The Lord of Roses: Four

Brigid awakens in a strange place

Brigid dreamt she was flying. Wind rushed by her ears as she flew up and over the clouds. The smell of the forest gave way to the crisp chill of snow and ice. She could almost taste snowflakes on her tongue. All the while she could hear the buzzing of thousands of little wingbeats. It sounded like a great chorus of dragonflies. Large hands held her to a chest which rumbled with powerful breaths and a powerful heartbeat. In. Out. In. Out.

            She woke with a shuddering breath. Somewhere birds were singing. A warm breeze filled the air. Brigid sat up, patting her body hurriedly. She was still dressed in her traveling gear, thin layer of dirt and everything. She remembered the bells, the fog, everyone falling asleep, Judith slipping out of her hands, the eyes of a terrible beast and an army of creatures. It all felt like a terrible nightmare. I wanted to sleep, she remembered. Is this a dream? Am I dead?

She gazed around. She was in a bedroom, and a very nice one at that. The walls were grey stone with clean wooden floors. A small fireplace sat unlit in the wall. Her bed was large and covered in clean white sheets. A large cabinet with elaborate tree-like designs carved into the wood stood against the far wall. The window was cracked open, and large red curtains fluttered in waves. All around, trailing up the molding and around the pillars in the walls was filled with elaborate carvings. They depicted strange creatures dancing and playing instruments, bestial things with snarling faces, trees with wizened old faces. Beside her bed was a small table with a small vase with a single rose inside. Beside the vase sat a small folded piece of paper.

She crawled out of bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor. That much is real, she noted. She opened the note and read it.

            Dearest guest,

            When you awake, I implore you to meet me in the dining room. It is just down the hall to your left, then down the stairs. I will see you there.

            --Yours, T.L.

            Brigid wrinkled her nose in confusion. What the hell was this? She crumpled the note and threw it out the window. Like you’re going to fool me, she thought. Kidnapping me from my family and thinking I’ll just fall for your tricks. She looked out the window and scanned around. She was on the second floor of wherever this was. There was a large courtyard filled with many flower bushes and green trees. The drop was steep. Could I make a rope? Or will I be dead before then?

            Our you could just go and see what happens, another thought told her. “But that’s stupid,” She said aloud. “That’s what they’d want.” Faeire Folk enjoyed their little games, leaving lotus seeds and playing their lutes to lure pets and children away to be enslaved or eaten. Misdirection and trickery were their tools to hide their savagery. Those were the stories that Brigid was inclined to believe, especially the ones coming from Gwyn. She’d encountered more of those creatures to know. Then I’ll have to be smarter, Brigid decided. She began searching the room for a possible weapon. Even a small bludgeoning tool would suffice. The most she found was a heavy candelabra. She tried breaking a piece off to no avail. She growled in frustration. If there’s a dining room, she suddenly realized, then there’s utensils. And a knife could be useful.

            She cracked the door. The hallways were dim despite the time of day. As she walked into the hall, a hanging light blazed to life about her. It was a lantern made of three globes. Within the lanterns buzzed tiny glowing insects which illuminated the area like any torch. Brigid made her way down the hall to the left, as the note said. She passed by more rooms like her own, all nicely furnished and clean. Her feet were cold against the marble floor. Her footsteps echoed through the seemingly empty halls. She descended the sloping staircase to a massive foyer. The room held a giant stained-glass window painted with the same strange long-eared creatures she’d seen in the carvings in her room. The light of the sun cast the room in vivid colors, bright reds and greens of a great configuration of roses which dotted the window’s design. After a quick look around, she found a room with two massive tables and a large bulb-chandelier. She headed through the threshold and took a seat at the end of one of the tables. There were no knives to steal. The dining room too was disgustingly opulent. the owner could afford marble flooring and gild and stained glass in as many places as they could manage. It reminded Brigid of being in a Geordian church. The architecture seemed all too eager to impress its viewers.

            A soft breeze which smelled of roses and honeysuckle wafted her hair. With it carried tiny twittering voices and tiny flitting wingbeats. She shut her eyes and inhaled the scent, savoring it. She reopened her eyes in time to see little creatures slowly descending from the ceiling rafters in large clouds. She braced herself against the chair in shock as one of the swarms grew closer. A creature broke from the swarm and looked at her curiously. It resembled a small human, but with a tiny bird’s head dotted with six eyes: on each side, one large eye with two smaller beady eyes. Six arms ending in tiny hands stuck out from its lean body with shining wings flapping quickly like a hummingbird’s, their noise silvery and quiet. It cocked its head, narrowing its large eyes at Brigid before rejoining the swarm. The creatures carried napkins and plates through the air, setting them down in front of Brigid and on an opposite side of the table. Brigid eyed a polished fork being laid beside her plate.

