Four Trees, a Meowclops, and Ilere

     Ilere was taking a survey of the local Calabat population, and as the creatures nested high up in the trees, Ilere had likewise ventured up into the canopy.

     She’d considered trying to work out a spell to turn herself into a Calabat to make things easier, but had ultimately decided against it. Shapeshifting was a tricky business, and some forms were easier for some people to take than others.

     For whatever reason, turning into a Meowclops was relatively easy to Ilere, whereas trying to shift into other Petpet species felt difficult-to-impossible.

     So she was in her usual faerie form, scribbling notes about Calabat dens and other signs of Calabat presence, when she heard an ear-rending screeching from below.

     She looked down and saw a Meowclops running full-tilt across the forest floor, an unusually-large Werhond in hot pursuit.

     The all-too-familiar Meowclops leapt up onto the trunk of the tree Ilere was currently sitting in, scrambling up the side with a speed and agility which, alas, still probably applied only to his ascent and not his future descent.

     Ilere could see how badly Dusty was shaking as he made it to Ilere’s branch. He crouched near the trunk, claws dug into the bark, and looked pleadingly at Ilere.

     Ilere looked back down at the Werhond, who was now standing at the tree’s base, snarling. There were two packs of Werhonds in Ilere’s general vicinity that she kept track of, but Ilere didn’t recognise this particular Werhond—who was both notably large and had a distinct pale facial marking—as being from either of those packs. She scribbled a quick note about this newcomer, then tucked her notepad away and leapt from the branch to flutter down for a closer look.

     Dusty let out a pitiful mew as she descended. Doubtless he was depending on her to get him down a second time, but Ilere trusted he was safe for the moment.

     In truth, he’d been more-or-less safe this whole time thanks to the magical protections Sophie had placed on his collar, though the Meowclops had clearly gotten quite a scare.

     The Werhond snarled at Ilere as she neared the ground, but didn’t try to attack. Ilere waved her hand, summoning vines from the ground to harmlessly entangle the Werhond so she could perform a quick assessment.

     The creature seemed to be generally healthy and possessed a slightly abnormal magical signature which was likely connected to his larger-than-average size. Thankfully, she had a spare tracking collar that would fit him, which she magically retrieved from her storage and carefully placed on the Werhond.

     Once that was done, Ilere stepped back and released the Werhond. She’d monitor him for now, see if he integrated himself into either of the local packs, and perhaps find out if he was different from average Werhonds in any way other than size.

     Once released, the Werhond turned tail and fled into the trees.

     Dusty let out a long, sorrowful meooooooooooow that probably meant something along the lines of Please don’t forget me!, so Ilere flew back up to collect him.

     He allowed Ilere to scoop him up into her arms, and she could feel him still trembling against her as she cradled him to her chest.

     “You really need to stop getting yourself into these situations,” said Ilere. “I won’t always be there to help you.”

     Dusty pressed his face against Ilere’s shoulder.

     “Ridiculous creature,” she said, smoothing back the fur on his head. “Let’s get you home. Again.”

     Once she once again arrived at what had now become their routine drop-off point, Ilere set Dusty down. “Off you go.”

     Dusty looked up at her for a few moments.

     “Go on,” said Ilere.

     Dusty turned away and started walking home, but as he put weight on his right forepaw, he whimpered, jerking it back up off the ground. He looked back at Ilere, mewing pitifully.

     “You’re hurt?” said Ilere. “Here. Let me see.”

     She knelt beside him, making a quick visual inspection of the paw and finding no obvious injury. It probably wasn’t anything too serious; he’d managed to climb the tree just fine. Perhaps his earlier panic had kept him from feeling the full pain of whatever injury he’d gotten until he was safe.

     She cupped her hand under his paw, murmuring a general healing spell.

     “There you are,” said Ilere. “You should be fine now.”

     Dusty flicked his tail. He took another step, then let out another pained whimper, holding his paw up once more.

     Ilere looked back at Dusty’s paw, confused. “What…?”

     She gently took the paw in her hand and gave it another examination. She still couldn’t see anything wrong—there were no sores or thorns on his paw-pad, and Dusty gave no sign of pain as she gently manipulated his paw.

     “I don’t understand,” said Ilere. “I can’t see anything wrong with you.”

     “That’s his new favorite trick,” came Sophie’s voice, right behind her.

     Startled, Ilere got to her feet, brushing off her dress as she rose.

     Ilere still felt a pang in her chest when she looked at the girl—not so much a girl anymore, Ilere supposed; by now the Ixi would be considered an adult by Neopet standards. Ilere didn’t let it show on her face; she kept her expression neutral, just as she had at their last meeting.

     “He’s figured out if he starts limping, it gets him attention,” Sophie continued. “And it also gets me to carry his lazy backside home instead of making him walk. I’d say something about you getting outsmarted by a Petpet, but unfortunately you’re not the only one. What are you doing here, Ilere?”

