Foxglove

It was the dead of night when Jet’s alarm woke him up, its vibrations shaking him into wakefulness as his pillow writhed beneath his head. Blearily fumbling under the fluffy mass, he mumbled curses and snares as it bounced out of his grasp. The cursed thing, created to awaken him with movement rather than noise, consisted of various moving parts that made it a challenge to grab and stop. Of course, this made it even more effective as an alarm, since he had to struggle with it for several moments before he could disengage it. He’d purposefully chosen such a design so he wouldn’t have to worry about waking his mother. She wouldn’t disapprove of his escapades, however he didn’t want to cause her any undue trouble. If anyone saw him sneaking out she would, inevitably, be the one fielded the complaints and judgment for it.

Jet finally caught the cursed thing, letting loose a soft hiss of pain as its moving parts pinched the delicate web of skin between his thumb and forefinger. He set it on his nightstand, resisting the urge to slam it down in frustration and thereby render his recent struggles moot. He slept fully clothed on nights he planned his escapades, having only to retrieve his boots from where they rested beside his pack by the door. Stooping to pull on his boots, he shouldered one of the straps to the bag before standing. He opened the door and crept to the entryway of their home, peering suspiciously in the direction of the kitchen in case his mother had decided to have a midnight snack.

The tunnels outside their apartments were clear, as they should be at this time of night. While someone was up at all hours, his neighborhood was mostly populated by the gnomes who worked during the ‘day’. If anyone found it odd they followed a day and night cycle while living underground, they never mentioned it where he could hear. Regardless, he was able to walk unmolested through silent halls of paneled stone walls and paved floors brightly lit, despite the hour and their subterranean nature, by faerie lights set into the wall every few feet. If he desperately needed to avoid notice he could have used access tunnels and headed to the outskirts of the burrow. However those tunnels, hardly used and often still under development, were unnerving to him, lit as they were by sputtering torches and dimly luminescent mushrooms rather than the magical faerie lights he was used to. With any luck, he’d never have to tread those paths, especially not in the dead of night. Even knowing the only souls to ever wander those tunnels were his fellow gnomes did nothing to assuage his fear of those dark corners.

Shaking off the chill brought about by the fear his fanciful imaginings created in him, he noticed the floor beneath his feet had begun to take on a slight incline. Jet slowed his pace as he approached what he recognized as the final corner before on of the many mouths of the warren. This was a smaller outlet, rarely used and, if he was right, then Chalcedony would be the guard on duty tonight. Jet peeked the corner slowly, and was rewarded almost immediately with the sight of Chalcedony’s slouched form. Chalcedony was old, fat, and lazy, often taking this out of the way post so he could sleep the night away. Bushy white eyebrows hid his eyes, however given how his chin was tucked into his chest and the rasping, gurgling breaths that sounded out as his chest lurched and heaved, it was safe to say the old gnome was deep into his nap.

“Sleep tight, Chalcy.” Jet whispered as he crept by, the phrase almost a ritual for him at this point. His footsteps fell quieter on the ground as the stone floor gave way to soft dirt near the mouth of the warren, and he could hear the faint rattle of leaves far above as the lazy breeze danced between them. He took a deep breath as he emerged into the night, savoring the first fresh air he’d had in days. Though it was the middle of the night in the heart of the forest, the dark did little to hinder Jet’s eyes. Gnomes were born to toil in the dark beneath the earth, after all, and the faint light of the moon and stars through the canopy above was more than enough for him to see by. A controlled burn, ordered by the council, had cleared out much of the undergrowth around the warren a short time ago which improved visibility immensely. It was doubly lucky for him, since the first part of his journey wouldn’t be bogged down as he hacked and tore his way through thick undergrowth which was quite the chore for Jet who stood around a foot tall, an average height for a gnome.

