Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

see anyone else, you'll hide your wings under this shawl."
    Aeron eyed it with suspicion. "Why?"
    Tammas squeezed his arm through the shawl-thing and fixed him with the doe-eyed look. "Because people who are different aren't safe in this world. And— and I know I failed last week. And last night. But while you're here, you're my responsibility. I have to take care of you."
    Aeron snorted. "You think very much of yourself."
    "We must have that in common." A little twitch of a smile.
    In spite of himself, Aeron returned it.
    They followed the forest path until the trees began to thin and plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Aeron uncurled his feelers; wood smoke, yes, and bread, people— some magic, most not— a river somewhere nearby. "A mortal town?"
    Tammas nodded. "But we won't be going in, don't worry. Kamala takes care of my business for me." He veered off onto what looked like a deer trail, walked several yards, and then stopped, looking up.
    Aeron stopped behind him, taking in the green essence of the forest, separating one scent from another and exploring them, comparing them to plants he knew from home.
    "Flower. Cleric's staff." Tammas handed his pack to Aeron. "If you hear anyone coming, just hide behind that great oak, all right?"
    Aeron nodded. He was distracted by something in the bag. Hidden beneath layers of fabric and Tammas' herbs and compotes, but yes. Faint white flowers and a magical crackle, just as there had been underlying Tammas' evergreen-lemon the day the path between worlds had opened. Something in the bag—
    The evergreen smell peaked, filling Aeron's senses and demanding his attention. He followed it until he was looking straight upward at Tammas, who hung by one hand off a precarious branch, eyes closed, lips moving.
    Praying. When his lips stilled, Tammas opened his eyes and snatched for a long white flower. It sprouted from the tip of a vine that had crept from one tree to another, its sole flower.
    Aeron reached for the vine and the tree. The latter expressed their harmonious situation— rather than a parasite-and-host arrangement— in the simple style he'd come to expect of this forest. They were satisfied with Tammas' prayer. Vines weren't much good for talking, but Aeron exchanged a few more brief feelings with the tree as Tammas swung back to the ground, landing with surprising lightness.
    Aeron, palm still pressed to the smooth bark, fingering a vine leaf, said, "I could have flown up and got it, you know."
    Tammas flushed.
    Aeron smiled. "Your prayers are good."
    "I— they are?"
    Aeron nodded and handed off the bag. "Feel it?"
    Tammas edged nearer and reached out for the tree. His long, careful fingers fluttered over the vine's leaves before nestling between them and the trunk. He scrunched up his nose and said, "I don't feel anything."
    "Then why did you pray?" Aeron asked.
    "To say thank you. It's— it's what I do. I'm a mendicant cleric." He popped the long flower into a pocket, but kept his fingers on the tree.
    "Is— isn't it frustrating when they don't respond?"
    Tammas looked surprised. He indicated the flower, then lifted his bag. "They give me all this. How could I be frustrated?"
    A good answer. Aeron placed his hand over Tammas' and pressed it to the tree trunk. He asked the tree if it would show Tammas how it felt, and it agreed. Aeron stirred up his own magic for a push in the right direction, channeling it through Tammas' hand. An unexpected surge of power overcame his senses briefly before Aeron managed to shake it off and focus. It left his skin tingling and his mind whirring.
    Tammas took a long, deep breath and swayed on his feet, eyes half-closed. When the tree responded with good feelings, simpler even than before for the benefit of the unpracticed mortal, his eyes flew wide open, pupils shrinking to pinpoints. "Oh gods. Oh gods. Was— was that what I think it was?"
    So much fear in this peculiar little man. Aeron patted his hand. "Maybe you can do it yourself, if you practice. Your magic is stronger than I thought, just unrefined. It's like trying to pick a flower with two boulders instead of these pretty fingers." He traced the tips of his own over Tammas' knuckles before pulling away.
    "Your magic smells like berry wine," Tammas said, eyes still wide. "I feel drunk just being near it."
    "I've never heard wine before. My sister says it's like strawberries, though. She says that's why I can't resist them." An emptiness bloomed in his middle. No