happiness for today. Or maybe he was just too old to be nervous.

Dogwood chuckled to himself and looked over his formal outfit one last time. Not because he was anxious, but because he knew he’d be scolded by Laurel if anything was out of place.

He looked out at those assembled before him: the old friends and even some new ones, and nodded to each in turn. Mistiltan winked, and Snapdragon beamed. It hadn’t been an easy transition for the former rogues and the Beigads. Everyone had expected a few bumps and incidents, but with the help from practical people like Snapdragon and Sage, things had gone better than expected.

In the months gone by, the Beigads had proven useful in helping with the crops instead of destroying them, and most of the former rogues had found areas of work that suited them. Some decided to leave, to continue being rogues or find places amongst other Clans with the Hemlock Clan’s recommendations, but most stayed.

Mistiltan had found a place among the Thistle Guardians, and it looked as though he might be on his way to Captain some day. A far more appreciative and better one than Wood-Sorrel. As expected, Wood-Sorrel and Nettle had not lasted long outside the Clansland. Merely long enough for Sorren to find some amusement, and the two to reflect on what had led them to their fate.

Dogwood shook his head and cleared it of such thoughts. Today was not the day for his mind to think on that.

“Not nervous, I see,” Sage said next to him, and reflected Dogwood’s thoughts from a moment ago.

“I think I’m too old to be nervous,” he replied.

Sage chuckled.

Before either of them could say anything else, music swelled from the small band off to the right, and everyone assembled stood.

Laurel came up the aisle first and spread rose petals along the path. When she came to the dais with Dogwood and Sage, the music changed.

When Snowdrop turned the corner, Dogwood’s breath hitched in awe. She was a glorious sight in a spider silk gown. The hair she had been growing for some months now was in beautiful white waves down her back. She left her delicate feet bare, and they peeked out from underneath the gown as she walked on the vibrant green grass. A veil covered her face, though the material was sheer enough that he could see the smile there. The one that made him take note of her in the first place.

When she stood beside him everyone sat down. Dogwood leaned forward to lift her veil. As he placed it behind her he whispered in her ear, “You look radiant.”

Snowdrop blushed, but her smile widened. The two of them joined hands and turned to the officiator. 

Live and love, the memory of the words echoed through his mind. As he looked at the two women he cared most for in this world, he smiled.

That was a request he would be more than happy to fulfill.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five

War of the Wee Ones, Chapter Five

Chapter Five

A thousand scenes flashed through Dogwood’s mind. A collection of memories he’d gained over countless battles, skirmishes, and war. As they came and went, they overlaid what was in front of him: a splintered and broken door, the house a mess with overturned furniture, broken dishes, and destroyed memories from the years of his life.
Amidst the wreckage of his home was something that chilled him to his core: a small splattering of blood. It unmade him.

He dropped to his knees, but didn’t notice when the porcelain from their dishes tore through his cotton breeches and into his flesh. Not my Laurel, the thought trailed through his mind, and a sob escaped from somewhere in the region of his crippled soul.

Dogwood had lost his wife, and now his daughter was gone, too.

Sage walked through the front door, and his shoes crunched over the debris as he came to stand by his best friend. He stood there only a moment before checking the rest of Dogwood’s house. It was not only shock, but fear that had rooted the man to the downstairs. He was afraid of what he might find if he followed the carnage toward the upper level.

Sage found nothing, though, and returned to the downstairs. Dogwood hardly took notice of the noise, and it took a minute, or three, before he realized Sage was talking to him.

“What was that you said?” Dogwood asked, all emotion drained from his heart, mind, and voice.

Sage looked down at his Captain with sadness.

“I was giving you the damage report,” Sage said, as gently as he could.

“Oh.” It was all Dogwood could manage, but he turned his gaze up toward Sage. “I feel empty, Sage, so empty I don’t think I can cry. Shouldn’t I be crying?” he asked, dazed.

This time Sage sighed, brushed away the remains of the household, and took a knee next to his friend.

“You’re still in shock, old friend.”

“Oh,” Dogwood said, again.

The two remained in silence, until Dogwood felt something stir deep within his being. It wasn’t sadness, or grief, or hate—it was anger.

“You took my wife, you putrid, vicious Gods, and now you’ve taken my daughter from me, too?!” he yelled to the ceiling.

Dogwood’s throat was accustomed to barking out orders to a multitude of recruits and Guardians, but these words burned and tore his throat on the way out. His body crumpled, as though it had taken everything out of him to bellow the words.

Sage had frozen in place when Dogwood had asked his questions of the heavens, but now he was mad at Dogwood.

“Who in the Abyss said your daughter was dead, you addle-brained bonehead?” Sage asked, not quite yelling but loud enough to grab Dogwood’s attention.

Dogwood looked up at Sage as cynicism and hope raged through him.

“What exactly are you suggesting, Sage?” Dogwood asked. He tried to keep all emotion from his voice, though it still cracked as he said his friend’s name.

“That you should stop yelling and damning the Gods, and form a search party. Your daughter wasn’t the only one who disappeared, Dogwood. Several family members of the council members who opposed the war, as well as some council members themselves, have been taken,” Sage said, matter-of-factly.

“Taken?” Dogwood asked, with such a level of hope in that one word it almost rebuilt his world around him.

Pain from his knees rushed through his body, and he grimaced as he stood. Blood stained the knees of his pants, but he did his best to ignore it.

“Yes, taken, you dimwit. Did you not think it strange that with all this destruction there was no body found?”

Dogwood glanced around, sheepishly, and straightened his tunic. His friend’s reprimand snapped some steal back into his spine, and he turned away from the destruction of his home.

“Casualty report?” Dogwood the Captain, and not the grief-stricken father, asked.

“Few in number—given the amount of mayhem and ravaging they did to the people and land,” Sage reported.

“Anyone from the Guardians?”

“Three, all on border patrol; likely silenced to keep from sending out a warning to anyone.”

“Damage report?”

“Mostly structural. Unlike all their other raids, they went for the buildings and the people in them as opposed to the crops. My guess is they came in trying to take over, wanting to save the crops for themselves, but met more resistance than they expected,” Sage concluded.

Dogwood nodded. “You go and form a search party and I’ll—” Dogwood started, but Sage waved him off.

“It’s all already been taken care of. Those emergency protocols you put into place a few meetings ago really stuck with everyone, so everything is being taken care of as we speak. Well, except the search party. I was on my way here to get you to form one,” Sage said, impertinent.

