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narrans · 3 months

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My Borrowed Son | 3 | Earning Trust

Amanda knew immediately the second she crossed the threshold of her home that she was in over her head. The minuscule boy in the palm of her hand needed intense care, and his size, being no bigger than her thumb, was going to be an immense challenge.

Still, Amanda knew she made a promise to this boy, and she refused to let him down now - especially after they first met. She had earned a fragment of trust, and she intended to keep it.

Finally making it past the mountains of boxes, she stepped into her kitchen and set her hand onto the counter. The slight jostle made the poor boy whimper pitifully.

“You’re okay. I’m here,” she reassured just as she had done the whole way home. Seeing him in full light, Amanda wanted more than anything to give him a bath, but more importantly was the fact that he needed food. One handed, Amanda fished out a bowl and a standard can of chicken noodle soup and began heating it in the microwave.

She wished she could give him something a little more nutritious and home-made, but that would have to wait. At the moment, her life was upside down. Everything happening was the last thing she wanted, but it was what she needed.

While the little boy stayed huddled in her hand, Amanda continued to work. She realized after fumbling around for a minute for a spoon that she had nothing in her house that would be small enough for the child. Amanda, as her thoughts bounced around her skull like a bouncy ball, didn’t want to scare the child with a spoon that he could sit on; but he also needed something to eat the soup with.

The boy watched with his insightful eyes, keeping eerily quiet, while Amanda searched.

Feeling the pressure of his eyes, Amanda suddenly came up with an idea, but she’d need the boy to listen to instructions for this to work. She snagged a dish cloth from her sink and ran it under the water, moving delicately to not startle the little boy. When it was just barely damp, she turned off the water and held out just a little corner for him.

“Could you rub your hands on the cloth? Okay? Rub your hands on the cloth,” coaxed Amanda as she mimicked the motion with her thumb and index finger. The infinitesimal child blinked uncertainly before inching himself across Amanda’s palm, making a tingling shiver shoot up her arm, and imitating the motion, rubbing his hands on the cloth.

Her mind was absolutely numb. This boy was absolutely amazing. At every turn, she was discovering something new about him and what he understood. Did that mean he could speak as well?

The thought was fascinating, but it would have to wait because, just then, the microwave dinged. Amanda moved instinctually at her own pace simply to look over at the kitchen appliance, but it was enough to jostle her hand and make the boy whimper and take cover against Amanda’s curled fingers.

“Oh… oh no… It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry,” muttered Amanda as she curled her fingers a little tighter. The boy whimpered again, hiding his soft brown eyes as he kept them shut tight. His breathing was rapid, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Amanda could feel him against her fingertips. It made her heart hurt, so she tried coaxing him a little more. “I’ll move slower. I promise. You’re okay.”

Seemingly convinced, the sandy haired boy to open his eyes once again after a few minutes and looked back up at Amanda. To her, it looked like he was seeking reassurance in her eyes, and she freely gave it.

“There you go. See? All better,” Amanda encouraged. Moving slower now, Amanda retrieved the soup, a soft drink cap, and the loaf of bread from the kitchen counter. With the items neatly organized, Amanda dipped the cap into the warmed soup and tested the temperature to make sure he wouldn’t get burned before daring to lower both the cap and the little boy to the kitchen counter.

Goodness… he’s so small. He looks like one of those little salt and pepper shakers, Amanda thought as she kept her hand on the counter, the boy still sitting on the edges of her fingers. He was looking around at all of the cabinets and drew his legs in toward him, obviously intimidated.

To make this a positive experience, Amanda acted quickly and pinched off a corner of bread and offered it to the boy. His little features furrowed in confusion as he carefully took the bread from in between her pinched fingers. He rotated around so he could face her but didn’t leave the safety of her hand.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option she had. She didn’t want to force the boy off. If her hand was where he felt safe, then that was where he should stay.

Amanda moved the cap of soup onto her palm in front of the boy before pulling her own bowl toward her.

“Here now, watch me, okay? Just dip the bread into the soup, like this,” instructed Amanda. Keeping her hand steady, she took her own piece of bread and dipped it into the liquid, swirled it around, and then brought it to her lips for a bite. The soft brown eyed boy watched Amanda do this several more times before looking down at his own piece of bread and, to her amazement, dipping it into the broth in the lid, imitating Amanda’s behavior.

