7: In Which Twig Fixes Some Shutters

Autumn gave its final gasp and winter rushed in to fill the space it left. The village Darkrai’s hostess called home lived up to its name even in the cooling months, with a group of floette keeping the deciduous trees in Verdant Village full of green leaves and bountiful flowers, though perpetuating berry production seemed too difficult to achieve. He was impressed regardless. It seemed Twig was as well. 

He would often find her pausing on the road back to her home from the market, staring up at the archway of trees that formed a vibrant emerald corridor for a long stretch of the journey. Snow weighed heavily on the branches, creating a blanketed atmosphere that muffled every sound as stray flakes drifted down from overhead. It was an awe-inspiring sight, beautiful beyond words, and he was grateful for the frequent stops whenever they passed through that area. He couldn’t say he knew what went through her head whenever she stopped mid-stride to gaze overhead with wide eyes and a near reverent aura, but he felt like he was of a similar mind. 

Since he had unintentionally learned things she clearly hoped to keep unsaid, Twig had closed herself off even more than before. Darkrai was surprised by how thoroughly she managed to clam up despite baring her soul to him just a few nights ago. She had explained a wild tale of time travel, self-sacrifice, and a bond between her and her partner that moved Legends to divine intervention— all of this in a blatant effort to distract from a more mundane story of a child preyed upon by their caretaker— and now she barely spoke a word to him most days. She spent most of her time chopping firewood with a chipped, dull axe and staring at the same page in a journal that’s spine was warped with how many papers had been torn out from it. He caught glimpses of the page on several occasions, despite his efforts to uphold her privacy, and found it filled with symbols he didn’t recognize. Perhaps that odd language she spoke in during that nightmarish memory? Whatever it was, she clearly didn’t want him to pry, and he would respect her wishes. 

Her neighbors were surprisingly warm in their welcome of him. He had come to expect dispassionate greetings and harsh rejections in his wanderings, but the gallade, gardevoir, and little ralts living next door were ceaselessly kind. They constantly strove to incorporate Twig into their lives despite the woman’s efforts to keep them at arm’s length, and had begun involving Darkrai in their attempts at fostering companionship as well. Gardevoir in particular was especially persistent, and Ralts was a clumsy echo of her mother’s earnestness as well. 

It was taking him some time to get used to responding to the name Ark. He was improving, but it felt like a clumsy sort of progress— like the name didn’t quite fit, or wasn’t exactly his. There was also his hesitancy to offer his given name in conversation. Perhaps there was some memory he had lost in which he came to be familiar enough with others to flaunt his given name, but it was hard to believe. Even Ralts eventually brazenly introducing herself as Lyra ruffled him, though it was easier to stomach than hearing his name come from one so young. Twig herself referred to him by his species— which should have made the least sense when she insisted everyone referred to him as Ark before his memory loss— and this made the contrast in name usage more blatant. 

Twig hadn’t spoken to him whatsoever that morning, insistently avoiding eye contact and sequestering herself away in the kitchen for much of the early hours. It was past noon when she broke the silence. “I’m going to do some work on the house’s exterior. There’s a couple shutters that keep squeaking when they open, and the roof needs some work before it snows for real.” 

That sounded enough like an invitation for his tastes. He set aside his tambour and joined her outside as she did her work, the flame at the end of her tail flickering a frosty lavender when he rose to follow. 

It was painfully obvious as he watched her work that Twig had no idea how to perform home repairs— but Darkrai wasn’t exactly skilled in the area either, and could offer no assistance with any amount of confidence. He remained handy, so that if she needed someone to fetch a tool he would be around to do it. He could provide that help at the very least, and it was pleasant to repay the kindness he’d been so generously provided— even if it was only to a pitiful degree, it was a start, and he eagerly took the opportunity to begin paying back his steep debt to the charmeleon.

He wondered how she withstood the cold weather. He wasn’t one who often found himself bothered by the chill of winter, even in the coldest months, but he suspected that the ability was afforded to him by his status as a Legend. Twig was mortal, and suspect to the elements. Admittedly, fire-types were better prepared for chilly weather than someone of grass-type or bug-type descent, but she seemed to struggle to keep herself warm enough with her inherent gift with heat. She shivered at almost all times, with the tremors almost seeming to intensify when indoors. It was remarkably ironic for one of her typing to be so easy to send shuddering at what seemed phantom breezes that even he, for all his sensitivity to the world around them, couldn’t detect.

