Flynne

My heart pounds in my ears as I run through the forest, leaping over logs and dodging wayward branches.

I can’t believe it! I just met a girl from Moonflower Valley! And I didn’t die! That means they aren’t all evil, like Shadowpaw says.

I can’t really blame him, though, because the Florians are responsible for his mom’s death.

But Clementine is different. I can tell—that’s why I gave her the antidote.

I decide to pay Shadowpaw and his siblings a visit, because I need to tell someone about the earlier events, and I’d be in a lot of trouble if I told anybody in the Southern Glade because:

a) I was near Moonflower Valley.

b) I spoke to a Florian.

And c) I’m in the Black Forest without my mother’s permission. (The scariest person to disobey by far.)

So, today I broke three MAJOR rules, and yes. I want to tell somebody about my rule-breaking because that’s half the fun of it.

Panting, I stop running and lay down in the tall grass surrounding the Larkspur’s home to catch my breath. The Larkspur siblings—there are six—live in a hollowed out hill a few miles south of the abandoned East pack, and a few miles north of the Southern Glade where I live. I smile as I remember the day I’d met them.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

January 15, 1919

I’m cold. Freezing. And bored. Very, very, very bored.

It’s late winter, and I’m tending Mom’s stall while she’s out buying soaps, herbs, essential oils, and other ‘Mom Stuff’. She left me in charge, and at first I was excited! She trusts that me, Flynne, her nine-year-old daughter can take care of important things! But she’s been gone for ages and I’ve only had, like, six customers.

Only

Six

Customers.

I rest my chin on my fists, sighing and looking around. My mom told me not to look bored because I’d scare away potential customers, but how can I help it? I am bored.

Other stalls have customers, like that juice bar to my right and the doughnut stall to my left. Hey! I should get a doughnut.

I bend down to grab the closed sign from the container beneath the table and see a perfectly golden-brown bread bun roll my way and bump my fingers.

I poke my head above the table to see where it came from. The stall across from mine was selling a modest assortment of breads and had a single customer, a banged, black-haired teenage boy who’s talking to the girl in charge. I roll my eyes. Teenagers. I’m about to duck under the table again when I notice that the boy is stealing bread from her, and slipping them into his satchel!

Absolutely unacceptable.

Forgetting the donuts, I march right up to the table and open my mouth to tell the girl what he was doing, but then they notice me and she speaks up first.

“Hi sweetie! How can I help you?” she wonders, doing that thing that I absolutely hate and talking to me like I’m a baby. Seriously, woman? I’m nine. I’m practically an adult. She starts listing off the different breads that she has, like a true salesperson. “I have rye, sourdough, sweet buns—oh.” She cocks her head at the table. “I don’t have any left. That’s weird, I haven’t sold that many today….” She bends under the table to look for reserves, I guess, and I take that opportunity to talk to the thief.

“You’d better put those back,” I whisper to him. “Or else I’ll tell that girl.”

He sighs and shakes his head, then bends down to my height even though he didn’t have to because he’s only like, thirteen inches taller than me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

“You’re a liar.”

“It’s called a hustle, sweetheart. And I’m not the liar—he is.” The boy points in the opposite direction and I turn to look. There’s no one there. I turn to tell him as much, but he’s gone, nothing but a swishing tail left in his wake. If he thinks he can get away, he’s got something else coming to him. I drop to All-Fours and prepare to run.

“I knew I had some!” The hapless vendor girl comes up with a satisfied smile on her face. She places a handful of bread on the table. “So, this is the—oh. Where’d they go?”

I’ll tell you where we went—into the Black Forest unsupervised as I chased the thief.

I love to run. Running gives more joy than anything else. When I run, I feel free, like I’m on my own, yet a part of the wind, if that makes any sense.

And when I run with a purpose, I feel like I can run forever.

The thief must feel like this too, because it feels like we do run forever, and in many loops and turns until it seems he’s trying to shake me.

I slow down, out of breath, and realize…

He’s gone.

A cramp forms in my stomach, but I try to ignore it. I have to find him. There is NO WAY I’m letting him get away with stealing.

I drop my snout to the ground and inhale. Once I have his scent, I move swiftly through the trees and under hedges until I give myself a rest and discover…

I have absolutely no idea where I am. And to make matters worse, it’s almost dark, I’m starving, and I have running cramps.

