(Content Warning: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of child abuse, dissociation and self-injurious behavior due to trauma.)


Calum opened his eyes, and saw he was still neatly entwined around Edwin's still-sleeping form. One of his hands curled around Edwin's back and the other tucked below his arm. Calum couldn't feel his fingers in that arm, but it was worth it. Edwin's face was red and puffy, but he was so peaceful in his sleep. Calum's heart ached, he wished they could stay that calm and content forever. He hoped something he'd done helped; the thought eased the pressure on his chest.

He pressed his forehead into Edwin's, and listened to him breathe.

"I'm awake." He whispered, snapping Calum back to attention.

"Oh," Calum pulled away from him.

"Wait—" The look on Edwin's face was agony.

Calum froze, half-draped in Edwin's blankets. 

"I know I should apologize for everything that happened last night...but I don't remember any of it. I don't remember drinking, or anything we...did. I feel awful about it." Edwin's face was a deep, beet red and he looked ready to cry again.

Calum frowned, "drink? We only had tea earlier."

"Then I don't know, I'm sorry anyway. I probably made you do it. Why in the world would you be comfortable with someone like me." Edwin's hand pressed up against his face. "You can leave if you want. I understand if you never want to see me again."

"What?"

"I probably ruined our friendship."

"What?"

"I've never kissed or done anything before, that probably made it worse."

Calum was growing more confused. "Hang on—"

"You're allowed to say it sucked; I mean I can't even remember—"

Calum touched their arm gently, "Edwin."

His gaze snapped towards Calum, eyes wide and full of horrific realization like a cornered animal. Calum watched him take in the information, the ache of concern became a familiar burn. Their hand moved from their face to forcibly pressed up against their mouth.

"We didn't 'do' anything last night," Calum blushed, choosing not to think about the implications. "I was...awake... and then you were...you were crying and...reliving memories. I think? I just—I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I guess I fell asleep."

Edwin bent over, face in his cupped hands. "I'm so stupid. I woke up with this awful headache and you were here and I couldn't remember and I made the assumption—oh gods and then I tried to apologize—"

"Do you still have a headache?" Calum sat up. "I'll make you breakfast, and ginger tea."

Edwin stared at him incredulously. "You're sure nothing happened?"

Calum bit his lip, "were you...hoping something would?"

They stared at him, eyes wide, face burning, seemingly unable to answer. The smile died in Calum's throat. Was even this tainted by horrible thoughts put into his mind by other people? Had they not left a single part of him untouched? Unbloodied? His whole body felt hot with a sudden need for...vengeance. Blood roared in his ears, twisting and crackling like fire. He was burning.

"Is it okay if I call you Edwin?" Calum sat back down on the edge on Edwin's bed, choking down the fire in his blood.

The feathers along his spine rose and fluffed up. "I...I don't know. I don't know how I possibly could have told you."

"You told me the rules. Then eventually...told me you wanted to be a person again. You wanted to be Edwin again."

Edwin peeked at him from in-between his fingers. "Eventually?"

Calum played with the edge of the blanket. "I think you were reliving some memories. It was like sleep talking, but you were awake. You just weren't...present. You never explained what was happening, just mistook me for your mum or Holly a few times. I think once it was your dad. You talked about the High Welf a few times, and didn't really have anything nice to say."

He couldn't see Edwin's face anymore. It was hidden by his hand and long dark hair. Calum gave them some space. He took ginger root from the panty and sliced it into half a dozen discs, and poured water into the kettle. The ginger sat in a small net hanging from string that came out the lid of the kettle. The tangy aroma drifted lazily into the room.

Edwin was silent during this whole ordeal, occasionally glancing up at Calum and rubbing his face.

"I better not have any more headaches," they remarked, upon seeing Calum put the remaining root away.

"There's still plenty," he assured. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded, the action was weak, and stood up with the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. "There's dried vegetable chips hanging near the fire."

"Excellent. I'll see what I can cook up."

Luckily Calum had watched his friend cook enough to be able to repeat it. Edwin watched him too, trying to do the same in reverse. Then the tea was done and the two of them ate in silence. The birds had begun to chirp outside.

"I think I do want to be Edwin again." He said quietly.

"It suits you."

Edwin blushed. "Ever since Holly found me, I've been working on undoing what was done to me. I'd been considering telling you for a while...I suppose you want to know everything now, don't you?" The feathers along his spine rose.

Calum stirred the contents of his plate, decently fried veggies. "I think if you want to tell me, I'll certainly be here to listen."

"Okay," Edwin's fingers clutched the edge of his blanket.

"Edwin." With each time he said it, the easier it was for him to hear it. "Only if you want to."