     Ilere shot an unamused glance at the unrepentant-looking Dusty before replying. “I spotted him climbing up a tree while being chased by a Werhond,” she said, “so I thought I’d help him down and see him safely home. This is the third time I’ve had to rescue him from some trouble or another. You should keep closer track of him in the future.”

     Sophie sighed. “Yeah, he’s a handful. C’mere, Dusty.”

     Dusty trotted over to her with no limp whatsoever, but when Sophie bent over to pick him up, he darted out of reach, returning to Ilere’s side and headbutting her shin in what seemed, to Ilere, a rather unjustified show of affection.

     “He seems to like you,” said Sophie.

     “He’s a questionable judge of character,” said Ilere, looking down at the Meowclops.

     Sophie snorted. “Maybe so. Still. Thanks for bringing him back.”

     Ilere nodded. “Of course.”

     Apparently satisfied, Dusty walked back over to Sophie, pawing at her skirt.

     “Oh, now you want to be picked up?” said Sophie, leaning back down. This time, Dusty allowed himself to be scooped into Sophie’s arms, where he started to purr.

     “Anyways, guess we’ll be heading home,” said Sophie, cradling Dusty against her shoulder. “I’ll see if I can find a way to keep you from having to get him out of any more trees, at least. Bye.”

     As Sophie turned to go, Ilere felt a strange urge to stop her.

     There were so many things Ilere had never said to Sophie. I’m sorry, and When I realised what a mistake I’d made, it felt too late to fix it, and Of all the people in the world, you are the one I care for most.

     But words were paltry things, and Ilere wasn’t sure that Sophie would really want to hear any of them.

     And there were things Ilere couldn’t explain while her curse remained in effect.

     Still, as Sophie started to walk off, Ilere said “Sophie.”

     Sophie paused, looking over her shoulder.

     “I am… glad you didn’t fail,” said Ilere.

     Sophie blinked. Her lips parted for a moment.

     Then she tossed her head, her tall witch’s hat bouncing slightly.

     “Of course I didn’t fail,” said Sophie, turning back to face Ilere. “I’m more than powerful enough to handle a spirit like Jubart Igig.”

     Ilere blinked. So that was the Spirit of Slumber’s name? Her old foe, hated and feared for so long?

     Somehow it was almost a letdown. “Jubart Igig” was hardly a name to conjure nightmares.

     “Powerful indeed,” said Ilere. “I confess that I’m curious. How did you undo the enchantment he placed on Neovia?”

     Sophie shrugged. “I just asked him to remove it.”

     What? Ilere blinked. “That’s all?”

     “Yeah,” said Sophie. “I asked him to lift the curse. He agreed. Of course, he didn’t tell me that lifting the curse he put on Neovia would make Mr. Krawley’s curse come right back, so I had to deal with that afterwards, but as far as the Spirit of Slumber goes, all I had to do was ask.” Sophie shifted her hold on Dusty so she could carry him one-armed, placing her other hand on her hip. “After all your bluster about how the Spirit of Slumber is some big bad dangerous spirit who’s not to be trifled with, it was that simple. Well, simple after I figured out his name, which was its own headache.”

     Ilere’s head was spinning.

     All it had taken was to ask?

     After all these years of hating the Spirit of Slumber, fearing him, spinning plans for his eventual destruction—plans in which a mere child had become entangled…

     ...surely it couldn’t be that simple. Surely all this hadn’t been for nothing.

     Had it?

     There was only one way to find out.

     But that would have to wait for another time.

     “Thank you,” said Ilere.

     Sophie shrugged again. “Not the most thrilling explanation, but eh. It turned out all right in the end. Anyways, if that’s all, I’m gonna take Dusty home.”

     Ilere nodded. “Be well, Sophie.”

     “You too,” Sophie replied. “Thanks again for bringing him home.”

     “Of course,” said Ilere.

     There were so many things Ilere could say. Maybe someday she’d manage to say them.

     For now, though, it was enough for Ilere to keep an eye on Sophie for a few moments more, lingering just until the witch and her Meowclops disappeared into their home before Ilere departed for her own.

     The fourth time Ilere encountered Dusty in a tree, he needed no rescuing.

     However, as the tree in question was Ilere’s home, she still found it to be some cause for concern.

     It was not too long after the incident with the Werhond, and Ilere had been doing quite a bit of thinking.

     She had the Spirit of Slumber’s name, now. That provided Ilere with certain possibilities. There were ways to summon him without using his name, but using the connection Ilere had with him via the curse came with certain risks.

     Using his name, on the other hand, put Ilere in a much less vulnerable position. She could perform a ritual to summon him, as Sophie had, and… ask. Perhaps it would even work.

     But if it didn’t, and the Spirit of Slumber took offence to the summoning and sought to worsen his original curse, Ilere wasn’t certain she’d be able to fight back.

