After a little while, Lilly rejoins us, seeming a lot happier. All but bouncing as she flutters around both Ayre and I, even. It’s nice to see after the prior emotional outburst.

  The more I think about it, the more I’m feeling like we all need to have a sit down and actually talk about what each of us needs from one another. At least as best we can describe to one another. I don’t think any of us are terribly well-equipped for it, but we won’t fix anything by continuing to edge around the issue for one another.

  I sigh, which pulls the attention of the others. “It’s nothing, was just thinking about how we should go about this. I can’t really wear a sleeve over my arm. While my hand does the bulk of the “work”, I have noticed that basically anything coming into contact with any of the arm will degrade — just much slower.”

  “Well, if it’s really slow, can’t we just try to rush?” Lilly asks, gesturing at my arm. I realize then, that I am actually getting quite cold and hug my arms to myself. Everything else going on has been too distracting as the night has fallen, especially now that we’ve stopped moving.

  “I don’t think so. Here, look.” I reach to the ground and pick up one of the foil-like leaves from the nearby ironboughs. I hold it up, drawing their eyes with a bit of unnecessary flair that seems to come naturally, calling to mind a vague feeling of remembrance… I shake it off, though, and place the leaf on the back of my wrist carefully and then hold my hand underneath.

  Over a few seconds, the parts of the leaf touching my skin dissipate. The two halves fall away to the ground, looking sapped of most of their color. In my hand, however, remains the essence-free powder. Not much, only a few pinches. Ayre chimes in, realizing what I mean. “That will be hard to hide, especially if it’s constantly drifting out of your sleeve until it actually falls apart.” She puts on a thoughtful look, scratching at her chin with a plucking claw.

  I hear a metallic bang and spin my head to face it. Lilly seems to have conjured her little container and plopped it on the ground. Its lid quickly hovers free with a satisfying *pop,* and Lilly dives inside. Several bolts of fabric are tossed up and out of the tin haphazardly — each grows to what I’d describe as “full size” the moment they pass past the lid. They all appear nearly identical to my eyes, though. Just sheet after sheet of pearlescent golden fabric nearly identical to the one Lilly is currently, and always as far as I know, wearing.

  “Found it!” She announces triumphantly, her voice bouncing out of the tin with a metallic tinge of distortion, as she flies free of the tin with another bolt of identical fabric in hand. Much less remains on it than any of the others she ejected from the storage space.

  Ayre, who had been watching with interest, says flatly, “Okay, you didn’t find it with the six other identical bolts of fabric? What makes this one special?”

  Lilly peers at her, looking disbelieving. “Why, this is fabric made by the greatest seamstress of the court!” She pauses. “The other ones are, too, admittedly. So… anyways, this one is special.”

  “Special, how, Lilly? You’ve got me all worked up in suspense.”

  “Well! Like I said, it’s special.” Ayre sighs aloud and begins to speak what, I assume, has to be a complaint, but Lilly gives her a victorious grin and cuts her off, “Weaver told me that I should use this to sew a dress if I ever was expecting to see fighting! It’s magically hardened against essence-based attacks!”

  I nod along, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ayre is less patient. “Okay, and? Olly *takes* essence. That’s kind of the opposite thing, isn’t it?”

  Lilly’s turn to sigh. “Do you think what Olly is doing isn’t essence-based, Ayre? Really? You, the most magically well-informed person I know apart from my father? And Weaver. Maybe Caominh, too… “

  That gets Ayre to blush a bit, which seems to amuse Lilly greatly. She stammers a response, “Well, of course it’s essence-based, even if we don’t know which kind it is.”

  “So, would it be fair to describe what Olly does, intentionally or otherwise, as an essence-based attack?”

  I watch the exchange. It feels almost like a duel. One where Ayre started off on the back foot and is failing to recover at all. Lilly is looking confident and self-assured. “I…guess, yes. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try…whatever it is that you’re thinking.”

  “I’m glad you can finally recognize my brilliance.” She turns away from the defeated dragon, who appears to licking emotional wounds by glaring daggers at the back of the tiny bewinged menace’s head. “Anyways, now that Ayre is dealt with: Olly. Can you hold out your arm? The left one, it’s basically the same size and shape as the right one, so I don’t need to look closely at it.” I feel a wave of relief wash over me after the clarification. The mere idea of moving my right arm towards Lilly sends my heart rate spiking through the roof, so having that option removed is deeply comforting.

  “Sure, What are you thinking?” I do as asked while making an effort to control my breathing, and Lilly alights upon my arm, having left the bolt of enchanted fabric laying unceremoniously in the dirt. She starts at my shoulder and then takes measured steps along my arm with a precision that I wouldn’t normally expect from her. As I watch, I feel with utter certainty that her steps aren’t even a fraction of an inch out of place. Perfectly paced and positioned one after another, and at the end of her amazingly accurate march, she announces the measurement to the nearest eighth of an inch, doing the same but crossways at various points on my arm: wrist, elbow, shoulder blade.