"I do, I desperately do. I hate walking on glass and eggshells every time it comes up. These last few weeks I felt like I was going to explode...I guess I did. It's just, as much as I hate feeling that way, it's still going to be hard." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I really can't thank you enough for putting up with it all."

"You say it like you're intolerable."

"I can be."

"Yeah, only when you're trying to pull me out of bed in the morning to go fly when the weather's cold enough to freeze my wings off. None of—this—is your fault."

Edwin's eyes were wide, he took a long sip of his tea. "Okay."

Calum folded his hands on his lap.

Their eyes drifted towards the door; their hands twirled a lengthy lock of raven-black hair around. "I was thirteen when I had my burning. I was terrified. I tried to hide it, but I passed out at school and my parents found out. I didn't know what was happening, only that I was sick and that some of my classmates had been pulled out when they got sick and had never come back. M-my parents...stopped talking to me. When my feathers grew in, I pulled them all out. I thought it would make them happy again." His eyes were clear pools on the forest floor, full of sky and gathering moisture. "Then I was handed off to the High Welf. There were no goodbyes. If they m-missed me, I never found out."

Their fingers picked at the skin around their fingernails. They were already covered in half-healed scabs. Calum, drawn by instinct alone, reached out and scooped them up in his own. Edwin's hands were long and skinnier than his, their skin was darker, colder. Calum realized then how much he loved holding them, and gave Edwin a gentle squeeze. Their eyelids fluttered.

"There's a specific part of the curse that forbids welves from harming the deadwings, but centuries of purging later the High Welves still figured out how to break them. She sh-shaved...shaved all my hair off." His voice broke. "Long hair in the colony is a symbol of great pride, I hadn't touched mine since I was born. I loved—" he stopped, biting into his lip. "I'm growing it back out. Anyway, there were two other kids there with me. She'd built this...prison...to keep the children in. We were allowed to roam free; the only way out was to fly. We had our wings regularly clipped, if we hadn't already pulled them clean. Every time she walked into the room, we had to repeat the rules, or else she'd starve us or—" He stopped, and made a stifled choking sound.

Calum got up and sat next to him, not letting go of his hand. "It's okay."

Edwin was crying now. "She'd m-make us attack each other or...kill small animals. I can't—don't want to talk about that. The point was she couldn't hurt us herself, so we'd have to do it ourselves. She preyed on how easy is was for us the start feather pulling, and how hard it is to stop. I hate her. I hate her so much."

Any words he could think of got stuck in Calum's throat. He held onto Edwin's hand, they clutched him like he was a life source.

"There's this ceremony called The Exiling that happens twice a year. The Black Hunt reapers are there at Woden's Circle, with their dogs. She's there too, she's got this speech where she goes on about how the gods have given us a second chance, but the reapers will catch us eventually. They always do. One day I'll be brough back to the circle, and I'll finally die like I should have when I first entered the world." He shivered. "There's a phrase in welven that I c-can't repeat, it's said when a baby is stillborn and basically means, be happy, the gods have spared you a deadwing child. The horns blow, and we're given an hour head start to run, because otherwise the reapers have no fun."

His eyes had gone slightly glassy, "we tried to stick together at first...no, no, I ca—can't do that. Calum?"

Memories of what Calum realized was his own Exiling flashed before him. The scythe Tarif held, the crazed look in the High Welf's eyes. "Right here. You don't have to continue."

"It's okay, that was the worst of it. The Crows always watch The Exiling from a distance, once it's safe they go in and fly the kids back to Fardown. Sometimes the reapers are so close behind them that it can take months, but at Fardown they can live normal lives, and if they want, join back up with the Crows when they're old enough. Holly had been on leave when I met her. I had been living there for a few years, but because I had such a hard time integrating socially, she offered to take me up to the Crow's nest with her, like a vacation. I've been living here ever since."

Edwin had gradually leaned into Calum's shoulder until he was nestled like a squirrel against Calum's chest. For a boy who was so tall, he somehow managed to shrink small enough for Calum to wrap his arms around him. That he did, completely speechless, something akin to white-hot rage boiled just under the surface of his skin. 

Calum's voice was raw from all the emotion coursing through him. "Adults who justify hurting children are evil."

Edwin nodded weakly. "Thank you for listening. I feel better, but I think I need...a break. I think I'll lay back down. I'm sorry, you probably want to ask questions."

"Feel free. You don't owe me anything, and I want you to take it easy. I'll handle the rest of today's chores."

He gave Calum a soft smile.

When Edwin untangled himself from Calum's embrace he felt the cold air replace the space he'd once been. He watched as Edwin shambled back his bed, circled twice, then laid down, swathed in blanket. Only his wings were visible, stretched out across the floor.

Calum finished his tea, rubbed his hands all over his face, and realized now he'd have to come to terms with what just happened.

