There were a few places in the Wild Woods where a person could go if they truly wanted to be alone, but they were few and far between. There were the Whitecaps, a collection of either really small mountains or grown-up hills that lied between the forest itself and the mountain range that lined its northern borders. It was the perfect place for anyone who fancied a snowball fight with themselves, if they weren’t afraid of being eaten by several gryphon clans. There was also Merwater Lake, named after the naiads that lived underneath its murky depths. It was a nice place, where one could skip stones or converse with the beings who caught them, oftentimes with their heads. On one hand, when the sky was as gray as it was that day, and the water was cold and choppy, not many people came to pay it a visit. But on the other, when the clouds parted, as they were beginning to do, and the wind shook away their icy sting and became warm and soft, then entire flocks of satyrs would come to its shores.

Francine wasn’t in the mood to make snowmen or apologize for her terrible throwing skills. She didn’t want to sit back and relax, as she would at both places. Maybe if she had gone to Father first rather than dilly-dallying, she would be tired. But there was an energy that flowed through her, like raw lightning and crackling thunder, that begged to be spent. It made her fingers twitch and her toes curl, and she knew that if she didn’t let it out, then something terrible was going to happen, most likely a pulled muscle. Luckily for her, there was such a place where she could exert all of her pent-up frustration, and that was called Flintback Falls.

Its name didn’t come without reason. It was one of the few waterfalls that cut through Gray Run’s path. Large, gray obelisks marked either side from where the great river swept over a towering cliff at the heart of the forest. Etched in its stone was a warning for visitors to be careful of the sharp rocks that lied haphazardly around its base. On a good day, one could see them through the water. But due to the melting snow, the river had swelled, dragging away great swaths of ice floes and mixing it together in its current. It clawed at its sandy banks, threatening to spill, but always retreating before it could. But while the water certainly looked treacherous, not everyone had the same thought. Young satyrs alike traipsed up and down the great waterfall, whether it was jumping to and fro among the rocks, or seeing who could wrestle the other into the water first. It was a place full of danger, where anything could happen. In such a state of constant uncertainty, it was the one place where Francine could truly be herself.

There were a few faces that she instantly recognized, as well as made her mood significantly lift. There was Agrys, the smallest child of the family, who played in the safety of the shallows alongside the other young children. He knew little due to his young age, and because of his lack of understanding, he was the perfect target for pranks that he would forget about soon after. It might appear cruel, but they were satyrs, after all. Where was fun found other than within the harming of others?

Then there were Francine’s twin cousins, Nestoras and Nikolaus, who, not surprisingly, chose to play closer to the dangerous rapids by hopping from its small and slippery rocks, seeing who would fall into the water first. “Danger” might as well have been their middle names, as there never was a day when they weren’t up to some sort of silly trick. In fact, sometimes, she could pin the blame of her plot going wrong on them and nobody would think none the wiser. But although they were wonderful buddies in crime, they weren’t her competition. That would be Markos, a fiend in everything but name.

He was everything that Francine swore she would never be. Proud like a rooster, haughty as an eagle, and owner of the kind of grin that could strip bark off of a spruce tree. It was as if he was the antithesis of her being. Whatever she did, he had to do twice over. If she was strong, he had to be stronger. If she was fast, he had to be quicker. It was a constant competition with him, but Francine would have ignored him if he didn’t rub it in her face every time she saw him. That day, he was in full gear, stretched out across a hot stone slab while flexing his muscles at anyone who came to gawk. If his head got any bigger, it would make boulders jealous.

With that in mind, there were a few times when Francine did feed into his ego. In winter, when mortals were hard to come by and everyone else in the family was busy sleeping, she could let out her energy by tussling with her cousin. It wasn’t like Markos to say no to a challenge, even if he, too, was a bit tired and his moves were sluggish. However, winter was beginning to melt, and spring was close on their heels. With the changing season came newfound vigoration that could be felt all around, and after that morning’s events, Francine needed an outlet.

“G’morning, everyone,” she greeted them. “How’s everybody doing?”

A few heads popped up, but nobody was as quick to their feet besides the twins. When she pushed through the treeline, they clambered over each other to get to the bank, practically tripping over their hooves to be the first one to wrap her in a giant hug.

“Took you long enough,” Nikolaus said, picking a twig from his tousled, auburn hair. “We thought Father was going to eat you for sure.”

His brother pushed him aside. “I did not think so,” Nestoras said. “I knew that you could get yourself out of anything. It was Niko that was scared.”

“Was not!”

“Was, too!”

“Guys, guys, calm down,” Francine said as she stepped between the two. Although she would have wanted to see them fight, she was there to do some fighting of her own, and her gaze immediately fell on that of Markos, who, in that moment, locked eyes with her.

Perfect.

“Good morn, cousin,” she greeted him with a wave.

Markos didn’t lift a hand. His green eyes narrowed into slits and he slid from atop his rock to stand, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“Why are you not dead?” he asked.

To him, it might have been a genuine question, but the way that it was delivered and the words that were used asked a different question. Why was she not dead, yet? By the way that the other children leaned in, swiveling their pointed ears in her direction, they were wondering the same thing. Well, everyone except poor, baby Agrys. He was still transfixed by the minnows who nipped at his soft, little hooves.

But Francine didn’t shrink under their eyes. It wasn’t like she was on trial again. They were curious children, struck by fascination and awe that she had braved their cold and menacing leader and survived. At least, that was what they thought had happened. She couldn’t possibly tell them that she was buying herself as much time as she could. They would turn on her faster than she could blink, and it would be her in the same position as Agrys. The mere thought of Nest and Niko hounding her as the subject of their heinous acts made a chill go down her spine, and it wasn’t because they splashed her when they came out of the water.

“Father and I had a nice, long talk,” she replied, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her trousers. The easiest way to tell if a person was lying was through their hands, after all, and hers were all over the place. “He agreed that the mortals are becoming more open with their blatant trespassing and I did the right thing by teaching him a lesson.”

Marco scoffed. “Of course, he did.”

“You don’t believe me?” she asked.

“Father would never agree with you on the color of the sky, let alone the dealings of mortals. You must have ants in your head if you expect us to believe that.”

Francine stepped closer, her eyes glinting against the fresh sunlight. “Are you challenging my honor, cousin? Or do I have to show you my integrity myself?”