"Named from a cursed queen, someone got it rough, right, Dandelion?"

　　A trail of glimmering dust of gold and blue surrounded the horned being, followed by a soft mellow of laughter from the nearly invisible silhouette of Dandelion – flying around the satyr for the life of her.

　　Vashati felt the mockery before she understood the joke. Though she was pretty immune from her friends' twisted humor, she could not help the crease forming on her forehead as she whipped her head to the source of her agitation. She sent a dagger-like stare at the satyr sitting on an oval rock situated parallel to her side. With the stream between them, it would take a few flaps of her wings before she could grab the heck out of her friend. All Vashati could do was to give him a threatening look.

　　"What? It is not like it is my fault that Grappy named you like that," said Remus, "Though no one could blame him after you pop right out of nowhere during a storm while Grappy was not sober. Tough luck equates tough chances, Vashati."

　　A pair of pointed rosy ears twitched as Remus hit the final nail to the coffin. Ringing like the banshee's shrilling scream, a vein popped – or so Vashati imagined upon the nasty trip to the memory lane. That horrendous night in which her orphan and young self tumbled upon her grandfather was something she did not like to reminisce about.

　　Vashati gulped once, twice, before she shifted her gaze back to the fishing net. Gone was the adrenaline which threatened to burst upon seeing the raised brows of her friend Remus and the giggling Dandelion. On instinct, she had bitten the insides of her cheeks.

　　'I better remain quiet and stop this conversation completely,' Vashati thought as she convinced herself to remain in her seat.

　　"Oh, come on!" Remus clicked his tongue. Disappointment laced upon his exaggerated statement.

　　Vashati, who was lost in her train of thoughts, flinched as she closed her amber eyes tightly. Shoulders tensed, the spring nymph shrunk on her seat. Knees locked to her chest and arms encased around them, her knuckles turned white. "W-What is wrong w-with ye now?"

　　"That! That is wrong with me." Remus galloped the distance between him and the shrinking Vashati. His webbed fingers pointed at her paired with his stabbing gaze aimed at the trembling nymph. "How long will you cower, Vashati? You know that the world beyond this mountain is a dog-eat-dog system, right? How... How long do you think can you survive?" Remus tugged his brunette mane before he crouched in front of his shriveling friend. This time, his tone was calm and patient. He knew firsthand that yelling would get him nowhere, especially when it came to Vashati. "You will not always have Dandelion and me, you know. Creatures wither, and the circle of life will continue. Just like how you are my grandfather's friend and how you became my father's friend, then you became my friend."

　　Vashati, after hearing the mellowed tone of his satyr friend, finally looked up from her arms. Her pupils dilated, and her lower lip quivered upon the memory of losing a friend over and over again. "I don't have to leave the lone mountain, Remus. I stayed here for two centuries and no-nothin' really happened. I-I met yer grandfather and yer father t-then ye." She shrugged and stretched the corners of her lips – forcing to smile at her friend. "Who kn-knows? Maybe I will become yer future son's friend too?"

　　Remus opened his mouth to start a whole new kind of preaching for Vashati but immediately closed his mouth upon seeing his friend's glassy doe-like eyes. A bleat escaped from his mouth. "You know what? Fine! Stay in this forest forever. You are far too innocent to be thrust into the barbaric lands beyond this lone mountain anyway. Not to mention the Winter nymphs who hate the Spring nymphs like a plague really believed that there is no more holder of bloom and blood magic in this world."

　　Vashati's eyes sparkled upon the change of tides before her. The sunlight sheen that peeked through the autumn leaves made the golden specks in her eyes glisten like the Moroi's golden treasures. "Y-Ye'r not mad now, are ye?"

　　"I am not mad, silly." Remus offered his right hand to Vashati, which the latter eagerly held with her two small hands. "Let's go. Mother prepared some soup and good ol' music. Want to come with Dandelion and me?"

　　The Spring fairy danced around Vashati on cue, coaxing the Spring Nymph.

　　Vashati's ears twitched once, twice, then thrice. The corners of her eyes wrinkled as her lips stretched to a full-blown grin. Nodding her head, she sprung from her seat. She loved the lone mountain, and she could not see herself leaving this place. For over two hundred years, she had lived here as the last nymph of bloom and thorns – though the outside world thought that no one was left of her race after the annihilation of her entire clan.

　　"I will!"

　　"Worry not, Vashati, this is not a free meal in a sense, right, Dandelion?" Remus opened his left palm in Dandelion's direction. His webbed fingers touched the Spring fairy's wings when the latter rested on his palm, Dandelion's limbs stretched as she laid comfortably. Dandelion's action elicited a giggle from Vashati.

　　"Ye mean Renala would like another dose of healing magic from me?" Vashati grinned at Remus and Dandelion. "Yer mother should know now that my healing magic is at yer disposal anyti –"

　　Vashatis's words were cut off when Remus covered her pillowy lips halfway through her statement. On cue, Remus clamped his right hand on Vashati's parted lips, stopping the latter from openly creating a target mark for herself.