I stand Up and clutch my side, trying to get a better perspective. “Uh, hello?” I say uneasily, my voice quavering like a much smaller child than nine years. “Is anybody there?”

No response.

I shiver; a bitter wind blows and settles into my skin. I’ll freeze to death if I stay out in the winter evening any longer, so I pick a direction and hope it’s south.

It was not. I realize this a few minutes later when the sun’s last weak rays shine behind me. I’ve been going east.

“Mr. Thief!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Hello? Are you out there? I need help. I can’t find my way home!” Unwillingly, my eyes water. “No, Flynne. No crying,” I tell myself sternly. “You got yourself into this mess. You can get yourself out.” I think for a moment. “If I’m going east, then that’s west… and that way is north… then that means this way is… south!” I turn to my right and pump my fist in the air. “Yes! Never mind, Mr. Thief! Enjoy your bread! Goodbye!”

I walk forward, delighted with myself for figuring out which way was south. I hear running and look over to my left. I can smell the bread coming closer—that means Thief is coming back!

I suddenly don’t want to see him, so I run.

Or at least, I try to. I take one step forward and something tightens around my ankle and pulls me up, and then I’m upside-down.

“Ow!” The pain stuns me into a dizzy haze. My ankle feels like it’s been pulled out of place and it throbs with pain. For a moment, I hang there upside down, dazed.

The boy I’d chased emerges from the bushes, his little brown satchel still stuffed with bread. He says an extremely naughty word when he sees me hanging upside down like a bat. He pulls out a knife as he steps towards me and my eyes widen.

“Don’t be afraid, kid. I’m just going to cut the rope,” he tells me, and begins to saw through the coarse fibers.

The pain in my ankle is all I can properly focus on, so I’m relieved that he doesn’t want to hurt me. I mean, normally I could take him, but not while I’m upside down, because, well, you know. He’d have an unfair advantage.

He grabs my arm, pulls me towards him, finishes cutting the rope, and then he swings me over his shoulder.

“Ach! Put me down!” I scramble, my legs searching for purchase before kicking quite hard in an area that should never be kicked (with my good foot, of course) and he doubles over, putting me down carefully on the ground. I make the mistake of standing on both feet, and the pain that shoots through my right ankle is crippling. I wince and lean back on the tree that someone had tied the rope to and slide off my boot, turning my leg to observe my ankle. My skin is all puffy, and shades of violet, green, and blue mesh together to create a nauseating painting of pain. I focus on the boy in an attempt to block out the sensation.

“It’s so purple,” I breath. “Why?”

“You sprained it,” the boy says through gritted teeth, still recovering from my kick. He takes a step over to me and kneels down to inspect my ankle. “Does this hurt?” He gently taps my skin where it’s a blueish purple.

“Not really, no.”

“What about—”

“Yes—don’t do that!” I plead, and he releases my foot. My tolerance for pain is nonexistent.

“This is wonderful,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stands and turns around, thinking. When he looks back at me, he says, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Flynne, the one and only.”

“Hey Flynne, I’m Shadowpaw. Shadowpaw Larkspur. Right now we’re about four miles away from the South Pack—”

“Four miles?” I repeat, half impressed that I can run that far, and half furious that I had.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I can either help you back now, or we can go to my house, my sisters can wrap up that ankle of yours, and I’ll take you back then. What’ll it be, kid?”

“Don’t call me that.” I consider it. “Well, will I be able to walk after they treat me?” I wonder.

“Err… probably? And my house is on the way, actually.” He sees my furious expression and then hastily adds, “Definitely. I meant definitely.”

“Then yes. As long as you don’t try anything funny, Larkspur.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, kid. You pack one heck of a kick.”

“Ahh, don’t call me that.”

He fashions me a crutch out of a fallen branch and some rope, and keeps me distracted by talking.

He says he has younger sisters who he thinks will like me because I’m funny. He thinks I’m funny! Which is actually kind of weird because nothing I said was a joke…

At last, Shadowpaw declared we were ‘home’, even though there was no house in sight.