“Hmph, then let’s go,” Dogwood said, eager to be off.

The two of them made their way toward Headquarters, and Dogwood saw the damage for the first time. It had all been a blur, except for his home. He mentally chided himself for that oversight. Yes, his daughter was one of the most important things to him, but he also had a responsibility to the Clan. The many over the one was the only way Pixies had survived countless Fay wars over hundreds of years, and in a moment of panic he’d forgotten.

“Berate yourself later,” Sage said. They’d been best friends for long enough that Dogwood didn’t need to voice his self-reprimands.

They landed in what used to be the training yard. Among all the damage done, anything belonging to the Thorny and Thistle Guardians had taken an exceptional amount of it. In fact, Dogwood’s office was nothing more than a pile of broken sticks.

“Attention!” Sage bellowed as they walked toward a formation.

One of the protocols in place was for one platoon to report to the grounds for whatever they were needed for during an emergency; be it corpse duty, helping the builders with debris, or conducting a search and rescue.

The Pixies snapped to position, crisp, precise, and full of fury.

“At ease,” Dogwood said, and not a few of the gazes held enmity for him, and his perceived ‘soft’ stance against the Beigads. “You can hate me all you want—later. Right now we need to move,” he glanced pointedly at those with particular animosity toward him.

They all gave terse nods, though he knew he would have to pay the piper sometime soon.

“First, I want squads one and two, under the command of Sage, to gather as many of the Guardians as they can find, form up, and head toward the Beigads,” he said. A cheer went up among those gathered. “Squads three and four,” he continued, and the noise died down, “I want you to come with me to scout ahead and get a better feel for the situation with the hostages and the rogue Pixies. Those who are gathering the others, you leave on Sage’s word, the rest of you have three minutes to get the rest of your gear. If you are not ready to leave when I am, you will be left behind to catch up or join Sage. Understood?’

“Sir, yes, sir!” the platoon shouted with passion.

“Dismissed,” Dogwood said, and eighteen Pixies darted off to get ready, while the rest stayed and waited for Sage.

Dogwood turned to his friend, and found a frown.

“Yes?” Dogwood asked.

“It should be me leading the advance guard, and you commanding the main force,” Sage said, and kept his voice low.

“I have to do this, Sage. You know why. I trust you to get there in time to keep anything unfortunate from happening to me,” Dogwood joked, and tried to make light of the situation.

Sage did not share his humor of the situation, and just gave Dogwood a long, considering look and then sighed.

“As a father, I understand. As a subordinate I say your plan is foolhardy,” Sage grumped.

“Disagree as you will, but I am going. You should head out, too,” Dogwood said, firm.

Sage went from friend to leader in the blink of an eye and turned to the first two squads.

“Let’s be off, you layabouts, or do you want your Captain to have all the danger and glory to himself?” A general yell of excitement went up from the Pixies assembled, and they took off after Sage when he surged to the sky.

As the last person cleared, the final Pixie from the remaining two squads landed, ready to go.

“Move out,” Dogwood said, and took to the sky.

The Pixies followed closely behind as the headed in the general direction of the exit destruction trail of the Beigads. Their trails were certainly not difficult to follow, as they tended to trample everything in their paths. The group found tracks that were heading out, and not in, and shifted course to follow them.

Dogwood’s heart pounded not only from the exertion of flying so fast and the adrenaline from the anticipation of the upcoming battle, but also from anxiety for Laurel’s welfare. Now that he’d had time to clear his head, something else struck his mind. He hadn’t checked to see if Snowdrop was alright. He cursed himself twice over a fool, and snapped at the person closest to him to move in to speak.

“Yes, sir?” asked the young, male Pixie with hair the color of pink roses.

“Batys,” Dogwood said, as he recalled the youth’s name on the fly, literally, “do you have, or recall, a list of those believed to be taken?” Dogwood asked, his heart strained once more.

“I do not, sire,” Batys replied, regretful.

“As you were,” Dogwood said, and the Pixie drifted back to his position.

Dogwood chewed his lip. She was a Pixie who held growing magic, and would not be one of those immediately sought out after the mayhem. His gut was telling him that Snowdrop would have waited for him at the house. Unless, that is, she’d been taken. The thought rang true with his intuition, and it added to the worry mounted on his shoulders.

It gave him cause for more speed, and some of the Pixies were struggling to keep up, while the rest were barely doing any better. They did not have the same motivation he did to find the raiding party.

They say the Abyss hath no fury like a woman scorned. Those who say that must never have met a father whose child was at risk, and likely being used as leverage against her father. The mere thought of Laurel being utilized as a hostage made him grind his teeth in outrage. Cowards, he mentally spat.

Not to mention it seemed as though Snowdrop had been captured as well, all because of him. He could kick himself for putting her in danger, but it was likely she’d kick him for thinking such a thing. That one had a fiery temper, and he was bound and determined to learn more about it, and her.

As the forest whipped by, the sun was making its decent toward the western horizon, and shadows were gaining substance beneath the boughs of the trees. Though the sun still had a few hours yet, Dogwood spotted a flicker of light ahead of them, and quickly on the heels of that sighting he smelled smoke.

They were merely scouting, unless they encountered enemies, but grim determination hardened his resolve. He had tried the peacemaking route, and taking the higher road by not retaliating after the previous attacks, but they had hit him where his heart was.

The only thought left to his mind was simply: Let them come.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Final Chapter

War of the Wee Ones, Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The meeting ended early in the evening, and the Clan took the opportunity to make merry and enjoy themselves despite the tension. No one lived particularly far away from each other, but as with any other race they didn’t always get to see each other as much as they liked. Dogwood visited with various acquaintances, and though he was off-duty, he found himself answering a multitude of questions concerning the Beigads. Exhausted from work, the meeting, and the merriment, he, Laurel, and Snowdrop bid farewell, and made their way home.

Laurel flew ahead of them, again, as unsubtle as before. The night was warm and close around them, and lent a lazy quality to the air. Dogwood was drifting closer to Snowdrop, and she to him, as the lights of the town center faded behind them. When his arm brushed hers, his heart sped up and he glanced her way. She met his gaze, and it surprised him that he was the first to look away. Fighting a war was easier than this.

