Pretty alerted Pail to the oncoming threat with a loud bark. Pail, being half-demon, felt the same presence as the huli jing did, momentarily stopping the boy’s tears. Pail stood up straight and puffed out his wings in a weak but adorable attempt to look intimidating. It was an instinct he had inherited from his harpy blood, though just like his wings that can’t take flight, the intimidation tactic didn’t work as intended with a human body. Still, he had to protect mister’s corpse, so he persisted.
The bush in front of them rustled ominously as the humanoid presence strayed closer. Pail fished out the dagger from his bag and gripped it tightly with his shaking hands. His wings flapped wildly to ward off whoever was approaching, scattering butter colored feathers in the air. Pretty let out a low growl of intimidation, and their tail stood pin straight, puffing up like a frightened cat. They were of different species, but both of them were just children, and they were protecting the only adult who had shown them kindness.
The bushes parted to reveal a two-meter-tall woman with muscles that could rival Hercules. Her brown hair framed her strong and rugged features like a lion’s mane flowing down her back, and her pale skin was marred with countless scars. She was clearly a giant of some sort, probably a hybrid. The woman’s brow furrowed at the scene, struggling with what to make of the scene in front of her.
“D-don’t come closer! You can’t take mister just ‘cause he’s dead!” Pail shouted with all his might as he flapped his wings harder. He couldn’t let his guard down just because the stranger in front of him was another hybrid, not when he didn’t have mister to hide behind.
The half-giant raised her eyebrow and looked down at the supposedly dead man and the way his chest rose as he breathed. She wondered if this was some sort of game or roadway scam, but the kid was clearly in distress, and she doubted a spirit fox could pull off such immaculate acting. With a sigh, she slowly put down her bow on the ground in front of her and raised her hands in surrender.
“Kid, what’s going on here? Why are you so certain that he’s dead?” Her voice boomed in a deep and rugged tone as she spoke. She had tried to be as quiet and calm as possible, but being quiet is a hard task for someone with vocal cords the size of folding fans.
“I jus’ showed him a cool snake, and he went and died! He musta been allergic to snakes and never told me! I didn’t mean to!” Pail explained with a shaky voice, trying his hardest not to cry in front of the stranger. He gripped his dagger harder, just in case the woman got enraged and pounced on him for being a murderer.
The half-giant couldn’t help but let out a hearty chuckle at that. Here she thought something serious was afoot only to find out that a grown man passed out because of a snake wielded by a little girl. “Is that so? Well, I’m pretty sure your friend here is still alive.” She said, after catching her breath, she hadn’t laughed this hard in weeks.
“Really!? You’re not fibbin’, are ya? If you are, then I’m gonna… I don’t know what I’ll do!” Pail declared with a mix of joy and suspicion. If he really hadn’t killed mister, then he wouldn’t be alone, but if this woman was lying, then he might just bite her fingers off.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I wouldn’t lie to a kid like you.” She assured him, “What’s your name? My name’s Rowboat. I got it because I was found in a rowboat when I was a baby.” She didn’t usually tell the origin of her name, but it was a good (if a bit embarrassing) ice breaker that would hopefully calm down the kid.
Pail lowered his dagger slightly, loosening his grip just the slightest bit. If she had a name like his, then she was probably also sold to angry men when she was little; sold kids were usually the only ones with names like theirs. “Name’s Pail! I was named that ‘cause they found me in the pail of a well!”
Rowboat’s eyes narrowed in concern. Pail was no doubt the name of an unwanted child sold into slavery, a common fate for hybrids like them, but this girl didn’t look like a slave. They had lovingly braided hair, embroidered clothes, and expensive-looking accessories. There was only one type of slave that didn’t wear rags, and the human man who didn’t look like family didn’t help her suspicions.
“Ah, that’s a pretty name. We match!” Rowboat smiled; getting information out of a child required a lot of patience and kind words. “You have such pretty clothes, too. Could you tell me about them?”
Pretty let their guard down when they realized the woman wasn’t there to hurt them. Sensing this, Pail also noticeably relaxed. “Mister got ‘em for me! They got flowers on ‘em, see? I got the ribbons from grandma!” He was proud to say that he had people who cared about him enough to give him things; it made him feel warm inside.
“Oh? You must treasure them a lot if they were gifts.” Rowboat didn’t know how to speak to kids, not really. She just mimicked how the older girls spoke to her when she was working as a kitchen maid, back when she was a slave. “Who is this mister to you? Does he expect anything in return for his gifts?” She asked as she leaned over Norman, making sure that he didn’t suddenly choke on his spit and actually die. She wouldn’t give him such an easy death if he was the monster she suspected him of being.
“Uh huh!” Pail said proudly, making Rowboat’s heart sink and her hands twitch as she prepared to choke Norman out. “He told me I can't run too far ahead ‘cause it’s dangerous and uhhh… not jump in puddles ‘cause washing clothes with many designs on is a pain! I’ll do as he says ‘cause he’s real nice, unless there’s a reeeeaaaally good puddle, then I might do just a lil’ jump.”
That made Rowboat pause. Her brows knit together as her brain caught up with what the little girl was saying. She had been prepared to hear something truly vile, not reasonable things to ask a child. Was she misunderstanding the situation entirely? “Does he not… beat you?” She asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.
“That’s the great part! He promised he’d neeeeeeever beat me! Not even when I messed somethin’ up! I couldn’t believe it! I thought all grown-ups were angry all the time, but not mister!” Pail grinned up at the towering woman, “I’m gonna tell ya a real secret you can’t tell nobody, okay?”
Rowboat nodded slowly. She had seen many children lie about their caretakers and cover their pain with a smile, so she could tell that Pail’s beaming smile and sparkling eyes were genuine, as were the words of praise for the unconscious man. She thanked herself inwardly for not immediately shooting the man with an arrow to the head as soon as she saw him.
“Okay, keep this real secret!” Pail said as he put one of his short fingers up to his lips, “I ain’t known him for long, but he’s been real nice to me, like in the story books, ya know? That’s why he’s gonna be my papa someday!. Did ya know that?” He proudly declared something that Norman would vehemently disagree with if he were awake. He had absolutely no plans to take care of a child for the rest of his life.
Rowboat’s eyes softened as a small smile tugged at her lips. She remembered being a little girl in filthy rags, hoping someone would come get her and show her the familial love that other children got. She was glad that she had misunderstood, and she was glad that this child got the storybook ending she wanted. “Alright, let’s go get your papa all patched up. I’ve got a cabin a few minutes from here; I’ll carry him there.”
Who gets Norman's first kiss?