He leads me through a thick wall of ivy into a dark passage where he insists on carrying me because he doesn’t want me to slip and get hurt again. (I resist kicking him this time.) When we step through on the other side, I take note of the big, grassy ocean of hills and the burbling sound of a nearby river. A trail of flagstones lead up to a circular wooden door in the biggest hill. Shadowpaw sets me down and helps me to the door, which he opens with a great flourish.

He shivers and rubs his arms as we walk inside. “You can sit there,” he points to two plush, worn couches in the middle of a large, cozy, living room.

I swing expertly on my make-shift crutches and sit on the one nearest to me. I reach for an orange wool blanket and wrap myself in it, sighing a quiet sigh of relief as feeling returns to my fingertips.

“Anybody home?” Shadowpaw shouts, kicking off his shoes and putting them against the wall.

I look around the house curiously. The living room has two couches, each a burnt orange color. A soft, lush, emerald green moss carpet lays beneath my feet, and an empty fireplace sits across from me. A large pile of logged hickory wood lays beside the brick studded fireplace, and family pictures stand on the mantle. There’s a box labeled ‘fire starters’ beside it.

“Why’s the fire out?” Shadowpaw mutters, piling logs into the ashy hearth.

He struggles audibly trying to get the fire started, and I observe at the pictures on the mantle. “Are those your parents?” I wonder, nodding to a wedding picture even though his back is to me.

Shadowpaw is quiet for a short while, intent on starting the fire. “Yeah. Beautiful, aren’t they?”

I nod. “And you look just like your dad.”

The logs finally catch, at once giving the frigid winter-night-air warmth and a hint of hickory. Shadowpaw rises with a sharp intake of breath and looks around the room, not meeting my eyes.

The door opens with a creak and I turn, my eyebrows raised curiously.

“Ah—Rainpelt! This is Flynne. She sprained her ankle and I need to bandage it before I take her back to the South Pack. Say hi.”

A short, dark blue-haired boy stands in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise. “What the…” his green eyes seem filled with an intriguing mixture of curiosity and mischief, landing on my own. “Excuse me while I faint.” He clears his throat and then collapses to the floor, a loud thud resounding through the room. “Ow! There is pain. In my head.” He sits up and rubs his head. “I’m much smarter than throwing myself on the floor, you know.” He narrows his eyes and looks off into the distance. “Most of the time,” he adds quietly. “My name is Rainpelt,” he says to me.

“I’m Flynne, the one and only.”

Shadowpaw makes a confused hand gesture that matches his expression. “I literally just introduced—never mind,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, exasperated.

I lean towards Rainpelt, trying to see if there was a bruise beneath his sky blue hair. “Are you sure your head is okay? I sprained my foot and guess what? Pain is awful.”

“That is typical when it comes to pain,” Shadowpaw says, almost to himself as he pulls on his boots, slightly amused. “Alright, Rainpelt, I need a favor. Can you stay with ‘Flynne, The One And Only’ while I get Lightningbolt?”

“Are you kidding me?” Rainpelt asks, eyes wide. “That’s a favor? I wasn’t going anywhere anyway! There is a person in our living room. I’m staying right here,” he walks to the currently empty couch and rolls onto it, “and I’m going to talk. Endlessly. For hours and hours and hours.”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Shadowpaw informs him.

“Actually, five minutes,” I correct. “Otherwise, I might go deaf.”

“I’m not that annoying,” Rainpelt objects quietly, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling.

“Five minutes,” Shadowpaw amends, smiling. He salutes Rainpelt and the blue-haired boy returns the gesture halfheartedly.

“Did you know you have the honor of being the first person I speak to who’s not related to me in my whole life?” he tells me once his brother walks out the door. He sits up, his eyes excited and intriguing.

“Ha! Like I’d believe that,” I told him.

“Why, because I have such a beautiful way with words and excellent social skills?” he says haughtily, putting a hand on his chest. “Thanks, I practice often.” But shortly after, Rainpelt narrows his eyes in thought. “I guess you have a point though. Well, it was really only two years, but—”

“No, seeing as you’re only two that checks out,” I cut in, extremely pleased by the glare he gave me.

“Excuse me, I’m actually ten years old. My birthday just passed a week ago. And don’t change the subject! Just—look, let me explain…” he proceeds to tell me his entire life story. (I was right. I am going to go deaf.)

