CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Strained Relationships

Sylvie woke early the next morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept a wink and somehow practiced Jujitsu. Everything felt stiff and her eyes felt gritty and gummy as she rolled to her belly off the pillow and stretched.

With a heave she gained her feet and walked as softly as she could into the house, her hooves thankfully muffled by the thick carpet on the ground.

Relieved she’d made it that far without disturbing anyone, she walked into the backyard, not even really seeing the razor wire coils ontop of the plain wooden fence with outward-facing cameras and the occasional flicker of shadow in the wood slats denoting an agent on patrol. She did her business in a quiet corner and returned to the house.

At the table she stood quietly to think. Last night had been…unexpected in many ways.

She’d known Taryn to be self-sacrificing, but geez! Now Josh no doubt felt certain that her refusal meant that he’d offended her or had something wrong with him than what Taryn claimed to have told him. Sylvie suspected it had more to do with her than Mrs. Grogan: Taryn’s mom certainly didn’t need help to live anymore, she was as fit and active as anyone on the planet, and would most likely continue that way, so obviously she didn’t need Taryn to feed her or dress her or anything like that, so obviously Taryn felt more worried about the danger they faced then the other reason.

There had to be something she could do, some plan to help and get Taryn to see she’d be fine and could go off and be married to her stallion.

For just a moment, a jealous flash stole over her; Josh was very handsome now, and she blushed as she remembered that day, so long ago, when she’d caught them kissing and his blatant interest. A warm feeling came to her loins and before she could stop herself, she dropped into a brief fantasy where Josh had come to her, feeling down and broken hearted and she’d comforted him and brought him around to…to…

Gah! Stop that, bad brain! Her hair flew in the air as she tried to shake the thought out.

Keeping a close watch on her brain, she tried to figure out a way she could rectify this situation. Could she talk with Josh?

That might work, but it would run an awful risk, she figured, considering where her thoughts had just been, it could drop things into an afternoon soap, the kind she usually hated anyway.

Maybe instead of talking to him herself, she could find someone else to do it? But who? Sylvie thought through the list of people she could go to; her father, her mother, her cousin in Utah, the Chief, Agent Bengal; but all of them, she felt, would be against it.

Stetson. She froze as the word whispered into her brain. What about Stetson? She hadn’t seen him since the night she went out to the Gardner farm, but she’d thought about him…a lot. She’d often wished she could find him again, but somehow trying to find a boy with an army of agents surrounding her and her overprotective parents tagging along struck her as an epic disaster in the making.

She sighed. For a moment, Sylvie wished Stetson had been a centaur, or her human again. It would make things so much less…complicated.

He’s probably forgotten all about me, she thought mournfully.

Thankfully Mrs. Grogan chose that moment to appear from the bedroom and the picture she made drove all thought from Sylvie’s head.

She’d donned a pale pink robe with dolphins, with matching fuzzy slippers on her feet. Her eyes were puffy and her hair stood in wild disarray, attesting to a rough night’s sleep. The overall effect made her look fully capable of curdling milk.

“Morning.” She grumped in a heavy, barely heard voice.

“Morning.” Sylvie replied neutrally, not daring to say anything until the older woman had woken up further.

Mrs. Grogan put on a small dented kettle, as well as a large, heavy stock pot on the stove.

Taking a small floral patterned pitcher she filled it three-quarters full of water. From the cabinet she grunted as she pulled down a five-pound bag of oatmeal, glanced at Sylvie moving to help, and then wearily grabbed a second bag after waving her back.

Sylvie hesitated, then went to the fridge and pulled a bowl of fresh, whole apples out and proceeded to cut them into small chunks. The sharp knife cut through the rosy skins of the delicious honeycrisp apples with very little juice. When she felt there would be enough she dumped the overflowing bowl into the pot while Mrs. Grogan continued to stir.

Behind them the door opened and Taryn walked in, blinking a sleepy hello.

Seeing them hard at work she walked to a smiling cow jar and pulled off its head, grabbing two teabags.

“Here you go mom.” She smiled as she pulled down a large porcelain cup.

“Thanks sweetie.” Her mom smiled, though her eyes strayed to the cabinet where Sylvie had once found a small can of coffee, many years old then, back before they were centaurs.