            Heavy footsteps filled the air. Terror seized Brigid’s heart. She impulsively took the fork and hid it in her pocket.

            From the dim hallway stalked a large, hunchbacked figure. The creature was as broad as it was wide, a massive red cloak covering its shoulders. It walked on large hoof-like feet, with large powerful legs ending in two-toed digits. The thing’s face was long and solemn and strange, with the flattened nose and long ears of a deer with the sharp stately features of a man. Large horns curled from his forehead. Braided golden hair spiraled down from his head and face in shining rivers. His massive nostrils flaring, he stood before Brigid, height great and imposing. His bright green eyes regarded her coolly. Brigid braced herself against her seat.

            A slight smile broke the corner of the creature’s lips. “If you were planning to kill me, there are better ways than forking me to death.”

            Brigid blinked, at a complete loss for words.

            “Where are my manners? Let me introduce myself.” The creature kneeled, bowing so that his braided hair touched the ground. His voice was gentle and soothing. “I am Tamas Layne, Ard of Eostere and master of this house.” He stood. “What is your name?”

            Brigid swallowed. “B�"Brigid.” She said in a small voice.

“Well met, Brigid.” Tamas replied, politely extending a hand. The pads of his fingers and palm were black and rough like an animal’s paw. His fingernails were long and sharp.

Brigid just stared at the outstretched hand. “I want to go home.”

Tamas withdrew his hand. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Brigid demanded. Her voice was strained, her throat feeling tight.

Tamas sighed and cleared his throat. “The Law of Tithe states that when a life is taken, the responsible party must repay that life with an action deemed equal by the offended party.” He stated it in a detached manner akin to a priest quoting an opportune verse for effect. “Since you confessed, you are the tithe.”

“For a little gold charm?”

“The charm was in your possession, was it not?”

Brigid nodded.

“That means you were present during the death of my soldier.”

“Yes, but I didn’t kill him! It was a Nightmaer!”

“And yet you took the charm from it?” Tamas raised a thick eyebrow.

“I did, but what does that�"”

“Then you should’ve known not to take it then.” Tamas cut her off. “The last thing a human should do is take anything from the Faeire Folk, least of a member of the Court of Eostere. You may not be a murderer, but you did steal from me. I’d wager that’s worth repaying.”

“You�"you can’t do this�"” Brigid began shaking her head and stood. “I can’t be your prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“You kidnapped me, you Faeire b*****d!” Brigid finally exploded. “Here, I stole something else from you!” She brandished her fork. “Go ahead, punish me for that then!” She hurled it at Tamas’ chest. It bounced harmlessly off him and clattered to the floor.

“I did take you from your home, yes. I am deeply regretful of that. But you did commit theft. And you admitted to it.” Tamas said acutely. “However, I’m not here to punish you.” He strode over to the dropped fork and carefully plucked it from the ground. He examined it, the held it to the air as a tiny flying creature took it away. “I wish to be open with you about this. If we could discuss it over breakfast, that would be excellent.”

He motioned to the table. The settings at opposite sides of the table were now filled with plates of fresh bread streaked with jam, nuts, eggs, and ripe succulent fruits. It seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The smells were now enveloping Brigid’s senses. She just realized she hadn’t had a meal that didn’t involve crushed cabbage and stringy venison in nearly seven years. Her mouth began to water. She licked her lips as she eyed the table hungrily. Her eyes flitted from the table, then to Tamas. The sudden growling in her stomach was almost enough to drown on her consternation. But not quite.

Brigid gorged herself. Whatever she got her hands on she consumed with savagery and abandon. A polished glass decanter of orange juice disappeared along with three pieces of bread within seconds of each other, followed by an orange hastily peeled and an entire vine of fat purple grapes. It all felt so good to eat. Fresh food more than she and her family could have dreamed of in a week. No more going days without eating because their spending money was depleted by a fallen roof or more ringweed for Judith or mending boots. She might as well indulge herself while she was here, even though she wanted to pelt the creature across the table with her food. She even remembered to pocket a slice of bread just in case something unexpected happened.