His axe coursed through the wood like lightning, and two halves of a log fell the sides of the stump. Calum picked them up and tossed into his ever-growing pile of firewood. Edwin was sleeping through the morning, and Calum was enjoying the time to himself.

He liked holding their hand.

Thunk.

He wanted to be close to them, to hold them, to even...

Thunk.

The only thing that gave away their home as a home and not just another dead tree, was the doors floating hundreds of feet off the ground, the outhouse, currently unused smokehouse-turned greenhouse on the other side of the trunk, and the small pile of firewood piled up in between. That's where Calum's head was at, a piled-up mound of chopped logs, stiff, cold, and yearning to warm the body of another.

He figured he should wait to bring this up with Edwin. He was obviously exhausted. That didn't mean Calum couldn't stop thinking about the look on his face when Calum had asked if they had wanted something to happen last night. Could he be thinking about these things as well?

The snow on the ground had started to pile up, it wasn't as wet and mushy as it used to be. Calum left the squirrels alone today, and took a shovel to the base of an oak tree and dug around for forgotten acorns for two hours. The animals were not scared of him anymore, Calum figured his intimidating human scent had changed some in the last few months. A squirrel with a bright red bushy tail came scuttling down the truck as he sat back to look at what he'd gathered.

"You want some Redtail?" He held out an acorn.

To his surprise, the squirrel took it right out of his hand. The squirrels that lived near the Black Hunt campus were constantly pelted with small rocks from slingshots. They didn't trust men. Calum realized how far he'd been removed from that now.

Redtail sat down in the dirt where Calum dug, and started eating.

"When I get back, I'll grind these up into flour. I know a lad who's good at making biscuits. I'll ask him to save you one."

Redtail did not seem to care about biscuits, but he was very gracious for the acorn.

"You got a missus back home Redtail?" Calum asked, figuring he might as well catch his breath now. "You don't happen to be out here, wondering what to do about that sort of thing as well?"

The squirrel scurried back up the tree once he realized Calum was offering no more acorns. He sighed, watching it disappear into a knot in the wood. That was silly. Edwin was not his lady-friend. That was the problem. He was someone Calum genuinely cared about, and didn't want to hurt. The feeling was fierce, it burned from deep within his gut and bone. It was a waking firestorm every time Edwin laughed and it consumed him.

He knew if Tarif was here, he'd be angry. He'd hit Calum, he'd yell at him. He'd make him feel awful and worthless for all he'd done, for turning soft, for not stopping this somehow, for not using Edwin as a weapon. But there was no monster here, and Calum had grown fond of the softness. That was it. He'd become so fond of things, of Edwin's hands in his own, the shine of sun upon his iridescent feathers, the way he smiled at Calum. Gods, enough it was enough to knock him flat on his back.

Boys, oh how they left him breathless.

There's always nuts, corns, leaves and seeds in the woods no matter what time of year it was. Medicinal, bitter black walnuts were left untouched by herbivores. The pines constantly shed nuts. There are always wintergreen berries, the rare rose hip. Today Calum was especially luckily and began his long walk home laden with acorns, dock and goosefoot seeds, and several stalks and leaves of the latter.

He thought about Edwin's face when they'd see it.

Calum spotted Edwin sitting on the deck, cup in hand, waiting for him to return. Calum struggled to fly up to his branch, but it was easier every day.

"I found goosefoot." He said, his tongue felt thick and slow, seeing him again.

Edwin's eyes widened and his smile was so very worth it. "You did? That's wonderful."

"I thought you might like it. It seems silly to think now, I was only gone for a few hours, but I missed you." He stepped onto the deck and set down his bags.

Calum thought Edwin might look away, or cover his face, but he didn't this time. His lip trembled, and Calum suppressed the immediate urge to... what? He didn't know.

"Then I must be silly for feeling the same."

"Extremely. I also have acorns, for biscuits. I may have promised a squirrel I'd bring him one. How are you feeling?"

Edwin laughed, Calum fell apart. He wanted to step closer to him. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to keep each other safe from the cold, dark world. He desperately, frantically didn't want to hurt him. 

"Better, normal even, like a great weight was lifted off me."

"Edwin." Calum reached for their hand.

His long fingers intwined with Calum like a well-knitted blanket. "Say it again. I've been thinking about it, I think I like it when you say my name."

"Edwin, I—I want to—"

Edwin cut him off by leaning forward and pressing his face into Calum's. Where it fit neatly and perfectly and as they kissed, shattered Calum's brain in a million glittering pieces. Edwin's ears brushed against the snow-covered outline of Calum's hood, Calum felt his hand reach around Edwin's waist, the itch in them vanished. Shudders ran down his spine and every one of his feathers stood on end. The sun set and the world could have burned from the orange beauty of it, nothing could have broken them apart.