Her mom said nothing further as the Taryn poured the hot water into the cup and dropped in the tea to steep. She took over stirring the pot while Sylvie added some cinnamon and apple sauce to sweeten the gruel, the gentle simmering smell filling the whole kitchen and making her mouth water.
When the meal was ready, Taryn grabbed two enormous metal bowls (meant for mixing but adequate for centaur appetites) and split the entire stock pot between them.

Sitting down at the table, Mrs. Grogan sipped her tea while Taryn and Sylvie brought their bowls over and attacked them ferociously, their hunger outweighing other considerations. It was some time before there were any other sound but the clink of metal on metal and the swishing of happy tails.

When both girls scraped the very last from their bowls, Taryn took them back to the sink and looked over her shoulder at her mom sitting sipping her tea.

Pulling out a skillet she quickly broke eggs and scrambled them, adding tobasco sauce, and a dash of milk before the liquid had completely cooked, and then adding a small fistful of chopped papaya, chives a pinch of dill and served the result on a platter.

“Here mom,” she said kindly, but a bit reproachfully, “Breakfast.
Her mom took her hand and squeezed it as she looked at the plate and utensils set in front of her.

“Thank you dear, but I hadn’t been intending to eat breakfast today,” she told her. “I wasn’t very hungry, but this smells wonderful!” she added, eating a spoonful.

Her eyes lit up in delight as she ate every scrap like a hungry centaur.

After washing up they went to the living room and put another movie on.

Sylvie sighed, she really didn’t want to watch a movie, but neither did she want to face the circus traveling anywhere in her small town had become. The fantasy struck her, and she envisioned herself running free, running over hills and vales, deserts and gullies, with only the wind and her rifle for company

About halfway through the movie, Sylvie decided she’d had enough.

Springing to her feet, she rearranged the cushion she’d kicked and thanked Mrs. Grogan for having her.

“You’re welcome dear.” She said, surprised. “Are you going home then?”

“At first.” Sylvie nodded. “then I’ll go for a walk and see what happens.”

Taryn, who’d been looking up from her cushion with concern, tried to get up as well, but Sylvie waved her back.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured her, “honest, I won’t go looking for trouble.”

“Yeah, but with us, trouble usually comes lookin’ first. Maybe I should go along, just in case.”

Taryn said, missing the sudden flash of fear flitting across her mother’s concerned face.

“I’ll be fine, mother,” Sylvie said as sarcastically as she could to get her friend to stay.

It seemed to work, for that, along with the reminder she’d be surrounded by an army of agents and would keep her rifle on hand (it was sitting nearby and she’d been walking to it as she talked) kept Taryn from getting up.

Leaving out the front door, Sylvie saw a pair of agents set their steaming mugs down in a hurry as soon as they saw her and vault on to a pair of magnificently matched black horses Sylvie thought might be Tennessee Walkers, a durable and speedy breed.

Nodding to the mounted agents, she broke into a trot heading for home, the clatter of hooves following close behind her both comforting and irritating to her.

“I know what’s wrong with me,” she muttered, “Hiding! I’m not meant to hide like this! Oh! If only I had a clear field and some targets!” she caressed her holy rifle lovingly.

Lost in thoughts of freedom, she realized she’d gone a little too far when she nearly bumped into one of the police cruisers that blocked off her road, a line of state police on the other side keeping back the handful of protesters awake at this hour.

Giving the officer in charge an embarrassed smile, she turned back and hurried to her driveway, pausing a moment to collect herself and look around.

Her neighborhood looked like a scene from an action movie: police cars and black SUV’s blocked each end of the street and the connecting streets while a line of officers kept the thin morning crowds at bay. Aside from her house and one other (the grumpy and irascible Crabtrees), all the others on the street to Taryn’s and beyond were dark and empty, their drives vacant but all the curbs were lined with command posts, barracks, armories, communication vehicles and the extremely rare local patrol mixed with the state police and even a pair of military Humvees.

Sylvie shook her head, her street had the air of a parking lot, she thought, before she walked inside.

In the house she found her parents sipping coffee at the table, the remains of their breakfast in the sink and papers of all kinds were spread on the table.

“Hi sweetie.” Her mom looked up and greeted her with a smile, but weariness oozed out of every pore. Her face seemed nearly asleep, with heavy-lidded eyes and black marks making her seem like a raccoon.

Her father seemed almost as bad, and Sylvie suppressed a surge of guilt. I should have been here to make sure they slept.

“Did you guys get any sleep last night?” she asked angrily.

