As the trio approached the black truck, Motus could not stem the wandering of his thoughts and asked himself questions as they walked. ‘Did these people truly have his best interest at heart? Where were they taking him? Did they save him or did he jump from the pot to the oven?’ These thoughts flew rapidly around Motus’s mind. Beads of sweat ran down the raven-haired boy’s face, lightly dripping when Wade’s comforting hand gently came down onto his shoulder and brought Motus from his spiraling thoughts.

  “Alright, Kid, here’s the deal—” Wade paused, as if giving Motus a moment to warm up to what he would be saying next, or maybe he was just building suspense. “—You’re not human.”

  The younger of the two boys blinked. He stared in abject confusion at the impish grin that spread across Wade’s face. The forest seemed to get just a bit greener around them as the older boy laughed.

  “Well, I uh—but you already said—” Motus stumbled over his words before being cut off by a still grinning Wade.

  “I already said that, yeah, I know.” His laugh tickled Motus’s ears; it was a nice sound the boy noticed, one he quite enjoyed. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he heard someone laugh—really, truly laugh—like Wade was now.

  “I’m expandin’ on it, just wait a sec.” The boy chuckled lightly, a light fluttering sound left over from his initial laugh.

  Wade reached his right hand out, stretching it, palm facing the sky as if he were reaching out to Motus. Before long, the glow that was slowly becoming familiar to Motus returned to Wade’s eyes. Guided by that bright, almost neon glow, several branches reached down to Wade, producing bright red apples that landed in his lap.

  “Everyone on this truck, from you and Zemora to me and the others up front who you haven’t met yet, is a Falem,” Wade said, as if that word should have meant something now that he had said it again.

  Zemora scoffed—a quiet, scathing sound—at the brown-haired boy. She pointed her jade-colored eyes at the two and gifted Motus with quite possibly the least interested expression Motus had ever seen. Intent on getting this over with before it could drag on further, or Wade kept dancing around the concept.

  “One of your parents is a god or goddess. Yes, they’re real, just not the ones you’re probably thinking of.” She said, her explanation much like her expression, was dry, clipped, as if she would rather be anywhere else.

  Motus grimaced at her attitude and shrank away from the idea of asking any other questions. He simply didn’t need to know that badly. If it was really important, he could always learn it later, right? The boy balked at the notion, but her reaction didn’t seem to perturb Wade in the slightest. He continued as if unbothered by the auburn-haired girl.

  “No, sure Zemora, steal my thunder, see if I care.” He said in faux anger, his easygoing smile never leaving his face. The brown-haired boy brought an apple to his mouth with a loud, crisp crunch and chewed lightly before he continued.

  “Uhh—” Wade paused, floundering, trying to orient himself now that Zemora had stolen a sizable portion of his explanation. “—Well, since you’re Falem, you should have a…”

  Wade trailed off, making a noncommittal gesture with his free hand, a lazy half-twirl to signify…something. Motus found himself confused as to what that something could be.

  “You know what I’m talking about.” The boy insisted, staring into Motus’s golden eyes. “Looks sorta like a tattoo? ‘Cept it’s been there for as long as you can remember, but you don’t remember getting it?”

  Wade set his apple down and pulled up his sleeves to reveal black markings coating his forearms. The markings were intricate, starting at his wrists, they wove and snaked around his arms like thorn-laden vines. As his eyes began to brighten, so too did his markings, the once-black vines suddenly an unnaturally vibrant green.

  They swayed and shifted, crawling further up his arms, wriggling as if alive, seemingly at random. With a wave of the boy’s right hand, the trees that the vehicle approached simply moved out of the truck’s path, as if he willed them to. The glow of his forest-green eyes brightened with every tree that moved. To Motus, it seemed as easy for Wade as breathing; the boy didn’t seem remotely troubled, moving entire trees out of their path. The truck was traversing a heavily wooded area, and there was no path; however, Motus was struggling to continue to believe that.

  “Zemora’s markings are pretty well hidden, too, show ‘em Mora,” Wade said, his amusement as clear as the mirth sparkling in his eyes.

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  The girl in question rolled her eyes at the boy’s antics, but she made no move to admonish him. Zemora instead reached up to grasp her shirt’s high collar before firmly tugging it down, revealing black tattoo-like markings lining her throat.

  These markings were reminiscent of four large arrowheads that trailed up her throat as if chasing one another. The tips of the arrows pointed upward, stopping right before they began to encroach upon her chin. Zemora’s mark was exposed for no more than a moment before her collar was righted.

  Wade once again moved his wrist in a half-twirl-like motion, his vine-like markings shifting about due to the gesture. His easy-going grin was ever-present, even as truly monstrous trees were shunted from their path. Motus wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before now; the closer they got to wherever they were taking him, the larger the trees became.