  “Okay. All done. You two relax for a bit.” She still refuses to answer either Ayre or I’s questions, which I have to assume is part of the performance. There’s a small part of me that wants to be annoyed at the behavior, but I’m more relieved to see Lilly feeling vibrant again than anything else.

  “Olly.” Ayre calls me from where she’s currently leaning on a golden barked tree as Lilly disappears into her tin. I make my way over. “I was thinking. When we get to the gates at this hour, they’ll surely be closed and guarded. We’re going to have to deal with people, and if Lilly can’t give me a glamour of some kind, then I’ll be about the most obvious thing in the town, even at this late hour. And from there, word would spread fast in the morning.” Her voice is cold, clearly concerned, rather than still being wounded by Lilly’s victory.

  “Yeah, that all makes sense. So what about it?”

  “I was going to suggest that you do the talking with whoever is on watch at the gates, and I’ll stay with the little one.” I feel the color drain from my face. Something pulling at the edges of my mind for a brief moment of uncalled-for panic. The edge of a memory. Something bad. But not quite manifesting in my mind. “You okay?”

  “Uh… yeah. It was just… a thing.” I swallow, audibly, trying to push down the adrenaline, “I can do the talking, that’s no problem. I can’t imagine they’ll ask anything too complicated.” I pause, “What will they ask?”

  “I’ve never shown up this late. I imagine something to the effect of where we came from, why we’re here, how long we’ll stay. That kind of thing.” She gestures, wings moving along with her arms in a shrug.

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  “Well, I can manage that. Do I say that we’re coming from the forest? I don’t know any towns around here.”

  “If they ask, say we’re traveling from Kharbon. It’s the big city back that way that we’re heading towards after we rest.” She thumbs back down the road, the opposite direction of the town. “We’re coming here to do some freelance work before heading home again. It’s a generic enough explanation that they shouldn’t really have reason to question it.” She moves into a shrug. “I can’t imagine they’ll really have much reason to give us the third degree just for traveling at night.”

  I nod along, making mental notes of the suggestions. “Alright, Ayre. Sounds good to m-”

  “Done!” Lilly pops out of the tin again, this time trailing what looks like a tube of fabric with one end sewn up tight. From the look of the glinting golden thread, it looks like she’s sewn elaborate knotwork patterns and aesthetic scales across its surface. “Put this on over the weird arm.” She hovers up with obvious effort and lets me take the…thing. Looking closer, she has deep bags under her eyes, appearing more exhausted than I’ve ever seen her, and drastically moreso than before entering the tin.

  With some awkwardness of juggling the end with my left hand to hold it open, I hold my right arm a few inches away from the gilded…. oversized sock. I feel extreme reticence. Lilly clearly put effort into this, and I would rather not hurt her feelings by damaging it… But then again, refusing it wouldn’t be any better.

  I take a deep breath and thread my arm into the sleeve. Instantly, I feel the arm attempting to break down the sleeve as it comes into contact, and I feel the tiniest trickle of *something* leaking into the arm, but I get nothing from it. I feel the energy entering my body, but it brings with it no knowledge. If anything, I feel a vague sense of confusion rolling over my senses, but it passes into background noise after a few moments.

  Shaking my head, I look at Lilly with a weak smile. “It’s…working, I think. I’m sapping energy from it, but it’s resisting it actively. It’s hard to describe. It’s like the essence is…dodging the arm’s attempts to grab at it.” Lilly looks inordinately proud and shoots side eye at Ayre, who just shrugs and smiles.

  “Good by my count. Sealed up to hold in any loose dust, I assume?”

  “Yeah, that’s the idea. The dust bits are pretty big overall, so the fabric should contain basically all of it, probably…maybe.” She deflates a little bit for a moment before returning to a radiant smile, “But it’ll certainly be better than nothing!”

  “Well, let’s get this over with, then.” Ayre takes a few steps down the road, her heavy boots and the haft of her weapon beginning to thud and tap in an even rhythm that carries far in the cool, night air.

  “Do you think anyone will have an issue with you, Lilly?” I turn to walk, gesture to my shoulder for her.

  In short order, she flies over and settles. “In most tales from the mortal lands I’m aware of, people view us as tricksters out to confound and confuse.” I see her face darkening a bit with the admission. “It’s something that’s always made me really mad to read. As far as I know, ninety-nine percent of the Fairfolk never leave our lands. Probably more than that, even.” Her grumpy mien disappears with a sigh. “Then again, maybe that’s exactly why. The only fae who are willing to leave our lands reliably are those who are more interested in getting involved with mortal affairs.”

  “Would you be in that category?” I ask, trying to keep judgement or anything else out of my tone.

  She looks thoughtful for a moment before frowning. “By some people's measure, probably. I always wanted to really see the world. Hear the stories people have to tell, unfiltered. Not through the intermediary of a printing press or retellings.” She pauses for a while as I pick up the pace to catch Ayre. I let the air fall quiet for a while, figuring she has more to say. “Olly, do you think I meddle?”

