The snow came and went. The boys enjoyed the mud that followed just as much as the actual snow. They showed up on the porch shivering and covered in mud. Their faces were dirty but happy.
The witch seemed to be spending more time "working". She increased her time spent both in the woods and in her workroom. She still spent time with each boy while they worked on their school work, and cooked all their meals but she was more distracted than she had been.
The boys were asleep and the hour was late. The little witch was still in her workroom. Wren's steps were silent as he walked down the hallway leading to the witch's lair.
All these considered, it was a pretty tame lair. It was warm and filled with hanging plants and jars with a variety of ingredients.
Most of the room was dimly lit. There were no curtains over the large windows and the darkness bled in. The witch was standing at a workbench, several lamps lit up her workspace. She was carefully filling small jars with some type of paste. When the jar was full she would take a type of paper, and softly press the paste flat into the jar, screw the lid on, and meticulously put a label on the jar. She made a note on a piece of paper and then put the jar in one of the many boxes surrounding her desk.
He watched her repetitive movements for several minutes. She showed no sign of being aware of his presence, but he knew that she was. Their magic was attuned with one another, a sense of closeness Wren hasn't felt since a warmling.
She knew that he was here, watching her from the dark hallway but she felt comfortable enough not to address it.
This comfortableness made his stomach turn. She was never afraid, she turned her back to him, and tilted her head up when talking to him, exposing her soft neck. It would be no effort at all the kill the little witch. She never guarded herself against him. She was just comfortable with his presence and he wasn't sure what to do about that.
He kept his footfalls soft as he ventured into the room. He peeked into some of the boxes. The jars were various sizes and held different mixtures. He picked one up and held it to his nose before putting it back.
The witch watched him with a content little smile on her face. The soft light made the bags under her eyes prominent. She offered him the jar she just filled. It smelled of vanilla and mint.
She continued her assembly as he walked behind her and investigated the room. She seemed content to let him open boxes and drawers.
She was comfortable with him going through her workroom. It was infuriating.
He picked up a book off her shelf and flipped through it while he watched her. She was wearing pants. They were too big for her. Loose and fell over her feet. Her shirt was tight and short, sitting across her ribs. The front of it was a solid piece of stretchy black material, but the shoulders and back were thin straps that crisscrossed over her back, leaving much of her back exposed.
He watched as her arms and back moved as she worked. He was so distracted by how her skin stretched over her bones that he almost missed it. She twisted and bent to pick up a lid that she dropped and the light shined just right over her back. It highlighted jagged white lines across her back.
He put the book down and stepped closer to her. She didn't stop working or tense up. The trust was unwarranted.
Across her back were scars. They were white with age. They shined when the light hit them. Some were straight and clean lines, others were jagged and crooked. His eyes found one that followed that started in the middle of her back and followed the curve of her spine up before getting lost in her hair. He absentmindedly brushed her hair aside. The witch didn't freeze until his talon touched the top of the scar at the base of her skull, he could just see it through her hair.
She stopped working, her body still. She didn't smell of fear. He slowly traced the line down her neck, making sure to only touch her with the curve of his talon.
This scar was the most prominent out of the ones scattered over her back. It was one solid line down her spine. He moved aside the straps of her shirt to follow it down where it stopped. The witch held her breath until he reached the end of the scar.
The scar was one clean and even cut. There was no break in it from start to finish.
"Who did this?" He tried to keep his voice soft, but it rumbled anyway.
She turned to face him. Her face was solemn. Her green eyes which were usually bright, were dark green, like pine trees after a storm.
"I have a lot of magic," She started. Wren nodded. This he knew.
"My family, my coven, wanted to use it. Like a battery?"
He struggled to control his face. Witches were despicable.
She smiled faintly at his expression.
"I couldn't wield well as a child, so I couldn't do the things they wanted me to. They wanted me to transfer my excess magic to them. "
His jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it.
"It's hard to transfer magic. It takes a lot of control. Control I didn't have at five or six."
Wren tried to imagine the little witch as a child. Her wide, expressive eyes on a little face. Did she have freckles then, or did they come after?
"My parents noticed that, uh, they had more success with the transfer in certain conditions." She stumbled over her words.
"What conditions?" He asked, but he feared he already knew.
She just stared. Her eyes were wet. She reached up and grabbed the back of her neck.
"You can force magic out, as you know."
He thought again of the little witch as a child. Did they chain her little body to the wall or the ground? Did she cry for her mother when they forcibly pulled the magic from her?
"It was easier when I was in an elevated emotional state. It makes my magic all fluid and pushed to the surface." She made a wave motion with her hand.
"It was easier for them to transfer magic when I was hurt or scared. "
He couldn't stop imagining the little witch, bleeding, scared and alone. How could anyone do that to a child? Their child. He was going to burn them to the ground.
"I need the name."
Her nose scrunched up like a bunny. "What?"
"The name of your coven."
"Why?"
"I'm going to kill them." He stated matter-of-factly.
She choked. "What?"
He nodded and stared at her expectantly.
Her gaze traveled over his face, trying to read his expression.
"I'm safe. You don't need to kill anyone."
He snorted dismissively. " I don't care about you."
The twinkle was back in her eyes and she nodded. "Mmmhm."
"I don't need a reason to kill witches. It's just good practice."
"Sure, bird-man. You're real scary." She said with a cheeky little grin.
He rumbled a growl in his throat and snapped his teeth at her.
She giggled. They were a few inches apart and she wasn't scared. That trust made the breath catch in his lungs.
"Tell me what all these stupid boxes are for."
Then she was off, chattering away. The little witch explained about the farmer's market. Which was essentially just a regular market that opened seasonally.
People came and sold their goods and services. The witch had a booth where she sold a variety of magical and holistic products. Wren diligently sniffed different products.
