Four Trees, a Meowclops, and Ilere

     Ilere had been making her usual rounds of her territory when she heard an unpleasant, albeit muffled, caterwauling.

     Upon further investigation, Ilere discovered the fuzzy rear end of a Meowclops sticking out of a hole in the side of an old, gnarled tree. The creature’s tail was lashing, and his rear paws scrabbled ineffectually at the tree’s bark.

     The Petpet had probably been checking for interesting tidbits inside the cavity. Now he seemed to be stuck.

     Ilere watched the Meowclops struggle for a few moments to see if he might possibly free himself.

     It didn’t seem likely. The paws gradually stilled, and the Meowclops let out another woeful sound that would have been ear-rending had the Meowclops’ front end not been stuck inside a tree trunk.

     Ilere, though she had a fearsome reputation, was not without pity for small creatures. She placed a hand on the side of the tree, murmured a spell, and willed the edges of the hole to shift just enough that the Meowclops could escape.

     Which he did, popping himself right out of the hole with a frantic push of his hind legs. He would have gone tumbling right down onto the forest floor had Ilere not caught him with her magic.

     She gave him a quick once-over. He was a bit on the smaller side, though not out of the normal range for a Meowclops, and seemed to have a naturally skinny build. His short, smooth fur was a uniform shade of mid-tone grey, which was the most common coat colour for Meowclopes. He seemed well-fed, well-groomed, free of any obvious signs of injury or Petpetpet infestation, and overall a healthy example of his species.

     Ilere would have simply released the Petpet and considered the matter closed if not for the collar around the Petpet’s neck.

     With a little beckoning gesture, she used her magic to pull the Meowclops closer. The Meowclops seemed oddly tolerant of being carried around with magic; he simply stared silently at Ilere as she levitated him right up next to her and examined the tag on his collar.

     It read:

     Dusty

     If lost, return to Sophie the Swamp Witch.

     Or else.

     The collar was enchanted with protective spells that were substantially more sophisticated than the ones on the three old Petpet collars Ilere still had somewhere at home. Poor Sophie had been quite confused as to how “Eye,” her first Meowclops, had slipped out of the enchanted collars almost as soon as they’d been put on, and she’d wisely given up after her third attempt.

     This Meowclops, for obvious reasons, was far less able to uncollar himself.

     “You’re a fair distance from home,” Ilere noted.

     The Meowclops made an inquisitive little “prrt?” sound.

     “One would think a witch’s Petpet would have better survival instincts,” Ilere continued.

     Ilere didn’t expect a response from the Meowclops, of course, but having lived alone for the better part of the last few centuries, Ilere had picked up the habit of talking to herself.

     Ilere sighed. “I don’t suppose I can trust you to find your way back.”

     The Meowclops meowed, looking up at Ilere with a guileless golden eye.

     “No,” Ilere answered herself. “I’d better take you home.”

     Ilere knew the way to Sophie’s shack quite well. She’d made that journey on foot plenty of times, though not usually in her own shape.

     There was a part of her that sometimes itched to cast the shapeshifting spell she’d once used so often; for a time, being a Meowclops had felt just as natural as being an earth faerie. There were certainly advantages to the form: agility, sharp senses, the ability to blend in with the creatures of the Haunted Woods…

     ...being a soft, warm presence that could offer comfort to a lonely child.

     But those days were gone. Sophie was no longer a child, and she doubtless thought that Eye had died years ago. In a way, she wasn’t wrong.

     Even if Ilere still sometimes woke from dreams in which she ran around on four legs.

     Ilere carefully took the Meowclops in her arms, cradling him securely, and the little creature started purring.

     “You trust strangers far too easily,” said Ilere as she looked down at the Petpet, who gazed back up at her with perfect, irrational confidence.

     It reminded her far too much of the way a young Ixi had looked at her, long ago.

     But this was no time for irrelevant memories. With the Meowclops securely in her arms, Ilere made her way towards Sophie’s home.

