Work Text:
The sun dapples the forest floor, its light spilling like gold through the lattice of branches. Leaves flutter, catching the breeze that smells of moss and pine. Perrine’s voice rises above the whisper of the woods, sharp and commanding as they brandish a stick like it’s a blade. “Enemies to the north!” they shout, and the others spring to action.
Cole is quick to follow, crouching low with eyes narrowed, blonde locks brushing their forehead. “We’ll have to circle around,” they whisper, gesturing to a thicket of brambles. Their movements are swift, fluid, as if they’re a shadow slipping between the trees. “Kingsley, you take the high ground.”
Kingsley, grinning, scrambles up the trunk of an old oak. They’ve always been the best climber, light and nimble. Twigs and leaves catch in their brown hair as they find a sturdy branch and perch there, one hand shielding their eyes like a lookout. “I see them!” they call down. “Three trolls, all heading this way!”
Clémentine crouches beside Perrine, their eyes bright and wide. They’ve painted streaks of mud across their cheeks, and the hem of their shirt is stained green from the grass. “What do we do?” they ask, gripping their own stick tightly. Their voice is soft but urgent, and it makes Perrine’s resolve harden.
Perrine lifts their chin, glancing from Clémentine to Cole, then up at Kingsley. “We’ll ambush them. Surround and attack.” They point with their stick, the authority in their voice matching the spark in their eyes. “Cole, you take the left flank. Clémentine, with me. Kingsley, you drop down when we give the signal.”
Cole nods and vanishes into the shadows, their silhouette flickering like a phantom between the trunks. Clémentine edges closer to Perrine, their shoulders brushing as they move together, eyes scanning the undergrowth. They’re both breathing fast now, hearts pounding with the thrill of the hunt.
Perrine crouches behind a large boulder, pulling Clémentine down with them. “Wait,” they whisper, “we’ll count to three.” Their eyes glint with excitement, and Clémentine nods, clutching their stick so hard their knuckles whiten. They listen to the wind, to the rustle of leaves, to Kingsley’s quiet, excited breaths from the branches above.
“One…” Perrine’s voice is barely a murmur, and Clémentine tenses.
“Two.” They grip their stick tighter, eyes locked on a patch of fern where the trolls are hiding.
“Three!” Perrine leaps up with a shout, and Clémentine follows. They charge forward, feet pounding the earth, sticks held high as they dart through the ferns, their laughter echoing through the trees. Kingsley swings down from their perch, landing with a triumphant cry, and Cole bursts from the bushes, their face alight with glee.
They crash together in the middle of their imaginary battlefield, laughing, their sticks crossing in the air as they pretend to fend off their invisible foes. Perrine twirls their stick like a sword, pretending to parry a blow. “They’re everywhere!” they shout, and Cole takes up the cry, “Fall back! Regroup!”
Clémentine fakes a dramatic tumble to the ground, clutching at their arm. “I’m hit!” they wail, grinning through the dirt smeared on their cheeks. Kingsley leaps to their side, brandishing their stick as they make a fierce face. “I’ll protect you!”
Perrine and Cole keep up the battle, twirling and dodging, their laughter blending with the calls of birds and the rustle of wind in the leaves. It’s only when they collapse into the grass, breathless and flushed, that the game fades.
The forest stills around them, the air warm and sweet with the scent of wildflowers. Perrine rolls onto their back, staring up at the canopy of green and gold, their chest heaving with each breath. “That was a close one,” they say, grinning.
Cole flops down beside them, wiping sweat from their brow. “Next time, we need a plan for when the trolls attack from the south.”
Clémentine, still lying in the grass, lifts their head. “And maybe more weapons.” They smile, the mud on their cheeks cracking. “Kingsley could use a spear.”
Kingsley, perched on their knees, brushes leaves from their hair. “Or a slingshot,” they suggest, eyes sparkling. “I’d be the best shot in the forest.”