“I should have ordered more bread.” Tamas said. His fork held a single piece of egg white. “I haven’t even touched my food.”

Brigid looked up from her feasting. She brushed a mote of jam from her lip. Her eyes burned into him, swallowing her last mouthful of food with contempt.

            “I trust you are ready to discuss the arrangement?” Tamas ate the egg off his fork.

            “There is no arrangement.” Brigid said coldly.

            “Regrettably, there is. But as I said, I wish to be open with you.” Tamas steepled his fingers. “You are to remain here in Dunmar House until you have fulfilled your duty. Otherwise you are a guest and member of my court with my full protection and privilege to roam wherever you choose on the grounds. I will never attempt to control your actions through any form of sorcery. I nor anyone in my court will lie to you. It is not in our nature.”

            “Great,” Brigid sneered, leaning back into her chair.

            “As I said, you can wander the halls and grounds freely if you so desire. And if you need anything at all, just ask and I will provide.”

            “Anything,” Brigid said, narrowing her eyes. “I want a bow and arrows. And a target dummy. I like to shoot.”

            “It shall be done. But you must promise you will not turn it on me or any of my subjects.”

            “Fine, I won’t,” Brigid said begrudgingly.

            “Anything else you want?” Tamas said with a smile, propping his chin on his fist.

            “I want some new boots. And a softer pillow for my bed. And a ring that charm I stole. I like pretty things, as you can see,” She snarled.

            “Done. Anything else?”

            Brigid was about to make a ridiculous demand for bright green and blue curtains with giant flowers sewn into them, then Judith flashed into her mind. “What happens to my family and my village?”

            “My Ivormeth spriggan will do some simple dreamweave work on them. To your fellow humans, you’ve simply gone on a trip that you’ll be back from someday. As for the rest of the village, we were never there. A fitting alternative for the weak-willed, if you ask me.”

“I want them taken care of. I want them to never starve, to live somewhere better and for my cousin to never have to leave my sister again. Can you manage that?”

            “Of course I can.”

            Brigid grunted semi-approvingly. “Fine. Then what’s this request you ask of me?”

            “I simply ask that you love me.” Tamas said with utmost sincerity.

            Brigid sat staring at the Faeire creature. Tamas sat patiently with his hands clasped together, awaiting her response.

Brigid began to laugh. It started in her belly, shaking her entire body in little fits and starts before travelling up her throat until finally it could be contained no longer and burst forth in great rolling peals. The laughs echoed off the cavernous walls of the dining hall. Brigid always felt her laugh was high-pitched like a particularly annoying bird, so she felt it was appropriate to express exactly how she felt. She held her chest as she tried to catch her breath to no avail. The idea was so funny it was impossible to regain composure. Meanwhile Tamas patiently waited for her to stop. Finally she calmed herself enough to stop, the laughter finally subsiding. She took a breath, sighing with relief. “You are deluded if you think I’ll ever love you.” Brigid spat. She pushed herself from the table and stood up. “Are we done? I’m going back to my room.”

            “Now there are no secrets between us.” Tamas declared.

            “Wonderful.” Brigid gave a sour mock smile and turned to leave the dining hall.

            “I request that you have dinner with me one night.” Tamas called after her.

            Brigid answered with a middle finger in full view of the Faeire lord as she strode quickly out of the room.

 

            That goat-headed b*****d, Brigid thought over and over as she stomped barefoot through the halls. She didn’t want to go back to her room. She was now too restless and needed to clear her head somehow. When this would happen, she would go out walking by herself. Maybe she’d accidentally get into a scrap, but that rarely happened. Of course when some drunkard at the bar got a little too friendly or a soldier thought she was a prostitute, she acquainted their face with her fist or their balls with her hands. It was men’s weakness, that sensitive area. That must’ve been one of the reasons they were called the family jewels. When a fight wasn’t in the cards, she tried to put as much distance between the emotion and the situation which caused it until she could bear to return home. It was most often when she would argue with Gwyn, or the few times she argued with Judith. Those were especially painful. Brigid was gone a long time after those.

