Once over the threshold of Moira’s house, Nyrun finds herself being pulled into a cheerful foyer tiled in the colors of poppies and separated from the main living space by an aluminum and teak mid-century storage system divider filled with art glass vases and houseplants in geometric ceramic forms of all varieties. Both deposit their shoes into a boot tray under a slat bench next to an orange-enameled cylindrical umbrella stand occupied by a black and white buffalo check stick umbrella and a baseball bat. Before she can comment, she is whisked into the living room and firmly compelled into the cushions of a buttery, soft, vintage leather sofa. “I’m going to put the kettle on. It’ll only be a moment. Tea or coffee? Or would you prefer something cold?” Moira asks, straightening a granny square afghan draped over the side of her seat.

“I like tea. Any kind, really,” she answers, glad for the extra time to plan her next course. She had a lot of secrets. In which order do you unravel someone’s understanding of reality?

She closes her eyes, mostly to keep herself from the distraction of Moira’s home—her private space, filled with hints of her likes and interests. Cracking open an eye, she gives in to the temptation. The room is the opposite of everything at Tuor’s. Sleek lines of thin case goods versus the ornate and monumental cabinets and sideboards of Tuor’s hodgepodge of pieces spanning centuries. A few choice bits of art, an interesting clock made of separate numbers hung around a rosewood fulcrum—thin, thinner, thinnest spikes for hands, a blobby bubble lamp suspended from the ceiling—a contemporary art gallery—a sharp contrast to the maximalist private museum of an Edwardian gentleman sponsor of a questionable adventurer that one would think you’d stumbled into if invited into the residential portion of Tuor’s building. A playground in her younger days, certainly, but the stuff only a marebringer like a kikimora could love to maintain. Kika is going to have some strong opinions about my choices today. She’s had a soft spot for the Obvious before, though. Nyrun paused and tried to think deeper about that. When did Kika care about a human? Another thread to pull later.

The hum and soft glow of an aquarium and the shining flashes of movement within it catch her attention. She smiles at the three fat goldfish motoring around the tank’s soft vegetation in crystal-clear water and moves closer for a better look. Two are bright reddish-orange, one of them with white fins, and the third is a calico with black and white speckling across the orange and white markings.  Facing them, she closes her eyes to see the progress of the Wildling outside.

The bronze elk, larger than a moose, glimmers and emits a slow tumble of softly glowing orbs as he makes concentric rings around the clinic and house. He pauses and touches noses with an eastern cottontail who had come to ask if her home was safe. On the next pass, he assures a curious nightingale that all is well. An elderly thornpig flattens his quills respectfully and, bowing his head, says, “Thank you, Sir, for blessing our patch of the Old Forest. It’s an honor to have you here and to be remembered.”

“If you’d like, little friend, I can take you to the Wilds tomorrow. You are always welcome to come with me,” he says, returning the nod. One of the orbs floats to the elder animal and warms him like a gentle kiss before melding with his form.

“It already feels so much better, but,” he says before wobbling into the trees, “I will think on it.”

A 1960s pickup, two-tone light green and ivory, rattles into the parking lot and pulls in next to the tiny two-door car Haewon had bought used in undergrad that Jasper calls The Egg. Originally gray, she’d had it repainted metallic turquoise after being scraped along a cement sound wall along the highway on a road trip until the truck that’d pinned her stopped.

“Oh good, Char’s a little early. The other two can take off soon,” Moira says hearing the engine stopping outside. She sets a plate of cookies on the low square coffee table. “The water’s almost ready.”

Nyrun turns and nods. “I like your friends,” she says, motioning to the goldfish.

“Aren’t they cute? Let’s see; the all-orange one is Tangerine, the mostly-orange one is Clementine, and the calico is Felix.”

“Felix?”

She turns a shade pinker. “Cuz he’s like a kitty? It was that or Patches. I’m boring when it comes to coming up with names,” she says.

 “It’s a great name for a goldfish. They’re creatures of fortune; if they’re happy, they bring happiness. Felicity.”

“Well, that is a felicitous coincidence. I’ll just go with that if anyone else asks,” Moira laughs. The air is lighter already as the Wilding’s power settles into the trees, enhancing their abilities to cleanse it and into the earth, reaching for its minerals and setting off chemical reactions only understood by researchers of the Obscure sciences.

The bronze elk has made his way back, reversing the spiral and stepping around trees he’d skipped on the previous pass, cleansing in a path that wouldn’t look out of place if painted and hung next to the lyrical abstractions favored on Moira’s walls. At the tree line, he shrugs off his dyreham with a warm glow of light like the last of a campfire’s smolder growing dim, and a shake of his head disappearing his magnificent antlers. He is smaller in his human form but still a surprising seven feet of long limbs and lean muscle, a foot and a half taller than Charmion, standing in the doorway, holding it open for him.

“Something going on, brother?” she asks, nodding to the trees.

“Doc’s been having some nightmares, and some kind of big scare stirred up koboloi. Just wanted to take a walk and add a bit of protection. You ok? It’s not too much?”

“Nah, I always think it feels nice. Never bothers me,” she answers from inside the changing room. “I just feel more energetic at night,” she continues, stepping out in her dark green scrubs. “All yours.”

Jasper looks down at his purple scrubs covered with little raccoons. “Oh, right.” He pauses and thinks about his evening babysitting plans, and within a blink, his scrubs are replaced with green and white plaid cotton shorts and a pale-yellow sleeveless t-shirt.

“I am so jealous. You really were gifted that from a Loomewe? You didn’t have to pay anything for it?” Charmion says, shaking her head at the pinnacle of Obscure luxury—a fully tailored pellicula. “I’ve never even run into one.”

Jasper nods, “Next Returning, there’ll be a bigger night market. Come with us.”

Charmion looks up, surprised, “You’d really let me borrow your luck?”

“I think you’d be fine on your own, but I enjoy your company, you know,” Jasper tussles her choppy black hair.

“No way. They look at me like I’m a monster, Jasper,” she frowns.

“Char, language! Don’t let Haewon hear that!”

She chuckles, “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’ll put a quarter in the swear jar,” then serious again, “But honestly, man, no matter what I do, it’s the Alpen in me that has everyone’s attention.”

Jasper frowns and sighs. “Hey, you ever been to Tuor’s?”

Charmion looks up, surprised, “Have you?”