Jet forged ahead across the clearing and entered the tree line through a game trail, exactly where it had been described to him. He would occasionally stray from the path when he saw animal tracks and plants, though he was always quick to return to it lest he find himself lost in the woods. Normally he’d thoroughly gather whatever samples and specimens he could get his hands on, but he had a destination in mind tonight and couldn’t afford to waste time dallying in areas he could come visit again in the morning. After all, a few days past a traveling myconid trader had informed him of a nearby hotbed of mushrooms and fungus that the pallid, fleshy merchant stopped at to camp when he came to trade with the burrow. It had claimed the vale was bursting with various species, some of which Jet hoped would be unknown to him. He’s already run every test and combination he could think of for the limited reagents and ingredients he could find back in the warren and its immediate vicinity. He was dying for novel material to work with, his curiosity being the most common reason for his escapades into the Wylde at night.

An image flashed through his mind of his mother waking to find him gone and the worry he’d cause her, the phantom guilt momentarily overriding his nerves. Another part of him was frustrated by what he worried was a childish reliance on his mother. Well into his second century of life, Jet was an adult by the standards of his people. He still lived with his mother partly out of concern, her fragile heart never fully recovering after his father’s disappearance. His absence had left both of them to depend on the other, though despite her fears she never stopped him from taking risks like leaving the warren.

She would probably even encourage it. He thought with a rueful laugh.

No, Jet knew that the guilt he felt stemmed from how their community would react to his behavior. Older gnomes were, by their very nature, opposed to risks and change. Despite being tinkerers and inventors down to the last gnome, they believed progress and change had to come slowly, with utmost care and caution. As stolid and firm as the stones they sprouted from, they frowned upon wanton innovation and reckless curiosity, claiming it put the whole warren in danger. Not that any of them would be so forward as to stop Jet themselves. Instead the matrons and elders would tut and frown when they saw him and his mother in public. They’d make backhanded remarks and post concerned notes on their door, corner them in pointed conversations about his peers -who had grown up to be proper citizens- contributing to the warren without causing trouble. His mother would never let it show, but it almost certainly wore on her.

His worries, which had settled into a malaise that hung over him like a shroud over the next hour of walking, were overwhelmed by the rising tide of curiosity and wonder as he neared his destination. Dozens of small mushrooms up the trees in small step-like shapes, the largest of them big enough for Jet to believe he could climb them all the way to the treetops hidden in the darkness above. Glowing lichen draped like strings from the branches above in iridescent green tresses, glittering fireflies weaving between them in tight little dances, while stubby patches of mushrooms in various shapes and sizes sprouted amongst the dark hollows nestled in the roots of trees. Jet couldn’t help but gaze in wonder as a curious firefly descended to hover near him, it in turn regarding this strange new observer with interest.

I wonder if I could catch one. Jet thought, nibbling at his bottom lip as he considered the idea.

He was considering the feasibility of some sort of net launcher when the sparkfly flitted away. At first he thought it had sensed his ill intent, but a distant basso rumbling seemed the more likely culprit. His curiosity pushed him towards the source of the noise even as part of him wanted to wait and see if he could lure a sparkfly into his specimen jar. Scuttling forward, he pushed his past clumps of tall grass and ferns until the undergrowth parted to reveal the source of the disturbance. Jet nearly tripped as he saw them, two giants standing in a clearing with their heads together, talking. He tilted his head back to take them in, his eyes widening while his pupils pushed his inky black irises into thin bands, their subterranean nature allowing him to pierce the murky darkness of a forest at night to analyze the pair in great detail.

They were facing him, though in their deep deliberation and the black of night they failed to notice his presence, allowing him to see their features clearly. Rounded ears, coupled with their sheer size marked them as humans even if you disregarded how obviously uncomfortable they were in the Wylde. Without taking his eyes off of them Jet pulled his notebook from his satchel and jotted down what he saw, intending to amend some of the inaccuracies on record in the council libraries. Though these were the first humans Jet had ever had the fortune of seeing, Jet was -if he were to be completely honest with himself- slightly disappointed. They looked altogether too much like overly large, stretched out gnomes. The shorter of the two had tanned, leathery skin and pudgy features. His brow was slightly more prominent than his friend’s, casting shadows over beady eyes perched sullenly atop a nose that looked as though it had been broken several times.

