The rest of the week and weekend came and went without Nellie taking a peek at Rhys’s letters. She did paw through the photo album everyday if only for a minute. She grew familiar with how Rhys changed from chubby cheeked cherub to a square-jawed teen, his flaxen curls darkening to a deep, golden honey wave. The photos with the two brothers together–despite Rhys’s sour expression and Uncle Winston trying hard to hide his annoyances–were some of her favorites due to their similar features. Seeing Uncle Winston and Rhys at thirteen and three was like a preview to what Rhys would look like at thirteen, with lighter, wavier hair. It was a game to try to match the features.

Nathalie and Rhys were obviously much more fond of each other. Nathalie was often hugging him, or feeding him in the earliest photos, or generally doting on him. The smugness on his face in these showed that he was quite spoiled when his sister was involved.

The final picture of Rhys was him in a collared shirt appropriate for church, hair carefully combed. He smiled widely as he showed off a rolled paper that showed he completed Year 11.

She jumped as a soft, firm knock sounded on her door. “Sweetpea, are you ready,” Uncle Winston called. “Nat said we needed to be out the door around now.”

Uncle Winston was bringing her back to school after all the accusations and arguments with the administration. Nathalie was not confident she would remain cool if she saw Miss Campbell or Ms. Pelham, and thought Uncle Winston showing up would be a good show of strength. Nellie was glad for the change in driver; Uncle Winston could not help but make disgruntled comments about all the open spaces and lack of civilization during the short drive. She knew if Nathalie had driven her that she would have asked if she had gone through the letters yet.

Uncle Winston set his keen, blue eyes on the school. His eyebrows lowered. “My god, they don’t hide the fact these public schools are children are prisons, do they? What a dreary, soulless building. How are you expected to nurture your mind with such an uninspired place?” He clapped Nellie on the shoulder. “You report anything of annoyance to me after Nathalie fetches you this afternoon. Understand?”

“You won’t be picking me up,” Nellie asked.

“I want to, lovey, but I must pack,” Uncle Winston said. “I’m supposed to fly back this evening.” He squeezed Nellie’s shoulder, stooping to see her face. “You send me a text if you have any issues after I go. Or if you want to ask about your father, or complain about him, or if you just need to talk about something. Nothing is off-limits. That includes Nathalie. If you need to talk about her, just reach out.”

Nellie had an overwhelming urge to hug him, but thought doing so would make saying goodbye after school less meaningful. She instead nodded, smiling, and climbed from Nathalie’s Crown Victoria. She slung her backpack over one shoulder, turning to face the school. It really was an uninspired building.

She gave Uncle Winston one more small wave before shuffling through the doors, through a blast of sticky, hot air from the heating unit just inside. She unzipped her coat and tried to remember where her locker was, then what the combination was, then where her homeroom was, then where her desk was. She sat with her hands in her lap, holding her silenced phone hidden just under the hem of her tunic-style shirt, with her blue eyes locked on her desk. She held the position for the entire day.

It was too cold to stand among all the other pre-teens to wait for Nathalie, especially with the car not anywhere in sight. She walked down the line of cars towards the edge of the school property, folding her arms tight to hold as much warmth as she could to herself. She shivered, but slowed rather than speed up. There was a young man with a clipboard stopping each car as it entered school grounds.

He looked like a college student except his short, blond hair was combed and in a typical, boring sort of cut that would be suited for boys from the 1950s. The clipboard and haircut would have pegged him as some sort of religious missionary, except that his clothes did not match that profile. From her view, his coat was more of a trench that was some kind of shiny, royal blue.

Nellie hugged herself tighter and ducked her head as she approached, watching from the corners of her eyes as she shuffled passed him–him ignoring her just as much.

“Pardon me, madam,” this young man said in a crystal clear, properly British accent to the car beside them, “do you have time for one question? It would help me enormously with my literature class.” He flashed a smile that could only be described as dazzling. It gained the desired effect of having the car not front up despite the others before it inching along.

Nellie hovered, shivering. She wanted to ask him where he was from without interrupting his homework. A flash from his eyes her way showed he was aware of her unintentional eavesdropping, and seemed annoyed. She re-tightened her coat and rooted to the spot.

“Are you familiar with gryphons, by chance,” he asked, inching nearer to the car as if it would block the question.

“I am,” Nellie blurted out, jumping closer.

There was a pause as the driver glanced from the young man to Nellie, seemingly unsure if the responsible thing to do was drive forward and leave them. A car horn from behind encouraged her to abandon them, leaving the two of them summing each other up.

On closer look, this young man’s coat appeared to be blue leather–not shiny like pleather–and woven with silver threads. There was short, plush, dark fur on the inside collar that suggested the coat was very warm.

The young man eyed her warily, gave a curt nod, and turned to the next car pulling up. “Good afternoon–.”

“Hey,” Nellie said. “I said I knew!”

“Yes, I’m sure a little girl knows all about gryphons,” he said with a clear eye-roll.

“I have a feather,” Nellie said indignantly.