     She wasn’t going to get too close, of course. She doubted Sophie had any desire to see her, and the feeling was…

     ...it wasn’t quite mutual, but Ilere was in no hurry to re-encounter the swamp witch when the last words Ilere had said to her had been “I hope you fail.”

     Foolish. Of course Sophie wouldn’t let anyone sway her from her purpose, and it wasn’t as if Ilere had ever given Sophie reason to trust her.

     Ilere had betrayed that first, innocent trust a much-younger Sophie had given her by leaving Sophie at the shack alone, for all that Ilere had thought her intentions were… not good, precisely, but sound.

     And in the end, Sophie had faced the Spirit of Slumber and come out seemingly unscathed. Ilere’s fears had been unfounded, and her cruel words, it seemed, had been unjustified.

     Still, at least Ilere could delay Sophie’s inevitable grief at losing another Meowclops. Once Ilere was in eyeshot of the shack, she set the Meowclops down.

     “There,” said Ilere. “Now go home.”

     Instead of trotting off towards the shack, the Meowclops turned back to Ilere, looking up at her.

     Ilere made a shooing gesture. “Your home is over there. Go on.”

     The Meowclops sat down in front of her, tilting his head to one side.

     Ilere grimaced. Were he a Neopet she was trying to get rid of, she could try to frighten him into running home, but Petpets…

     ...Petpets could be unpredictable. Ilere was not about to do something that might make Sophie’s Meowclops go panicking off into the underbrush, never to be seen again.

     But there was another option.

     Ilere checked her surroundings. Nobody else was around, and the light flickering from the windows of the shack implied that Sophie was inside, probably busy with some manner of witchcraft.

     So, for the first time in years, Ilere cast the spell that turned her into a Meowclops.

     It felt a little too much like coming home.

     She blinked, readjusting herself to a Meowclops’ vision. Though as a faerie she had some ability to sense the presence of magic, as a Meowclops she could see the mostly-earth-and-dark magic flowing through the nearby plants and soil, the aura of witchcraft swirling about the distant shack, and the twinkling of the spells on Dusty’s collar.

     And now Dusty was staring at Ilere, wide-eyed, ears pinned back to his head.

     But then his ears perked up again, and his expression shifted from startled to curious.

     “Oh!” he said. “You’re a Meowclops too!”

     He didn’t speak the same way a Neopet or Faerie did, but while Ilere was in Meowclops form she could more-or-less interpret his body language, the sounds he made, and other subtle signals it was harder for a faerie to perceive.

     And in this form she could communicate with him, as well.

     “Your home is over there,” said Ilere.

     Dusty turned to look, then looked back at Ilere. “Yes, that’s my home!” he said cheerfully.

     Ilere stared at him for a few moments. “Go home,” she said.

     “Who are you?” Dusty asked.

     “A stranger,” said Ilere. “Now go home.”

     “You helped me,” said Dusty. “I like you. Come with me!”

     “No,” said Ilere. “Go. Alone.”

     Now, Dusty looked confused again. “My den is warm. My tall mother is nice. We have lots of food. Come with me!”

     His tall mother? Did Sophie have more than one Meowclops?

     Of course, Dusty was rather young. If Sophie had acquired him as a kitten, he might very well see her as a parental figure. And Sophie was doubtless significantly taller than Dusty’s birth mother, so the descriptor made sense.

     “No,” said Ilere. “I won’t go with you. I’m not your friend. Go away.” To punctuate the point, she hissed at him.

     Dusty flinched, looking strangely hurt. He wasted a few more moments looking at her plaintively before running off down towards the shack.

     Ilere watched him until she saw him slip through the Petpet-flap on Sophie’s door.

     There. That was that. With any luck, the Meowclops had learned a lesson from today’s events, and Ilere wouldn’t have to rescue him from any more trees.

