Sleep is healing, or so Artemis has been told. But when he wakes, the wounds of the night prior ache almost as bad as the invisible wounds of his heart. Sitting up in bed, the boy stares at the hands in his lap. Dirt and blood stain his nails. Bruises litter his arms. They're tender to the touch, but he presses hard to remind himself of the consequences.

No matter what pretty face shows themselves next, remember to keep a distance.

There's foraging in the kitchen. A voice floats into the room, a delightful song of whispered words. They tickle Artemis' ears that recognize the tune, but it has been so long since he's heard it he questions whether he still sleeps. The floor creaks beneath his weight. He ties his eyepatch tight around his head, expecting to wake from a childish dream before he opens the door. But said door swings open to reveal Camellia setting the table with a bounce in her step. She dances to her own song, swaying like she once did at the mere thought of her husband coming home. Then she faces Artemis, who expects the light from her eyes to diminish, but it's the opposite.

Camellia beams. "Good morning, Artemis!" She sings, gesturing to the set table. "Or rather, good afternoon, oh dear--" She approaches him. He takes two quick steps back, hitting the entryway to his room. Camellia's thin fingers graze his bruised cheeks.

"Sweetie, what did you get yourself into?" She asks with the tone of a mother long since lost. "You poor thing. Come, take a seat. I need to look you over so nothing gets infected."

Camellia takes Artemis' hand. The last time she did that his hand was smaller than hers. Now she's thin and frail, fragile glass he can shatter. She sits him down at the table in front of a steaming plate of food. Meat he hunted himself and vegetables from their garden. More than she's ever done in years. Continuing to hum, she retrieves herbs and ointments from the cabinets, using them to tend to his wounds like this is an everyday occurrence.

"Mama," Artemis whispers, anxious that the title will break the illusion, but Camellia's smile only widens. "What's... what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're acting... different."

She hums, gingerly dabbing at the cuts on Artemis' arm. "Ah, yes, I suppose I am. I'm so sorry, Artemis. I was in quite the rut, wasn't I?"

Camellia peers up at him, eyes alight as they once were. "I've done an atrocious deed by leaving you in terrible need." She cradles Artemis' hand. "From now on, I will cherish you more than anyone."

Her words are too good to be true. But so desperate for that love, Artemis thinks nothing of it. A mother at last, what he has craved for years. He drops from the chair to kneel before her, draping his arms around her thin frame. She combs his hair as she once did, promising love and affection between his broken sobs.

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Artemis doesn't take his sled to the woods. He has no plans to hunt today, not only sore but also elated by the drastic change in his mother. Beneath the white tree, his prince awaits to hear another tale, thankfully one much better than the last. The run to the tree feels longer than ever, perhaps because there's good news, for once. But when Artemis finally breaches the treeline, he skids to a horrifying halt.

The white tree is withering away. Branches hang low, threatening to snap. Once pristine white bark darkens gray. Pale blue leaves blanket the forest floor, shriveling beneath the heat of the sun.

Why?

Artemis rushes to the opening where the dirt shifts beneath his weight. Even with the threat of a cave in, he shimmies down the rope that remains tethered to the roots. Heat rises from below, nothing like the cool breeze once residing there. When Artemis' feet hit the floor, there's only mud. The snow is gone, as are the icicles above, and the poppies have withered. Across the room, the roots are empty, devoid of the coffin once cradled within. Nothing remains, no shards of ice, or even the slumbering prince.

Slowly, Artemis approaches the roots, expecting his vision to blur until the illusion shatters. First his mother, and now this. Surely he's still asleep. Maybe he never left the cavern that morning.

Kneeling before the roots, fingers digging into the soggy mud, he wonders if he's a monster for hoping to wake. If the prince is gone, that means he's awake, he's free, but Artemis wants him back.

He didn't get to say goodbye.

"Wherever you are, I hope you aren't lonely anymore," Artemis whispers to no one at all. He sniffles, not even sure why he's crying, then rises. Something catches his eye, markings on the root. He leans forward, scrutinizing the carvings that make his eye widen, almost fearfully, almost eagerly. There, on the root, is a single word.