The four of them lie there for a moment, letting the stillness of the woods seep into their bones. Above, a bird sings a bright, high note, and the breeze ripples through the leaves, setting the whole forest whispering. For a while, they’re just kids in the sun, the weight of the world outside the forest forgotten.
And then, they hear the sound of leaves crunching under shoes. Footsteps.
They all look up to see a group of people emerging from the underbrush. Four of them. Teenagers, probably sixteen or seventeen.
The first, seemingly the leader of the pack, is an iguana hybrid. Brown skin is interspersed with patches of blue-green scales. Spines run down his head and back, and a dewlap hangs beneath his chin. A long, striped, whip-like tail sways slowly behind him.
The second has a huge bushy tail that contrasts with his tiny ears- an anteater hybrid. Nothing about him is overtly threatening until Perrine notices the long, hooked claws on each finger.
From the mandibles on the third teenager, he’s a stag beetle hybrid. He has six arms instead of two and a pair of black wings folded beneath an elytra on his back.
The last teenager is crossed with a mule deer- large ears, short antlers still covered in velvet fuzz, and cloven feet.
“Well, well, well,” the iguana boy drawls, his voice smooth but mocking. “What do we have here? A bunch of little forest sprites playin’ make-believe?” His gaze sweeps over them, condescending and disdainful.
Perrine stands up, gripping the stick they had been playing with tightly. “Can we help you?” they say.
“Help?” echoes the iguana boy. “Nah, nah. We’re just passin’ through. Heard you all squealin’- thought there were a bunch of piglets running amok!”
“We’re just playing,” Kingsley says.
The mule deer boy looks them all up and down. “Aren’t you the Lark?”
Cole shifts nervously. “Yeah. We are.”
The anteater boy titters. “Little songbirds lost in the woods!”
Perrine clenches the stick tighter. “We’re not lost. This is our spot.”
“Oh, is it now?” The iguana boy’s voice is a hiss. “What makes you think you own this place?”
Clémentine inches closer to Cole, but Perrine stands firm. “We don’t own it. But we like to play here.”
“Play,” the iguana boy repeats slowly, then snorts.
Perrine’s jaw tightens. “Leave us alone.”
The stag beetle boy tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Or what?”
Perrine steps forward, chin high. “Or we’ll make you.”
The iguana boy laughs, a deep, rolling sound that sets the trees shivering. “Tough talk for someone so small.” He leans down, his sharp teeth glinting. “What’s a songbird gonna do? Sing us to death?”
Perrine doesn’t flinch, but they feel Cole’s hand grip their sleeve, pulling them back a little. “Come on, let’s just go,” Cole murmurs.
“No,” Perrine says, louder, voice firm even as their pulse quickens. “We were here first.”
The stag beetle boy steps closer, towering over Perrine, casting a long shadow that seems to swallow the sunlight. “You think that matters?” he sneers. “You’re nothing but a bunch of little kids pretending you run the woods.”
Kingsley’s hands are shaking, and Clémentine’s eyes dart between the teenagers and Perrine, worry etched on their face. The tension feels like a stretched wire, ready to snap.
Perrine holds their ground, their heart pounding. They know they’re outmatched—the teenagers are bigger, older, stronger. But they can’t back down. Not here. Not in the place that feels like home.
The stag beetle boy leans in, his antennae twitching. “Maybe we should teach them a lesson.”
Perrine’s eyes flash. “Try it.”
The iguana boy glowers, clearly not expecting this challenge. “Cute,” he sneers, “but you’re outnumbered and outmatched. What do you think you can do with that little stick?”
Perrine tightens their grip on the stick, feeling the rough bark under their fingers. “We’re not afraid of you,” they say, trying to keep their voice strong despite the flutter of fear in their stomach. “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you can bully us.”
The stag beetle boy snickers, flexing his many arms menacingly. “You’re right, we are older. And you’re out here playing pretend while we have real power.” His wings rustle ominously, a sound that sends a shiver through the air.
“After all, you’re just a bunch of little humans,” titters the mule deer boy.
