Flora & Fauna Pt. 01

The sound of my father's voice is turning hollow and faraway. I can feel my eyes turning glassy with tears but I can't find my hands to cover them. The posh cushions of the armchair across from his massive desk feel like they're swallowing me up, too much and not enough. He's still prattling on about marrying me off to Claudius. My only remaining parent is exuberantly listing financial and social benefits, as if I'm not dying in front of him.

I dig my nails into my palms and glance down to find my hands in my lap. The mossy green linen of my dress is bunched in my shaking fists.

"How can you do this?" I snap as loud as I can through clenched teeth.

My father reels back like he just discovered I can speak.

"He's horrible to everyone! He can't walk into an empty room without finding a way to be a tyrant to something or someone within it! How can you expect me to marry him?"

He purses his lips and brushes back his gray hair nervously. The seams are split on all the disgust and betrayal that built in me as he spoke, but he raises a hand to silence me before I can continue.

"He's just stressed because of his singledom-"

"Pfft," I scoff.

"He is running a successful business. That's not easy. Especially while keeping a home all by himself. With a good wife," he gives me a pointed look with those words, "he would be able to settle down. And he could take good care of you."

"You know, I wouldn't be half as disgusted if you just admitted you want me to be a vein that hooks you up to his bank accounts and-"

"I won't hear a word of that," he snaps suddenly, "I'm not getting any younger, Flora. And you're too old to be running underfoot in the house and galavanting from one town shop to another with no responsibilities. It's time you settle down too!"

"Old?" I say with a tilt of my head. I've barely dipped my toes into my twenties and I'm too old to enjoy my days?

"Too old to be happy?"

"You'll be happy with him. You just have to give it time-"

"I don't love him. I don't even like him."

"No one loves anyone when they get married off. You grow into love."

"I don't- Wait, you didn't love Mom?"

My father sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"We'll all have dinner tomorrow night," he says gently but the words still feel nasty and barbed.

"No."

"Yes. And you will be on your best behavior so that you two can get to know one another. Flora. Look at me."

I look up from my painfully tight fists, certain that my nails have split clean through the skin by now. The shine of my eyes spills out hot down my cheeks.

"I'm not going to be around forever. You need someone who can take care of you."

I'm too repulsed to continue this conversation with even a nod or a shake of my head. I stand so fast I nearly trip myself on the leg of the chair as I rush toward the door. The stairs down to the ground floor of the house can't fly under my feet fast enough. I stop just long enough by the front door to pull a wool cloak and my backpack from the coat hook. I don't dare go out that way. Just in case Claudius thinks tomorrow night is too long to wait to 'get to know me'.

The door to the kitchen flaps open as a plainly dressed maid rushes out with a silver platter topped with kettle and tea cups. Steam billows out of the spout and I sneak behind it like the sun slipping behind a cloud as I enter the kitchen.

I hate that I'm crying. I pray that someone is chopping onions or spicy peppers, something that I can silently blame the teardrops on. But the bustling kitchen is full of sweet smells, buttery sugars, and bread. Someone shakes a metal cylinder over a platter of little cakes and cinnamon puffs out. I hear an apology as I rush through the puff, but I don't stop long enough to respond.

Outside, a crisp autumn wind finds every opening of my clothes. My hands and the bare space of my ankles above my suede, short-heeled boots feel instantly frozen. I pull the cloak tightly shut and tie the strap at the base of my neck. My feet can't stop moving, even if I bothered commanding them to. I shiver and rush directionless through the town.

One business I go by is already closed for the evening. I stop in front and approach the glass storefront. On the other side are various hats of suede, wool, and fur. Sniffling, I yank my chestnut hair away from my face and let the wind pull it out of my way. I pull down one side of my cloak to bunch the fabric around my fist. Some of the brown spots on my face are freckles, some of them are cinnamon. The leftover tears help clean away the cinnamon speckles as I wipe at my face with the fabric.

The shop beside that is still lit inside with one lantern, hanging above an elderly woman working at a loom. Her previous works hang against the glass. One shows a glen dotted with the glowing sprites that can be bartered with to deliver expeditious messages. One is all shades of blue and shimmery silver, showing the frothing waves of the Southern coast, mer lounging on stones and the sandy beaches. The third shows the green forest dripping in moss of the North, a centaur with black fur and sleek hair, stretching back a bowstring, causing the muscles of his human torso and arms to flex.

