The Present is a Gift

Chapter 7: In Which Twig Fixes Some Shutters

Autumn gave its final gasp and winter rushed in to fill the space it left. The village Darkrai's hostess called home lived up to its name even in the cooling months, with a group of floette keeping the deciduous trees in Verdant Village full of green leaves and bountiful flowers, though perpetuating berry production seemed too difficult to achieve. He was impressed regardless. It seemed Twig was as well.

He would often find her pausing on the road back to her home from the market, staring up at the archway of trees that formed a vibrant emerald corridor for a long stretch of the journey. Snow weighed heavily on the branches, creating a blanketed atmosphere that muffled every sound as stray flakes drifted down from overhead. It was an awe-inspiring sight, beautiful beyond words, and he was grateful for the frequent stops whenever they passed through that area. He couldn't say he knew what went through her head whenever she stopped mid-stride to gaze overhead with wide eyes and a near reverent aura, but he felt like he was of a similar mind.

Since he had unintentionally learned things she clearly hoped to keep unsaid, Twig had closed herself off even more than before. Darkrai was surprised by how thoroughly she managed to clam up despite baring her soul to him just a few nights ago. She had explained a wild tale of time travel, self-sacrifice, and a bond between her and her partner that moved Legends to divine intervention— all of this in a blatant effort to distract from a more mundane story of a child preyed upon by their caretaker— and now she barely spoke a word to him most days. She spent most of her time chopping firewood with a chipped, dull axe and staring at the same page in a journal that's spine was warped with how many papers had been torn out from it. He caught glimpses of the page on several occasions, despite his efforts to uphold her privacy, and found it filled with symbols he didn't recognize. Perhaps that odd language she spoke in during that nightmarish memory? Whatever it was, she clearly didn't want him to pry, and he would respect her wishes.

Her neighbors were surprisingly warm in their welcome of him. He had come to expect dispassionate greetings and harsh rejections in his wanderings, but the gallade, gardevoir, and little ralts living next door were ceaselessly kind. They constantly strove to incorporate Twig into their lives despite the woman's efforts to keep them at arm's length, and had begun involving Darkrai in their attempts at fostering companionship as well. Gardevoir in particular was especially persistent, and Ralts was a clumsy echo of her mother's earnestness as well.

It was taking him some time to get used to responding to the name Ark. He was improving, but it felt like a clumsy sort of progress— like the name didn't quite fit, or wasn't exactly his. There was also his hesitancy to offer his given name in conversation. Perhaps there was some memory he had lost in which he came to be familiar enough with others to flaunt his given name, but it was hard to believe. Even Ralts eventually brazenly introducing herself as Lyra ruffled him, though it was easier to stomach than hearing his name come from one so young. Twig herself referred to him by his species— which should have made the least sense when she insisted everyone referred to him as Ark before his memory loss— and this made the contrast in name usage more blatant.

Twig hadn't spoken to him whatsoever that morning, insistently avoiding eye contact and sequestering herself away in the kitchen for much of the early hours. It was past noon when she broke the silence. "I'm going to do some work on the house's exterior. There's a couple shutters that keep squeaking when they open, and the roof needs some work before it snows for real."

That sounded enough like an invitation for his tastes. He set aside his tambour and joined her outside as she did her work, the flame at the end of her tail flickering a frosty lavender when he rose to follow.

It was painfully obvious as he watched her work that Twig had no idea how to perform home repairs— but Darkrai wasn't exactly skilled in the area either, and could offer no assistance with any amount of confidence. He remained handy, so that if she needed someone to fetch a tool he would be around to do it. He could provide that help at the very least, and it was pleasant to repay the kindness he'd been so generously provided— even if it was only to a pitiful degree, it was a start, and he eagerly took the opportunity to begin paying back his steep debt to the charmeleon.