Thankfully, Amanda didn’t need to continue repeating the action because the moment the bread and salty soup touched his lips, the boy began to eat ravenously, broth dribbling down his front and into his already filthy clothes.

Now really able to see him, Amanda saw that the little boy’s outfit consisted of a shirt with a faded yellow button on his front that took up most of his chest and a big green button on his back that was like the one on his chest. He was barefoot, mud caked in between his toes, and his pants were obviously soiled.

It made Amanda’s heart twist in her chest. How long had this boy been out on his own?

When the little pinch of bread was gone, the most pitiful look filled his eyes as he looked back up at Amanda eagerly, to which she happily gave him another piece. He inhaled three fair sized bread pinches before he showed signs of slowing down. It was on the fifth piece that he slowed and stopped, simply holding the bread close and nibbling on the edge absentmindedly.

Amanda knew she would need to get some utensils for him, but now was not that time. Now, after the boy had some food in him, she managed to convince him to drink a little bit of water before she shuffled both of them to the bathroom.

A bath was in order.

She stepped up to her bathroom sink and began to run some warm water. She found some vapor bubble bath that would probably do the little boy some good and added that to the running water in the sink.

At first sight, however, the boy whimpered and scuttled across her hand to grasp her thumb with all of his might. He was shivering violently and fell to his knees. Amanda kept her free hand cupped near her thumb in case the little boy accidentally lost his balance. Perhaps it was instinct, but the boy’s ability to balance on such a malleable substance like a hand was incredible.

She couldn’t pause to marvel at him now, however.

With a feeling like a punch in the gut, Amanda tried figuring out how to convince this child he was alright and that the water was alright.

Did something happen related to water to make him so afraid? Amanda wondered. The horrid thought that he had been swept away in a rainstorm from his family made her heart clench. Just keep reassuring him. Show him it’s okay. He trusted you with the bread, right?

It was a weak argument, but it was all she had.

“It’s okay sweetie,” coaxed Amada, speaking once again in a low, sonoric tone. “It’s just water, see?” With that, Amanda carefully placed her other hand under the water and moved her fingers around, splashing the liquid around the sink. The little boy continued clutching Amanda’s thumb as he whimpered.

She had to try something else. Then, she got an idea.

Amanda cupped her one hand and caught some of the water in it before pulling it away from the faucet and holding it up to the little boy.

“Here, see? It’s just water,” reassured Amanda as she tapped the puddle of water in her palm while holding it up to the boy.

He turned his soft brown eyes to Amanda before looking back at the water. Tears still staining his face, he leaned forward and barely touched the water with the tip of his finger.

The miniscule boy instantly retraced his finger and huddled against Amanda’s thumb, but a smile from her and another reassuring, “It’s okay,” had the boy tapping the liquid until the tears stopped.

It would take Amanda another twenty minutes to coax the little boy under the stream of water where she gently massaged soap into his hair and over his clothes. While she worked, she watched the boy’s eyes drifting further and further down, drowsiness overtaking him. The sight was adorable beyond words. Though tentative, his trust mixed with exhaustion was making this little boy fall asleep in her hands.

Amanda dried him off, careful not to jostle his head, and carefully constructed a toga-like outfit. Cutting away the little boy’s clothes was nerve wracking and made Amanda’s heart ache at seeing all of his injuries as well as his little ribs, which were clearly visible. There were also numerous bruises on his body as well as scratches, some of which ran from the base of his back to the top of his neck.

Was he attacked by something? How long has he been out there? Where are his parents? Did he have parents?

Amanda organized a shoebox with some snacks, water, and bedding and set the unconscious boy inside. Evidently, he had fallen asleep in her hand while she put together a space for him.

His little forehead furrowed as he twitched and turned into the bed Amanda made for him.

Now, more than ever, she needed to find out about this little boy, and, beyond that, she needed to find a way to protect him - no matter what.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

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neonthewrite · 3 days

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Shackled Forest

The next GT July prompts were Jewelry and Cursed, and though I started with just the first one in mind, it fits the second pretty well too, so I'll count it for both. Got a new concept for me to play around with, some new characters ... we all know I love a forest character.

