Return to the Featherlands: Chapter 12 (Patreon)

Silvia groaned at the water clinging to her clothes. With how difficult it was crossing the rapids, after no preparations doing so, she found treading forward in damp armor somehow worse. Luckily, the leather had not absorbed much, but the parts that did gripped onto her skin uncomfortably, starting the first stages of chills and rashes. She wrung everything out to the best of her ability. She checked the contents of her bag to make sure everything was mostly dry, save for a few loose sheets and a homework assignment that she became skeptical about turning in at all. She wiped her glasses on several things along her way. Leaves, flowers, drier portions of skin, only for each to make her lenses only a little less wet than before while still leaving those annoying streaks. Despite it all, she pressed on. Grumbling, not unlike she would during long, boring road trips with her family, but she did nonetheless.

“Paul… now I have to go look for you…” Silvia muttered beneath her breath. She had not strayed too far from the rapids when she stopped to survey the area. She could still hear the water splashing against the rocks. She sighed and looked around. When she saw nothing, she continued on to a different spot in the area and did the same. The sun left the sky a colorful shade that indicated the last few hours of daylight. She swallowed, wishing to have had some company for the night so she would not be so vulnerable, and such a variable gave ‘finding Paul’ an additional element of urgency.

Silvia yawned. She pressed forward in damp clothes, feeling a frighting chill start licking her skin as the light in the sky began to fade. She looked back in the direction of the rapids. The distant rushing of the water made tracing other sounds much more difficult and Silvia knew that heading back to Sprite’s Hollow was likely a worse idea than simply staying out in the cold for the night. She continued her search, lugging the heavy, water-soaked bag across her back while examining distinct spots in hope of finding the whereabouts of Paul. Step by step, her boots crunched against fallen twigs and dried leaves. Silvia had strayed far from any set path, finding herself mostly walking through wider spaced trees and patches of moss.

From what she could hear, there was little other movement around than her own, save for the innocent scampering of smaller creatures. However, a thickness in the air wafted with the scent of smoke. Peering through the brush, Silvia began to see the glowing resonance of flickering light. The orange vibrance cut through the wilderness. She inched closer to it, carefully avoiding making too much noise. As Silvia came closer, she began hearing sounds to accompany the light. A light crackling from the flames, distant mumbling, and the rowdy hoots and hollers of boisterous voices shouting without care.

“Awww, whats’a matter?” the scraggly voice of a Scrawl echoed out. “Pretty boy can’t take no more?” Silvia made her way carefully toward the noises. She recognized the scraggly tone of the Scrawl with their unappealing, raspy voices and obnoxious cackles. Their voices echoed through the trees. They appeared to be coming from the light of the fire, making way for a massive camp where the Scrawl appeared to congregate.

As Silvia came closer, near enough to get a decent view of the Scrawl commune, she progressively made out more and more defining details. Concentrations of woven straw and twigs made up intimate shelters throughout. Some were larger and stood on the ground, making the clearing look more like a campsite, while others were smaller and more scattered up into the branches above and surrounding it. Smaller banners made up of woven reeds dyed with vibrant colors hung strung throughout the clearing on poles and ropes. Smaller creatures were kept in cages for farming while just outside of the clearing, plots of crops were stationed next to one another. The Scrawl had a better setup than Silvia had expected, certainly better than the fairies had back at Sprite’s Hollow after the Badland takeover.

In the center of the site, a roaring fair sat carefully away from any of the wooden materials. It was large, the flames licking far over any of their heads, while not so high as to reach the branches above. Smoke billowed upward, however, blocking out Silvia’s view of the sky above. She could feel the heat from where she hid, still scouting the discovered land. The Scrawl were scattered about, all chatting and rowdy. Some danced by the fire. Some guffawed and cackled in small groups, pouring strange drinks from bottles into each other's mouths. Many, however, appeared to be circling around a specific spot on the other side of the camp. It seemed to be where most of the noise was coming from. Silvia swallowed and carefully circled around the perimeter to get a better view.

“I wanna play next!” another gritty Scrawl voice called out. Their fur was bright and colorful in the fire light. They danced about, carrying on as their voices bellowed into the waning hours of the day.

“No, me! I want a turn!” another voice said. As Silvia circled closer, she could start to make out a more consistent noise. She hid as low as she could crouch and peered through a picked-clean berry bush.