“Two years ago, my dad caught the moonberry plague while out scouting new territory. It was really bad, and he died a few weeks later. But the healers that had been treating him caught it, and it spread really fast. Even I got it! Plus Sunray, and Moonshine. And then the Florian army destroyed the old Pack.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “You guys are from the Eastern Pack? My mom told me about it when it happened, and now I’m not allowed in the forest alone.” I glance around. “Oops.”

Rainpelt nods, not seeming at all fazed by the retelling of his history. “They came at midnight during a new moon, so we didn’t see them coming. They made a big fire that burned down the dens, and that’s when my mom died.”

My eyes must be popping out of their sockets. He said that so lightly, but it was no small thing. I try to imagine what it would be like if my mom and my dad died. It’s impossible to imagine life without them. “I’m sorry.”

“It—It’s oka—” he pauses and wets his lips, thinking. “I mean, thanks. I… thanks.” There’s an emotional war on Rainpelt’s face, anger and fear grappling with sadness and something else that’s tender and small. He drops his head to look at his hands, which are clasping each other tightly and turning white. When he looks back at me, his face is neutral once more.

“Anyway. Finally the Eastern warriors kicked the army’s butts, but not before the city was destroyed. The numbers of the Eastern Pack were a lot smaller, and by sunrise the next day, the survivors had decided to leave. They didn’t stand a chance against the army if they were to come back. So they all left for the Northern Pack, because they’re the biggest and safest.”

“Then why did you guys stay?” I wonder. “The Northern Pack is safer.”

Rainpelt’s expression clouds over. “Shadowpaw wanted to go to the North Pack, but stupid Hemlock left without us.”

My eyes widen. “But that’s not fair! Why would he do that?”

“Because we were sick,” Rainpelt explains. “Half of us, anyway. Hemlock said we wouldn’t recover, and bringing anyone sick was a ‘liability’,” he makes quotation marks with his fingers and rolls his eyes, “and he tried to convince my older siblings to leave without us. And of course they wouldn’t, so he gathered the rest of the Pack and left before the sun even rose the next day. My siblings felt so betrayed. I felt like crap,” he says lightly, and I flash a small smirk.

Rainpelt is my kinda person.

“—and my brothers and sisters and I camped out in the old Pack until me, Sunray, and Moonshine were healthy again,” he continues. “And then Shadowpaw led us away from the ruins and all the bad memories and to a camping spot Dad used to take us to—that’s here. It was already hollowed out and had these pictures, and some furniture and stuff, and we lived happily ever after. The End.” He claps for himself and bows, muttering the words “Oh, you’re too kind! Please, it was nothing,” softly under his breath in an imaginative sort of way.

I raise an eyebrow at his odd behavior, but decide to let it slide this time. When he doesn’t stop right away, I repeat his story back to him.

“So, let me get this straight.” I narrow my eyes in thought and gesture with my hands. “Your mother and father were the Alphas of the Eastern Pack, but the Florian Army killed them.”

Rainpelt nods grimly.

“So then, that means that Shadowpaw… that makes him the Alpha, doesn’t it?”

“Bingo!”

“And that means you’re…” I trail off, cock my head at him. “You’re a prince?”

He frowns and crosses his arms. “Well, usually people don’t say it with such judgmental disbelief and instead more of a ‘Wow! You’re a prince? Incredible! Kiss my baby!’” He cups his face with his hands and bats his eyelashes.

“Trust me, nobody would even let you near their baby, much less kiss it. And what do you mean, ‘usually’? I thought two seconds ago I was ‘the first person you’ve spoken to in your entire life’?”

“Well, yeah, but I still think you should bow, at least.”

“My foot. It’s broken.”

“Sprained,” he corrects casually, inspecting his nails.

Before I can answer, the door opens and a blond, banged, green-eyed girl walks through the door.

“You’re Flynne?” she asks me, kicking off her boots before proceeding to my side. “Pleasure to meet you! I’m Lightningbolt; the genius and healing savvy part of the Larkspur family.” She addressed me like an equal, introduced herself, and even gave me her hand to shake. I’ve met an angel.