"Wren," he whispers his prince's name.

"Wren," he repeats, the name rolling off his tongue until he chuckles. "I suppose that is much better than Snow or Frosty, isn't it?"

The thought stirs realization. Artemis retreats as if the word offended him. His fingers dig into the back of his neck.

If the prince—if Wren left his name, then did he hear? Artemis wonders, feeling short of breath. Was he listening, always?

The cavern groans, reminding him of the danger. Swiftly, the boy climbs out, almost sliding back in twice from the shaky ground. Once outside, Artemis walks away from the cavern that had become his sanctuary. Now it is nothing more than an empty cave, moments away from vanishing. The thought leaves a vile taste in his mouth, accompanied by paranoia.

Wren... where is he? Why did he leave his name, if that is his name? And should Artemis be concerned? Fae are not thankful creatures. They aren't caring or remorseful. They know little of human emotions because their own are twisted and callous. Lives mean little since theirs are typically so long. Love is insignificant because it is a deficiency. Friendships are only beneficial partnerships for common gain. And the secrets of others are worth everything because torment brings them satisfaction. Artemis has shared all his secrets with his sleeping prince, who is now awake.

He looks over his shoulder, scanning the woods for a boy freed from the ice. All he's met with is the forest staring back at him.

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With the circus gone, Maggie finally has a moment of reprieve. Her shop, although always busy, has settled down enough that she isn't stumbling over her own feet to prepare a basket. A customer here and a customer there. Then she leans against the open window. The scent of pies and homemade bread filter out onto the street. She knows when a customer will head her way because their nostrils flail at the scent. They lift their heads like dogs. She giggles until her gaze lands upon Artemis covered in bandages and hobbling to his shop.

"Papa, watch the store!" Maggie calls. She doesn't hear her father's response as she barrels down the street, heart pounding in her chest. How absurd that she's so panicked when he's obviously fine, but she's ridiculously in love with the fool so even a scratch makes her heart ache.

"Artie!" Maggie shouts, tripping over the doorway. She sees an eye of sparkling green, then feels powerful arms grasping her waist. The sound of Artemis' heart rests against her ear, seeing as he caught her, so she's leaning on him.

"Sorry!" She bellows, stumbling back, red-faced and wide-eyed. Then she frowns, glaring upon his bruised face. Artemis averts his gaze, slipping his hands behind his back to hide his arms, which is foolish. There's no hiding those bruises.

"What happened?" Maggie asks. Her fingers ghost over the bandages on his arms. At least he tended to his wounds. It's so like him to let a cut fester and scab. She nearly had to hold him down a dozen times to help.

"Did a fae do this to you?" She mumbles. "Can't... can't you take a break from the Grim Woods? Better yet, hunt the wilds like everyone else. There's plenty to catch now. Even with other hunters, I bet you'd beat them all!"

"I shouldn't take from others when I have another option," Artemis replies, treading around the counter. He speaks with his back to her. "And a fae didn't do this to me, a... human did. He was drunk after the show and mistook me for someone."

Artemis speaks with such firm authority any would believe his words, but Maggie heard that moment of hesitation. When it comes to being ruthlessly honest, Artemis doesn't hesitate.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"For what?" he asks, facing her.

"I... I don't have the right to be concerned or-or to lecture you."

Artemis shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "What makes you say that?"

She shakes her head. "I better get back to the shop."

"Maggie," he calls, but she's already out the door. He leans out of the window, desperate for another word. She asked for time and he'll give it, but he won't let her think something untrue.

"You can be concerned," he says, reaching out the window to grip Maggie's sleeve. "If you showed up hurt, I'd be concerned, too. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Maggie tilts her head so her hair shields her eyes. "No, there isn't."

"I am really fine. I'm even all bandaged up."

"Yeah." She giggles.

Artemis' grip slips. His fingers tap the windowsill. "I'll talk to you later than?"

"Later," she echoes, walking away.