As much as her mind argued defensively about actually seeing Paul in the center of the devious Featherland beasts, relief in finding him at all lightened her shoulders, followed by an immediate dread. The boy hung by his wrists against a tree trunk off on one side of the clearing. He was held suspended by the base of a branch just above his head, his wrists tied together by rope. His cloak laid discarded in the grass off to the side, leaving him in just a dirty, torn tee shirt and long pants. More dirt covered his face and arms. His legs were spread and tied by the ankles around the tree where he hung, leaving him unable to kick the creatures away.

“Stop hogging him, already!” a smaller Scrawl whined. “It’s my turn.” There was little for Silvia to wonder about what the Scrawl were doing to him. Paul twisted in his binds, his back rubbing against the tree. His eyes were shut tight, a dense rag thrust and bound inside of his mouth. The playful Scrawl surrounded him, most much smaller than the ones that they had encountered together. They hung onto the tree and off of the branches above him. Their long, hairy fingers probed around his body. They snickered and giggled while slipping into his sleeves to scratch against his vulnerable pits.

“Mmmmppphhhheeeeheheheheheheheeeee!!” Paul laughed into his gag. He reacted to the tickles more exaggerated than Silvia had expected. Something about the way Paul matured and looked gave her a preconceived expectation that he would not be so ticklish. Seeing Paul react to the tickles as he did, tugging and pulling at the rope while caught up in muffled laughter, pulled in memories of their time together in the Badland Castle. His laughter, even when forced and muffled, retained the same boyish charm that she remembered from it. It was fluttery desperation, a haunting melody robbed of much potential innocence. It was pretty, in a way, or at least she knew that it could be under different circumstances. All in all, the morbid relief of finding Paul was not unlike the warmth that resonated from hearing much of the same winsome, youthful laughter.

“Heh heh, this one’s strong for a human,” said one of the teasing beasts. The smaller Scrawl circling him bore fur colored with a wide variety of hues. A blue one and a purple one hung from the tree, each scribbling their long fingers into Paul’s raised short sleeves. They climbed like overworld simians and tickled with the mischievous intensity of any common Featherland scoundrel devoid of empathy. They poked and scratched at the areas beneath Paul’s remarkably sizable arms. Despite his implied strength, Paul’s writhing tugs against the rope remained futile and did little else but expend his energy. He laughed muffled cries through the constant tickles pinching from both sides.

“Mmmmmppphheeehheheeheheeheheeehggghhhhheheheeee!!!” Paul wailed and growled. His face was a deep shade of red, even without the light of the fire casting an orange glow over the camp. His ticklish cries only fueled the interest of the Scrawl surrounding him. They laughed and taunted the boy, each cackling a high, obnoxious string of giggles.

“Oh, quit your whining,” said a green Scrawl in front of the boy. “You’re gonna have so much fun here as our new toy!” They came right up on Paul, climbing up his body to hang onto the tree next to him. They lifted Paul’s shirt. More of the Scrawl younglings, a pink, yellow, and orange one, from what Silvia could see, all ogled at the ticklish canvass of Paul’s bare midsection.

“Oh yes, oh yes!” the pink Scrawl called out, bouncing up and down in place. “Can I? Can I? Pleeeeease!”

“Nuh uh, it’s my turn now,” the orange one fought.

“I want the plushy underarm spaces next,” said the yellow, hopping at the base of the tree.

“Alright, come with me,” the green Scrawl said. It pulled up the yellow and scurried up to the blue and purple ones above them. “Move on, now. It’s our turn.”

“Heh heh, this one’s a lot of fun,” the blue Scrawl said.

“Wanna get down low?” asked the purple. The blue Scrawl snickered and nodded, both of their furry bodies jumping down to the ground behind the tree. The two still in the tree took their places at each of his armpits while the pink and orange Scrawl stayed in front of Paul, admiring the bare stomach strung up before them. As more tickles returned to Paul’s armpits, leaving him thrashing side to side once again, they began dancing their long, clawed fingers around Paul’s belly. Paul’s head swung side to side. He pleaded into his gag with more desperate of a tone that Silvia expected of him, and was thrust back into a storm of ticklish laughter.

“MMMMHHHHEEEHEEEHEEEHEEEEEEEE!!! PHHHEHEEEHEHEHEHEEE!!!” Paul’s muffled laughter echoed over the crackling flames. He danced more violently, his arms straining and bouncing against the rope holding them up. He threw his head back. Silvia could see the sparkling reflection of the fire off of streams of tears falling from his eyes. His body glistened with sweat.