He paused, teetering between continuing trying to engage the next car and turning back to give her a moment of his time. He gave the driver–who had already rolled down her window–an apologetic smile that could make the most cantankerous grandmother coo. He took a step nearer to Nellie, his clear blue eyes looking her up and down.

“You appear chilled,” he commented. “Be quick, for your own sake.”

“Is this really for a literature class,” Nellie asked. “I can’t think of any story a college kid would study with gryphons heavily featured. Or why a guy that sounds like you would be doing a survey in Lynchburg.”

He allowed the clipboard to swing to his side. There was nothing on it but a blank paper.

“What color is this alleged feather of yours,” he asked.

“White,” Nellie said bluntly. “Flight feather. Seems to glow a bit.”

The edge in him vanished. His shoulders relaxed, and the tightness in his jaw gave way to a relieved smile. His eyes lit with excitement as he scooted another inch forward.

“Where did you find it,” he asked enthusiastically.

“Perenelle!” Nathalie stopped the Crown Victoria with a screech. She eyed the young man carefully, pursing her lips. “Get in the car, please. I want us to have time with Winny before I drive him to the airport.”

“Ah, you’re English,” he said with a large smile. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. I was talking to your–.”

“Yes, I see you talking to a minor right outside of school grounds,” Nathalie said stiffly.

“He knows something about that gryphon outside our house,” Nellie said, leaning eagerly into the window.

“She was outside your house,” he exclaimed.

“It’s a she,” Nellie bubbled. She bounced against the car. “Can he come over?”

“I don’t wish to impose… but may I,” he asked, rocking slightly as if he too was trying not to bounce about.

The cars stacking up behind began honking. Nathalie hissed something unsavory under her breath. She looked from Nellie to the young man, and put both hands on the wheel.

“Get in the both of you,” she said. “Nellie, you take the back just in case I need to toss this boy through the windbreak.”

Nellie stole glances in the rear view as they made their awkwardly silent drive up and through the school pick-up lane. She tapped her knees, squirming in her seat, and blurted, “Is she your gryphon?”

“Not now, Perenelle,” Nathalie said.

“Perenelle…,” he murmured, just under his breath.

The short drive ended with the Crown Victoria crunching the gravel outside the small house. Ash was howling from his outbuilding, sending the hairs on their arms on end. Nellie jumped from the car, running over to release him.

“Don’t let that dog–,” Nathalie tried to yell just as Nellie opened the door.

Ash bounded out, ran in circles, and bounced towards the woods. He poofed into smoke near the edge of the trees and disappeared.

Uncle Winston was halfway out the front door with a cup of tea in his hand. “He really isn’t a dog, then…. Nat, be a pet and load up my bags.”

“Load your own bags,” Nathalie said crossly. “I’ve enough to handle at the moment.”

The young man climbed from the backseat. His eyes were wide as they focused on where Ash had vanished, but there was no sense of fear or trepidation attached. A slow smile spread across his face. He raked his blond hair up.

“My word,” he said. “What type of animal was that?”

“A smoke wolf,” Nellie said proudly. “He’s an adolescent, and packless, so he lives here now. His name is Ash.” She retrieved her backpack. “What’s your gryphon’s name?”

“In the house, Perenelle Herle,” Nathalie demanded.

The cup shattered on the front steps. Uncle Winston stared, mouth half opened, at the young man, completely oblivious to Nathalie’s angry comments over his recklessness. His reaction had Nellie surveying the young man curiously but all she noticed was that he seemed uncomfortable with the attention, but not surprised by it.

“Will you hush,” Uncle Winston hissed at Nathalie. He stumbled over himself to shake the young man’s hand. “Do come in, sir. Tea? I made her buy some.”

Nellie stepped back to take in the full picture of her successful, proud uncle fussing over this random college student. Nathalie had a clear look of disturbed surprise over her brother’s reaction too.

“Winston… explain,” Nathalie said cautiously.

Uncle Winston scoffed, looking thoroughly scandalized. He gestured to the young man, and said, “This is Ira York! My god, Nathalie, you’ve spent far too long separated from your country.” Uncle Winston then whispered, “You are Ira York, yes?”

“I am,” Ira said wryly, “though I must admit I’m surprised you know that.”

“My brilliant wife is a linguist with a penchant for Yorkish kings,” Uncle Winston said, puffing out his chest. “She, in fact, consulted with the Missing Princes Project.” He waved his arms towards the house. “But, enough chatting out here, sir, you must be cold. Come in, come in. The place is cramped, I’m afraid, but warm enough.”

Her eyes popped at the news a prince was graciously accepting her uncle’s invite into her house. She elbowed Nathalie aside to enter after Uncle Winston, her mouth drooping at all the cardboard boxes, scattered clothes, and stacks of plating on the counters. She threw herself into the kitchen, pulling plates out of sight and vigorously wiping the formica with a sponge.

Nathalie did not look as impressed as she slunk into the house. She moved unpacked clothes off the couch for Ira to sit, but showed no further hospitality.

