The earth around them stirred—not just the surface, but something deeper. Poppies trembled as soil cracked and heaved. Mounds rose like breathing giants, then split open, revealing forms not quite animal and not quite statue.

  One rose in the shape of a bear, moss draped from its quartz-bright eyes. Another, broad as a boar and laced with iron-veined stone, snorted dust as it pushed its tusks through the roots.

  “Fairy told me that Dorian needs to tell the Winter Queen to strike now, before it’s too late,” Rowan blurted.

  Gretta didn’t answer. She glanced from the awakening earth to Meg, then down at Dorian. Her hand found the root of her magic and pulled hard. “Lathiel.”

  Golden warmth surged through her arm into the elf’s chest. His eyes snapped wide—and for once, he didn’t argue.

  Meg shifted her stance, sword raised, attention split between the rising creatures and the elf.

  “He’s ready for a good toss,” Gretta muttered.

  Meg didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the elf by the scruff and belt like a sack of grain, spun once, and hurled him over the nearest mound. He hit hard, rolled, and kept rolling.

  “Get to the Winter Queen!” Rowan called after him.

  Dorian didn’t reply. He scrambled to his feet and bolted, vanishing into the poppies as he sprinted toward the treeline.

  The field was no longer just a field. More shapes were rising—stone-boned lions with root-tangled manes, owls carved from weathered wood and shale, even another bear built of packed earth and glittering quartz.

  None of them moved. But Gretta could feel their attention pressing down, heavy as stone.

  “Think he’ll follow through?” Rowan asked.

  “Nowhere in Summer is safe,” she replied. “And he saw what we did. What else can he do?”

  The bear-shaped Wyrdling shifted, and its quartz-crystal eyes caught the light. Its voice, when it came, sounded like stone breaking underground.

  “Who stands above the Wyrd?”

  Gretta straightened. “I’m Nancy Dew of the Green Rook.”

  Rowan, bare-chested and half-shadowed by the tendrils writhing across his skin, folded his arms. “I’m nobody.”

  The owl tilted its head toward Meg, moss and shale shedding from its weathered wings. “You are known.”

  “Wyrdlings,” Meg said. “You remember me.”

  The bear made a deep, grinding sound—half laugh, half warning. “We do, Highness. But we bow to no crown here.”

  Gretta blinked. “Highness?” she muttered.

  Meg shrugged, sword still ready. “Wouldn’t expect it. We’re not here to rule. And we’re not looking for a fight—unless they want one.”

  Gretta scanned the field. The shifting gravel wasn’t just motion. It was language—layered, low, and old as the hills. The Wyrdlings were listening.

  The boar-shaped Wyrdling pawed at the earth, snorting dust. “What of the elf you hurled into the Wastelands?”

  Gretta narrowed her eyes. “The what?”

  “The place we leave our waste,” rumbled the bear. “You flung him into our dung. Why shouldn’t we turn him into compost?”

  Meg stepped forward, voice level. “Fairy is under siege. I wouldn’t mind seeing him rot either—but Fairy herself wants him in the Winter Queen’s court.”

  Behind them, the owl’s head rotated in a slow, deliberate arc. More Wyrdlings rose from the soil—some silent, others murmuring like wind through gravel.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Rowan leaned toward Gretta. “Did you know that was their toilet?”

  “Just luck,” Meg muttered.

  Gretta shook her head. “That’s the problem with fate,” she said under her breath. “No one ever aims.”

  The lion Wyrdling stretched its limbs, stone joints cracking. “We know. The Wyrd has whispered of rot beneath the Seasons.”

  “Then you’ll help?” Rowan asked.

  The earth shuddered. Dozens of Wyrdlings murmured at once—a grinding chorus of discontent. Pebbles danced at Gretta’s feet.

  The bear’s voice cut through the unrest. “We are not servants. Not soldiers. Not pawns of crowns or courts.”

  “Fair enough,” Gretta said, steady. “But will you at least stay out of our way?”

  The murmuring softened, but didn’t stop.

  The owl spoke again, voice deep and slow. “The wild fae remain wild. We are their shield, not their leash. We will not hinder you—but we will not follow.”

