Fantasy All's Fair

Remin agrees easily to speak with the boy the woman named. She wants to help with all this, and she certainly won't be the most help anywhere else but talking to people (even then, perhaps she'll be doomed to uselessness, but at least there's a chance?) Well, even if it's a bust, she'll know where the grocer's is. They'll need food sooner than later. As much as she appreciates Sayna's cooking, the cost of it'll likely rack up quickly. Maybe they could splurge for something hot once in a while, but something they didn't have to pay someone to prepare was going to hurt their meager finances less. Bread and cheese it'd be, or whatever constituted a cheap meal in Eupriunia. And things that would keep, if she could find it here; anything they could store to take with them when they managed to leave this town would help. Gods, was this what this trip was going to be? A week in a town, looking for odd work, saving up enough money to make it to the next place, and repeat? It felt tiresome already. They just needed to ally themselves with someone who could loan some money, and then they could afford a cart, some horses. Some food. Make themselves look more presentable for the next receiver of their begging and so on. Unfortunately, they'd have to find that in Eupriunia (Remin had no idea where exactly they were in the country, but she knew most of the names, at least, of the communities around the boarder. This wasn't one of them as far as she was aware,) or this would be a much more tedious attempt. They should plan, really. Maybe Cyeria knew of someone who might be sympathetic and wasn't likely to pretend to be and then sell them out? Later. She'd worry about this later, much like everything else. Tonight, perhaps.

"Dusk and dawn." The mother answers quietly. "Or-- well. Yova's boy was noticed missing when she went to wake him for breakfast, but she'd been having a restless night and had checked in on him a few hours before that, so it had to be at some point between then and when she went to him. And the Jenerrel girl just never came home for supper, but she'd been with friends until late afternoon. The rest of them...they've fit with that. So it's what we're thinking, anyways." She's silent a moment. "I wouldn't know of any history. It's just the woods. Been dangerous for one reason or another since before I was young, even. Seems the fae've taken a shining to it, that's all I can guess."

Well. That didn't really give her any sense of safety, but hoping for that would have been naive anyway. At least it looked like the fae operated when the sun was at its weakest? That was all she could deduce from the pattern. "It seems, then, that it should be fine if I went to investigate right now." Which was a pity, really, since Cyreia should have gone see the blacksmith instead, but-- well, she wasn't nearly greedy enough to risk a child's life for a few coins. Besides, the parents would be paying her, so technically she wasn't doing nothing for Athea now, right? (It was as close to nothing as it could possibly get, though. Perhaps lady Beleret had been right; perhaps she truly felt nothing for the country, and had only been motivated by Remin's love. Perhaps her kingship was the last nail in the coffin of the dying country. Cyreia... suppressed that thought. Being in inner turmoil over it while dealing with possibly supernatural forces wouldn't exactly help anyone.)

"My good man," she asked the healer, "could you please watch Ylan for a while? I know you said you didn't have the time, but it wouldn't last long. I just need to examine the forest, and-- look, he fell asleep." So that was the reason he had been so quiet throughout their conversation! Cyreia supposed the boy was lucky, too; hearing your parents discuss whether they should abandon you or not wasn't something she wished on anyone, much less on an innocent child. A breach of trust that massive could destroy their entire relationship. "I don't think he'll cause you much trouble."

"Eh, fine. But only because you're trying to do something with this mess! And don't spend the entire day there, too," he shook his fist jokingly at her. "I wasn't kidding when I said I was busy. I have tinctures to make, and it's impossible to work when children shriek."

"Oh, for sure," Cyreia bared her teeth in a smile. As rough around the edges as he was, the healer seemed to be a good man; something about him reminded her of her old mentors in the army. "Thank you. And you two, Bryn and--"

"Celia," the mother said.

"-- Celia. Could you show me the forest? You don't have to go inside with me, but I would like you to lead me there. Well, and maybe also wait for me outside in case I need something."

The healer, meanwhile, turned his attention back to Remin. "I don't suppose you can make tinctures? Well, no matter. Another pair of hands will still come in handy. Come," he led her to his desk. It was large and made of some kind of dark wood, and there were numerous alchemical tools resting on it; flasks, vials, beakers and such. Most of the items looked like they had seen better days, but they were spotless at least. The healer, however, pointed her to something much less interesting; to a large knife and a bunch of dried herbs that filled the air with a subtle, pleasant fragrance. "Cut them for me, if you would. Finely. Once you're done with that, I won't need you for a while, so you can go question the grocer's boy. But do your work properly first! I'll make you re-do it if it isn't to my satisfaction."

It was easy enough to sink into the work of cutting up the various bits of herbs, even if she itched with the sitting still. It was nice to have something mundane to focus on, though - the gentle ch-ch-ch of the dull edge against the wood of the desk. It was slow work, because anything else would have been clumsy work - when had she wielded a knife in this way? Remin honestly couldn't think of a time. She'd helped cut potatoes into thick chunks in Hadsberry, helped cut through the meat into vague cubes for the stew, but her inexperience hadn't mattered then. It didn't matter if a bit of carrot was too big or too small; it was carrot all the same, and would cook all the same. This was more delicate work, and she had little choice but to take it slowly. The healer might not like her speed, but he'd like it better than her having to take twice as long because she didn't do well enough the initial go-around. Every once in a while, she'd watch the boy for a few moments; the healer had covered him with a thin blanket at some point, and now he looked only like a resting child and not like he'd been brought in here how he had been, or like he'd been nearly-abandoned for his parent's fright. In the other moments, her mind wandered to Cyeria, and what she might be finding.

Neither of the parents were particularly eager to lead Cyeria back towards where they'd dragged their son in from, they did it all the same. They really needn't have, though; the trail of blood ran right from the healer's door to the edge of the woods and into them, dripping over dirt and grass and stone and then bushes and underbrush. It'd been as of yet untouched. The forest looked plain enough; perhaps even familiar in the same way that the town did, to Cyeria, if not more so. Sure, the trees were taller, the foliage wilder, the midst of it darker, but...still, familiar. It didn't even seem threatening, for everything that had been said about it. Light streamed through the leaves, dappling the floor of it with patterns that shifted in the gentle breeze, and somewhere inside birds called out to one another. Despite this, the parents had stopped a few good yards away. "The trap's in a bit, straight from here." Bryn says, gesturing into the forest from where his feet are rooted. "Careful in there, there might be more 'round it."

Before heading off for the forest, Cyreia stopped at Sayna's. She didn't necessarily believe she would run into the fae there, or even into the poachers, really, because poachers generally operated when other people were asleep, but she still wasn't going to enter the forest unarmed. That just sounded like a recipe for a disaster. Only a fool ignored warning signs that numerous, and while Cyreia may have been many things, she liked to think she wasn't stupid. And besides that? The familiar weight of the sword at her hip put her at peace. With the trusty weapon by her side, no enemy seemed quite as scary, quite as invincible. An illusion, doubtlessly, but so what? One's state of mind was an asset in every battle, too. Building up false confidence could be a legitimate strategy, especially if the threat was vague enough that you... couldn't do anything else, really.

