Eryshae

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Vael

Salisbury Zoo

The sun was warm again. Vael felt it on her cheeks as they left the shade of the fox enclave, her arm still loosely looped through Sam's. The path ahead curved through wildflowers and low stone walls, winding gently toward a garden space quieter than the others, away from laughing children and watchful keepers.

They slowed there. She wasn't sure who pulled who. A bench waited beneath a knotted tree in bloom, petals pale gold and ivory drifting down around them like the last breath of spring. Sam eased down first, stretching his legs, and Vael followed, folding herself beside him in the hush that only sunlight and slow steps could bring.

He let out a quiet breath. Not a sigh, just a release, as if the air no longer needed armor. Vael leaned into his shoulder, her fingers brushing the back of his hand. "Does it still ache?" she asked softly, not needing to specify.

Sam looked at her sidelong, a small smile on his lips. "Only when I forget to breathe." She nodded. That made sense. His heart, if it could still be called that, glowed faintly beneath his shirt, the soft amber pulse steady now. Not burning. Not frantic. Just present. Alive. She placed her palm over it gently. "I like the quiet days," she said. "So do I," he replied, his hand covering hers. "We should have more of them."

"We will." They sat a little longer in the bloomfall silence, the world unbothered around them. For once, no alarms, no blades, no whispers of old threats clawing at the edges of peace. Just sunlight, and skin, and the knowledge that they were still here.

Still whole.

Still together.

Then, from down the path, came the faintest sound, a chuff, followed by a yawn so wide and exaggerated it was almost theatrical. Vael's ears perked. "That sounded promising."

Sam chuckled. "The pygmy lion calls." They rose from the bench, hands still linked, and walked together toward the enclosure just ahead. A wide, grassy habitat stretched before them, ringed with natural stone and low shrubs, all dappled in sunshine. There were no bars here, just a waist-high barrier of smooth blackwood and a moat of shallow water no creature would want to cross unless it had a flair for dramatics. Inside, lounging on a sun-warmed rock like it ruled all it surveyed, was the pygmy lion.

It was no taller than a housecat, but carried itself like a beast five times its size. Its golden orange fur was thick and fluffy, its mane full and impossibly round, like it had been styled by a painter obsessed with volume. Its paws were wide and soft, and its eyes, when they cracked open, were golden, gleaming with self-importance. And it was absolutely purring.

"Sam," Vael whispered, clutching his arm.

"Yes?"

"I am in love."

"I knew this would happen."

The pygmy lion yawned again, showing off tiny fangs that clearly hadn't scared anything larger than a mouse in its life. Then it flopped sideways with dramatic flair, tail flicking once before curling around its plush body like a cloak.

Vael stared, enthralled. "I want it." Sam laughed softly. "You would." The little lion rolled over, batted at a floating dandelion puff, then let out a miniature roar that sounded more like a hiccup. Vael's heart melted. "Okay. You win. This zoo is perfect." And beside her, Sam smiled. Because for the first time in a long time, she looked completely at peace.

The pygmy lion had curled up into a napball of soft golden fur, his little chest rising and falling like he carried the whole world in his dreams. Vael couldn't look away for a long while. But eventually, the light began to shift. The shadows stretched. The air thickened. She looked up. Beyond the trees that rimmed the zoo, the sky was changing, bruised purples and sallow gold creeping across the horizon as the sun dipped low, its light fractured behind a line of dark storm clouds rolling in from the coast.

Sam followed her gaze. "Looks like we've got rain coming." Vael nodded, brushing a few flower petals from her shoulder. "Let's stop by the gift shop before we head back." Sam raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You need to bring the pygmy lion home." She grinned. "Obviously." The path took them past the fountain and winding ivy archways until they reached the small wooden building nestled beneath a pair of leaning willow trees. A painted sign above the door read:

"Wanderwild Wonders – Tokens & Trinkets from the Tamed"

Inside, it smelled of cedarwood, old paper, and sugar-dusted sweets. Shelves overflowed with soft plush creatures, carved figurines, and miniature habitat dioramas. The walls were strung with glowing insect-lanterns that pulsed gently like fireflies caught in crystal. Vael made a beeline toward the plush section. She picked up a perfectly round pygmy lion plush, its mane nearly bigger than its body, and pressed it to her chest. "It's so soft."

