"That," she said, watching the pair of wings that had detached itself from the fluffy purple crypto flutter away, "is what we in the business call a 'hell no.'"

  Cautiously, she released the disoriented creature that Scotty had called, what was it, a Rando's beast?

  It moved very slowly, head swaying far past anything it tried to look at, causing it to stumble drunkenly. She let some of her magic leak out and petted it in a soothing manner before pouring some water into her hand and letting it drink.

  "Oh,' he said, looking between the disembodied wings and cute little beast. "Those wings were the Wingin and the body was just a host."

  "Yup."

  "Parasite or symbiote?"

  "Parasite, mostly. Especially when it's young and just hopping bodies to keep alive and find something that matches its current size. Some populations have long-term symbiotic relationships, but not too many. Especially since they can't possess anything particularly intelligent or capable of teaching their offspring behaviors that would be mutually beneficial. So, in the end, it's debatable. Their hosts get to fly away from danger that might have killed them. Still, the bodies will also be piloted into dumb situations, or left far away from the social network they need to survive."

  "Damn. Can they make any host fly?"

  "Yeah."

  "Even, like, a rock monster?"

  "Sure, the flight is magic, not biological."

  "Damn. Can you imagine some of those potential mixes? That could be awesome."

  "Right?" At that point, the little beast finished drinking, looked at her, had its pupils dilate dramatically, and fled.

  Scotty laughed at its apparent fear, "Guess neither of them is your familiar, right?"

  She got up and brushed her hands off. "No such luck. Which sucks, adult Wingins are magnificent, independently strong, and could give me a huge range of options for my familiar."

  "Do they get big?"

  "Sorta like carp, they grow to match the ecological niche they're in. Though they do tend to just progressively hunt out bigger niches. They can even shrink a bit if needed."

  He bit his lip.

  "Just say it."

  "Holy shit! That would have been so cool. You really missed out. You could have had every familiar. You would have been that annoying kid everyone hated at recess who said his power was getting to give himself any power that he wanted."

  She grumbled good-naturedly and picked up her pack, now sporting an emergency enchanted tent stake on the side.

  The banter didn't bother her. First off, that Wingin wasn't her familiar. Nothing said there wasn't a different one meant to be her soul companion. Second, it hadn't been her familiar. As weird as it sounded, she had looked into its eyes and known it wasn't right. That was a knowledge that came in with built-in comprehension and acceptance. Nothing was cool enough to supersede that knowledge. Her bones, her blood, her mind, and even her low-level, constant craving for tiramisu all told her that her real match was waiting, and it would be better.

  "Hey," Scotty said, slapping her on the shoulder as they resettled their backpacks and started moving towards their original objective, "at least you got fleas as a parting gift. Our little purple friend looked itchy."

  She shook her head, giving him the middle finger. "That doesn't happen with dryads, not unless we invite the fleas or mites in."

  "Ew. Why would you want to do something weird like that?"

  "You know what, you're right, I should spend my time talking about normal stuff. Things like running headfirst at a giant spider-amalgam with too many fucking legs—all of which were writhing—with all my hopes riding on a tent peg someone had scribbled on."

  "It wasn't that ba—"

  "Writhing, Scotty! You know how I feel about things that writhe."

  He cocked his head to the side, "Do I?"

  "Sometimes allowed on the dance floor, or if a lovingly dumb dog is really, really excited to see me. Otherwise, writhing is a blanket no."

  He mulled it over and nodded, "Noted."

  "Thank you."

  "That might make the whole, you know, 'bane' thing a bit hard on you, though."

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  Her mouth contorted a few times, but she eventually managed to fire back a joke.

  Scotty must have read her expression. He ignored the banter. If it had been possible, he probably would have stopped them entirely so they could look each other in the eyes. Still, they were going up a pretty steep incline, occasionally using their hands to help scramble up a patch of sun-baked clay and partially submerged stone.

  "Shiloh, are you okay? I didn't actually mean anything about you being a bane."

  When you had a good excuse, like focusing on your footing, it was tempting to just not answer. To let the silence grow until everyone 'forgot' the topic.

  Problem was, her momma didn't raise no bitch.

  Or, at least, not a weak-bitch. After all the bar fights Birch had pushed her into, there was a strong case that she was becoming a mean-bitch.

  "I didn't like that, Scotty. I didn't like how that went."

  "What in particular?"

  "The whole thing felt pretty fucking bad."

  He didn't respond immediately. They came atop their scramble, and the ground leveled out a bit. It was still steep enough that her friend grabbed a fallen branch and used it as a walking stick.

