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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐏𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐄. From above, the village is surrounded by cancerous blight-forests of blackened rot and decay. For miles, the earth remains wrecked by the ailment, and now, Elowen understands why Morrow's so desperate to find a way to end its never-ending spread. It's infecting everything that expels life and light, and it's ironic that Morrow, the reaper of death with cursed wings, is the one trying stop it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow lands at the centre of the village square. A large fountain carved out of old granite no longer spouts water, but remains a monument of a city that once thrived. Cobblestone houses coated in a mixture of rotting ivy and ashen green vines surround the square, some still alive, most dead. She tries to envision what the village looked like when it was bustling with fae, but now, it's nothing but a lost memory of the past. Some roofs have caved in from rattling storms, others dust covered with shattered stained glass windows.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎If Thorn is here, it's hard to understand why he'd want to stay. With the bligbt everywhere, it'd be incredibly dangerous to maintain distance from it. She crosses her fingers that the man they seek is still alive, still sane when the disease seems to deteriorate all logic.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow flicks his attention behind his shoulder, and to her surprise, extends his ring-clad hand in her direction for her to take.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her brows raise in shock. "Aren't you a gentleman?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He scowls, but a faint rose develops on his cheeks as he turns and gazes onward, his hand still outstretched. "Take it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen lets her fingers weave between his own, his rings cool against her delicate skin. For a moment, time pauses as glowing meadowed hues strike her own. His wolf satisfies itself knowing that he holds the palm of his fated mate. She takes note of the newfound solace weaving its way betwixt their auras, an invisible thread that strengthens the ropes that bind them. Still, the holding of her hand is the briefest of indulgences that Morrow can have. There won't be a mate in his future, solely for the fact that she's not supposed to exist in his realms.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow guides her through the village square, observing the abandoned structures for signs of Thorn. Every so often, he squeezes her palm in reassurance.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What if he's not here?" Elowen breathes, knowing her thoughts of doubt only trinkle down to his own.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then we go back to Tabrien."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And my magic?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We'll figure it out," he growls, giving her hand a light tug as if to pull her closer to him. He mutters the next bit under his breath, perhaps to himself to remember as a promise. "I'll make sure of it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The eerie cloud that hovers over the village whispers of the dangers hidden within its dark shadows, of a beast that lurks and punishes its trespassers. The feeling causes goosebumps to rise on Elowen's skin and pique her sparking nerves. She reaches down her tether to Morrow to see if he feels the same, but instead, eases when he sends a low coarse growl to hum in her mind. Still, she keeps digging within his thoughts, until—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He stops walking, and Elowen collides into his midnight feathered wings. Those same wings expand as he releases her palm from his clutch, only to take the hilt of a fae sword strapped to his hip instead. Meadowed hues snap to the left, then right, in all directions.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen huddles close behind him. "Morrow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He growls on sharp canines, a warning as he snaps his attention over towards a bleak courtyard of a small home with blighted hedges and shrubbery. Iron rod gates wrap around the property, rusted hinges creaking as a ghostly breeze runs through. A baby blue door remains the centre of his attention, one that seems so vibrant and alive compared to the rest of the town. Petite wildflowers grow between the pathway near that blue door, as well as lush vibrant vines weaving around regal stone columns. It's an oddity in a world scorched by blight.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow steps towards the gates, leaving Elowen in the middle of the street.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow," she says a little louder, a little sterner than before.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The name hardly leaves her lips when a body appears from behind him out of the shadows and dust, colliding with Morrow and knocking him off balance.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The alpha skids across the stone road, a bleeding gash forming on his forearm. Blood drips down his skin, mixing with the soil below. He growls in rage, pushing himself back to his feet. He draws his fae sword, nearly pouncing like the wolf he is and raising it before his offender. Just as the gleaming blade appears to strike the intruder's porcelain skin, Morrow is tossed back to the stone road by a wave of magic. Black wings splay beneath him, yet he slowly lifts his head, rising once more. At least he wasn't thrown headfirst into the blight shrubs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow regrips the hilt of his sword, wolfish growls escaping him instead of profuse curses. She doesn't have to search far to hear his inner monologue, all of them words she never wants to repeat.