"I'm starting to suspect that we might be climbing the wrong mountain," Vrye said, scanning the steep cliffs for signs of Kyos' cavern. "It doesn't smell of goat at all around here."

He had barely stopped to scout and Alphonse was already setting up a picnic with Plod. That fellow kept awfully regular meal times. Regardless of if they were dodging lava pits, running from bushels of startled radishes, or stopping to pick off cabbage fleas, he would throw out his picnic rug for a snack at what was surely the same time each night.

"Yes. I can see Parsnypp from here, and I don't think the dragon would be near there. Too many parsnips in Parsnypp," Alphonse replied, setting out slices of potato loaf for the three of them with a few pickled vegetables on each. He placed another slice of loaf on top, and halved one of his mysterious cupcakes to share between he and Vrye. "Mind if we stop by? I'm almost out of pickles and Plod will have nothing to eat when they run out."

Vrye refrained from mentioning that the unicorn did not, in fact, eat anything. He simply rubbed his nose on his sandwich until he and Alphonse thought Vrye was looking the other way, then the Alchemist would snuffle it up.

"Are you sure that's wise? We've been wandering for long enough that word has surely got out about us."

"That's what the disguises are for. I told you to keep wearing it," Alphonse said. He pulled down his long, false beard so he could eat his sandwich.

Vrye had quite forgotten how handsome he was under it, and the momentary distraction almost sent him tumbling from the mountain.

Alphonse leapt up and reached a hand out to catch him, but a flail of panic ruined that perfect moment and Vrye grabbed the Alchemist by the beard instead.

"Sit down before you kill yourself," said Alphonse, frowning down his false nose. His grin was still there, but only made Vrye feel more of a buffoon.

Every romantic opportunity had gone awry, and he was tired of it. Tired of vegetables, slips, or shoddy knees from getting between he and his new beau.

"Dear Alphonse, I've some words for you," he said, using Alphonse to steady himself. "There's never been a thing I could not seduce, yet you have been truly frustrating. Here we've been travelling together for dozens of meals and near-death experiences, and within hours of our first meeting, you saw me bare as a peeled carrot by your own doing. So I do think, by now, it is only fair that I at least get to see you the same. With no silly beard or spectacles, either. If it makes you more comfortable, I'll drop my breeches with you."

He was perhaps a little too hasty in making good on that promise. Plod, despite his inanimate face, managed to look very shocked, and then Vrye learned where the small cakes were coming from.

But that was not the worst of it.

"The smell's comin' fae up 'ere, Gret!" came a coarse voice, soon accompanied by a Goblin. Then three more.

"Ooo-arrr! Nae a bad view!" they exclaimed together.

Ouuuhhhaaarrrgh, rumbled a surprised ogre, also choosing that very moment to pop out from behind a precipice. She lumbered over, plucked Vrye off the ground and slung him over her shoulder.

As he flapped about helplessly, a fierceness came over Alphonse. His grin split almost from ear to ear and his striking eyes were wild as he leapt to the rescue. The Nonsense sprouting from his head bristled as he wound a single woolly strand about his knitting needles. The alchemist stretched it out to meet a hair of the ogre's warts, then a few quick twiddles of the tips, she came unravelled just like that.

Vrye was left sprawled in an assortment of yarn, with his breeches just how he left them.

Then, to his amazement, Alphonse leant over and kissed him. Just a quick one, but it was all he could have wished for.

Alas, the reality did not quite match what the stories would later tell. Vrye's face was lost in Alphonse's false beard, and the Tyvern's nose almost cut off his breathing when it jabbed him in the throat. Vrye's own whiskers must have given him a tickle in return, for he sneezed something mighty.

So mighty, in fact, that it set off an eruption. Bless Alphonse and his catastrophic nose.

While Vrye barely found the time to hitch up his knickerbockers, struggling dreadfully with his buttons, Alphonse had managed to gather up the ogre-spools, pack up the picnic and plumped Plod's cushion ready for riding.

The goblins scampered off with one of Plod's special cakes, but a peculiar ball of flame tore through the sky and snatched it from them. It did not fall to the ground like the other molten clods that were, again, putting the travelling trio's lives in danger. Instead, it took off into the darkness.

Vrye's eyes may have deceived him, but it had a certain rattish look about it.

"Kyos?" asked Alphonse, but there was enough doubt in his voice to save him from disappointment.

"No, he isn't that impressive," Vrye muttered, stroking his chin-tuft pensively.

"I wonder what it was."

"There's no telling what sleeps in these mountains."

It was remarkable that they were not hit by a single spot of hot rock as Plod bounced down the mountain, nor while they set out across the flats.

Vrye scooted close to his travelling companion and clung to him for comfort. "In the interest of our safety and tomorrow's lunch, let's visit that village of yours and get some more parsnips, shall we? Besides, I've rather gone off the cakes."

"I was headin' that way already, ye pants-less ninny, neigh," Plod said gruffly. "And there's nothin' wrong with me cakes. They're better than what the pair o' ye plop out."

