3- Humans

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Wren Agraulis was the daughter of two people Rosin had never heard of, but everyone else seemed to know. Rigel had been the Elder of the tribe, Ronwyn the Captain of the Guard. The Guard was unknown to Rosin's side of the lake— a small squadron tasked with protecting the Elder and the tribe. A good idea, actually. Ronwyn had been in charge of protecting a young Rigel, who had been an unbearable, pompous little thing, apparently. Always getting himself into trouble. And she had never once even pretended to tolerate him.

Long story short, the two Winged had gone from hating each other to bringing Wren into the world, with Kristin around to watch the whole thing. Where he came from nobody exactly knew— 'the Farlands' or 'the Border', that was all Wren had pried from him. But for whatever reason, him and Rigel had been as close as brothers, and so Kristin had lived here for gods know how long, watching over the little family.
There were thirteen years of calm after Wren was born, everything well, all as it should be... and then the fire.

Wren was tucked into bed like any other night and woke up without parents. The same as Azure. They reminded Rosin a little of Azure, actually. Funny mannerisms and a sort of... fragility. She found that despite all their silliness and swaying, Wren could be a strangely thoughtful person, on the rare occasions they felt like thinking. Also like Azure— except in reverse, because think was the only thing that little girl ever did.
One day of living in the Hawthorn tribe turned into one week, one week into one month. Eventually Rosin's knife was returned to her, new clothes were made. Pink clothes. Wren made sure of that. Pink suited her, they insisted, and the only person allowed to wear black was Kristin.

It came one day into the fifth week, their first conversation about humans. The first, but not the last.

They had been in the deepest cavern of the tribe, a room so far into the stone that no light could pierce the thick walls. Poison. This was where they made the poison. Stuff strong enough to kill any beast... even humans. And though Rosin didn't know it, by bringing her down into this secret room and showing her how to make this toxic stuff, Wren was bringing her into their most cherished, precious secret. Only Wren's family knew how to make this poison. Wren's family was all dead. So only Wren and Kristin knew... and now Rosin.
They were in the middle of carving hollyoak stems when Wren suddenly broke the concentrated quiet.

"Your name." Wren stated. Rosin held the knife over the long brown stick she had been about to carve into. Wren had a tendency to just spurt out whatever nonsense came into their head, but this was odd even for them.
"My name?" She repeated curiously.
They shook berries and water inside a little bottle as they spoke, "Your name, yes. I've been wondering what it means. I think I know now."
Honestly. I sometimes wonder whether you're a little mad, Wren.
"Why have you been thinking about my name?" Rosin laughed, "Don't you have enough to think about?"
Wren reddened, "Don't be so self-absorbed, it has nothing to do you with you. I wonder about everything."
"Yes, alright. Can you pass me those please?"
Wren handed her the scissors.

Rosin rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of this conversation. That, and the randomness of it.
"Okay, Agraulis," she snipped the flowers from the stalk, "What does my name mean?"
Wren brightened, "See? You are interested. I think I know, but I'm not actually sure." They thought for a moment. Then, "Rosin. It sounds like rose. And if that is the meaning then it would suit you very much." They looked at Rosin's wings, "You being the pink, pretentious, puffy thing that you are."
"Good grief." Rosin raised her eyebrows at those flattering adjectives. "I'm sorry I asked."
"I've not finished yet."
"Oh, forgive me. Do go on. You'll tell me that Magnolia means unlikable and irritating."
"No it does not mean that— and anyway, we're not there yet. Because Rosin, you see, is actually another word for resin. If you say it properly."

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