"Thank you for leading me here," Cyreia said, rather uselessly. Their guidance turned out to be rather unnecessary, but they still took the time out of their day to do so and that ought to be appreciated. "Wait for me, please. I won't take long, I promise. And if I do-- well, you should probably let me wife know." The communication stone still hung around her neck, but there was no guarantee she would actually manage to use it if things got heated.

It... didn't really look like that would happen, though. Perhaps the locals were just superstitious? The forest seemed like a normal forest to Cyreia. Now that she thought of it, her mother had forbidden her from entering it back in the day, too, but that didn't really mean anything. Her mother had routinely forbidden her from entering most places outside of Eydarm; everything but their little sanctuary had been too dangerous in her eyes. (How ironic, then, that she had found her death there, crouching and crying as her own house burned. Was there some messed up lesson to be found in there?) Unwilling to think about that, she shook her head and sucked the air in. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It tasted fresh and sweet, in that special way only forest air ever did, and some part of her brain equated it to... home? A strange thought. A useless one, too, because she should really focus on locating anything suspect. With a sigh, Cyreia did exactly that.

If the healer figured Remin was slow, he didn't complain. Instead, he focused on his own work. It was difficult to tell what exactly he was doing, at least from the point of view of someone uneducated in the art of alchemy, though it seemed much more mundane than anyone might expect. More than anything else, it reminded her of cooking. Cooking in exotic-looking containers, yes, and the smells emanating from the substance he was preparing caused tears to well up in her eyes, but aside from that, there were few differences between his craft and whatever her cook did. There were certainly no explosions or wild colors involved. Just slowly boiling, muddy liquid of uncertain origins.

Once she finished chopping the herbs, he put everything on hold and checked her work. "Hmm, hmm. That's good enough," he judged with a smile. "It's pretty even, which is always helpful. Go talk to your boy now, you've earned it. You remember where Sayna's tavern is? Well, I'm sure you do if you're staying with her. Just head there, but then turn left and continue that way for about five minutes. You can't miss the grocer's; there's a large sign in front of it. Alistair is grown enough now to help out in the store, too, so you might even find him there."

Despite the look of nervous distaste on Bryn's face when Cyeria emerged from Sayna's, sword at hip, he said nothing about the whole deal as they walked towards the forest. There was no doubt things that he thought fit to say; it wasn't hard to catch him looking at the sword, looking nearly about to say something before apparently deciding against it, keeping up the tension that laid thickly between the travelers as they followed the path towards the woods. Celia equally said nothing, but that seemed to be less from a dislike of Cyeria wielding a sword and more simply it being her nature, at least around her husband, to be rarely heard. Still, a quiet walk is better than many alternatives, and it's safely that they reach the edge of the forest.

The forest which...doesn't look to be strange in any way. The trap itself that the boy was caught in was an easy enough find; it's a twisted metal thing, all bent out of shape from the rescue and bloodied from the meal that its sharp teeth had tried to consume. There's a clumsy path a bit deeper into the woods - presumably where the trap had started, and Ylan had begun to try to crawl out of the forest to get help when removing the sturdy thing himself had been a useless endeavor? Other branches and bushes around are in equal states of effected, dripped with blood or snapped in half - but there's nothing...suspicious. It's nothing but quiet and void of anything useful; no clues to what he might have been doing wandering out here, no clues as to who might have laid the trap, and no clues as to whether the fae had been in this section of woods perhaps ever. It was just...mundane. Simple.

Remin gave the healer a short, grateful smile as she ducked out of the shop. The air outside was overwhelmingly crisp and clean after a good while hunched over herbs and smelling strange concoctions brewing away, and she took a few moments to breath it in deeply - and, in those moments, followed the splatterpath of blood with her eyes and looked towards the forest to see if she might see her wife at the edge of it. No such luck. She didn't even see the parents, but perhaps the angle was just poor for it. Cyeria would be fine. She'd return to her, unharmed, and they'd prove this whole thing ridiculous or put a stop to it. (Or, ideally, both.) And to do that, she'd have to head to the grocer.
The directions were simple enough, and the walk there was pleasant. People milled through the streets, carrying their bits of work with them, and Remin could see how this might have once been...somewhere Cyeria was fond of. Somewhere she grew up, and knew well, even if none of that was entirely true anymore. It was quiet, though, and pretty, and she wasn't sure there was too much more to need than those things.

Despite not spending too much time in the forest yet, Cyreia couldn't help but think she may have been on a wild goose chase here. The place just looked some mundane! She hadn't expected to run into another god within the first five seconds, but she also hadn't expected to see-- well, nothing. Not even the poachers had the decency to show up, which was a stroke of luck they should honestly be thankful for. Because if they did? Cyreia would show them why exactly endangering the locals was a bad, bad idea. One would have thought that Loran would at least deal with this, mostly because the threat was much less supernatural and much more likely to impact the taxes smallfolk paid, but apparently not. Did he even do anything aside from organizing flashy parades? (God, the idea that she had respected him at some point was laughable. What kind of madness had seized her back then?)

Still, Cyreia marched forward. There must have been something, anything notable! Surely people wouldn't have been afraid of the forest for no reason at all? Those who lived in small towns depended on the gifts of nature to survive; on the soil, on the wildlife and, yes, even on forests. Edible mushrooms could be found there, as well as various berries, and even if they didn't want those things for some reason, they still needed to get wood from somewhere. Depriving themselves of so many resources on a whim would have been foolish. No, there had to be more to this place than met the eye, Cyreia was sure of it. Met the eye, met the eye... Hmm. Perhaps it couldn't actually be seen with naked eye? That made some vague, instinctive sort of sense to her. If one hoped to find things that could potentially be magical, magic should probably be used to search for it, too. The like attracted the like, and so on and so forth. (Good thing that she hadn't asked the parents to come with her, really, because that would have complicated everything. Carrying the sword in front of them was damning enough; Cyreia couldn't even imagine how they would react to her using freaking magic out of nowhere.) Either way, she closed her eyes and... looked inside rather than outside. Would that show her something more? Cyreia certainly hoped it would.

Remin had no trouble locating the shop. Just as the healer had promised, there was a sign before it. Well, alright, technically it was just something resembling a wooden shield with a couple of carrots and cabbages drawn over it, but it did its job. (Probably better than an actual sign would have, too, considering the fact most people in Eydar couldn't read.) A couple of elder women were chatting inside; they greeted Remin when she entered, though they returned to their exchange quickly. Apparently the weather had been really kind to grape growers this year, and one of the women planned to send her son study to the big city with the money she hoped to get from selling her crops. It didn't take long for them to get their vegetables and continue on their merry way, however, so Remin's turn came up soon.