     It might create issues if Dusty were somehow able to tell Sophie that Ilere could take Meowclops form, but so far as Ilere knew, Sophie couldn’t turn into a Meowclops or otherwise communicate with them. Even if she could, there was enough of a logical jump between “Ilere can shapeshift” and “Ilere was actually my childhood Petpet” that Ilere trusted it wouldn’t be an issue.

     If Sophie were to see Ilere as a Meowclops, that would be a different story, but Ilere had been careful. Dusty was safely home, and Sophie was none the wiser.

     Satisfied, Ilere shifted back to her usual faerie form and headed home.

     The second time Ilere rescued Sophie’s Meowclops, he had once again gotten himself stuck in a tree.

     In fairness to him, he wasn’t stuck in the same way as the first time.

     Ilere had been applying an anti-fungal treatment to some of the trees in her territory when she heard a pitiful meowing from the treetops.

     It wasn’t hard to guess what creature was making that sound, and it didn’t take long to locate the tree Dusty was perched in.

     Ilere paused at the base of the tree, looking up at the small, trembling form clutching a branch up above.

     “You climbed up there,” said Ilere. “Surely you can climb back down.”

     Dusty simply gave another drawn-out, wavering meow.

     Ilere didn’t often fly. The trees in this area were clustered close, creating a network of branches that made it difficult for a faerie of Ilere’s usual size to get much altitude. Still, at the moment she didn’t need much altitude.

     She fluttered up to the branch where Dusty was perched. Conveniently, it was large enough for a full-sized Ilere to sit down as well, so she did.

     “Come here,” said Ilere, beckoning.

     Dusty stared at her, ears pinned back against his head, body tucked low against the branch, all of his claws dug deep into the tree’s bark. He made no move to approach.

     So Ilere waved her hand and enveloped the Meowclops in glowing green magic which gently-but-firmly pulled him up off the branch.

     He tried to fight it at first, hissing and digging his claws even deeper into the bark, but it was no use; soon he was grouchily levitating right above the branch.

     Ilere got the impression that he was holding a grudge for her past unfriendliness. Well, he’d hardly be the first.

     She didn’t bother trying to take physical hold of Dusty; it seemed likely that in his current state, he’d lash out with his claws. So she slid off the branch, fluttering slowly down to the forest floor, levitating Dusty along with her.

     Once Dusty’s paws were firmly on the ground, she released him. She half-expected him to dart away, but instead he stood still, looking up at her, head tilted slightly to one side.

     “Are you hoping I’ll carry you home again?” Ilere asked.

     In all honesty, she was inclined to do just that, provided he was willing to be carried. She still wasn’t sure she trusted the Meowclops to get himself back home safely.

     Dusty tilted his head slightly upwards, ears twitching. Ilere got the sense that he was trying to communicate something.

     She supposed she knew how to find out what it was.

     With another casting of that old familiar spell, Ilere was a Meowclops once again.

     “What is it?” Ilere asked.

     “You helped me again,” said Dusty. “But you said you didn’t like me.”

     “I don’t dislike you,” said Ilere. “I’m not your friend, but I want you to get home safely.”

     “I don’t understand,” said Dusty.

     There were many things that Ilere couldn’t explain to a creature as simple as this Meowclops, and she wasn’t in the habit of explaining herself, anyway.

     “I can carry you home,” said Ilere. “If you’ll let me.”

     Dusty considered this for a few moments with lowered ears and a twitchy tail. “Okay,” he said at last.

     So, after returning to her faerie form, Ilere once again carried Dusty most of the way back to Sophie’s shack.

     She set him down, once again, a little distance from Sophie’s shack.

     “Run along, now,” she said.

     Instead of running along, Dusty turned back towards her and planted his rump down on the ground, looking up at her, waiting.

     “I’m not going to…” Ilere started, then closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You don’t understand when I’m like this. It’s pointless. I know you know the way back from here.” She waved her other hand dismissively. “Go. Shoo.”

     Without waiting to see if he’d do as asked, Ilere started the walk back towards her own home.