I reach out and shake her hand, happy to meet her. “I’m Flynne—”

“The one and only!” Shadowpaw says with me. “Yeah, one and only kicker of my—”

A boy the same age as Lightningbolt elbows Shadowpaw in the ribs and gives him a look, which makes him stop talking, so I never get to find out exactly how he planned to end that sentence. But I do have a pretty good idea…

“Let’s take a look at that ankle of yours…” Lightningbolt digs it out from beneath the blanket and raises it to the light as gently as she can. “It’s bad, but it could be worse!” She speaks to me as she massages my ankle with a wonderfully smelling salve. And just like that, the screaming pain in my ankle is soothed, and I let out a contented sigh.

“Oooh there is a person in our living room!” A dark-haired, fair-skinned girl who looks to be about five or six years old walks through the front door with an older, golden-haired girl who seems my age following her. She runs up to me—the younger girl—and stands beside me, just sort of staring at me for a while. “Hi, my name is Moonshine!” she says finally. “I think that you should be my friend because I am very interesting.” She nods her head as if agreeing with herself. “Veryinteresting.”

“I’m Flynne, the one and only.”

The little girl—Moonshine—sits on the couch next to me and proceeds to tell me all about her little garden that she adores, which she and her other siblings were playing in when Shadowpaw found them and brought them back home to meet me.

The girl who’s my age narrows her eyes at me, looking at my ankle and then my eyes. “Are you a spy?” she asks me, crossing her arms.

I shake my head. “No. I’m just a really unfortunate girl who sprained her ankle. I’m Flynne, the—”

“The ‘one and only’, yes I know,” the girl says suspiciously. “If you aren’t a spy, then what are you?”

“Um… a fox? A kid? An awesome person?” I smile hopefully as I say the last bit.

“Okay. As long as you aren’t a spy,” the girl shrugs and sits beside Rainpelt. “I’m Sunray. The Fighter. I like fighting. With him, especially,” she pointed at Rainpelt.

He beams. “That’s true. But I prefer pranks. She’s too good at—I mean, I’m supposed to let her win at wrestling.”

“Yeah right,” Sunray rolls her eyes, and Rainpelt sticks his tongue out at her.

Everyone starts talking to each other, and to me too, but I can’t understand what anyone’s saying.

“Wait, everyone stop talking!” I shout, covering my ears. “I’m not used to so much noise so late, because I don’t have any siblings.”

They all quiet, looking at me curiously.

“That’s weird,” Moonshine decides. “If I didn’t have siblings, I would die.”

“Yeah, probably,” Rainpelt agrees.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Shadowpaw wonders.

“You guys need to take turns,” I tell them. “You can’t all talk at the same time. Then you’re all yelling at the top of your lungs, and I can’t make out a word you’re saying.”

Their faces adopt matching confused expressions as Lightningbolt wraps my ankle tightly with white gauze.

“Here, I’ll talk,” Moonshine pipes up. “Problem solved.”

“Actually, I need to get Flynne back home,” Shadowpaw remembers, walking over to me and giving me his hand. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get a move on.”

“I told you, don’t call me that,” I sigh, shaking my head and taking his hand. It’s much larger than my own.

“Aw, does she have to go?” Moonshine pouts, grabbing my other hand. “Why can’t she stay?”

“She’s got a family to go back to,” Shadowpaw explains. “Like we have ours.”

“You dare defy a lady when she is feeling sad?!” Moonshine pouted.

Shadowpaw rolls his eyes. “Yes, Moonshine. Yes I do.”

“Ugh!” Moonshine exclaims, throwing herself onto the couch with her eyes tightly shut.

“Bye, Flynne,” four of the six siblings chorus, Moonshine and Rainpelt disappointed, Lightningbolt cheerful, and Sunray more or less indifferent. The boy who elbowed Shadowpaw earlier only waves, smiling. Come to think of it, he never spoke the whole time I’ve been here, and was instead making funny shapes the whole time, if I’m remembering right.

“Hurricane says bye, too,” Rainpelt informs me. “He can’t talk.” He sits up straighter and his eyes brighten. “So the story goes like this—”

“It’s a long story, we’ll tell you another time,” Shadowpaw shakes his head at Rainpelt, who sighs and throws himself onto his side on the couch with a loud groan.

I wave to them. “Bye everyone!”

But I’m not sad to go. I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I see them…