Needing something to do with his eyes he turned them toward the sky. Being so far away from the light pollution of human cities, the sky was a blanket of the tiny lights. Clouds drifted across the sky, periodically obscuring the light of the half-moon, and deepening the shadows.

A touch as delicate as a butterfly’s brushed across his hand. He looked down to see the back of Snowdrop’s fingers touching the back of his. It wasn’t as bold a move as taking his hand, but more of a gentle offer—one that could be ignored as an accident, or taken as something more.

His mind touched on his memories of Rosemary. With Snowdrop at his side the pain in those memories softened, like the light of the moon behind the clouds. It was still there, but not glaringly so.

Though the inside of him quivered, his hand was steady when he took Snowdrop’s in his. He didn’t know what he would see in her face if he looked, and he wasn’t sure if he was brave enough for that—yet.

Snowdrop gave his hand a gentle squeeze, to say she understood, and they continued on in silence toward her house.

They landed noiselessly at her front door, though their wings stirred the grass on either side of the pathway. She went to take her hand from his, but he closed his hand just enough so she stopped.

Nighttime mutes colors, or steals them completely, but Snowdrop had a Fairy light affixed above her door. The white light swirled inside the glass globe, and gave enough illumination for Dogwood to turn and see the lavender of her eyes.

Despite her being the one to take his hand earlier, she was hesitant. His heart pounding once again, he raised his other hand and brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek, and tucked it behind a delicately pointed ear. Her breath hitched, and she exhaled shakily.

“Laurel will be wondering where you’re at,” she said quietly, her eyes not leaving his.

Dogwood gave a wry smile. “I doubt that, considering my daughter’s machinations as of late,” his reply just as faint.

Snowdrop laughed, the sound as gentle as the night breeze. An amused twinkle replaced the uncertainty in her gaze.

They fell into silence again, and Dogwood slowly rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

“Dogwood, I don’t…” she began but stopped, unsure of how to word what she was thinking, but he understood.

“Me either, but I think we can figure it out,” he said, and her smile was shy again.

Dogwood leaned forward, and brushed his lips across hers in a tender, chaste kiss. She smelled wonderful, like the beginnings of spring, but he leaned back and found her expression a little dazed.

“Would you mind if I stopped by after my errand tomorrow?” he asked.

She shook her head, and reluctantly took her hand from his. “Not at all. Goodnight, Dogwood,” she said.

“Goodnight, Snowdrop,” he said in return, and watched as she made her way into her house.

He lifted off the ground and flew the short distance over to his house, and saw the curtains twitch as he approached. When he walked in the door, Laurel was nonchalant as she sat by the empty fireplace with a book.

“You’d be a terrible spy,” he said and teased her a bit. She laughed and got up to give him a kiss.

“Goodnight, Father,” she said, and skipped up the stairs with barely contained excitement.

Dogwood shook his head and made his way to his bed. He tried to settle down for the night, but his mind was racing with a million thoughts. They alternated between concerns about work, about Nettle, and more pleasant ones with Snowdrop.

Once he was able to drift off, his sleep was fitful and sporadic. He woke up many times during the night until finally, exhausted, a deeper slumber came over him. Still, when he woke the next morning his eyes were grainy, and difficult to open against the early morning light. Laurel had already gone off to the gardens for her work, but she’d left him some tea on the stove.

Dogwood ate a sparse breakfast, and downed as much tea as he could manage before heading to his office.

Sage was waiting for him there with an expression of annoyance. Nettle was in his office as well, a sneer on his face as he examined Dogwood’s office. The room was sparse, as Dogwood spent more time outside of it than in. Nettle was one who tended toward opulence.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Nettle?” Dogwood asked, and went to the locker in the right corner behind his desk. He put his back to the aggravating presence and unlocked the locker.

“The Head Council has determined that I should accompany you to visit the vervloakt, since I represent the interests opposite of yours,” he replied. His voice grated on Dogwood’s nerves, and made him want to grind his teeth.

“Do you have proof of such an order?” Sage asked, insolent.

Dogwood pulled his armor and weapons from the locker, and began putting everything on. Though the large wars were all but eradicated, small skirmishes could happen outside of the Clansland. It was better to be safe rather than sorry.

“As a matter-of-fact I do,” Nettle replied, and pulled a parchment from the front of his almost blindingly yellow robes.

The color did nothing for the Pixie’s complexion, and made him look more sallow than usual. Dogwood was no authority on fashion, but even he could see the color was the worst possible choice for the man. Not to mention it would make him an easy target for anyone looking for such a thing, Dogwood thought.

Sage tried to take the parchment from Nettle, but Nettle tossed it past him, onto the desk. The muscles in Sage’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, just reached over to Dogwood’s desk and took the parchment. His scowl deepened as he read the paper, and when he finished he looked to Dogwood.

“It seems to be legitimate: he is to accompany us to visit Sorren,” Sage said, and put the paper back on the desk.

“So be it,” Dogwood said, and looked at Nettle. “However, once we are outside the Clansland you need to follow my orders. We may not get along, Nettle, but I’ll not have your death on my hands. Agreed?”

Nettle sniffed imperiously, but nodded. It was too cooperative for the prickly man, and it made Dogwood wary.

He’d learned over the years to listen to his instincts, but there was nothing he could do for it at the moment. Unfortunately, it was one of those wait and see situations.

“We’ll be off then,” Dogwood said, and the three of them left his office and headed north. Once they approached the border of the Clansland, two more Thorny Guardians joined them. They didn’t want to attract too much attention, but leaving their borders with only three men—one not a fighter—would not have been wise.

“We’ll avoid confrontation if at all possible, and use glamour,” Dogwood said, keeping his voice low. Everyone nodded, even Nettle, and Dogwood’s wariness went up another notch.

Fay, or Faery, glamour was a common trait amongst the Fay; though just like anything else the degree of expertise varied from person to person. Dogwood was fair, as was Sage and most of the Guardians. Nettle, providing more irritation, was abysmal at it. Dogwood cringed even more at Nettle’s yellow robes.

Glamour allowed for the Fay to blend in with their surroundings. It was a subtle magic, and its use was second-nature to most Fay—as easy as pulling on a cloak. The magic settled down around Dogwood, like a thin veil, and the edges of his vision blurred. It was more than just blending in the environment; it also sent out an inconspicuous signal to avoid seeing the user of the glamour. The better a person was, the less likely they would be found.

