Honey is nestled safely in Thistle’s hair as they stroll toward the café.
“Are you sure you’re okay up there?” Thistle asks, glancing upward with a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Oh yes, I’m fine. It’s quite comfortable in here, actually. Just make sure you let me know if you need to scratch your head. I’d hate to cut my time short, simply because you smacked my bum.”
Thistle laughs, her footsteps light as they reach the café and step inside. It’s calm, the soft clink of mugs and low hum of conversation filling the warm air. The line is short, and soon Thistle finds herself at the counter.
“What’ll it be, luv?” asks a green-haired elf behind the register, her smile like a burst of sunshine.
“I’ll take a cup of the Morning Rise blend and a lemon-lavender muffin, please.” She says, paying for her breakfast.
“You got it, hun. Go ahead and grab a seat, I’ll bring it right out to ya.”
“Thanks.”
Thistle picks a quiet corner booth and slides into the seat nearest the window, sunlight casting gentle patterns across the table.
“Did you bring my thimble?” Honey’s voice buzzes from the curtain of hair just above her ear. “I’d rather not perch on the rim of your mug again. One slip and it’s a swim neither of us wants.”
With a smirk, Thistle reaches into her pocket and sets a tiny silver thimble on the table. “As your chauffeur and royal beekeeper, I made sure to include it.” She speaks low, cautious of curious ears that might overhear her.
Honey’s delicate feet tiptoe down a lock of hair, peeking out from behind Thistle’s ear.
“Royal beekeeper, huh? I like the sound of that,” she says. “Though don’t forget, my wisdom does not lessen your worth. We are the same, you and I.”
Thistle opens her mouth to ask what she means, but the tea arrives before the words can form.
“Here you go, luv. Need anything else?”
Thistle looks up, smiling gently. “No, thank you. This is perfect.”
As the elf drifts away, Thistle carefully scoops a thimbleful of steaming tea and places it on the table beside her own mug for her companion.
“Would you like me to add anything?”
Honey flutters down, wings catching the light, as she lands beside her thimble.
“No, that’s alright. I actually enjoy the earthy flavor of a naked tea,” she says, stretching her wings before hovering above the thimble, using them to cool her drink. Gently landing, she leans over the rim and takes a delicate sip.
“Oooh, that’s delightful! Excellent selection, Thistle.” The tea tastes of citrus and vanilla, with floral notes of honeysuckle. She sips again, then lifts her gaze with a twinkle. “Now… how about that muffin?”
Thistle chuckles, tearing off a small piece and setting it beside the thimble.
“Right away, your highness.”
As Honey braces her tiny legs and scrapes off a crumb with surprising precision, she glances up at Thistle.
“Mind your tone, dear. It’s only amusing until it isn’t.”
Thistle lets out a louder laugh at that. “Okay, okay, apologies… your highness,” she whispers into her teacup, grinning.
Honey narrows her eyes in mock derision, taking a regal sip of tea.
A quiet beat passes between them, filled only by the soft rustle of wings and the clink of cup to saucer.
Thistle leans forward slightly; voice lowered with genuine curiosity.
“By the way… what did you mean earlier, when you said, ‘we are the same’?”
Honey dabs at her crumb-dusted face with a napkin corner and replies lightly,
“Ah, that. Well, let’s wait until we are no longer in close quarters with others, shall we? We wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re talking to yourself.”
Thistle nods, glancing casually around the café. It’s a small place, just eight cozy tables, no seating at the counter. Patrons have come and gone since they arrived, but it hasn’t felt crowded. The walls are a soft yellow, the tables and chairs all wooden and hand crafted. It feels like sitting in a cafe in a story book as soft music plays from an unseen source. Suddenly she hears the loud scrape of a chair, and her eyes land on them, a pair of eyes piercing through time, causing it to lose all meaning, and hitting her like a bucket of cold water.
Her breath catches as she quickly shifts her gaze back to her tea.
“Oh crap,” she mutters, wishing she were small enough to hide beside Honey’s thimble. “This is why I didn’t want to come into the out.”
Honey lifts her head, muffin crumbs still clinging to her cheeks, antennae twitching.
“What? What happened?”
Thistle keeps her eyes on her teacup.
“Oh… nothing. Just someone who was the bane of my existence for most of my youth.”
Honey blinks, then slowly turns her head toward the rest of the café.
“Well. That certainly explains the sudden drop in air pressure,” she says cautiously.
“Are you ready to head home?” Thistle asks, urgency creeping into her tone. “I can make you a fresh cup of tea there.”