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Before him stands a man, one with skin as white as snow and weathered silver irises that remind Elowen of wintertime snow. His hair appears a rusty brown, almost reddish in tone, with a beard that covers most of his sharp fae features. He has lanky limbs, but gods, he's toned, perhaps stronger than Morrow. He wields no weapon, opting to use his magic that he possesses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This must be who they're looking for.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn. Who else could it be?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎From his introduction, it's clear he doesn't want visitors.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn lifts a fist as he stomps towards Morrow, raising it just as Morrow's own knuckles collide with Thorn's cheekbone.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fuck," the fae hisses, only igniting a fire in those grey hues.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The moment of hesitation lets Morrow strike once more. The alpha flies from the road, tackling the fae down beneath his body and holding him in a headlock. The fae winces, but Thorn's surprisingly more powerful and manages to roll their bodies. The fae takes the dominant position, pinning Morrow deeper into the soil as he flails his limbs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The two are going to destroy themselves to smithereens if she doesn't do something fast.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's palm reaches to the pendant around her neck, the compass given to her by Oleander. It's a token to show Thorn as proof that they aren't sent as enemies.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Stop!" she cries, hoping that the two men will end their quarrel as she pulls it from around her neck.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They don't.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In fact, Morrow throws another punch to Thorn's face, opting now for physical bruises rather than metal weaponry. Thorn falters in his advances, allowing Morrow to slip his way from beneath his body and take a hold of the fae's wrists.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎What did she even expect them to do?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow pushes his cheek down to the pebbled road, growling with such vigour, but it's only overrun by the laughter of the fae.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Alpha's blood runs thick in you, doesn't it?" Thorn chides, a sly tone lacing his words. "Almost thought you were Kodan."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Where had Elowen heard that name before?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow shoves the man's cheek deeper into the soil. "Don't say that name to me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's not a face I'd thought I'd see again, but here you are!" the fae spits. "And what are those? Wings?" More laughter proceeds. "Oh, Kodan must've fucked up somewhere."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow strengthens his hold on the fae, irritation and infuriation radiating from his end of the tether. She attempts to reach into his thoughts, only to have her creature get shocked by him as if his mind were forged of lightning.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Are you Thorn?" the alpha grits.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ah, so you know my name."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow cocks his head over to Elowen, who holds Oleander's compass within her clutch. It's in that moment, Thorn's matured grey eyes meet Elowen's silver, a storm cloud against a midsummer's haze. His features soften as he gazes upon her, and the world drawls to a distant mirage. But seconds keep passing, and the softness that once described the fae turns into a brute scowl.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With another surge of his magic, he manages to shove Morrow from atop him and onto the stone as if he weighed nothing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"If you're anything like Kodan, then there shouldn't be a reason you seek me out," the fae sits up, dusting the soil from his trousers. "I despise the were, especially that ass of a man."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan. She remembers where she recalled that name, for it was written in Lililya's anecdotes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan Killian was Morrow's father.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"This isn't about my fucking father," Morrow sneers, taking another look over at Elowen holding Oleander's compass. "It's about her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn stands up, intrigued by the golden compass twinkling betwixt her nimble fingers. Once again, his grey irises storm over as if lost in a vast memory, recalling moments of the past like stories on a bookshelf. As if the metal would scorch him, he patiently takes the compass back within his hold, not once staring away from the metal arrows beneath the glass casing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oleander gave this to us," Elowen stammers, her voice faltering when she wishes it wouldn't. "He sent us here because he believes you're the one who can give me answers."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ollie?" The fae looks away. "He knows better than to send a were in my direction."