Timeweaver

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...

For a girl who'd been living in New York City her whole life, who'd been used to luxurious hotel rooms and dedicated maids, who never got so much as a drop of unwanted water on herself, Tabitha was not holding up well at all.

The rain was pouring down in sheets so thick, Tabitha could hardly see her own feet, clad in a pair of Griffin's old boots, taking each step along the muddy forest ground. The golden dirt in the mire made it look like she was stomping through molten gold. The noisy squelching made the journey less glamorous, though. The trees, reflecting the sky above, had turned a dull silver color. Frankly, Tabitha's triamphunt trek had become quite depressing.

Oddly enough, the weather was the worst in the thickest parts of the forest. The trees blocked some rain, but the wind loosened dead leaves and branches Tabitha had to avoid. It wasn't working too well; Tabitha's soaking hair was covered in a nice thick coat of leaves and dirt and twigs.

It would all be worth it, though, if she could just find Cat and go home...

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How do you go about searching for something in a witch's bedroom? Especially when she is home and the cottage is tiny and Griffin was starting to realize he would have to get his mother out of the house.

Sounds easy, right? It would've been if Lyssandra left the comfort of her forest abode on a regular basis. At least Cat and Flame had left to go search for Tabitha in the forest after a quick meal. Even after a long night, Cat had felt the need to wake up early and continue her quest for her friend. He had wanted to tell them not to bother, that Tabitha wasn't worth it, but if they found her they would take her away and he wouldn't have to deal with her again. In addition, deep down, he wished they did find her, so could deliver her to the castle, to her family, and so he could make it up to her and his mother for being a horrible person.

However, he needed that horrible-person-ness for just a little longer. He hated to do it, but to find the book he was looking for, he would have to take advantage of his mother's current fragility. Thankfully, acting happened to be one of his specialties.

Griffin quietly walked into the kitchen. He kept his head down and didn't say a word as he grabbed an apple and plopped into a chair, taking a loud angry bite of the fruit. Lyss looked up at the sudden noise. Setting down her knife and herbs on the cutting board, she said quietly, "Griffin."

His frosty glare flicked up to her then back to the table. Lyss let out a frustrated sigh. "Griff." This time his gaze stayed locked on his mother. His father had called him Griff.

"Don't even try to make this better," he hissed.

"Griffin, just listen to me."

"No!" he yelled, shaking the whole cottage. "I won't listen to you because all you ever tell me is lies!"

Lyssandra reached out to her son, her pale blue eyes filled with tears, but he slapped her wrinkled hand away. Griffin let a few tears roll down his cheeks, but he couldn't be sure whether they were genuine or not. "You don't think I'm disappointed -"

"SHUT UP, LYSSANDRA!"

That did it. Lyss backed up towards the door, her mouth open in shock. He had frightened her. He had acted just like Aeryn.

Lyss walked out of the house and left Griffin standing there, shaking with legitimate rage. He didn't have time to feel sorry, though. Rubbing his hand over his face, he tossed the apple out the open kitchen window and approached Lyss's bedroom door.