They lived, quite literally, in a tree.
At the base of a dead sequoia tree, just high enough off the ground that nobody bothered them (except squirrels) was where the main room was, the one where Calum slept. There were two others, one was extra storage for the food they had, and the last was just Holly's. There was no easy was in or out, except for flying. Calum learned this because inevitably, he had to pee and then received the dirtiest look from Deadwing before being carried down to do his business. He was sure Dee would have left him down there if it hadn't been for Holly.
"I guess we should make a ladder," she observed, as Dee furiously washed their hands post-transportation-job.
He glared at her.
"Don't worry Calum, I'm you'll grow big enough to fly yourself in no time." Holly gave him a thumbs-up.
Calum stared at her, then at his back like he'd spotted a decaying rat. At this point in time, the visual difference wasn't entirely clear. Whatever bodily fluid that had covered the wings when they left the inside of his body had dried and made the feathers crusty. Calum did not know what to do about this, so he didn't do anything.
The air was crisp and filled with the crunch of red leaves. It made Calum restless and he was heavily encouraged to take a look around. He spent some time exploring. There was a path along the outside of the tree that led up to Holly's quarters. He let his legs swing over the edge of it and watched Deadwing fly away to collect more supplies from the woods. He hated to admit, a part of him wished this was really happening, and one day he'd be able to fly like that.
"Here's dinner," Holly's head popped out as she pushed aside the circular door that covered the entrance the living room. She handed him another bowl of soup and sat down beside him; her wings stretched out behind him to accommodate.
As much as Calum loved their cooking, this was the only dish he'd sampled. "Soup again?"
Holly laughed, "It's a traditional burning dish, good for the developing muscle."
Calum's brow knit together, "How long is it supposed to last?"
"A week for most welves, but for you? Could be shorter, could be longer. Let me see you bandage." She leaned toward his back and started fussing with the wrap. "You'd roughed up your back pretty badly when we got you, I had to uh, let's say, help your little flappers come out. I find it strange the High Welf went through all the trouble to make it appear as though you're developing like a normal welf, she could has just slapped them on and called it a day. Oh, it's healing nicely, at this rate there won't even be a scar."
Calum grimaced, suddenly losing interest in his meal, "They were really... in me?"
"Mhm," Holly focus was elsewhere. Out of her pocket dress she pulled a pair of scissors, and cut the old bandage off of him. The she produced a small jar and a fresh roll of wrapping. "This is just a homemade salve, it'll cut a third off the healing time."
It was cold and stung like a large bite of lemon. It was then Calum felt how long the cuts were, it was no surprise he ached. She tied it off and patted his back gently. Holly stared at his back for a second, then laughed, sharp and short, as if she'd just come to a realization.
"Your feathers are all stuck together still. I'm so sorry birdie; I keep forgetting you don't know how any of this works. Do you want help preening?"
"Do I want what?" Calum had a bad feeling about this.
"Stay here a moment." She disappeared back inside, returning a moment later with a bowl of water and a rag. "Do you want help getting the ick off?"
His breath got stuck in his throat, "Okay."
The water was lukewarm, Calum hated how heavy it made back feel, but Holly in all her motherly power was as lovingly gentle as she promised. Glittering drops of water feel through the crack in the wood-plank deck, the breeze lilted through the great pine trees like bells made of paper and fir. Like a mother cat licking the grime from her kit, so the two of them sat in that end-of-winter song amongst trees that never aged. Calum's chest ached with the possibility that it all might be real.
His tiny, down-covered wings were still damp when he started to nod off. This was comfortable, an ancient power deep within his gut told him it was normal, and most importantly safe. Safe enough to close his eyes while the setting sun brushed across his skin. Holly had gone ahead and preened most of his feathers for him. She pulled what remained of the dry crust off what could be save and combed through the down until it was relatively smooth. She noticed when Calum's eyes closed and smiled to herself, it had been so long since she'd gotten to care for fledglings.
"Come on birdie, let's get you back to bed."
Calum nodded, letting her pull him up. Holly draped one of her wings around him, he seemed so small and fragile to her in that moment. He was mostly asleep by the time she laid him down and tucked him in, and Holly was glad to see it.