Introducing Morrel. He's doing his best, but it's difficult.

~~~

The jewels hadn’t shown a sign of life in a long time.

Sometimes Morrel naively, stupidly, foolishly-optimistically thought that they’d finally fallen inert, all power sapped away into the atmosphere never to bother him again. But if that were the case, he’d be able to remove them. The thick wrist bangles, glittering with teal and blue gems, would unclasp and fall away while the choker with its enormous ruby at his throat would fly open and he’d be free of the weight at last.

But no. They stayed with him, more than a human’s weight in gold and a matching quantity of precious stones, heavy and lifeless, until that morning.

It began as a stirring dread in the back of his mind that he almost hadn’t recognized in the early hours. By sunrise, though, he couldn’t deny what it meant.

A human had found and donned the fourth and final piece of jewelry in the set. A ring, the band human-sized rather than giant, sporting a humble diamond little more than a fleck of glitter to his eyes. Despite its small, nondescript appearance, though, that ring meant only trouble for him.

He felt no compulsion, no drive towards the wearer of that ring, which meant that they didn’t know what they’d picked up. That was good. There was still time to figure something out. Time before they understood they had a giant bound to their whim, no matter what it may be. If they figured that out, Morrel would be stuck with them, and they with him, until they passed on or renounced the ring.

No wearer had cast off the ring before. He had no reason to believe this newcomer would either.

To that end, he rushed towards where he’d last seen that infernal ring. The height of a young tree himself, nearly thirty feet, he couldn’t do much sprinting on the forest floor without damaging everything in his path. Instead, Morrel skimmed over the canopy, his boots barely touching the crowns of the trees like a water skimmer barely touched the surface of a lake. To anyone on the ground below, he would be a passing wind and little more.

He tried not to think too hard about what he might need to do when he arrived. If he indeed found the ring near where he expected it: on the tiny, fragile hand of a human. He couldn’t touch the ring itself, thanks to his own accessories. He couldn’t harm someone who’d activated the power in the ring. For someone who didn’t know, though … Morrel had options. None of them were good.

The alternative couldn’t happen again. That ring had passed through generations of tiny human hands, leaving him at the command and mercy of tyrants and warmongers, pillars of greed and conquest alike. He’d never felt relief the likes of what he felt when the last king to wear that ring had fallen to a highwayman, his jewels and money taken away to be passed around among thieves. One of Morrel’s first actions taken with free will in centuries had been to terrorize a camp of bandits, to put his hands on a human before he could take up the ring.

A nondescript piece of jewelry was easily forgotten, tamped into the mud and ruin of that camp. No one remembered a ring over a gold-bedecked rampaging giant-of-the-woods, with skin like tree bark, long, bloody hands and sharp features, four narrow eyes glowing with the colors of sunset and a voice like a storm.

Morrel didn’t want to hurt anyone like he’d done then. He didn’t need to hurt anyone. He merely needed to separate them from the ring that would seal his fate.

Whatever human it was had some choice in the matter too.

At less than half a mile from where that camp had stood decades ago, Morrel slowed his dash, sinking into the woods with only a whisper of leaves against his skin and tattered clothes.

He couldn’t do much about the shining gold of his jewelry, but Morrel had at least switched out his old clothes, fine things in the colors of the kingdom he’d belonged to for so long. He wore rougher fabrics now, pieced together or bartered from the occasional passing hill-giant, in the greens and greys of the woods he called home. When he sank into the forest, it was like a new tree had sprouted there and began slinking between the trunks.

The dread in his core ebbed and flowed like a tide. Morrel couldn’t say whether his own anxiety or the actions of whoever had the ring did it. He could barely remember the first time that ring had fallen into human hands, how it had felt then. The freedom of before was a faraway dream, hazy and faded by centuries of subjugation. What he had now wasn’t even freedom, not with that threat constantly waiting.

The threat that, now, hung so close over him he practically felt its shadow.

Stalking through the trees, the dread became sharper, more focused. He had never kept track of where exactly the ring had fallen—he never needed to. This clarity always grew when he came too close to it. Only bad things came from that little band of gold and his whole body knew it; if running as fast as he could in the opposite direction would help, he’d have abandoned it long ago.

