Beryl was exactly where Aloise knew she would be.

There was an old ironroot tree, just a short walk from Lys's cottage, whose trunk was so big that Aloise could never quite get her arms around it, no matter how much she stretched. It was a beautiful tree -- leafy, and green -- and Beryl had taken a particular shine to it when a pair of yellow-billed thrushes had made their nest in the crook of its lowest branch.

All through the summer, when the weather was fine -- when dewdrops glistened on the blades of the long grass, and the mornings smelt like clover and honey -- Aloise would often find Beryl sitting there, at the base of the ironroot tree, with her back against its silver-barked trunk, and her green eye closed. Beryl could sit there for hours, with her hands folded in her lap, listening to the thrushes as they sang to greet the morning.

Even as summer had faded into memory, and the thrushes had taken their song south, leaving the tree quiet, and contemplative, Beryl had continued to find her way to it from time to time, to sit beneath its bare branches. She seemed to go there on those occasions when she felt the need to be by herself, and Aloise had learned to read the expression on Beryl's face, to know why she had gone in search of solitude.

Sometimes, Aloise would find Beryl resting against the tree with her eye closed, and a faint, faraway smile on her lips, and, on those days, she would leave Beryl to whatever good and pleasant dreams might be occupying her mind.

On other days, though, she would find Beryl silent, and straight-backed, with her green eye open, staring out into the unknowable depths of the multiverse, or of memory. Those were the days when Beryl seemed to need to be alone with her ghosts, and, while Aloise would not interrupt, she would sit quietly next to her friend, and would simply hold her hand, just so that Beryl knew she was there.

On that particular day, Beryl had been quiet all morning, and had seemed barely present at breakfast, before excusing herself to take a walk around the pond. So, when she failed to return, Aloise had known where to find her, and, as the old ironroot tree came into view, and as Beryl came into view beneath it, Aloise was saddened -- but not surprised -- to see that Beryl's eye was open, and distant, and that the trail of a recent tear was visible on her pale cheek.

Quietly, Aloise lowered herself down to the cool, damp ground, where she sat next to Beryl, and rested her back against the solid, reassuring bulk of the tree. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a small handkerchief, which she handed to Beryl, who accepted it, mutely, before using its embroidered corner to dab at her cheeks.

After a moment of respectful silence, Aloise rested her hand atop Beryl's, and she leaned her head against Beryl's shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"I don't know," Beryl said, quietly. "I honestly don't know."

Aloise gave her head a small nod.

"I get that feeling sometimes, too," she said.

They sat quietly together for another minute, before Beryl spoke again.

"It's not any one thing, you know?" She shivered a little bit, before dabbing her eye with the handkerchief. "It's everything, really. It's just... everything."

She sighed, and she handed the handkerchief back to Aloise, who pocketed it silently.

"Most days, I feel like I know what I'm supposed to do," Beryl said, looking upward into the branches of the tree, where, not long ago, the thrushes had nested. "Most days, I feel like I understand, like I can handle it." She looked down at Aloise, then, and their eyes met. "But some days? It just feels like too much."

Beryl sighed.

"Some days, I'm not sure I can handle it," she said.

Slowly, Aloise nodded her head. She gave Beryl's hand a small squeeze.

"What about us?" she said, softly. "Do you think we can handle it?"

A tiny smile flickered across Beryl's face, and, after inhaling a long breath, and exhaling it again, she squeezed Aloise's hand back.

"Yeah," she said. "I think we can."

Beryl closed her eye, then, and Aloise did the same, and, for a few quiet minutes, they just sat there, together, beneath the old ironroot tree.

"Thank you," Beryl eventually said.

Aloise didn't say anything. She just held Beryl's hand.

The sounds of pursuit echoed in Phufu’s gigantic ears. The mage felt a sudden surge of panic, and ducked into a tiny alley connecting with the small, dark alley he was already moving through. With a quick motion, he pulled his dark hood up over his ears. He called on his stolen magic and wrapped the shadows around him, while directing any attention at him elsewhere. It was not a foolproof method of stealth, but in this instance, it was enough. A small, angry mob of local goons rushed by him, hired muscle working for the local Fae lords. The local Fae lords who wanted back what Phufu had taken.

With a sigh, the mage dropped his enchantments and disappeared back down the alley through which he had come. Just as he emerged onto the wide, rain-soaked, cobblestone street, he heard an excited voice off to his right.

“Bunny!”

Phufu cringed, then looked. To his eternal relief, the only one there was a child. Mercifully, it was a human child. Had it been one of those infuriating mousefolk, he, well, it didn’t matter. It was a human girl, surprised but excited to see a five foot tall white rabbit in a black cloak staring down at her. Phufu glanced around, afraid that the girl’s parents might be around, but they were not, and so Phufu crouched down and faced the girl, smiling.

