Page 39 of Tossing the Caber

Either the rest of the travel party thinks Laurel doesn’t know they’re taking bets on how long it will be until he breaks down on the road, or they don’t care. At the very least, Laurel knows it’s not a malicious gamble. Beacon had assured him of this before storming off to threaten the ringleaders with some variety of torture or sabotage if they didn’t stop hassling his (quoth Hallie) “lovely little fella.”

Laurel doesn’t mind the teasing. It’s the first time he’s had people who cared enough to tease him. While Laurel’s body modifications are for his own pleasure, he enjoys the attention they draw. Growing up, being seen was a luxury.

In the end, even though Beacon eyes Laurel like he might insist upon the rickshaw, Laurel opts to walk with the rest of his family—his family! Just thinking the words makes his toes curl in his boots.

They arrive at the Shrine after the ceremony has begun, leaving them at the back of the crowd of other newlyweds and their witnesses. Beacon bristles from impatience, so Donlan leaves him to be strong-armed by his mother while reassuring Laurel that once the initial prayers are complete, the rest will move quickly.

Which still leaves them waiting for the end of prayers that are being damned-near drowned out by the ambient noise.

While Laurel is doing his best not to send his thoughts into the rustling trees rather than strain to hear the elderly Shrine Guardian mumble, a whisper reaches his ears:

“Do you want me to get you a ring?”

Surprised, Laurel surreptitiously glances up at Beacon, who is looking steadfastly ahead. “A ring?”

“Yes. I can’t wear one because of my work, but I could get one for you.”

Laurel reaffixes his gaze toward the Shrine, curling his fingerstightly into his palms. His mother had worn her ring on the third finger of her dominant hand—the right. But Laurel’s dominant hand is theleft. Sensations via his prosthesis are different from the rest of his hand. Muffled. Wearing Beacon’s ring on a finger that can’t feel the way the rest of his body can, something that is as much a part of him as it is a foreign object he can remove…

“What about a necklace instead?” Beacon cuts into the panicked noise filling Laurel’s head, breathy words resonating over the rustling tree branches and mumbling Shrine Guardian. “Or a bracelet?”

Slipping his hand into Beacon’s, Laurel muses, “A bracelet would be nice.” Beacon squeezes his hand, and they share a smile until Beacon’s mother pokes them both in the back to draw their attention. Beacon’s father pointedly holds out a bundle of fresh flowers and herbs, and Laurel has to cover his mouth to hide a laugh when Beacon rolls his eyes before accepting it.

Together, they ferry the small offering to the center of the Shrine, where they wait in the queue far too long before reaching the front. On impulse, before Beacon can set the bundle down with the other tokens left by new couples seeking prosperity and happiness, Laurel uses a flicker of magic to snip off a lock of his hair. He takes care wrapping it around the bundle, weaving the dark strands under the twine so it stays in place.

As little reverence as Laurel has for any spiritual affair, including receiving a blessing from some large, old rock, it feels right to leave a part of himself behind before departing. Emberleigh has been a good place to live for all those years Laurel spent learning how to grow outside a house that didn’t want him.

While nothing in Emberleigh is replaceable, what Laurel will miss most are the experiences and places that raised him;he’s not so much leaving those behind as moving onward to new ones. There will be other creeks for Beacon to drop things into. Other forests full of rustling things and the trees Beacon promised to fell, harvesting wood destined for Laurel’s new workshop.

You don’t have to cut down your own trees, Laurel had whispered across the pillow they shared last night.

No, I don’t, Beacon had agreed before closing his eyes, smudges of exhaustion beneath them visible even in the darkness of the tent.But I will.

Beacon has made a lot of promises in a very short amount of time—especially considering they’ve barely known each other for two weeks. Perhaps that’s why he sees it as so important, making sure Laurel has a standard to hold him to after his disastrous first engagement.

Free of the crowd, they hurry North to meet the travel party, the lot of them anxious to leave so they can reach Tunbrae on schedule.

Laurel isn’t especially good at singing, but when he sees the little wagon his parents-in-law bought for them, he’s nearly overcome by the urge. He saves it until they’re properly on their way, sitting at the front of the enchanted vehicle while Beacon navigates it through the narrow streets of Laurel’s hometown. Beacon is in the middle of promising to teach Laurel how to steer, Laurel planning to study the magic as well, when his voice cuts off and his expression goes cold.

Swiveling his head in a concerned arc, Laurel seeks out the disturbance. His breath freezes in his lungs when he sees it.

Seeshim.

His father, Rodney Lushroot, leaning against the front gate of their house with his arms crossed. Laurel hadn’t even realized they were on the street he’d once called home.

Not anymore.

“Greetings, Papa,” Laurel says in a small voice. Beaconalmost doesn’t stop the wagon, but Rodney pushes off the gate and walks toward them.

“You’re finally leaving,” Rodney says instead of a hello.

Laurel falters. “Yes. That was the agreement, was it not?”

Snorting, Rodney says, “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“Ah.”

Silence falls, tension not so much crackling between them as it is radiating from Rodney toward Laurel, who can’t help but grab the tip of his tail as he curls in upon himself. Rodney looks different from the last time Laurel saw him. Not quite haggard, but unfulfilled. Angry, with nowhere to direct the emotion anymore.