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THREE YEARS LATER
Raskyuil breathed in the clean, natural scent of the forest and smiled. It was both a good day and a bittersweet one. Although it had been three years since he parted ways with Elwyn and his carnival, his thoughts always returned to them on the Hallow Night. He hadn’t seen him again, but he hadn’t expected to. The carnival had done too much harm to be accepted among any of the routes that it had taken, and Elwyn had mentioned allowing it to rest and heal in an undisclosed location.
The carnival had been the only thing that had required peace and time to heal. Although he and MaryAnne had worked tirelessly with Barok and the orc clan to return the younglings to their homes, the damage had been evident. A number of younglings were not welcomed back, the humans turning their offspring away out of suspicion that they were fae changelings brought to trick them. His mate had a big heart though, and suddenly Raskyuil found himself nearly twenty younglings under his care by the time they made their way back to the woods where he first met her.
He’d been nervous at first, uncertain how the locals would react to his presence, but it seemed that returning with their offspring made him a sort of hero in their eyes. He found it odd, but his mate had smirked and told him to just “roll with it.” They had even welcomed the orc clan who had returned with them in need of a quiet place to recover and to plan their next steps before they searched for their own territory. There was only one small incident, and that was when Barok had threatened to rip the spine from a certain young male who had attempted to reassert his claim on Sabrina.
His lips twitched as his gaze strayed to the female in question. Like most of the younglings, she still suffered nightmares from her time caught in the fog. He and MaryAnne both had been surprised to discover that she had suffered less than most, however, because she had hidden mostly around the orc camps, taking comfort in the presence of the orc community since Nathiel seldom ventured anywhere near their camp. Perhaps that was why the female was leaving with them after the Hallow Night. She said that she wished to discover for herself where she belonged.
Raskyuil’s nose said it was with Barok, but he wisely kept his opinion to himself after being chastised by his mate for pointing out how the female followed after Barok like a crocotta kit.
And Raskyuil had surprisingly found that over the last three years that he and MaryAnne had helped each other heal as well. His mate gradually began to find comfort and peace being in the woods with him outside of the protective barrier of four walls, and she took to exploring with him through their territory with the sort of glee that would have made his mother proud. She would have approved of MaryAnne, and being with his mate in their forest helped him to reconnect with that part of his life he had buried as he was finally able to mourn and celebrate them properly as he should have long ago.
They had lived for a time in MaryAnne’s cramped room at the children’s home, but the day that he moved his family over to the den he’d carved out from the largest tree in the woods with his own hands had been a happy one. Milli, Tiffy, Zack, and Nord had been their first children to dwell with them, though they helped daily with the care of the children in the home.
Before leaving The Bend, they had carefully removed Nivira’s egg sack and loaded it into a cushioned trunk within their wagon, unable to condemn the young for the sins of their parents. Half-dryad and half-drya, their needs hadn’t been quite the same as either of their parents, possessing the most beautiful traits of both dryad and drya in their tiny features. From their arachnid limbs that rose from their spines, and the whorls on their pale gray skin, to striking colorations that blended both of their heritages in a mingling of black and green hues, each of them was precious and amazing. Loving them had mended some of the pain that had been suffered at the hands of Nathiel and Nivira.
He’d been particularly relieved that, because they did not suffer the same hungers and needs of their mother, there never rose a need to forcibly curtail a young drya’s indiscriminate appetite when it came to his adopted younglings. He raised them as he would have any troll youngling while MaryAnne tirelessly tried to recall and record everything she’d learned from the drya twins. She’d even thought ahead and made sure to cultivate the blood vines that she had taken from the sisters’ tent and loaded into every spare space within the wagon.
A fond smile curled his lips as he looked over at his offspring. The hatchlings were bent over pumpkins, their many dexterous limbs busily cleaning them out while their younger brother circled them. His little black tail flicking with excitement, he was desperately trying to find an angle where he could help, despite the complaints of his older siblings and MaryAnne’s attempts to distract him with a woven straw doll splattered heavily with red by his endearingly clumsy attempts to decorate it.
Joran had arrived nearly a full year after the hatching with a gestation closer to the norm for a troll than a human—something his mate hadn’t been quite so happy to discover. At two, he was as fearless as any troll of his age but possessed some of the finer bone structures of his mother. The little male frowned and rubbed a hand fitfully over his new erupted horns, his lower lip quivering just enough to show his juvenile fangs. No doubt they were paining him some again.
“Daddy,” he whimpered, the miserable sound tugging at Raskyuil’s heart.
Setting aside the large gourd he was carving sacred symbols into, he turned and opened his arms for his son, his heart overflowing when the male’s warm little body collided with his. Closing his arms around Joran, he chuckled softly as his son insistently rubbed his small horns against his neck and chest, soothing the ache with the subtle chemical secretion male trolls produced in glands located at the base of their neck to pacify their offspring.
Cuddling Joran close, his eyes slid half-shut as he enjoyed the bonding moment with his son and the feel of his warm body against his, his heart beating strongly in his little chest, and the flick of his fuzzy tail against his arm.
A delighted squeal rose as the hatchlings suddenly looked over and abandoned their pumpkins to charge for him. He steeled himself for the prick of their arachnid claws but didn’t mind it as the hatchlings crawled over him excitedly, MaryAnne’s laughter following after them as his mate slowly stood. Her belly was swollen again with another babe—this time a female—but she didn’t let it slow her down.
Despite her burgeoning belly, MaryAnne was always quick to sit on the floor with her little ones or help one of the older children under Tibby’s care. Even now she groaned, one hand cupped under her pendulous belly, as she bent down and scooped up the straw dolly. Setting it on the table where it would be safer, she headed toward him with a gleam in her eye and he chuckled, shifting Joran around in his arms to make room for his mate upon his lap.
Raskyuil didn’t wait for her to awkwardly sit but tugged her gently down into his lap as their younglings squealed with laughter, their tiny limbs a tangle of love and hugs, each filling his heart so much he thought it might burst.
This was his family. His.
“I love you. All of you,” MaryAnne sighed as she settled against him, cuddling little Milli in her arms as Zack snuggled against her shoulder. The sweet voices of their younglings chirped in agreement, with words of love carrying throughout their little corner of the woods.
And he purred as he hugged them close, reaffirming his love and joy. He was far from the depths of the Eternal Forest, but he finally felt like he’d truly come home.
