Black Strings: Threads of Revenge

The World of Spirits

As the morning sun rises, Tommy is already sitting in front of the campfire, reading. He hums himself a familiar tune. Bumbledor is curled up next to Rain still.

Toby ploddingly rolls over to his back, eyes fluttering open as he wakes. “Hmm?" he groans.

“Morning, Toby,” Tommy says to his best friend as he turns the page of his book. The campfire continues to burn as he feeds it a couple more branches.

Turning his head, Toby looks at Tommy. “Morning,” he sleepily mutters.

Tommy covers his mouth with a closed fist as he chuckles. His eyes run down the page he is reading. Toby rolls over, eyes falling on Rain, blush forming on his cheeks.

Is he staring again? Let me just mess with him for a moment.

With a subtle smirk, Tommy presses his fingertips against the dirt, letting the rough grains shift beneath his touch. A small pebble trembles, drawn to his will, before snapping to his fingertip like a magnet. He lifts his hand lazily, rolling the cool stone between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its smooth surface.

His eyes flick to Toby—still staring, still pink-cheeked. In one fluid motion, Tommy flicks the pebble with a sharp snap. It sails through the air, spinning, before bouncing lightly off Toby’s shoulder.

Toby flinches at the light impact, his sleepy eyes snapping to Tommy. He blinks, as if processing what just happened, then narrows his gaze.

“Really?” he mutters, voice still thick with sleep. He reaches for the offending pebble, rolling it between his fingers before flicking it back—though his aim is sluggish at best. The tiny stone veers off course, landing harmlessly in the dirt beside Tommy’s knee.

Tommy grins, clearly unimpressed. “You call that a shot?” He shifts his weight, scooping up another pebble between his fingers.

Toby huffs, rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to scrub away his drowsiness. “Give me a break. I just woke up.”

Tommy feigns deep consideration, twirling the pebble between his fingers. “Hmm. That does sound like an excuse.”

Before Toby can protest, Tommy flicks the pebble again, this time aiming for his forehead. Toby jerks back with a startled noise, more surprised than anything, before his expression twists into something more awake—more determined.

“Oh, it’s on,” Toby declares, pushing himself up and gathering his own small arsenal of pebbles.

Tommy laughs, already preparing to dodge.

Toby grips a handful of pebbles, a mischievous glint creeping into his still-groggy expression. “You started this,” he warns, shaking the small stones in his palm like dice.

Tommy smirks, already shifting his weight to prepare for whatever weak retaliation Toby can muster. “And I’ll finish it,” he quips.

Toby doesn’t wait. He launches a pebble with newfound determination, but Tommy tilts his head just slightly, letting it whiz past his ear. The second one follows almost immediately, and this time, he shifts his shoulder just enough for it to bounce harmlessly off his cloak.

“Gotta be faster than that,” Tommy teases.

Toby scowls, but there’s amusement behind it. He flicks another stone, only for Tommy to raise his hand, catching it effortlessly between his fingers.

“Oh, come on,” Toby groans, running a hand through his messy hair.

Tommy inspects the caught pebble with exaggerated interest. “Hmm. Not bad. You might actually hit me by sundown.”