“Of course we did.” Her father said in a wounded tone, “but we had to get up early and try and work on these papers; they’ve built up something fierce since this whole thing went down and we were trying to work through them. It hasn’t been easy.” He said with a large yawn. “-um!-excuse me. As I was saying, this stuff is not what you would call very interesting, so it’s kind of hard to stay awake without gallons of caffeine anyway.”

“Oh.” Sylvie said, deflating; she knew what had been the cause of the stuff piling up.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, already knowing there wasn’t.

“Keep the coffee going?” her father asked hopefully.

“Sure dad.” Sylvie sighed, going to the coffee pot with a swish of her tail. She glanced inside the lid and groaned; it looked as if they’d already emptied three of the coffee cups inside, and she knew the thing had been clean before they left yesterday. She began to suspect that her parents had been up a lot earlier than they let on, or hadn’t really gone to bed at all.

This is not healthy, she griped to herself. If I can’t get them to take care of themselves, then they’re going to have serious problems. Their over thirty, for God’s sake! They can’t be doing crap like this anymore!

“Don’t you guys have any sort of help at the office?” she asked as she placed full mugs in front of them and whisked the empties to the sink.

“Of course we have some.” They told her, one after the other. “But a lot requires our signatures to enact, or to become legal, and we cannot sign our names to anything, accepting responsibility for it, until we’ve gone through and understood the documents and made sure there’s no mistakes made.”

Sylvie felt frustrated; she knew they were really good at their jobs and the city never had a finer pair of politician and lawyer, but she was so tired of them working themselves night and day for her safety and to keep the city running.

Just one chore is enough for anybody, but to have two such things happen to you at once!

She felt a surge of hatred for Tenebrae Cultor, if they hadn’t existed, or had such a demented leader, then the Riots wouldn’t have happened, her parents wouldn’t have to worry as much about her, and be able to get ahead on their jobs!

“It just isn’t fair.” She muttered out loud.

“What isn’t?” her mother asked, overhearing her comment.

Sylvie sighed. “Nothing mom, just complaining about the usual things.” She said softly.

“Oh, I see.” Her mother nodded, looking as if she was thinking about pursuing it further, but then dropped her eyes wearily back to her work.

“It’s all right mom,” Sylvie told her gently, “I’ll be fine, but I’m really worried about you guys, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Her father nodded, his jaws cracking in another huge yawn. “Oh, excuse me. Anyway, I think I’ll be up to taking a break here in a few minutes. Maybe we could watch a movie or something.”

Sylvie hesitated, studying her parents. A movie was pretty much the last thing she wanted to do (she’d just escaped one from Taryn’s house after all), but her parents looked absolutely worn out, in no shape for a long walk. But perhaps…

“Well, I was actually hoping to go for a walk today.” She admitted. “But what if we went together mom? I wouldn’t mind going with you on my back.”

Her mother looked surprised, then thoughtful.

Abruptly her father’s booming laugh filled the room.

“Oh, go on then!” he made a shooing motion with his hand. “I’m sure the walk will do you both good, as long as you take precautions.”

“Well, with all the protection surrounding me wherever I go, I’m certain I’ll be fine.” Sylvie said dryly. A thought occurred to her. “I mean, geez guys, I know you didn’t want me dating boys yet, but did you have to get my own security teams to chase them away?”

Her parents froze a moment, processing what she said, and then both burst out laughing. Sylvie joined in, and soon the kitchen was rolling in mirth.

“Ha, ha, well, I hadn’t thought about that, but it is a nice perk.” Her father chuckled.

“Daaaad” Sylvie rolled her eyes theatrically, her whine exaggerated. Her parents continued to laugh.

It wasn’t too much later that Sylvie stepped out of the house with her mom on her back in the Western-style saddle that she’d purchased some time ago from the internet. The security team, alerted earlier to the outing, stood ready and waiting to go, with at least five agents on horseback and several police herding people out of the way.

Sylvie looked for a clear patch she could get through and, seeing a small lane next to the command vehicles that went in the direction of the rural countryside, she made for it.
Part of the crowd, seeing the direction she was heading, broke into a trot towards it, perhaps hoping to touch her (there were still people that thought it all some sort of hoax) or to try and catch whatever camera time they could, waving their signs and beating their drums.
Her mother clutched the saddlehorn as they picked up the pace to beat the crowd. Sliding ahead of them, she slipped through with the escorts before the chanting, cursing, waving crowd and hurried down quieter streets that looked like parking lots for the Outsiders.

