Ice To Meetcha (All Over Again)

[FennWenn]

Closed to Eteri n Nevin!

Clutching a tattered note in hand, one scrawled in (borrowed) green crayon on paper (a tannish sort he couldn’t quite recall the origin of), Fenn set off down Stonevale’s early morning streets. A politely quiet direwolf, dark-furred specter of death, padded behind him.

After being saved from the consequences of his own sticky-handed folly by a music-man known as Henry — maybe he needed to try and reign his greed in a little more? — Fenn had spent his previous few days shyly intruding upon Stonevale’s orphanage. It was a new location to him. New locations always meant new shinies to look at, or new places to map out in his head, or perhaps new people to meet. That latter sometimes lead to new friends. In this case, a lot of new friends. A lot of friends about his size. Like Theo! Small children tended to find funny-looking outsiders fascinating. Particularly if that outsider had a bag of shit from all over the world (not all of it junk), the ability to summon a snowday on command, and a big doggie.

Truth be told, he hadn’t minded getting a little positive attention for once.

But his distracted dawdling had gone on for long enough. He had an alchemist he needed to meet. Re-meet? Get to know again. That.

Now, the little fae wandered out with the hood of his brown cloak up, in case the rain that gather of late decided to come back. He’d considered putting up a Glamour too, to make him seem nothing more than an ordinary human child. But Stonevale, he’d decided, was too comfortable with oddities such as himself to have to bother with that today. Plus, Daugi was odd enough on her own anyway. His wings, his antennae... they wouldn't be that much worse than the sharp-toothed wolf. He noticed that she padded about with a sense of familiarity. Her eyes wandered about passively, her ears and tail lay relaxed, and there was nary a curious snuffle of her nose. Obviously, he and her must have been through here often. Past him, that was.

Fenn still wasn't entirely sure how he related to his old self, the one with fewer insectoid appendages and secrets hidden in memories that he'd torn away from his mind without a known reason.

It was uncanny, not knowing oneself.

Banrion had, on his requested, pressed the appearance of the potion shop into his mind. A dark wooden door was burned into the space behind his eyes. After ducking through a gaggle of miners on the way their way to work and hurrying past the Slaughtered Lamb — it was going to be a few months before he’d set foot in that establishment again — his gaze snapped to a door identical to the one house in his brain. Delicate chimes and a well-kept sign above it greeted the small puck. “Herbal Magicks”, it said. The puck’s wings hummed as he gave it a cheerful grin. There was a more intriguing sight for his eyes than the door, however. One but a foot away. One very shiny sight.

Fenn sidled to a stop by the vast window to the entrance’s right and peered inside. It was dark, compared to the sunlight inside; dark and lined with a fascinating variety of vivid liquids in various jars and vials. Tinctures. Potions. Medicines. Even candies! The little paper-wrapped sweets made Fenn drool a little. It was all so tempting! How did his past self have the self-control to not loot the place? A mystery for the ages.

Tearing himself away from the display, the little puck sidled over to the door and turned the knob, letting loose a jangle of windchimes to announce his entrance. He gave a little wave behind before vanishing into the shop.

“Auf,” his wolf farewell’d, before settling into a cozy flop on the alchemist’s doorstep.