The group continued north toward the more mountainous portion of the reserve, where Sorren was known to live. A touch of nervousness settled in Dogwood’s stomach. Sorren wasn’t known for being hostile, but neither was he known for his hospitality. He hoped the Head Council had made the correct decision in this situation, and that Sorren could actually help them.

As open fields gave way to trees and more forested areas, the ground continued to rise, and grass fell way to rocks, leaves, pine needles, and other natural debris. It took just under forty-five minutes to get there, and luck seemed to be on their side—the group encountered no one between the Clansland and Sorren’s cave. There had been some strange shadows along the way, but the presences had come and gone, and Dogwood wanted no trouble so he did not seek out whatever it had been.

When they got to the entrance, and before they dropped the glamour, a deep voice rumbled from inside the cave.

“It is rare for me to get visitors, and even rarer that said visitors are Pixies,” Sorren said, and emerged from the cave.

Sorren’s fur was thick and soft. The grey on top matched his eyes perfectly, then brightened to white on his underbelly. The spots running over his head, body, and tail were black, interspaced with rosettes of the same color. His wild counterparts, real snow leopards, would grow to only about three or four feet in length, whereas Sorren was almost double that. It was intimidating.

“Ah, Dogwood. Famed Captain of the Thorny Guardians. Why have you come to call on me this fine day?” Sorren asked, and settled down on an outcropping of rock.

When Sorren said Dogwood’s name it sent a jolt through Dogwood. Sorren could see through their glamour, and sent a chill down his spine. Though Pixies didn’t live even the full lifespan of a human, there were beings thousands of years old who didn’t know Sorren’s age. It put him on guard, though he did drop the glamour, and the others followed suit.

“We have come to ask you for a favor, or for a service if you wish for compensation,” Dogwood said, and tried to put some confidence in his voice that he didn’t feel in his mind.

“A favor, though we are not friends or even acquaintances? Or compensation, though I doubt there is much the Pixies have I would desire,” he said mildly.

Dogwood couldn’t tell from his tone if he was playing with him, or if he was bored and wanted no part in any of it. His expression was even less helpful.

“Yes,” Dogwood replied, “we have issues with the Beigads as of late, and we were wondering if you could intervene on our behalf. I want to avoid war for my Clan, as well as the attention of the Rangers.”

“Intervene? You wish for me to kill them?”

Dogwood hadn’t thought of it, but that didn’t feel right, either.

“I don’t want them dead. I want them to return to their range, and leave our land alone.”

If Sorren had eyebrows, Dogwood imagined they’d be raised.

“The Beigads aren’t known for their intellect, Captain. I cannot imagine what I can bring to the table that you could not.”

“Size,” Dogwood said. “Your size is your advantage. Where no one will take us seriously because of how small we are, they will listen to you out of respect for who, and what, you are.”

Sorren shifted at the ‘what’ of Dogwood’s words, and a stab of guilt made Dogwood cringe.

“I did not mean it in that way,” Dogwood said by way of apology.

Sorren gave a mirthless chuckle. “No one ever does.”

“Well, vervloakt, what say you?” Nettle interjected.

Though that was the technical term for what Sorren was, it was still a type of slight. A reminder of what had happened to him. Dogwood had blundered into it by accident, but Nettle was mocking him on purpose.

Sorren’s intense gaze swept over to Nettle, who stilled under the scrutiny. Sweat began to pop up on Nettle’s forehead as he grew increasingly uncomfortable in Sorren’s silence.

After a time, Sorren turned back to Dogwood, never having said a word to Nettle. Nettle let out a sigh of relief, then realized what he had done and scowled.

“What are you prepared to offer me, Captain?” Sorren asked.

Before Dogwood could formulate a reply, a shout rose from behind the group. “Captain!”

Dogwood turned to two Guardians flying toward them as though an Orc were on their heels. They were disheveled, smoke-stained, and out of breath from the long flight. They landed in a heap at the feet of the group, barely able to breathe let alone talk.

Dogwood knelt by one, Sage the other, and they made the two Guardians drink water and catch their breath before explaining.

“Captain, you must come back, now! The Beigads have raided again, this time with Pixies leading them!” one of them cried out in anguish, and grabbed the front of Dogwood’s leather armor.

Dogwood unlatched himself from the man and looked toward Sorren.

“It seems our negotiations will have to wait, for now. Will you at least come with us back to our land to discuss it further while I take care of things back home?” Dogwood asked, grimly.

Sorren nodded. “I guarantee no aid, but I will follow behind you back to your home. I will not try to keep up with the speed of the Pixies, but I promise I am right behind you,” Sorren said.

Dogwood nodded to Sorren, and then looked to everyone around him.

“Let’s go!” he commanded, and though they were exhausted, the two Guardians who had just shown up went to the air with them.

“Could you tell what Clan they were from, Persimmon?” Sage asked as the forest blurred past them. They didn’t bother with glamour, as haste was more important now than stealth.

“They flew no banner that we could see,” said Persimmon bitterly.

“Rogues,” spat Sage, disgusted.

Pixies that held to no Clan were known as rogues. They were outcasts, though some did choose the lifestyle. Bound to roam, they were never allowed to settle, as punishment for whatever crimes they committed. No one knew how many rogues were on the reserve. Though there were enough to give the Guardians problems from time to time.

“Casualties?” Dogwood asked, fearing the answer.

“Minimal, and limited to the Guardians. They are burning houses, but not gardens or crops, so it looks like they are trying to take the land. The two of us barely managed to get past them,” the other Guardian, Silverbell, replied, her voice grief-stricken.

“Fools! They know the other Clans would not allow them to settle. They would raze the Clansland to the ground before allowing that,” Sage said, incredulous.

“They seem to be working with the Beigads, though. I can’t imagine a Clan would want to go up against the rogues and the Beigads. Relations between the Clans aren’t so well that they would band together to help take back our land,” Persimmon said, out of breath still.

They let his words sink in for a minute. What was disturbing was how quiet Nettle was through all this. He wasn’t exactly the sort to not chime in on just about anything.

“This happened after we left, which was just planned last night. It’s not as though anyone outside of the Clan would have known of this,” Sage said quietly, right next to Dogwood.

Dogwood nodded, but kept his eyes off of Nettle.

“That isn’t the worst news, Captain,” Silverbell said, hesitant.

A stone dropped in the pit of Dogwood’s stomach, and he didn’t want to hear what she would say next.