  Their coloring was odd as well; the leaves were a yellowing orange in the smaller trees, but a bright, almost luminescent gold in the larger ones. They shone in the dimming light of the late evening, glimmering like jewels. Motus was roused from his awed musings by the sound of Wade’s voice.

  “See? We’ve all got ‘em, what about yours?” Wade said. His tone was light, jubilant. Yet his gaze already trailed across the hints of what looked like ink across the back of Motus’s hands. Still, Wade would rather hear it from Motus himself.

  “Uh, well, I—my—my mark’s—” Motus stammered, tripping over his words once again as he verbally backpedaled.

  The boy shrank away, his back firmly pressed to the cool plastic of the truck. He held his arms close to himself, suddenly all too aware of the ‘family’ of bruises and scars that littered his arms and torso. Wade’s smile slipped away, and in its place, a slight frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “Hey man, if you don’t wanna talk about it, I won’t force you,” Wade whispered.

  Gone from his voice was the almost musical fancy Motus had felt earlier. It was replaced with somber, sympathetic undertones. The older of the two boys placed a comforting hand on the other’s back. Motus flinched at the sudden contact, but through a careful gritting of his teeth, did not shy away from it.

  “I-It’s okay, I—” Motus paused, steeling his resolve with several quick and quiet breaths. “—I can show you, I don’t mind. Just don’t laugh?”

  “Course, I wouldn’t laugh at you if you weren’t laughin’ too.”

  Motus nodded, choosing to trust this stranger he had met barely two hours ago. Why he felt so compelled to trust Wade Motus couldn’t answer; it didn’t make much sense to him either. There was simply something about him, something that practically screamed ‘I’m here to help’ or ‘I mean no harm.’ Motus wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it made him feel safe, and so with that feeling as his guiding compass, Motus took a leap of faith.

  The boy pulled his shirt and hoodie up to his neck in one quick motion, and in another motion, just as fluid as the first, he turned to expose his back to Wade and Zemora. A large, solid black line trailed the length of his spine, ending in a large circle at the base of his neck. The trail broke into two equally large lines between his shoulders that trailed to thinner lines along the back of his arms as well. They flared into circles that covered the back of his hands and knuckles, as well as his shoulders. Each joint was a black circle, and every limb a dark line.

  “It keeps going, they’re on my legs too,” Motus added meekly

  Wade squinted at the boy, as if picking him apart with his eyes. A few moments passed, with Motus squirming under Wade’s gaze, before the brown-haired Falem grinned brightly at Motus.

  “That’s pretty cool, man. I wish I could guess who your parent is based on your mark,” Wade said with a disappointed downturn of his lips. “It’s this game we—mostly me—like to play. Sometimes it’s pretty easy, like mine.”

  Wade gestured to his vine-like markings before lazily pointing to his red-haired partner. Zemora seemed not to notice the attention directed to her, staring off into the blurring foliage, almost bored, sharp wind blowing through her fire-colored hair.

  “Zemora’s mark was a pain to try and figure out, but I got it…eventually,” Wade said, moving another tree from their path. This tree was far larger than any others they had come across before, golden leaves shining in the now darkened night.

  “Is that how you find out? You guess and hope you’re right?” Motus asked

  “Well, there’s another way, that one’s easier though, so it’s way less fun,” Wade replied, almost waving the notion off before putting a finger to his chin.

  Motus could almost physically see it, the moment that the light bulb went off in Wade’s head. It was as if he watched his idea form in real time, his glowing forest-green eyes widened, and then a truly mischievous smile spread across his face. The look on Wade’s face told Motus that Wade knew something he did not.

  “Motus, what’s your full name?” Wade asked, mischief shining in his neon forest colored eyes.

  “Motus Lakir, why?” He answered, more than slightly confused.

  The boisterous laugh that spilled from Wade’s mouth in response did nothing to alleviate Motus’s confusion. Instead, the raven-haired boy felt his confusion and general unease begin to grow. As he fixed his shirt and jacket, his golden eyes looked towards Zemora, as if she would be able to bring Wade’s nonsensical nature into a new and hopefully more easily understood light.

  Motus found himself disappointed, as Zemora’s attention was instead directed to some of the most beautiful golden gates Motus had ever seen. They were formed from several interlocking golden hexagons that seemed both dense and hollow at the same time. Looking at them for too long gave the newly minted Falem a headache.

  “What—what happened to those trees?” Motus found himself asking, before realizing just who he had asked. To his surprise, there was no berating comment coming his way, only a disgruntled huff.

  “Those are our markers to head home…” Zemora paused, trailing off before glancing back towards Motus as she climbed out of the now-parked truck. “…Since you can see them, that means we didn’t waste our time coming for you, great.”