“Hello, young lady. What’s your name?”

“Alisa, Mr. Bunny.”

“Well, hello, Alisa. Say, can you keep a secret, Alisa?”

The girl nodded. “Yeah,” she said, then thought about it. “But I usually don’t.”

Phufu laughed. “Same here. But I’ll tell you what. Grown-ups don’t like me.”

“Why not?” The girl interrupted.

“Well,” Phufu said with a smile, “you see, Grown-ups like to tell little children that big, magic bunnies don’t exist. So, when I show up, it proves them wrong. And Grown-ups don’t like being proven wrong.”

“Yeah,” the girl agreed.

“So, will you keep it a secret that you’ve seen me?”

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “You’ll make a good story.”

“Well, maybe if I gave you a present? How would you like a little snack? If you keep my secret, I’ll give you this.”

As the bunny mage held out his offering, the girl’s face curled up in disapproval. “A carrot? I don’t like carrots.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” Phufu laughed. “Bunny children love carrots, but human children love…chocolate, don’t they?”

Alisa’s eyes lit up, and she nodded. Phufu withdrew a piece of chocolate from his cloak’s pocket, wrapped in wax paper. He handed it to her. “Now, you never saw me, right?”

She nodded, and turned around and skipped down the street. Phufu pulled his hood up further, hoping it would hide is clearly leporine features and avoid the issue coming up again. He was certain that Alisa would not keep her promise, but he hoped his gift to her would remind her of it long enough for him to get out of the city. Which, he reminded himself, was something he had better get to.

The mage moved quickly but carefully along the main street, hoping that everyone chasing him would never assume he would be so audacious. He was forced to duck into alleys twice more and activate his newly acquired magics, but he wasn’t caught. Finally, he managed to find himself by the massive stone gates. He winced, however, when he noticed the dozen guards who were patrolling it. And the fact that they were almost all facing toward the city rather than away from it told him that they were watching for him.

Fine, Phufu thought. You’re looking for a bunny. I’ll give you more than you can handle.

The mage closed his solid black eyes, tapped his mana (and his right back paw) and summoned a horde of bunnies who ran through the streets toward the guards. The result was pandemonium. The guards and the people alike were thoroughly confused, and tripped over one another trying not to trip over the bunnies. As the chaos ensued, Phufu wrapped himself once again in shadows and moved. It was a dangerous thing to try, as movement made the auras less effective, but the mage had no time to waste. Miraculously, he made it outside without being noticed, and within minutes, he was across the workers fields and into the forest.

Just when he thought he was free and clear, Phufu tripped over a small form he failed to see on the forest path. Cursing a bit under his breath, the bunny mage climbed to his feet and stooped down to help the other person up. As he got it to its feet, however, Phufu froze. It was one of those insufferable mousefolk, the cowering toadies the Fae used as field hands. Phufu’s vision started to go red. For as long as he remembered, he had had a psychotic aversion to the mousefolk. He didn’t remember how it had started, or why it persisted, but no matter how hard he tried, he simply could not abide them. Before he even knew what he was doing, Phufu brought one arm up and then back down, striking the mouse viciously over the head. It crumbled to the ground with a thud as Phufu’s vision cleared.

He took one step away when a brilliant light glared behind him. Phufu froze, straightened, and slowly turned around. There, to no surprise, was the form of one of the Fae. Phufu did not know her name, but he knew she was one of the great ladies of the city. This was not the first time they had met.

“You again,” the Fae said, looking displeased. “What did I tell you yesterday?”

Phufu looked down and to the side, but did not answer.

“I told you that the mousefolk are under my protection, did I not?”

“You did,” Phufu admitted.

“And yet here you are, abusing my workers a second time.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I have also heard that you have caused problems within the city. My cousin, Lord Aowar, is quite perturbed at the loss of his property.”

When Phufu did not answer, the Fae’s expression softened first to a smile, and then to a laugh. “I have rarely been more amused! He is always so insufferable!”

The bunny mage was shocked. “So, you won’t…”

“No, I will not prevent your escape, nor even recover his gems. I saw to it that my property was adequately protected. If Aowar didn’t, the fault is his.”

Phufu nodded and started to turn away. “Thanks,” he said.

“Hold.”

The mage froze, and slowly looked back at the Fae.

She continued. “Twice now, you have assaulted my mousefolk. I will not tolerate a third, do you understand me? If you ever return and assault the field mice, I will claim you, and you will join my goon gang. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Phufu said.

Suddenly, the Fae grew transparent. “How about now? Have I made myself clear now?”

Phufu sighed heavily. “Yes.”

The Fae woman laughed. “Farewell, little bunny. Remember my warning well.”

As she disappeared completely, Phufu turned around and hopped down the forest trail.