His companion was only slightly taller and had a sickly look to him, his flesh hanging loosely from his bones. Dark circles framed his eyes and accentuated his otherwise pallid features. He had a hawkish nose and a wide mouth with thin lips. He hunched slightly as he spoke with his partner, as though he was cowering before the shorter tubby man. Both of them wore drab, coarse clothing, composed of more patches than original cloth. Jet was unsure of human standards, but as gnomes the two would be very unattractive.

Jet decided associating with humans was perhaps too adventurous an activity for tonight. As he began backing away from the humans, he saw the shorter one grab a mushroom off of the ground, the mushroom in question freezing Jet in his tracks. With its rolling frilled cap a deep blue interspersed with white spots, it was known as a Night Sky mushroom and was easily one of the most lethal you could find in the Wylde. The foolish beast was lifting it to his mouth, and without thinking Jet began to cry out a warning. Both humans froze and snapped their eyes to him, pinning Jet in place with their gaze and leaving him squirming in discomfort. Part of him thought to run, however the pair closed the distance with long strides he couldn’t hope to match. He hoped the humans would be kind to him, though a thought popped into his head as the pair loomed over him and he couldn’t help but release a desperate little giggle.

Do we even speak the same language?

***

Thom had been having a rough day so far, a day that had been preceded by a restless night of vivid and uncomfortable dreams. It was almost a relief when he was awoken in the small hours of the morning by Gregor. His, quite literally, partner in crime had pulled him from bed with the promise of a job from the Merchant. The promise of their typical reward was enough to entice him out of his bed even as his body protested, wracked as it was with shivers and cold sweats despite the balmy air of their coastal city. If anything, fear of their patron made his shivering worse, and turned his stomach with queasiness born of nerves. The pair of them slipped through Westgate as the sun began to crest the horizon under the disinterested gaze of the sole guard posted there. As small and out of the way as the gate was, it saw little traffic even during the hustle and bustle of midday, and its remote, unimportant nature meant it was normally assigned as a punishment for delinquent, lazy guards, or as a rest stop for those past their prime. This typically meant that the guards there were usually unlikely to notice or care about who in particular passed through their post. Their lack of diligence was all the better as far as Thom and Gregor were concerned.

It was only once they were certain the guards at the gate were no longer able to see them, Gregor opened his rucksack and pulled out a small paper package. Hands shaking, he unwrapped it to reveal the down payment the Merchant had provided them for this job. They split it and took it there, hiding poorly in the shadows of a lone tree while honest and hardworking farmers toiled and stared at them from the corners of narrowed eyes. Neither Thom or Gregor particularly cared to notice these gazes. On the contrary, as soon as his dose hit him Thom lost himself in ecstasy. It was no exaggeration to say he didn’t remember the next several hours of their trek.

So fully did he fall into his vice’s embrace that, without Gregor’s firmer mind and the well maintained, easy to follow nature of the road, they wouldn’t have gotten anywhere at all. Finally coming back to reality, he was displeased to find himself in the muggy mid-afternoon heat, the stagnant air almost immediately making him feel faint. His body vocalized the complaints he’d ignored in his bliss, his stomach growling sullenly about missing both breakfast and lunch. Dinner the night before hadn’t been much either, for there was little he could buy with promises. He’d spent the rest of his money on Dust days prior. He dared not utter any of this aloud though, as Gregor had little patience for complaints and would not want to return to reality only to hear Thom’s muttered dissatisfaction.

Blinking blearily as he twisted his head about to release some of the stress in his neck, Thomas somewhat shocked to see that they were nearing their destination. He knew this because a densely impassible forest loomed in the periphery of his vision. He endeavored to keep it there, refusing to regard the woods directly until he absolutely had to, just like he did every time they came here. Thom thought he could hardly be blamed for his discomfort seeing as the Wylde was magic, old magic, and absolutely everyone knew it. His mother had told him many tales featuring this place, just as her parents had told her, and their parents before them. Generations of Midburg citizens had learned to respect and fear the Wylde. Fairy tales and horror stories, this forest housed them and everything in between.