  "Would you have tried to help that Wingin if it had just been you?"

  "No. I don't know the area well enough. You need backup when you're worried about getting trapped."

  "Would you have wanted to help it?"

  "I don't know," she shrugged. Feeling oddly defensive. "I don't like spiders starving any more than I like cute things being eaten. I'd probably have wanted to do whatever helped the forest and its balance best."

  "Dryad thing?"

  "Yeah," she snorted. It was firmly amusing to hear the secret that she had been laboring under through nightmares and years-long loneliness referenced as just a 'dryad thing'.

  "So," he continued, swishing his stick through a bit of wild mint and releasing its smell, "it was the violence, not the death, that bothered you?"

  "Sorta," she shrugged again, but even she could tell how recalcitrant and wishy-washy she was sounding. That pissed her off a little. She was supposed to be a mean bitch. "Listen, I'm not a super touchy-feely person. I don't know what I didn't like. I may not know for a while until I've had time to think about it. I just did not like the feeling of that and… well, shit, I just don't know.

  Suddenly, I'm the weirdo because everyone around me is charging into crypto fights, hanging out of windows, and hoping for bar fights. Maybe I'm the dumb one and a bane is bane, or I'm just a pussy, but I thought I had found one of you that was normal."

  They walked in silence for a long time after that. She wouldn't apologize. She didn't want to imply that he and all the people he worked with weren't alright mentally, but what she had said was true. Fighting was—

  "Fighting is terrible," Scotty said, echoing her thoughts so perfectly she almost yelled 'Jinx, you owe me a soda.'

  Again, her expression sold her out, and he laughed at her face. "Oh fuck off and don't look so surprised. I'm more than my job. It's not that crazy of a thing to say."

  "But you're a bane."

  "Yeah, I'm a bane who specializes in enchantment and shooting things from a range they, literally, may not be able to comprehend. Danger sucks; it's scary. Some people get off on the challenge, or find that all the other thrills feel placid in comparison. Other people, like me, treat it like a job, or as something we feel the need to do for others' good."

  "So… you didn't like that?"

  "No, Shilloh, that wasn't how I like to spend my free days. But I am good at it. I have a thrill when I see the other end of a scary situation, and the jitters beforehand are the price I pay for doing other things."

  She eyed his pack, "Enchanting things?"

  "Enchanting things that help people."

  By then, they had reached a gorgeous and terrifying stretch. The land in front of them had formed an amazing tree tunnel, not because of a rock in the ground stopping growth in the middle of the walk or something like that. Rather, something insanely large and strong had passed through and carved a tunnel through the forest.

  That gave her pause, even though she was briefly overawed by the beauty of the scene. With the sun as it was, she felt like she had been shrunk down and was inside a tunnel where the shafts of massive golden nails pierced through an emerald awning surrounding her. The occasional white or blue flower was hard to tell apart from the glimpses of sky through the leaves.

  Unfortunately, any being capable of carving this path was capable of threatening her life.

  But, and this was the important part, she was still going to keep moving. The tree tunnel was gorgeous. It was like green clouds raining the occasional shower of Spanish moss. Here and there, a waxy leaf flashed with sunlight, and she didn't think there was a poet alive who could express the visual beauty mixed with the sheer feeling of freedom that came from being in a place like this.

  By going forward, she accepted the increased risk of seeing whatever dangerous being had made this path. As such, she would do what it took to mitigate that risk. There was no doubt in her mind that the most effective choice would be turning back, but that wasn't going to happen.

  She would walk this road, because walking it was reasonable for her. If she saw the bear, she would be terrified. It would suck. There was also no doubt that she and Scotty could handle it.

  Even if it sucked and felt bad in the moment.

  "I think I get it," she said, breathing in deep through her nose to take in the scent of loam and leaf. "Risk doesn't make something unreasonable or not right. But do all Banes need to kill things? Like, go straight to that solution? Or can you be a good bane—or bane asset—and try to avoid lethal force as much as possible?"

  He laughed, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw him alert, hands fiddling with his weapons, eyes scanning around them, and his gaze occasionally stopping on something lovely and softening.

  "Some people are only good at killing threats," he said, smiling at the scene in front of them, even if he hadn't lowered his guard. "That's all they do. Some people work on nothing but prevention, public outreach, and other ways to keep things safe. The best, though, and I mean people who have skills that make them calamities more than just people, they do both."

  She gave the scene one last look, trying to savor it, before she took her first step down the lovely, and potentially dangerous path.

  "How do they do both?"

  "Have I ever told you about Thresher?"

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