“Heh heh get him good!” the green Scrawl digging into his armpit called out.

“Don’t wear him out too early,” said another, standing back on the ground watching the show. More appeared to observe Paul’s ticklish display. The pair up by his head giggled wildly as they scribbled deep into his pits. They dug into his sleeves to scrape their claws against the slick, bare skin. Down below, the orange Scrawl spidered its long, tickly fingers up and down the boy’s sides.

“I’m gonna make him scream,” they chanted. “I’m gonna make him dance!” The orange Scrawl’s fingers pinched at Paul’s slender sides. They scribbled up to his ribs before slipping back down to knead into the softer regions. They picked and danced their devious nails along the delicate ridges. The pink Scrawl in front laughed wildly. They danced a little before unleashing all ten scribbling fingers on Paul’s stomach with a flurry of tickles.

“Nuh uh, I’m gonna make him scream louder!” the pink Scrawl argued. Their fingers flew into mad scribbles, tracing and scratching along the edges of Paul’s squirming frame.

“MMMMMPPPHHHMMMHEEEEHEHEHEHEEEEHEEHEEEEE!!!” Paul cried out. He winced hard through the overwhelming assault. Tickles poured through his figure, exacerbated greatly by the Scrawl in front twiddling their fingers along the defined sculpture of Paul’s body. Their scribbling fingers hungrily ate at the ticklish nerves within. Each of the Scrawl’s hands were wide and covered rich amounts of areas, though even in more concentrated spots like his armpits, their fingers still did an effective job at exploiting Paul’s ticklish weakness. The boy screamed with laughter into his gag. His head shook, flinging tears and sweat side to side. The Scrawl, devilish little tickle monsters that they were, merely cackled at his apparent hysteria, fueled by his laughter to push him further.

“Don’t stop now,” said a larger Scrawl down on the ground, watching the display. “Get him as loud as you can.”

“On it!” the blue and purple Scrawls called out from behind the tree. Silvia swallowed as she watched. Paul was far too caught up in the onslaught of tickles rained down upon his pits and stomach to clearly react to what the other two had planned. Silvia knew the Featherlands, and to a dour extent the often brash nature of the creatures within it, well enough to anticipate what they had planned. She grumbled a little bit, sliding closer to the action. The pair of Scrawl were quick in tearing away Paul’s boots. They peeled away long socks to reveal the boy’s bare feet within. Silvia had no clear visual, but could accurately guess the rousing situation. Much like her, she knew Paul to be fairly ticklish all over his body, or at least he was five years prior. With how he handled the abrasive tickles of his upper body, she only imagined that his feet would be in a similar shape.

“Ohhh, lookie lookie!” the blue Scrawl called out, admiring his bare soles. More voices chimed in through giggles and murmurs, both from the tickling Scrawls and those merely spectating and waiting their turn. More seemed to show up to witness Paul’s hysterical escalation. His constitution was already waning quickly. It was clear to Silvia from the exhausted nature of his acute movements and gagged laughter.  They were eating it up, howling and dancing. It was difficult to discern any speech from the rabble, but it all came together as one jumbled, antagonizing headache.

“Ohhhhhhh, tickle tickle tickle!” said the purple Scrawl. The two raised their hands just outside of Paul’s soles, awaiting their own ticklish torment. Paul’s feet were larger, and while both had seen much work over the years, still retained a soft texture that proved more to their detriment. His toes curled and squirmed. His feet tried to protect themselves, yet had little means of doing so as they hung tied to the base of the tree. The blue Scrawl stood outside of Paul’s right foot while the purple took the other. Silvia continued to circle around the camp to get closer to him, staying as quiet as she possibly could. She could barely see Paul from behind the constantly shifting fur of the creatures surrounding his body. He continued to scream and groan with laughter, their fingers scribbling and keeping the boy trapped in a ticklish nightmare from his youth.

“Here comes!” the blue Scrawl laughed. Their wiggling fingers, clawing at the air, plunged down against Paul’s sole. All ten, tipped with hardened nails, danced across Paul’s single arch and heel. The purple Scrawl was not far behind him. They cackled as they added their fingers to Paul’s foot, swiping her nails across the warm, slick surface just beneath his toes. Paul’s body jerked. Silvia could only see parts of the boy behind the curtain of torment, but she noticed the muscles in his left arm contracting heavily as his hand balled into a fist and pulled at the rope. Paul’s back arched against the tree. He let out a shrieking bellow before succumbing to a new, squealing crash of laughter.