Sylvie didn’t dare slow her rapid trot until the last houses fell behind and the broad forests with their sparse farms rose around them like comforting walls. Being outside in the bright sunshine with no chanting crowd of people felt like heaven. Behind her she could hear the muffled clop of her escort horses, and she resisted the urge to go faster, prove she was faster.

To distract herself, she began conversing quietly with her mother, on every conceivable topic, just like they’d done what seemed ages and ages ago. On that trip she’d encountered Stetson, and she suddenly wondered if he’d be there again today, perhaps working in the field or maybe near the barn.

She picked up the pace, and soon they were going at a fair clip along the road when Sylvie glanced behind her and saw a huge line of cars trying to follow her, but being blocked by a police cruiser set sideways to keep them away.

As she watched, one truck driver got out of his vehicle and began arguing with the cop, pointing down the road. She wondered who he could be, and immediately felt bad that she’d blocked the road for him.

“Maybe we should get off the road.” She suggested. “After all, people want to go home too.”

“Honey, most of those don’t live anywhere near here.” Her mother said. “They are outsiders.”

“Not all of them.” She whispered, looking back at the angry driver, before he walked back to his truck with a huff.

“Don’t know where that fella thought he’d be goin’, but it sure ain’t around here.” A voice came unexpectedly on her left.

Starting, Sylvie found herself across the road and her rifle out in her hands before she realized what she’d done.

Turning to the source of the voice, her hearts beating wildly, she found Stetson leaning casually on the fence while behind him stood a pile of chopped wood and half a large tree that had evidently fallen (the roots were pulled out of the ground and the stump lay on its side) that he was in the process of chopping up.

“Stetson! You scared me.” Sylvie admitted, putting up her rifle. Seeing this, the agents did as well, before pulling back and keeping an eye out down the road.

“I could tell.” He said dryly.

Her mother nudged her flank. “Perhaps some introductions are in order?” she suggested dryly.

Sylvie’s face heated in embarrassment.

“Uh, sure. Mom, this is Stetson, he’s Ben’s handyman, helping keep the Gardner farm going almost single-handedly. Stetson, this is my mom, Anna Mathison.”

“I don’t know about keeping things going single-handedly,” Stetson said modestly as he reached out with one hand to shake hers. “But I guess you could say I’m a hired hand or handyman—both are purty much the same.”

“And I’m delighted to meet you at last.” Sylvie could hear the interest in her mother’s voice and, turning her head slightly, could see her eyeing Stetson carefully.

Stetson gave no sign that he was aware of being scrutinized, or that he particularly cared. He turned to the agents and nodded respectfully at them and introduced himself to them, but beyond giving him a cool nod in return, they didn’t acknowledge him, intent as they were on the crowd behind the police car, the truck driver was punching something in his cellphone now, Sylvie noted uneasily, although she couldn’t say why.

She turned her attention back to Stetson who looked appraisingly at her in that casual, deep way he had.

“So, what brings ya out this way now?” he asked. “You seem to have a lot more figured out than the last time I saw ya.”

Sylvie snorted. “Hardly.” She said. “I’m worried about Mom and Dad running themselves into the ground, that damned Tenebrae Cultor is still after me, but at least they don’t appear to be after Taryn, and Josh went and proposed to her and everthing…it’s crazy!” she admitted.

Her mother shifted on her back. Oops. She grimaced; in blurting everything out she’d hadn’t meant to say anything about that.
“

Well, it’s a lot better than attacking yourself, isn’t it?” he asked her.

Sylvie blinked, when had she been attacking…oh.

“Yeah, I guess.” She admitted.

“As for the rest of it…your friend’s decisions are her own to make, you can only offer what advice you feel she might need or want, but in the end it’s for her to decide and you to accept. I can tell your hurtin’ about the decision…he a handsome feller you had yer eye on as well?”

Sylvie turned red and began stammering. “What! No! Of course not…well, not when I was human…but now that he’s the only male centaur around…it’s just…hard…not to well, notice and I’m just going to stop talking now.” She said in a very small voice.

Stetsons eyes were hooded thoughtfully and she didn’t dare turn to see what her mother’s face looked like. Sylvie just wanted to crawl inside the nearest hole and die…how could she have lost control like that? She was Sylvie Mathison, she never lost control of herself and always ruled whatever she did, whether it was sports or conversation.

