The Nettle was waiting for them when the Sentinel broke the surface of the lake, the Sunfish close behind. As soon as the Sentinel saw the mouse, they spat the scale from their beak with all the force they could muster without thinking. It flew through the bright morning air like a coin before landing at the Nettle’s folded legs, skittering over the pebbles there for a moment with an almost musical cadence. The Nettle sighed. A light breeze shifted restlessly over their headscarf.

“You’re the Nettle,” the Sentinel declared in a hissing voice that even a goose would envy. They could hear the Sunfish behind them, lapping gently so he could remain above the water. Their own small talons clenched the pebbles near the shore to keep balance in a gentle tide.

“You’re not wrong,” admitted the Nettle, who looked impassively at the Sentinel, “but that’s not a name I would have chosen.”

There was a gentle press at the Sentinel’s shoulder, and they felt more than heard a faint whisper against the side of their brown head. “The lance.”

The Sentinel immediately glanced wildly around for Thorn, and saw it resting exactly where they had left it at sundown. Their gaze flicked fearfully to the Nettle, sure the mouse would seize it now that both of them were within reach. The latter, however, was still reposed on the shore, paws resting easily on their thighs as though there was nothing in the world to interrupt the peace of morning.

“Nettle,” the Sunfish said, voice quivering like a windblown flag, “please, don’t hurt the Sentinel. I gave you my scale, you promised no harm would come to them.”

“I remember our bargain,” the Nettle replied, face contorting ever so slightly. A nebulous expression passed over them. “I will not hurt our dear Sentinel — I healed them, after all, didn’t I, Sunfish?”

“You will not hurt the Sunfish, either,” said the Sentinel in a low voice. They moved farther towards the end of the water, their cloak heavy on their shoulders, hood draped over their head.

The Nettle still didn’t move, other than to tilt their head downward. “I will not.”

The Sentinel paused. “Then why are you here? Why did you do—” they gestured to the lake, the Sunfish, the scale amid the downy-gray pebbles, “—all of this? Why? You want something more?” They took a shuddering, furious breath before something occurred to them. The Nettle waited, eyeing them cautiously. “And why did you bother to make a deal with the Sunfish instead of killing him then, hm?” the Sentinel asked bitterly, eyes glinting. “Had you lodged your lance so deeply in my chest that you couldn’t prise it out and finish the job?”

The Nettle said nothing, but pleated their headscarf in their nimble paws. The paws of a magician, but also a warrior, the Sentinel now realized. Mental strength but also physical prowess.

“And why didn’t you know then that they wanted something more from this?” the Sentinel asked, this time speaking to the Sunfish, the soaked folds of their cloak tugging uncomfortably at their feathers as they turned their head to him. The Sunfish raised his gauzy fins defensively and backed slightly away.

“Look, I didn’t know what was going on!” he protested shrilly. “I just knew you were bleeding out, alright, and then this mouse showed up even though they wanted to hurt me I suppose, and then they healed you, and I had a voice all of a sudden, and we had just met—”

The Nettle stood, quelling the Sunfish’s voice at once, like sand on flame. They stepped forward, and the Sentinel immediately and thoughtlessly tensed. Apparently privy to this, the Nettle halted and raised their paws slightly.

“I said,” they whispered, “I wouldn’t hurt either of you.” If the Sentinel hadn’t battle-ready blood rushing furiously in their ears, they would have interpreted the voice as gentle. Almost kind. The mouse sighed, whiskers thrumming softly as they closed their heavily-lashed eyes. “You know I have magic, yes?”

“Yes,” both the Sentinel and the Sunfish responded in collusion.

“I—” the Nettle faltered, unsure for the first time since the Sentinel had known them, “I had a vision. I have visions sometimes, you know, it’s a magician thing, for whatever reason.” They laughed hollowly. “I prophesied that...a young bird would fall in love with a fish who lived in this lake.”

There was silence. The Sentinel for their part, wilted with embarrassment despite the circumstances, not daring to look at the Sunfish beside them. The Nettle opened their paws helplessly, shivering slightly.

“I wanted to do what I could, do something about it. There are few things I understand about this world, but the bonds of love are something I know enough about to try and stop them, in the case of you two.” They smiled sadly. “A bird and a fish.” Their voice fell and flopped against the shore like its own little minnow.

“You wanted to keep us from meeting,” the Sentinel surmised, still bitter.

“Yes, Sentinel,” said the Nettle. “I aimed my lance between you. I’ve lived in this world for so long,” they continued, raising their arms against the brazen sky and looking up at cirrus clouds, the sleeves of their dress opening around their arms like wings. “I should have known better than to do something to change it. I was weary, and fed up, and visions are so common for me that I wanted to prove one wrong for once and save both of you from its promise.” They crumpled slightly, arms falling limply to their sides. They lowered their head once more.

“I won’t feel sorry for you,” the Sentinel said slowly. The Sunfish shifted uncomfortably in the water beside them.

“Yes, you could have stopped that from happening without scaring us to death, almost literally in the Sentinel’s case,” the Sunfish agreed. “You rightly traumatized us both. Sent me into hiding, tricked this bird into thinking their only purpose in life was to protect this lake from you.”

The Nettled covered their face, claws digging there slightly. “I wouldn’t expect you to pity me at all,” they said. It sounded genuine enough. “But a bird and a fish — two such disparate worlds falling into each other. And then you swallowed their blood, Sunfish.” They giggled, still in a far-from-happy way. “Oh, I would think it a cruel fate if it hadn’t been for your singing. You didn’t suffer being between as much as I’d feared.” They paused, bending to lower themselves upon the shore. The Sentinel watched a tear slip past their fingers, still bracketed above their mouth. “But I know I didn’t stop anything. Here you two are, before me, helplessly between worlds, both of you.”