“MMMMMEEEEEHHHHHEHEHEHEHHEHEEEEHEE!!!! GGGGHHHMMMEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEE!!!!” Paul’s muffled voice shot out into the woods. A burst of tickles erupted from each foot, all carried out by two scribbling sets of hands designed for ticklish artillery. His exploding laughter was only ever drowned out by the enthusiastic gaggling of the beasts surrounding him. While his upper half got a full, maddening ticklish treatment across his belly, sides, and armpits, Paul’s laughter greatly surged with the added tickles against his feet. The Scrawl all chuckled and took an immediate note of his change of expression.

“Oh my, this one’s shaping up to be a lot of fun, he is!” said the pink Scrawl in front of Paul.

“Oh, he’s going to make a delicious harvest of laughter, for sure!” added the orange Scrawl. The blue and purple Scrawls behind Paul put all of their focus into covering his bare soles with tickles. Their natural abilities to incite laughter with just a flick of a nail was thrown into full force. Their fingers scraped and danced all over Paul’s soft, humid soles. Each little tickle compounded on the rest, leaving Paul in a constant state of screaming with laughter. His sweaty desperation only pushed the Scrawl further, both in tickling and encouraging the tickles for the show.

“AAAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAA!!! MMMMMGGGHHHHHHHAHAHHAHAHAAAAAA!!!” Paul’s voice carried over all the others. Tears dripped down his cheeks. Sweat left his clothes clinging to his body and highlighted the quivering muscles left exposed in the fire light.

“Heehee, pretty boy’s got pretty ticklish feet,” said the blue Scrawl. They scribbled their claws up and down Paul’s arch, shrouding nearly his entire foot in fingering tickles. Both danced in place as they drank in the ticklish energy emitted from his sensitive feet.

“I can’t wait for everyone to get a turn with these handsome pedis,” laughed the purple Scrawl. They twiddled their fingers across Paul’s squirming toes. The toe tickles heightened Paul’s laughter to a crying squeal that betrayed the quiet, strong demeanor Silvia had come to expect. She watched from the bush, observing how all five Scrawl chipped away Paul’s very character with an endless onslaught of tickles.

“MMMHHHHAAAAAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!! SHHHHHGGHHHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” Paul cried out. His body jerked every way it knew how in his position. He thrashed his head side to side. He pulled at the ropes holding him up. The Scrawl merely mocked his efforts and bodily reactions. They laughed and cheered, never ceasing their ticklish tactics.

“Look at the human boy squeal,” said the blue Scrawl, snickering slightly. “I think I know how to keep him going.” The Scrawl cupped Paul’s foot in one hand and brought their snout closer to his foot. They snickered as the poor foot trembled in their palm. The heat from Paul’s bared foot brushed against their snout. The Scrawl parted their jaw and let their long, slimy tongue fall from between their teeth. The wet, raspy appendage slithered out, starting to lap against Paul’s sole. Paul’s back arched as he let out a sharp squeal into his gag. His face clenched. His laughter began quickening and rising in pitch as the tongue slid across his sensitive foot.

“MMMMPPPPHHHHEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHHEHEEE!!! SHHHHTPPPHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEHAHAHAHAHAA!!!” Paul’s voice boomed from behind the gag. The blue Scrawl grinned as they continued to lick at Paul’s foot. They raised their other hand to start scratching at the side while their tongue slithered up and down Paul’s squirming sole. They drank at the ticklish energy of the stimulated nerves, licking and savoring the flavor of Paul’s ticklish foot.

“Heh heh, my my, what a tasty foot we have here,” the blue Scrawl commented. The purple Scrawl looked over and assumed a similar position.

“Eeehehe, what a wonderful idea,” the purple Scrawl said. “I must try.” They too released their long, slithery tongue onto Paul’s sole. The scratchy texture scrubbed against the ticklish nerves within. Both Scrawls painted Paul’s soles with ticklish licks and delicate scratches. Their claws scribbled at the heels and sides while their tongues lapped away up and down the arches.

