The day before Will's life changed drastically, she got twenty-six bug bites. Twenty-four of them were on her feet and ankles. This was more relevant than it would seem at the time.

The fact that she'd gotten them at all was mostly her fault. Will knew better than to step foot outdoors in summer without rubbing on carrow-root, which was why she'd snapped when her moons-damned mother had seen fit to remind her. "Willa," she had called feebly from her small, makeshift bed in the corner of the hut — strike one against the rana; they both knew Will hated her full name — "don't forget to rub on carrow-root, so you won't get bitten."

That condescending, tide-bringing ruma. "I'm not a fool," Will had mumbled darkly. "Of course I was going to use carrow-root."

Then she turned on her heel and marched quite decisively out of the hut without rubbing in any carrow-root at all.

By the next day, Will was severely regretting that decision. She'd spent the whole morning scratching doggedly at her ankles, which had caused them to become quite red and irritated. Her mother hadn't even said anything — whether she was too sick to notice Will's discomfort or she had chosen to not give the hibri more reason to hate her was up to interpretation. Either way, Will decided to ignore her right back, simply shooting her loathful glances every so often from across the room.

When Will was small, she remembered her mother as having been beautiful. Maybe she had been, or maybe it was just Will being a childish fool. But the years of living in the freshwater swampland had taken a toll on the saltwater rana. Her once vibrant tawny skin had faded to a dull, sickly too-pale brown color, and her chestnut hair had lightened as well. She had become mostly skin, gill, and bone in the last few years, and her face had sunken in so that her huge purple eyes were even more pronounced. The whole situation probably should have worried her daughter, but Will had never quite known how to feel about her mother anyhow. It was honestly more irritating than concerning at this point; Will would have to spend her hard-earned coins on salt, that wasn't a question, and the salt would never do more than temporarily soothe her mother's pain.

Will didn't think she quite hated her mother. She resented her, yes, and blamed her for nearly all of their problems. But she didn't feel so strongly as to hate the rana. Probably when Will turned nineteen (three years, now, and she was counting down the days) she'd leave her small hibri community without a nagging doubt in her mind. If her mother wasn't dead at that point, Will would leave her too.

By mealtime, Will had worked up quite the appetite. She stood up from her uncomfortable perch on the ground, shook the mud off of her already-stained frock, and set out to gather duckweed, or if she was lucky catch a few fish. She didn't say goodbye to her mother. She simply gazed at her for a moment, unaware that it was the last time she'd ever lay eyes on the rana.

Then she turned away and left the hut without looking back.

｡･ﾟﾟ･｡

It was an uncomfortably hot day, even for mid-summer. Will could feel sweat collecting on her upper brow, and if she were any other human-rana hibri she'd likely be eager to leap into the swamp and cool off. Will wasn't anyone else, though, and on principle refused to enter the water. She'd never been a fan of most things rana — then again, she absolutely detested humans, so she didn't really fit in anywhere, no matter how much the other hibri loved to tease her about her appearance. "Shore-girl," they'd taunt her. For moons' sake, didn't they know Will couldn't help that she looked human?

Will kneeled by the side of the swamp and folded her fingers around a clump of duckweed. Pulling it out, she realized too late that she'd forgotten to bring a bucket — perhaps her mother did have a point when she'd reminded her of carrow-root. Not that Will would ever apologize, or admit that she'd been wrong. It simply wasn't in her nature to do either of those things.

By all accounts, Will should have gone back to her cramped hut right then, and grabbed her bucket. Maybe if she'd done that she wouldn't have been pulled into any of the moons-damned mess to begin with. But she was proud, and she couldn't stand the sight of her mother seeing her having done something foolish. So instead she walked along the swamp for a good long distance, to avoid seeing anyone she knew, and began to scoop up fistfuls of duckweed and hold them in her arms like a newborn.

Oh, but moons, her feet itched. Every ounce of Will wanted to drop the bundle of duckweeds and scratch at her ankles until they were raw and bloody. Her rational mind knew this would be the opposite of constructive — getting an infection would be the last thing she and her mother could handle just about then, especially if it needed more medicine than the simple salves they kept stacked on a shelf. But the other part of her, the illogical, irresponsible one, didn't care in the slightest about any of that. It was all Will could do to keep walking, ignoring the insistent itching and her increasing irritability.