"Hello!" the young shopkeeper smiled at her. Could it be Alistair? Perhaps; he couldn't have been older than fifteen. "What would you like? Just between you and me, we got fresh eggplants today, and they are the best. I can even throw in one for free since you're new here! We don't get many visitors, you know," he said, looking her up and down with curious eyes.

The shift as Cyeria closed her eyes was minute, and in the first moments, unnoticeable from what was simply the light filtering through her eyelids. It was just...dark and indistinct, as mundane as it'd been in the moments before she'd closed her eyes.
Except - then it wasn't, anymore. Even with her eyes still closed, Cyeria could see. It was all pale amber outlines - still just the light, shining through skin to reach her eyes, but there was form to it. The trees were there, stretching up, the bushes were there, the underbrush, - and, a little crisper than all the rest of it, a face (wide and flat, large-eyed and expressive, not quite human but not quite not) peering out from behind the nearest tree. If its owner notices being noticed, there's no clue to it; those eyes just follow Cyeria, studying her as she studied the forest.

Remin was glad to have shoved some of the few coins they had into her pocket this morning, in case of an emergency. This didn't entirely count as one, but it was important - hopefully Cyeria wouldn't shun her spending a bit of it to seem less suspicious as she wandered into the small shop. Remin couldn't imagine that wandering into a business and demanding to speak to a child would do much to make her any more welcomed here, so maybe forking over some of their meager money would help smooth it over. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be necessary to deal with middlemen; Remin'd be willing to bet that this was Alistair. It hadn't sounded like there were other children in the family, and small places like this probably didn't employ anyone they didn't have to. People they didn't strictly have to pay were better than anything else.

"I'll admit that I'm here for two reasons," Remin says, smiling softly back at the boy. Alistair or not, it wouldn't do much good to ask him outright. "Just picking up things for lunch, for one; whatever's cheap, since I'm a bit short on funds?" She sets the coins she's decided would be fine to spend on the counter between them; hopefully it'd be enough to pick up enough food for she and Cyeria to snack on, to tide them over until they could return to racking up debt to Sayna's kindness tonight (or perhaps she'd be paid for her work at the end of the day? Remin knew some work handled payment like that, but the castle had only ever paid out weekly. A simpler system for that many people.) "But my -partner," It's a quick catch, but a careful one. She didn't know what further messes Cyeria's gender might cause, and so best avoid them altogether if she could, "-and I are looking into the disappearances from the town over the past few years? I figure you get a lot of people in here who might talk...you wouldn't happen to know anything, would you? We just...well. We want to try to help."
It might be easier to just ask him outright, but if what had been said about his willingness to speak to what had happened rang true, it wouldn't help too much to put him on the spot. Or maybe it would? Remin didn't know, honestly, but she'd spoken already and so she had to roll with it. If he didn't share his story, then she might at least get another lead on someone who might be a little more willing.

Ah, there it was; the shift that was more felt than seen, more assumed than truly apparent. The shift she had expected without really knowing about it. Her heritage, perhaps? The one left to her by her blood? It must have been that, except that Cyreia didn't have the time to think about it. Not when she saw it; saw them, really. The fae. Technically, there was no way to know who she was looking at, but some part of her knew. That part of her that had been dormant, sleeping somewhere behind her consciousness where dreams were usually formed, but now it was awakened, and Cyreia felt as if she saw the world for the first time. And the colors it had? They were downright blinding. Perhaps she would have enjoyed the new perspective more, though, had it not been for the realization that chilled her to the bone; the people of Eydar were right. The fae did live in this forest where-- where children apparently went missing. It didn't necessarily mean that they were involved, of course, but it was more likely than it had been a minute before, and that made her more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit. God. What had they done to them? Eaten them, perhaps? No-- no, she couldn't think like that. Cyreia had no evidence to support such a conclusion. Besides, if they ate people, surely Remin would have mentioned it to her? That tidbit would have definitely made it into the folklore. They also hadn't attacked her yet, which was a point in their favor. Alright, alright. Cyreia would try to talk to them, and everything would work out somehow. Assuming that they hadn't kidnapped the children, then they probably knew something about their fate. And if they had-- well, that would give her an answer to her questions, too.

"Hello," she said, feeling more than a little foolish. Hello? Really? How unceremonious! Still, Cyreia had no other idea on how to start a conversation, so that was what she went with. "I am Cyreia. It is, uh, nice to meet you. I am-- I am looking for the children that went missing somewhere around here. Would you happen to know something about them?"

"Something cheap, you say?" the boy grinned. "Not the eggplants, then. We don't get them very often, you see, and so we price them accordingly. You'll still get the one I promised you for free, though! Alistair never goes back on his word." Ah, so it really was the boy Celia had spoken about. Good. "As for the cheap things, those would be potatoes, I suppose. And turnips. I hate turnips, though," Alistair made a face as he selected the vegetables for her, "so I'll give you some celery instead. Hmm, hmm, what else? Salad is cheap, but nobody can get their stomach full from salad. What about a pumpkin? You can bake it with the potatoes and you'll have a nice, hearty lunch. It'll probably last for a few days, too!"

When Remin switched the topic, though, Alistair went white immediately. His hands shook a bit, too; apparently he knew about it because he shoved them in his pockets immediately. "I... um. I'm not sure. Someone I knew was taken, but that's true for almost anyone here. I, uh. I shouldn't be talking about this," he managed to stammer out. Was it just her or did he look guilty? From the way he avoided her gaze, it certainly seemed like that. "Please, don't ask."

"Hello." The fae answers, the tone the same as Cyeria's - it was honestly difficult to tell if it was mimicry or mockery. They didn't move out from behind the tree, but a thin sharp hand curled around the thick side, digging into the bark. It cracks and crumbles, littering the floor with more debris, but it doesn't seem as if the fae is clinging especially hard to the tree. Perhaps the bark is just fragile? Or perhaps it's something else, some deceiving strength, some intentional threat? "You're meddling." And now the fae moves further into view, and it's a strange shifting as they do - the forest ripples and tears and then they're there. Tall and spindly, limbs all not-quite-right and sharp, but they carry an inexplicable grace. (It's the sort that's carried by a tree growing from a rotting stump, consuming and utilizing; the beneficial and beautiful cannibalism of the woods, harming no one but still unsettling.) "You're meddling." They repeat, more accusatory as they tug a goassamer-thin cloak over their angular body, hiding the bones barely visible beneath their green-grey skin, hiding the cloth that covers some of it. "Why do you think you should be meddling?"