“MMMMMPPPHHGGGGGHHHHHHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!!” Paul’s laughing cries traveled far. The tickling against his upper body by the chattering beasts was more than enough to flood his senses, but the scratchy licking against his soles sent his laughter rocketing deeper into desperation. Tears dripped down his cheeks, sweat from his hair. The fur of the Scrawls surrounding him tickled against the bare skin across which it brushed. They laughed in his face, antagonizing the boy and exacerbating his suffering.

“Awww, look at the pretty boy getting his feet licked,” said the orange Scrawl, skittering their nails up and down Paul’s bare ribs.

“Heh heh, yeah, better hold out, pretty boy,” said the green Scrawl, scribbling their claws against Paul’s plush, slick underarms. “We’re all getting turns with you tonight.”

“‘Tonight’?” asked the yellow Scrawl. “How about ‘forever’?” The Scrawls burst out a heavy cackle. Their long, skinny fingers never seemed to leave Paul’s body. Each one was tipped with a claw that managed to find all of the boy’s most ticklish areas. The Scrawl behind him laughed along while they kept his bound feet fully occupied.

“Mmmm, so delicious!” they said between licks. “I can’t wait for everyone to get a taste.”

“Especially these adorable little toesies,” added the purple Scrawl. Their tongue slithered in and around Paul’s squirming toes. Every inch of their tongues was rough and scraped against the most delicate of nerves. The pair licked easily and endlessly, the slimy appendages delighting themselves mostly on the areas with the highest concentration of nutrient-rich ticklish energy, the spots that surged through Paul’s senses the most.

“MMMMGGGHHHEHEEHEEEEHEHEHEEHEEEEE!!!!” Paul shouted into his gag.

Silvia watched from the side. She could tell that Paul’s composure was fading quickly. His screaming laughter started to become more violent and pitiful. The angry tone of his laughter had rapidly shifted into sounds that resembled begging and crying. Silvia bared her teeth. She stayed crouched behind the bush, contemplating the best time to spring out to save him from absolute exhaustion. She thought about making a run for it and plowing through any Scrawl that got in her way. She weighed the option to wait until the Scrawl retired for the evening to silently free him from his binds. The longer she waited, the more Paul had to endure and the anxiety of inaction pressed against her shoulders. She mapped out a path through the creatures. She thought about her actions in getting to Paul and hopefully fleeing before getting caught, but the sheer amount of Scrawl present made such a plan nearly impossible. Still, she waited for the right time to move as doing nothing was just as much torture as any tickling.

“What’s this now?” a grimey voice asked, much louder than any other. It accompanied a hot breath brushed against the back of Silvia’s neck. Before she could turn to face it, a large, mangy hand clamped over her mouth. More hands joined to stop Silvia in the middle of spinning to fight back. Vibrant fur tickled her skin.

“Aaahh–mmmm!” Silvia squeaked a muffled shout into the palm of a particularly large Scrawl, their hair gray and dirty. A small one, a dark shade of violet, took hold of one wrist, forcing it behind Silvia’s back against her bag.

“This must be the queen that Beca was talking about,” they said. “The one with the boy prize.”

“Ohhh, then we gotta take her to him, huh?” the larger one said, their voice deep and gravely. Silvia protested. She shouted and kicked against the dirt as much as she could, but the pair of beasts moved her with ease.

They forced her through the bushes, closer into the camp. As they pushed her into the clearing, the light of the flames flicking against her cheeks, the smaller Scrawl kept a firm hold on her arm. More of the Scrawl, dancing and celebrating with their bombastic merriment, stopped to look back at the captured queen. They snickered and smiled. They pointed and howled, calling out to one another with the news. Silvia grumbled. The camp was hot and heavy with the scent of dirty fur. She swallowed as she continued to fight.

“Gah, put me down!” Silvia shouted, no longer concerned with staying quiet. She kicked and fought back against the large, gray Scrawl carrying her. The ones tickling Paul even stopped to take notice of the queen’s surprising arrival.

“Ohhh, is that the queen?” one asked.

“Couldn’t be just another human girl,” said another. Silvia was thrown to the ground. Her shoulder slammed hard into the dirt and weeds. The fire at least felt nice against her skin still trapped in her cold, damp clothes, but as she looked around, seeing more Scrawl appear surrounding the camp, the relief was short lived. The gray Scrawl forced Silvia up into a kneel, her knees digging into the ground. She grunted, her glasses sitting askew on her nose. She looked to Paul, or as much of Paul as she could see. He panted deeply. He struggled to catch his breath from the Scrawl’s ticklish attack. Visions of him in the same state years prior flashed through her mind. She clenched her teeth, her cheeks reddening and shaking.