"He's not wrong there. Put your disguise back on. You, too, Plod." Alphonse wriggled from Vrye's embrace to afflict them both with his hideous spectacles. It was impossible to seduce anyone with such an unfashionable accessory.

As they trundled nearer to the colony of shrooms, nestled in a more tranquil patch of mountains, nervousness took hold of Vrye. He took the long scarf from his neck and wove it around his head and shoulders like an old biddy's shawl. Better to be thought an old dame than a Wyverk after their slight against the Lady of Darkness.

Vrye's shuffling seemed to catch Alphonse's attention. He glanced with a quizzical pinch between his brows. "Good thinking. We'll look a proper old couple with you like that. Just need to occupy a bench and grumble about the weather, and nobody will be the wiser."

"I've no clue if you're poking fun, but I lost my hat when we fell in that pit a week ago, and I can't believe a pair of glasses will do anything to disguise my horns," said Vrye, knotting the ends of his scarf to hold it in place.

"Keep thinking that and they just might surprise you. 'Tis Nonsense, after all." Alphonse often spoke in such riddles. He always encouraged Vrye's doubt instead of doing anything to address it, which was no way to treat a flighty fellow.

"Now I'm sure you're mocking me," he huffed.

"Ye do make yeself an easy victim, neigh," Plod interjected most unhelpfully.

Vrye grumbled quietly but refused to say another word with that attitude hanging about.

"We better hop off here, it'll look peculiar if we're riding Plod in the city," Alphonse said when they arrived at the first spatterings of Tyvern mushroom hovels.

Vrye did as he was told, despite wanting to argue that with all the other peculiarities, riding a unicorn would hardly be noteworthy. He also did not fancy the prospect of navigating all the winding stalks on foot.

At least they proceeded at a manageable pace. Plod had taken to wobbling along on his back legs like a very unstable fellow, and Vrye had to haul his own luggage which, in hind-sight might have had a bit more than necessary in it.

When a Tyvern came up to greet them, Vrye was certain he had seen right through the ruse.

"Good to see you again, Bruce. Been a while, but I see you haven't laid off the ol' pyes one bit," the fellow laughed and gave the unicorn a familial pat on the back. "This must be your dear ol' ma and pa. Can I give you a hand?" He put a hand on the handle of Vrye's case.

Vrye almost threw it at the fellow in relief. "Don't mind if you do, deary," he replied in his best old-dame voice.

Alphonse kicked him in the side of the leg.

"Is this a friend of yours, Bruce?" the Alchemist said in his own little-old lady voice.

"Aye, this'd be Twiggs."

"Two mas? Do beg my pardon. This case is awful heavy, you planning on staying long?" Twiggs struggled under it, then darn near collapsed when Alphonse sat his knitting bag on top of it.

"Aye, two mas. I'm a lucky lad, like they say. Twice the ma, twice the pye," Plod said, clearly choking on his need to end with a neigh.

"Don't mean to invite meself to your shelf or nothing, but I'd love to try one of your ma's famous pyes. Wouldn't mind being half as portly. My Phyllis says she likes a hefty lad, but her pyes couldn't make an orphan hungry enough to eat them."

"You're welcome to try one of mine," Alphonse replied rather darkly. There was something in the way it was said that hinted at either unsavoury consequences or unsavoury ingredients.

Vrye made a note to avoid his pyes at all costs. "Might have to ask you to call in to-morrow for your pye, deary. I wouldn't mind a lay-down," he said with an exaggerated yawn. This time he dodged Alphonse's stray legwork.

After finally winning a kiss from the fellow, Vrye was not about to let anyone get in the way of some much needed privacy for the sake of a dubiously charitable meal.

"Poor Gertroot can barely keep awake past breakfast in her ripe old age, isn't that right, Bruce?" Alphonse said with a cruel turn to his grin.

"Aye. Ma-trude is older than ancient. It's a wonder she's not turned to dust."

"Well, let me be the first to say you're very handsome for your age, madame," said Twiggs with the charm of a sea-hag.

"At least one of you has some manners," Vrye murmured with a slip of his voice.

"There's no manners in complementin' a felly's ma so brashly in front o' 'is other ma," Plod said and gave the lad a hefty thumping with his hooves that knocked him off his feet.

"It's okay, Bruce. He'll be more polite after a pye, I'm sure. You can have your nap while I feed the child, Gerty." Alphonse helped Twiggs back onto his feet and kept the lad's hand secure in the crook of his elbow.

"Didn't mean any offence by it, you're just as handsome. It's a wonder the pair of you are responsible for a face like Bruce's!"

"I see nothing wrong with Bruce's face," Alphonse said with a discouraging hiss.

"Just a joke, madame. Bruce is a sturdy lad, and aside from his short nose, he's not hideous," said Twiggs, shrinking in on himself with a weak smile. Poor lad, he was like a carrot being drawn into a parsnip nest.

