Four days since the outsiders left the village.

Liorin's hands itched as he pressed them against the bark of the giant Mournspire Pine. The rough wood pulsed under his fingers, and with a quiet hum in the back of his mind, he coaxed the plant to grow.

Slowly, carefully, the bark began to twist and bend as it took on multiple metallic shades, forming into the shape of a little hut jutting out the wall.

He couldn't help but feel a small flare of pride.

Even if he was alone—even if no one else cared or noticed—it felt good to use his Art.

Pretty house!

What you all think?

He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking. Naturally, the other Petalborn didn't even notice he was working. They were all too busy with their own things, running here and there, too preoccupied with themselves to remember that he existed. He could hear them in the distance, laughing and chatting as they cleaned up the mess they'd left behind after four years of slumber. Liorin tried to ignore it, but it was hard not to hear them. Their voices made the pit in his stomach grow bigger.

And when the hut was done so someone else could move in it, it'd be another thing for him to ignore.

He sighed and brushed a piece of sweat-soaked hair out of his face. The mask itched on his skin. He hated it. It was so hot under there, and he could never really breathe right when it was on. But he had to wear it. Always. That's what the others, even his parents, told him. No one could see his face, or it'd bring everyone bad luck.

After all, he was the 'Angry Forest' of the Petalborn: the single Petalborn in every generation with the potential to control multiple plants at once after inheriting another Petalborn's 'Symbiotic System'. To the villagers, the 'Angry Forest' capable of giving an entire section of the forest metallic shades was both their greatest weapon against the monsters of the forest, and their greatest curse. One raw look from Liorin without his mask, and the onlooker would be cursed with terrible luck for the rest of their lives because of his overwhelming power.

It also didn't help that whenever Liorin controlled his plants, they turned into violent, terrifying shades of metal. They certainly helped to scare and ward off the monsters, but they also terrified the villagers themselves. They were 'impure' colors. 'Corrupted'. 'Tainted'.

He'd been wearing his mask since he inherited his system at the age of six, and since then, he couldn't remember the last time he'd shown his face to anyone. Not even to his parents, who'd long since given up on him as their son to revere him as their guardian god instead.

For generations the protection of the 'Angry Forest' was as assured to the villagers as the sun always rose in the sixth hour of every morning. Liorin protecting the village was a given, not something the villagers had to actively beg for.

… And that okay!

I am guardian!

All I do is protect and be useful!

His family may still be refusing to let him sit in on their meals, but at least they weren't hitting him anymore when he looked their way out of curiosity. For four years, the villagers had been sleeping—-he was the only one who didn't fall asleep because those black birds were too scared to approach him and peck him—and for four years, he'd taken care of all of them, washing their bodies, feeding them sap from the trees, and stretching their limbs daily so they'd wake up mostly healthy again. He even maintained the village huts for all of them. That meant he'd grown bigger and more muscular than most of the other villagers, and that meant his parents couldn't hit anymore.

Maybe they were scared he'd hit back? He wouldn't do that, though. He didn't like hitting people. Besides, he was still only half as tall as the outsiders he'd brought to the village a few days ago. All of them were only half as tall as the outsiders. The doctor in the bird mask called them… 'halflings'? He didn't really remember, and he supposed it didn't really matter.

When he was done using his Art to make a wooden house completely from scratch, he stepped back, wiped the sweat off the side of his jaw, and turned around to look at the rest of the villagers.

He waited for someone—anyone—to maybe acknowledge what he'd done, but as usual, they were all too busy with their own business to care.

… But that okay, too

I'm 'Angry Forest'.

I only need protect and be useful.

Nothing else.

Four more days passed.

The giant boar carcass was heavy as he dragged it through the tunnel and back into the village—maybe a little too heavy for a halfling like him—but he didn't mind. He was used to dragging things that felt too heavy, so it was just another thing on the long list of things he'd dragged alone.

Food, food, food!

His tiny feet thudded against the dirt, his muscles straining, but there was a bright spark in his chest. Today, it would be different. He'd do something especially good for the villagers. The moment he spotted the giant boar out in the forest while hunting for his dinner, he immediately thought about that warm, savory dish the bird doctor had made back when they travelled together. That dish had tasted like life itself. That sharp, savory tang that filled his whole chest… he'd never eaten anything like that.

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So, he'd killed the boar, dragged it back to the village, and once he dropped it off by the main butcher's hut by the mouth of the village, he immediately ran back out into the woods.

Even though it was starting to get dark, and it was a little dangerous to be running out alone while everyone else was already cooking and preparing to throw a feast, he really, really wanted to do something special for all of them. The feeling of excitement was like a sugar rush, buzzing in his veins.

They will like outsider food!

Tasty

He gathered everything he needed: the herbs, the spices, and all the other weird things the bird doctor had used. There were lots of plants the bird doctor brought into the forest in his satchel, and those weren't native to the forest, but Liorin found plenty of what looked like decent enough substitutes for them. If they looked the same, they probably tasted the same. Probably.

Once he returned to the butcher's hut, he didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He slapped his palms against the ground and summoned five sharp knife-life vines, ordering them to cut the boar apart into chunks of thick, stretchy slabs of meat. As he did, he snuck over to the ladies' kitchens, snuck out an empty pot, and then ran back to the butcher's hut with a potful of water to start boiling it over a campfire.

Okay!

First, I… uh, sprinkle!