Sam browsed nearby, lifting a strange plush off the shelf with raised brows. "Two-headed duck?" Sure enough, the plush was long-necked, fluffy, and had two perfectly cheerful duck faces, each looking in opposite directions, one smug, the other confused.

Vael leaned over and plucked it from his hands. "You're getting this one."

"What makes you think Toya still wants it?"

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Because it's you. She will say one side always knows what it's doing, and the other is just along for the ride." Sam laughed, but didn't argue. When they left the shop, gift bag in hand and plushes tucked under their arms, the first droplets of rain began to fall, cool and sparse like the sky was still deciding. Vael looked out toward the stone path winding back to town. The sky was smeared with violet now, and the clouds rolled slow and thick across the fields like something ancient stretching in its sleep.

Sam slung an arm around her shoulders as thunder rumbled softly in the distance. "Come on," he said. "Let's get these plush royalty back to the Drowned Heron Inn before the downpour starts." Vael nodded, leaning into him with a smile as they turned toward the coming storm, the gift bag swinging between them like a charm against the dark. And the zoo, now quiet behind them, faded into evening.

The wind kicked up as they crossed the last hedge-ringed path leaving the zoo, the first real streaks of rain slanting in sideways, cool against Vael's flushed skin. Sam grinned at her beneath the fringe of her wind-tossed braided hair. "We better move." She laughed, clutching the gift bag close to her chest, the two-headed duck's smug little face poking from the top like it disapproved of weather entirely. "I am not letting this lion get soaked."

He grabbed her free hand. "Then let's go." They ran. Past the tall iron arch of the zoo gate. Past the market stalls closing down beneath tarps and umbrellas. Past a cluster of pigeons who flapped into the air like torn paper when Sam barreled too close. The wind howled once, chasing leaves and flower petals in their wake. Rain came faster now, not yet a downpour, but enough to blur the edges of the world in silver streaks. Vael's braid stuck to her neck. Her boots slapped against the cobblestones. Sam's coat flared behind him like a storm flag.

But still, she laughed. He did, too. Not loud. Not wild. Just the sound of two people who had once survived darker storms, and now found something unreasonably perfect in racing the clouds with toy animals under their arms. The Drowned Heron Inn came into view ahead, its lamp-lit windows glowing warm against the gray sky. A lone figure, Toya, stood beneath the awning with arms crossed, watching their approach like a commander watching a siege.

They made it to the covered porch just as the sky broke open. Rain came in heavy sheets, drumming the roof above them and pouring in rivulets down the sides of the street like the sky had finally made up its mind. Sam pushed the door open for Vael, water dripping from his sleeves, hair damp and wild.

She stepped inside, the bell above the inn door ringing softly. The moment they crossed the threshold, the warmth hit her, lamplight, woodsmoke, and something sweet in the air, like spiced cider or vanilla pipe tobacco. She turned to Sam, still holding the gift bag protectively. "They're dry." Sam leaned in, kissed her forehead, and murmured, "Victory." Behind them, the storm howled, trying in vain to follow. But it couldn't reach them here. Not tonight.

The warmth inside the Drowned Heron Inn was a balm. The lobby's polished floorboards creaked softly beneath their boots, and the air smelled of hearthfire and freshly baked bread. A sleepy tune drifted from the corner where a tired old string harp leaned against a velvet-cushioned stool. Vael gave the dripping hem of her cloak a quick flick before glancing at Sam. "We look like we swam here." He ran a hand through his damp hair and gave her a crooked grin. "We did. Upstream. With precious cargo."

