The Adventures of Thistle & Honey 6

Adrift at sea, with a new friend.

Thistle and Honey arrive back at the cottage, the warmth inside a stark contrast to the weight pressing on Thistle’s chest. Her energy is nearly gone. Slipping through the front door without a word, she toes off her shoes, sets their leftovers on the counter, and makes her way to the couch in front of the fire.

Honey gently flutters down from her perch on Thistle’s head, landing softly on her knee. Her tiny eyes shine with pride and compassion.

“I am so very proud of you, Thistle,” she says quietly.

Thistle doesn’t respond. She leans back, letting her head sink into the worn cushions as she closes her eyes. A deep sigh escaping her lips. The tears have dried, but the exhaustion settles in like a heavy fog.

After a long silence, her voice finally finds its way out, the weight of the exhaustion coming through, “I feel numb.”

Honey hovers briefly, before perching on the back of the couch in front of Thistle’s face. Her tone is steady, but gentle.

"That confrontation wasn’t easy. You felt the hurt. You faced the anger, and you had every right to. But" Honey pauses, her wings giving a small twitch, "...you changed the course."

She floats a little closer, her voice steady. "It’s like sprinting full speed in one direction, then turning completely around and running the other way. That kind of shift takes tremendous energy. But you did it. Even in the pain, you chose to move toward something better. That’s not a small thing, that’s real growth."

She smiles warmly. "And we’re only two days in."

Thistle tries to smile. She knows she should feel proud, grateful, even, for Honey’s words. But her emotions feel distant, like they’re stranded on a faraway island while she drifts alone in a rowboat out at sea.

Honey offers her a knowing smile. “Why don’t you go rest? Nothing is so urgent that a bit of sleep will cause it to fall apart. Let your body recover, let your heart breathe. I’ll tend to the belladonna in the garden while your emotions catch up.”

Thistle feels the weight of her existence settle into her body, heavy and unrelenting. Still, she nods and heads into her room.

As she crawls beneath the blankets and lays her head on the pillow, the softness a small comfort; Her eyes drift to the clock on the wall.

It’s not even midday, she thinks, as her eyes close and her mind begins to blur at the edges, sinking into the quiet void of rest.

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“You get down from there this instant, you little fiend! I won’t give you any of this muffin if you don’t behave!”

Thistle stirs as the veil of sleep begins to lift, Honey’s voice weaving its way into her dreams. Confusion is the first emotion to rise. “Who are you talking to?” she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

“No one! Just go back to sleep, Thistle. Everything is completely under control out here.”

Thistle stares at the ceiling, unimpressed. “Oh yes, that was entirely convincing.” She sighs, throwing off her blankets and leaving the warm cocoon of her bed. A strange, sharp trilling sound echoes from the other room, and her curiosity sharpens. She quickens her steps, rounding the corner into the main room of the cottage, only to find Honey mid-argument with… something.

“What is that?” Thistle asks, eyes wide. “And why is it sitting on my mantle?”

“This little brute was in your garden munching on the Belladonna!” Honey snaps, wings fluttering with agitation. “Thankfully I got there in time to save the plant, but my muffin bribe doesn’t seem to be enough to keep him from causing more trouble.”

Thistle blinks, trying to make sense of the scene. “Okaaay… but what is he? And won’t the Belladonna hurt him?”

At the concern in her voice, the creature gives a twitch of its tiny bat-like wings and flutters awkwardly to the back of the couch, where it lands with a soft thump, staring at Thistle with unblinking eyes.

“Well, he’s just adorable, whatever he is,” she murmurs, stepping toward the couch, hand outstretched to scratch his fuzzy little head.

“Yes, well,” Honey says sharply, zipping up to hover right in front of Thistle’s face, “as cute as he may be, he’s also potentially deadly. So maybe don’t go marching up to the fuzzy creature with fangs.”

“Deadly? But he’s so cute!” Thistle coos, peeking past Honey as the little creature lets out a soft, chirring trill.

Honey buzzes in exasperation. “So am I, but under the right circumstances, I can kill.”

Thistle sighs dramatically. “Fine. What do we do with him? And what even is he?”

“He,” Honey replies, spinning around to glare at the tiny menace, “is a Glimroot.”

Thistle’s brows knit together. “A Glimroot?”

“Yes. They’re creatures from the Forest of Shadows. You know, the one you’re terrified of?”

Thistle instinctively takes a step back at that.

“Don’t worry,” Honey adds quickly. “It’s just a Bramble. He won’t feel the urge to devour until he’s full grown. But I would still be cautious, his venom can be fatal if he feels threatened.”

Just then, the tiny Glimroot sneezes. The absurdly delicate sound melts Thistle’s fear just enough for her to take a slow, steady step forward.

She approaches the couch and extends a hand. The creature sniffs it with twitching nostrils, then lets out what sounds unmistakably like a purr.

“You are just the cutest little thing,” Thistle murmurs. “What’s your name, handsome?”

Without warning, he flaps his leathery wings and launches himself straight into her arms.

“OH!”

“Look out!”

Thistle and Honey exclaim at the same time.

Honey darts forward, stinger at the ready, as the Glimroot nestles into the crook of Thistle’s neck, rubbing his soft, velvety head under her chin. Thistle freezes.