It certainly looked like a forest of dreams and nightmares. The king’s rangers tried to make sure the underbrush and new saplings didn’t grow too close to the road, but their efforts stopped at a point probably sixty paces from the hard-packed earth of the highway. The border where their care and toil ended was clear cut, a dense wall of vegetation shadowed by a thick canopy and crawling with all sorts of colorful creatures that could be seen flitting from branch to branch or scurrying across the loamy soil. Thom could hear the cries of strange birds and the rustling of animals moving to and fro, fear quickly reasserting itself in his heart as the last dregs of his previous euphoria slipped away. It compounded the weakness he felt in his knees as well as the lightheadedness that had plagued him since he sobered up.

This close to the Wylde, stone markers flanked the highway on the left-hand side. Colloquially known as wardstones, they were thought to mark the boundary of the forest’s territory. They meant nothing to Thom, though Gregor took an interest in how many they passed, counting them softly under his breath. On the right were open pastures and fields, dotted every now and again with the homes of farmers. In this distance a vague backdrop of buildings, the sound of a church bell tolling carrying softly on the breeze. The nearness of civilization made the forest seem all the more alien to Thom. Though he fought down the rising tide of fear that churned in his stomach he couldn’t help but notice as his breaths came faster and his palms grew clammy with sweat. Gregor spoke, breaking the silence and startling him.

“Alright, this is the thirtieth stone since we hit the fork. The Merchant said we should head straight in from here.” Gregor said, grinning as he saw Thom jump in fright at the sound of his voice.

“Right here? But there’s no path or nothing. It’s no different from any other spot in this blasted forest.” Thom said, struggling to keep the whine he felt bubbling up in his stomach from being heard.

“I hear ya, I do, but this is where he told us to go. Into the treeline, and then eight hundred paces straight and we should find the spot.” Gregor replied, fishing about in his pack

After a few moments of rooting about Gregor’s face lit up as he seemed to seize upon something and he pulled his hand out. Cupped in his palm was an old bronze disc, almost like the fancy watches gracing the windows of the shops in the Inner Quarter. The front face of the disc, which would lift open when in use, had an etching of a ship on it though it was nearly worn away by time and use. Thom had seen this old heirloom of Gregor’s several times and knew the ship etched into the disc had several rows of oars and triangular sails, a look decidedly foreign to Thom even with all his familiarity with the docks. Gregor claimed it was a family heirloom from generations back. Thom had little reason to disbelieve him and even if he had doubts he was sure to keep them to himself. The portly man was extremely defensive of it, and Thom remembered Gregor growing red in the face and violent when he had suggested selling the antique to tide them over after miserable days of sobriety. Gregor found the piece important enough to resist the call of the Merchant’s wares, his strident opposition to the idea of pawning it speaking volumes to Thom about how important it was to him

“Good, you remembered the compass.” Thom said, mostly to break the silence.

“Never leave home without it.” Gregor replied distractedly as he opened the device.

Thom didn’t quite understand how to use the thing, however Gregor checked their heading quickly, nodding in satisfaction as they departed from the wardstones. As they got to the treeline, Gregor reached for his sheathe where it hung at his hip, pulling free his knife, a weathered thing that had seen better days. Despite its rusty spots and nicked blade, Gregor managed to score a tree with it, leaving a deep mark in the wood. Satisfied, Gregor moved on for several paces before doing it again. Between the blazes he left and his compass, Thom was becoming more confident that they would be able to find their way back out again.

They continued like this for a while, carefully stepping over or around underbrush and roots. Occasionally they would have to circle around trees or other such obstacles, however Gregor made sure they always returned to the path. When the Merchant said something, he meant it and if he said straight into the forest, then he did mean straight into it, potential obstacles be damned. The pair of them were quiet aside from Thom’s occasional nervous outburst and the cursory grunt in reply given by Gregor. Listening to the hoots and calls of the forest, Thom was frightened by how few he recognized. He wondered if perhaps there was some sort of bogeyman out there mimicking those sounds like his mother used to tell him when he was young. Be good, she’d say, because naughty boys get taken by the goblin king who bakes them into savory meat pies! Then she’d growl and raise her hands over her head like she was a foul goblin who’d cook him into a pie herself. Thom’s wistful smile at the memory faded fast as he realized he had not been a particularly good boy recently.