“That’s why you wanted one of my scales,” the Sunfish said quietly. “So there was a way the Sentinel could find me some day?”

The Nettle nodded limply. “It was the very least I could do, after what I’d already done,” they said. They took a shuddering inhale. “I’m so sorry.”

Another bout of silence swept over them all like the current sweeping ticklishly over the Sentinel’s feet. The Sentinel drew a breath and tilted their head upwards slightly. “I was so young,” they said, before correcting themselves. “We were so young, Nettle. And I won’t speak for the Sunfish,” they turned to him, and the latter opened his beautiful lips slightly, “but I’d wager that neither of us are truly in love at present.”

The Sunfish closed their mouth around a fledgling smile. The Nettle lowered their paws to reveal puffy eyes and tear-clumped eyelashes, obviously confused.

The Sentinel rallied themselves for a moment, then continued. “We met so briefly. And due to your intervention, we sunk into our roles of protecting each other. But we barely know each other even now, or ourselves.”

The Nettle’s eyes widened, a petal of hope unfurling within them. The Sunfish leaned affably against the Sentinel’s shoulder.

“If you would have asked me then,” the Sunfish said, “if I was in love with you — and no one did, but I as much as said it then anyway — I would have said ‘yes.’ But you’re right; I know now, given all of our missteps, that I really don’t know enough for such a deep feeling.” His mouth twitched. “No offense.”

The Sentinel laughed easily at the humor of it all, and the sound rang around them all like the Sunfish’s song had only hours before. “No offense taken, Sunfish,” they giggled.

Then something miraculous happened. The Sentinel continued laughing, and the Sunfish merged his own blood-borne voice, and then even the Nettle joined in, their voice slightly hoarse from tears.

Eventually, that day’s sun rose a little more and the laughter settled into stillness. The Sentinel released their wing over the Sunfish, then clambered, still grinning, from the water to join the Nettle. The Nettle looked weepily at them, and bowed their shrouded head, gesturing to Thorn. The Sentinel considered the lance for a moment, sobering just a little bit, and stepped over to pick it up. Their dripping midnight cloak wobbled around them stiffly, and they turned Thorn over in their wings, brow creased. Then, with a flourish of decision, their back straightened. They drew back their wing, as far as it would go, and threw the lance into the lake. It landed with a satisfying splash far from the shore and bobbed there like the last round of a song’s lingering chorus. It then fell beneath the waves.

The Sentinel inhaled shakily as they felt a part of what had been their identity for so long slip away. Their scar panged a little. Their means of protecting, fighting, defending — it was out of their reach forever now.

The Nettle put a paw softly on their shoulder. The Sentinel looked up at the Sunfish, and found him smiling tenderly in his trademark beautiful way. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

The Sentinel couldn’t quite smile yet, but tried. “Thank you,” they murmured.

“As am I,” the Nettle said. The Sentinel scoffed lightly.

“I’m not sure I want you to be proud of me,” they said. The Nettle, for their part, laughed a little.

“Fair enough,” they conceded.

The Sunfish lowered his head, fingers of sunlight tapping along his scales. “I suppose this is the part where we each go to where we belong, then.” He lifted his narrow face, teasing. “Unless you want to see more of me.”

The Sentinel moved to the shore and bent toward the Sunfish. Their head tilted, and a true smile forged bravely across their face. “I want to learn more about myself,” they said. “Not as a Sentinel, but as who I am. And I want you to know more about yourself, too, Sunfish.” They lowered their beak and closed their dark eyes. The sunlight was muted against their eyelids like a distant song. “Until then? I would like to see you more,” they said susurrantly. Their voice wouldn’t have yoked even the faintest ripple on the water.

The Sentinel didn’t need to see the Sunfish to know the latter was smiling sweetly. They knew it like the sun was in the sky, and knew that the Sunfish had raised his face very close to their own. The Sentinel closed the distance with a sigh, and tapped their forehead against the glistening golden scales of the Sunfish’s head.

“I would love to fall in love with you,” said the Sunfish. “Only if that is how this unfolds.”

“As would I,” said the Sentinel. They rested their beak lightly against the cheek of the fish who had once been their charge and then drew back, suddenly aware of just how much they were shivering. “But right now, I need to get out of this sopping wet cloak.”

The Nettle strode forward and folded their paws. “I can help you with that,” they said. “I’ve got plenty of spare clothing you can borrow.”

The Sentinel considered. They didn’t quite forgive the Nettle, but something small in them jumped at the offer. “Thank you, Nettle,” the Sentinel said.

“But I won’t let you borrow them unless you stop calling me that,” said the Nettle, bending to pick up the long-forgotten scale in the pebbles beside them. They then passed the scale to the Sentinel, who took it.

“No,” the Sentinel said, folding the scale to their scarred chest. “Not until you give me a better name to call you.”

“Hmm,” was all the Nettle said as they led the way from the shore.

The Sentinel waved their wing to the Sunfish, and the latter waved a fabric-like fin back. Beaming, he called, “See you around?”

“See you around!” the Sentinel said cheerfully, truly comforted by the thought. They then turned away from the lake and followed the Nettle to the trees beyond, waving one more time to the Sunfish. As they disappeared into the undergrowth, the Sunfish ducked beneath the water and began to sing.