Remin grew concerned at how dramatically the boy's mood switched. She'd expected some amount of caution, certainly, some amount of fear, but to see such a sudden reaction? She bit her lip, frowning softly. "Alistair," Remin says gently, the food between them forgotten however appealing it was. Would Sayna allow them to use her kitchen? Perhaps it was a risk worth taking if she could manage to get enough food for a handful of meals with what she'd offered. If not Sayna, then perhaps the healer would allow her to set the things in his fire as she worked? All that was something worth forgetting, though - food was important, but this unexpected task was all the more so. "We want to help. We want to stop it from happening to anyone else here, and- bring people back, if we can. I don't know what's happened with those who've been taken, but if they can be returned safely, we'll make sure they are. But we have to know what's happening first, and...I heard you saw it. That you were with your sister. I won't push you to talk if it's too much, but maybe you could point me in the direction of someone else who has a close experience with it that might be a bit more willing?"

Cyreia didn't move. She was ready to do it at a moment's notice, ready to reach for her sword and do whatever she needed to do in order to protect herself, but she didn't spring to action just yet. In this context, acting too fast would have been a weakness; a proof of her fear. And since the creature tried to intimidate her-- well, giving them what they wanted didn't sound like a good idea, did it? No, steel self-control was all they would get from her. Well, that, and maybe also her blade, depending on the circumstances. (She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. So this was her family? Not that Cyreia had hoped meeting them would be some grand, moving event where everything would suddenly click and then she'd finally belong somewhere, but she hadn't expected them to be like this, either. To be child kidnappers. Because the way the fae behaved? There was no way in hell they weren't at least partially guilty.) "I'm not meddling," Cyreia protested. "I am, uh, investigating." Which probably made little difference to the fae. No, that had been a bad, bad way to phrase it. What could possibly make them talk, though?

"Besides, it's not meddling when you're involved," she decided to push her luck. "I am blood of your blood. Your kin. Do you not think I have the right to know?" The tales she had come across, at least, emphasized the importance of blood ties, so perhaps this would work. If it didn't, then she would come up with some other method; even a method that incorporated fire and blood, if need be. Cyreia would rather exhaust the non-violent options at first, though. Fighting an enemy whose abilities you knew nothing about on their home turf-- that was rarely a good idea.

Alistair still refused to look at Remin. Instead of properly facing her, he turned around and started putting her vegetables into a basket, and he seemed to take his sweet time with every single item. One would have been inclined to assume that he was absorbed by his task, really, if it hadn't been for his hands. Even occupied by work, they still shook ever so slightly. "Look," he said in the end, "it's noble of you to want to end it. I'm sure everyone appreciates the thought, especially since you're not from around here. It won't end, though. That's the agreement. And I doubt you'll get anyone to talk, either. Not when they come after those who spill their secrets. That's what they warned me about." For the first time since Remin had mentioned the disappearances, Alistair looked her in the eye, and his face was utterly resigned. Lifeless, even. "It's better to leave some things as they are, I think."

"You're a mutt," The fae says, but it's rather clearly not meant to be an insult; it's said plainly, as a statement - a simple pointing out of fact. "...But who's mutt?" They ask, stepping closer, and as they do so, the height that they seemed to have on Cyeria shrinks away until they're standing not much taller than the woman. A quarter of a foot, maybe, instead of the entire one they'd seemed to have had on her when they'd first emerged from their place of watching. Those sharp angles seemed to smooth out, as well; had all of that been a trick of the light and distance and the green-tinged person with soft, dark hair and dark eyes had always looked as they had? Or had they truly shrunk and rounded? "Lu had some mutts. Yoq had some mutts." They smile, revealing a mouthful of teeth that certainly could tear into a child, though there's no sign that they have. "Or maybe you're Ayn's? Too many mutts to keep track of. Too many mutt-makers, just the same. But that doesn't give you a right to anything other than to stand before me. You didn't grow with us, and you only seek us with questions and accusations.

Remin watches him pack the things away quietly. Not when they come after those who spill their secrets? That's what they warned him of? This was getting all the worse by the second, and Remin could only hope that Cyeria was facing better than she was. Unlikely, considering where and what she'd wandered off into the woods in search of, but Remin could hope. She also hopes that maybe, just maybe, the child'll say something more that'll help, but then that look he spares her shatters any idea of that beginning to happen. "...Well, I appreciate what you've told me." Remin promises softy. Pushing it wouldn't do them any good. That was enough to be sure that it wasn't some fantastical, unlikely story (or at least a story only, and not touched with truth,) and so Remin would allow it to stand alone. "If you think of anything else, we're staying with Sayna for the time being. But I'll leave you alone about all of it." She murmurs, reaching for the basket he'd packed for her. "And I'll apologize that I'm rather terrible at leaving some things alone."

Mutt. The word made Cyreia wince. It was technically true, she supposed, though that didn't make it sound any kinder. If anything, it... actually gave it a cruel edge. When people called you names that weren't even remotely based in reality, it was hard to take them seriously; she knew she wasn't an idiot, for example, and someone else's opinion did not make it so. This, however, couldn't be denied, and it cut deep. Why did it even bother her, considering the fae likely did not mean it as an insult? Hell, Cyreia herself had no idea. Perhaps-- perhaps she wasn't as alright with it as she had previously thought. Well, no matter. There was a time and place for soul-searching, and this definitely wasn't it. "I'd like to know that as well," she said, perhaps a bit sharper than absolutely necessary, "but nobody bothered to tell me. We'll both have to live in uncertainty, it seems." Just how many people like her existed? People with latent magic abilities, just waiting for the impulse to awaken? How many of them existed in Eupriunia? Cyreia pitied each and every one of them, really. She had been lucky enough to not be there when it had happened, but how many of them could say the same? Not too many, she guessed. The creatures other words, however, made her raise her eyebrow. "I don't remember accusing you of anything. I just asked you about the children, and politely at that. But very well, I understand that you have no real reason to trust me." As she had no reason to trust them, though that didn't need to be pointed out. "Is there anything I can do to change it? A task I could help you with in exchange for the information?" A risky move, perhaps, yet one that could bear fruit. And if the fae demanded something terrible of her? Well, Cyreia could always refuse. It wasn't like she had signed some magical contract with the suggestion alone.

"... thank you," Alistair muttered. The contrast between the Alistair from before and the current one was striking; the bright, chatty boy had disappeared, only to be replaced by someone who couldn't wait to see her gone. "I, uh. I'd love to help, but I can't. Terribly sorry about that." He watched Remin, still so strangely distant, and then he nodded. "Sure. Sure, I'll remember that." He fell silent and, for a while, it seemed it would stay that way. Remin's was already facing the door when he spoke again, his voice hesitant. (If she looked away, she could see him fidgeting with his fingers, too. In that moment, he looked more like a child than the almost-adult he was.) "Um. Does-- does Sayna know what you're doing? Because, if I were you, I wouldn't tell her. Just a friendly bit of advice, because you're new here and such. Take it as you will."

