The clouds overhead were beginning to thin, with shafts of sunlight burning through. Mist clouded over the ground, and gradually the surviving insects started to sing. The breeze from the ocean was friendly again and Scarlet could feel her trees getting down to the business of growing again, slowly putting out new branches and sprouting new leaves to replace the ravaged canopy.
They were all alive.
>
Scarlet carried Mal to her room and salvaged enough of a bed to make him comfortable while he regained consciousness.
Chef insisted on feeding everyone, and somehow managed to make a hot meal from the ruins of his powerless kitchen; Travis assembled a working grill from broken parts and Graham and Alice scavenged fruit and vegetables from destroyed greenhouse. Bastian bandaged up anyone who needed it, though no one was in worse shape than he was... except Mal.
They found enough tables and working chairs to put together a makeshift feast. The mood was light, and still a little stunned.
Tyrant and Sweet One, desperately offended by the day’s events, made an appearance as Chef brought out dessert. Gizelle tried to cuddle with Sweet One, but the young cat had no interest in the gazelle shifter’s comfort and yowled her way out of Gizelle’s arms after only a few moments.
Tyrant, by contrast, wanted nothing more than to attach herself to Scarlet’s ankles, constantly underfoot as Scarlet investigated the debris for anything that could be salvaged.
She was standing at the back of the restaurant deck holding a dented soup ladle when Gizelle found her.
“Be careful, Gizelle,” Scarlet warned. “The deck isn’t sound here.”
Sweet One was being groomed vigorously by Tyrant on a broken table that was starting to dry in the baking sun.
Gizelle crept forward carefully to stand next to Scarlet.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said mournfully.
“I know you didn’t,” Scarlet said. “I don’t blame you.”
“It was...”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I...”
Scarlet turned to face her. “Good people blame themselves, Gizelle. Because good people take responsibility for what they do. I can only guess what it was like with that wyrm in your head, and you did the very best you could and I would never hold that against you.”
“Am I a good person?” Gizelle asked plaintively.
“The very best,” Scarlet assured her. “You are braver and better than anyone I know. And you are merciful, which is much, much harder than being merely good.”
Gizelle stood still a moment and the loudest sounds were Sweet One’s trilling protests as Tyrant held her down and licked her ears.
“It’s quieter now,” she observed. “In my head, I mean.” She cocked her head at Scarlet curiously. “Does this mean I’ll be normal?”
“I am not sure any of us are normal,” Scarlet said dryly. “But that’s not something you should aspire to anyway.”
Gizelle gave her a swift, grateful hug. “I can hear your forest,” she said, while her head was leaning against Scarlet’s collarbone. “It sounds like growing.”
Scarlet squeezed her back and let her go gather Sweet One into her arms. The kitten decided that Gizelle’s attention was preferable to being further mauled by Tyrant and purred as she was picked up.
Scarlet collected Tyrant into her own arms and was given purring head-butts and vocal complaints. “Let’s go see if your cat food survived,” Scarlet suggested.
Chapter 33
Mal jerked awake at the attack, blindly reaching for his magic and finding that his stores were still empty.
It was just as well; the ferocious assailant was only Tyrant, who had decided that Mal’s toes beneath the light quilt were clearly prey.
Mal sat up, precipitating a strategic retreat on the part of the kitten, and tried to figure out why Scarlet’s room felt so odd.