“Well, I’ve never found anyone that had the same difficulties you have."He admitted; “After all, as you just rightfully pointed out, there has never been another centaur to my knowledge, but you never know.” He shrugged. “You were changed so it stands to reason someone else might have been changed as well, but they’ve done a better job of hidin.” He shook his head. “Never wanted to have to hide out…what I am is what I am and everyone should accept that, but that’s just not the way the world works.”

Sylvie caught herself nodding to that; Stetson had certainly hit the nail on the head, the world would turn against you in a heartbeat simply because you looked a little different then them. Thank God she had such people as the people of Red Leaf behind her so strongly.

Stetson continued. “And as for the rest of your problems…you’ve got a lot of support, Sylvie.

You’ve got your family around you, you have your best friend beside you, and a town behind you…you’ve got a lot of people with you, and that counts for a lot. Most people like these crazy folk against you tend to back off when faced with such an army. The ones that don’t, you’ll have to fight, but you know you have a lot of help with you when It comes to blows.”

“Fighting isn’t the answer, and she’s too young!” her mother snapped.

“Fighting is not the first answer.” Stetson corrected her, “But we can’t always shirk it when the other fella takes the swing; and all too often fighting comes to the young’uns and the old no matter the age. She might as well stand ready for it, and know that she has a lot of people to help her.”

Her mother didn’t have an answer for that, and she desisted into grumbling. Sylvie actually laughed, she hadn’t heard her mom grumble except in private before, and certainly not in public like this.

Distant shouting drew their attention away from each other for a minute and they looked to see the man out of his pickup truck yelling at them, despite the officer’s attempt to calm him down. A couple of others had shown up as well, but they were busy keeping an eye on the crowd to make sure it didn’t get out of hand. Fortunately, everyone seemed more embarrassed at the man’s actions than anything else, but already here and there Sylvie could see others, mostly outsiders, begin beating their drums.

Stetson’s voice reached her ear: “That damn fool is getting the crowd stirred up…not that it might not be his plan.”

Sylvie felt a cold chill travel down her spines. “Do you think he might be Tenebrae?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t rightly know.” He said. “It’s not like he’s going to be waving a sign announcing his affiliation.”

“No, but his arms are covered by the long sleeves of his shirt, who wears long sleeves on a day like this?” Sylvie asked.

“Me, for one.” Stetson said dryly, indicating his arms which were in a long sleeve shirt, she saw, and the reason for it clung to the shirt in places, and she glanced at the log he’d been working on to see that it had several blackberry bushes growing around it.

“Well…I guess you have a point there.” Sylvie admitted. “But still, it’s awfully suspicious, and you said earlier that you didn’t recognize him.”

“I didn’t recognize the vehicle, it’s not from around here although it might be new.” Stetson qualified. “But I couldn’t say about him at this distance, although it doesn’t look like anybody I know.” He squinted. “Might be Jeff down the lane, he always was a bit high-strung, but he wouldn’t be yelling at you like this: he likes your dad immensely and you as well…always talkin’ about how you put Red Leaf on the map and got folks payin’ for goods out here, specially the local farms.”

Sylvie looked at him, startled. Judging by the twisting on her back her mother was also looking confused at him but the agents kept an eye around them and did nothing.

“Oh, some folks are thinkin’ you sell us your manure and that the grass and things we grow from it are full of magic.” He shrugged. “Don’t rightly know what you do with your leavings, and don’t really care either, but some outsiders are paying a fortune for anything that claims it’s “centaur fertilized”.

“Oh God!” Sylvie buried her face in her hands, feeling sick and amused at the same time.

“I don’t actually know!” she said through her fingers. “I mean, dad’s been taking care of where it goes, I just muck it onto the trucks!”

“Actually, we have been selling it to the local farmers.” Her mother admitted. “I’d forgotten about that…but the money goes into your bank account to help with payments on your trailer.”

“Oh.” Sylvie gave an embarrassed cough. “I’ve…er…never checked.

“It’s okay sweetie,” her mom assured her. “I’ve been keeping a close watch on our accounts. Really, the profit hasn’t been that great, at least not as much as this is making it sound like.”

Stetson shrugged. “Don’t know.” He admitted. “We can’t afford the stuff, either here or at home, so I haven’t paid attention to that market, but Jeff and some of the larger farms in the area have been, and I hear they are making a bundle off selling goods that way.” He added in disgust.

“Oh.” Sylvie said. She wondered if she should find a way to have her dad drop the price so Stetson’s family could have some, but she doubted he’d take it, he’d be seeing it as charity and she knew that he didn’t want that.

