Within seconds Bowman vanished into the storm of sprites sweeping around the colossal figures of Logan and Dean, some occasionally leaving scratches on the former with their swords as they supported the latter.
Dean raised up his arm, holding himself at the ready. “Scar, move,” he snapped out a command, used to being in charge. “That’s my brother out there, and he needs my help!” All he could see in his mind’s eye was Sam, covered in blood. Sam, crushed in a fist.
Dean, too far away to help.
Scar’s dark green eyes flickered to the hand that lifted up a sharp knife ready to slice into its enemy. Whatever intimidation he might have felt didn’t make it to his face. He flew a little closer, resolutely staying in Dean’s way. Even knowing Dean could swipe him out of the air at any given second, Scar held his stance.
“Your brother is alive, and Bowman is alive,” Scar hissed back.
He hated having his back turned on the enemy, but right now his biggest asset was also his biggest problem. “If you want to keep them that way then you will listen to me, human.”
A snare. It was a trap that, when Logan set it, would remain hidden amongst the foliage. When something wandered into it (a sprite included), it would tangle around them mercilessly, only tightening the more they struggled. The only way out would be cutting the wires away from them, and Bowman had a feeling Logan wouldn’t be kind in the process if he caught someone.
“Making art projects, I see,” Bowman snapped. “I’ve seen better.”
The cage rattled roughly as Logan gripped one end in a huge hand and tilted it sharply so that Bowman fell to one side in a heap. “You cheeky little shit. Do you know what this is?” he taunted, his hand still gripping the cage, hovering menacingly over Bowman.
“Good thing we have a secret weapon, then, right?” Sam said with a glint in his eye.
Dean shifted, trying to catch sight of Sam. “He’ll see me coming, and he’s expecting sprites,” he agreed. “I doubt he knows that anyone like Sam even exists.”
“Don’t overdo it, or you’ll never get to sleep,” Jacob warned with a laugh as Bowman wheeled around in the air.
In response, the sprite fluttered over to him and landed unabashedly on a shoulder. It warmed Jacob’s heart to be so trusted by his small friends.
Bowman flicked his wings in annoyance. “The sun goes down eventually. There’s no such thing as overdoing photosynthesis!” While it wasn’t strictly true, as a sprite could become incredibly sluggish, Bowman wasn’t about to go into that. Satisfied that he’d told the human what was what, he fluttered off his shoulder again.
This is Fairy Tales canon. Bowman is newly 19, and it takes place the winter after the events of Bowman of Wellwood.
Reading Time: ~5-10 minutes
The main room was cozy and warm. Candara had Prayed all morning to bring warmth coursing through their home branch, and the Earth Spirit’s magic granted them a warmer home despite the bitter cold outside. The breeze leaking through the shaded windows promised that stepping outside would require several layers.
Bowman was restless as he was every winter, but he didn’t feel like going out just yet. In the deadest part of winter, his wings twitched with shivers and the desire to fly both. Today, he remained inside with the others to avoid that chill.
Candara and Larxe sat together on one of the cushioned benches in the room, their wings around each other like leafy green cloaks. Candara rested her head on Larxe’s chest, tired out after Praying for so much warmth. Bowman sat by the wall and let the heat creep up his spine and into his folded wings. His right leg was drawn up, but the left one stretched out in front of him. He stared at it absently.
Rischa wandered over to him to sit down at his side. Bowman lifted an arm so his young cousin could snuggle closer to him with her blanket over her shoulders. “It’s hurting again,” she noted, glancing at Bowman’s leg.
It had healed months ago. And yet, sometimes, Bowman’s knee would have phantom pains in it from when he’d injured it. Those pains, Cerul had told him, would never go away completely. Too much strain on it, or even sometimes just the cold that came with the snowy weather would make the old wound site tender and sore.
He would always have the reminder of a human hand closing over his body and slowly applying pressure until he couldn’t even scream for mercy.
Rischa suddenly freed her arms from her blanket to hug Bowman around his waist and he jolted right out of his thoughts. He looked down at her in surprise and noted that her eyes were shut tight and she didn’t look ready to let go anytime soon. He smiled faintly and reached down to pull her blanket back up over her.
“It’s only a little, Birdie,” he told her in a hushed voice.
She looked up at him with concern in her eyes. Bowman never was any good at hiding things from Rischa. Ever since she’d realized her gift of the Voice, he could hide even less. She could read his heart like curling script was written on his wings. She knew where his thoughts inevitably went when his knee flared up. She knew the fear and pain and despair that he remembered, like echoes of a thunderstorm. She was only eight, and yet she already weathered the feelings of everyone around her.
Rischa reached up with one little hand to cup her palm on Bowman’s cheek. Her thumb brushed under his eye as if wiping away a tear that hadn’t been released, and she smiled at him. “I know. It’s okay, Bowman,” she told him.
He gave her a half smile, and his brow pinched with bemusement. “Look at you trying your best to freeze,” he said, pretending to scold her. He pulled her blanket up higher so it rested over her head and covered her golden eyes, getting a delighted giggle from her.
He opened one wing to wrap it around his young cousin and she snuggled closer to him. They took in the warmth together, and the cold couldn’t get to them. Bowman hummed quietly, a sound that Rischa could hear resounding in his chest. Even with the responsibility settled on her by her gift, Bowman would let her be a child for as long as he could.
Bowman couldn’t sleep, and usually when he couldn’t sleep, that meant his wings twitched and he tossed and turned for hours before giving in. Tonight, he wasn’t going to do that. He lay in his bed and almost glared at his window and the serene light that broke through it. The moon cast its cool, sharp glow upon the village of Wellwood in shining bars that mimicked the golden light of its sky sibling.
Moonlight might not be quite as refreshing as the sunlight, but Bowman knew that flying through it was just as peaceful, just as liberating.
He sat up in his bed, the oval-shaped basin in his room, and stretched his wings carefully. Why deny himself a little flying just because his aunt and uncle told him it was too dangerous to go out at night? Their warnings had never been frightening enough to keep him from it. He had to practice to be the best in the village one day, after all.
Nope, this Jacob is completely free of any knowledge of sprites. Which is a little unfortunate regarding his initial reactions to everything, considering a Jacob who already knew how to deal with such little people might be able to handle things better. As it is, you can count on Jacob being quite flustered with the whole thing!
Bowman, if he saw a giant that big, one that towered over even the trees, might just work himself into a little bitty heart attack. Jacob’s boots are bigger than the village, how dare he! He must not wander close to the village, at all.
Of course, Jacob wouldn’t be able to see or hear him and a sigh would blow the little sprite away … Dean better keep him safe in a pocket.
One of the nestlings leaned out further and grinned, and Jacob recognized those fluttering wings for sure. The kids were several feet away from them, and yet the distance probably seemed so much greater in their eyes. They had to tilt their heads back slightly to keep Dean and Jacob’s faces in sight.
“We came ta visit!” Vel announced. He finally stepped out of hiding entirely, folding his hands behind his back while his wings rustled in spite of himself. “We were wondering if, maybe … didja wanna play?”
Brothers Apart 