He isn't sure if that went well or absolutely awful. The day has morphed into one loaded with unpredictable events. From his mother, to his missing prince, to a moment with Maggie, and he expects it to crumble away, to awake in his bed from a long dream. Instead, Artemis returns home that evening to discover Camellia as vibrant as that morning. She welcomes Artemis, kissing his cheek then changing the bandages. Most of the night, Artemis merely watches her, waiting for her to depart like a mirage. When she doesn't, he smiles like he hasn't in a long time, and she smiles back.

"Goodnight, Mama," Artemis whispers as he does every night.

But tonight Camellia replies, "Goodnight, sweetie."

He slips into his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him, only to open it a second later. Camellia sits at the kitchen table cleaning up her tonics. She's so surreal that Artemis lays in bed, listening to her footsteps until her movements silence. She's in bed.

What's going on today? Artemis wonders, drifting to sleep.

Tomorrow doesn't return him to what he once knew. Camellia smiles when he wakes. There's breakfast on the table. They eat together where she asks about his day, as a parent should. Although he has yearned for these moments, they're too abrupt to accept. Sharing his life with someone who has always been a part of it, and yet, more distant than a stranger, isn't easy. He whispers through lies or half truths before excusing himself, curious to visit the white tree.

The tree is worse than yesterday. Branches lay broken at the base where the tunnel has caved in. All the leaves have fallen, already rotting on the ground. There's no refreshing breeze, nothing to symbolize the icy cavern that once laid beneath. The death of the tree hits Artemis harder than expected. It's as if he lost a home. Maybe he did.

Maybe it's the oddities of late, or maybe it's Artemis' paranoia concerning Wren, but the woods feel different today too. The fae are elusive by nature, when they wish to be. Artemis has hunted the woods for years, so he has adapted to their presence. Often he spots their tracks even when they try to hide or senses their gaze, but not today. It's as if only the animals dare to traverse the woods. Artemis snags a few of them, tethering them to his sled that sounds too loud for the eerily quiet forest. A frigid breeze sighs through the trees, gnawing at Artemis' exposed cheeks. It feels like winter for the briefest moment, then the sun's sweltering.

At the edge of the woods, Artemis peers back to the shadows that have always kept life of their own. They sway without a breeze, slither like snakes beneath the brush, or observe with intrigue. They're quiet today, still as shadows should be. It relieves Artemis to have finished hunting early. Whatever has stifled the woods, he wants no part of it.

At the shop, he tends to his wares. The back room storing pelts and cured meat is almost empty after the blitz of customers from the circus. He's restocking when two patrons enter the store, only known by their loud conversation.

"Did you hear?" Georgie asks, elbows propped against the counter and back turned. The other, his older brother Isaac, combs the shop, knowing where to go and what to grab. Both are regulars, town folk who manage the fields.

"Hear what?" Isaac hums.

"About Mr. Hellsman."

Artemis freezes in the doorway, hand clutching the handle until it splinters.

"What about that rotten bastard?" Isaac asks, dropping the goods on the counter.

He's flipping mindlessly through his coin purse until Georgie replies, "He's dead."

"Dead," Isaac repeats, sounding as shocked as Artemis feels.

Shocked... and relieved... and angry... and so fucking grateful. He isn't sure which is more, which is less. The boy props himself against the door of the backroom, clutching his chest when the air in his lung weighs on him.

"What happened?" Isaac asks.

"A fae must have gotten to him and Mr. Orshawl," Georgie replies, snorting. There's no remorse in his voice. There would be no remorse in anyone's voice. Neither men were welcomed by the townsfolk. They were hated and they won't be missed.

"Story says Mr. Orshawl was found frozen solid on the second floor," Georgie elaborates. "And Mr. Hellsman, well, they ain't too sure what happened to him because there wasn't a corpse. He was torn to shreds, spread across the wall like a bloody painting. No way a human could have done it."

Their remaining words are lost to Artemis, who thinks of Wren and his lingering question; did he truly hear everything? And if he did, did he play a part in Hellsman's death?

Artemis firmly shakes his head, pushing such thoughts aside. Why would Wren attack Hellsman? It's an odd coincidence, nothing more.

But as he wraps the goods bought by the brothers, he thinks of how there are no coincidences when it comes to fae, only purposefully thought out deeds of wondrous villainy.

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