Page 15 of Eggsactly the Right Gargoyle

“Maybe, but I still should have known better.” She returns to her work, coaxing the flowers to bloom. “After that, I couldn’t do magic for months. Every time I tried, I’d panic, remembering the backfire. It took me two years to work up the courage to use my full power again.”

I absorb her story, understanding her better now. Her cheerfulness isn’t naiveté but hard-won optimism in the face of failure. Her enthusiasm for the grove isn’t recklessness but redemption. “Is that why you came to Evershift Haven?” I ask. “For a fresh start?”

“Partly. Also because my grandmother lived here when she was young. She always said the magic here was different—more natural and less structured.” Talia smiles at the flowers, now fully bloomed. “She was right.”

We work in companionable silence for a while, the grove gradually coming to life around us. The moss glows brighter, the flowers stand taller, and the trees seem to straighten, reaching for the sky with renewed vigor.

“Your turn,” says Talia eventually, wiping soil from her hands.

“My turn for what?”

“To share. I told you my big failure story. Now you tell me yours.” She sits on a newly cleared patch of ground, looking up at me expectantly. “What happened to the grove? To you?”

I consider refusing, walking away, and ending this strange partnership before it goes any farther, but something in her open expression stops me. She shared her pain with me. Perhaps it’s only fair I do the same.

“It happened during the summer solstice, 1923. The grove was at the height of its power. The Heart Oak was producing golden fruits, the flowers were singing day and night, and the magical barrier was strong.”

I move to sit on a large stone across from her, my wings adjusting to accommodate the position. “I had a mate then. Luetha. She was a dryad, born from the Heart Oak itself. Beautiful, wise, and stubborn.” The memory of her face flashes in my mind with a hint of longing and the familiar pain as I envision her bark-like skin with patterns like wood grain, eyes the color of new leaves, and hair like autumn foliage.

“We had been together for centuries, guardians of the grove, but we disagreed about how to protect it.” I stare at my stone hands, remembering. “Luetha wanted to reveal the grove to the people of Evershift Haven, to create a partnership. I wanted to strengthen our isolation and hide the grove more completely.”

“You argued?”

“Bitterly for weeks.” I shake my head. “On the solstice itself, our argument reached its peak. I said things I regret. She accused me of being afraid of change, of being too rigid in my thinking. She wasn’t wrong.”

The memory is still painful, even after a century. “I stormed off. Flew to the mountains to cool my temper. I intended to return by nightfall for the solstice ritual, but...” I pause, the guilt washing over me anew. “I was so angry, I went into stonehibernation. It’s something gargoyles do when we’re distressed. We turn completely to stone, our consciousness dormant.”

Talia watches me, her expression soft with empathy. “How long were you gone?”

“Three days.” My voice is a mere whisper. “When I woke, I felt Luetha’s distress through our bond. I flew back as fast as I could, but I was too late.” I close my eyes, seeing it all again. “A warlock had come to the grove, drawn by its power. He sought to drain its magic for himself, and Luetha fought him alone, with no guardian to help her. She managed to stop him, but the price...” My voice breaks. “The price was her life force. She was tied to the Heart Oak. As she weakened, so did the grove.”

“Oh, Dorian.” Talia’s voice is soft with sorrow.

“I arrived just as she was fading. The warlock was dead, but the damage was done. The grove was withering, its magic draining away. Luetha was...” I swallow hard. “She was returning to the Heart Oak, her physical form dissolving. I held her as she died and watched as she became part of the tree again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Her last words to me were, ‘Find balance, my love.’ Then she was gone, and the grove went dormant.” I look around at the half-awakened landscape. “I’ve guarded it ever since, though there was little left to guard. A penance for my failure.”

Talia is quiet for a long moment, absorbing my story. Then she stands and walks to me, placing her hand on my stone arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I abandoned my post. I let my anger cloud my judgment.”

“You made a mistake. We all do.” Her hand is warm on my arm. “Luetha wouldn’t want you to punish yourself forever.”

“You didn’t know her.”

“No, but I know what it’s like to carry guilt that’s too heavy.” She squeezes my arm gently. “The grove is awakening now.Maybe this is your second chance. Maybe it’s both our second chances.”

I look down at her hand on my arm, then up at her face. There’s no pity there, only understanding. It’s been so long since anyone looked at me like they see me, not just the stone exterior or the brooding guardian, butme. “Perhaps.”

She smiles, then returns to her work, giving me space to process. We continue tending the grove, moving deeper into its heart. Hours pass, and I enjoy the work and her company. Talia talks while she works, sharing stories of her life and asking questions about mine. Her chatter should irritate me, but instead, it’s oddly comforting.

We reach an ancient archway, once a magnificent entrance to the Heart Oak’s clearing. Now it’s covered in thorns, the stone crumbling, the magic dormant.

“This was beautiful once,” I say, running my hand over the weathered stone. “Flowers bloomed year-round on this arch, even in winter. They would change color based on who passed beneath.”

“What color did they turn for you?” she asks, examining the thorny vines that have overtaken the structure.

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