  A crack split the earth like a bone giving way.

  The boar snorted. “The elf may pass. In return, he will not set foot in the Wild again for a hundred moons.”

  Gretta didn’t miss the weight of it. The Wild was the only way from Winter back into Summer. They weren’t just barring Dorian from their land—they were cutting off his exit.

  Dorian was going to be on ice for a while.

  “And what would you ask of us,” Meg said carefully, “for safe passage into the Summer Queen’s court?”

  The murmuring returned, low and layered. The lion flexed its claws. The bear huffed, sending a puff of dust into the air.

  “This is the Wild,” said the owl. “We are a place between. To carry you deep into the Queen’s realm would require her magic—or her consent.”

  Rowan slipped off his snakeskin pack and opened it casually, like he was offering snacks instead of weapons. Inside lay a ruby pulsing faintly, a golden bracelet etched with sigils, and a silver ring slick with shifting light.

  “Would these help?”

  The earth bucked beneath their feet. Hills reared up twenty feet high—tidal waves of soil and root, poised to crash.

  The boar lunged forward, tusks shattering a nearby stone. “Those are Essence Seeds. They are the Queen’s teeth. With them, she can bite into the Wild and claim what is not hers.”

  The bear growled, voice low and final. “They must be destroyed.”

  Gretta stepped between Rowan and the rising earth, just in case the Wyrdlings decided to make a point with a landslide. “Wait. If the Seeds can’t get us all the way in… could they at least get us closer?”

  The owl’s feathers rustled. “No.”

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  The murmuring resumed—less furious now, more like a room full of old gods reconsidering a move.

  The lion rumbled, “Not all the way.”

  The bear added, “But closer than if we sent you back to your tavern.”

  Gretta glanced at Meg, then Rowan. They both shrugged at the same time.

  Typical.

  Rowan looked between the artifacts and the Wyrdlings. “If I hand them over—will the Queen be able to control you?”

  The bear’s voice was low and steady. “Only if we choose to be hers. And we won’t.”

  “Not the point,” Gretta said. “If you drop them, or pass them off wrong, she might grab the first poor fool who touches them. That’s how proxies work. One crack, and she takes root.”

  The owl blinked once. “We are not fools. If you hand them directly, no claim will take.”

  The boar snorted. “Who is Rowan?”

  Gretta thumbed toward him without looking. “That one.”

  “That is Nobody,” the owl said, completely deadpan.

  Meg let out a tired breath. “Can you take them without losing yourselves?”

  “Yes,” said the lion, voice like iron in deep earth.

  The owl gave a long gravelly sigh. “You ruin all our fun, Anathina. He literally called himself Nobody. It was perfect.”

  “Apologies, honored Wyrdlings,” Gretta said. “We’ve got Fairy to save, a demon to imprison, and I haven’t had coffee in twenty-five years.”

  “What is a coffee?” asked the fox, its voice dry as leaves.

  “A bitter drink from Earth,” Meg said. “Humans are obsessed with it.”

  The murmuring returned—not hostile, just… curious.

  “A trade,” the owl intoned.

  “Bring us coffee,” said the bear. “And in return, we will carry you as deep as we dare into the Queen’s lands. You will receive the Wyrd’s blessing.”

  Gretta looked at Meg. “Your Highness—acceptable?” Her voice carried that dry edge again, halfway between sarcasm and survival mode.

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Not like we’re in a position to haggle.”

  Gretta stepped forward. “If we survive, and I find a way back to Earth—and then back here again—you’ll have your coffee. But you should know: there’s a demon lord ahead. Odds aren’t great. And I’ve never pulled off a round trip before.”

  The hills stilled. The poppies stopped swaying. Even the air felt like it was waiting.

  “You have a deal,” the bear said.

  Rowan stepped forward, holding the pack like it might bite. The boar approached, tusks faintly glowing. It reached in—

  And the Essence Seeds dissolved the moment they touched its skin. Dust and light scattered into the air. Blue and green magic surged outward in a ripple that washed over the land.

  The wild brightened. Flowers opened. And somewhere beneath the earth, a long-held breath was finally let go.