“Nat, tea,” Uncle Winston hissed.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the time,” Nathalie said. “We’ll have to leave shortly for the airport.” She set her eyes on Ira. “Is there somewhere I can drop you off, Mr. York?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, madam,” Ira said. “I’ll just call a rideshare.”

“I would rather a stranger with a car not drive onto my remote property with my twelve-year-old daughter here,” Nathalie said coolly.

Ira nodded fervently. “Understood.” He rested his hands on his knees, turning to get Nellie in view. “Shall we cut to it, then? May I see this alleged feather?”

Nellie bolted for her room as Uncle Winston questioned the importance of a feather, clearly forgetting the half dozen times Nellie had waved it around his nose trying to explain what she and Ash experienced. She grabbed it from her bureau and swung around into the living room, holding it up in triumph.

Ira stood, his eyes locked on it. He slowly took it from her, a smile spreading across his face. “She was here!” He grabbed Nellie’s shoulders. “Where was this?”

“Just beyond the woodline,” Nellie said. “Ash ran off, I went after him, and he must’ve startled her, because next I knew, I was tossed by this great gust of wind and this feather was there.”

“When was this?”

“Um… about five days ago,” Nellie said. Her heart was beating with excitement. “She is yours then? What’s her name?”

“Cecily, but to say she’s mine is a stretch,” Ira said. “She’s like your shadow wolf; not a pet but not some random creature.” His handsome face clouded in a frown. “Five days…. I was hoping it was more recent.”

Old Mrs. Thronebery’s claim of a gryphon–or her description which Nellie took as a gryphon–behind her house just went from completely possible to absolute. Her feather was more than proof; Ira was saying it was his specific gryphon’s feather.

Ira took a breath, exhaling the disappointment off his face and replacing it with a placid smile. “Thank you for giving me some idea of where she was… Nellie, was it? Or, is that too informal,” Ira said. “I can call you Perenelle or Miss….” His face scrunched in thought. “Sorry, Herle, was it?”

“Unfortunately,” Nellie groaned. “Nellie is fine, your, um, lordship?”

“Ira, please,” he said, his mouth curling. He twisted his hands together. “This is… an odd question, but do you have any relation to Commander Rhys Herle?” He turned to Uncle Winston. “There is a strong resemblance once I look at you properly.”

“Commander,” Uncle Winston exclaimed. “Rhys is a commander of something? Nathalie, did he tell you this?”

Nathalie stumbled over her words as she tried to cope with the revelation that Ira knew her brother and remember what he had written about in his letters. Uncle Winston did not help by peppering more questions on top. The timer on his phone indicating they needed to get on the road to the airport sounded shrilly, causing both adults to leap up. There was more scrambling to get the car packed with Nathalie stopping several times to say something to Ira, change her mind, and scurry off.

Nellie was a ball of excitement and a deep pit of anxiety as she watched out the window. Uncle Winston was in the car, peevishly flapping his arms at Nathalie as she wavered near the car, ready to head back indoors. Her gestures towards the house were clear enough.

“She doesn’t want to leave you alone with me,” Ira commented, watching the same scene. “I am a stranger. Perfectly reasonable reaction for a mother to have.”

“She’s not my mother,” Nellie murmured. “I have a feeling you already knew that.”

Ira shrugged. “Families have complexities,” he said. “As for what I know–.”

“Hold that thought,” Nellie said, leaping to her feet. “Don’t go anywhere.” She bolted into her room, grabbed the box of Rhys’s letters, and jumped in a seat beside Ira on the couch. She pulled a fistful out and began to leaf through them. “To make sure you aren’t making things up for whatever reason, what is my mother’s name? Wait one second… here we go!”

The realization that she was now holding her father’s handwriting slammed down on her. She adjusted her old on the lined paper, making it more gentle as if the page was delicate and not simply ripped from a generic spiraled notebook. Rhys wrote in script, which was more difficult to read, but the neatness of his penmanship helped keep most of the words distinguishable.

Rhys apologized for the long gap in letters, the reason being he left his position with the Order of Ferblanc and was offered a new one. Settling in took longer than he expected,and his confidence about this new job was not high. This was in part due to the liaison he must work with being too carefree and a tad airheaded; her role was clearly nepotism being that she was the boss’s big sister.

“Brunhilde…,” Nellie said.

“It has an ‘ah’ sound on the end, but, she was usually called Brue,” Ira said. He smiled sadly. “Liked to tack an ‘e’ on the end for femininity.”

They jumped as the front door was thrown open with a bang. Ash charged in, half knocking Nathalie over as she clung to the handle to stay upright.

“I must leave now or Winny could miss his flight,” she stated. She drew in a breath. “Perenelle, keep that creature inside until I return.”

Nathalie was gone before Nellie could thank her or question her. She stared at her mother’s name in her father’s hand, a queasiness settling in the pit of her stomach. She set the page back in the box.

Ira was holding his hand out to Ash who was stretching to sniff it without getting any closer.

“I must smell of Cecily even now,” Ira mused. “I’m sorry she spooked you.”

