Smevy

10

More months passed. I turned twelve, and the snow continued to fall. I often snuck out to see The Traveler who taught me about all kinds of terms- homosexual and bisexual and pansexual and asexual. He told me about neopronouns, xenogenders, otherkins, and more long words that made my head spin, though I made sure to nod along. He taught me about people with multiple minds in their head, those who went through phases of the greatest heights and the worst depths, those whose emotions were fearociously unstable, and so many more that, try as I might, they still blurred together.

Then spring came, everything melted to life, and he gave me some bad news.

"I have to leave," he said. "I told some people up north I would pay them a visit."

"Oh," I said sadly. "Alright. Will you be back next year?"

"I don't think so." He saw my drooping expression and reached out a gloved hand to touch my face. "Head up, my young friend, you can face this. And soon Grya will be back!"

I nodded, but I couldn't help but think that it would still be a few weeks before I could realistically hope she'd be back.

Then the day came. It was about a week after the last frost when I went out to find Grya. I slipped out in the early morning- I had gotten used to it -and crept through the forest to the spot me and her had always met.

She wasn't there, nor were any signs of my having missed her.

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. I was crushed, even as I tried to tell myself that I should have been expecting this. "She's coming back," I muttered to myself on the way back. "Of course she's coming back."

Another couple weeks passed, and I worried even more. I started to walk ever-widening circles, hoping that maybe she had simply gone to the wrong place, though I knew, deep down, that even if she had there was no guarantee I would run into her hiding spot, and, even if I did, there was no guarantee she would recognize me.

I had grown over the last few months. I'd gotten taller, my skin had grown darker, my horns longer and brouder, my shoulders thicker. My voice was also a lot deeper, and even my eyes had changed color.

My dad was worried about me hitting puberty so quickly. But my mom always said it was perfectly normal. "My brother hit his growth spurts around his age," she said. "Don't worry, honey." Then he would grumble something about the hay and walk away.

I couldn't help but worry about them. I'd noticed that, over the years, they had started to grow further and further apart- in the old days, they would talk over the table while me, Notch, and Mckayla ate, chatting happily about anything that crossed their minds. Now they ate in silence. Me and the others tried to fill the void sometimes, but it never felt the same.

One day, my head was in these dark clouds when I heard a gentle song filling the forest. It sounded like the strumming of a guitar or lute of some kind, accompanied with a familiar, masculine voice that I couldn't put my finger on. Curious, I followed it.

The sound carried strongly through the trees, reverberating in such a way that I lost track of it several times over. Eventually, however, it grew so strong that I knew I must be right on top of it, and I tried to make my footsteps quieter- I wouldn't want to scare off whoever it was. As I drew nearer, I heard another voice joining in- a feminine one this time -so quiet that I hadn't heard it before.

Eventually I saw the trees thinning, and, as the sound reached its climax, I saw the source.

It was Baritone, his fluffy hair bobbing with the music as he strummed and nodded along at the edge of the forest. Beside him was Jane, looking relaxed for once, her sweet, gentle voice uniting with his in gorgeous harmony. I could now make out the words, and I listened, enraptured, as it drifted out into still noon air.

"Often I hear the breeze,

Whispering with the birds,

Singing through the trees,

But never speaking a word.

I wish that I could ask it,

'What have you seen?'

But always and forever,

That will be a dream.

The wind will always pull me,

Into sky and cloud,

Be it soft and sighing, lulling be,

Or powerful and loud.

I wish that I could ask it,

'What have you seen?'

But always and forever,

That will be a dream.

But always and forever,

That will be a dream."

The last few notes floated out into the breeze, then all was still. "Which one do you want to do next?" Baritone asked Jane.

"How about 'Bulrushes and Bluebirds?'" She asked. "Sure," he said. "Just let me do something real fast." He put the guitar down, stood up, and said, "Joe, come on out!"

I walked out, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry, I was just walking through here and heard you guys. You sound really good!"

"Thanks," said Baritone, "You clearly haven't heard real music."

"Yeah I have. Just now. From you."

"That's not real music." He motioned behind him and to the left. "My village is that way, and, when I was younger, I would listen to the street performers play every day. Now that was real music. This-" He motioned at his guitar "-Is nothing."

"It sure didn't sound like nothing, but believe what you will, it's all about where you stand in the end," I said, letting the subject go. "You've never told me about where you came from."

"There's not much to tell," he said. "My parents were killed in the war- they were both soldiers -but I was old enough to take care of myself, so I did, and then your mom showed up and brought me here."

"Oh," was all I could think to say. Jane simply watched, her face blank. "That's still sad though."

"I guess." He turned to Jane. "Since we're telling our life stories, what about you?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Oh, come on, it'll be good to get it out." He patted her shoulder. "It was for me."

"Alright," she conceded, "But don't say I didn't warn you."