“Let me go,” Silvia spoke loudly. “Both of us. Now!” The Scrawl surrounding her burst into laughter. Most stood taller than where she knelt while the younger ones were about the same height. All cackled a chorus of laughter, echoing into the evening sky.

“Listen to this one,” one said. “Still think she’s the queen! After all this time!”

“I know!” said another. “She thinks she can tell us what to do!” Silvia gnashed harder. She looked at each of them, chuckling at her disposition. She opened her mouth to scold them when another voice boomed louder than any other.

“And what a great bounty she’ll make,” Melroy added his voice to the others. He walked around her, staring down at the kneeling queen. A smirk stretched across his fleshy beak. His own fangs grinded together. A long, slick tongue slithered from his snout, gliding around. “Looks like the plan worked. Make the boy scream and the girl will come running.”

“Let us go,” Silvia repeated, locking eyes with Melroy standing before her. The large, gray Scrawl kept a hold on her, pressing her deep into her kneeling position.

“Thought yourself so clever with that little trick, did ya?” Melroy asked. “You really think we’re that dim witted?” Silvia huffed and shrugged.

“What did you expect?” Silvia asked. “I only had what you looked like to go on, so yeah.”

“Sharp tongue, but not so clever,” Melroy said.

“I mean, it worked, didn’t it?”

“That’s not the point!” Melroy shouted. “You’re our prisoner now and we’ll take what we want.” Silvia swallowed. Paul, struggling to suck down as much as air he could through his nose, growled angrily.

“Mgghh!” Paul roared. He shook his head and glared back at Melroy, sweat glistening against his body. Melroy looked back at Paul and snickered.

“Oh, and I bet you’re wanting us to let her go too, aren’t you?” Melroy asked. “Doesn’t seem like either of you are in the position to bargain.” Paul grumbled more, his face glowing red.

“Paul, shut up,” Silvia said. “It’s fine, I can handle this.”

“Oh, can you now?” Melroy asked. “I don’t think you understand what’s about to happen.”

“If I can guess, will you let us go?” Silvia asked. Several of the Scrawl began to chuckle.

“Heh heh, well now, there’s an interesting game,” Melroy said. “Tell you what… you guess right about what’s about to happen and we’ll let the boy go. You’re too valuable.”

“Fair enough,” Silvia said. “You’re going to keep the boy here.” A pause fell over the camp. Several of the Scrawl began to murmur about. Melroy stood up straight and grinned.

“Well, now, that’s not a bad idea,” Melroy said. “I mean, why just let the boy go when he’s been so much fun to play with?”

“So, I’m right?” Silvia asked.

“But of course,” Melroy said. “Why would we… wait…” Melroy thought for a moment. His expression melted into one of deep contemplation. He raised one finger to his lips as he began mumbling to himself. “If we… let him go…” Others began to join the beast contemplating the dilemma. Melroy’s eyes furrowed and shifted back and forth.

"But then… you'd have to let him go…" the gray Scrawl said slowly.

"No, but…" Melroy said angrily. He clenched his eyes shut, the gears in his mind turning slowly and painfully. "But then…"

"You'd be wrong then…" another Scrawl said, deep in thought. Silvia looked around to see many of the creatures surrounding her mulling with vacant expressions. She sighed. Silvia turned to Paul. He hung against the tree, his broad chest rising and falling rhythmically. He smirked through his gag upon meeting her eyes. He shook his head with exhausted disbelief. Silvia smiled back.

"I know!" Melroy shouted. "But..  I can't let him go, I… argh!" The gray Scrawl behind Silvia began to loosen their grip. Silvia delicately began to slip from the straps of her bag. She let them fall off her shoulders to her elbows.

"Come on, now," Silvia said. "You're a smart guy, you can figure it out."

"I-I know!" Melroy said. "You think you can make fools of us?"

"Of course not," Silvia said, shrugging her shoulders while the straps fell down to her wrists. "Maybe only for just long enough.”

“Just long enough for wha–?” Melroy asked. Before he could finish, Silvia’s massive backpack slammed against the side of his cheek. The bag was heavy and stuffed with several thick textbooks for added bludgeoning. As Melroy stumbled back into the dirt, Silvia spun around to deliver the same, swinging blow against the gray Scrawl behind her. He growled and brushed it off easier, yet bought Silvia enough time to slip away. “Argh! Get her!”