  I give the question some serious thought. Lilly’s tone makes it clear that this is an important question to her, so I avoid a knee-jerk response. After what has probably been longer than she expected for me to respond, I see her looking at me with an expectant gaze. Not expectant in her usual joking superiority complex way, but something a little more…needing.

  “I don’t think so. From what little you’ve said about the idea of meddling, I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard you doing anything like that. If anything, I think you’ve shown that you’re hyper aware of it, and the couple times you’ve done something that might qualify, I’d argue that the alternative outcome would have been worse for everyone if you hadn't. Like me drowning in a river.” I let that rest for a little bit before continuing. “That beside, though. Is it really any better to not intervene when you can help someone? The choice to watch it happen is just as much of an action as choosing to intervene. I think at least.”

  Lilly chews that over for a little while as we catch up to Ayre. She’s come to a stop and is rummaging in some of the bags on her waist and is pulling out a cloak. “We should bundle up, we’re gonna be in sight of the gate soon. I just hope they don’t turn us away, it’s not very safe out here.”

  When Ayre says, “I just hope they don’t turn us away, it’s not very safe out here.” I feel that same cloying sensation. A memory trying to claw its way into my mind. A tugging that begins in my arm but feels like it’s pulling in both directions at once. Both wrenching my own perception away and trying to shove something in to replace it. It’s a sensation I’ve been trying to grow accustomed to — these memories asserting themselves on me — but this one feels more visceral than most of the others.

  I plant myself and concentrate, trying to push it aside for now, and after a few seconds of controlled breathing, it passes.

  “You alright, Olly?” I reopen my eyes to see Lilly’s diminutive, concerned, face looking me over.

  “Yeah. It’s just a…memory thing. Ayre can explain it while I go ahead. I want to get this over with, one way or the other.” I set the bag down and pull out a thick traveling cloak. With Ayre’s help, I settle it over my shoulders, and she ties it in the front. When drawn closed, it wraps me fully and then some, since it was intended for someone with Ayre’s general winged bulk.

  When it comes into contact with my sleeved arm, I feel no sensation from it and let out a sigh of relief. I have no idea how long this sleeve will last, but it’s giving me significant peace of mind while it does. I’ve not even been flinching at Lilly’s approach while it’s on, like I’ve been unable to *not* do recently.

  “Okay. We’ll approach together, and then you separate and go ahead to talk, yeah?” Ayre instructs. I nod along and watch as Lilly lands on her shoulder and carefully steps into the shadow of her hood.

  We round the final bend and see one set of gates. There’s two people standing before it — one taller than average, one shorter. It’s hard to pick out specific details from this distance, but the tall one has a stave and the shorter a broad headed axe. They are painted in a light pinkish glow that is emitting from nearby lamps, with visible essence motes settling in the surrounding area to light it.

  I turn to Ayre and nod, stepping ahead. Being less physically imposing than her will probably also be a boon, I hope.

  I get within about thirty paces of the gate before the taller one speaks up. I get a better look at them. They’re mismatched. Not just in size, but in gear. Clearly no uniform shared between the two of them. I’d expected town guards would be more…orderly.

  I stop, though. “Hail, stop there.” they begin to speak, and I take them in. Large, watery blue eyes, with tall, pointed and notched, ears that look not unlike fins. Their skin is a slightly darker blue tone than their eyes, and their androgynous features are sharp and judging. Their armor is scalemail that is regularly studded with multicolored pearls. They gesture with their staff — A six-foot tall gnarled looking bit of coral, I think, with what looks like an orb of water trapped at its apex that sloshes with the motion. “Gates are closed.”

  I take a moment to compose myself. “We’ve travelled far, is there no way we can be let in for the night?”

  “No, there’s not. You’re free to camp there in the lee of the walls, but none may enter until day comes, and you can be registered.” Their voice comes out cold, with an accent I’m entirely unfamiliar with that seems to stretch their “s” sounds into sounding more like a “th”.

  I’m more than a bit taken aback. Of all the things I expected, just being outright told no without an explanation wasn’t in the list. I decide to try a different tack. “Look, we’ve already been attacked by a monster today. My partner and I really need to get in somewhere warm so we can tend our injuries.”

  They seem entirely uncaring in their response. “That sucks. It really does. But my orders are to keep these gates closed until sun up. Your inability to plan to arrive at a reasonable hour isn’t really my problem.” Certain words in their declaration sound familiar in a way I can’t shake. Like I’ve heard nearly the same statement before, and I feel my perspective shifting involuntarily like a wash of vertigo.

  The shorter one speaks up after I’ve been quiet for a little while, struggling, with a voice about as gruff as I’d been expecting. He’s bearded and wearing very little armor other than a weather-resistant cloak. “I’m sorry, friend. The mayor was real clear. We’ve got problems with outsiders, and we can’t let anyone in outside normal hours.”

  “Outsiders” hits my mind like a hammer and I fall silent, trying and failing to arrest the onrush in my mind as I’m pulled somewhen and somewhere else. Distantly, I feel a hand on my shoulder.