            Her wanderings took her through many opulent halls filled with elaborately carved stone pillars and marble floors. There were rooms filled with strangely shaped but immaculately made furniture set with gleaming green material which appeared like jade. All the walls were drawn with similarly detailed pictures of warriors and monsters as in her room, with gold and precious stones weaved set in the stone. There was a room with solemn busts of long eared creatures carved from shining marble. Another room was filled with shining suits of armor arranged like regimented guards; elegantly crafted weapons readied. In the rafters, the tiny creatures watched from the dark corners of the ceiling. Their little shining eyes eyed her curiously, along with other skittering things in the dark which she couldn’t make out. Her bare feet slapped hard against cold stone, further underscoring her solitude. This is probably all a lie, she thought as she walked outside into the late summer air into a small garden. They’re going to eat me in my sleep and I’ll be none the wiser. Or I’ll be turned into the monster’s concubine. She found a bench by a small pool with tiny shining fish swimming beneath large lily pads. She sat down in a huff. In the pool, the frustrated scarred face of a young woman stared back at Brigid. She ran her fingers through her hair. She stared into her hands. Her fingernails were chewed to the roots and covered in dirt and her cuticles were red and raw. Hands of a peasant, she thought. The hands of nothing of worth. She closed her hands. I failed you. Jude. Gwyn. Like I fail everyone.

            “Those are sliverfish, if you didn’t know,” A bright voice sounded from behind her. “From the Court of Teene.” Brigid turned to see a tall figure tending to a hedge in the garden. He was dressed in dirty working clothes and wore no shoes on his hooved feet. He wore a wide brimmed hat which did not conceal his long white ears. At his side was a green-stained machete. “You need special gloves to handle them. Their scales are like little daggers, and they bite. Nasty creatures, but very beautiful.” The gardener removed his hat to reveal a white skinned face with a flat nose and shining bar-pupiled eyes. His face was pockmarked with tiny glowing spots with strange elaborate markings trailing down his neck under his clothes. His long black hair was wrapped in a bun. He wore a friendly smile. “You must be the new human the spriggan and baby Weavers were talking about.” He strode over to the bench.

            “I’m popular, am I?” Brigid said glumly. “Great.”

            “Gotta say, you look very different in person. Not as scary as everyone else said. I heard you had scars. I was expecting a lot more!” He laughed.

            “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

            “Not at all. Welcome to House Dunmar, by the way. I am called Robyn.” He took off his dirty glove to reveal a mechanical hand made of silver. It clicked and whirred as it stretched in anticipation.

            Brigid’s eyes widened in surprise. She held out her hand but hesitated to grab it.

            “It’s okay. I fixed it yesterday. It won’t do anything funny.” Robyn assured.

            Brigid took the metal hand and shook. It was cool to the touch. She released the hand. It clicked again as it readjusted to a neutral position. “What do you do?”

            “A little bit of everything. Gardening, cleaning, the odd engineering feat if need be. I come from a family of forgers, but I was always more of a tinkerer. That’s how I designed this baby.” He wiggled his mechanical fingers proudly. “Articulation’s not quite what I wanted, but no one said replicating a Tuatha hand was easy.”

            “That’s what you’re called? Tuatha?”

            “If you prefer generalizations, Faeire Folk works fine. But I’d prefer the proper terms,” Rubyn answered, motioning to himself. “All the creatures that live in the woods and hills, those are called the Slyvan.”

            “And what about animals? Are they considered Folk?”

            “That depends. I don’t know the language of deer so I can’t say. I bet someone here does.”

            “Slyvan and Tuatha.” Brigid processed the information for a moment. “I didn’t know you were so distinct.”

            “Well it pays to keep an open mind, right? Many kinds of rocks, plants and breezes. Many kinds of Faeire Folk.” Robyn shrugged. “Do all humans look like you?”

            “No,” Brigid replied indignantly. “That’s ridiculous.”

            “My point exactly. Though a damn shame. They wouldn’t be half bad looking.” Robyn said with a wink.

            Brigid laughed drily. “Are all Faeire Folk so disgustingly polite?”

            “Not all. Just me. And Tamas when he’s feeling up to it.” The mirth fell out of Robyn’s eyes for a moment before returning. “Anyway, is there something you need? Any advice a humble gardener-tinkerer could provide?”

            “Where am I, exactly? That thing�"Tamas�"wasn’t too clear on that.”

            “This is the kingdom of Eostere, just north of the Fissure and southernmost of all the realms.”

            “And we’re in Dunmar House. He told me that much.” Brigid scratched her head. “How far did we travel? It’s a week’s trek from my village to the wall. Last time I heard, no one who’s been so far north has lived to come back.”