“Wait!” she says sharply. Honey stops mid-air, wings buzzing.

The purring grows louder, thrumming like a lullaby through the room.

“Awwww,” Thistle says, eyes soft. “We’re keeping him.”

“We most certainly are not!” Honey snaps. “Do you have any idea how much these things eat!? And he’s a shadow creature; he’ll lose his glimmer if he stays away from the forest too long!”

“What if he just stays inside?”

Honey lands on the back of the couch, where the little Bramble once sat. “Would you enjoy being forced to stay indoors forever?”

Thistle opens her mouth for a snarky reply, but Honey rolls her eyes and adds, “I know you don’t enjoy being in public, but that’s not the same. Imagine never being able to step outside into your garden.”

Thistle frowns, reaching up to scratch under the creature’s chin. “Alright, I see your point. But he clearly needs a place to stay, for now.” She adjusts the bramble so she can cradle him gently in her arms. “He can stay with us until we figure out how to get him home.”

By the end of her declaration, she’s already cooing over his squishy little face. Honey sighs.

“Fine. But I refuse to clean up his droppings. I doubt he’s cottage-trained.”

Thistle doesn’t look up, still enchanted. “I don’t like what he’s turning you into,” Honey mutters.

Thistle chuckles. “After the morning I had, this cuddle is exactly what I need,” she says softly, the memory of earlier events shifting her mood. The Glimroot chirps, nudging her for attention.

“What should we call you, little guy?” she asks. “I can’t keep calling you ‘Bramble.’ That’s like calling you ‘child’ all the time, seems kind of rude.” He chuffs at that.

“Why don’t you just call him Nuisance?” Honey grumbles.

Thistle shoots her a mock glare. “He’s not a nuisance, are you?” The creature seems to adopt an even more charming expression in response.

“Awwwwww.”

Honey rolls her beady eyes. “That’s it! I’ve reached my limit. I’ll be outside tending to the plant he tried to destroy while you sit here worshiping the deadly fluffball.” And with that, she zips out the window.

Thistle smiles, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about her,” she whispers to the creature. “She’ll come around. But we do need to find a name for you…”

He wiggles and flaps his wings. Thistle shifts so he’s perched on her palms. With another chirp, he puffs out his tiny chest like he’s presenting himself.

“You’re a fierce little guy, aren’t you?”

He lifts his chin proudly, his purple eyes gleaming.

“Okay,” Thistle laughs. “Hmmm… what about Murk?”

The Glimroot drops his chin and glares at her.

“Okay, no Murk,” she grins. “Do you already have a name? Probably should’ve asked that first.”

He flaps his wings and hops back to the top of the couch. With a chirp, he stands as tall as his tiny body allows and puffs his chest out again.

“Something about being… big?” Thistle guesses.

He shakes his head.

“No? Okay. Strong, then?” He flexes his tiny arms in response and drops back onto his haunches.

Thistle begins pacing along the couch. “Alright, strong… how about Stout?”

He shakes his head.

“Brawny? Or Burly?”

His expression grows increasingly unimpressed.

“Okay, now I’m being insulting. What about… Tuff?”

He trills in delight.

“Tuff! Really? I did it!” Thistle beams. “Tuff the buff Bramble.”

He purrs at that.

“His name is Tuffin,” comes Honey’s voice from the kitchen window.

Thistle turns toward her. “You can talk to him?”

Honey flutters in and lands squarely on Tuffin’s head. “You think I was yelling at him for my health?”

Thistle scoffs. “You could’ve told me when I asked.”

“And you could’ve composed yourself instead of melting into a puddle over a deadly shadow creature.”

Thistle rolls her eyes and gazes adoringly at Tuffin. “Tuffin doesn’t feel sturdy enough to match his majestic vibe.”

“Oh stars,” Honey mutters, flying over to the counter to finish what’s left of their breakfast muffin.

“I have it!” Thistle exclaims, darting to her room and returning with a slender wand of selenite. With a dramatic sweep, she gestures from Tuffin’s left shoulder, over his head, to his right. “I dub thee Sir Tuffin, Prince of Shadows and Friend to Thistle. Rise, Sir Tuffin!”

Tuffin launches back into her arms, purring furiously as they snuggle.

“You two have officially ruined my appetite,” Honey says, wiping her face on a kitchen towel. “I’m going for a nap. Wake me when you’ve regained your critical thinking skills.”

She disappears into Thistle’s room, grumbling.

Thistle giggles, circling around to sit on the couch. “Are you hungry, or do you just want to sit with me in front of the fire?”

Tuffin burrows deeper into her arms, and they both let out a soft, contented sigh.

“I promise I’ll help you get home,” Thistle whispers. “But I’m really glad you’re here right now.”

Tuffin nuzzles her arm, looking at her with unexpected awareness, as if he senses the wound that was brutally reopened this morning. They lock eyes as tears well up behind hers.

At his tiny chirp, the dam breaks, the tears spilling over as her body begins to shake with soft sobs. Tuffin crawls under her chin, curling into her as Thistle curls up on the couch.

Her soft sobs, Tuffin’s gentle purring and the crackling of the fire are the only sounds in the room.

After a few moments, Thistles sobs cease and the hush is gently broken by the familiar hum of wings as Honey returns, landing softly on Thistle’s shoulder.

“I guess he’s alright after all.”