She focused on the simple motions. Step forward, step forward, step forward. Stop if you see duckweed, bend down, scoop it up. Step forward, step forward, step forward. Keep your eyes trained on the ground, Will. No need to look up and see other hibri mocking you. No matter how satisfying they feel in the moment, temper tantrums are the opposite of productive. Step forward, step forward, step —

"Six tides!"

Before she could even process what had just happened, Will was lying on the ground, dazed, surrounded by her now-scattered duckweeds. Also, there was a boy standing over her. A decidedly novel, decidedly attractive one, with dark hair that fell into his piercing green eyes and a small, infuriating smirk as he reached out a hand to help her up. "Are you okay?"

"Are you a human?" Will managed to spit as she heaved herself to her feet, ignoring his outstretched hand. "What are you doing here, you ingrata filth? And why in the tides did you trip me?"

"Okay, darling, one question at a time." The boy gave a low chuckle. Arrogant tide bringer. "First off, I didn't trip you — you ran into me. I'll be lenient now and say it doesn't matter — " and here he halted even the vaguest pretense of watching her, instead choosing to examine his nails in a way so callously nonchalant it made Will want to grind her teeth " — but I will warn you for future that false allegations are rarely dealt with so blithely."

Will barely managed to interject, "'For future?' What in the tides does that mean?" before he was speaking again, tone light and breezy: "Patience, chickadee." Chickadee? A swarm of anger pulsed through Will, followed by a blot of embarrassment — she really had to get ahold of her temper, didn't she. "One can only ask a certain number of questions at a time without it getting downright aggravating, don't you agree?"

Despite herself, Will could feel an answer ripping its way out of her. "Was that a question?"

Although his face betrayed puzzlement for a moment, the green-eyed boy didn't miss a beat. "Do you think it is?"

Hesitation seized Will, and with a start, she was brought back to the current situation. Was she flirting with a human boy? Not to mention, a particularly overbearing one, the kind she really detested? "You didn't answer my questions, ingra. Why are you here? Don't think you can distract me."

The boy gave a wry, somewhat sardonic smile. "Believe me, darling, I would never."

There were a million responses Will wanted to give. (Including, but not limited to, "What's with the pet names, ingrata? I'm no one's darling," and "Please stop talking, it's not a good look on you.") But she was playing with fire here. This was a human, not an irrelevant hibri tide bringer who she could go off on with no repercussions. This guy might have connections. She could be arrested, for all she knew, dragged to the human capital for nothing more than a dirty look. She'd spoiled herself with the other, more pretentious hibri; she needed to learn to hold her tongue.

The whole thing was undoubtedly ironic, considering the fact that some hibri had probably had the same thought process when they came across Will herself, thinking her a human. Which made her wonder, with a sinking feeling of dread... was this a human? What if he was a hibri like her? Moons, that would be humiliating. While she was many things, Will had not generally thought of herself as a hypocrite, but that was certainly subject to change.

The human — hibri? — quirked an eyebrow at her, and she realized in a burst of embarrassment that she'd been standing silent for almost a minute. "Uh... are you... ?"

"Yes?" he asked, and as he lowered his hand Will caught a glimpse of his fingers. Webbed. Damn it to the moons and back, she'd never live this one down.

"You're a hibri," she said, and her voice was uncharacteristically flat.

He laughed. A real, genuine, happy laugh, no trace of unkindness in his eyes. "So I am, chickadee. So I am."

Will scowled.

The hibri held out a hand. "Lusan Croft, but do call me Lus. Pleasure to meet you."

Will eyed his outstretched hand with thinly veiled contempt. "Will. Fen. Why did you make me think you were human?"

"Did I?" Lusan asked delicately, mock surprise in his eyes. "Why, I had no idea."

"Tide bringer," Will snapped, loud enough to know he'd heard her. "I hope you don't think you're funny, Croft."

His eyes practically sparkled. "Oh, so we're on a last-names basis now? Alright, Fern."

