Page 34 of Faun Over Me

“There is an actual monster in the woods,” Ramble snapped, eyes narrowing. “A monster hunted you here, and the Georgia men are what you’re worried about?”

“I—”

“Crick.” They sighed, sweeping a hand through their curls. “The family isn’t going to move; you’ve got to drop this.”

“No, I don’t!” she hollered. Ramble’s shoulders shot up, along with their ears. They cocked their head toward the ceiling, raising a finger to their lips in warning. “We’re getting pushed out,” Cricket argued, this time in a whisper. “They keep buying up the land around us, forcing us to live in smaller and smaller glades, and they won’t leave!”

“It is not so easy, Crick.”

“You did it.”

“I got lucky and met someone who understands us,” Ramble countered. “And even then, half of my wife’s family refused to come to our wedding. The only place we can live without being bothered is at this camp.”

“You have a home.” Cricket’s eyes burned, her throat tightening around her voice like a noose. “And no one is trying to kick you out.”

Ramble pressed their lips together, gaze darting over Cricket’s face before gathering her into another hug. “I know this has been hard for you. It’s been hard for all of us. We lost our home and got dropped in a new one, and you were so young.”

The burn in her eyes heightened, tears threatening to fall. She held onto her cousin, fingers gripping tight. If anyone would understand, it was Ramble. Regardless of their belief that the family wouldn’t move, they understood the fear Cricket carried over losing Green Bank. The fear of being displaced yet again. Those same fears had her cousin registering for the border patrol at sixteen and moving into Elkwater at twenty.

“Stay as long as you like,” Ramble whispered, holding Cricket tighter. “We have enough room, and we can find work for you in the camp. It’s not glamorous, but it’s steady. Consistent.”

“It’s your home.” Her voice cracked, the tears she’d held at bay for days finally falling as she clung to her cousin. Her family.

“It’s my home,” Ramble agreed, “and you’re my family. You are always welcome here.”

Acorn whiskey sloshed against the sides of the bottle, burning down Cricket’s throat to warm her belly. That, at least, it could do, as it was utterly useless at erasing Avery’s face from her mind.

She’d spent the day in the cabin and, after a quiet breakfast with Mac and Ramble, had escaped to the guest bedroom to read, sleep, and sleep some more until sunset when her body clock demanded she wake and move.

But where could she go? The monster was still in the woods, and Avery was in the camp. Cricket was no coward, but, damn, a faun was allowed to have a day of brooding to themselves, weren’t they?

Ramble was no help. They left after breakfast to drive to Green Bank and let the family know that Cricket was alright.

“I won’t make you come if you don’t want to, but they need to know.”

All Cricket could do was nod and poke her granola with a spoon. Topped with berries and walnuts and sprinkled with brown sugar, it was leagues better than anything the dining hall served. One glance at Mac, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth while gazing adoringly at her spouse, told Cricket she thought so as well.

“I’ll take Aksel with me to check out the bedded-down area,” Mac said around a mouthful of granola. At Cricket’s raised eyebrows, she clarified, “The marching band coach.” She swallowed her bite and chased it with orange juice, wiping the remnants away with the back of her hand. “He’s wolven, keen eyes and a good sniffer.”

“Gods, he found me in, what, two days?” Ramble laughed. “I thought we were being so clever.”

“Wait.” Cricket jerked upright. “They don’t know you’re here?”

“The older counselors and teachers know since they’ve been coming here for years,” said Mac. “Sanoya, Aksel, Cooky, but for the most part, Ramble is a bit of a secret.”

“Some of the campers have seen me.” Ramble hunched into their shoulders, ears and nose twitching with embarrassment. “I just don’t … like being seen.”

“Took me an entire summer to get them to talk to me.” Mac reached across the table and squeezed Ramble’s forearm. “Not that we did much talking.”

“Oh, my Gods.” Ramble’s spoon clattered to the table, and they covered their face in their hands. “I was gone for less than a week!”

“And you’re leaving again.” Mac’s smile fell. A muscle in her jaw twitched. “I don’t want you driving back at night. Not with that thing out there.”

“I will stay the night. Cricket’s parents will have questions about us.” They waved a long-fingered hand at the kitchen, the door, the camp beyond. “About all of this. It is best if I give them the chance to ask questions as they think of them, rather than try to catch everything and answer letters as they come.”

Cricket couldn’t argue that. It was how the faun worked, especially the older generations. Sounds or scents or a flash in the corner of their eye would draw their attention, sending their brains on a rapid jaunt from one topic to another. They could be singing a song in idle leisure, and the snap of a twig would have them regaling whoever would listen about the white oak they were married beneath. Or dozing in a glade during daylight hours when the errant scent of wildflower would have them asking another faun where they had sourced a specific oil for their leathers.

Ramble’s generation wasn’t as bad, though they still tended to lose focus and chime in at the weirdest moments with a random thought, but Cricket had definitely benefited from growing up on this earth with its cars and radios. Her focus had been honed against humans and their technology, teaching her how to recognize the crunch of gravel beneath a Honda versus a Ford.

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