A small voice mumbled up ahead—no, two voices. Morrel’s eyes narrowed and he crept even slower towards the sound, blending into the trees despite his bulk. His recent years of avoiding humans hadn’t been enough to forget how to read tone in a small voice; they were arguing over something. One of them was old and gruff, the other young and fresh. It was more than the simple kind of arguing between a willful youth and their elder.

Creeping close enough to parse the words but not enough for them to spot him easily between the trees, Morrel’s core chilled like winter.

“I’ve got a feeling about this thing. Why would we just give this away for what’s probably not enough money to solve our problems? There’s something magic in it, we just need—”

“What we need is money, you little idiot. Not flights of fancy and pretending the dirty jewelry you found in the woods is magic. Give it here!”

Foliage and twigs shuffled as the pair apparently chased each other a few steps. Not far—the older voice grunted in discomfort and the younger voice huffed defiantly. “It is magic. It resized to fit me as soon as I put it on. And I’m going to find out what it does!”

It was as good a cue as any. Morrel couldn’t allow the owner of that young, hopeful voice find out what the accursed ring did. He abandoned stealth for speed and surged forward, slipping past tree trunks like they were reeds in a pond, scraping away bark and low branches.

And then he was upon them.

He was fast, faster than his bulk might suggest. One long hand dropped to the older human where he stood, knocking him from his feet and pinning him harshly to the ground. Weak struggles met Morrel’s unforgiving palm, though he didn’t lean enough weight onto the man to give him more than bruises.

The other hand snatched at the other human where she stood on a boulder jutting out of the ground, surely the spot she planned to flaunt her spryness over her companion while she talked wistfully of magic and boons and happy tales. Morrel’s hand found her all the same, long fingers like steel coiling around her middle before she could flinch away. His thumb lengthened and sharpened as he hauled her off the stone, the point resting just a breath away from her throat. She stared at him with wide eyes, all bravado forgotten, while her companion shouted unintelligible things from where he was stuck on the ground. She didn’t even struggle, just stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

It wouldn’t be the first time. With and without the influence of the jewels, Morrel’s hands had been bloodied. He could do this again.

She was so young.

Had that mattered last time?

He couldn’t remember the faces or the voices of the last humans he’d accosted. They had been bandits, humans living rough much like these two seemed to be. They were so so different from the humans dressed in fine things and living in constant luxury that had hurt him. But they had the same opportunity to hurt him anyway.

He couldn’t hurt a fully aware master of that ring, but even though she wore the grubby thing on her grubby finger, she hadn’t realized its potential yet. She knew it held magic, and that provided the wary dread at the back of Morrel’s mind, the knowledge that he could be captured again. Now was the only time to save himself, and he hesitated.

It needed to be done. He’d be protecting himself. Just one little motion of his hand and it would be over. Her fate was regrettable, but his own had to matter more to him.

But she stared up at him, so young and afraid, with eyes that couldn’t have taken in two decades of life.

“Close your eyes, young thing,” he said. He didn’t have a mouth, but his voice rumbled out of him all the same, and he was grateful it didn’t betray his hesitation. “Close your eyes. Look away. Whatever is easiest.”

It wasn’t the young human but the older one that responded. “No ... no! Take me instead, if you must take someone! We meant no disrespect or trespass!”

Morrel didn’t look away from the human in his hand, but his gaze softened. His lower set of eyes closed entirely. “No. Close your eyes, little thing.”

She shook her head, though a shiver diminished some of the sense of brave defiance. Her gaze flickered over him quickly, taking in a few details of his appearance, but she didn’t waver. “Y-you don’t actually want to hurt me, do you?”

Morrel’s eyes shifted to a slightly stormier color, some grey mixing in with the sunset hues. “I want to do what is necessary. If you will not accept what mercy I can offer, that is not—”

“No, that’s not it,” the girl said, her confidence growing while his dimmed. “I can—” she broke off into a laugh and finally looked away from his face down to her pinned arm, where one hand sported the faintest glint of gold. “I can feel what you actually want.”

Morrel froze.

Somewhere within him, a lock clicked into place.

His dread peaked and then drained away to nothing.

The girl grinned wider. “I know what this ring does.”

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #mywriting #morrel #forest spirit #gt #g/t #giant tiny #handheld #g/t handheld

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