#baronyofthesilverwolf

A smile and she tells Buttons "I had a bear once. Gave him to my little cousin so I hope he's still got work." A wink.

The little one pats Gwen on the cheek, leaving a jammy pawprint.

Thistle makes her goodbyes with her old friend - there is, after all, a cabbage to find.

Gwen normally has a dog to take care of that, but is ready to go when Thistle is.

They can see the yellow-gold mote flitting around at the old fishing dock at the bottom of the hill. with another figure now sitting at hand as well. If one squints, there seems to be something... roundish, on the dock between them.

Gwen moves a bit closer.

"I swear to Brighid, I do NOT know what she was thinking..." Tromping along.

"She was probably thinking 'Chime'"

As they draw nearer, the soft hum of dragonflies parts around a clearer, brighter tone—Citrine has spotted them. The clockwork Never zips into the air with a delighted chime, circling Thistle’s head in a loop-de-loop of greeting before darting back toward the dock.

Bluebell startles at the motion. She glances over her shoulder, tension visible even at a distance. Her damp hair clings to her neck, and a half-wrung braid drips onto the weathered wood beside her. A small, round shape rests between her feet on the dock—partially obscured, but distinctly cabbage-like in outline, though rather smaller and less rounded than a prize vegetable should look.

Citrine flits around her cheerfully, obliviously, clearly pleased with the company. Bluebell, at least, has the decency to look guilty.

"....Bunny?"

She blinks a few times, nose twitching, then says, "...I can explain?"

"Pretty sure it's more like you owe Dolph, but I confess to being curious."

"Wait what the .."

A pause and a less angry than concerned look.

Bluebell lifts her chin. “There I was, minding my own business when—suddenly!—a cabbage attacked me. Leapt straight out of the dirt, hissing like a goose. I barely escaped with my life.”

She glances sideways. “Or maybe it was a goose disguised as a cabbage. They do that sometimes, you know.”

"I mean, I only took it because the moon told me to. Very persuasive, that moon. Spoke in rhymes.”

She opens her mouth for a third try, brow furrowing in theatrical concentration. “Or maybe I was saving it from a band of roaming salad forks—”

"Again, ain't me you hurt."

"And the yellow hooligan is always up for anything that seems amusing."

Gwen frowns "is this a fertility ritual of some kind, Bluebell? I know you have to lie, but ... you can let us know if I've guessed right."

Bluebell sniffs, her ears drooping. "Hurting is what I always intend, it is known." And she gives Gwen a glance that looks slightly baffled, but doesn't seem to know how to respond.

Citrine flits in frantic spirals over the cabbage-shaped lump, launching into a rippling peal of chimes—an enthusiastic, run-on soliloquy of bells and tones.

She gestures wildly at the small, somewhat deflated-looking cabbage, then starts tugging at a loose leaf, possibly intent on tearing it apart.

She grumbles a self-depreciating string of curses... and kenns the cabbage.

Gwen sees the baffled look, and says "Pardon, I thought there was maybe a cabbage patch kid bunk going on."

Oh, glamour glows in the midshappen cabbage core. One would expect some from one of Dolph's attempts at goblin fruit, but this seems more... active, in a way!

Citrine is tugging at a particularly ornery leaf. She takes a bite out of it in frustration, then spits it out with a PEH! Face. Bluebell tsks at her, "Respect your veggies."

"Dolph worked hard on this cabbage, Bluebell. "

Her ears droop and she does look guilty.

Citrine buzzes her wings at Thistle, looking for help as she tugs at that leaf. The cabbage rocks back and forth under her ministrations, the leftover core now barely larger than the never herself

Thistle scrunches up her face.

"I mean, it's a magic cabbage."

"Can... we help?"

Bluebell considers, wrinkling up her nose in thought. Then suggesting, "Tweezers?"

She pats her pockets, before producing a pair of forceps. "Close enough?"

Citrine points to the stubborn leaf and chimes plaintively. Hands on her hips!

"Oh, you're the boss now?"

Gwen says "Let me know how Buttons and I can help. "

Button, who didn't even realize he was going along for the ride, drools a bit at the vegetable.

Citrine cocks her head at Thistle and chimes, as if to say, "Always!"

A resigned sigh. "Yeah. Bout right."

She grabs the leaf and tugs.

"Neverwhipped," Gwen whispers to Button.

A snicker behind sticky paws.

The stubborn leaf resists at first, thick and fibrous, but with a firm tug it finally peels away. As it falls aside, a small figure unfolds beneath—soft green limbs stretching wide like new leaves in the sun!

Citrine chimes in triumph, and Bluebell claps a hand over her mouth in surprise!

What wriggles forth from the torn leaves is a tiny sprite, of sorts! Her body is soft, leafy greens layered like cabbage leaves, delicate leafy wings fluttering gently at her back. A round face glows with fresh vitality, eyes bright and wide, and slender limbs unfurl gracefully like young shoots. She stretches her arms and legs with a relieved sigh, smiling as she says, “Oh, it feels good to stretch!”

Blink!

"Wow..." She stares "Welcome."

"That a tiny Kubera?" She pokes the sprite with the tip of the tool.

Kenning to see if it is more chimerical or more like the Kubera they DO know.

Chimera through and through!

The tiny sprite blinks up at Thistle’s poke, then frowns in confusion. “A... a...” she stammers, clearly unsure. After a pause, she brightens and declares, “I am Me!”

Citrine buzzes nearby, clearly smug at the part she played in the hatching, while Bluebell watches quietly, admiration clear in her gaze. Then, the pooka cannot help but say, plaintively, “This couldn’t have been theft— you can’t own a person! It’s not like she’s some sort of... vegetable.” A delicate sniff follows.

"She is, however, actually a cabbage patch kid."

"Seems better than some grange fair brag, anyways."

"Hello, little one," Gwen says "I'm Dame Gladiola, this is Thistle, Citrine and Bluebell the Green Trafficker"

SHe gestures to each in turn.

"I am not a KID." Indignantly. "That is a baby goat, and those are to be avoided, they will chomp you up whole!"

The sprite glances up (and UP) at Gwen's introductions, her leafy eyes widening as they land on Citrine. “The little sun!” she exclaims, delighted. She begins hopping in place with bright, eager energy, trying to launch into the air after her. Her leafy wings, however, are still damp and limp, fluttering more like soggy petals than flight-ready sails. That doesn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm in the slightest.