"Fen," Will corrected automatically. Her bug bites were about impossible to leave be at this point, and she wished with all her heart that this idiot hibri would go harass someone else, leaving her alone to her irritating itch-ignoring. "If you're not going to politely move aside, I will move past you."

A look of distinct alarm passed over Lusan's face, followed by an oddly furtive one. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet — secretive. What in the name of the moons did this boy have to be secretive about? "You... you hate humans, right?"

"You utter idiot," Will said slowly, annunciating each word clearly. "Are you out of your mind? Of course I hate humans! Did you miss the whole cursing-at-you-when-I-mistook-you-for-one thing?"

A smile played at the corner of Lusan's lips. "Just making sure, Fen. To be fair, you did continue to curse at me once that whole ordeal was over."

"Did I?" Will deadpanned. "Why, I had no idea."

Lusan rolled his eyes — that inexplicable gravity in his expression was still there, but amusement had made its way over as well. "So, you hate humans. How much do you hate them?"

"Is this a test?" An unpleasant thought occured to Will, and she drew back sharply. "Are you some sort of spy? Betraying your kind or something 'cause the humans promise to protect you?"

Now the amusement took full control over Lusan's face, in the form of an incredulous grin. "Spying for the humans? My god, imagine!" A moment of silence, and then the hibri blurted, "I'm actually, uh, spying on the humans."

Will waited for the punchline. It didn't come.

"Yeah, right," she said finally, carefully. There was no way. "In that case, why in the tides are you in a hibri village? I'd imagine an actual spy would most likely be, you know, spying."

Years ago, Will's mother had told her that her temper, not to mention hotheadedness, would be her ruin. Will had thrown a fit big enough to convince the rana never to say anything in that vein again.

She was feeling that same, inconvenient peevishness now. How dare this boy invade her village, telling ridiculous tales and — and acting so moons-damned superior? It made her want to kick something.

"Besides," she added hotly, "who would you be spying for? One of those disorganized rebel groups, the ones that attack capitals and cause chaos?" She sunk her nails into her palms, ignoring the wheedling tang of her ankles, peppered in bites. "Also, what sort of a spy goes around announcing it? That's absolutely preposterous!"

She was prepared to say more, but Lusan interrupted her, voice low. "When you say it that way, I'm kind of an awful spy. But... pretty girls make me nervous."

"You're an absolute dolthead and a terrible flirt," Will replied without missing a beat, before turning and marching quite purposefully in the opposite direction, duckweeds be damned.

She made it about three steps before Lusan was shouting at her. "Fen, wait!"

Despite herself, she turned.

"I really am a spy," Lusan said, somewhat sheepishly. "For the Voc. That's what we call it, anyway. It has some long name, but... yeah. The Voc." A pause. Will frowned. Lusan gave a small, faux-helpless shrug, then continued. "We're not a rebel group, per se. Well, I mean, we kind of are. 'Anti-human.' That's what we call ourselves."

"And you're telling me this why?"

"Um." Lusan looked away. "God, this is going to sound crazy. But. You asked me why I'm here? It's to recruit new members. Spies, in particular. That's why I'm at a rana-human hibri village; we have the most potential to look like humans."

No way.

Rather subconsciously, Will brought her hand up to her neck gills, smoothing her hair out to cover them. Ignore the bug bites, Will. Don't scratch them, no matter how much you want to. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

Now Lusan looked straight at Will, and she felt her heart pounding quite traitorously. Though maybe it was just nerves, considering the words the so-called spy spoke next.

"If what you think I'm asking is whether you want to join an anti-human group as a spy and bring those bastards' downfall, then yes. You've got it exactly."

Will swallowed. Her throat felt suddenly very dry.

This was ridiculous.

Preposterous.

Her ankles itched more than anything.

"I'm in."

｡･ﾟﾟ･｡

Thanks for reading, and we hope you liked chapter three as much as we did! A few forms after this one, it was revealed that Will is written by the amazing Ref (food_is_my_jam) — great job with your guesses! Actually, not really. Since you didn't guess right this chapter's week. Still.

With virtual hugs and purple Google features,

Google Form Crew

(G.F.C.)