Willow

6

"Where are we going?"

The question that Willow had been dying to ask finally came out of Arbor's mouth.

"Supplies," was all Butterfly said, as if that would explain everything. He kept trudging into the forest, turning his head left and right.

The trees were the same all around, practically identical. They all seemed to be covered in some sort of frost, some more than others. Willow wanted to know everything about them–she wanted to run her fingers over them, feel the frost melting at her fingertips. She wished she had brought her phone or some sort of camera.

"We've been walking in the same direction for hours," Arbor groaned. They walked like a drunk zombie.

"Sometimes it takes longer," Butterfly mysteriously said. Willow wished he could just tell them where ON EARTH THEY WERE GOING. Another part of her didn't care, as long as the large forest of trees around them didn't disappear.

"Takes longer?" Arbor stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

Butterfly sighed, turning around to face them. "Different paths go to different places. Sometimes it takes a while for it to happen."

"For it?"

"For the transportation process. It took me a whole day once: I ended up in the middle of the street. I'm surprised I'm still alive, especially since it was my dad who recognized me first."

He looked down, digging his shoe into the grass. It barely left a hole.

Arbor, obviously not reading the room, asked, "So what's the deal with you and your dad? Seems like some serious issues."

Willow smacked her forehead against the cart handle. Couldn't they tell that Butterfly was clearly uncomfortable with this topic and that he was going to tell them when he was ready, if he was ready?

Butterfly's shoe began whacking the ground, like it was some sort of shovel. Chunks of grass were bent, ripped out by the roots.

"It's complicated," he said.

They started walking again. Willow wondered why she hadn't hauled all the stuff into the treehouse instead of pushing a crappy shopping cart for hours.

The cart's wheels hit something hard. At first, Willow thought it was a rock. Then, all of a sudden, their surroundings changed. The trees turned into buildings, the grass into pavement, the quiet air into bustling city noises. The cool temperature rose up several degrees; Willow's sweater stuck to her skin with sweat.

"Whoa," Arbor said.

Whoa was right.

This definitely wasn't City. There were skyscrapers towering above them and airplanes zooming ahead. People walked in the bustling streets, either on their phones or talking to someone.

"What are we doing here?" Arbor asked. Seeing the cart, they added, "Good, you brought the cart. Having two carts would be inconvenient. Or a bunch of bags. Treehouse looks pretty unstable."

"Excuse me," Butterfly interjected, suddenly gripping the side of the cart. Willow cringed at his dirt covered nails. "Unstable? Don't you dare talk about my treehouse like that."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Arbor feigned surprise and sincerity. They clasped their hands together and fluttered their eyelashes. "Will you ever forgive me?" Then they burst out in laughter.

"Oh, shut it," Butterfly snapped, face reddening. "I'm not here to deal with your shenanigans." He looked around, scanning their surroundings. "Ok, so this is definitely not City–which is a good thing, by the way–"

Arbor groaned. "GET TO THE DAMN POINT–"

"–so it DOESN'T MATTER WHERE WE ARE," he continued, pushing a clump of hair out of his face, "'cuz we're just here to get supplies anyway."

"BUT WE HAVE A WHOLE CART O–"

"But IT'S NOT ENOUGH," Butterfly said, shoving his hands in his pockets. The wind was stronger now, rattling the supplies against the cart. "If we're trying to stay out of sight for a while, we're going to need more than just tents and..." He squinted. "...hammers."

Arbor scrunched their face up and crossed their arms. "What's wrong with tents and hammers???"

A laugh escaped from Willow's mouth, an unpredicted laugh that came out of the blue. Arbor and Butterfly turned their heads toward her with the strangest expressions on their faces. They were both being so stupid, arguing about the stupidest things. Seriously–tents and hammers?

"You're both so stupid," she said, shaking her head.