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"You know, that's not very polite." Newt glanced down at the petite girl walking beside him, his focus split between her and the uneven trail beneath his feet, careful not to trip over any rocks or roots.

It was late afternoon, and the pair were finally on their way to return the little Bowtruckle to his home to the three on the hill. Only ten more minutes until they reached the summit of the hill, and the wind was starting to pick up, causing stray strands of Davina's hair to dance in the breeze. Newt, usually a bit absent-minded, caught himself glancing at her more than once, perhaps wondering what she meant by her comment.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Davina smiled slightly and looked over at their little green companion, who was clinging to Newt's shoulder with one tiny hand wrapped around the rope of his coat. The Bowtruckle's eyes were wide with curiosity, enjoying the wind on his face, as if he were part of the scene itself.

"Every time we talk about him," she said, nodding toward the Bowtruckle, "we refer to him as 'it.' I don't think that's very kind."

Newt's lips curled into a small, thoughtful smile. He pondered for a moment, trying to come up with a name for the creature, but was interrupted when the Bowtruckle suddenly pointed toward Davina, as though urging her to continue the conversation.

"Maybe you should name him," Newt suggested, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I mean, he practically found you first." He chuckled, recalling their odd but endearing encounter just a day ago.

Davina looked up at him, a faint smile playing on her lips as memories of the last twenty-four hours flooded her mind. "He did open my father's case with ease..." She hesitated for a moment, deep in thought, before her eyes lit up. "What about... Pickett?"

She glanced down at the Bowtruckle, who seemed to listen intently to the conversation. At the sound of the name, the creature's eyes brightened, and he tilted his head in acknowledgment.

Newt raised an eyebrow, grinning at the little creature. "Pickett, eh?" He glanced back at the Bowtruckle, who was now smiling—well, as much as a Bowtruckle could.

"Do you like that name?" Newt asked, giving the creature a sideways look. Pickett nodded enthusiastically, as if to confirm it.

"Looks like he does." Newt chuckled, watching as Pickett then pointed at Davina, clearly wanting to be closer to her.

Davina smiled warmly and scooped up the little Bowtruckle, letting him crawl into her pocket with only his tiny head peeking out. "Do you think he's cold?" she asked, her voice full of concern as she glanced down at the creature nestled in her coat.

Newt thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. "I don't think so. Bowtruckles are tree-dwellers. They're used to the elements, even in bad weather." He nodded reassuringly, though a hint of concern remained in Davina's eyes.

They walked a few more steps until they reached the top of the hill, where Pickett's home—a knotted tree—loomed just ahead. But instead of climbing out of her pocket, Pickett only burrowed deeper inside.

"That's odd," Davina muttered, frowning as she stopped and reached into her pocket. This time, she felt the familiar sharp sting in her palm, like a tiny bite. She quickly pulled her hand back and found a small drop of blood trickling from a minuscule cut.

"Hey..." she said quietly, startled.

Newt observed her, his brow furrowing as he realized what had happened.

"Maybe he doesn't want to go home." His voice was thoughtful, as he tried to understand Pickett's behavior.

At his words, Pickett poked his head out of Davina's pocket, looking up at the two of them with hopeful eyes. He seemed to understand their conversation more than they realized.

Davina sighed, a mix of sadness and worry clouding her expression. "Newt, we can't take him with us." Her voice trembled slightly. "He's already caused so much trouble in just one day. What if we get caught next time? My father's not a fool; he'll figure it out."

Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and Newt could see the inner turmoil she was going through. He took a step closer, his gaze softening as he gently reached up to wipe a tear that had escaped her eye.

"What if he's changed?" Newt said quietly, his voice full of care. "He seems to understand us. If he really wants to come with us..." He paused, glancing at Pickett, who was now peering out of Davina's pocket, his eyes wide with earnestness. "Then he needs to learn to listen and stop causing trouble." He spoke as if scolding a child, but there was a twinkle of warmth in his eyes.

Davina's lips curled into a smile, despite the weight of the situation. Pickett, as if understanding Newt's words, gave what could only be described as a human-like thumbs-up.

Newt laughed softly, nodding at the little creature. "See? He's already learning."

Davina chuckled too, the warmth of the moment settling over them both. Even in the face of uncertainty, it seemed there was a tiny spark of hope.

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Davina glanced at Newt, her voice laced with uncertainty. "Do you still want to stay a bit longer?"

Newt hesitated, then gave a small nod, his gaze drifting to the expansive, tranquil setting around them. "We could... I mean, we did walk all this way."

He sank into the soft grass beside her, careful not to jostle Pickett, the small Bowtruckle, perched on his shoulder. The creature shifted slightly, looking up at Davina with its curious eyes.

As Newt sat there, he couldn't help but sneak a glance at Davina. There was something enchanting about her—her deep focus, the way the evening light cast a soft glow over her features. She seemed lost in thought, and then, suddenly, an idea sparked in her eyes.

Without warning, she turned to Newt, her fingers fidgeting nervously. "Do you think I could draw him?" she asked, nodding toward Pickett, who was now carefully perched on Newt's shoulder, watching the world with rapt attention.

Newt blinked in surprise, then smiled gently. "I-I think he'd love that."

With a soft smile of her own, Davina reached into her bag, pulling out a worn sketchbook and a set of pencils. Pickett, seeming to sense the attention, climbed down to the grass, standing still as if awaiting his moment to pose.

Davina settled the sketchbook onto her lap and began sketching with delicate precision. Newt watched, mesmerized, as she outlined the Bowtruckle with effortless grace. Pickett, ever the performer, struck a playful pose, making Davina giggle.

Newt's heart swelled with warmth as he watched the two of them—Davina, so absorbed in her art, and Pickett, so animated in his little performance. Her brow furrowed in concentration, a pencil tucked behind her ear, the evening sun casting a golden glow across her face.

For a long moment, he simply watched her, captivated. She looked... beautiful.

When she finally finished, she looked up at him, eyes bright with anticipation. "What do you think?" she asked, holding out the sketchbook.

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Newt's breath caught in his throat as he took the sketchbook from her. His fingers gently traced the perfect lines of Pickett's drawing. "This... it's really beautiful, Vina," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, his cheeks flushed as he realized she had caught him staring.

Davina smiled, the warmth in her expression matching the soft glow of the setting sun. "Thanks," she said, her voice light and grateful.

Davina fumbled with her words, her cheeks turning pink. "You can keep it, I mean... only if you want to. You don't have to if you don't want to..." She trailed off, hoping her awkward rambling hadn't made things uncomfortable.

Newt chuckled softly, meeting her eyes with a warm smile. "I would love to," he said, his voice reassuring, and the way his words landed made Davina's smile brighten instantly.

She carefully tore the page from the sketchbook, her fingers gentle to avoid tearing it. Handing it to Newt, she looked at him one last time before letting go.

Newt took the drawing with equal care, folding it neatly and sliding it into his pocket. He stood up, offering her his hand. "Shall we?" he asked, his tone light and easy.

Davina hesitated for a moment before smiling, taking his hand with a thankful squeeze. Pickett, never one to miss out, scurried up Newt's arm and onto his shoulder, clearly not wanting to be left behind.

As they stood together, the moment felt warm, easy, like a quiet promise of more shared adventures ahead.

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𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Yay a new chapter. I hope you guys are still okay with reading about their past. I really wanted to capture their history together, but let me know if it gets to boring.

Larah :)