ORIGIN

Hawthorne was... well. He didn't know what to feel, really. He lay stiffly in the hollow his mother had created, snuggled closer to his sister than the doe, seemingly stuck between wanting to give in to the comfort of his family and wanting to flee, terrified by that same lurking glow he'd seen as an infant, something warning him to hide, to call for help. The buck inched his head over one of Clover's front legs, gaze stuck on his father, purr soft and dwindling.

But the story. The story kept him still, rooted to the spot by fascination, golden eye blinking sleepily as he pictured it all unfolding in his mind. His fur had risen from the itching unrest he felt, being so close to his father's Lost Queen, someone even a Knight so powerful as Bartos felt in fear of. That same fear made him poof up, until he looked almost twice his size - and ridiculous to boot, like a cotton ball with hooves. Clover's words trailed off, and Hawthorne took the moment to memorize all he'd heard so far, desperate to hold onto at least this piece of his mother.

Rumbling out a rough mewling purr, he turned his head to bump it against Wisteria's shoulder, half comforting her and half himself. She was the Hero, that he knew - but could Heros protect family against family? Hawthorne knew his place, the sidekick, helping his sister, but right now he felt like more of a burden than a help, unable to speak, much less stand up to any monsters or villains. So he lay, stiff as a board, and tried to enjoy the moment for the reprieve it was supposed to be.

And just like that, someone came and interrupted her before she could end her story, and they plopped down and raised a brow and criticised her story, and, looking at him, her blood went cold. This was...the child Belladonna had made with Vazi, that she had made, trapped in her own body, and he was...just as lovely as Bella had promised.

Bella, in her prison, screamed, rattling the cages, burning her hands against the bars, yelling a the top of her lungs to be let out to talk to him, and Clover covered the prison so that she couldn't hear her anymore.

She licked her lips, looking from the pure white child to her lovely twins, and her heartbeat sped up.

Bartos, She said through the bond. You need to come and collect the children.

And to Kingsfoil....she reached out to him, attempting to speak into his mind to save her lovely children from any undue pain.

Clearly, with all the focus she could muster, she spoke into King's mind.

Kingsfoil. She said, as clear as day, looking straight at him without moving her mouth. You will leave these two children alone and you will not speak to them or so help me I will find a way to kill a god.

She knew his heart, she knew who his parents were, she knew his was prideful and sick inside just like Belladonna, and in reflex, to protect her children, she sent Kingsfoil all the images her imagination could procure; Her ripping his tongue from his mouth, her cutting away his legs with her magic, her stabbing him over and over and over.

She had no love for this child. If he would dare to touch Bartos' children, she would murder him.

All this she sent with the calmest expression, her eye half-lidded, and then she turned to the twins with a kind and patient smile, waiting for Bartos to come.

"This is how I speak."

Wist looked at the newcomer with his pretty white coat and his golden eyes and his golden numbs and her mouth opened a little bit. Wow! He was lovely and confident and he looked like he was their age! She didn't know about the fire and darkness bit, that seemed a little bit... wrong? To wake up the prince the princess was singing to unlock the coffin, and that made total and complete sense to her. Fire and fighting wouldn't get him to wake up! But she admired his way of thinking all the same! It was very brave.

"Mama!" She said tentatively, her voice full of childish wonder. "Is this the prince from the story?"

Their lovely mama looked at her with a kind and patient smile and said, "Wist, Hawthorne, this is Kingsfoil." She paused for a long second. "Your half-brother."

Wist's mouth opened wide, and she looked at the pretty young fawn. "Wha-really?" She blinked and fluttered her eyelashes and smiled at him. "Well, it's lovely to meet you, Kingsfoil."

Unfortunately, fortune favors the the brave, not the so-desperately-uncomfortable-they're-about-to-cry. A stranger had waltzed up and dropped down right beside he and his sister, and Hawthorne's fur rose in an instant, until he looked huge - with comically tiny legs. A wide golden eye watched the white buck, twitching, and he lasted about a moment of sheer frozen fright before letting out a panicked bleat and flailing backward, rolling and scrambling until he ended up behind Wisteria, shielded from both his mother and his... half-brother?

His eye narrowed in mistrust, chin resting on Wisteria's back, legs and tail folded up under his belly. "I-if h-he's our b-brother, w-why haven't w-we seen 'im before?" The suspicious gaze roved to Clover, and he hid just a bit more behind his trusted sister, everything but his nose, eyes and ears invisible beyond her pelt. Kingsfoil looked... important. And intimidating. But he had a crown - only good guys had crowns, right? Floppy ears twitching backwards, Hawthorne simply sat in a solid, anxious lump, nerves running wild.