The mouth twitched into a humorless smile, but again, there's no cruelty there. It's just...there, stretched across their face, communicating something rather impossible to know exactly. If not cruel, then what? Of not pleased, then what? Was it anything at all, or just some mirror of actions they'd seen before? "I'd like an apple." They say, eventually; there wasn't too much time of too much thought taken up by their searching for something to assign Cyeria, but there was time enough in it for the sounds of the birdsong and breeze to wrap back around them again like some incorporeal blanket. It was a mundane quest, to be sure, but that only made it more suspicious. Or did it? "I'd get one myself," The fae adds, "But they don't like it much when we leave the woods, and taking their form's...well, I'm honestly just not very good at it. So go get me one, and I might tell you what I know about your missing children."

Remin almost wanted to apologize again, but that...it wouldn't help much, either. She doubted that anything short of leaving the boy alone would help at this point, and so she gathered up her basket of food, placed another coin on the table as an unspoken olive branch (an ill-advised action, considering how much lighter her pocket was already, but still one she took; if words wouldn't do, money might,) and made to make her way towards the door. Remin turned, though, when he spoke again. "...No, she doesn't know. There's- there's a couple whose boy was injured in the woods. They know, and the healer knows, that's all. We'll keep it quiet. Thank you for the advise, Alistair. I'm sorry, again, for bothering you with all this." She stood awkwardly for a moment longer; was there more to say? More she could do to get information from him? (Well, the answer to that one was an easy yes, but there wasn't more information she could get from him without alienating herself and Cyeria from the town further than they already were, and so the answer to that was really no.) "I'm sorry for what happened to your family." She says, finally, before turning back around and heading from the grocer's.

Remin headed back to Sayna's after that, wanting to drop off the basket of food in their borrowed room and - though she doubted that she would be - check if Cyeria had returned there yet. They really should have established somewhere to meet, but it wasn't as if there were many places they could be. There was no sign of her besides the lack of her sword by the bed ( it was a comfort that she hadn't gone in unarmed,) and so Remin only lingered long enough to drop the basket of food on the crate that held their equally borrowed clothes. The healer might not need her back yet, but he'd mentioned something about her cleaning, and she might as well head back there to see if he wanted her to start in on that. She'd earn her keep, or at least try to.

"An apple," Cyreia repeated, incredulous. Was the fae perhaps mocking her? Perhaps, but it was so tell what her strange companion thought; it was like-- like watching her own face reflected on a pond's surface, and all the tiny ripples and distortions made it impossible to read. (Why had her mother involved herself with a creature like that? Everything about the fae made her skin crawl, and she was technically one of them. What on earth could have driven her to go so far as to have a half-fae child? One more question that would go unanswered, she supposed.) "Alright. That I can do." An apple wasn't a terribly steep price. Cyreia still didn't know whether she trusted them to keep their word or not, but even if they did end up deceiving her, it would be a minor annoyance more than anything else. She had been swindled out of more valuable things in the past, after all. Of things like her ideals, for example. "Wait for me here. I'll go get your fruit."

That, fortunately, wasn't all that difficult to arrange. Apples weren't exactly rare here; Cyreia still remembered where the local orchard was and, sure enough, that hadn't changed. In a way, seeing it exactly where it had been... calmed her down a bit, really. It proved that the soldiers hadn't been able to tarnish everything. The orchard still existed, regardless of what had happened so many years ago, and likely still would be there once she and everyone she knew died. Knowing that something eternal could be found even here, despite all the destruction? What a pleasant, pleasant thought.

After plucking one of the apples, Cyreia headed back into the forest (and did her best to ignore Celia and Bryn's stares. The couple most likely considered her a freak as it was; she wasn't about to explain to them that she was dealing with the fae now, too. No, her being a little eccentric seemed like the more palatable option here.) Once Cyreia found her new friend again, she extended her hand with the apple in it. It was red and shiny, and looked absolutely delicious. "See? Just as I promised. You can have it. Now," she frowned slightly, "what do you know about the children?"

Meanwhile, Remin went about her own business. When she returned to Sayna's inn with the vegetables, the woman offered to cook them for her-- and wouldn't take no for an answer, not since "you have a job now, dear, so you cannot be expected to cook as well!" Honestly, in the light of her behavior, Alistair's advice seemed downright foolish. Why would he warn her against someone like that? Then again, would he have really said it for no reason at all? It seemed that, even outside of the royal court, there were no simple situations.

Either way, when Remin returned, the healer was still working on those strange concoctions of his. "Oh, you're back!" he beamed at her. "Good timing. The boy just woke up, he's asking for his parents and I have no time to deal with this nonsense. This is a delicate recipe, you know! I have to watch the temperature properly, otherwise the whole batch will be ruined. Now, go." She found Ylan sitting on his bed (unsurprisingly, since he wouldn't get very far with his bad leg), his eyes suspiciously red. "Where-- where's my mom?" he asked in a tone that sounded almost accusatory. "I closed my eyes for a while and then she was gone!"

In the time it took for Cyeria to wander off to the orchard and return with the requested fruit, the fae hasn't seemed to have moved much besides to lounge on the ground, their back against the tree. As she approaches, they watch her, and it's only once she's truly approached do they sit up - but not stand. Their legs cross under them as they reach up for what Cyeria brought to them. The fae takes the apple in careful hands, utterly ignoring the questions as they take the sturdy fruit into two hands and carefully dig their fingers in around it, twist, and - then the apple's in two halves, split down the core. "Eat with me." The fae says - an offer or a command? A peace offering or a threat? Their expression reveals nothing, and their tone - light and earnest - reveals even less. The proffered half of the apple lays in their hand in the space between the two of them. With their other hand, they bring the other half of the apple to their mouth and bite into it - the snap of the skin and the flesh is loud under their sharp teeth. There's a moment of continued quiet (birdsong, wind, those common things, they still fill the air,) before they make an insistent gesture with the offered half of the fruit. "Eat, and we'll talk," they say around the apple in their mouth.

Remin certainly wasn't going to even begin to earnestly turn Sayna down. She could likely do better with the haul than Remin or even Cyeria could manage, and not having to sort out cooking on top of everything else today had too much appeal to insist. She gave the perfunctory 'No, that's alright,' but didn't push further than that when Sayna insisted. Her logic didn't entirely sort itself out, but...well. Remin'd pay her back for everything, once she could. That was just one more thing to add to the list to make up for. (A week ago, she could have made good on that now. Two days ago, she could have! And now hope's the only thing she has, and even that's in dwindling supply. She tries not to think of Athea. There's nothing to be done there right now, no matter the state its in, no matter what Loran might be doing to it. It's easier to not think about it. Cowardice, perhaps, but easier. She'll reward Sayna for her kindness eventually. She will.)

