“They’d willingly leave food?” Croi finds that difficult to believe.

Not everyone is as enamored of food as you.

“They’d much rather leave food than be food,” Tinder replies dryly. “Listen—”

“Let me eat something before we talk.” Croi interrupts the pixie. A conversation is inevitable, and she doesn’t intend to avoid it, but only after she has stuffed herself.

Without waiting for a reply, Croi picks a large leaf from a nearby bush to use as a plate. Tinder picks a smaller leaf that suits her size. Croi chooses to attack the meat with her hands while Tinder fashions a fork and knife out of a twig. As they eat, Ceara emerges from the caravan, followed one beat later by Daithi. The rebel soldier immediately turns to his compatriots and starts talking to them intently. The princess looks over to where Croi and Tinder are sitting but ultimately decides not to disturb them, sitting instead at another campfire and browsing through the book Croi gave to her.

Tinder puts down the twig she was using and looks at Croi, an uncomfortable expression on her face. She flies up so she’s hovering in the air in front of Croi’s face and bows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think Ceara would act in the way she did.”

“Are you talking about her attacking me or her asking for the book?” Croi swallows her last mouthful of food and takes a draft of water before wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

“Both of those things,” Tinder says. She looks at the red-haired fae girl in the distance and frowns. “It’s not like I don’t understand why she wanted the book, but she should know not to covet what is not hers.”

“But she thinks it should be hers,” Croi points out.

“But it’s not,” Tinder insists. “Why did you give it to her?”

“I know what it’s like to want to feel close to your family,” Croi replies. “I can’t because I don’t even know the identities of my parents. She does, and through this book, she can.”

I just realized that we are good people.

“No, I am good. I don’t know about you.” Croi smirks at her inner self.

“Hey!” The pixie pinches her, and Croi starts.

“What?” Croi rubs her cheek. The pinch hurt.

“I asked you your name.”

“Do I have to tell you?” Croi asks.

“What should I call you if you don’t?” Tinder asks.

“I don’t care what you call me.” She told Irial her name, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to tell others.

“In that case I will call you Fiadh,” Tinder pronounces after a minute of thinking. At Croi’s raised eyebrow, she explains, “It means wild. Unfettered. Free.”

“I like that.” Croi smiles truly for the first time in a long while.

Me too.

“How do you know the Fire Princess?” Croi asks. She looks around the clearing.

“There’s a school in the mountains of Talamh where scholars from all four elemental kingdoms study and collaborate. The scholars who attend the school create extraordinary objects of art by working magick together. I met Ceara there a year ago when we both attended the school for a time.” Tinder’s voice is muted, as is her magick.