All around me, more shops are closing down. A couple across the cobblestone street emerge from a sweets-shop holding a paper box tied with a ribbon. Lanterns are being turned off inside and lit on the top of metal posts outside. The sky has turned pink and orange while I tried and failed to outrun my jumbled mess of emotions.

A stubborn, childish part of me lights up as I stand on the edge of town, looking out at the forest with a couple of thin paths showing the way in. I straighten my back and throw my chin up high.

Maybe he'll worry about me if I don't come back.

I step into the darkness of the trees.

And if he does? Serves him right.

One of the hunting paths is more recently used, more clear of weeds. I follow that one. I loosen my cloak as I walk, the shelter of the trees offering me some reprieve from the chilly wind. I have no idea where I'm going. I never spend time in the woods. But I guess that isn't the point. The leaves have all changed color, some of them have already fallen and crunch under my steps.

After a while, I turn around and realize the colors of the village lanterns have all been hidden. The angry thrill of making my father worry about me gives way to the chill of me worrying about me. I reach out and pull a piece of bark from the tree in the direction of the village as a hopeless marker to comfort myself.

Or... I think that's the way back to the village.

A branch snaps somewhere in the growing dark and I flinch. The step makes me stumble and I barely catch myself when I reach out blindly and grab a sapling which bends under my weight. I spin around, searching for my marker that I just made.

The marker is gone. Did I somehow pass it? I peek around trees on all sides of me, hunting from the gap in one's bark.

Somewhere in the fruitless search, my breath starts sawing in and out of me. I step in the direction that feels right and stop. It seems darker in this direction? I should be going toward relative light... I think.

I turn and rush a few steps the other way. I'm in front of a barren thicket, probably a berry bush when it's in season. I hadn't seen a berry bush yet. This can't be right. Heavier steps move slowly through the crisp leaves and I bite my lip to hold back a fearful squeak.

The village loops nearly all around the forest in a U shape. It'll be a long walk if I'm wrong but..

Just choose one and go! I command myself.

"That one," I say aloud and run through the trees.

I keep going in what feels like a straight line. Sweat builds under my dress and cloak. A shiver rumbles up my spine in the growing cold. I pause long enough to lean against a thick tree and catch my breath.

Heavier steps than before are sounding to the side of me. I spin around to face them but I'm only face-to-face with a mess of bushes strangled by vines. Lighter sounds step around and take my attention. I back a few steps away, still breathing heavily. There's a collection of less natural sounds.

Something like a click?

The sound of a taut string?

Something furry bursts through the bushes to my side. Multiple somethings. I scream and stumble backward to get out of the path of the herd of deer. I feel the toe of my boot hook into a root as a leaping doe barely misses my head with the sharp tips of her hooves. I yelp as the fall backward twists my foot nearly all around.

Pulverized leaves puff up all around me as I land in a ditch. The quick sound of sharp hooves vanish into the dark as I groan in pain. An annoyed groan answers mine and I freeze.

"Whoever that was," a silky, deep voice calls out, "You owe me a-"

An arm reaches through the brush and clears it away. I flinch and stare up at the male's face.

"...a dinner," he finishes in a quieter tone.

His golden, sun-kissed skin is bizarre looking in the cold woods. Honey-blond hair spills over a fur-lined coat that's open enough to show a bone-white tunic. The fabric of the tunic has a V just deep enough that I can see the beginnings of the defined muscles of his chest. His gold-flecked brown eyes trail down to my ankle and he sucks a breath in through his teeth. I watch the movement of his arms as he loops the simple bow over his chest.

"Are you hurt?"

I nod.

The man looks over to the side and I follow his gaze to the slower, more even slope on the opposite end of the pit. He disappears back behind the brush and I can hear his steps head for the easier way in. His steps are strange. Limping maybe? I roll over onto my side and sit up as much as I can without using my twisted ankle.

As he emerges, my breath catches in my throat. The centaur doesn't seem to notice my wide-eyed stare as he carefully watches his own descent down the slope. I had only seen down to his waist as he peeked at me through the tangled growth.

