Page 261 of May: Bloom & Bane

“At least he’s not hitting on me this time,” Ashán laughs, his blue fire dancing with amusement.

Damon sighs. “I can hear you.”

Andrik’s soulfox, Savael shows up first, a streak of silver through the pines, and riding between his ears, balanced on his tiny hind legs with one paw braced against the fox’s skull like a herald on the prow of a ship, is a bunny-sprite whose light is cycling so rapidly through every color imaginable that, for one heartbeat, he appears to be on fire.

Droot is screaming. He launches himself from Savael’s head, sailing a distance no creature his size should be able to, landing square on Ashán’s shoulder. He immediately purrs, rubbing his face against Ashán’s flaming skull.

“Chirp!”

“CHIRPET.”

“Chir—”

Ashán laughs. “I missed you too, Droot.” He reaches into his ribcage and carefully withdraws a cluster of tiny crimson berries. “Look at what I found for you.”

Droot pauses his grooming.

“Robinberries.”

Droot gasps, snatching the cluster with both paws, and proceeds to shove four too many in his mouth.

“Droot.” Ashán’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Buddy.” He taps one tiny overstuffed cheek. “You have absolutely no self-control.”

Droot blinks up at him with bulging cheeks. Then shoves another one in.

Ashán scratches behind Droot’s ears while he happily demolishes the rest of his cluster.

“I do not think he will want to leave your side anytime soon,” I murmur.

Droot shakes his head so hard the berries fly everywhere. “CHIRP.”

Eden giggles. “He says absolutely not.”

Damon clears his throat. Everyone turns. The God of the Afterlife is standing with his hands politely behind his back. “... If,” he says with exaggerated casualness, “His Majesty finds himself… temporarily without suitable accommodations…”

I groan. “No.”

“I haven’t finished.”

“I know exactly where this is going.”

“I merely wished to state…” Damon smoothes a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve. “... that the Kingdom of the Afterlife remains open to diplomatic visits.”

Droot freezes, one tiny ear perking.

Damon reaches into his coat with ceremonial gravity, producing one of his infamous strawberry-cream-cheese danishes. “... There may also be tribute.”

Droot’s head swivels toward Ash, then toward Damon, down toward the danish, and back to Ashán. He’s having the moral crisis of a lifetime.

Ashán laughs. “Go on.” Droot blinks slowly, letting out tiny hopeful chirps. “You’ve earned a vacation.”

Droot launches straight toward Damon’s chest. Damon catches him as if he were receiving the greatest honor imaginable. An elegant hand resting over his harness. “Your Majesty.”

Droot stuffs his face into Damon’s hair.

I sigh. “I will see you in six hours.”

An offended look spreads over Damon’s face. “... I was thinking twelve. I’m sure Ashán has plans to… break in his new form.” He looks over toward Ashán and gives a slow wink.