     After a few moments, she noticed the sound of little pawsteps behind her.

     Slowly, she turned.

     Dusty meowed, tail held high behind him as he paused in his pursuit.

     It seemed he needed further pursuasion.

     So Ilere resigned herself to one more bout of temporary Meowclopshood.

     She cast the spell.

     “I am not a Meowclops,” she told Dusty. “I won’t go home with you.”

     Dusty looked confused, which seemed to be a common state of affairs for him. “You look and smell and sound and feel like a Meowclops right now,” he said. “We can be friends. Come with me.”

     “I do not want to be your friend,” said Ilere. “I will help you if you are in trouble. You are not in trouble now. Leave me alone.”

     “But I want to be friends,” said Dusty.

     “I don’t,” said Ilere. “Your… tall mother wants you to go home, so go.”

     Dusty still seemed reluctant to leave, so Ilere added: “If you try to follow me home, I’ll swat you.” She lifted a paw in warning. “Now go home.”

     Dusty once again looked hurt. “But… I want to…” he started, before falling silent under Ilere’s merciless gaze and the threat of her mighty paw.

     Clearly disheartened, Dusty slunk away, and once again Ilere watched for long enough to ensure he got home safely.

     It wasn’t as if she enjoyed upsetting the little creature. It was just… she couldn’t very well go down there. Her Meowclops form was… distinctive. Larger than average, thick curly fur, an array of darker-green markings that included a blotch on her back that vaguely resembled a pair of faerie wings...

     Sophie would recognise her immediately, and that would only cause Sophie even more grief. That was the last thing Ilere wanted to do. The girl had suffered enough on Ilere’s account.

     And then there was the curse.

     Long ago, when Ilere had been young, foolish, and desperate, she’d fled Faerieland for the dark, quiet sanctuary of the Haunted Woods.

     She’d been young enough at the time that, by Faerieland law, she was still under her mother’s authority, and Ilere had doubted her mother would simply let her adolescent daughter drop out of Faerieland Academy and run away from home. So when a young Ilere had encountered a strange spirit who offered to help ensure she was left alone, Ilere had taken his offer.

     And indeed, she’d been left alone.

     She’d had no choice but to be alone, because if Ilere spent too much time with anyone—if she let herself get too close—the curse would lash out at both that person and Ilere.

     Though Ilere had never been the most social of faeries, she’d come to deeply resent the restriction the curse placed on her, and so for many years she’d sought some way to free herself from it. She’d had no success so far. The Spirit of Slumber was far more powerful than Ilere, and his curse seemed bound to her very essence.

     Ilere had found at least one loophole, at least: if she disguised herself so that the person she was with didn’t know who she really was, the curse didn’t seem to kick in. That had allowed Ilere, masquerading as a Meowclops named Eye, to keep watch over Sophie for several years.

     Dusty had seen her in both shapes, so that loophole wouldn’t apply to him, but he’d be fine as long as Ilere kept their encounters brief.

     So it was better if the Meowclops didn’t see her as more than a person who could occasionally get him out of trouble. Better for him, better for Sophie, better for Ilere.

     And if that saddened him, well, he needed to learn at some point that not everyone in this world was a potential friend. Better to learn it with Ilere than something that might want to eat him. There were plenty of monsters in the Haunted Woods that would see an unwary Petpet as a snack. Sophie really ought to keep a closer eye on him…

     ...but then, Sophie’s last Meowclops had been far more self-sufficient. Sophie had certainly never needed to rescue Eye from a tree.

     Eye had, for obvious reasons, been an uncommonly intelligent and capable Meowclops. Dusty, so far as Ilere could tell, was not. Ilere supposed it was only natural for Sophie to have too-high expectations of her second Meowclops. It was just one more error Ilere had made regarding Sophie.

     Still. Surely the Meowclops was capable enough of learning that he’d eventually stop getting himself stuck in trees.

To be continued…