"Both your parents are with Cyeria," She murmurs as she hurries over to the boy, once she's returned to the healer's. She sits in the chair that his mother had sat in as Remin and the healer had done their work, reaching out to set her hand over his. "My wife, the woman who helped bring you in here. They went to show her where the trap was, so that we can take care of it and no one else gets hurt." Another lie to this child, but...well. What were standards, anyways? What was lying to a child over lying to literally anyone else? And it was a harmless lie. A lie so that he doesn't become aware of the fact that his parents were eager enough to toss him to the potential wolves or that there might be a genuine, actual danger to the stories of the fae. "They'll be back soon, I promise. How are you feeling? Did you rest well?"

Eating with the fae? Cyreia... wasn't sure whether she liked that. It seemed innocent enough, certainly, and the act itself really was when divorced of any context, but the context kind of mattered here. It always did. Who knew what this meant in the fae culture? It could have been a mere gesture, little more than shaking hands with a new friend or kissing them on the cheek. A show of trust, really. At the same time, however, it could just as easily have been a contract. The way the fae divided the apple looked... almost ritualistic? More a scripted set of steps than a whim. God, this really could be some magical agreement she was signing here! (Not that it should be binding considering how little she knew about the whole deal, but Cyreia sincerely doubted magic would care about things like this. It was magic, not-- not a judge!)

"That wasn't a part of our agreement," Cyreia said, her frown only deepening. She hoped she looked more sure of herself than she felt, really, because conducting negotiations while obviously scared out of her mind didn't tend to go too well. No, she had to wear Avther's confidence here; the mask he had put on before every battle. "What will happen if I do it? If I eat my half, I mean. I'd hate to come off as rude, but you said it yourself. I didn't grow up with you, and thus I don't know your ways." Maybe the fae relied on it; relied on her ignorance, on her naivety when it came to all things magical. They weren't even wrong to assume that, Cyreia had to admit, but still. She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't going to do anything with implications this alien and (potentially) this far-reaching. Not without a sufficient explanation anyway.

Remin's answer seemed to satisfy Ylan; when he heard of this, his posture became more relaxed and he sank into the pillows. "That's good," he said before closing his eyes. "Very good. The poachers are bad people, you know? They steal from the king!" From the king who probably didn't even notice, but it probably wasn't too wise to fill a little kid's head with such ideas. Children generally weren't too good at determining when it wasn't appropriate to say certain things, after all. "But no, I didn't. My leg still hurts, and-- and I had a bad dream." With this, Ylan's eyes opened again and he sat up; whatever he wanted to share with Remin, it seemed he needed some intimacy to do it, because he leaned forward. "I dreamt of the other children. Of Falka. I knew her, you see? She told me to run and then laughed at me for having a bad leg! Then-- then she said I'd see her soon." Ylan spoke matter-or-factly, or at least tried to, but the fear was still so, so apparent in his eyes. The way he clasped her hand, too, seemed desperate more than anything. "When will mom and dad return? I don't like it here. The smells are terrible."

"What'll happen if you do?" The fae presses, an amused expression crossing their face. They took another bite - too large of one, really, the hole they left in the side of the apple gaping, "Well, you'll have an apple in you, and we'll talk. What else do you expect might happen? Do you think I'm here to whisk you away? To steal you into the dark? Drag you off to the place you should know?" Their smile grows wider, more teasing, as they talk - but there's no malice. It's teasing, purely, as far as any mortal interpretations might convey it. "I could do that without you taking a bite of the food that you brought. Nothing will happen to you, ghilas'sal. Clever to be worried, but needless. You're of us, mutt or not. We want no harm for you. I want no harm for you, and whatever harm I might do to you I could do regardless of anything else. So," They press the apple towards her again. "Eat. Eat, and I'll answer."

"Soon." Remin promises, so softly, wrapping her other hand around both of his where they held her first hand. "They'll be back soon. I'll keep you company until they get back, alright? Keep you safe." She hesitates, for a moment, considering the grocer boy's warnings from before. Should she press Ylan to talk? Maybe there was no point to it, maybe Cyeria was learning all of the information they'd need to sort all of this out and pushing for more information from anyone in this town was just endangering them. But what if she wasn't? They both had to work at this for it to have any chance of being solved. She couldn't just sit idly by and shop and tend a child when Cyeria was out scouring the forests. "Tell me more about your dream?" She prompts, gently. "You said you saw the other children. Were there more than Falka who spoke to you? Where were you in your dream?"

Well. If that was the fae's idea of friendliness, Cyreia didn't want to know how they'd express hostility. Hell, she had received threats less effective than this! It must have been the indirectness, really. The mind seemed to be designed to fill in the gaps, and it usually did so in the most terrifying manner imaginable. Was that part of the fae's game as well? God, this felt like coming to Athea for the first time all over again, except that about ten times worse. It had been hard to decipher their mannerisms at the beginning, but at least they had had the benefit of being the same species!

Still, Cyreia supposed, the fae was probably right. She wasn't entirely sure whether she believed the spiel about blood ties, especially after they had pointed out to her they effectively had nothing in common despite them, but... It really was just an apple. An apple she had brought, too, and nothing suspiciously had been done to it since then. Surely she would have noticed it if the fae used magic? Her skills were still severely lacking, but she did seem to have a natural affinity for sensing magical energies; in case of Vestat, Cyreia had even sensed a spell that had been cast over a year ago! No, the fae likely couldn't hide that from her. And if they couldn't move forward without it-- "Fine," she sighed, still half-convinced this would lead to something less than savory. If it did, though, then that was a problem reserved for her future self. You couldn't exactly counter a threat so vague you couldn't even begin to comprehend what it meant; no, it always came down to improvisation, and luckily she was decent at that. Had to be, really, otherwise she would have been dead ten times over by now. "As you wish, then." And with that, Cyreia took a bite from her apple.

Ylan pursed his lips. "You? You don't look like much of a fighter. But-- but you'll do, I suppose," he added quickly, almost as if he was afraid that Remin would just get up and leave him, too. That would, at least, explain why he clutched her hand even tighter. "My dream?" he repeated before looking up at Remin. "I-- don't remember that much," the boy admitted. "Mostly just Falka. The others were there, too, but I couldn't see their faces. They were hidden in a shadow, I think? And-- I was in that forest. It wasn't the same forest, but it also was, you know? Just... something was wrong with it, that's all." Ylan fell silent for a while, perhaps looking for the right words, but in the end, he couldn't seem to find them. Perhaps no human being could. "And there were people wearing animal heads," he suddenly remembered. "Foxes, wolves and the like."