Melroy reached for Silvia before jumping to his feet. She evaded a wide grab and rushed toward the tree holding Paul. The other Scrawl raced closer in. Rapid footsteps slammed against the dirt. They hooted and howled aggressively, chasing after the girl still holding the bag. Silvia ran as fast as she could. She pushed through several smaller Scrawl while dodging around the larger ones reaching and jumping out toward her. Silvia reached into the bag. She pulled out the dagger and held it tightly in her other hand, careful to mind its position in case she would trip.

“Get away from him!” Silvia shouted at the Scrawl gathered around the tree. A few scattered when they saw Silvia approaching. Others in the group stayed by, but fled up into the branches the moment they saw the rest leaving. By the time she reached Paul, the smaller Scrawl had vanished. More continued to chase her until they too stopped several meters short. Silvia turned to face the Scrawls around her and Paul. She held up the dagger and pointed it at each of them. Melroy raced up to the front. He stood, backed by more of the Featherland beasts closing in. His fleshy beak twisted into a menacing snarl.

“You’re not going anywhere, queenie,” Melroy said. The fire crackled behind him, the heat licking Silvia’s face as it basked the camp in a rich, orange glow. The light flickered off of the dagger, still raised up at the creatures. Silvia backed up against Paul. The boy heaved against the tree, sweat glossing over his skin and scent. Silvia swallowed. She stared back at the Scrawls coming closer.

“You’re both gonna be ours forever,” another Scrawl commented.

“And we’re going to have so much more fun with you, queen,” said another. “Before we hand you over to the real queen, that is.”

“Please,” Silvia said, her tone dropping with desperation. “I just need to find my sister. I don’t want any of this.”

“None of that matters now,” said Melroy. “You’re our prisoner. But if you’re good, maybe we’ll find your sister for you and make her our prisoner too.” The Scrawl chuckled. They licked their lips hungrily, eager to feed off of the ticklish energy of the two humans. Silvia whimpered. She held onto the dagger with both hands, her grip shivered while her eyes darted every which way.

“I won’t let you,” Silvia said through a shivering voice. More of the Scrawl began to cackle. “You hear me? I said I won’t let you!”

“You’re outnumbered, queenie,” Melroy said. “Just come easy now and we’ll give your friend a break… while we focus on harvesting from you.” Silvia’s heart pounded in her chest. The dagger shook more and more in her hands. She swallowed, watching the beasts slowly creep closer.

“S-s-stay back!” Silvia shouted. The Scrawls giggled with wide smirks. They were closing in from every side. Most were in front, their shadows from the fire light cast upon her figure. Paul struggled and grunted to alert Silvia to more coming in from the side. The trees rustled. The bushes shook as more and more of their devious eyes stared her down.

“There’s no running now, queenie,” Melroy snarled. The cackling creatures licked their lips. Step by step, they circled Silvia and her companion still strung up by his wrists.

As the Scrawl began to tightly surround the two, careful not to get too close to the dagger, a screeching howl shouted from the trees beyond the camp. It was largely ignored as a singular yelp, but as more and more screams were heard, the Scrawl began to take notice. They looked back and around past the edge of the camp. Some turned to the trees above their heads, their eyes widening as they froze in place. Silvia was not so gullible to whatever tricks she assumed they were playing with her. She held the dagger up firmly pointed at each of them in front of her.

“Is it…?” Melroy asked softly. He too had turned his attention upward to the overhead branches. Silvia glanced to see dark shadows dashing just outside of the light. They were large and nimble and navigated the trees more efficiently than the Scrawls starting to scatter. More would cry and immediately fall silent. The approaching Scrawl began to dart into the darkened forest. Their eyes were wide and expressions turned pale. They howled for one another, scrambling through the camp in a frenzy.

“Go!” one shouted. “Get out of here!”

“They’re back!” said a Scrawl, dashing toward the woods.

“Don’t leave me!” another cried. The larger Scrawl gathered the smaller, more confused ones in their arms. They sprinted into the night, carrying little more than their young and an armful of supplies. As more raced out into the night, Silvia could see more being sucked up into the canopies, screaming as they came face to face with the dark shadows. More of the lingering threat dashed through the trees. The Scrawl’s cries were steadily silenced. Eventually, only Melroy remained. His face had turned white. His eyes shimmered as he slowly backed away. He turned to Silvia and swallowed.