“So, uh, could you use some help with that tree?” she asked.

Stetson laughed. “Why, do you want to punch it again?” she asked.

“Hey, I told you those would heal up.” she laughed, displaying her scar-free hands. “So I could punch it all day long, but I don’t think I would accomplish much beyond just hurting my hands. I could swing an axe though.”

He frowned. “That could be kind of hard on you.” He warned her. “After all, horses ain’t designed to squat like a human to bring the full power of the head to bear.”

“I could give it a try.” Sylvie said stubbornly.

“I suppose, but I thought that you were out walking with your ma, not searching for work.” He pointed out.

“Ah, well, mom wouldn’t mind resting for a minute or two, I’m sure.” Sylvie said, glancing back.

She saw a slight smile on her mother’s fair face and flushed, but her mom slid off her back and waved her away.

Lightly leaping the fence, Sylvie followed Stetson (with her mom and the agents following close by) to the tree where he had set his axe.

It was a single-sided wood axe with a curved hickory handle. The head might have been red once, certainly there were bits of red paint still clinging to the metal, but for the most part it was a black, rusty color that aided in the overall battered appearance, with the exception of the bright edge that looked to have been recently sharpened.
She grasped the handle and lifted as easily as it were a piece of paper, it seemed far to light and fragile in her hands as she swung it above her head.

Better not swing it too hard, got to show him I can last. Besides, not sure this thing could take a good blow, she decided.

Down came the axe, her body bending at her human belly like an elbow, the axe actually whistling as it sliced through the air. It struck the solid log with such a crack as to be heard by the crowd and buried itself past the head and well through the log, which was thicker than a trash can.

Stetson stared at his axe in disbelief, while the agents and her mom looked on stunned. Sylvie gave a small grunt and the axe popped free as the tree squealed in protest, beginning to pinch close.

Whop! She struck it a second time, this time nearly cleaving the tree in two, while the third strike cut the remaining arm-size piece holding it together cleanly.

“How’s that?” Sylvie asked, not even breathing hard.

“Um, that’s fine.” Stetson said quietly, coming quickly back on keel. “Great work, by the way. Now we just need to get it into firewood size chunks; I’ll load it up when we’re done and take it to Ma Kettle and Mister Kettle, they need the wood but he’s getting too old to wield an axe like he used to.”

“Right.” Sylvie hefted the axe and set to the tree with a will.

They worked for more than an hour, the axe rising and falling rhythmically, feeling like an extension of her body; with every swing, every chop, her excitement grew. This was something she could do, this was something useful, this was action at its finest.
As she worked Stetson took the large pieces and set them up for her to cut into several smaller pieces, and then stacked them.

Sylvie almost felt sorry when the last swing came, leaving a tall stack sitting next to them. For a while she’d felt useful again, and the nearly-forgotten feeling was even better than she remembered.

“Great.” Stetson said in his laid-back manner. “That saved me a ton of work, and I expect you feel a bit better now as well.”

“Maybe just a bit.” She said with a sweaty grin. Looking around she saw her mom dust off her hands (she’d been helping stack the wood) and the agents standing like statues around them, watching everything very carefully. The road had been reopened while they were in the field and cars travelled slowly through, but the crowds were still held back at the city’s edge, far past stone’s throw, and under the watchful gaze of state troopers, city police and even a couple of National Guard soldiers.

“Well, I’ll just bring the truck a little closer so we can load it, if you’re still itchin’ to help.” He said.

“Sure!” Sylvie said eagerly, barely noting the happy swish of her tail.

Stetson backed his battered pickup a little closer to the pile and they started to load the cut wood into the back.

Sylvie got into the rhythm of things and for a while there was very little conversation amongst the three of them as they worked.

In no time at all the bed of the truck was full and Stetson secured it with a cargo net over the top. Then he reached into the passenger side and pulled out an old red cooler which he popped the top off of and got out three beer bottles.

Sylvie was about to refuse, pointing out that she didn’t drink, when she saw the label and realized that they were actually root beer bottles.

She accepted one gratefully and popped the top, giving it an unladylike chug. When she looked, her mom was doing the same thing.

“Mom!” she said, laughing.

“What?” she turned innocent eyes towards her.

“And here I thought you’d scold me for not acting all lady-like.” She teased.

“Maybe next time dear.”

Everyone broke up laughing.