　　"Are you dumb? Grappy told you to keep that information for yourself! Do you want the Moroi race and the werewolf race to put a bounty for your head, Vashati?" Remus hissed.

　　His eyes that reminded Vashati of granite dimmed. She knew she was being a cod for announcing her ability when every creature beyond the borders of the lone mountain thought that there were no more of Vashati Blackwood's kin, and the power of bloom and blood had long been lost to the world.

　　For the nth time of the day, Remus sighed. He reached for Vashati's chin and wiped the trickling blood. "Let's go. Mother is waiting now," said Remus, "And you should wipe the blood. Mother will worry. You know how she hates it when you harm yourself."

　　Vashati swiped her chin with widened eyes and was astonished by the crimson ink on her right palm. A soft gasp escaped from her parted lips before she tilted her chin to look at Remus. Had it not been for Remus telling her and wiping the blood from her chin, she would never know that her lower bled from the fangs that protruded amid the thought of leaving the lone mountain.

　　Vashati's stray thoughts vanished when a pair of familiar hands engulfed her bloodied one while pulling her from her thoughts. On cue, Dandelion's glowing body sat atop her right shoulder as her tiny hands patted Vashati's cheek as if the Spring fairy was comforting her.

　　"Ye have my thanks, Dandelion."

　　VASHATI COULD BARELY lift her body from the forest floor. Her palm caressed her stomach. There was no wonder why she had to inhale deeply for her skirt to fit her without suffocating; it was bloated – like Remus, who could not walk her back to her tree, and Dandelion, who could not fly anymore.

　　Vashati's pace was cut into half from her added weight with a mere palm-length distance from the ground. Who could blame her when Laura's soup was the best in the whole lone mountain? The corners of her lips now numbed from sporting a full-blown grin the entire dinner. Though she wanted to stay for the grand food and music, she knew she had to go back.

　　'Grappy is waitin' for me,' Vashati thought. Upon the thought of her grandfather, her only family for the span of two hundred years, her wings fluttered. Her pace increased by a quarter.

　　A couple of arm's length from her incoming form, a meadow revealed from her line of sight. The corners of Vashati's eyes crinkled upon confirming that she was nearing her home.

　　"Finally!" Vashati's ears twitched.

　　One flap. Two flaps. Three flaps.

　　A twig snapped, followed by the heavy footsteps that disturbed the tranquility of the lone mountain. Six silhouettes racing across the meadow that Vashati was about to cross followed the noise. Five of them were chasing the leading silhouette.

　　Six pairs of fangs far lengthier than hers gleamed under the cloak of the night. Their tails and bony torsos showed as they loomed over their prey. Their gigantic furry ears, which were ten times bigger than hers, were a reminder for her should she dare to make a single noise. Its disfigured limbs on all fours reminded her of a deer's body after it took a rough fall from the peak of the lone mountain.

　　'Why are they here? The lone mountain is the farthest mountain from their territory!' Vashati stopped the urge to bite her lips. Her restless mind was bombarded by the question even her Grappy could not answer; she was sure of it.

　　Vashati's wings shook, freezing her from her spot. Her hands now covered her trembling lips as she hid behind an acacia tree. Her wings had long vanished while she held her breath. She knew she was a cod most of the time, but she learned not to be, especially in the throes of danger. And the fangs she saw? She was sure as heck that they belonged from the Strigoi race. She saw them once before she arrived at the slopes of the lone mountain.

　　Holding her breath, Vashati dared to take a peek upon hearing the clamors and grunts from the center of the meadow. Muffled conversation permeated the stale air. As owls hooted, a series of fangs tearing a flesh chorused; this was followed by a stench of blood.

　　Vashati's eyes widened. Her amber eyes flashed in frantic as her frenzied mind went into static upon the sight before her.

　　A wolf, more on a werewolf, was being bitten by five striga. They tore chunks of flesh from the growling yet unmoving werewolf on the ground. The smell of apricot mixing with the stench of blood made Vashati frown. Biting her nails, her gaze remained fixated on the werewolf whose growls started to mellow – a clear indication of the werewolf's dwindling strength.

　　'I can't let that werewolf die, right?' Vashati asked herself at the back of her mind. Her heart pounded from the thought of using her powers.

　　And so, Vashati flicked her right wrist.

　　On cue, vines crawled like slithering snakes on the meadow's floor. They crept, unnoticed by the predators. Thorns as small as Vashati's nails littered the small vines, and before they could take a massive chomp of flesh from the werewolf's neck, the vines pulled the five striga – throwing them midair before they got tangled in the weave of thorns and flowers.

　　A series of muffled noises followed by the tails trying to escape between the vines where the last movement shown from the ball of thorny vines hanging at the apex of the meadow.

　　'I swear, Grappy will crawl from his grave when he sees this.' Vashati could not help but imagine the humongous one-eyed nymph. A lone tear and a bitter grin painted her face upon the thought of her beloved Grappy.

　　By the fifth hoot of the owl, all movements seized.

　　But Vashati's attention was not at the unmoving striga inside her cocoon of thorns. Instead, she cocked her head as she blinked upon meeting a pair of hazy amethyst eyes.