He just wanted his dad.

From the den he had kept a watchful eye on the small gathering; he'd monitored his children from the moment they left the den, watching each step they took as they moved to join Clover under her blanket of stories. From the mouth of the rock, he had reclined onto his stomach but had elevated his head, observantly noting every change in expression between his children and their mother, radar ears rotating and twitching, searching for words above the air. She had always been soft spoken, but it wasn't as if she was trying to hide her story, and every now and then he used their bond to extend even further into the connection between them and reach for the story as it drove its way through her mind. It wasn't the only thing he was on the lookout for; he sought twinges, flickers, where the light would ripple as though something had passed in front of it.

He had his magic at the ready. He loved her, her innocence, her purity; and those parts of her that he had fallen in love with, they made up the children folded before her. He had to preserve them, he would not let them be tainted too, and so each time she hesitated or stared somewhere else or lowered her voice he was seconds from springing into action, until she lifted her light to him and Bartos was anchored to the ground. It made him wonder, truly wonder, if he could have acted if she did do anything. If he was made a fool for trusting her. If he was weak, for not being able to fight back.

The cat folded his ears back, his eyelids had fallen half closed, but he was still watching. It was tempting to fall into the comfort of the norm, to wander over and join them in their story time. He entertained the thought, even, until another creature had approached. Bartos blinked, watching the pristine fawn strut towards the group, furrowing his brow. Another few seconds elapsed as he attempted to recognize the creature, and his nerves were on high for how close the child was coming, until his bratty voice delivered an unwelcome interruption to her story. He curled his lip slightly, but when he felt that brief spark of malice stirring inside of Clover, that was when he had risen to his paws.

Then she looked to him. The same look with which she had seduced him so many times before, that very same that stilled his heart and made him lost. Bartos' hardened gaze had inevitably softened, but he knew what she was requesting of him. "Hawthorne, Wisteria." The cat called out in his approach, moving slow enough to prevent undue stress to his leg, but brisk enough to convey intent, his tail snaking high above his back. "Leon has asked me to do a presentation on the constellations of Orion." The cat sent a humored look to his children. "I thought you guys might have fun baubling some stars for me." He had found refuge in his observations with Quintus lately, and the children's penchance for light magic would come in handy, besides serving as a distraction from this... false king. Bartos had barely snuck a glance towards Kingsfoil, though he knew beholding the child would only give him anger. Most of his attention lingered on his children.

Otherwise, he didn't wait long for a response. The cat meandered towards them, cutting in between them, Clover and Kingsfoil, gently licking their foreheads before heading towards the lagoon near the waterfall and expecting them to follow.

Wist just sat there, protecting her brother with a smile, and she quickly turned to peck a kiss on his forehead before looking back on her newfound brother and her mother and now, her father that came up to them both, calling them. She rose with a gentle grace, and she bowed to both Clover and King before softly telling her scared brother, "Come on, Thorne, we have to go."

As a goodbye, she said, "I hope we can see you again soon, brother! Goodbye, Mama. We'll be back soon, I do hope."

And she nudged the stiff and scared Hawthorne to move, and she left with Bartos and Thorne with a light and happy step.

She would get the rest of the story later, she thought. There was always time for a story. And she would catch up with their new, long-lost half-brother later. Oh, the adventures he must've had!
[exit Wist]

Speak of the devil and he will appear - and it seemed the same could be said for his father, who called out to save them both from the strange "brother" and Hawthorne himself from the abject horror of suffering through so much tension. Skittering to his feet, kiss from Wisteria warming his forehead and making him just a bit more bold, the buck huffed at her grace, trying to resist a petulant roll of his eyes.

"Y-yeah, b-bye, mom," he mumbled, floppy ears hiding his eye and his gem from sight as he trotted to Bartos' side with palpable relief, not bothering to stop the low, happy purr at the cat's easy affection, so unlike the stilted, constricting feel that seemed to creep into his every interaction with the white doe. "Ooh, I-I wanna m-make some s-stars! W-Wist, c'mon, w-we got stuff to do," he bleated, just a little bit of childish temper heating his words, steps speeding tap just ahead of the tiny group, more than happy to get away from both deer as quickly as possible, anxiety fading by the foot.

[ exit Hawthorne ]