The gift bag, still dry, dangled safely from her arm. The two-headed duck peered out in silent judgment. The pygmy lion plush had already become a soft fixture tucked against her side. Toya, still near the front desk, gave them a slow once-over and lifted a brow as she tucked a stray crimson lock of hair behind her ear. "You two want to change, or should I just throw towels at you and call it a compromise?"

Vael smirked. "We're heading up now." Sam gave the commander a mock salute. "Warm clothes and minimal public disgrace. Promise." As he handed her the two-headed duck. They climbed the narrow staircase together, hand in hand. Their room was quiet and inviting, with clean linens, a modest fireplace, and a broad window overlooking the rain-slick street. The hearth had already been lit by the inn staff, a low fire crackled within, chasing the damp from the walls.

Vael dropped the gift bag onto the chair and pulled off her cloak with a relieved sigh. Her tunic clung slightly from the rain, and she peeled it away with some difficulty, moving toward the wardrobe while Sam shook out his sleeves and grumbled something about squelching boots. "Here," she said, tossing him a soft gray shirt and a pair of dry boots from the dresser. "This one's not damp. Yet." He caught it with one hand, raising a brow. "Do you always have extra clothes for me?"

"Only when I'm hoping to undress you." He snorted. "You're terrible."

"And still your favorite." She chose a deep green blouse and soft wool trousers for herself, slipping into the warm fabric with a sigh of contentment. Sam changed quickly, brushing his hair back and adjusting the collar of his shirt before joining her by the fireplace. They stood there for a moment, just soaking in the warmth. Rain streaked against the window in steady rhythms. The storm had settled into something constant, a lullaby of water on roof tile and cobbled stone.

Vael turned toward him and smoothed the edge of his collar. "Ready for dinner?" Sam leaned in, brushing a kiss to her cheek. "Only if there's stew. Or cake. Or both."

"Let's find out." They returned to the dining hall on the first floor, where the lamps burned lower and the air was full of warmth and the clink of dishes. A few travelers huddled in corner booths, shoulders damp, wine glasses in hand. The innkeeper greeted them with a nod, already setting out two clay bowls of something thick and savory.

"Stew of the day's venison and root," she said with a smile. "Fresh bread's just out of the oven. And chocolate tart for after, if you've been good." Sam gave Vael a look of mock urgency. "Be good. Be very good." Vael laughed quietly as they slid into a booth by the hearth, the flames dancing near their knees.

Dinner was warm. Filling. Slow. The bread still steamed when broken apart. The stew was rich, with hints of pepper and thyme. And the chocolate tart, when it arrived, melted on the tongue like some divine secret. They didn't need many words. Just looks. Smiles. A knee brushed beneath the table. A shared bite of tart passed between fingers. And outside the inn, the storm deepened into night.

The storm continued to murmur against the windows, wind brushing the panes like a sigh from the dark. Vael finished the last bite of tart, licking a smear of chocolate from her thumb with a contented hum. Sam leaned back with a quiet groan of satisfaction, his hand warm on her knee beneath the table.

"I could fall asleep right here," he murmured. Vael's gaze drifted to the firelight playing across his cheekbones. "We should do this more often."

"Dinner… dessert…" He leaned closer, voice dipping lower. "You." She raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling her lips. "Are you calling me dessert now?"

"I'm calling you the main course," he said, his tone velvety with intent. "And I plan to savor every bite." Vael's breath caught for just a moment, heat flickering behind her eyes as her fingers slipped beneath the table to squeeze his thigh. "You better." They smiled at each other, lazy and full and burning. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had folded in on itself, wrapping them in its gentlest edges.

Then,

a scream.

Sharp.

Muffled.

Real.

It cut through the hum of rain and silverware like a jagged break in glass. They both froze. The dining hall fell still. A nearby couple paused mid-bite. The innkeeper looked up from behind the bar, her brow knitting. From somewhere upstairs, or just beyond the hall, behind a wall, down a corridor, they heard it again.

"Help! Someone! Please!"

Outside the dining room, unseen behind the second-floor staircase, a dark ripple peeled back from the wall, then folded inward and vanished.