It was crisp on her tongue, sweet and pleasant and sun-warmed. If she expected anything to happen upon her bite into it, then Cyeria was left disappointed (or, more likely, relieved.) It was just an apple, just as it had been when she'd plucked it from the tree, just as it had been when she'd handed it over to the fae. Delicious, certainly, but just...an apple. An ordinary apple. The fae grinned, wide and sharp. "Was that so difficult? Now, sit, and we'll talk." That, however, didn't seem to be an order along the same lines as the consumption of the apple - they leaned in, shifting their weight beneath their cloak to position themselves more comfortably, and began to talk anyways.

"What was it that you wanted to know?" They asked, humming softly. "The children, right. The missing ones. You say you aren't accusing, but you are, aren't you? You might not be willing to say so outright, but we're aware of what they say about us." Another too-large bite of an apple, like a snake sinking its teeth into the side of a horse, "But is it true? Who's to say? What stories are you listening to? Whose fantastical ideas about what we're doing? You listen to one who says we tear their hearts out and eat them for supper - and you'd be wrong about all of it. Who'd want to eat a child's heart?" They grin at Cyeria, teasing again. They seem to be...honestly enjoying this? But what part of it? "Would you?" Perhaps it was Cyeria's ignorance that they found amusing, or perhaps it was the chance to scare someone. Maybe something different entirely. "I wouldn't. We wouldn't. You listen to one who says we steal them for daring to walk on our lands - and that's not quite right, either. But..." Another bite of apple. "The trap the boy was in, earlier." They say, seemingly apropos of little else. "Have you touched it?"

"I'm not." Remin'll admit. "But between the two of us, and the healer, there, I think we'll be alright." She made no effort to remove her hands from his. Even if she really was no protection, especially without her knife (which she missed. If there was anything from home she could have in this moment, it'd be that heavy thing she was little more than clumsy with. Or a good sackful of gold. She wouldn't turn that down. But the knife-- when would she manage to get ahold of a decent one any time soon? A kitchen knife would be easy enough to find, but what they could afford would be a rusty, brittle thing that would be more likely to harm her than protect her. She should be grateful that they had any weapon at all between them, she supposed. But she missed the weight of the dagger, tucked against whatever bit of her skin she could hide it at. She missed the promise that she stood even a chance against an enemy, even if all likelihoods pointed to her falling.) "Foxes and wolves and the like." She murmurs, nodding softly. "Are those things that live in these woods?"

Cyreia waited for something, anything to change, but... it didn't, thankfully. Perhaps this really had been some greeting ritual? Something completely harmless, just to prove your intentions weren't violent? Either way, when they told her to sit down, she did. At this point, such a small detail really didn't matter, and she might as well be comfortable while they talked. "Maybe just a little bit," she admitted. "Following orders isn't my greatest strength." And wasn't that just ironic? Because, not so long ago, it had been exactly that. Hell, she hadn't known anything outside of obedience; march, stop, fight, kill. It was... surreal, really, that it was defiance out of all things that had gotten her into this mess.

"Yes. Yes, the children. What do you know?" The fae, however, seemed to be in no hurry to tell. Did they perhaps not get to talk to humans (or half-humans) much? Something about the manner in which they spoke reminded Cyreia of old women who always, always found an excuse to strike a conversation, even if you were busy and clearly uninterested. "I don't know what to think of this yet. I am not accusing you, but I am not not accusing you, if that makes any amount of sense." Judging by their tone, the fae was probably ridiculing her for buying into those fairytales, but Cyreia refused to be shamed for that. It wasn't like she believed every word she had heard, for one, and-- well, there also weren't any other sources of information, were there? If they didn't wish to be perceived like this, perhaps they shouldn't have been a bit more open. Vagueness and mystery inevitably led to such stories; hell, Cyreia would have been terribly surprised if the fae hadn't chosen this reputation for themselves. Being feared, after all, had its distinct benefits.

"I'm just trying to find out what happened here, that's all," she shrugged. "If I truly believed that you ate the childten - if I had no doubts - then I wouldn't be having a friendly chat with you, either." The sword hanging at her hip wasn't a decoration, and if the fae thought she had no chance against them-- well, Vestat had thought so, too. Many people had, usually to their own detriment. When the fae mentioned the trap, though, Cyreia looked at them in confusion. "Not with my bare hand," she said. "I moved it away so that nobody else gets hurt by it, but I did it with a stick." Touching it willy nilly had seemed like a bad idea; that was how people got hurt, and having to visit the healer again so shortly after embarking on a heroic quest to stop the kidnappings would have been just embarrassing. "Why does it matter, though?"

Ylan thought for a while. If nothing else, it seemed Remin's questions eased his fears somewhat; thinking of the details gave him something to do, something to focus on. "I think so, yes. I mean, you can hear the wolves from time to time. Sometimes, when a man wants to prove he's a skilled hunter, he kills a wolf so that he can wear his hide. I have never seen anyone wearing a wolf's head, though. That-- that brings bad luck upon your family." ... huh. Even if Eupriunians allegedly only worshiped their nameless god, it seemed that other traditions and supersititions still prevailed, not caring for the official religious regulations. Perhaps it was that way mainly in isolated communities? "You should never wear an animal's head," Ylan lectured her, happy he got to be more knowledgeable than an adult. "It is said that when you do it, you become the animal. Many people were met with such fate!"

"It matters," The fae says - one last bite of their apple in their mouth, core and all, though the stem tossed away into the mess of bushes and trees. "It matters, because what would you make a trap out of if you're hunting animals? Steel, wouldn't you? A sturdy metal, keeping whatever's trapped where you want it to be. I'm no hunter, but I've seen hunter's traps, and I've seen them used. I've seen them trap animals for food, for need. But you touch that trap, ghilas'sal, and you'll burn your hand. Even you, who isn't entirely us, because it isn't a trap for animals. They'll take the ones that stumble in, sure, and so they're seen as poachers. But that trap is cold iron, which it has no reason to be, unless..." They lean in, any cheerfulness long-faded now. "They're hunting us, ghilas'sal."

"Oh, is that so?" She smiles softly, freeing one of her hands from his and running it through his hair, clearing a waylaid stem from the strands. Her smile isn't happy - there's too much going on for that, but it's plastered on all the same. If she can keep him from being scared, then it'll be all the better for everyone, and he seems to be enjoying himself somewhat. Best keep that up. And it was interesting, anyways, to hear about the local myths. How relevant would they be? It's so hard to tell, especially having no idea what might be true and what might be the product of a child's fears. "Well, I won't wear an animal's head, then. Thank you for the warning, or else I might've turned into a....a bear, or something. If I were any animal, I think a bear would be the one to be. What do you think?" Venturing here wasn't useful, but again - keep him from being scared. Distraction was the best way to do that, at least until Cyeria returned and they could figure out what he might know that might have use.