That ralts girl made her way down the side of the road, struggling through a drift that came up to her knees as she dragged a small sled behind her. She waved excitedly at the two of them, and Darkrai followed suit when Twig returned to the gesture. The girl then wandered off to enjoy the gentle slopes that her hillside home provided alongside the snow. He knew some time must have passed since his last recollection of a calendar date, but it was jarring to see a child so enthusiastic in how she greeted her seniors. Perhaps it was a matter of location, and that was simply how children were raised in Verdant Village? The idea seemed unlikely, as he had encountered other youth outside the village who held similar attitudes. Times must have changed. That was the most sensible theory he could produce. 

Ah. Speaking of children, Lyra was hastening over to where he stood below Twig as she worked on the roof.

“Hey! Ark, my sled got stuck in a ginormous bush. I can’t get it out. Can you help me?”

Again, it was unsettling to be spoken to in such a way by a child. Not unpleasant, but definitely jarring. He agreed, noting the way Twig tensed overhead. Lyra led him out a ways over to a small thicket that certainly must seem insurmountable to one so small. She then threw little fists out in glee when he retrieved the sled. It was never comfortable to hover more than a few feet above a surface, but it was bearable when he knew it would be only for a moment, and Lyra’s joyous enthusiasm at her sled’s return certainly didn’t serve to sour the sensation further. She rushed off to resume her self-imposed challenge to sled faster than her personal best (which she insisted was less than a second to go from a large hill off in the distance to the roadside— he found that hard to believe, but didn’t voice his misgivings) and he made his way back to his post beneath where Twig worked.

He came within range of hearing and found her muttering to herself.

It was a panicked whisper— more a series of gasps than anything close to controlled speech— and she kept her eyes fixed on where Lyra must have vanished from view as she recited a terrified mantra. “It’s okay, it’s okay— this isn’t an Azurill kind of thing, it’s fine— stop freaking out, breathe, it’s fine…” Her recitation trailed off as he closed a certain distance, and it occurred to him that she hadn’t thought he could hear her before he reached the range in which a mortal could typically discern speech. Unfortunate. He wasn’t sure he wanted to inform her of this misunderstanding when she was so clearly perturbed by something unknown.

“Are you well?” He asked.

“Peachy!” she gritted out in a saccharine tone.

“You do not seem to feel so.”

“I’m fine. Mind handing me those nails?”

He did so. She didn’t speak another word all evening.

***

Seeing Darkrai disappear from view with Lyra earlier had set some sort of alarm system off in Twig’s head, and she was struggling to come down from the spiking panic that gripped her in that moment. Memories of duking it out with Drowzee after a terrified and sobbing Azurill ran off and hid stung anew. She had made sure to check on the ralts as soon as an opportunity arose that she was sure wouldn’t clue Darkrai in to her nervousness, and Lyra was just as chipper as ever— and made sure to show off how fast she could sled to Twig before she left. Lyra was fine. Azurill was fine. Twig was fine. So if her heart could stop pounding like everyone she knew was in mortal danger, she’d really appreciate it.

The worsening weather meant that Twig was stuck inside most days. She didn’t have the excuse of going to the market daily when most stalls only opened up once a week, and they all did so in unison. She also didn’t want to go out on expeditions with Darkrai, because there was no way in heck that she was going to be able to work safely with a distraction like that trailing behind her at all times… also, judging by how she’d found him in Mount Travail, he wouldn’t exactly be an asset in a fight. So she was stuck at home, alone with Darkrai, who was making greater efforts to converse than ever before. He asked her about the one book she had in her entire home— a dense tome on memory and amnesia— and asked if she had ever made progress recovering memories beyond what she had told him. And what he had seen himself, she lamented inwardly, before insisting that nope, absolutely nothing had ever come back to her, and she honestly thinks she remembered that stuff from the get go, why did he ask? 

She needed someone to talk to— really talk to— about everything. About her roommate situation, about the return of her memories, about how tired and overwhelmed she was by literally everything in her life at the moment. She couldn’t bear to reveal to Kip what she’d been up to, the thought of opening up to Grovyle or Celebi left her shaking at how selfish she would certainly be to burden them with her baggage, and she wasn’t exactly raring to explain to Gallade or Gardevoir how she would be erased from all of existence right now if it weren’t for Dialga bringing her back as an “oops, my bad” apology gift for Kip so that she could get into the current mess of her life. She didn’t have anyone who she could open up to. She didn’t have anyone she could spill her thoughts to. She had no one who she could stand to taint their opinion of her with burdensome rambling. She sniffled as silently as she could as she traced the letters of Kip’s signature on his most recent letter with a claw. She had no one who she could burden with her lamentations.

No one, except maybe…

Oh.

She scrubbed her eyes, wiping away any hint of silently shed tears, and stood up from the breakfast nook in the kitchen. “Hey, Darkrai, we’re gonna head out on a trip for a few days.”