Perrine releases a breath. “Yeah. You’re right,” they say. “ Fine. You win. Let’s go, guys.” They turn slowly, listening to the teenagers chortle, only to spin back around a second later and punch the stag beetle boy right in the face. He totters back, pawing at his nose, which is gushing out blood.
“You little…”
In an instant, chaos breaks out.
“RUN!” Perrine yells at their friends before swinging their stick at the mule deer boy, clocking him in the side of the head. A moment later, they take a swing at the anteater boy next, but they don’t know if they actually hit their mark because someone’s fist connects with their side and makes them go blind.
Have you ever been punched in the kidneys before? Perrine will tell you: it is not fun. There’s a reason why they are such a lethal place to stab or shoot at in a weaponized fight. Or, in this case, punch real hard.
The kidneys are full of nerve endings. Women who’ve had kidney stones and gone into labor say that the kidney stones are worse, just to put things in perspective. Being hit in the kidney is like being winded, but it’s not just in your lungs; it’s in your whole body.
In an instant, Perrine folds, crumpling to the ground in a twitching ball of agony.
They’ve had the wind knocked out of them more than once during their lifetime, and they know that in a few moments, they’ll be fine again—or as fine as someone who’s just been whacked in the hypersensitive kidney can possibly be—but this isn’t exactly the kind of situation where they have the time to sit and wait to catch their breath.
And on top of that, there’s a distinct panic that comes from not being able to breathe.
They choke and splutter, mouthing like a fish out of water as they try to pull air into lungs that just aren’t ready to get back on their feet yet. Through the oxygen-deprived haze covering their vision, they see the iguana boy looming over them, and then the toe of a leather boot comes up and connects with their lower jaw with a sickening CRUNCH.
For a long, terrifying moment, all Perrine can hear is the sound of ringing. Blinking stars and enormous, juicy splashes of color burst across the forest. Perrine’s head rocks backward painfully from the impact, and the rest of their body soon follows as they collapse flat on their back, staring dazedly at the leafy treetops overhead while bright, floral patterns bloom over their vision.
That’s going to leave a mark.
Above their head (or, at least, they think it’s above their head; they can’t really see at the moment), the iguana boy laughs a deep, chortling laugh. He reaches down to grab Perrine, but something stops him.
It’s Kingsley. They’ve jumped directly on the iguana boy’s back.
“AGH, WHAT THE FUCK?!” the iguana boy shouts, spinning around and reaching back in an attempt to yank the kid off. “GET OFF OF ME! DON’T JUST STAND THERE, YOU IDIOTS! HELP ME!”
More shouting erupts through the clearing, and Perrine hears a distinct yelp of pain that lights their blood on fire. They don’t know which of their friends it came from, but it doesn’t matter.
Without even fully realizing it, Perrine is launching themself up from the ground in a burst of speed. They scoop up the stick as they go by and strike out with it with such power that it sounds like a bullwhip when it cracks against the iguana boy’s lower back.
“DON’T TOUCH THEM!” Perrine screams over the iguana boy’s ferocious roar of pain and anger. All the discharge of suffering leaking into their nerves from the kicked jaw and aching kidney dissolve away, the burn adrenaline in their veins as potent and powerful as morphine.
Perrine hurtles forward once more, sending a volley of wild attacks at the teenagers, using the stick like a bat.
“LEAVE—”
They rap the stick on the stag beetle boy’s side.
“MY FRIENDS—”
They crack it against the mule deer boy’s kneecaps.
“ALONE!”
They bring it down on the anteater boy’s shoulder.
But even as they pursue the group, Perrine’s arms are starting to tire, their swinging beginning to slow. It doesn’t matter how high on adrenaline they are; they are in pain, and their body is responding to that.
So, as the stick whips by in another vicious swing, the iguana boy acts before they have time to strike out again, taking up a small log of his own.
In an instant, Perrine’s strength gives way as the iguana boy’s impromptu weapon clubs viciously into their ribs. They hear something like a gunshot in their ears, and then an unbearable pain floods their entire nervous system. They drop the stick as their knees buckle together, and they crumple to the dirt, too winded to even cry out in distress.