Ah. Well, that was actually a very good question. Cyreia hadn't thought about it that much, mostly because she had been focused on the supernatural instead of the mundane, but-- yes, there had been something odd about the trap, now that she thought about it. That realization still hadn't prepared her for the fae's next words, though. "You?" she repeated, her eyes shocked. "But why?" God, this was clearly an even bigger mess than she had previously thought. And also more complicated, too! Were the poachers hunting them for money, hoping to sell the fae to some stupidly rich, thrill-seeking aristocrat? As disgusting as it was, it was still the best scenario Cyreia could come up with; other options included killing them outright on some fanatic's orders (maybe even Loran's?) or exacting revenge on the fae for-- well, something. Damn. She may have known more than she had a minute ago, yes, but it still felt like she was barely scratching the surface here. What exactly had been happening in Eydar since she had left? "And how do the children factor into this?" To understand the situation fully, Cyreia needed all of the puzzle pieces. Well, maybe not all, but definitely the important ones; the fae, the poachers, the children. Once she knew how those three aspects of the mystery intersected, she could come to a decision.

"A bear?" Ylan frowned, serious in a way only children ever were. "That sounds boring! Do you know how much bears sleep? They miss the entire winter! Besides, they don't even have beds. I wouldn't want to spend that much time sleeping in a cavern," he babbled on, apparently hellbent on dissecting Remin's line of thought. Perhaps he would have gone pretty much with every topic, though, because thinking of one's impeding death couldn't be very pleasant. "If I had to choose, I would be... an eagle, I think. I mean, who wouldn't want to fly? And eagles are also large and powerful, so you wouldn't need to be afraid of anything. Even of the things that could hurt you; you'd just fly away. I also heard they have really good eyes, and they don't even have to eat carrots! Bleh, carrots," Ylan made a face. In that moment, it was easy to forget about his circumstances; he just... looked like a normal child, unburdened by questions of life and death. In a better world, he would have gotten to be that, too. "They're so disgusting, though mom says I have to eat them to see well." The boy then looked at her, his eyes shimmering with curiosity. "But Isara, you're a foreigner, right? Do you also have animals that don't live here? Dragons, maybe? I heard that dragons still live in Meypar!"

"I don't know." The fae says, a bit sharply, at Cyeria's questioning of why. "They trap us, they weaken us, and we disappear. And so-- so they take our things, and so we take theirs." It's petty, so clearly, and they cross their arms over their chest. The cloak shifts around them, catching light and casting shadow. "The children aren't in danger." They say, almost anticipating Cyeria's concerns or protests. "We keep them safe. They've been brought into our realm, and...protected from its harms. But they're ours, until our kin return to us. For each one of us taken, we take one of them. It's a fair trade." They say this as if it hadn't even crossed their mind that it might not be, that an eye for an eye might not be the way to handle any of this.

"I...I'm really not sure," Remin admits. For all her learning, little effort went into the differences in fauna between the different kingdoms. Was there anything unfamiliar that existed in Athea? If it were something common, then Cyeria might've noticed it and pointed it out, but that didn't mean that there wasn't anything uncommon that might only exist in Athea. Well, she doubted he cared much at all - especially when there was a better story to tell than what strange species of-- cat, or dog, or whatever there might be that would live only in Athea. "Certainly no dragons that I'm aware of, but I have *seen* a dragon. And you're right, it was in Meypar. When I was a little girl, my parents and I...we had to meet some people there. So we took a trip, and along the way, we met rehabilitators - people who take in injured animals and help them feel better - who had, a year or so before, found a dragon egg. They helped it hatch, and when we were there, I got to see it. It was almost bigger than me, and not even a year old!" The whole story was a little more complicated than that, but what did children care for complications when there was a baby dragon to be talking about?

Cyreia just... stared at the fae, trapped somewhere between confusion and horror. She had understood from the very beginning that they were different from people - had different values at the very least - but surely they understood that children weren't interchangeable? That they weren't things? If someone stole your shoes, then you could be justified in taking theirs, yes, but that wasn't the same kind of deal. Not even remotely so! "... you can't do that!" she blurted out. "I mean, I am sorry for your loss, but those children have parents who miss them. They have other relatives, too, and friends. You can't just decide they're yours now!" Except that such an approach likely wouldn't be met with much understanding. Alright, then. Perhaps some sort of compromise? It wasn't like their actions were totally unreasonable, after all; the logic was sound, even if more than just a little twisted, and on some level, she just... understood them, really. Losing one's family was never simple. And that they coped with it in unfortunate ways? Sometimes, grief did that to you. Not that it excused the kidnappings, of course not, but it wasn't something entirely unfathomable to her. Well, in theory anyway. "Look," Cyreia said, more conciliatory than before, "I'll find those poachers for you. I'll find them and get your kin back if they're still alive. And if they're dead-- well, at least I'll ensure this cycle won't go on. I swear that on my honor. Will you release the children then?"

Meanwhile, it seemed that Ylan completely forgot about his injuries. "Really?" he asked. If if hadn't been for his bad leg, then he likely would have jumped out of the bed, but as it was, the boy had to make do with leaning closer. "You really saw a dragon? You aren't lying to me, are you? You shouldn't lie to children, you know!" Any effort to confirm the validity of her words was purely performative, though; it was very, very obvious that Ylan wanted to believe her, and so he did. What a nice, delightfully simple worldview. "Was it a boy or a girl? Did it have a name? And what about the color?" Questions, questions, questions; it seemed that for every single one Ylan managed to formulate, three different ideas popped into his head. "Also, I thought people couldn't take care of dragons. Aren't they supposed to be really, really dangerous?"

They watch Cyeria quietly, letting her make her arguments and offers without offering much in the way of response. "...I can't make those decisions." They shrug softly, eventually, pulling themselves up to their feet, one long-fingered hand resting against the surface of a tree. "Deal with the poachers, and I'll secure you an audience with the one who can. But not before - so if the children matter that much to you, then solve our problem. More children won't be taken, anyways, and that should be enough for you." It's hard to tell if they genuinely see the children as interchangeable, if they care at all about making this right with the side of the problem Cyeria's concerned with - but at least she's gotten something out of this deal? Is that enough? The possibility of a returning, instead of the promise of it? The fae watches her for a reply, lingering near the tree.

"It was a girl," she laughs softly, glad at least to be able to distract him and give him joy. She was nearly as happy for that as she was happy that he'd been asleep for the worst of the drama that had filled this room shortly before. "She didn't have a name, she was a beautiful sort of...copper and blue? It changed depending on how the sun hit her, like...I don't know. Like a dragon's scale." Remin teases. "And yes, they're very dangerous, so leave it alone if you ever see one. But she was abandoned, or orphaned, and there was no other dragons to teach her how to be a dragon. I'd bet she's free now. They haven't continued to keep her, they just had to make sure she was healthy and knew how to hunt for herself, or find somewhere safe to rest, or -- I don't know. Whatever else dragons might do?"