The rest of his body is furred in the same golden color as is his hair. Brassy shoes cap his hooves, the edges glint slightly as he carefully steps down to be beside me. His tail is the same color and nearly touches the ground.

What's one of them even doing all the way out here?

Instinctively, I pull my limbs away from him and hug them tight to my body. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care. His legs fold to drop him down into a lying position beside me. His fingers pinch the hem of my dress and tug it up just enough to see my full ankle. I look away from him and wince.

"It's already swelling pretty bad," he says with a sympathetic grimace, "How far are you from home?"

"I don't know," I mumble.

"Are you lost?"

I hate to think what his silky voice would do to me if I closed my eyes.

"I was... running away. Kind of. I think."

His expression isn't surprised as I expected it to be, "Sounds like you're having as pleasant a week as I am."

The centaur reaches out a hand to me. I place my hand in his palm and watch his fingers close around my entire hand. He tugs and I pull back.

"Can you put weight on it?" He asks.

I realize what he wants and look from the slope of his bare back to his face again. He shrugs as if the idea is equally preposterous to him.

I let his hand tug me the second time and inch forward. The furred, horse-esque part of his body is hot to the touch. I throw one leg over him and ignore the way that heat leaks into my thighs. As he stands, I squeak and lean forward to throw my arms around his torso. My hands dip under the coat, feeling the movement of his muscles as he stands. I don't bother asking where we're going as he walks in the direction I had been haphazardly running in.

"Sorry about your dinner," I say into the silence after several awkward minutes have passed with me riding atop him. I can feel the rumble in the human chest as he laughs.

"It's okay. If I can't hunt down something else tonight, I'm not much of a centaur, am I?"

I don't answer. I don't really know what makes or unmakes a centaur. I would imagine it's the horse part.

"Sorry if my yelling like that scared you. I thought you were some other hunter trying to mess up my shot."

"The deer scared me first. And worst."

Another laugh rumbles under my fingertips. It's so dark I can barely see him under or ahead of me at this point. The surreal movement of his body between my legs makes this all feel like a bizarre dream. Hopefully a nightmare, from the point of my father telling me he was giving me away to Claudius and onward. My twisted ankle throbs painfully as it dangles.

"Hold on."

I sit upright in confusion, "What?"

He takes my arms and pulls them tighter around him, locking my hands together. Without more warning the half I'm riding on stands upright. I yelp and hug my arms around him as tight as I can. His front hooves slam into a tree as he rears and reaches up with his arms. I can feel the stretching of his chest and back as he extends forward. I hear an annoyed grunt followed by the snap of thin branches before he falls back to the ground.

"Ow." I say quietly when he lands and I hit hard against his back.

"Here." The centaur reaches back toward me.

In each of his hands is a red apple. He crunches into one with his own teeth while he offers one back to me. I take it and bite into the juicy flesh.

"Thanks," I say around a big bite.

I hover a hand under the apple as I eat, trying not to get juice or pieces into his fur as I blindly devour it. In all my panic about escaping the forest, I didn't realize how hungry I had become. The centaur reaches out his hand and parts a mishmash of branches ahead of us. I reach out an arm and help him to keep it from slapping me in the face as he passes through.

In a clearing just large enough for it sits an odd cottage. A wide door or, just wide enough for a horse I suppose. The windows are strangely high and long, just enough that it is uncanny looking. The centaur's hand reaches back and fishes a key on a metal ring from the pocket of his coat. I lean forward on his body as he walks through the door. Some of his long hairs stick to my lips and I pull them gently away.

He steps from hoof to hoof as he clicks off the brass coverings and drops them to a mat beside his front door. Following his lead, I bring up my legs to tug loose the laces of my shoes and drop them beside his own.

I look around his torso to see more of the interior of the house. A lone lantern hanging in the center of the space gives off just enough enough to show the barest outlines of everything. There are kitchen cupboards and counters and a hearth. Everything is strangely high up to my eyes. In front of the cold fireplace is a collection of massive pillows and a durable easel of some kind covered in a thickly-padded cushion.