“I was doing my patrol around the gardens, and, well…” she paused, and took a deep breath. “They took Laurel and Snowdrop.”

The words rippled through the group, and fear raced through Dogwood like wildfire. Instead of letting that fear overcome him, he used it to harden his resolve.

He didn’t say a word, but he flew faster than he ever believed possible. He didn’t know if everyone behind him kept up, because his focus was solely on getting back home.  

Please, he begged anyone, any god, anything that might be listening. Please don’t let me be too late. He hadn’t prayed to the Goddess since Rosemary died, but he did so now with the desperation of a condemned man.

It was an eternity before the Clansland came into view, and there was smoke on the wind. He could see the flames, the skirmishes, the attempts of those trying to battle the fire, and those trying to flee.  

Please, let them be okay. 

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Five
Final Chapter

War of the Wee Ones, Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Laurel, as usual, took far too long to prepare, and it didn’t leave Dogwood much time to clean up. Luckily he had not trained that afternoon, and most of the dirt Laurel had gotten on him could be brushed off.

Though the meeting ahead was a type of battle, it was not one for his leather armor or sword. Dogwood undressed, took a quick shower, and proceeded to pick out his best clothes. As much as he would prefer his armor to the smooth silk, battle gear was not allowed in the meeting hall.

He ran his fingers through hair that was as white as the flowers of his namesake, and lay in a thick curly mat on his head. Brushing it would be a disaster.

Scanning the mirror to make sure everything was in place, tired eyes that were the color of newly grown grass stared back. His tanned skin was the color of bronze from long hours in the sun, and it complemented his burgundy clothing. His wings were beating in time with his heart at the air behind him, and were the same color as his eyes. Underneath the fancy trappings was a strong, lean body sporting many scars—testament to his time in battle. 

I look ridiculous.

For Pixie men, formal outfits in the summer months consisted of only a vest, and loose breeches that gathered at the knees. Most men went barefoot, though some wore slippers. Dogwood preferred being barefoot to feel the earth and grass beneath his feet. The outfit had been a present from his late father-in-law, and to this day was still only one of two sets of good clothes he owned. The other set Rosemary had sewn for him to wear at their wedding, which had been in the winter.

When he looked out his window, the sun was getting low in the sky. Moving down the stairs, he called out to Laurel.

“Hurry up, Laurel, or we’ll be late.”

“I’m coming! You don’t have to let the neighbors know,” Laurel said, as she came down the stairs. She wore the dress Dogwood had gotten her for her most recent birthday, and she was a beautiful sight.

The gown was the same honeysuckle color as her eyes and made her glow. The under portion was a silk slip, and the outer portion was a diaphanous material so light it floated. It whispered around her ankles, and the slippers that matched peeked out intermittently from beneath it. The sleeves of the gown were off the shoulder, and made of the same airy material as the outer layer. She had pinned her hair up in a style that looked both elegant and artfully messy, with long, curly locks spilling down her back. He was in for some trouble with the boys of the Clan, and he was not looking forward to the courting.

“Yes, well, I usually have to call for you a few times before you hear me. I figured if I did so loud enough the first time, I wouldn’t need to more than once,” Dogwood said, laughing. Laurel rolled her eyes and tossed her hair behind her back.

“Let’s go and get Snowdrop before she thinks we’ve forgotten about her,” Laurel said, and left out the front door.

Dogwood followed her into the front yard, and the soft noises of the insects in the distance greeted him. As the light faded it gave the world a soft look, and the warm air was enough to make Dogwood cozy and a little sleepy. When they reached Snowdrop’s house, Laurel knocked on the front door. No sooner had she finished, Snowdrop opened the door; she had been waiting right next to it for them.

“We didn’t keep you waiting too long, did we?” Dogwood asked.

“No, of course not,” she said, smiling. Her dress for the night was a flowing white gown that stopped at her knees, showing off her long, tanned legs. The strap of the gown was a halter, and it complemented her slender shoulders. On one side of her head, the fine, short strands of hair were held back by a clip, while the hair hung free on the other side.

All in all she was stunning, and Dogwood smiled to show his appreciation. Snowdrop blushed in return and lowered her lavender eyes to the ground.

“Don’t just stand there like a bump on a log, dad, offer her your arm!” his daughter said, irked that she had to say as much.

Dogwood gave Laurel a stern look found on many parental faces, only to be met with her stubborn one. He knew a lost battle when we saw one, though he did tug on a lock of Laurel’s hair as he passed. She gave an indignant sputter, and Snowdrop chuckled nervously.

She was looking at him again in that pondering way she had earlier. Dogwood held out his arm, palm facing downward, and she laid her own on top of his. In general, Pixies did not travel arm-in-arm while flying. Laying an arm on top of one another was practical in case the pair needed to part.

The three of them took off into the air, and went on their way toward the meeting. They passed other Pixies heading to the meeting. The closer they got to the center of the Clansland, the houses became more frequent and the gardens smaller.

As they neared the town center, the multicolored balls of light Pixies used, much like humans used electricity, shone brighter. They were made from different sorts of magic the Pixies had bartered for, and were held inside little glass spheres. If a Pixie wanted the light brighter, they could shake the orb and the light would become more luminous. To dim them, the Pixie would fog their breath on the outside of the glass. Most of all, they helped make sure to keep the land pure by not having humans come in and put up electrical lines.

For meetings, the entire Clan was expected to show, minus any children not close to their coming-of-age. The older kids watched the younger ones, though not all of them. Many times the town center guards would catch children sneaking peeks at the meeting; especially recently, with all the activity and fuss brought about by the Beigads.

The younger adults of the Clan were the noisiest about going to war, because they had never been in one. Having been through many himself, Dogwood was happy to keep the times peaceful. Though he might not get his wish. They were like so many hens, all squawking and making a lot of noise; not knowing what they were making a clamor about. Just like the young men and women of other races, they all wanted to see action. Among the loudest of all the hens was Nettle, who held a seat on the council.

Pixie councils varied from Clan to Clan, but in general they were all structured the same. There were three elder council members, six younger council members, and then the oldest and wisest was the head council. The head council ended up being the tie-breaker if needed. The three elders’ votes were worth two points a piece, while the six younger only had one point per person. Things could still end up in a tie, especially if it was a polarized topic—like war.

When the eldest council member dies, a new one is elected from the three older ones by a majority vote from the Clan. Just as the eldest member drew from the three, the three older members drew their replacements from among the six younger. The three had the choice to retire whenever they pleased, or they could keep their office until their death, just as the head council did.