After a nerve wracking hour, Thom and Gregor finally emerged from the undergrowth into a small clearing. It had taken far longer than they had expected, though in retrospect neither of them were outdoorsmen or in particularly good shape, so perhaps this should have been expected. The afternoon sun was already starting to get low and it was likely they’d have to camp out in the forest for the night. This wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to do something like this while working for the Merchant, though Thom hated it all the same. Grumbling under his breath, Thom pulled out the canvas sheet they would use for shelter tonight and got to work setting up their tent while Gregor sat on an old log, taking long pulls from his waterskin. The portly man was breathing heavily and looked to be in a mood, a not uncommon frame of mind for Gregor after manual labor or exercise. Thom made sure to keep any complaints to himself though he’d have appreciated some help.

He was done with the tent in short order and set about putting together a campfire. They were fortunate the clearing had plenty of fuel and he was able to get a nice blaze going. As soon as he got the fire going Gregor pushed him aside and prepared to cook dinner. In the past Thom would have been perturbed by this treatment, but years of exposure to Gregor’s poor temper and worse manners had inured him to this sort of treatment. Perhaps his last meal being a distant memory and the promise of food was enough to mollify him. Gregor boiled a pot of beans he had brought, of which he got the lion’s share. They ate silently, Gregor’s general demeanor coalescing into a foul aura as he distractedly chewed on the rather bland beans.

“Worrying about Stephen?” Thom guessed. He was rewarded with a look of surprise from Gregor, who clearly wasn’t aware of just how much he let his emotions show.

“Is it that obvious?” Gregor said gruffly.  “Yeah, I don’t like leaving the boy alone like this. Who knows what trouble the runt’ll get into.”

“Then we should probably get what we can for the merchant so we can get you back to him as fast as possible.” Thom said with a small grin. The faster they get back the better, as far as Thom was concerned.

Gregor nodded and pulled his rucksack to him, opening it up and pulling out several items. A small pile of thread, pins, gears and other such odds and ends quickly formed on the ground next to him. Thom had always marveled at how much Gregor could stow away in his pack and tonight was no exception. Once he was satisfied he had everything they needed, Gregor gathered them up in his hands and began moving around the glade with Thom in tow. Together they assembled the various mechanical pieces, creating snares in the mushroom patches, and threaded the outside of the glade with tripwires attached to a variety of traps. Towards the end they were working by the dim light of their camp fire. The boughs above them ate up all the moonlight, and outside the small circle of light put out by their torch was an inky impenetrable blackness.

They were working on their last trap of the night, which was proving to be more difficult than the rest. Due to long hours at work with tiny parts, their fingers were raw and tired. Their eyes were strained and weak from attempting to focus under flickering light, and Thom’s legs were numb from the knee down since he’d been crouching for so long. Gregor was red-faced and seething with frustration when he finally snapped.

“Damn it, would you get me a light? I can’t see the string!” He snarled.

“Can’t we just call it for the night? We’ve set all the other traps, I doubt we need this one.”

“Just get me a blasted torch.”

Of course this was the moment the campfire decided to go out, long neglected and deprived of fuel as they distractedly tinkered with their traps. It took their eyes time to adjust to the darkness, and Thom fully expected to see Gregor’s grim, scowling countenance emerge from the inky blackness as his eyes adjusted. To his amazement the shadows continued to recede even further, revealing his foul tempered friend much as the camp fire had, if not better. Looking up, he was amazed to see some sort of plant structured like ropes, hanging from the trees like rigging and glowing with a ghostly light.

“They’re glowing! Did our firelight drown it out?” Thom said excitedly.