The iguana boy has to take a moment to breathe before he can advance on them. Even though he got a hit in, he is still injured as well, but he manages to recover before Perrine can and stalks up to them, smoldering with rage.
“You stupid bitch,” he snarls lowly. He lifts a foot and places it on Perrine’s chest, grinding his boot down into their ribs. Perrine can barely manage a tight-throated whine of pain in reaction. “You’re going to pay for th—”
Then, he stops abruptly as a whoosh sound can be heard, accompanied by the rustling of feathers and leaves crunching under feet.
“Oh, shit…” the iguana boy mutters, backing up.
“WHAT is going on here?” shouts a familiar voice.
Perrine can hear the teenagers sputtering, trying to come up with an excuse for their actions, but it’s fruitless.
Unfortunately, Perrine can’t bear witness to the satisfying rain of hell, as their vision swims, and everything goes black.
Perrine wakes up sometime later and immediately groans. Pain is there to greet them the moment their eyes open, throbbing in their side, their chest, their jaw. It’s like they’re a pinata or something, getting pummeled over and over again by several bats at once.
“Perrine?”
Perrine’s eyes flutter open, and they see none other than Amara. She’s kneeling beside them, one clawed hand placed on their forehead.
“Easy, easy, sweetheart,” Amara murmurs. “You’re okay…”
“Don’t feel okay,” Perrine grunts. “Feel like I’m getting stampeded by a herd of moose…”
Amara chuckles softly. “I don’t doubt that. Hang on.” She slips away for a moment, quickly returning with a steaming mug. “Here, drink this. It’s white willow bark tea. It’ll help with the pain.”
Perrine tries to take the mug, but the simple action of lifting their arms is too painful, and they grimace, hissing through their teeth.
“Oh dear,” Amara says, frowning worriedly. “Alright, hold on. I’m gonna help you sit up. Do you think you can do that?”
“I can try…” Perrine mutters.
With Amara’s help, Perrine is slowly eased up into a sitting position. They scream through their clenched teeth as the pain radiates through their entire body.
“I know, baby, I know,” Amara murmurs. “You poor thing…”
“Knock me out again,” Perrine moans miserably.
“Hey now, don’t say that,” Amara chides. She brings the mug to their lips. “Drink. Slowly now…”
Perrine sips the tea, trying to ignore how even the act of swallowing is painful.
At that moment, footsteps approach. There’s a small gasp.
“Perrine! You’re awake!”
They glance over to see Kingsley, Cole, and Clémentine. They all look relieved.
Kingsley runs over, making the mistake of hugging Perrine and making them yowl, “OWW!”
“Kingsley!” Amara quickly wrestles Kingsley off of Perrine. “You’re hurting them!”
“Oh no!” Kingsley yelps. “I’m sorry, Perrine! I-I was just happy that you’re awake!”
“It’s okay,” Perrine says, wincing.
Clémentine sits down next to Perrine, resting a hand on their thigh. “How are you feeling?”
“Awful,” Perrine tells them bluntly. They’re in too much pain to try and hide it for once. “Plain awful. Are you guys okay?”
They all nod.
“We’re okay,” Cole assures them.
“Especially after Tita showed up and kicked those bullies’ butts!” Kingsley yips.
Amara fluffs up her wings importantly. “I wasn’t just going to stand around and let those bastards hurt my chicks!” she says. “You, Perrine, seemed to do most of the damage beforehand, though.”
Kingsley nods their head avidly. “Mhm! Mhm! You were like a real knight, Perrine, fighting those meanies off! Like POW and WHAM! ” They swing around an imaginary sword for reference, and Perrine laughs (which also hurts like hell).
“You were our hero,” Cole says. “BUT NEVER DO THAT AGAIN! KNELLS OF THE BELLRINGER, WHY WOULD YOU FIGHT THEM?! DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED I WAS?!”
Perrine snorts. “Here we go…”