Page 21 of A Brighter Yellow
“OK,” he said with a nod. “I can do that. Lots of Eastern Hemlock and Sugar Maple.”
“Do you identify every place by their trees?” asked Anna.
“Mostly,” he replied.
“Hm. I use smell.”
He grinned.
“Anna!”
“Oh shit,” said Anna looking over her shoulder. Her father was storming toward them, wearing his usual old-fashioned nightshirt and brown slippers.
“And here we go,” said Ochre.
“Anna Allanach, you get back here! I forbid—”
The sound of her father’s yelling abruptly cut off as Ochre pulled her into the trees. Anna looked around at the soft light of the woods and the moss underfoot. It was more colorful to human eyes and not quite such an assault on her nose. She batted at rainbows that seemed to float in her vision then realized they weren’t really there.
“This place is so bizarre.”
“You get used to it,” said Ochre. “Although, I suppose it’s best not to get too used to it.”
“What does that mean?” asked Anna, following him as he set out on a track that hadn’t been there a moment before.
“The woods bend to the will of the traveler, but we’re not the only ones here. Also, they have a mind of their own and can play some tricks if they’re in a mood. Basically, it doesn’t pay to get distracted or wander too deep. Although, sometimes I wonder,” he paused, and Anna saw that there was a path branching off of theirs. It was lush with flowers, and the moss looked delightfully green and springy.
“Wonder what?” she asked. Ochre blinked and looked down at her with a smile.
“What waits down the paths I don’t take.”
Anna looked back at the new path and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It was the same feeling she got while hunting, and she had strayed too far into bear country.
“I think we should stay on the path we’re on,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed, but he hesitated another second before he walked on. Anna felt relieved when the path was out of view.
The journey to Pennsylvania was lovely. She held Ochre’s hand, and they ate a picnic breakfast beside a little babbling brook. They exchanged stupid college stories, and she made him snort-laugh with her story about accidentally eating an entire nine by twelve pan of pot brownies. It was the first and only time she’d been high, and up until Ochre fell over from laughing, it wasn’t a story that she enjoyed recounting about herself. She learned that he’d been raised mainly by his grandmother and that he didn’t want to talk about where his mom was. Anna wanted to tell him that she didn’t know where her mom was either, but she thought the fact that her mom might have lone-wolfed off to South America because she was bored probably wasn’t the same as whatever had happened to Ochre.
By the time they walked out of the trees in the green belt near Charlie’s house, Anna was convinced that she had never met anyone like Ochre. She didn’t understand how someone who wasn’t a wolf could possibly be so easy to talk to, but he managed it. She supposed that was a speciesist attitude, but she’d never met anyone of any race that she’d clicked with as easily as Ochre. On the other hand, she also didn’t know too many people that weren’t wolves or humans, so maybe it was normal for the Fae races.
Anna took a tentative step forward and inhaled.
“We’re at Charlie’s house!”
“Yes,” agreed Ochre, laughing. “Where did you think we would be?”
“I know you said that’s where we were going, but it’s not real until I smell it,” said Anna.
He stopped laughing and looked thoughtful.
“Funny how you forget about pollution in your fairy woods,” she said, taking another sniff.
“They aren’t my woods,” he said, “but I know what you mean. It kind of smacks you in the face when you get out. I usually start my morning off with cleansing spells. It helps for a while, but I feel kind of gunked out by dinner if I spend too much time in a city. I don’t know how Scarlet does it.”
“Yeah,” she took another sniff and frowned as she caught a whiff of something else. Her fingers curled, claws extending on instinct.
“Anna?” Ochre sounded tense, and when she looked over at him, he was already reaching for his bow. “What’s wrong?”