Remembering what the bird doctor had done to the meat, he grabbed the herbs he'd collected, ground them into little pieces using his bare hands, and then dumped half of them into the boiling water. The other half he sprinkled onto the slabs of meat before rubbing them in, making sure every nook and cranny of the slabs were sticky with them. He didn't really know why the bird doctor had done that, but he only needed to follow the instructions in his head.

I think… this is how to do?

There were a few more steps he remembered the bird doctor taking, but in truth, he couldn't recall exactly what the doctor had done. Maybe there were more herbs sprinkled onto the meat? Maybe the rubbing method was a little different? On more than one occasion, the bird doctor had tipped some strange-smelling white powder into the boiling pot secretly while the umbrella lady and the casual older lady weren't looking—Liorin didn't do that part.

But skipping those steps wouldn't make the dish taste bad, right?

So he skipped. He chopped up a few more vegetables he harvested from the forest, threw more bark into the fire, and while the rest of the villagers started cheering and laughing in the main village square as they began their weekly feast, he knelt by his own little pot, staring at the crackling flames with giddiness like he'd never felt before.

Cook quicker, cook quicker, cook quicker!

Once the meat began to float on the surface of the broth—a sure sign that it was cooked—he couldn't help the grin that crept across his face. It wasn't the most elegant thing he'd ever cooked, but it was his.

The heat in his chest grew, and despite the sour, lingering doubt in the back of his mind, he grabbed a bowl he'd snuck out alongside the pot and scooped a chunk of meat into it. Steaming hot as the meat may be, he immediately slid his mask off to the side, took a bite, and savored the warmth.

The explosion of flavor spread in his mouth as he straightened his mask, but something felt… missing.

It wasn't as rich as when the bird doctor had made it. That dish had been perfect. This one was... well, it was still far better than the usual scraps the villagers tossed him after they'd finished their meals, but it wasn't as good as it could be.

But it was also good enough.

He looked around excitedly, scanning for someone—anyone—who might be around so he could share what he'd made.

And then, like the first flutter of hope, he saw her walking past the mouth of the village to get to the kitchen. The chief's daughter. The prettiest girl in the village, and the one he'd made the bird doctor cure first. His heart skipped a beat. His stomach knotted. He'd always been too shy to even think about talking to her, but this... this time was different. He'd made the food. He'd put the work in. It wasn't perfect, but it really, really was good enough.

Without even realizing it, he stood up and ran towards her with a new bowl of meat. His feet felt too heavy, too fast, but there was no stopping now.

As he reached her and held out his bowl with shaking hands, she turned to him, eyes wide in surprise.

"I made this... from boar!" he said, his voice trembling. "Try! Good food!"

The girl hesitated, looking at him. Really looking at him. Her eyes were momentarily soft and curious, but then her gaze flickered to the bowl in his hands.

She took the bowl slowly, hesitantly, like she was afraid of the food itself—and then she brought it to her lips, tasting it, chewing.

Liorin held his breath.

Her face contorted. Her eyes widened. She seemed to realize what she was really eating—food made by the tainted, corrupted god of the forest—and then she gagged, regurgitating and spitting the meat out onto the ground in front of him.

Liorin's hand hung in the air, reaching for her as she ran, but she didn't even glance back. She didn't say a word as she bolted away.

…

He stood there for a long moment, still, his fingers curling into a fist, though no one was there to see it. A tightness in his chest threatened to burst as he stared after her. The sound of her retreating footsteps was drowned out by the murmurs of the villagers, loud in the distance where the brazier lights flickered in the village square—where they all laughed and ate, safe and warm—and here he was, alone on the cold edge of the village.

His breath caught in his throat.

Why?

The question buzzed in his mind, the sting of it sharper than he expected. He glanced down at the food she'd spit out still lying there on the ground, wasted. The meat didn't taste that bad. Not to him. It wasn't nearly as good as what the bird doctor had cooked, sure, but it wasn't bad.

So why?

Why didn't she like it?

His chest squeezed painfully, his breath shuddering as he slid his mask a little off to the side and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He felt stupid for even crying when nobody would hear him, but it didn't stop the tears from falling.

Without thinking, he knelt down by the pot. His hands trembled as he scooped up the last of the streaming hot meat with his fingers, shoveling it into his mouth. It was rough, greasy, and beyond hot, but it was his. He didn't care about anything else.

But even when he finished eating, he didn't feel better.

He didn't feel anything, really. Just… a strange tightness in his chest.

He thought of the lady with the umbrella. She'd smiled at him. Patted him on the head. Spoke to him in clear, easy-to-understand words. In four days, she'd looked straight at him more than his family ever did. And that bird doctor, too—he was a little weird and he got into fights with the umbrella lady more than a few times, but his food really was to die for.

What was Liorin's own dish missing?

What was he doing wrong?

…

… He wanted to learn the recipe properly.

He wanted to see the funny outsiders again.

So he sniffed, pulled his mask a little off to the side, wiped his nose with his bare wrist, and straightened up as he looked at the villagers behind him one more time.

Without a word, without a thought to anyone, he turned away.

He didn't pack anything. No bags. No plans. No directions. He sprinted out the tunnel and into the forest at night, where the wind was crisp and the air was fresh—and yet the cold of the forest had never felt warmer, warmer than anybody who'd ever touched him of their own volition.

The village would be fine without him. They could do without their guardian god for a few days.

I coming, 'Maeve', 'Gael'!

I come to you!

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