A Feytal Encounter

Chapter 6

 The feel of the rope and the level of concentration untangling it took was soothing to Bronwyn. It wasn't much, but it felt a lot better than lying on the floor of a big fey-built birdcage. Adanma sat cross-legged on top of a barrel by the door (as if Bronwyn couldn't have busted through the wall if they hadn't felt so sick). She was using a knife to whittle branches into points. Curiously, the knife was a different one than Bronwyn had seen a moment before. They weren't sure where all the knives kept coming from. The sound of the camp was muffled, it felt like they were alone.

"Dog," Adanma broke the silence. Bronwyn growled.

"I have a name."

"I don't care, but you can tell me anyway."

Bronwyn wrinkled their nose, but didn't reply. This woman was insufferable.

"Dog-"

"It's Bronwyn," they snapped, accidentally jerking a knot tighter. "Call me dog again and I'll rip your fucking throat out."

Adanma laughed. The sound surprised Bronwyn. They weren't sure what kind of sound they were expecting, but they weren't expecting it to be warm and sweet like porridge.

"I admire your... passion, but you couldn't kill a rabbit right now. Pity, we could have used a few hunting dogs."

Bronwyn snarled and lunged at the Fey but Adanma smacked them against the ribs with the stick she'd been sharpening then nimbly jumped off the barrel onto their chest. Bronwyn gasped, trying to draw air back in, further inhibited by the smirk on the Fey's face. Was she... playing? Just messing with Bronwyn without cruel intent? The princess placed both hands on Bronwyn's chest as she leaned down to whisper,

"Stop thinking you can best me, Bronwyn." She pushed against them and for a moment was supporting herself on her hands against their chest, then she was back on her feet again, holding out a hand. Bronwyn ignored it and clambered to their feet, panting and glowering. Adanma smiled, and they couldn't tell how genuine or mocking it was. They stood there, facing each other for a moment. Bronwyn wasn't sure what to do, Adanma seemed to be looking at something else, someone else, somewhere else. With a small shudder, Adanma's eyes snapped back onto them.

"Well? Keep working."

Adanma watched the wolf–Bronwyn–pull apart the rope. Their face looked softer and sweeter when they were focused on something. It was...disorienting. Here was a creature who had killed countless people, was the enemy of the Fey, could turn into a beast of destruction, but Adanma couldn't see that at all. She saw someone she could protect. That was stupid. She shook her head and accidentally cut her finger with her knife. Bronwyn immediately smelled it, but didn't react except for a nose twitch. Adanma sighed and watched the blood bubble, dropping her head into her other hand. Was rehabilitation possible? Wolves couldn't have always been this evil, right? Maybe Bronwyn could be convinced to give her some answers.