“He honestly probably was trying to eat her, so…,” Nellie trailed off. “I can make you tea now if you’d like.” She stood to turn on the kettle as Ira nodded. She searched the fridge, tossing a bit of leftover steak on the floor for Ash. “Are you hungry? We have… ham steak? And… there must be some sort of vegetable in here somewhere….”

“The tea is fine,” Ira said. He gently pat Ash on the head. “Well, aren’t you soft!”

Nellie set the coffee mug full of hot water and a teabag in front of Ira. “You know both my parents then,” she asked.

“Knew is perhaps too strong,” Ira said. “I met them several times while I was a boy. Commander Herle worked closely with my parents before and after he gained that rank.” He smiled warmly. “I’ve met you too before; I’d thought Perenelle sounded familiar. It’s not common enough for me to hear it often.”

“We-we’ve met,” Nellie said, blinking in disbelief.

“Twice,” Ira said. “You may’ve been under a year for both, or a year for the second. Being all of ten, I did not exactly find you interesting. Our interactions were nothing other than me politely saying hello while your parents acted as if you could respond.”

She was presented with someone that knew her real mother, her father, and presumably what it was Rhys had left home for. He may even have insight on why Rhys left her with Nathalie, at what it was that happened to her mother for him to abandon her. It was too much too fast.

“What happened with Cecily,” Nellie asked.

“She was spooked,” Ira said, frowning. His blue eyes wandered off. “There was this… scream.” He shuttered. “Yes, spooked. She’d never bolted like that. I was shed off, and I’ve been searching ever since.”

“You ride her,” Nellie said, bouncing in her seat.

“On occasion,” Ira said. “She isn’t fond of it, and it isn’t comfortable for either of us.” He made a face as he sipped his tea, swallowing it roughly, and setting it down with a degree of politeness. “I’ve never been to America. I wasn’t sure what manner of creatures to expect. Clearly, Cecily was out of her depths as well.”

Nellie draped her arm around Ash’s neck as he nosed his way over, eyeing Ira’s tea as if he too was unsure of the taste. She had no experiences outside of Florida–none that she remembered–so it never crossed her mind how the creatures in the Americas would differ from those in Europe, or other places. The European cryptids, those from overseas, had much more lore and stories written about them. Hundreds of years worth, with decades of more recent accounts. That was undoubtedly helpful for gaining some grasp of what you would be coming face to face with.

The elderly people at the coffee shop had a few funny stories of experiences they had heard, or their own encounters, but the majority of stories had been terrifying. Ira’s reaction to saying the word scream, Cecily’s reaction to bolt and still be on the lam a week or so later, gave Nellie the impression they would have had a much worse experience had they stuck around longer.

“Is that what you do,” Nellie asked, “travel around and find these cryptids with your own cryptid friend?” She smirked at Ash. “Is that a career path?”

“Not exactly to answer both questions,” Ira said, laughing. “Creatures are drawn to me, and I them to a certain degree.”

“I can relate.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” Ira said, reaching over to rub Ash’s ears. “It’s an inherited trait. Both my parents had it. My mother more towards creatures; my father more towards… other. For lack of a proper descriptor.” His eyebrows knit in though. “Maybe describing it as a sensitivity is more accurate….”

“I’m told my father had this oddness, and I’m thinking that’s why Ash is sitting here,” Nellie said.

“Commander Herle absolutely had the sensitivity,” Ira said resolutely. “His towards the other, not so much creatures. They tie together, mind you, so they aren’t so separate.” He reached for his tea but recoiled as he recalled the taste of it. “Perhaps magic is a better word than blandly saying other?”

Nellie’s blue eyes sparkled. “Magic is real!”

“Of course,” Ira said. He picked up Cecily’s feather from the table. “This is proof enough.”

“Rhys was a witch,” Nellie breathed, and hastily corrected, “I mean warlock.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Am I a witch?”

“My guess is no, and we typically referred to magical people as mages unless otherwise specialized,” Ira said, looking thoroughly amused. “Commander Herle wasn’t a mage. He was the exact opposite as a member of the Order of Ferblanc. Ah, I suppose that’s a new term for you too?”

There was so much to ask. Nellie picked through what Ira told her about Cecily, magic, the sensitivities, and looked to the box of letters. There could be more information in there, perhaps Rhys tried explaining about this Order of Ferblanc to Nathalie. He could have written about magic or fantastic cryptids that he encountered. Ira’s parents both had this oddity, and maybe her mother had that too.

The shrill ring of her phone sounded from her bedroom. She murmured a half apology and she clamoured around Ash to get to her room. It was unsurprising to see it was Nathalie calling, a bit surprising to have her shouting concern before Nellie could say hello.

‘I’ve texted you hundreds! Are you all right?’

Nellie winced at the thirty-five unopened texts from Nathalie and five from Uncle Winston–he clearly not as concerned and having been cut off from continuing with the airplane taking off.

“I’m fine,” Nellie said. “I left my phone in my room. I didn’t hear the texts. Did Uncle Winston get through–?”

‘Is he still there?’