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But he believes—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I heard you," the wrinkles forming at the corner of Thorn's eyes wince. "What answers do you think I can give you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen gulps. Looking at the man now, she's not sure how he can be someone who she trusts. There's a menacing spark to his demeanour, one of cold calculation and ruthless meticulation. Her inner creature wisps around the fae, hoping that her sixth sense can give her more insight on the man, but the conclusions still come out with more questions without answers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oleander thought you might be able to help me figure out my magic," she begins. "It's... it's not there, but it should be. My father was half fae, and it's known that anyone that has fae blood should also hold magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn studies her, then dismisses her with nothing more than a displeased huff. "You're asking the wrong man. I can't help you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You never even considered it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He takes another long stare at her, leaning closer to her features. A beat passes, then another, and another.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You must be someone rather special if Ollie sent you this way. There's no magic in you, you say?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I can feel it stirring in my blood," Elowen says, never once breaking his gaze, "so something must be there. I'm just unsure how to unlock it, or maybe I'm just imagining it—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His blunt voice cuts her off. "You're imagining it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But I don't think I am," Elowen pleads, almost begging him to give her another moment of his time. It's clear he wants to dismiss her. "Asphodel said she felt something within me, and I don't think she's wrong about this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn nods, then tilts his head over to Morrow. The alpha still recovers from his battle with the fae man. Blood drips down the alpha's ring-clad fingers from the gash on his skin, a wound in need of cleaning.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn snarls at the sight. "And I would assume the alpha here has other tasks he wishes to prioritise? Some far from this place?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's growl silences the fae. "The sparrow doesn't leave my sight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Sparrow, how cute," Thorn mutters under his breath before looking towards the home with the blue entryway dazzled in tiny flowers. "Well, perhaps I shouldn't dismiss you like this. You already made the fucking brainless decision to find me, so I'll consider showing you some hospitality."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn turns towards the iron rod gate of the house, marching between the two towards the blue door. This must be his home, his hideaway in the town. He clutches the compass within his palms, knuckles clenching until they turn white, not taking his focus away from Oleander's gift.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen follows the fae as he wanders towards the front entrance, her silver eyes two moons of wonder. "So you'll help?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Oh, I never said that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen frowns. "I may not appear to be much, but Oleander said—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ollie this, Ollie that," Thorn grumbles as he stops mid-step. "You're a stranger to me, girl, and your choice of guardian isn't exactly my cup of tea. If you can get rid of the were, I might consider helping you with that magic of yours."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's wings bristle in irritation. Thorn's dislike for the were-wyng is apparent, a hatred rooted in the past due to Morrow's father.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow stays," Elowen straightens her back, only to have Morrow's shadow tower from behind her. The next she feels is his warm palm settle on the square of her back, an almost possessive instinct. "He won't get in the way and become an issue."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn looks at her and grunts. "You're quite brave for opposing me like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't have a choice."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn hums, looking back at his blue door. He ponders the request once more, and she knows his first instinct is to say 'no'. If two strange wyng landed on your doorstep, wouldn't you? But Elowen senses that Oleander knows something that she needs to find out, and the answers lie with this one man: Thorn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Seven days," Thorn mumbles. "I'll train you for that long, then you and the were leave. If the were gets in my way, you leave. He crosses me, you leave. If he breathes too loudly or snores in his sleep, you leave. If he even looks at me with any hint of—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow growls. "I get it. Just help her out before I snap your neck."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn crooks a brow. "Oh?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Kindly snap your neck," he clarifies.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn nods his head towards the front entryway, an indication to follow. Without looking behind her to Morrow, she enters into the abode, but even just one step inside stirs something in her blood.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's certainly magic in her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The question is: can Thorn coax it out?

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sorry if this chapter is kind of short! i just felt so bad for depriving you all of Sparrow content and decided to post this far! besides, we've now been properly introduced to Thorn. what do you think of him so far? what do you think conspired between Thorn and Morrow's father?

i'm in a bit of a writing slump, but i'll do my best to climb out of it and continue to provide you with more sparrow content.

ivy <3