Anyone could be elected into the junior council, whose size varied from fifty to a hundred. The six ‘younger’ council members were elected from among them, and a person did not have to die or retire for someone to take one of those positions. The six seats were up for re-election every ten years. Nettle held one of the six, but everyone could see he had his eyes on the greatest political prize a Pixie could get: head council.

“Are you okay?” Snowdrop asked Dogwood with a touch of concern in her voice. Without realizing it Dogwood had clenched his fists, and was even grinding his teeth a little. He tried his best not to let the scheming little man annoy him.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He unclenched his fists and rubbed at his jaw with his free hand. Dogwood turned to Snowdrop with a wan smile, and tried his best to be in a better mood.

“I’m fine, it’s just the meeting ahead,” he said, as her face showed the worry he had heard in her voice.

“The meeting itself, or a particular council member?”

Dogwood turned his face away. It was no secret how he felt about Nettle, and the feelings were reciprocated. They’d rubbed each other the wrong way from the minute they’d met.

“It might have to do with a certain council member,” he admitted, still not meeting Snowdrop’s gaze. Laurel had wandered a little ways ahead of them, out of ear shot, trying to give them privacy.

“I hope that wing duster meets with an unpleasant and untimely end. The world would be a better place without him around to muck it all up,” Snowdrop said, the disgust evident in her voice and on her face.

Dogwood’s head snapped around in shock. He had never heard a hateful or unkind word leave her lips before. Then to hear her say one of the biggest insults a Pixie could use to describe another Pixie was beyond startling.

Wing duster implied a Pixie was willing to do the most atrocious and vile acts to get whatever they wanted. It sprouted from a time when Pixies would actively hunt Pixies from other Clans. They would then remove the delicate wings and grind them to dust to sell on the black market. They were believed to have a variety of ‘powers,’ and it could be quite a lucrative business.

Of course, when it came to supply and demand the world could not get enough. This ended in a lot of Pixies being killed or becoming flightless. The flightless ones usually ended up killing themselves.

It was a major turning point in the history of the Pixies when it was declared the dust had no magical properties. However, the derogatory name stuck around, and soon was used to describe a variety of acts, not just the act of dusting a Pixie’s wings.

“I’m surprised you would even say such a thing!” Dogwood said, still looking at her in disbelief. For the first time that night, Snowdrop looked him head on and did not blush or flinch away.

“And I am just as surprised that you wouldn’t. He is a flesh eating fungus on this Clan, and it galls me to see so many follow him blindly,” she said, saying out loud what few Pixies dared to. Nettle could be a nasty piece of work when he wanted, though no one could prove anything outright. Dogwood’s position allowed him a little protection, but Snowdrop had no such luck.

He thought about telling her to be more careful, but seeing the look in her eyes he knew another losing battle when he saw one. Funny how he was seen as one of the most courageous men of the Clan, yet the two women in his life could cow him into submission with a look. The thought made him laugh, and it surprised Snowdrop.

“Are you laughing at me, sir?” she asked, indignant. Dogwood smiled at her, and once again she was back to the blushing woman next door, instead of a fierce lioness calling out one of the most dangerous men of their Clan.

“Maybe a little, but in a good way,” he reassured her. She looked skeptical, but didn’t have time to say much more. They reached the town center and Laurel had waited for them to catch up.

Dogwood and Snowdrop were attracting some attention, but he had expected that. Of all the women in the Clan, he knew that anyone outside of his close circle of friends would be surprised at his choice of companion. He was only worried about how Snowdrop would act for a few seconds, but she had been stared at throughout her life. A rare amount of Pixie women grew to the same size as the males. The attention bothered her no more than it bothered him, so he let it slide off his back.

He had to take up his place near the council soon, and he bid Laurel and Snowdrop farewell until after the meeting. They flew off to find a couple of seats, and Dogwood headed off to the bottom of the tree. The inside bottom portion, of the biggest tree, was gutted out in the same fashion as a domed coliseum. The floor was where the head council, the nine council members, the heads of the different guilds, and Dogwood sat. While the rest of the Clan took up seats around the floor, or sat on swings that hung from the ceiling.

A normal sugar maple would not be able to fit their entire Clan, so this tree had been grown using the magic of the tree-growers. It was four-times the normal size at its base, and had taken a lot of magic and many years to grow. Pixies tried to use as little magic as they needed to alter the state of their natural surroundings, since they held nature in the highest regard. So an undertaking like that was done with extreme care and caution. Sometimes nature would retaliate if things were not done gently, and that was never a pretty sight.

Above the coliseum was where most of the businesses of the Clan were housed. Each business was run by a guild, which were led by one person voted in every ten years by the people of the guild. The guild leader would be that specific guild’s voice during the council, and also during negotiations for taxes on their wares.

Dogwood was not the head of a guild, but he was the Captain of the Thorny Guardians, which equated to the Clan’s border patrol. There was another group that was charged with policing inside of the Clansland, and they were known as the Thistle Guardians. Dogwood got along with their Captain, Wood-Sorrel, well enough. Lastly, there was a shadowy group of operatives that were said to do the dirty work of the Clan, known as the Nightshades. It was one of those things that a person either believed in, or they didn’t, since their existence could never be proven.


Through the crowd, Sage was standing on the ground, waving his arms to try and get Dogwood’s attention. He was wearing an outfit exactly like Dogwood’s, but the color was a deep purple almost bordering on blue. Sage did not sit on the ground floor like Dogwood, so something was amiss. Dogwood landed a couple feet away, and walked over to Sage, who was wearing a look on his face Dogwood didn’t like.

“I hope you have better news than your face is letting on, Sage,” Dogwood said, throwing Sage’s words from earlier back at him. He knew it was a poor attempt to lighten the mood, but it did get a wan smile from his vice-captain.

“And just as I read you correctly earlier, you read my face rightly now. Nettle stopped by for a little chat not too long after you left,” Sage said, bitterness evident in his voice. Dogwood bristled at the news, but it was not a complete surprise; the man was always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

“What did he have to say?” Dogwood asked, and feared the answer.

“He said he just dropped by to try and confirm the reports of another Beigad attack on the Clansland.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I was not allowed to discuss the matter with him, and he would have to take it up with you. When he asked where you were, I told him you had gone off to the other side of the Clansland to check on the new recruits stationed there,” he said, with a little bit of mischief in his voice. Dogwood laughed and Sage grinned.