“Ira, yeah, he is,” Nellie said. “Ash is watching him. Why? Should I have him leave?”

The pause on the other end was long enough that Nellie pulled the phone back to check the call was still connected.

‘I want to ask about Rhys myself. Check that he isn’t a vegetarian or anything. I’ll be home in ninety minutes.’

“Okay, I’ll ask him to stay for dinner,” Nellie said. “Drive safe. Love… you. Bye.”

‘...Love–’

Nellie hung up. She quickled set her phone to silent, considered it, and changed it to vibrate. She strolled out into the living room where Ira was allowing Ash to snuffle all over his intricate coat.

“You’re not a vegetarian, right,” Nellie asked. “I think dinner is ham.”

-----------------------

I did not expect Ira to show up so soon. But then again, this is the fifth chapter and if Nellie wasn't going to sit there and put pieces together via Rhys's letters (which would've been going nowhere honestly without someone more in the know) then Ira was needed. He probably would've turned up next chapter looking for Cecliy anyway.

I wanted to keep Uncle Winston around longer, but that would've had him derailing things to pry about Ira's family. The more unimportant part of it, because he does have the important part (the 'other' sensitivity). Uncle Winston was originally supposed to tell Nellie about the Order of Ferblanc. Not what it is, because he doesn't know, but to make the cheeky comments about how Nellie is obviously not studying properly because if she did then she'd know Ferblanc = fer-blanc = tinplate = tin. And make more cheeky comments about Rhys running off to be a tin soldier. But, since that was all he would've done I figured I can always make that a text exchange if I really want it in there. Nellie didn't give back the photoalbum and Winston did tell her to keep in touch, so there's room for it.

And Ira is the best person to introduce "sensitivity", or the oddness, because he's got it coming from both parents. (Spoiler-ish, Nellie doesn't, not really.) I thought about having this continue and having Nathalie ask about Rhys, but I wasn't sure how long that was going to get, and I need a minute to try to explain what the heck is going on, lol. I know it in my head, but the right wording is not coming to me.

The distraction Winston would've been going off on is the whole Yorkish Kings and medival monarchy stuff. The Lost Princes Project is a real thing (I'm listing to it now, really interesting) and was a research project following the Search for Richard Project that rediscovered the remains of Richard III, the last Yorkish King before the French took over with the Tudor line. I randomly stumbled upon a movie about that project some months ago, and it was so interesting that I meant to download the audiobook, but then saw they recently completely the Lost Princes Project and downloded that one instead. All a very long way to put that Ira York is connected to the lineage of Yorkish Kings. The surname is a coincidence. I thought it sounded noble. I laughed so hard when I realized Richard III and the two princes were considered Yorkish.

And final note, half for my reference, what Cecily (named both for a Yorkish queen and one of Richard III's nieces) and Ira ran into was a White Bluff Screamer. It was one of the creatures Nellie writes down after talking with the old people in chapter 2. The lore of them is horrific, and it does make me wonder how dark some parts of this will be with all the different creatures and lore involved.

The bedroom was slowly coming together. Moving boxes still cluttered the hardwood floor, but all except two were now opened and half emptied. Nellie’s efforts to unpack were interrupted by once again digging out the shoe box of photos from beneath the storage area under the house. She lounged against her turquoise beanbag, thumbing the worn edges of the picture of the family of three in front of the Eiffel Tower.

She had not asked Nathalie much more after their trip into Murfreesboro. She focused on getting Ash set up in his outbuilding, and then Nathalie had been busy with the internet installer. She spent the following day attempting to set up her room while being sucked into her phone for hours at a time, seeking out everything on smoke wolves and regular wolves she could. Nathalie had spent most of that day on the laptop, checking bank statements and making calls to check where her welding equipment was since she hired movers specifically for that. With a full day and a half of not talking–other than standard questions regarding food or where boxes were–it seemed too bulky and awkward to randomly bring up her father. That went double–triple–for anything about her mother.

“Nellie,” Nathalie hissed urgently, sticking her head in the room while covering her phone with her hand. “Text Winny and tell him I’m stuck on hold. I’ll call him back.” She straightened. “Yes, I’m still here. I just gave you the shipping number. Oh, blast, give me a moment to fetch it. Again.”

Nellie set aside the photo to grab her phone from the nightstand. She went into her messaging app to her contacts, scrolling down to Winston Herle- uncle. She typed:

She’s on hold with some moving people.

Her fingers barely left her phone when it buzzed. She paused before turning the screen up to read the reply:

Pinched family album from Nana and Granddad. Cheers, Winston.

She smirked at his sign-off. He was stubborn about signing text messages like letters. It drove Nathalie up the wall, and she suspected that was one reason he stuck to the habit so fervently.

She typed back:

Did the album scream when you pinched it?

The response was instant:

Cheeky. Cheers, Winston.

She set her phone aside and dragged herself into the living room, her body heavy from the prolonged lounging. Nathalie was still pacing in aggravation, seething as she waited. Nellie went to rummage through the fridge. She peeked to make sure Nathalie was still distracted before pulling out one of the marinating chicken breasts. She rinsed it and wrapped it in a paper towel, stealing away outside.

