Ivory stared at the palm of her hand, an indescribable melancholy now hanging in the air. There was great strength to this power, but I wouldn’t pretend not to see its weaknesses. She did not have the luxuries of selfishness or privacy. Ivory’s truth was always laid bare.

Willow shook her hand in defeat, a humble smile on his face, and our first day of training was over.

Later that night, I caught him staring upward, eyes lost in the black night sky. I sat next to him.

“Silver for your thoughts?” I asked.

He was silent. For a second, I thought he hadn’t heard, until he sighed, “You don't have enough.”

“Humor me.”

He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, taking a long moment to process his question. Finally, he asked, “Do you think Ivory wants to be king? She didn’t choose the power she was born with, so why should it be her responsibility?”

Responsibility. It was on my mind too. I ran my fingers through the lush purple grass and said, “Sometimes what’s best for the world isn’t the best for the individual. The Divine is not meant for personal gain.”

He sighed, eyes fixed on the stars above, face dappled with light. “If I was given that type of responsibility, I'd be too selfish to take it.”

“Where is this coming from?” I asked, sensing this was more about me than it was about him. By the rules of the Wilds, I had an equal claim to the throne.

“It's just the situation we find ourselves in,” he answered softly, giving me a pointed look. “That day…with the Fruit. I wondered if we made a dire mistake. I was afraid I pulled you into something you wanted no part of. If I hadn’t pressured you…”

I punched his shoulder, not enough to hurt him, but he dramatically acted as if I did.

“Hey!”

I chuckled. “Don’t make me say it again. This isn’t your fault. That prophecy was written before either of us was born.”

“The wind takes the little Badger by the tail into the trees,” he recited. “I’m the wind in that metaphor. Don’t you get it? You are here because of me!”

He wore a classic pout, one I’d seen many times. Willow’s tribe first passed through Pantmawr eleven years ago. It was the Fireday market, of all places, where we met for the first time. I found him at the fish statue, crying about losing the wooden propeller his father bought for him. For ten minutes I helped him look, until he gasped, finding the toy within his scarves. We laughed and laughed.

I leaned closer. Our shoulders were not quite touching. “Didn’t you once tell me many hands steal the ship of your destiny, including your own?”

He cringed. “Did I? Where do I come up with this stuff?”

"Don't be so hard on yourself," I reassured him. “We can only be where we’re meant to be, and I was meant to follow you anywhere.”

My own sincerity surprised me, blood rushing to my face. Maybe I’d said a little too much.

His eyes were blue velvet. “Sometimes you speak so highly of me, I’m nervous I can't live up to it. It's hard to admit but this stuff… it's making me afraid. I couldn't fight Ivory because it felt cruel. How could I hurt someone weaker than me, especially one who meant me no harm?”

 “Why does that make you afraid?”

He fluffed a lopsided pillow and threw it on the bedding. “Someone would have to be extra cruel to defeat her… like King Wyvern.”

“Since when are you so worried about King Wyvern?” I asked, unfolding a thick turmeric-orange blanket.

He clutched the wind scarf to his chest. “Since forever. Stories spread fast in the Northern Mountains, and my tribe was almost at the base of the Wind Plateau. Many of the people in our tribe defected, and they told us…a lot of things. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep his perfect little world. I'm worried if we start heading down this path, we might find ourselves heading to disaster, just like the prophecy said.”

He fell back on the bedding, hands gripping his hair. My words caught in my throat. I’d never seen him like this.

“Would you two just go to sleep?” From the far side of the Meadow, Sharp's voice cut through the gloom. “Your anxiety is starting to spread.”

Piranha poked their head up from under a nest of pillows. “I'm going to make Sharp some earmuffs for her birthday. I'm closer, but I can barely hear what you’re saying.”

“Good, I don’t need all of you on my case,” Willow hissed. “I’m so sorry for having emotions.”

“Emotions are necessary,” she stated, “but also a hindrance if you don’t use them right. Courageous Warriors always have fear, but the best ones channel it into skill and instinct.”

He pulled his hands from his hair, leaving a disheveled mess behind. “Do I look like a Warrior to you?”

A devious laugh came from Piranha’s nest. “More like a windswept bird.”

“You know that’s not my point,” she asserted, sitting up to give Willow a hard stare. “Fear will come for you, prophecy or no prophecy, and you must have the strength to face it.”

“Sharp’s right,” I admitted, collapsing into my own blankets beside him. “We play the cards we’re dealt.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He pulled the blanket up to his neck and closed his eyes. “But I think the dealer’s cheating.”

Chapter Twelve

The Memory

After a few days of testing with the doctor, I decided to talk to Olivine. I found her working in the makeshift medical room, wearing unusual glasses with long, cone-like lenses. Her green braid fell straight down her back today, a black-leaf charm fastened at the end of it.

Standing in the doorway, I cleared my throat so I wouldn’t startle her, to no avail. She flinched and turned on me, eyes made small by the zooming lenses. “Gah! What are you–oh it’s just you.”

“S-sorry,” I stammered. “Marrow said you’d be here.”

She giggled at herself and took the glasses off, revealing her white-green glow. “I get sucked into my task sometimes and forget my surroundings. How can I help you, little Badger?”

An assortment of various metals crowded the worktable; silver-steel and gold formed into small circles. Heat emanated from a cylindrical tool nearby.

“I hear you’re not just a surgeon, but an engineer,” I said, indicating the room cluttered with unfinished machinery.

“Best there is,” she stated, and somehow it didn’t feel braggadocious. “I can split and manipulate things on a microscopic level with my complex Variety. Is this about the weapon?”

A few boxes on the floor were full of scrap fabric. I pulled out a long cut of flexible twine. “Yes and no. What I’m wanting is more of a tool than a weapon. I’m not a Warrior. I don’t want to fight, but if I had a way to stop someone from moving without hurting them, I could be pretty good at that. I need some sort of rope.”

The light in her eyes flashed and shifted, the idea forming in her head trying to show its face. “A rope huh? Something to restrain, but not hurt…it will have to be something conspicuous. I might already know how to make it.”

I bounced a little. “Really! You’re amazing!”

“Oh, please.” Olivine grabbed spools of what appeared to be fishing line from a high shelf. “This is what I live for.”