#baronyofthesilverwolf

"local troll, you may have seen him at the market in town? " she smirks at Thistle's comment then sombers, "He came to me for help. He's.. sick I guess with a chimerical infestation."

He grins. "If it's the one I think, he came to some of Danica's training classes, the ones she offers twice a month to any barony residents who want to brush up on their combat skills."

A woeful rub at a hand where he has, GASP, formed what almost might be called a callus.

"Even in winter." Doleful.

He suddenly looks to Gwen. "Sick? That's not good."

"Like.." Art blances a bit. "Like.. lice?"

"Take the hit and THANK your tutor," Gwen says almost reflexively "It might save your life."

He looks not enthused at the prospect.

"Gawain came home with lice three times this last school season. I can't begin to imagine a chimerical version. Or worse, I can."

"Mother almost shaved his head."

"Yikes. Poor kid." She says.

She pats her hair protectively.

Art also is stroking the end of his, now long and tied with a silk ribbon, midnight locks.

Gwen takes a breath, "And lice is an interesting comparison. Once i got close enough to look him over, and it took a bit but these things are minute, half-formed snowflake-like motes, they drifted around Bronn’s shoulders and hands. Their wings are uneven and asymmetrical, branching in unique patterns that never quite mirror one another. They look almost like Nevers, if but smaller and more indistinct - clinging near him directionless , brief traces of frost that vanish.." She sighs "Apparently things got worse because of a charm. But the Never look alike aspect made me think of Thistle as an expert. But I also worry they might go for her so I'm torn."

"Of course they would be unique, if they are snowflakes." Art leans in, looking intrigued now that it is NOT little biting hair mites.

"But that sounds rather delightful?"

"Compared to some infestations." He casts a glance over at a pair of Nevers who are trying to open the cap of a paint jar.

"I am not a zoologist. Or... pathologist?"

"Zero interest in being Newt Scamander."

"He's sick, feverish and miserable," Gwen says at the 'delightful' comment, then nods to Thistle, "Fair. But you're more qualified than I am, the two of you. So I thought I'd pick brains."

"So. Okay - the pixies are making him sick? Some kinda miasma?"

Art looks puzzled. "I think maybe we need to see these things. Because snowflakes sound seasonal and pleasant to me. There must be more to it."

"Maybe... I could do some research..." He gets an absent look, clearly running through some mental card catalogue.

"He used a spring magic charm on 'the cold'.. the spots he was seeing turned into these things. I willow whispered them ... and, here," She hands them over a note "This is how the 'interview' went. I wrote it down while it was still in my mind."

She grimaces. "So, he furked up a regular cold with magic? Grrrreeeaaaaatttttttt."

Art reviews the paper. "Hmmm..."

From the note: first question "How can we get you to depart from Bronn without harming him further?"

Answer: “Stay, stay! Warm, ours!”

“Go… you?” it squeaks, and as it brushes past her skin, a faint, feverish chill creeps along her arm for a moment. / Second question: "Why did you form in the first place?" Answers: . “Magic… magic!” "Good ... Strong... Make grow." "Grow Grow..."

Last question: "Do you exist only to feed and grow and spread?" Answers included : “Magic… says… grow!” , "Grow!" another “Why… exist? Why…?” “Just… are… just… are… now... want to ... be!”

"Lemme see when you're done?" Grabby hands.

Art hands it over, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully.

"So - Bronn is like a big cozy fireplace-slash-sunlamp for the little buggers?"

Art reads Gwen’s account more than once, slower the second time.

“They don’t describe Bronn as prey,” he says at last. “Or even as food.” He frowns slightly, searching for the right words.
“They talk about warmth. Staying. Being close. As if he is… part of the answer, not the cause.”

He traces a finger along the margin of the page. “When asked why they formed, none of them say need or hunger. They say magic. Strength. Growth. As if something told them what to do, but not why.”

After a pause, he adds, more quietly, “And when asked if that is all they exist for, some of them hesitate. One even asks why it exists at all.”

Art taps his fingers on his knee, thinking. “That makes me wonder if this is less like an illness that wants to spread, and more like something unfinished. Or something that does not know what comes next. I wonder..."

"Looks like, and my ideas, well, I had three of them." SHe admits

"I wonder if they were meant to be something else before he cast some sort of Spring into them and made them explode into growth. That's my guess..." He looks to Thistle, open to her thoughts.

"Like it or not," He grins to Thistle, "You ARE our resident expert, by simply fact that you have more experience with chimera than any one else here!"

"Sounds a bit too at ease with the idea Bronn being a lamb for a sacrifice to me, Art," A brow knit of concern.

He looks to Gwen, realizing (belatedly) that she mentioned ideas. "Well, they didn't sound like they were hurting him, but... " He spreads his hands in a conceding gesture, "I have not seem them, or him."

"My heart says that snowflakes are lovely. Clearly there is more to it then that, though."

"I mean, do things need a 'purpose'? Most chimera don't. People certainly don't..."

"Well...." Art hedges, "I would argue that most people do better with a purpose."

"A reason for being!"

"This did not look that pretty to me, but personal biases are involved," She takes a breath "Well, my ideas were we take Bronn out of the trod and see if they can leave him safely for all involved, but Bronn was worried they'd spread to otherp pockets of the dreaming. My next idea was to have him forget himself , go a bit banal for a bit, but that's a huge risk to him and arguably a crime. Then, my last thought was come to the genius with the Never sucker vacuum tech." She looks at Thistle "But with the way you draw them I worry I'll be endangering you."

"I mean, also true? But just... I dunno, maybe things don't have to be deterministic."

"I'm a troll, we're MADE of Determination." Dryly.

Her eyes widen. "Yeah, no, no forgetting."

"So, what, we catch them in a have-a-heart trap and figure out a safe place to release them?"

"or undo the spring boost they got? I'm not sure. This is so out of my wheelhouse it's crossed a state line," Gladiola mmms.

"I'm not exactly good at dealing with annoying chimerical infestations..." She waves a hand at the motes of colored lights scattered about the studio that are NOT on a string of wire.

"Well, the Baroness' old Covid masks seem to help a bit," Gwen ponders "That's one thing I've learned. So they have virus like aspects."

Hand-wave, nod. "Sympathy is powerful alchemy."

"Sympathy? Feeling bad for them?" Art asks.

From under a heat lamp, Fornax’s small form stirs, blinking one bright purple eye. He recites slowly, almost lazily:
“Affinity, compassion, condolence, empathy, fellow-feeling, kindness, pity, regard, sensitivity, tenderness, understanding, warmth…”

Gladiola looks at her friends "Well, I'm not dumb but I give props to you two being more educated and quicker than I so... I'm open to suggestions."