Ash bounded out as soon as the door was opened. He poofed into thick, black smoke, sailed a foot over Nellie's head, and reformed behind her.

“Snuck you some chicken,” Nellie said, half whispering. She tossed it away and sank to the frozen ground, pressing her back to the outbuilding. “As far as I can guess, you’re just shy of one. You’re too lanky to be any older. Unless smoke wolves are lankier than regular wolves….” She giggled at Ash stalking and lunging at the chicken breast. “Definitely not an adult.”

“Nellie,” Nathalie called, poking her head outside. “Clean out that outbuilding, please. I’m sure that animal has messed all over it. Hello, yes? I just gave you the order number!”

Ash had not messed all over it, but kept everything contained in a neat corner away from his towels and food dish. She had read about wolves being tidy. She was glad he at least shared that with his regular counterparts. She finished her cleaning by shaking out his towels and throwing them in a pile that hopefully was fluffy. It would have been nice if they got him a bed.

“Ash,” Nellie called, heading outdoors. “Ash, back inside.” She caught sight of the tip of his tail disappearing through the trees. “Ash!”

She rushed after him. She no sooner entered the woods when she heard Ash snarl and a sound like a roar and screech responded. A mighty gust of wind crashed into her, knocking her off balance. She fell on the hard ground, instinctively curling and covering her head with her arms. 

A quiet fell across the woods. Nellie stayed in her huddled position as the stillness stretched out, shaking from whatever it was that just happened as well as from the January cold. She lifted her head as Ash nudged her with his cold, wet nose. He was ginger with his front, right paw.

The woods were littered with branches as if a twister had gone through. The trunks looked steady, but there were two that had deep grooves like claw marks raked down them. Between those two trees was a white feather that appeared to glow in the watery, weak sunlight. It was the length of Nellie’s entire arm.

“Nellie,” Nathalie called out. “Perenelle!”

Nellie grabbed the feather in her scramble up. She patted Ash on the head and urged him to follow. She could feel she'd been bruised by branches falling across her as she trotted from the woods, Ash trailing her with small, pitiful whimpers.

Nathalie hurried outside, barefoot, to meet her. She threw her arms around her, pulling her into a crushing hug. She just as quickly held her at arms length to look her over.

“Are you hurt? Nellie, what was that?” Nathalie picked twigs out of her auburn waves. “Goodness, you are a mess!”

Nellie held up the feather. “Look at what whatever it was left!” She leaned away to put an arm around Ash, adding, “Can Ash sleep inside tonight? Look at his poor foot!”

Nathalie let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing her forehead. That was all Nellie needed to push Ash into the house in front of her, both of them barreling by Nathalie. Ash bounded into the bedroom, leaping upon Nellie’s bed with no whine or whimper. Nellie dropped onto her beanbag and grabbed her phone. She set the feather at her feet, and leaned back to capture as much of the feather in frame as possible to image search it. She narrowed her eyes, smirking.

“Well, I know it isn’t a swan feather,” Nellie said. “Not unless it was a mutant. …Oh, that would be horrifying! Imagine a fancy, white goose the size of a small car getting angry with you!” She looked at Ash. “Have you ever seen a goose?”

Nathalie stuck her head around the door. “I’d rather that animal did not sleep in here tonight, Nellie. I’m supposed to fetch your uncle from the airport tonight.”

“But it’s so cold out there,” Nellie protested. “And he’s hurt. And there’s a… a winged thing out there.”

“He can stay inside for now, but not for the night,” Nathalie said.

“Can I buy him a bed?”

Nathalie pursed her lips as she mentally weighed her options. “He can have a bed, but he needs to be outside tonight regardless of the bed arriving or not.”

Nellie squealed and jumped up, hugging Nathalie. “Thank you, thank you! Ash, come thank….” She stepped back, pulling at the split ends in a lock of hair. She tensed as Nathalie petted her head.

“I’m going to try clearing up the front room,” Nathalie said, her tone trying to sound cheerful. “Please don’t spend more than eighty dollars on the bed. I’d ask for much less knowing he'll just shred the thing, but I saw the prices at the store.”

“Can I use the laptop,” Nellie asked.

“Suppose so,” Nathalie said. “Just keep my tabs open. I’m planning a sculpture and don’t want to go looking for the references again.”

It was quick work to buy Ash a bed with the filters for size, rating, and price in place. Snooping on Nathalie’s references to gauge what she was planning to create–a ballerina, the pose not yet narrowed down–took even less time. Nellie moved her beanbag so she could lean against her bed, to have Ash behind her head.

“Mrs. Throneberry did say she saw a big cat-eagle thing a few days ago,” Nellie said, half to Ash and half out loud to the room. “That sounded like a gryphon to me, but she said it had white wings but wasn’t white…. No way they live here, right, boy?” She leaned her head back to look at the smoke wolf. “But you’re supposed to be further east too. Still… she was weird with how she described it….”