Gregor stifled a harsh rebuttal, twisted face softening in wonder as even he was taken in by the sight revealed before them. The luminescent growths brightened further, almost as though they were emboldened by their attentions. The enchanting material grew up the trunks on some trees, but grew far more plentifully in the branches, developing into long strands draped across the boughs above them. Before their very eyes small glowing lights began to fade into existence, flitting lazily about the glowing tresses. Thom was about to comment on the beauty of this strange dance when he noticed Gregor wasn’t even paying attention, instead crawling forward on unsteady knees. Uncertain about what he was looking at, Thom shuffled up to him catching up to Gregor as he began pawing at the dirt in front of him. After several seconds of work he pulled up a few small mushrooms. The colors were muted and dim in the poor lighting, but they had milky white stalks with dark caps. The caps were further speckled with white spots, which called to mind images of clouds against the oncoming night sky to Thom’s mind.So mesmerizing was the sight, Thom was startled when Gregor spoke.

“I think this might tide us over for a bit, Thom.” Gregor said with a soft smile even as his eyes burned with a manic delight.

“What do you mean?” Thom’s voice quavered, as he had an idea of what Gregor was hinting at. There was only one thing capable of getting either of them this excited, after all.

“You ever heard of mushrooms that give you vision before? My father mentioned them a lot when he was talking about my ancestors. They’d use these to speak with spirits and local gods.”

Thom wet his lips with his tongue and paused for a moment before saying, “No, I’ve never heard of mushrooms like that. Are you sure these are the right ones? ‘Cause I really don’t think we should be eating random fungus we find in the forest.”

Gregor scoffed at him and was about to toss the little mushroom back when they heard a small voice shouting. They both snapped around to see what looked like a miniature humanoid emerging from the brush at the rear of the clearing. It looked terribly frightened, shaking and quivering under their gazes. At least that's how it seemed to Thom since, aside from the shock of white hair crowning the diminutive creature’s form, it was dark as shadow. Thom met Gregor’s eyes, and saw his slight nod. Thom nodded in return and together they began to approach the creature. Thom did his best to keep his face placid and calm, with his hands out low to look as harmless as possible. Despite this his heart was pounding in anticipation.

“Hey little guy. Was that you yelling?” Gregor’s voice was sickly sweet, and anyone who knew the man personally would be disturbed by it. Nevertheless Thom hoped the falsetto voice would have a calming effect. To both of their surprise, the creatures answered.

“The mushroom you were about to eat was poisonous. It almost certainly would have killed you.” It responded meekly. Thom shot Gregor a fiery look of triumph, which was quickly quelled as Gregor responded with a warning glare.

“It’s a good thing you were here then! I thought it was a mushroom my father had mentioned before.” Gregor replied. “He used to say my ancestors would eat it and speak with the spirits. I always wanted to try it out.” Thom noticed the little sprite seemed to calm upon seeing Gregor’s grin, though to Thom it looked like the grin a shark would give a fish.

“The only spirits you’d be speaking to with that mushroom would be in the afterlife.” The creature said dryly. Its eyes, dark spheres that glimmered as they caught every scant bit of light, appeared mirthful.  “Although I would be very interested in collecting a sample of the mushroom, if you don’t mind? The Night Sky is a rare mushroom and I haven’t had a chance to do many tests with it. Would you mind terribly if I took it off your hands?”

Thom and Gregor looked askance at each other. Sample? Tests? What the devil is this little thing talking about?

***

“No, I don't mind. I’ll just set it here.” The shorter human placed the mushroom a full arm’s length in front of him, then backed off to allow Jet to approach. The taller of the two seemed to take the other’s lead and fell back with him. Jet approached the mushroom slowly. While he felt he should be cautious, the two humans seemed just as surprised as he was about the situation, smiling nervously as they looked to each other for reassurance. Jet understood this was probably their first time speaking to a gnome, however he was emboldened when they agreed to give him the Night Sky. It was really quite rare, and yet they gave it up without any fuss or request for compensation.

Perhaps this is to my advantage, Jet thought, they seemed to be inclined to communicate. If so, maybe I can convince them to assist me in gathering samples!

Jet mulled over this thought as he swung his backpack around in front of himself and began pulling sample containers out. He took his knife and whittled off long, thin chunks of the mushroom and inserted them in the glass phials he had brought along. Once he was satisfied he had enough to at least begin his experiments, he capped off his sample containers and wrote a quick label on them before tucking them inside his backpack. Task completed, he looked up at the humans.