Before Honey can respond, the thunderous steps of the troll that tormented her younger years, come to a halt right beside her table. Thistle takes a slow, steadying breath, bracing for whatever cruelty he is bound hurl next.
“Little Thistle Vailumen!” he chortles, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What a treat, running into you here. I expected you to be in another realm after the way you scurried out of town three years ago. I’m sure the humans would have welcomed you with open arms.”
His words sting as they hit their mark. Thistle instinctively shrinks inward, avoiding his gaze.
“Yes, well… I’m just visiting Ahimsa to see friends,” she says quickly. “They had errands to run this morning, so I decided to try the local cafe.” Making sure not to reveal that she, in fact, lives here.
“Friends? You!?” The troll, Torak, chuckles before continuing his brutality, “Since when does anyone consider the wingless imp, friend material? You manage to spell someone into seeing past your deformity? That would be some trick!” Torak bellows a laugh, too loud and too pleased with himself. Thistle shrinks further, shoulders curling. Shadows from the past, rising up to shroud her identity.
As she’s about to fall into their painfilled comfort, she feels Honey crawl up her arm, settling again behind her ear.
“Breathe, Thistle,” comes the tiny whisper. “Remember, you get to choose.”
breathe in
breathe out
I wish I could pause time, so I had a solid moment to feel grounded. She thinks to herself through the tumultuous emotions.
breathe in
breathe out
Gently, Thistle finds a patch of solid ground within her mind and straightens her spine. Her shoulders ease back. She lifts her gaze, eyes locking onto Torak’s face.
“Well, Torak,” she says with surprising calm, “as lovely as this reunion has been, I’d really like to enjoy the rest of my tea, and I can’t do that with you here. So, if you would be so kind…” she gestures to the empty table he came from.
Oh hell… What am I doing?! Her breath quickens, pulse pounding like a war drum in her chest. In spite of her fear, she never takes her gaze from his face.
Torak snorts. “You finally grew fangs, I see. It’s about time. You’re still pathetic, but at least you’re more entertaining.” With a grunt, he turns and begins lumbering back to his seat. “Be seeing you, Thistle.”
She stares at her tea, stunned by the strange sensations churning in her center. Then something shifts.
“Wait a second!” she blurts, rising partially from her seat.
Torak turns back, a pompous smirk spreading across his bulbous face.
“You torment me for years! Tearing me to shreds piece by piece with your cruelty, and now you say, ‘it’s about time,’ as if you did me a favor!?” Her voice trembles with a decade’s worth of fire as she stands fully now, hands clenched.
She’s about to launch into a storm of words, but as she meets his eyes and recalls the years of all that cruelty, she can already see how anything she says now will fall on deaf ears. As she holds back tears of anger and hurt, she feels Honey flutter behind her ear.
Thistle closes her eyes.
breathe in
breathe out
“I’m not doing this.” Her voice is soft but sure. Only its slight wobble gives away her inner turmoil, as she opens her eyes.
Torak’s smirk falters. His brows draw down, confused.
“Torak,” she says evenly, “it was nice running into you. I actually appreciate the reminder, of who I am. I wish you well.”
Thistle turns toward the table, gathering her muffin and Honey’s crumbs, then reaches into her pocket for a few tiny coins to leave for the kind elf.
“You’re just going to walk away?” Torak scoffs. “This spine you think you’ve grown is cute. I remember when you—”
Thistle turns sharply. Her mouth opens for a sharp retort, but again, she stops. Honey flutters gently behind her ear, a soft nudge of support.
She takes a small calming breath, as her resolve hardens.
“Torak, that version of me,” she says, her voice like polished stone, “the one you beat down with your words and your taunting? She died… It was a beautiful death, I must say. But she doesn’t exist anymore. Even the echoes of her are fading in this moment. So, while you may be the same insecure troll you’ve always been… I’ve become more.”
Without waiting for a reply, Thistle moves around his hulking form and walks toward the door. Hands trembling, steps sure, she doesn’t glance back.
As the door closes behind her, she takes a deep breath striding away from the cafe. The tears she was keeping at bay, finally break through, cascading down her face as she breathes through every step towards home.
Once again, Thistle feels Honey flutter behind her ear, her soft voice, warm and proud.
“Atta girl.”
I, like Thistle, hate going into the out. I am glad she did and found her voice. I love how you weave your stories. Absolutely beautiful.
Something I really enjoy about your writing with this is that, at least from my perspective reading it, you're building the world outward from the characters. There's something very comforting about always being in Thistle and Honey's space, existing in their story, rather than being thrown back and forth across a vast world. It's like we get to mature right alongside the story. It's cozy.