She gave him a few items that smell caused a trill sound from his mouth.
Observant little witch was nothing but trouble.
—-------------------------------------------------------
He thought a lot about what the witch said about the farmers market. Now that he knew how to search the internet efficiently, he had been researching how to be a good parent. Werewolf's pups grew the same as human children, had very similar needs.
Wren wanted to make sure he was being a good parent to them. It was important to him that the children never needed to heal from him. That he didn't cause them harm. So he researched and watched examples. One consistent theme was providing for your child, both their emotional and physical needs.
Currently, the witch cared for the boy's and his physical needs. He could not stay indebted to the witch.
In the morning he set out into the forest. He brought a canvas bag from the rack by the door, and a hatchet from the wood shed. He spent several hours looking over fallen logs and trees. He didn't want to damage the forest by cutting down a tree so he scavenged the fallen. He looked for the best wood he could find. He filled his bag full of wood and hoped the material could hold the weight. He snuck the wood into his room. He didn't want to deal with questions from the little witch.
He made sure to work around her as he searched the house for supplies. He didn't search the room she was in. He covered the garage when she was in the woods. Searched the kitchen while she was doing laundry and finally found what he needed in the junk closet in the living room.
That night he stayed up, shaping wood with the knives he could find. He wouldn't show the witch until he was done and it was good.
—-------------------------------------------------------
The week leading up to the full moon was rough. The warmlings for the most part were well behaved. They had their moments, Jace especially, where they stomped around or complained when they had to clean up. They snapped back when spoken to but always came apologizing after.
The snapping increased. Wren Had to pull the boys apart several times when the arguing turned to screaming it. The witch was patient. She explained that their bodies were gearing up for a change they couldn't handle. It would be a rough full moon, but it wouldn't be like this every time.
So they handled it. They tried to get the boys outside as much as they could.
Two days before the full moon the boys were in the living room existing semi civilly until they weren't. In a second they were at each other throats, snarling and yelling. Wren was upstairs when he heard the witch yell.
He took the stairs two at a time to find the witch on the ground, a hand covering her bloody nose and Gael standing over her. His chest was heaving and his face bunched up in a painful snarl.
"What is going on here?" He didn't raise his voice but it was still loud in the room. Jace flinched from where he was standing behind Gael.
Gael's breathing increased and he clenched his fist as Wren approached.
"Settle, Gael." He placed his hand on Gael's chest. His breathing and heart rate were erratic. His eyes were wild. Wren exaggerated his breathing. He was angry. But he wouldn't take his anger out on Gael.
It took a minute but eventually, his breathing evened out. The wildness eased out of his eyes and left terror. Gael looked at the witch. Her nose wasn't bad but it was sluggishly bleeding. He took off running out the door. Jace whined and followed him out.
Wren watched from the window as they raced across the field and stopped at the tree line. He turned to the witch and pulled her to her feet. Her arm was small in his hand and he tried to remember how delicate she was.
"It was an accident. " Her words were muffled behind her hand.
He used his grip on her arm to guide her to the kitchen.
"He caught me with his elbow."
He grabbed a towel off the counter and moved her hand away from her nose. Blood was smeared across her face and down her shirt. He gingerly checked her nose, it didn't seem broken and the flow of blood was sluggish. He handed her the towel and she pressed it against her face.
"Accident or not. There is no room here for violence. "
She raised her eyebrow and gave him a pointed look.
He huffed. "Have I attacked you yet?"
She made a so-so motion with her hand. "Technically.."
She had a point. "Have I attacked you since the first day?"
"No, you have not. "
"You're welcome."
"I should be thankful you're not attacking me more?"
He nodded. "Yes. It's a struggle every day. You are very irritating. "
She looked offended. "Excuse me. I'm very pleasant."
"As pleasant as a mosquito."
She made a buzzing noise as she walked past him up the stairs. "Be gentle with him."
He had the walk across the clearing to think about what he would say to Wren. He made sure to walk slowly so the boys would see him coming. He still wasn't sure what to say until he saw Gael hunched over on the ground crying. Wren dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around him. Jace wormed his way under his arms so he was holding both boys. It took a long time to calm Gael down. He was scared they were going to kick him out over what happened.
He was exhausted when they returned to the house, He had most of his body weight leaned on Wren. The witch had cleaned herself up and wrapped her arms around him as he shuffled into the living room.
Gael sobbed his apology into her shoulder. She rocked him and sat with him until bed.
—-------------------------------------------------------
The day before the full moon was worse. The boys stayed in bed well into the afternoon. When Wren checked on them, they were lethargic and rolling around in pain. The witch and he slowly had them drink some broth and take something for the pain, but nothing seemed to work.
It was a very long day of listening and watching the boys be in pain, and not being able to do anything about it. The vomiting started in the evening. Wren was holding Jace as he shook, his fever had him sweating and crying. He groaned and clutched his stomach and threw up bile and broth all over himself and Wren. Jace cried even harder as he gagged and threw up.
Wren rushed him to the bathroom and stood under the tepid water with Jace in his arms.
They stayed up with the boys all night, curled up in a nest of blankets on the floor. The window was open and they alternated cool clothes on the boy's head.
The boys lost themselves in the pain. They could only whimper, moan, and yip as the night progressed. Jace was attached to Wren most of the night. He wiped the sweat and tears from his face and tried to rub some relief into his arms and legs.
The witch was curled around Gael. She sang softly to him and held him as he cried.
He couldn't help but think this was the most beautiful he'd ever seen her. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. Her face was pale and haggard, her shirt stained with snot and tears but she was so filled with love. Love poured out of her in waves as she tended to the boys. He watched her comfort in the moonlight and let himself feel affection for the witch. The affection he'd been trying so hard to ignore and squash down.
It was a beautiful thing.