“Thanks for the heads up. It will put him in a foul mood, but I’ll happily take responsibility for that,” Dogwood said, and clapped Sage on the shoulder.

Not two seconds later, Dogwood heard “PAPA!” in a loud screech. Then Sage’s arms were full of a squirming, miniature version of him. Dogwood laughed but Sage had a pained expression on his face.

“I see that Jonquil has learned how to fly rather well,” Dogwood said, humored, as Sage attempted to untangle himself from the child.

The little boy was having none of it, and stayed firmly clasped to his dad. Sage gave up and stood there looking helpless, while the child continued to hang there.

“I swear, none of my children were ever this excitable. I’m finally getting paid back for the hell I caused my parents at his age,” Sage said and looked down.

“There you are, you little devil,” said a voice Dogwood recognized. Snapdragon, Sage’s wife, came strolling up to them. This caused another ear-piercing screech to be emitted from the tiny Pixie, this time in the form of, “MAMA!” He let go of his father, bolted over to his mother, and found a new person to cling to, albeit gently.

Snapdragon was one of the most stunningly beautiful women in the Clan, and everyone wondered how she ended up with Sage. Her hair flowed in a loose wave down her back, thick, and the color of burnt orange. With a petite frame, she stood around eight inches tall. A heart-shaped face that could put fear in the non-existent souls of demons, or put the kindness of a saint to shame, she was one of the most steadfast friends a person could ask for. Eyes in the shape of almonds lent an exotic quality to her face, and were the color of raspberries. She wore a dress like Laurel’s, but hers was the color of her eyes, and it set off her bronzed skin nicely.

She said hello to Dogwood, then turned her eyes to her husband. “Laurel and Snowdrop are trying to save us seats, which is getting difficult with all the people crowding in,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Sage nodded at his wife, then wished Dogwood luck. He and Snapdragon took off into the night with Jonquil. The new recruits thought Sage was a hard-ass, but Goddess forbid they ever meet his wife. With that, Dogwood walked a short distance to one of the archways that led to the coliseum floor.

The noise in the enclosed space was almost deafening as he took his seat. If the layout of the seats corresponded to a compass, Dogwood and the guild leaders would be taking up the southwest, south, and southeast portions. The younger council members were to the west, the older ones the east, and the head council sat at the north. Almost immediately after Dogwood sat down, the head council called the meeting to order. All he had to do was raise one age-spotted hand, and the place fell silent almost instantly.

“Good evening, Hemlock Clan. We have gathered here for our bi-annual meeting to discuss all matters pertaining to the health and prosperity of the Clan. I have one comment before we begin.

“I know many of you are eager to jump to the more entertaining portions, but we will keep with tradition and hear the guild leaders first,” the head council stated, in a voice the boomed through the night. Only a few groans came from the crowd, and even those were barely audible.

The head council was old, but not so old he wasn’t willing to dole out punishment himself to those who deserved it. He was a strong old man who looked like nothing more than a harmless grandfather, but angering him brought out a wrath that was almost beyond comprehension. He had been the head council of the Hemlock Clan for many years, and it was largely due to him that the Clan was so prosperous.

His eyes were a sparkling jade that held a keen intelligence, and an iron will. The hair on his head was white from age, but he still kept it short after the fashion of the Guardians.

Thus the meeting started with the guild leaders, who voiced their concerns about regulations, taxes, and trade. There were not too many complaints, as their Clan was well off and taxes were reasonable. Usually the biggest issue was the restriction on how many apprentices a guild could take from outside or inside the Clan.

As the last guild leader finished, satisfied his issue was resolved, a hum of excitement filled the air—the kind that always held an undercurrent of fear to it. The head council gave a hard look around to those gathered in the coliseum, and the noise level dropped away again. Still, Dogwood’s skin still tingled from the nervous energy of the crowd.

“Dogwood, Captain of the Thorny Guardians, please step up to the podium,” the head council said, and looked at him. Sometimes it was like the head council could see straight through to a person’s soul, and a sudden thrill of fear passed through Dogwood. His tidings would not be welcomed with open arms.

The podium stood in front of the guild leader section, and faced the head council. This way, a person could look straight, right, and left to see all the council members. As Dogwood stepped up to the podium, Nettle stood, and Dogwood felt the urge to grind his teeth.

Nettle’s hair was a light mint green, and he kept it in the long fashion of Pixie men, which meant it was about the length of Snowdrop’s. His eyes were steel blue, just as unyielding as the metal itself, and just as pitiless and cold. Dogwood usually equated his unsavory nature to the fact he was rather short for a Pixie man, only eight inches tall, which caused him to be made fun of much like Snowdrop had been. Of course, trying to blame others for his ruthless nature would be unfair; Snowdrop hadn’t turned out to be an ass, bent on ruthless ambition.

With a face like a sharp-edged triangle, and a long, hooked nose, he could almost be compared to a Goblin in appearance. Though no one would ever say that to his face. Nettle looked at Dogwood, and gave him a feral smile.

“I, as a council member, ask to exercise my right to present my own statements to the head council and those in attendance at meeting—before our dear Captain,” he said, in a voice that further grated away Dogwood’s nerves. It was high, nasally, and haunted Dogwood’s nightmares.

Half the coliseum cheered at the notion while the other half booed. The head council raised his hand, and the room fell silent once again. Giving Dogwood an almost apologetic look, the head council nodded at Nettle to continue. Acting as if triumph was already at hand, Nettle shot Dogwood a smile of pure malice.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the council and the Clan, it has come to my attention that yet another attack on our Clansland occurred last night while we were all resting peacefully in our beds, including most of our so-called Guardians.” A murmur broke out from the crowd, to the delight of Nettle, though it settled down quickly enough as the head council turned the full force of his gaze on them.

“I have long been expressing my concerns to this council about the Beigad threat, and it has time and again fallen on deaf ears. We appear weak when we should appear strong. We have the capability to annihilate the Beigads if we so desired, yet those in charge of our forces wish to sit on their respective swords and do nothing! Why should we, one of the greatest Clans on the east coast, sit back and let our lands be ravished by the idiotic forces of those pigs?”

The crowd was becoming more and more energized at each word. Some in anger about his accusations, with others in agreement with what he was saying. Dogwood felt he would have no teeth by the end of this meeting if he kept grinding them, and tried to relax a little. He could do nothing at the moment but bite his tongue and wait his turn.

