The trees in her neighborhood were usually a shade of sage or some sort of dark green (which was usually just the pine trees). These trees were a green that seemed magical, some of them even a light shade of blue. Willow almost tripped over her cart, looking at each one as she ran. 

“Stop!” 

Butterfly’s voice cut through the air. At least, she was pretty sure it was Butterfly’s voice. It was too soft to be Arbor’s. 

In front of her, Arbor stopped, panting. Willow couldn’t blame them–it had to be at least half an hour they had ran, nonstop. How far were they from the store? Looking behind her, Willow couldn’t even see the shop anymore. She couldn’t even see the city. Trees engulfed her surroundings, Willow, Arbor and Butterfly being the only non-tree things in sight.

“Where are we?” Willow found herself asking. 

“We just wanted to talk,” Arbor said to Butterfly, ignoring Willow’s question. “Please. You’ve been missing for ages.”

Butterfly’s eyes darted between both of them. 

“I don’t know how you found me,” he mumbled, “or how you crossed the barrier, but I’m not letting you set foot in City again.”

“I wouldn’t want to, either,” Arbor retorted, shoving their hands in their pockets. “Can’t you just be grateful that we actually cared enough to find you?”

Butterfly’s lips formed a thin line. “What do you mean? Everyone’s been searching for me since, like, forever.”

“NO,” Arbor yelled. “No, they haven’t. You’re just another news headline everyone pretends to take pity to. Your own dad called you a trouble-maker. That was such a stupid move of you, running between cars, like, c’mon–what were you thinking?! I was the only one who actually cared, handing out flyers and shit. Willow was the only one who donated out of all the people I asked. No one cares, Butterfly. At least show some sympathy to the ones who do.” 

There was a pause. Willow felt like she should’ve said something heartwarming or comforting, instead all she did was stand there, wringing her hands on top of the cart handle.

“Follow me,” Butterfly finally said. Arbor hastily followed as Willow continued to push the cart, wheels bumping over the uneven grass. 

There was a treehouse suspended between two large trees. Vines entangled most of the surface, flowers growing on them. It was about the size of two bedrooms and looked more stable than Willow’s relationship with her mother. There was a ladder hanging underneath, unfolding all the way to the ground, which was quite the distance.

“Holy,” Arbor said, tilting their head up and squinting. “Did you build that?”

It seemed that the tension before had somehow dissipated. Willow wondered if Arbor simply had forgotten or wanted to avoid the topic. 

“No,” Butterfly said, like that was supposed to be obvious. “I just…found it like this.”

“I think it’s easier to believe you built this than you randomly finding it.”

Willow didn’t think Butterfly was capable of such woodworking abilities–not to be rude. He ran away from home and he just so happened to find a house in a forest where no one but the three of them could enter? The whole situation seemed like something out of a dream. He had been in the hardware store, though, so it was possible that he needed to touch up on some parts of the house. But why would he lie? 

“I didn’t build it,” Butterfly repeated. Something in his voice shifted as if he still remembered the argument from earlier. “I just found it like this, ok?”

He started up the ladder, ignoring Arbor’s inaudible string of grumbles. 

“Should I leave the equipment down here?” Willow didn’t want the cart to be stolen, even with the fact that they were the only three people here–assuming no one else came before Butterfly ran away. She knew the cart couldn’t be carried up the ladder. She knew she couldn’t carry all the equipment up the ladder, either.

Arbor mumbled something like, “Leave it”, proceeding to climb up the ladder. As always, Willow followed.

The interior of the treehouse included a bed, pushed to one wall, and a large table with food and papers. A backpack sat near the edge of the bed, its contents spilling out. There was a rug on the floor that looked like it was made from some sort of animal fur, which made Willow ponder if rules around here were different, or if there were any rules at all. 

Up on the walls of the house were hand drawn pictures of the forest. Trees, sticks, grass, animals.

“Did you draw those?” she found herself asking. 

Butterfly eyed her, his rigid face relaxing a bit. “Yeah.” He walked around the room, tracing the pictures. For someone who ran away, he seemed so at ease. Maybe he was just doing a good job of hiding his anxiety. Running away is just an attempt to escape something, after all. 

Butterfly shoved his hand in his backpack, pulling out a blue coat. 

“C’mon,” he said, going back down the ladder. 

“What?” Arbor’s face shone in disbelief. “We just got here, now we’re leaving?”

“I was just grabbing my coat,” said the faraway reply. “No one asked you to follow me.”

Arbor sputtered gibberish but followed Butterfly down the ladder anyway. Willow trailed behind.