“You… you’re on your own…” Melroy said before sprinting off into the nocturn brush. The camp had fallen quiet. Silvia stood on alert, still holding the dagger in both trembling hands. She collected herself. She steadied her breathing before turning to face Paul.

“H-hang on…” Silvia said. She made quick work cutting through the ropes binding him to the tree. She started with his legs before dragging over a barrel of berries on which to stand to cut down his wrists. Paul fell and collapsed to his side. Silvia jumped down to inspect him. She pulled the gag out of his mouth and threw it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Re-relatively,” Paul said, still catching his breath. “I’ve handled worse.”

“I know, Mr. Ticklish,” Silvia said with a smirk. “But we should also probably get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Paul said, pushing himself to his feet. He fixed his clothes and put his socks and boots back on. Silvia grabbed the bag, throwing it back over her shoulders.

“Where’s your satchel?” Silvia asked.

“No time,” Paul said in a hurry. “We’re not alone.”

“Didn’t think so,” Silvia said. “But whatever it was helped us.”

“Still… I don’t trust it,” Paul said. He took Silvia’s hand and pulled her along. “Come on, we need to leave. Now.”

“Aww, so soon?” a ghostly voice echoed from the branches above. It carried over the camp, making the source difficult for Silvia or Paul to determine. It was rough and slimy in tone. “After we scared off those nasty creatures.” Silvia’s eyes locked onto Paul’s. The pair fell still as they carefully watched the dark figures move about the trees above them. Paul’s eyes widened. His chest puffed harder, his hand falling cold and damp in Silvia’s. Silvia began to match Paul’s obvious panic.

“Not good?” Silvia asked quietly.

“Very not good,” Paul answered back. A hard crash sounded from the bushes in their path. More began crunching against the shrubbery around them, black masses falling from the trees above. Paul pulled Silvia close. He held her hand tightly in hers as she watched the area behind him.

“Don’t be scared, little queen,” the voice spoke again. “We don’t bite.” Snickers echoed from the darkness. Silvia held the dagger firmly in her other hand. She adjusted her glasses and kept her eyes peeled for the shadowy figures creeping in closer.

“To your left,” Paul whispered. “We’re going to run.”

“That’s it?” Silvia asked. “You don’t have a spell or something for… whatever this is?”

“There’s too many,” Paul said. “We have no time. It’s our best chance. Ready?” Silvia breathed deeply.

“I’m so tired,” she said. Silvia sighed. “Alright, ready.” More crunching steps grew louder from the dark woods surrounding them.

“On three,” Paul said. “One… two…” Silvia’s hand jerked in a direction she was not expecting. It flew upward toward the branches above. Paul’s grip loosened from hers and with it, Paul himself was pulled up into the tree with a shrill gasp. Silvia turned to look up, seeing only Paul’s figure vanishing behind the branches.

“Paul!” Silvia cried.

“Run!” Paul screamed before falling muffled once more. Silvia’s eyes scanned the treetops for her companion. She caught only faint movements far above where she stood.

“No, no, no, not again…” Silvia started to panic. Her chest pounded out a hollow cavern. A chill raced through her body while her complexion faded a light pale shade.

Silvia took a single step to start running. She tumbled face first into the grass, the sole of her boot stuck to the ground. She looked back to examine, only to find the boot glued by some strange silky adhesive. She pulled at it and briefly contemplated just slipping out of the article and moving forward with one foot vulnerable to the Featherland’s infamous elements. Before she could decide, the silky mass was given a hard tug. It flew back, dragging Silvia across the ground. Silvia tried to grab onto anything that could keep her from the menacing force. Roots tore from the dirt. Weeds and flowers ripped at the stems. Stones merely slowed down the pulling.

It only stopped when Silvia was pulled up from the ground toward the treetops. She shrieked as she dangled just below the branches. With the dagger in hand, she tried to reach up to cut the strange string holding her up. The weight of the bag against her back kept her from reaching her foot. She strained and grunted, twisting and writhing uselessly in place.

Looking up, Silvia could see several glowing eyes staring back at her. Many legs held onto the silky, sticky rope. It pulled her slowly up toward the branches, where several more shadowy masses stared and waited. The beast came closer, revealing in the light of the fire a large Badland Arthro, decorated as a tribal leader. The Spinnerette before her shot Silvia a wide smile.

“How cute,” Deborah said with a harsh whisper. “You look so much like your sister.”