“Thank you for your help! My name is Jet. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled warmly. “I’ve never met humans before. I must say, the stories don’t really explain how tall you are!’

“Ah, my name is Gregor and my friend here is Thom.”

Jet’s gaze hopped between the two humans. His trepidation was fading quickly as they spoke to each other, aided in its passing by the opportunity he sensed looming over him. He pressed his palm down on top of his own head, then moved it in a straight line into the shorter human’s leg. It looked as though he only came halfway up the calf on humans. While they weren’t as gigantic as the stories said, they would do.

“Say,” he said. “Do you think you would be able to help me out?”

“Help you out… how?” The taller of the two, Thom, said nervously

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous. I just want to get some samples of the plate fungus growing on the trees there, like little ledges. You see them? And I’d like to get some glowing lichen if you don’t mind assisting me?” Jet’s excitement was mounting, and he knew he couldn’t hide it well. This was what made him such an adventurous, and therefore ill-regarded, gnome. As soon as he saw an opportunity to sate his curiosity, he had to take it. The two humans looked at each other in surprise, and seemed to communicate with their eyes for a few moments before nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it shouldn't be a problem. Happy to help out even. My friend here will lift you up since he’s a bit taller than me if that’s okay?”

Jet nodded and approached Thom. His heart rose into his throat as the giant picked him up, its huge hands fully encompassing his waist and legs. Once he was firmly in grip and level with Thom’s torso, Thom brought him over to the tree. He lifted Jet up to a point he was able to carve off a few pieces of the plate-like fungus growing out of the tree in front of him. However the lichen was out of reach.

“I’m sorry Thom do you think you could get me a little-” His request was cut off as he was whipped through the air, mouth clicking shut. Before he could think he was slammed, hard, into something metal. It cracked against his skull violently, and left him dazed. By the time he was able to clear his vision, he heard the creaking of old metal and a clang as it came to a stop. Sitting up, Jet could see he was in some sort of cage which was being locked before his very eyes.

“W-what’re you doing?” His voice sounded shrill to his own ears. It was embarrassing, but neither human paid him any mind. Instead they were dancing about like loons, mad grins upon their faces, only stopping to light a torch and inspect Jet. Under their wide eyes Jet found it difficult to speak again.

“See? I told you the Merchant is never wrong!” Gregor shouted. Sweat was forming on his forehead and a feverish look had come into his eyes.

“We’ll be able to get another hit off of him yet!” Thom’s manic glee was undercut with desperation. In the new lighting Jet could see the sunken cheeks and darkened eyes of the humans. They reeked of some sickly sweet smell, and neither seemed to be entirely sane.

“Let me go! I don’t know what you think you are doing, but I will not forget this insult!” Jet tried to sound forceful. His small voice felt inadequate before the giant’s gales of laughter.

“I don’t think so little one. You’re coming with us. You’re our big score for this expedition.” Gregor leered at him through the bars of the cage. “Thom, let’s pack this one up and get ready for bed. We might get lucky and catch another in the traps tonight, but they’re certainly going to stay away if we have this torch burning.”

Thom snuffed the torch they had lit as Gregor held Jet’s cage in one hand, opening his knapsack and pushing aside various odds and ends to make room for him. Finally satisfied, the pudgy giant placed the cage inside. After swaddling it with spare clothing, Gregor seemed confident the cage and its denizen were secure.

“Alright, I’ll leave the top open so you can get air, but you best be quiet tonight.” He said in a vaguely menacing tone.

“What do you want from me?” Jet said fearfully, “Let me go, please.”

“I don’t want anything from you lad, it’s the Merchant who wants you.” Gregor laughed ominously as he walked away. Jet was left with a cold lump of dread in his stomach as he laid on his side trying to think of a way out of this. Minutes turned to hours, and the humans settled into sleep. They worried the light of the fire would drive other potential victims away, but Jet thought the raucous snoring was more likely to ward off any would-be prisoners. The cold metal of the cage wicked away his warmth and it was many hours before sleep would come to silence his fears.