A Failure of a High Elf (Book One)

8.3

Written: 6/12/24
Word Count: 1,238

A heave of air gusted out at my sigh, and I let the gossamer leaf fall from my hand and glide gently back to the heap on the floor. My chin found the stack still piled on the footrest. "So even you want me to take over this clinic."

When Brat didn't immediately reply, I looked up to find it staring at me in such a peculiar manner that chills raced up and down my spine. It didn't look angry, exactly, but there was definitely disgust. A deep-seated, nearly vengeful disgust. Heavy judgment weighed down its eyes, a deep crimson hue. So muddy as to be mistaken for the dusty trail I'd walked up and up, around and around, on this mountain's trails. But no. Those weren't the eyes of a calm mountain, but a shard of clay stuck in a wound, spreading infection where you least expected it.

I swallowed. Then swallowed again. "Why won't you tell me anything for real." It wasn't a question.

Under that piercing stare, Brat suddenly appeared like an old sage. Was it actually one of those old fogies who recorded history at the Ancient Redwood but disguised as a child? Why else would it have such a depth hidden within its eyes?

"Like what," it said. Also not a question.

"Like...your name." Again, that eerie silence. "Or why your Goddess really sent you here. Or why you bothered to fish me out of the ravine. Or why you're still here." An annoyed huff got caught in my throat, turning my voice into some choked thing. I could no longer look the Goddess's messenger in the eyes. "I just don't get it."

Brat swooped down to sit on the other side of the foot cushion, plopping the pestle onto the shuffled pile of Aunt Rosetta's masterpiece. The firm papers crunched as the object dented them, though at least they wouldn't fall over anymore. It held onto the Pixie-made device, cradling it in its lap.

"So, first of all..." Brat sighed, then sighed again for good measure. Then, with one of its skinny, knobby knees propping up its elbow, it began to summon yet another sigh.

"Please." Each sigh went straight to my brain like a piercing needle. I covered my forehead with my hands, the wrinkles there almost bruising to the touch. "Please tell me something. Anything. I just can't take all this silence."

When more caustic words didn't immediately follow, I looked up, only to find those dark crimson eyes so close they looked like little cinnamon cookies swimming over the surface of a cup of milk tea. Crow's feet lined the corners of its eyes, ones grooved so deeply into the Hesperides' skin that I knew they hadn't formed from looking up at the sun too much. Each of its eyelids looked like a puffed-up pastry, creamy, squishy, sugar on top of sugar.

"I don't have a name," Brat said.

At that moment, the little dragon came gallivanting back into the clinic, snout smeared with dirt. The thing was happily licking its lips, tossing its head this way and that like some disdainful wild child. It trampled over me, of course, making sure to place those weighty paws right on my busted ankle.

"Gahhk!" I keeled over onto the cushion, but the thing just scrambled onto the chair behind my head. A prickling along my neck buzzed constantly in spiking waves of awareness that there was an apex predator currently sitting six inches away from my nape. A snuffling snout moved along my hair, tied up into the laziest bun I'd ever made. I yelped a bit, and it was only by watching the way Brat's pupils moved that I could even tell where the thing's body was.

"What's—what's it doing?"

Brat considered, tilting its head. "Eating your hair."

I blinked, debating whether I cared. As its snout moved my neck in an impromptu nodding session, little snorts and chortles muffled by my hair stuck up its breathing tubes, I decided no. I didn't care.

"Okay."

Brat tapped one finger on the pestle, the slight weight pulling it in another direction. I grabbed hold of the thing, lest another heavy object fell onto my poor ankle.

"I'm sure there are patient logs," Brat mused. "There must be. Nobody's memory is perfect, and veterinarians are nothing if not methodical. Each patient is like a research subject. I cannot believe she would have left nothing. This device won't turn on, but perhaps it can still be fixed. If even that yields nothing, then..."

"Maybe..." I took a deep breath. "Maybe the papers were...stolen. By the ones who..."

Goddess knew, Resinee's guilt had made the elva more forthcoming in explaining every little thing about all things mundane. How the water worked, what was sourced for food, the delivery schedule. Predators on the mountain, the itinerary for the funeral tomorrow. Customs, culture, and basic necessities? Come to Resinee. But if touching on my attacker, my Aunt's murder, or even why they needed a dragon vet in the first place...the Dark Elf turned less than helpful. She was like a clam, one that couldn't be pried open without brute force.

Resinee was elven after all. Even she had that burdensome pride that kept her from apologizing or admitting wrong. Honestly, it was refreshing. And to be fair, I did not want to know any of these things. I didn't want to talk about my aunt, or the state of the kitchen when I arrived. I didn't want to know about the trials of the Haspa Mines.

But I no longer had the option of remaining ignorant.

"Your Goddess didn't tell you why she wants to help me?" I asked, pulling strands of hair from the dragon's mouth. Its fear of me was long gone, but now it felt like it could just up and eat me, and it was no big deal. Clumps of hair stuck to my hand with an oddly viscous liquid. Slime. I'd been slimed.

Yuck.

"I didn't ask," Brat replied, tone flippant. It gave just as much of a yewing shit as I did about Resinee. Great. Fantastic.

I stopped playing with the pestle, letting its weight spill across my thigh. It was grounding, in a way. A small way, like the first clear breath away from musty, attic air. "You always just do what she tells you?"

"Pretty much."

I scoffed. "I'm jealous."

Brat tilted its head while I went for round two of defending my bun from entangling with the fox-thing's baby teeth. It dared to chitter at me as if I was the problem. My fingers danced terrifyingly close to its pointy fangs as I broke strands off from around its bright pink gums.

"Why's that?"

I looked away to the open blinds looking out onto the wraparound porch. Pursing my lips, I had to decide how honest I should be. I'd already shown my cards in this conversation, but could I afford to show even more?

This Hesperide had already seen me fall from a cliff and lay near death on a rug, spewing utter horseshit from my mouth as soon as anyone got within range.

Hadn't I already shown it just how pathetic I was?

"You can follow orders," I said in a small voice. Clearing my throat, I forced my tone to stand taller. Louder. "I can't even follow orders that are catered to me."