“What I propose to you, my fellow Clan members, is to raise your voice in indignation that this has been allowed to go on for as long as it has. Maybe we need to start taking a closer look at those in charge of our well-being, and realize that maybe they don’t keep it as close to their heart as they profess,” Nettle finished, and looked directly at Dogwood. Not only had Nettle implied he did not care about the Clan, but that he also might have some nefarious business with the Beigads, and the comment made his blood boil.

The room exploded into action. Some people were yelling threats at Dogwood, others at Nettle. Some were even fighting each other in coliseum which was expressly forbidden. Then the head council did something he had not needed to in a long time.

When a person rises to head council, they are granted a certain amount of power that comes with the position. One of the powers allowed them to clap their hands and emit a small concussive force, like someone having all the wind knocked out of them. Dogwood braced for the impact before it happened, but it still knocked him for a loop when the head council brought his hands together. It caused everyone to cease what they were doing and catch their breath. The head council was supremely displeased. While Nettle, trying to regain his own breath, was like the cat who ate the canary.

“This behavior will not be tolerated, especially when you call yourselves adults,” the head council said to the assembled Clan, who were all a little embarrassed at needing to be scolded. The head council turned to Nettle, but even the hard look the head council gave him could not fully wipe the grin from his face.

“Your words have been heard, council member, sit down so that the Captain may speak.”

With that, Nettle went to sit among his fellow council members.

Dogwood cleared his throat. “It is true we were once again attacked in the dead of night. Measures have already been taken to ensure it will not happen again. Additional night shifts were posted this afternoon, and are to start immediately,” Dogwood said. This got some reassured murmurs from the crowd, though the majority of them were still angry, so Dogwood continued.

“I would like to remind all of you what the cost of going to war with the Beigads would be. Not just the lives of Guardians, who are brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, children, or friends to just about everyone here. It will also cause the taxes to rise, to help fund the war. Not only does our magic work poorly against their tough skin, but they are roughly seven to ten times our size, and easily more than that in weight.”

The effect of his words on the crowd was instantaneous, and at the announcement of raised taxes many of them quieted down. No matter what race a person was a part of, they did not appreciate their hard-earned money taken from them.

“I am not saying we should not come up with a plan to combat the attacks. I will agree on that. But outright warfare would be a huge mistake, and it would also draw attention from the human Rangers. Nobody here wants humans poking around in Pixie business,” Dogwood said. He tried to gauge the reaction of the crowd, but it was still split down the middle.

“Despite what others think, who have never been through a war, held their best friend while they died, or seen their Clansland ravaged to the point where not even weeds would grow, I do have the best interests of this Clan at heart. If there is only one thing to know about me, know that much at least. Maybe the people we actually need to look at are the ones who want us to experience the ravages of war, over finding a better option,” Dogwood said, and stared right back at Nettle.

Nettle jumped to his feet, as if he could see his words sliding out of their minds. “Let us take it to a vote then,” he said, and glared at Dogwood. Just like it had at the last meeting, the vote of the council split down the middle, and the mood of the crowd became uneasy. Everyone wanted a solution to the problem, but they did not want to see their family members and friends killed, or their money taken away.

“Well, head council, what do you have to say on this matter?” asked one of the elder council members. The entire Clan turned their attention to the head council, and it was so quiet it seemed as if everyone was holding their breath.

Standing up, the head council stood taller than most at fourteen inches tall. He looked around at those gathered there, and finally spoke.

“I agree with both sides,” he said. The room once again became noisy, with Nettle as the noisiest.

“You cannot agree with both sides! It is either one or the other!” Nettle exclaimed. When he turned his head to look at Nettle, the head council silenced everyone, including him, with a scathing look.

“I can agree with both sides, if it is not our Clan who goes to war. I propose that we ask for the help of an outsider. Many of you have heard of him, or seen him around. I propose that we send an envoy to Sorren, the vervloekt,” the head council said.

There was an uneasy murmur in the crowd. Sorren was well known on the Great Smokey Mountain Reserve, and he had been here for longer then even the oldest beings could remember. A vervloakt was a cursed Supe.

Sorren was a were-snow leopard who, according to the stories, had been cursed to remain in his shifted form for eternity by an enchantress. He had spurned her love in favor of his mate’s, and when he killed the enchantress for what she had done he sealed his fate. No one knew what happened to his mate, and no one ever dared to ask.

“Why should we call on an outsider, who will want payment, to take care of a Pixie problem?” Nettle asked, and a few people cheered. It seemed to Dogwood, though, that Nettle’s support group had shrunk. By the look on his face, Nettle realized it as well.

“A one-time payment sounds better to me than a possibly years-long tax spike,” said Wood-Sorrel, Captain of the Thistle Guardians. When Dogwood looked back at him, Wood-Sorrel gave him a quick wink.

“Let us take it to a vote then,” Dogwood said, and mimicked Nettle from earlier. Nettle shot him an acidic look that Dogwood reveled in, though Dogwood knew it was petty. Some things were just too satisfying to pass up on.

“All in favor of contracting Sorren to take care of the Beigad problem, raise your hand,” the head council said. Two of the elder council members raised their hands, which meant that only three of the younger ones had to raise their hands to pass. When he looked over, Dogwood let out a cheer in his mind: four hands were raised among the younger council.

While Dogwood may not be in favor of airing the Clan’s dirty business to an outsider, he was in favor of having no Pixies die.

“It is settled then. Tomorrow, the Captains of the Thorny and Thistle Guardians will accompany my private advisor to negotiate a contract with Sorren. I believe that concludes the Clan business for the evening. Fare thee well, and good night to the Hemlock Clan,” the head council said. As he stood, every Pixie in the room stood with him.

Once the head council left, the rest of the Clan filed out of the coliseum. Dogwood looked past the streaming crowd, and saw Nettle shooting daggers from his eyes in his direction. If looks could kill, Dogwood knew he would have been dead ten times over, possibly more, that night.

He didn’t let it bother him too much, though, and Dogwood exited the tree to find his friends and daughter. They would be bursting to talk with him, and for once he could almost look forward to the conversation. Maybe the Clan finally found a solution that would work, and not cost them countless lives. If that wasn’t something to be happy about, Dogwood didn’t know what would be.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Final Chapter