            Robyn wrinkled his brow. “One week to the wall, then here,” He rubbed his chin, counting off his four fingered hands. “I’d say on foot it’d be about another week, a week and a half at worst.”

            “Two weeks? But it happened yesterday!” Brigid exclaimed.

            “Having power over the wind can do that. And swarms of spriggan can make travel very quick. Though you were out cold for a few days when they came back. Still, I’d say we were gone for a day, maybe less.” Robyn said as he nonchalantly slipped his glove back on his silver hand. “Definitely helps avoid the Nightmaers and patrols.”

            Brigid’s ears perked up. “Nightmaers? I thought they came from these lands. Why are you afraid of them?”

            “They do, but�"” Robyn rubbed the back of his head as his long ears slid downward. “Ehh, I’d rather not say. It’s complicated. I don’t want to trouble you after what you’ve been through.” His face became a mask of pleasantry. “There’s a few more courtyards that need my help. I should be off. It was very pleasant meeting you, Miss.” Robyn bowed deeply and walked away down one of the halls.

            Brigid sat alone on the bench puzzling over his words. What could a Faeire creature be afraid of? She thought. Then another thought crossed her mind. “Excuse me…Robyn? I have one more question.” She called down the hall.

            One pattering of hooves later, Robyn appeared again. “Yes?”

            “How do you get out of here, exactly?”

 

            What started as a simple request turned into a lengthy information session. Presently they were at the northern wing, where all the “glittery old bits” of the palace ancestry as Robyn charitably put it lay. At the east was the entrance hall. To the south facing the forest was the royal garden and Great Conservatory. At the center of the palace was the Wellspring. To the west wing lay the Grand Ballroom.

            “A ballroom,” Brigid repeated.

            “Is that surprising?” Robyn said, raising an eyebrow.

            “No, I just thought that only snotty noblemen and women held balls.”

            “Well, such occasions are open to anyone who wish to join, as far as Tamas is concerned. But parties are not exactly on our minds as of late. There’s too much to do, preparing for Harvest Night. And you coming just complicates things further.”

            “Is that a ritual or something?”

            “Only the most important custom here. It’s a celebration of the changing of the seasons. Don’t you have such things where you come from?”

            Brigid rolled her eyes. “We have Geordian’s Walk, if reciting miserable verse in mid-winter for two weeks is somehow ‘holy’ and ‘good for the soul’”. Then Geordian’s Rise, where we’re supposed to exchange gifts.”

            “Yes, I’ve heard of that odd religion of yours. Geordian was that man covered in molten gold?”

            “Something like that. I never paid attention to church.”

            “Hm. Very strange.” Robyn shrugged.

            As Robyn explained, the two walked from the north hall to the south. As they trekked, Brigid found herself gazing all around her and taking in the sheer scale of the halls. The walls were high with shafts of light peering limply through small windows in the ceiling. Large trees were planted in beds of dirt which lined the floors, with giant roots worming their way through and kicking up the stone of the floor. More elaborate carvings and paintings covered the walls. Moss and vines crawled throughout each nook and cranny, but their growths seemed purposeful and guided. They were not invading the building, but rather growing with it. Over various doorways and on pillars was the same rose design which was carved into the charm. A family crest, no doubt. A rose, she thought. How sappy.

            Their journey finally ended at the southern wing, or the Great Conservatory as Robyn had mentioned earlier. “In case you ever get lost, just take this and blow into it,” Robyn relinquished a small flute no longer than Brigid’s finger from his pocket. “It’ll call the spriggans and they’ll lead you back to your room, or anywhere else you need. Just make sure to give them something in return once and a while.”

            “Like what?”

            “You can always ask them yourself.” Robyn ventured. “Though food is always a great option. Raw meat’s a favorite. Though…” He tapped his chin pensively. “Say, do you have any teeth you’ve lost recently? They go crazy for those.”

            “I think I understand. Thank you.” Brigid cut him off as her stomach turned at the thought.

            “Right! Anyhow, I’ll get back to work!” Robyn saluted her as he marched away.

            “Wait,” Brigid called after him. Robyn spun around, his long ears perking up. “One more question. Why the tour? Why the niceties? You’re all awfully cordial for child-stealing creatures.”