"Here we are!" the alchemist announced, lifting up a trap door masquerading as a splodge on the shelf they stood on. "Be a dear and go in first." He lifted the trap and pushed Twiggs down, then pulled Vrye close and whispered "can't remember if I set any traps."

Vrye's heart leapt and he scrambled to pull young Twiggs back up, but only succeeded in falling on top of him and the luggage, mere threads from a snappy hunk of metal. Alphonse let out a long, drawn-out sigh before he joined them.

"Sit down, Gerty while Plod, Twiggs and I get the house cleaned up."

"If you don't mind, dear. I shall stay right here and wait for you to finish," Vrye replied.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Alphonse set off the trap with a prod from his knitting needle. The thing could have taken off a foot, or worse.

"I think I remember my own ma was coming to stay right about yesterday, she's bound to be here by now," said Twiggs, scrambling to get past Plod and up the ladder.

"I'll bring a pye 'round for ye tomorrow," Plod said to him.

"No need! I'll leave you and your Mas in peace," Twiggs replied and shut the trap.

"'E only likes me 'cause I'm well-stuffed, neigh," Plod scoffed and trotted off to another fungal room, back on all four of his legs again.

"Nothing sorts out unwanted guests better than an offer of pye and a bear-trap for a welcome mat," said Alphonse. He carefully extracted his knitting needles from the steel jaws of his trap.

"Who would want to trap a bear with a thing like that? They're noble beasts content to eat porridge in their cottages and picnic in the woods." Vrye said, leering at the crude device.

"Unwanted-visitor-trap doesn't sound as good," Alphonse replied. "I'll be back in a jiffy. Got five to set off in the bedroom before you're safe to move around without hurting yourself."

Off he went, and sure enough five terrifying snaps followed, then a mutter of "oops, forgot about the bucket trap" after the clank of a sixth.

Vrye got up and kept a very careful watch on where he was putting his feet as he made his way to the room. "Are you quite alri—"

Alphonse was as bare as a peeled potato. Vrye's eyes latched onto his exquisite flank, shining like silver in the light of an overhanging lantern. A perfectly pert curve between his back and his narrow thighs formed a lovely bottom.

Vrye hurried to join him in unclad revelry.

"Leave your socks on." Alphonse turned just as he started to roll them down, then walked right past him, back into the other room. "Just need my knitting bag, you get comfortable in the slumber-pod."

"If you insist." Vrye pulled aside the blankets and reclined in the up-curled cap of the large mushroom, tracing its yellow squiggles with his finger as he waited for his beau.

He could hardly wait to learn what wonders would come out of Alphonse's bag of tricks. This would be an adventure of legend. He would play the part of stricken hero, tied and whipped by his wickedly handsome adversary and forced to rely on his charms to seduce his captor and escape.

Alphonse plumped the pillows, then passed him a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn. "Can we sit and knit for a bit?" he asked.

There were no straps and no toys. Alphonse simply pulled the blanket back over Vrye and joined him under it in chastity. He had a pair of spectacles balanced on his nose, and the start of a garment between needles of his own.

"Alphonse. We are two, bare, handsome fellows upon a mushroom together," Vrye said with a stern frown and set his needles and yarn on a shelf beside the bed.

"Yes we are," Alphonse agreed.

"We should not be knitting."

"More of a crochet fan? I've got the stuff—"

"Where are your straps?"

"Roll around a bit when you sleep, do you?"

"You've unfinished business where you took my warts from, and I insist you carry on as you left me after you took them."

"I don't think I left any warts behind, or you wouldn't have been so lost for the past month."

Vrye wriggled closer, his hands gliding over the ridges of Alphonse's ribs. He took the fellow in his embrace and left nothing to interpretation.

"Oh, that's why you took your knickers off." Alphonse gasped, reclaiming his tongue from their battle. "Roll over then, I'll go get my straps, slippers and my beard."

"Just the straps will do," Vrye called after him.

Then Alphonse returned and showed him just what could be done with a pair of slippers and a beard. No tale could do justice to the deeds of the Alchemist. His skill went beyond even Vrye's for leaving a lover feeling like a bucket of mashed potatoes.

"Where in Kyos' wicked name did you learn all that?" Vrye purred against Alphonse's bony bosom. He was so enfeebled by his satisfaction that he was sure to be bedridden for a week—no straps required.

"I've never done it before. I just try things until you go oooOOOAAHoooh and don't stop until you make that weird nhhrgle sound and twitch like a stomped veggie."

"The beard and slippers were another experiment of yours?" Vrye asked. He hoped Alphonse would coax a few more nhhrgles out of him in time.

"No. I didn't know how long it would take, so I wanted to be comfortable."

"Well, my dear, sweet, Alphonse, if there's anything..." Vrye brushed the tip of his nose along the long, fine point of Alphonse's ear, "...anything at all—"

"Help me knit this cardigan," Alphonse said, reaching across Vrye to get his needles from the bed-side shelf. "My good one got all mangled when I had to pull you from the Blarganbeast in the woods so it's only fair you help me make a new one."