     The curse had been a part of her for so long, a seemingly inescapable part of her life. She could bear it a little longer. She needed time to prepare for… whatever it was she meant to do.

     Once, she’d wanted to destroy the Spirit of Slumber.

     Now she thought she’d be satisfied just to escape the bonds he’d laid upon her.

     Thoughts of how she ought to proceed had kept her rather distracted these last few days, and as she returned home one afternoon after foraging for both useful spell reagents and her lunch, she didn’t even notice Dusty perched in the branches of her tree until he announced himself with a “Meow!”

     Ilere froze. She looked up.

     Dusty was crouched on one of the tree-home’s branches. He looked down at her, wiggled his hindquarters, then launched himself out into thin air.

     Startled, Ilere stepped forward to try and catch him, but then she noticed the faint green glow around the Meowclops’ form and the way that he was falling rather slowly.

     He landed gently on all fours, trotted over to Ilere, and sat down right in front of her with another “Meow!”

     She looked down at him. Then she double-checked if Sophie or any other non-Petpet witnesses were nearby.

     Finding no such witnesses, Ilere sighed, gently put her foraging basket down, and cast the shapeshifting spell.

     “Hello!” said Dusty. “I can get out of tall trees now!”

     “Yes. I saw,” said Ilere. With her Meowclops eye, she could also see the spellwork that Sophie had placed on the collar to ease Dusty’s descent. It was quite well-done, but Ilere would expect nothing less from Sophie.

     “Why are you at my home?” Ilere asked.

     “I wanted to talk to you!” said Dusty. He hesitated a moment. “You’re not going to smack me, are you?”

     “...no,” said Ilere.

     “Oh, good,” said Dusty. “We’re friends now, right?”

     “We are not friends,” said Ilere, “but I won’t smack you. Now go home.”

     Dusty’s tail swooshed behind him, but he remained otherwise firmly in place. “Why did you stay not-a-Meowclops last time you were near my home?” he asked. “After the Werhond.”

     “There was no need for me to be a Meowclops then,” said Ilere. “And… it would be bad if your, ah, mother saw it. Very bad.”

     “Why?” asked Dusty.

     “It’s… a secret,” said Ilere. “An important secret.”

     Dusty seemed to consider this, tail growing still as he thought. “Okay,” he said. “It can be a secret.”

     “Also, don’t pretend you’re hurt if you are not,” said Ilere. “If you’re hurt, I’ll help you, but if you pretend, it makes it harder to know when you need help.”

     Dusty’s tail swished again. “Well… okay. But can you teach me how to change shape as you do?”

     “No,” said Ilere.

     “But I want to be big, too,” said Dusty. “I want to get big like you and my tall mother, and I want to do glowy things that make me stop hurting and float in the air and… and a lot of other things!”

     “It’s not possible,” said Ilere. “I’m not a Meowclops. I just look like one sometimes. Your tall mother is also not a Meowclops. But you are. I have power; you don’t. I can’t teach you to use something you don’t have.”

     “Oh,” said Dusty, visibly drooping.

     “It’s… not a bad thing to be a Meowclops,” said Ilere. “There are many things you can do. Try not to worry about the things you can’t.”

     “Okay,” said Dusty, though he didn’t seem terribly encouraged.

     “Do you need help getting home?” Ilere asked.

     “No,” said Dusty. “I know the way. But… can I come back to visit?”

     She couldn’t let him get close to her. The curse…

     “No,” said Ilere.

     He drooped even more.

     Despite herself, Ilere felt driven to add “I’ll still help you if you’re in trouble. And…”

     She hardly dared to hope she might soon be free of the curse. But if she could somehow find a way…

     Well, she hardly wanted to be “friends” with a Meowclops. But when he inevitably got himself into trouble again, it would be easier to help him if they were on reasonably good terms.

     Besides. As cold-hearted as Ilere knew herself to be, something inside her twinged at the sight of such deep Meowclops sorrow.

     “It is… possible that I’ll change my mind someday,” Ilere said.

     Dusty gazed at her for a few moments, still and silent.

     “Okay,” said Dusty, turning away. “I’ll go home now.”

     Ilere watched him pad off into the trees, eventually disappearing even from her currently sharpened Meowclops vision into the forest’s shadows.

     Perhaps someday, Ilere could follow Dusty back to Sophie’s shack. And if that happened, she could tell Sophie all that she’d done, and all that Sophie had come to mean to her—not in the hopes of absolution, but to allow Sophie to understand.

     If Sophie hated Ilere for all Ilere had done and all that she had failed to do, Ilere would accept that.

     But… if Ilere were very, very lucky, perhaps someday Ilere could return to Sophie’s shack, welcomed by both of those who lived within.

     Someday, perhaps.

     Once Dusty was gone, Ilere returned to her natural earth faerie form. She got to her feet, picked up her basket, and went inside.

     She had preparations to make.

     The End.