Page 18 of Eggsactly the Right Gargoyle

For a moment, I think Dorian might refuse or simply turn to stone, which is a defense mechanism I read about last night when learning more about gargoyles. They employ it when particularly uncomfortable, and not always consciously.

Instead, he sighs deeply and accepts the offered mat. “Fifteen minutes,” he says firmly. “Not a second more.”

Atlas nods. “That’s the spirit. Let’s begin with a simple mountain pose. Feet grounded, spine tall, just like the ancient trees around us...”

I try to focus on Atlas’s instructions, but I keep getting distracted by the sight of Dorian, a centuries-old gargoyle guardian, attempting to touch his stone toes. His wings shift awkwardly as he bends, and I bite my lip to keep from giggling.

He catches me looking and narrows his eyes. “Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I whisper back, transitioning into warrior pose with far more grace than he manages.

“Your face is saying plenty.”

Before I can respond, Atlas moves behind Dorian. “Excellent form, my friend. Now, let’s adjust those shoulders...” The troll gently repositions Dorian’s posture, and I swear I see a flash of embarrassment cross the gargoyle’s stony features.

We’re midway through a particularly challenging balance pose when more voices approach from the path. Candice Winters appears, her blonde hair braided elaborately around her head like a crown, followed by Ronan Duquenne, whose massiveLycan form is pushing a wheelbarrow filled with what appears to be...compost?

“Morning, everyone,” says Candice cheerfully. “We heard about the restoration project and thought you could use some help.”

Dorian loses his balance and stumbles out of his pose. “Is the entire town planning to visit today?” he mutters.

“Only the ones who care about magical ecology,” says Candice, apparently having heard him. She approaches with a bright smile. “This is so exciting. A sacred grove restoration. Do you have a project plan? A timeline? I could help coordinate volunteers if you need—”

“We’re managing fine,” interrupts Dorian , his voice gruff.

I shoot him a look. “What Dorian means is that we appreciate the offer, but we’re still figuring out exactly what the grove needs.”

Ronan sets down the wheelbarrow with a thud. “It definitely needs this.” He gestures to the compost. “Premium blend. Every household in town contributed something.”

I approach the wheelbarrow cautiously. “Every household?”

“Yep.” Ronan’s muzzle twitches into a smile. “Mrs. Thornberry added her special tea leaves, Gustave from Beastly Bites threw in some exotic spice remnants, and I think Hemlock contributed...something. He said not to ask questions.”

“How thoughtful,” I say, examining the rich, dark mixture. Despite its questionable origins, I sense the potent magical energy emanating from it. “This will actually be incredibly helpful for the new plantings.”

Atlas finishes his final pose with a flourish. “And that concludes our session. How do you feel, friends? Energized? Connected to the earth?”

“I feel like I’ve discovered muscles I didn’t know existed,” grumbles Dorian, rolling his shoulders.

“That’s the magic of yoga.” Atlas beams. “I’ll be back tomorrow, same time. We can try some wing-specific stretches for you, Dorian.”

The gargoyle’s expression is priceless. I quickly turn away, pretending to examine the compost more closely to hide my smile.

As Atlas packs up his yoga mats, Candice pulls out a small notebook from her pocket. “I took the liberty of drafting a preliminary restoration schedule. I thought maybe we could divide the grove into sections, tackling one area at a time...”

I glance at Dorian, who looks increasingly overwhelmed by all the attention and assistance. His wings have pulled closer to his body, indicating he’s uncomfortable.

“That’s really thoughtful, Candice,” I say gently. “Maybe you could leave the schedule with us, and we’ll look it over? The grove has its own magic and timing, so we need to be flexible.”

She nods eagerly. “Of course, of course. I completely understand. Magic has its own schedule. I’ll just leave this here...” She places the notebook on a nearby stump. “And if you need anything, just let me know. The whole town is buzzing about this project.”

“The whole town?” asks Dorian , his voice strained.

Ronan chuckles. “You’ve been a mystery for centuries. Now you’re out here gardening with the new sun witch. People are curious.”

“I am not gardening,” says Dorian stiffly. “I’m restoring a sacred magical site of profound historical importance.”

“With flowers,” adds Ronan, grinning to reveal his sharp teeth.

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