“W-What are you going to do to me?” the boy stuttered.

That was a good question. What was Francine going to do with him now? Father obviously wasn’t interested in her gift, but that didn’t mean that she had to give up altogether. For all she knew, Father was only putting on airs in front of the family and meant to thank her in private. He couldn’t show her his gratitude if she threw away her catch.

But what if he isn’t? That thought still lingered, as well as the bruise that had formed around her neck. There was a possibility that Father’s rejection was genuine. He certainly seemed off, but Francine blamed it on the weather. Rough winds blew loose leaves from struggling trees and a harsh chill made her raise the collar of her coat. Milky-white clouds had also spread across the sky, chasing away the warmth of the sun and casting shadows across the grassy stream’s side. Had Francine not been tasked with putting the boy back where she had found him, she would have found the nearest den, made a fire, and taken a nice, long nap, or at least until her father’s anger was quelled.

But as she glanced at the mortal, whom she had thrown to the side while she thought her next move, it appeared that she wasn’t the only one who felt winter’s effects. The season always brought the harshness and unforgiving might of nature onto its unsuspecting occupants, and if you weren’t strong enough to brave it, then it had no problem devouring you and spitting you back out until you were; that is, if you survive the ordeal. Francine had thirteen years to get accustomed to it. That was why she wore clothes, unlike the other satyrs. She understood that the best way to protect yourself from the elements was to bury yourself underneath a pair of trousers made from sheepskin, a minimum of two undershirts, and a thick jacket, preferably from the coat of an owlbear. Their dense plumage could thwart the heaviest of snowstorms, not to mention were easy to transition into a soft bed if need be.

The boy, however, didn’t know this trick. He shivered underneath his clothes, too thin for the cold, even if it was late into the season. Coupled with his harrowing experience just a few moments earlier, he looked to be on the verge of death.

Francine winced. I can’t have that. She didn’t want to kill the poor kid. All she wanted to do was scare him. Well, there was no longer a need for any of that now. She might as well get rid of the dead weight.

Unfurling her legs, Francine slipped down from the log that acted as both her seat and lookout point. With one hand, she scooped him up and took off her coat to wrap it around him with the other. Her skin crawled, both from the cold and knowing that she’ll have to clean the thing afterward, but pushed through the feeling.

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

The boy’s eyes flew across her face. His teeth chattered as he responded. “Wh-Wh-What?”

Francine rolled her eyes. “Your name. What is it?”

“T-T-T-Tito.”

“Well, Tito,” she said with a condescending echo, “don’t come back to this place ever again. Do it, and I’ll have no other choice but to…Uh…”

Francine looked around. Nearby, a fox munched on its latest meal: a mole, and a fat one, at that. She smiled. “I’ll eat you.”

For some reason, Tito didn’t respond the way that Francine expected. He didn’t pale, didn’t look away. Rather, he tilted his head in confusion, now warmed by her coat. “Why?”

Francine blinked. “What?”

“Why would you eat me?” he asked. “I didn’t do anything. You came and attacked me, remember? Shouldn’t you be the one in trouble?”

Although his question was a valid one, and it did make Francine look away in thought, that didn’t mean her response would have been just. All it did was make her question her next move even closer, and as she watched the stream slide by beside them, it came to her alongside a wicked grin.

“Fine,” she said. “Then you can go for a swim.”

She tore her cloak from across his shoulders, then flipped him, as if he were nothing but a defenseless babe. He struggled in her grasp, like a long, slippery catfish, but Francine had a vice-like grip on his ankle. She once held off a gryphon just by holding onto its neck feathers; no amount of fighting was going to break her away.

From there, she slowly approached the stream, making extra sure that each step toward the ice-cold water was agonizingly slow. She relished in the fear that rolled off the mortal in waves, the terror in his eyes when they matched gazes was almost euphoric. She could tell already that he would never even dream of leaving his home, let alone coming to her forest again. Surely once Father realized that he would thank her? Reward her, even?

But just before she could dunk him in, a loud voice cut through the trees, “Just what in Nosin's name are you doing?”

Francine whirled around, perhaps a bit too fast. In her haste, she slung Tito like a ragdoll, where her hands instinctively let him go. From the corner of her eye, she saw him land on the ground, hard, where he let out what sounded like a cross between a yelp and a sigh of relief that help had come on the way. Francine, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky.

Like many people who were given the unfortunate opportunity to have been born, Francine was not Father’s only child. He had another who was considerably older, but he didn’t take his seniority too much to heart, nor did he take it too lightly. The best and only way to describe him was that he was average in every sense of the word. He wasn’t too tall, wasn’t too thin, wasn’t too reserved, and wasn’t too boisterous. He could walk right past you, and you’d never notice. His face was normal, his hair was okay, and his horns had the right amount of point to not be much of a threat to others. But to Francine, he was the worst person imaginable, because unlike everyone else who saw her and made her want to be what they expected of her, her brother was fine with the way she was. His averageness made her be content.

And she hated it with every fiber of her being.

“Hi, Tes,” she said, with the same energy as a guilty snail.

He hurried through the bushes, like a stag climbing over an obstacle getting to the nearest bundle of clovers, where he then took her by the arm and pulled her away from Tito’s (now praying) form. “I thought you were supposed to put him back where he was supposed to be?” he asked. “Why are you now trying to drown him?”

“Does it matter?” Francine snapped back. “He’s here. I’m here. I was alone. It's just some harmless fun. What's the big deal?"

“Because your ‘fun’ is the reason why you are in trouble with Father, again.”

Francine frowned. “That’s not my fault.”

“Is it?” Tes looked down at Tito, then back at Francine, before letting her go. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Sister, you are not a child anymore. You cannot go on playing these games. One day, you must take responsibility for your actions, and the damage that they can cause.”

“Of course,” Francine agreed with a shrug. “But today isn’t that day, is it?”

Tes clenched his jaw, but Francine stood steadfast. She knew that he knew that she had the full intention of continuing on with her ways, whether he was there to witness it or otherwise. The fact that he caught her just then was only a fluke. So, what would it be? Continue down the futile path in hopes that she would learn her lesson? Or would he step away for just this moment, when no one else was looking, and follow her instead?

It was a tough decision, but that was the trick about being the youngest child. No matter what the other said or said, sooner or later, one way or another, the eldest was going to sag their shoulders, roll their eyes, and give in to their relentless spirit. So when Francine saw the defeat in Tes’s eyes, she couldn’t help but beam brighter than the summer sun.

“Come, then,” he said. “I am sure that there is a mortal camp worth watching.”

Giddy with excitement, Francine took up her cloak and followed her brother away from the stream. For all she knew, Tito’s wellbeing was now up for him to decide. But for her, all that she cared about was that for the first time in a long time, she had garnered someone’s attention. Not by filling their nest with stinky fish, or leading a hungry lion into their den with said fish. To be honest, Francine didn’t know why her brother decided to take the time to be with her. She thought that he was going to leave her be. But no matter. If he wanted to be with her, why would she say otherwise?

It wasn’t as if anyone else would do the same.