The centaur's hooves are loud on the wooden flooring as he walks to the pile of cushions. I have no escape as he reaches back to grab me with his hands and pull me around to his front. My arms naturally go around his human-half in a hug as he leans both of us forward.

"Um," he says with his face an inch from my own, "Can you let go?"

I look and realize he's placed my back as close to the soft pillows as he can.

"Oh, sure. Sorry," I let go and drop onto the cushions with an "oof".

The hoofsteps get quieter and I spin around to watch him vanish behind another large door. I hear the creak of something opening and closing. He emerges with a block of ice in one hand and snatches a cloth from the kitchen countertop to wrap around it.

"Should help a little," he says as he leans forward to offer me the ice.

I put it against my ankle and wince a little at the cold.

"Thank you."

He nods and walks behind me to set up wood in the hearth. I hear the kindling catch and fire come to life in the stone fireplace. Warmth lights up my back while I still can't take my eyes off the beastial half of him. A leaf is stuck to his thigh, half crunched into the fur. I lean forward and grab the pieces in my fist. A shiver runs through his body so hard his tail flicks. I hold in a smile as I twist around to throw the leaf into the fire. The centaur's face is staring into my own.

"Excuse you."

"There was a leaf," I open my hand quickly and show him.

"Oh," he says with a surprised look.

His hand takes it from my own and throws it into the flames before he stands.

"Wait, where-"

"I still have a dinner to hunt for, remember?"

I don't come up with a response by the time he has resituated the brass caps onto his hooves and is out the door with his bow and quiver.

.

The warm smell and sound of the fireplace eases the budding aches from my fall. And the bitter anger swirling in me from my father's news. I stretch out my arms and open my eyes. The centaur's eyes stare into my own. I yelp and flinch back.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Just got back. It's raining by the way." He flicks his hair at me and splatters me with cold drops.

I stare at him with my mouth agape in offense. I grab a length of his hair and flick the ends into his own face before he can pull away. His smirk evaporates into shock as his hooves scramble to stand on the hardwood floor. He laughs as he backs away and wipes a hand down his face. I can't help but laugh in return.

"You know how to pluck a pheasant?"

I sit up to look around him to the kitchen. Two fat, colorful birds sit on the countertop. The centaur twists his hair up and ties the wet gold back with a thin leather strap, revealing the slightly pointed tips of his ears. The firelight makes the gold hues of him glow, particularly the flecks of metallic in the iris of his eyes. I look away from him, uncomfortable with the recognition of his beauty as it leads down to the furred, foreign half of his body.

"I think I can figure it out."

At first, I assume he's about to offer me his hands. He picks me up instead and carries me in front of him to the kitchen. He watches my feet as he gently sets me down on the floor. I lean my hips against the countertop so I can keep my one foot off the ground. To work at the countertop beside him, I have to reach my arms up awkwardly high.

"What's your name?"

"Andrius," he answers as he turns and inspects both the prepared birds, "Yours?"

"Flora."

He pierces each herb-butter coated meat with a metal spire and clutches them both in one hand. He helps me scrub my hands clean between his own in the basin I have to reach for. I brace a hand against his lower body as we walk back toward the fireplace.

He helps me back down to the cushions and lays down on another clump of them beside me. I watch as he situates the skewers over the fire.

"Well, Flora, do you often run away into the forests at night or was tonight a special occasion?"

"Special occasion," I grumble bitterly.

He raises a brow at me, "It's going to take a while for them to cook. One of us should tell a story."

"Not much of a story," I shrug, "My father is going to marry me off to a man I don't want."

"Is he hideous or something?"

"No," I think of Claudius' chiseled features and slicked back, dark hair, "He's a lot of things, but he's not hideous. He's a cruel, tyrant of a man. And that's when people are watching. I'm terrified of what that means for who he'll be when he's alone with someone. Someone he thinks he owns."

A chill runs through my skin and leaves goosebumps. One of Andrius' hands goes over my arm and rubs the bumps away.

"So, what's the plan?"

I appreciate the way he asks, as if we're in this together for the moment. As if I'm not alone in my scrambling attempt at escape. I smile up at him and shrug.

"I don't know yet." I admit.

"Is your father in denial about what he's like?"

I shake my head, "He knows. He thinks having a wife will fix him."