Holly noticed a tuft of his hair was gone from behind his ear, and frowned. She laid a hand on his forehead; it was hot again. They were only left with scraps of soup ingredients, and wouldn't be able to make more until Dee got back. Maybe she could make a tea from the remaining pinkroot?
"You poor boy, what a state you're in," she muttered to herself. "Who could let you live like this?"
Holly knew, deep down who. Rows upon rows of human men she'd seen with her own eyes, had let this child slip through their fingers. Part of her was deeply relived her disguise was gone. She didn't have to return and see it happen again, day after day, to children she wouldn't be able to rescue.
"You have this one Holly, remember that," she sighed, and started dicing pinkroot, ginger, and cinnamon. "I'm not letting go of this one."
Calum slept soundly under her watch, and deep into the night his slumber continued. Holly left when Dee returned to her own quarters. The other boy took empty hooks from the ceiling and hung boughs of leaves and roots on them. He washed his face, briefly combed through his feathers and them curled up in a ball on the adjacent nest-bed and fell asleep.
Calum thought he was in hell.
His dreamscape shifted underneath him in uncomfortable colors, none that he knew the names of. None that he wanted to be around. His skin was covered in layers of frost that burned when he shook them off. Still he barely moved in anything but trembles. The weight above him was suffocating, the walls pressed in on all sides, alarms like sigils of fire crisped the back of his eye lids.
He woke, pulling the blankets away in a frenzy. OUT and UP, his brain screamed. HOW? He yelled back. There was nothing but earth on all sides of him and the rain of his own sweat. Until there wasn't. There was just soft, worn, woolen blanket and the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
"Holly?" Calum croaked.
"Sh," the figure answered, "I'll get her."
Quiet footsteps led to the creak of an old wooden door. Calum was alone, he tried to grasp onto the horrible nubs covering his back but they were covered in bandages. He tried to pull them off, the fabric stuck to itself and made his heart race faster. He wanted to throw up.
"Calum?" It was Holly's voice, and her hand on his shoulder.
She grasped on of his hands in hers and squeezed. Then there was light, a candle came to life in front of them and Holly shook out a match with her other hand. It was good to see her face. He glanced around wildly for Deadwing's piercing stare but instead caught him slipping outside. It was just Holly and him.
She rubbed his arm gently. "Are you okay?"
"I w-want, I want to go home but I don't... I don't want..." He couldn't stop his hands from flying up to his cheek, he could still remember the sting. "I miss my Patron and I don't...know why. I feel like I shouldn't but... I just want him to give me a p-punishment and tell me what to do. I don't know what to do."
He regretted saying that, because her eyes started watering. "I know birdie, I know how hard it is to leave."
She knew, she understood.
"I don't want to go back."
"You never have to." She squeezed his hand again, and wrapped her wing around his shoulders.
He wanted to cry so badly. His forehead was pounding and a dull ache started up between his eyes. "S-sorry, sorry, I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"It's..." Each word felt like sticky heather on his tongue. It didn't feel like his tongue. "It's rude...crying...I'm...I'm...I'm making you uncomfortable...tell me to stop p-plea-please."
Holly's arms flew around him, holding him tight and still avoiding the tender wounds on his back. She rocked him back and forth gently, still afraid that he might slip away at any moment. The ache in his brain was terrible.
"Never say that," she pulled back so he could see her face, and the tears that flowed freely down it. "If you have to cry, cry. You can't keep that sort of thing inside you forever without getting hurt."
His shoulders jolted, and the sob he choked out was dry as bone.
"You're allowed to feel this, you're allowed to miss him and still know he hurt you." Her voice was a whisper only he could hear. "Never be ashamed of tears, birdie."
The floodgates cracked and crumbled and Calum sobbed from the pain of what it took to have them built. His face was wet and it felt so good to finally let himself cry. He hung like that, suspended in that safe place until he found his body was heavier and far more exhausted then he could bear. Holly gently set him down on his bed, rubbing small circles into his shoulder like he always imagined a mother would.
The gentle pressure lulled him back to unconsciousness.