It would not be right to assume Mrs. Throneberry made up the story or mis-saw something innocuous just to join in the folktale conversation at the coffee shop, but people were prone to embellishing the smallest things or outright lying to contribute to these sorts of stories. Nellie understood that too well; no one ever believed her. She ran her finger down the spine of the feather, then input: griffin. After too many pictures of random people and poorly drawn cartoons, she retyped: gryphon. The images more or less showed the creatures as solid colors, nothing like the white-winged and black-headed animal described to her. She moved the cursor away from the Images tab to the All tab, now faced with stone statuettes, faded stone tablets, and links to random mythology pages, descriptions, and schools via their mascot–those respelling it ‘griffin’.

“The website previews all say the same thing,” Nellie said to Ash. “It’s like they copy pasted from each other. Isn’t that plagiarism?”

She chose three near the top. Sure enough, they offered the same information with slight differences. The last had a written description of a gryphon much more detailed: black eagle head, red chest, tawny lion body (sometimes spotted), white wings. She stared at the white feather. A smile spread across her face.

---

A clatter of a kicked box, a stumble of something–someone–heavy knocking into a wall, and the house seeming to shake with that fall all jolted Nellie awake. Her heart pounded frantically as her ears strained for more information. 

“Winston,” Nathalie hissed. “Careful! You'll wake Nellie!”

Nellie reached for her phone, squinting into the bright screen. It was 1:46. Nathalie had left around when she was falling asleep four hours earlier. She rolled over, taking a long breath to calm the adrenaline spike as Nathalie and Uncle Winston whispered a half-argument over time differences and messy houses.

It was odd she had such a strong reaction to Uncle Winston stumbling over a box. The commotion was enough to wake anyone, but her dose of adrenaline was overkill, especially now that Ash lived on the property. There was a vagueness in her mind as if she had been watching something, dreaming of something, that was exciting. Trying to pick up where she left off caused a swooping in her stomach, both of nerves and joy. She could nearly see the vast sky and mountains as she shut her eyes.

“Nat,” Uncle Winston called. Nellie’s eyes flew open. “Nat!”

“Winston,” Nathalie snapped, her bedroom door creaking as she yanked it open. “Hush!”

“Do you have a spare adaptor,” Uncle Winston asked, barely lowering his voice. “I can’t seem to find–.”

“Go to sleep,” Nathalie said.

“Sleep? Are you mad?” Winston chuckled. “It’s near eight AM.”

Nellie rolled over again. She leaned up to fluff her pillow, flopping upon it with a sigh. She stared at the white feather that looked more than ever to be glowing as it latched onto and sent back every scrap of light in the dark room. The mountains, swooping excitement, and touch of nerves made more sense to her now. She tried to recapture the dream a few minutes longer before giving up and dragging herself from her room.

There was a reading lamp plugged in and resting on the floor next to the couch. It gave off a warm glow that fought against the harsh brightness of a sleek laptop set on the coffee table. Uncle Winston’s pale face was washed in the cool light, darkening the lines on his face into a dramatic mask.

His blue eyes shot up from the phone in his hands at the floor boards creaking. “Nellie, lovey,” he said happily, climbing out from the sagging sofa. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her too tight. “Did we wake you? Of course we did, what am I saying. Far too young to be sneaking out.” He thumped her back and dropped onto the couch again. “Not that you have anywhere to run off to in this god’s forsaken place.”

She half cringed and half smiled. Nathalie talked positively of Shelbyville and Lynchburg whenever they were with each other, and she tried to do the same, but they were both starting to feel how different it was from Sunrise. She settled on the couch next to Uncle Winston, yawning hugely, and held her tongue on what thoughts she could add to his comment.

Uncle Winston was once more absorbed by his phone. The light was not as bright as the laptop, but enough to blend his light colored eyes with the glow. It lightened the silver streaking from his temples, and lit up the other grays peppering his black hair. He was the only member of the family–beside herself–to not be blond.

“Nathalie refused to let me on the Wi-Fi and the reception is dreadful,” Uncle Winston said. “Would you have the password? I wanted to check in with Margo before I started work.”

Nellie typed the password into the laptop and then the phone. It was the faster option.

“Cheers,” Uncle Winston said. He eagerly watched the phone attempting to connect. “Oh, I should do the video so she can see you! It’s been ages.”

“It was last week,” Nellie said, giggling.

“Blast,” Uncle Winston said as the call failed. “She must be in the shower already. Ah well, I’ll text her to let her know your mother didn’t crash into a deer after picking me up.”

She shifted uncomfortably as the phone made audible key-clacking sounds. Uncle Winston was so nonchalant, acting and speaking normally despite him having dropped everything and flown across the Atlantic because she now knew Nathalie was not her mother.

“Still find it all overwhelming,” Uncle Winston said without looking away from his screen, him now on the laptop. She nodded and opened her mouth to confirm her meek nod in case he did not see it. “It’s all right to let it be overwhelming, Nellie, dearie.” His keen eyes flashed towards her. “Just do not allow it to consume you. Much too young to have something as silly as parentage weigh you down.” He set his sights again on his work. “Do you wish me to refer to Nathalie as your aunt from now on?”