            “That’s what they say about us?” Robyn’s eyes popped in surprise. “Cerridwen’s breath, I didn’t realize that hospitality was a foreign concept in the south.”

            “I don’t know, I think I have a reason to ask considering I was kidnapped,” Brigid sneered under her breath.

            “Kidnapping implies wrongdoing. You did steal from us, remember.” Robyn remarked, raising a silver finger. “We’re abiding by standards here. But we’re not monsters. A pity that humans have forgotten such things. Then again, your short lifespans don’t afford you much memory, do they?”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Robyn shrugged. “Only an observation. 1500 years and your kind have reduced us to mere savages in your songs. Disappointing, if you ask me.” He shook his head, long black hair wafting like leaves. “Whistle if you need anything,” Robyn said twirling a finger as he turned heel and left the room.

           

            Brigid turned and beheld large high glass windows rose to a great domed ceiling. Shafts of sunlight sent shimmering prismatic rainbows on the ground. Bulbous lanterns swung gently from the ceiling on long chains. Ornately woven tapestries hung as well. They were hexagonal with small tassels trailing just above the floor. One of them depicted a great writhing mass in a pit of fire while three figures wreathed in light stood high above. Another depicted a map of the entire country of Coornan with two distinct halves: The south, and the north being divided into six separate pieces of different colors, then another mass far to the north. Each section had a symbol associated with it: A red rose surrounded by green leaves; an orange autumn leaf suspended in a plume of flame; a purple eye within a blue moon; a white wolf surrounded by silver mountains; a green serpent within a blue whirpool; and far to the north was a black crow with burning red eyes surrounded by a strange spiraling red pattern. Brigid approached the tapestry and gently brushed her fingers over it, feeling each weaved thread. The craftsmanship was impeccable and so detailed. Up close, she could make out individual figures in the weave. There were human forms in the southern region of the tapestry as well as strange long eared creatures�"Tuatha�"and all manner of strange beasts which occupied the northern regions of the tapestry. Human hands could not have made something so beautiful.

            “Impressed?” A familiar voice asked behind Brigid. She turned to see Tamas stalking into the Conservatory, hands behind his back. His long goatish face wore a small smug smile. “Wonderful crafters, those Araingnea. Such fine work in everything they do.”

            “What is that, Faeire for seamstress or something?”

            “Your kind call them Weavers. I think that sells them a bit short, don’t you think?” Tamas walked deliberately past Brigid to the tapestry. He towered over her, his shadow covering her for a moment. Gently, Tamas twirled the tassel in his clawed hands. “Their silk the most durable in the land. It can be used in almost anything, is very hard to tear and can even heal wounds. And, if need arises, can be spun into tapestry.”

            “A giant spider did this.” Brigid said in disbelief.

            “Really, you of all people shouldn’t be doubting your senses right now. I promised I would never lie to you.” Tamas let go of the tassel. “And “giant spider” is a bit of an ignorant way to refer to such miracle workers, Madam.”

            “Then what do I call them, then?” Brigid asked sarcastically.

            “Well, when you meet one, you can ask them.”

            Testy goat, Brigid thought. “Were you following me?”

            “Why would I do that? You simply walked into my studio. I was going to begin painting. You’re welcome to stay if you desire. The extra company would be most appreciated.”

            “Did you forget my first response to one of your requests?” Brigid said, annoyed.

            “I did!” Tamas replied brightly. “It was this, I think!” He turned up a middle finger with a big smile. “A very charming notion. I’ve never seen this expression before. Is it a greeting?” He turned his upturned finger around, inspecting it curiously.

            Brigid glowered at him. “The finger means to go straight up your stupid goat a*s.”

            Tamas chuckled heartily, his smile widening into a fanged grin. “I’m aware of the expression. You should’ve seen the look on your face, honestly. Tuatha have our own if you want to know it.” Tamas curled his thumb and forefinger inward, then turned his palm around with his two remaining fingers sticking straight up. “I can do it too. See?”

            Brigid realized he was retaliating for her earlier insult. “Fine!” She retorted. Having five fingers made the effort difficult, but she managed to get her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger down. She raised her remaining fingers up defiantly. “How does that look?”

            “Perfect.” Tamas nodded approvingly.

            “I’m going back to my room.” Brigid huffed, turning on her heel and leaving.

            “Didn’t you say that last time?” Tamas called.

            Brigid growled as she stomped off again.

Author's Note

Please enjoy.