The small band of Outliers and their Fae
companions wasted no time navigating an entirely different path back to the
Greenhouse. They traveled with a steady,
cruising pace, at first following the pipeworks, and then the biohazard and
toxin warnings. Some miles later they
approached the underground encampment from a disused platform and followed it
up the way toward the front car.
Though
Gwydd was stalwart at Willow’s side, the sheer pollution of the city was
sickening even to her, and she too felt more queasy and tender than
normal. Willow’s skin looked strangely
dry.
“Let’s
find you a mirrorpool of some sort so that you can contact Ry’llia.” She rubbed
Willow’s arm in a side-embrace and slid open the train-car door.
The
front car was effectively the community kitchen. Food was cleaned here, bunches of herbs were
hung to dry and water filtered through a simple filtration system that was
impressive in its simplicity. The humans
had certainly done well foraging for themselves.
“Hey
ladies! Welcome back.” Hadron’s smile faded quickly when he actually saw them
and he moved to help Willow to a high cutting-block table central to the
kitchen. “What happened up there?”
The
warrior-pixie tensed her jaw as she spoke, “Willow’s type are highly
empathic. They feel the course of
energy, the land, people – it is just dark up there, poison. Do you have any
water?”
“What?
Oh, yeah, yes – jeez, where are my manners.” Hadron wiped his hands on a cotton
rag and drew some clear liquid from the sink into two wooden tumblers. “Sorry.
You both look like you could use some food.”
Gwydd
accepted the water from him gratefully, their fingers overlapping around the
girth of the cup. “I…thanks.” She wanted
to take the cup but her hand lingered with a mind of its own.
“I
need a bowl.” Willow’s soft voice broke the entrancement and Hadron turned
toward a huge kettle suspended over a fireplace that had been built from a
co-opted dishwasher.
He
reached for a deep-bored pottery bowl, and lifted the lid off the simmering
stew. Delicious wafts of carrots,
celery, potatoes and basil steamed up, filling the railway car. Both Gywdd and Willow looked at each other,
through the sound of grumbling tummies, exchanging a glance of pleasant
surprise.
“What’s
on the menu, then?” taking one strand of beaded hair, Gwydd tied back the rest
of them.
Hadron
winked at her over his shoulder. “Stone
Soup.” He started ladling in soup from the wrought-iron kettle.
“Seriously?”
the lady-soldier copped a dubious brow.
“Actually,
yeah.” Reaching for a pot-holder, he brought the soup over to Willow and set
her with a salvaged spoon. He caught the
hint of question in Gwydd’s eyes and smiled good-naturedly. “We rotate who gets to add the stone, but it
reminds us all that everything we do here is a community effort and that each
part plays an important role in the whole.”
The
petite girl huffed in a half-smile; fairytales – the folklore of her kin - were
still subtly helping to keep these humans alive. Still serving a purpose, she was relieved and
invigorated somehow by knowing that everything the fae were to this world
hadn’t been utterly lost in obscurity.
Hadron
gave Willow a big-brotherly up-nod. “I
figure if you eat your soup, you’ll have your bowl.”
“So
it’s to be held for ransom?” She pulled her white-blonde tresses off to the
side, taking up her silver spoon.
He
raised his shoulders in a shrug, holding up innocent hands. “What can you do?”
Both
the girls laughed and answered: “Eat.”
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