The sun had started to go down when they came through the front door, smiling.

Her father looked up from the kitchen table, where Sylvie could see most of the papers having vanished and grinned.

“I heard you massacred that poor tree.” He jibed.

Sylvie frowned. “How did…oh, the agents.”

He nodded. “Yep, the agents called Bengal and Bengal told the Chief and the Chief told me.”

“Talk about a grapevine!” Sylvie laughed. “You guys are worse than the school rumor mill!”

“Yep.” Her father nodded. “So, what did you think of Stetson, dear?”

“He’s a good kid.” Her mother said grudgingly. “He has a lot of good insights, but he’s still a little…strange for my tastes.”

“Hmm.” Her father said nothing further, which Sylvie thought to be unfair, but she soon forgot about it as he laid out a sumptuous dinner of salad, fruits, vegetables, dressings and croutons.

“These days, we’re always on a diet.” He sighed theatrically.

“And it doesn’t hurt you a bit.” Her mother jabbed at him with her fork.
Laughter sounded around the table.

Just before bed Sylvie called Taryn.

“Hello?” her friend answered wearily, as if she’d had a busy day.

“Hi girl, how’s it going?” Sylvie chirped.

“Uh…Sylvie?” Taryn asked, confused.

“OF course!” Sylvie laughed. “Who else would it be?”

“Umm, don’t know. You sound…”

“What?” Sylvie asked. “Happy, joyful, annoyed that my best friend sounds like she just failed every exam in school?”

“I was about to say delirious, drunk, and way too chipper.” Taryn snapped back. “What happened?”

Sylvie snorted. “I went for a walk. Turned out to be the best thing I could have done.”

“A walk.” Taryn said flatly.

“Yep, with mom. We went out to the country and I ended up helping Stetson with chop up a tree…it felt great!” she said excitedly.

“I see.” Taryn said uncertainly.

“Anyway, that’s not what I called to talk to you about.” Sylvie said. “I wanted to say that, whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you one hundred percent on, Taryn. And don’t put off tomorrow what you should do today, I guess.”

“Huh?” Sylvie could hear the heavy confusion in her voice.

“Look, I know you’re smart; heck you’re the smartest girl in town; but sometimes you can be as dense as I am.” Sylvie said seriously and earnestly. “I mean it. So perhaps Josh put his foot in it today, you still love him, I’m certain, and I know he loves you deeply, and you’re both right; the future right now is very uncertain. Anything can happen to one or both of us in the next few days, or weeks or years, and we won’t know about it until it actually hits.”

“Sylvie, are you sure you didn’t take a nasty blow to the head or something?” Taryn asked concernedly.

“Yes, I’m fine. The point is, you’re going to go on putting off being with the one you love, because you fear it will change the comfortable world you live in…”

“This is comfortable?” she asked disbelievingly.

“In your eyes, yes.” Sylvie told her. “Look, I had a chance to do some thinking on the walk back—“

“I can tell.”

“—and I can tell you that we have arranged our personal lives as much as we can under our own control. You don’t want to give up taking care of your mom even though she doesn’t really need a nursemaid anymore, because it’s something that you’ve always done. I can get that, but Taryn, you’ve got to let that go. You’re mom isn’t going to vanish in front of your eyes again, she isn’t going to suddenly drop back to being sick again—“:

“You don’t know that, no one knows. Roland’s stone is amazing, but what limits are there to magic?” Taryn snapped.

“Well, it managed to turn five people into two different mythological beings and leave them marooned like that for over a year now.” Sylvie said dryly.

“Anyway, my point is that now that there’s an opportunity to follow your heart, you’re afraid. You shouldn’t be, not for me or for your mother or even for yourself. Take a chance, go out on a limb, do things you’ve always wanted to try. You’ve helped others to live for so long, maybe it’s time to live for yourself.” She said quietly.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, then,

“I’ve, uh, got to go.”

“No worries. I’ll talk to you some more tomorrow, perhaps.” Sylvie said.

“Good-night.”

“Night.”

Sylvie dropped onto her soft mattress, wondering if Taryn would think about what she’d said, or if she’d even understand it. After all, talking to someone wasn’t really her forte, she preferred action to talking. Yet every word was meaningful.

Ah well, she’ll either get it or she won’t. Sylvie decided as she snuggled into her pillow. I’m sure I’ll talk to her later and we can hash things out a bit better then.
And with that thought she quickly drifted off to sleep.