I watched Rebecca (Patreon)

comforting Thomson and recalled what the witch bunny had been like when I first met her: A wayward delinquent who wanted to sell her soul to get revenge on everyone she didn’t like. She had grown into a very mature, kind and thoughtful femme. (Admittedly one with questionable fashion sense, but still as Seelie as could be.) It was true that most of her growth happened while we were apart, but still, it was I who set her on this path. I was capable of doing good! It was just hard to remember sometimes. Instead of letting my problems pile up on me, I needed to follow the advice of ... I believe it was Brother Matthew ... "One at a time, Your Grace, one at a time." If I recall, that was in reference to a platter of sacramental toffees, but it could easily be applied to many situations in life.

“Thomson," I said, breaking my reverie and clearing my throat. "There’s nothing you need to be forgiven for. You didn’t leave me to die, I am quite alive. I never left the tower during the battle. You didn’t fail me - it was I who failed you. I should be the one asking you for forgiveness. It was my own carelessness that caused the Plague of Battles in the first place. I didn’t know you were still alive. I didn't know ANYBODY was still alive. The one time I saw you, I thought you were a vengeful spirit. I ran away like a scared elflet and cowered in the scrying tower. There are a lot of mistakes I must answer for. If you’ll let me, I will gladly help you get your faculties back. I know it is possible! I've done it myself! Once you are well, if you’ll accept the offer, I would be happy to retain you as my legal counsel.”

“I’ve had this daydream before," Thomson said quietly. "A cruel vision where you were alive and everything was all right, only to have my heart broken when the spell broke. Please, I have to know this is real. Let me touch you so I know you are real.”

"Uhh, okay," I said after a short pause. "Go ahead.”

Slowly, reverently, and with forlorn hope, she reached out with one hand and ran her hoof over the side of my face. She glanced wide-eyed at the skull in her other hand. "He seems real," she muttered, then set the skull down on the table. “Yes ... Mr. Calaveras is right. You’re alive. This is real. Thank Fuma, this is real.” She lunged forward and latched onto me in a trembling but surprisingly strong hug.

At first I was momentarily startled, but I slowly put my arms around Thomson. She buried her face against my neck and began sniffling as I rubbed her back in a soothing manner. At first I thought she was crying, but her sniffles became deeper and drawn out. “Ms. Thomson… what are you doing?”

“You smell nice,” she murmured sleepily.

“Please stop sniffing me.”

She responded by inhaling deeply.

“All right, that’s enough of that.” I gently broke up the hug and guided her back into her seat.

"I could show you a few thangs to do with this skull you prob'ly ain't thought of," Burnside said, as she stared at Mr. Calaveras.

Everyone awkwardly sipped tea for a few seconds.

Finally Rebecca spoke up: “So what do we do next?”

"Havin' a extry pair o' hands to help move all them corpses 'ud be nice," Burnside opined.

“Out there in the fields of death??" Thomson exclaimed, with a look of terror. "No! Please no! The sounds! The screaming! Don’t make me move the dead! Wading through the shimmering waves of death and the horrible sounds and screams they make! I can barely stand picking my way through them to find supplies in the forlorn city!”

"Wait, you've been in the city?" I blurted, but before I could continue, a terrifyingly familiar rustling sound echoed through the tunnel.

"ADLER YOUNG!” the rustling seemed to form words. It was the Voice of the Forest, all right, and that could only mean one thing...

Thomson covered her ears and clamped her eyes shut.

Burnside's hackles rose.

“Is there a storm outside?" Rebecca asked innocently. "I swear that sounded like rustling leaves.”

"Think!” I exclaimed. "There are no living trees on that desolate field of death! NAY! I know that rustling all too well. You stay here with Thomson! Burnside, come with me!”

The urgency in my voice left no room for discussion. Burnside and I rushed to the entrance of the tunnels.

As my eyes adjusted to the sudden daylight, my stomach dropped. I saw an entire platoon of Shrub Knights perched in their battle-pots amongst the dead.

"We meet again,” General Bonsai rustled.

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