“I don’t know,” Nellie mumbled.

“All in due time,” Uncle Winston said. He clacked away at the keyboard. “She tells me you have a dog now. I highly doubt you call him ‘that thing’.”

“Ash,” Nellie said. “And he’s not really a dog.”

“Naturally, but I’ll always refer to him as such,” Uncle Winston said. He groaned at the screen. “That absolute muppet of an assistant cited the wrong file. Pardon me, sweetpea.” He struggled out of the dip in the sofa, snatching his phone up. “I stashed the photo album in my briefcase. Just mind you don’t spill any of my files.”

Uncle Winston stood at a loss in the small house before deciding the few steps into the kitchen was private enough.

It was creeping towards 3:00AM, so Nellie decided to return to her room to give Uncle Winston space to do his work. She rummaged through his briefcase for the album, finding it easily by the worn, leather cover among the paper files. There were bits of gold still in the indented lettering that read; Photo Album. She hugged it to her chest as she slunk back into her room.

The first and only photograph on the first page was of her grandparents nearly unrecognizable in their young age in a grainy, worn black and white wedding photo. The typical stiff, grim expressions common in old photographs were only half present with the pair clearly trying not to laugh. The next few pages showed them either together in well-known European places, or singular in them–usually her grandfather in front of the landmark and her grandmother smiling over a plate of food. She skipped through the next few pages that showed her grandmother growing larger and larger with Uncle Winston, then of Uncle Winston as a newborn–the majority of those him being asleep, the rare awake ones blurred with movement of some sort. She slowed when the cycle repeated over with Nathalie, then took pauses as individual pictures of Uncle Winston and Nathalie grew together. Nana was added back in, now growing larger for the last time.

Nellie stopped with her fingers poised to flip the page to the newborn photograph she knew would be next. She never thought much about Rhys before, but now it was different. She exhaled a long, slow breath, and turned the page.

There was not much difference between Rhys’s baby pictures and those of Uncle Winston and Nathalie; the quality was better, her grandparents older, and there being individual pictures of him with his siblings being the key changes. He was bald for most–as was Nathalie–with the baldness giving way to flaxen curls–unlike Nathalie whose hair was straight. She pulled at a lock of wavy, auburn hair.

The childhood pictures were many and varied with the vast majority being candid shots someone, likely Granddad, took when the three kids were not looking at the camera at all. Half of those Rhys was crying early on and grumpy later on, the displeasure seeming to come from something to do with Uncle Winston.

She dozed off at some point, because next she knew Nathalie was yelling for her to wake up, eat, and attend to her creature. Ash's eerie howls echoed as a backtrack.

Nathalie and Uncle Winston were sniping at each other over a plate of half-burnt toast. The fragments she heard sounded like whatever it was had to do with the time differences and Uncle Winton’s troubles hearing Aunt Margaret, so Nellie grabbed her coat and headed outside.

Ash did not bound out as he did yesterday. He nosed about and took careful steps, eyeing the woods with his bright red eyes.

“Little wary after that gryphon, huh, boy,” Nellie said, patting his head. “You know I’m on your side, but I can’t help thinking you may’ve deserved getting tossed.”

She hurried through the chores of feeding, cleaning, and breaking the ice layer on his water bucket, her shivering growing more pronounced. She wrestled Ash back inside with promises to let him out again after her own breakfast, and bolted indoors.

“Nellie,” Uncle Winton said in a scandalized tone, “are you aware this woman starts her day with coffee and not tea?”

“For goodness sake, Winny, you make the same complaint each visit, as far between as they are,” Nathalie said.

“You’ve set our parents half in the grave with your American habits,” Uncle Winston said. “I do hope you’ve thought on what investments to make.”

A thought popped into Nellie’s head as she reached for the toast. “Am I American,” she asked. She dropped her gaze at the adults’ surprised looks at the abrupt question.

“You are,” Nathalie said slowly. She looked to her brother. “She is, right, Winny? Or was it more complicated?”

“No, no, she is,” Uncle Winston said. “The complication was due to not having her mother’s input.” His face scrunched in disgust as he took a sip of coffee. “You think your father’s side is complex, Nellie, dearie, it’s nothing compared to the other half.” He added a disgusted noise to go with his next sip of coffee. “Honestly, Nat, this is pure torture.”

“I told you I have milk and sugar, you eejit,” Nathalie said, her lighthearted manner slightly forced. She ripped the milk from the fridge and heavily plopped the sugar canister on the counter. “I’ll be back in a moment. You two talk.”

Nellie squirmed in her chair as Nathalie disappeared into her room. The subject of her mother had finally been broached, clearly drawing a line between Nathalie and her role in Nellie’s life. She had not wanted to upset Nathalie.

“She’s fine, lovey,” Uncle Winston said, eyeing her from over his cup. “She’s the adult. You needn’t worry yourself.” He rolled his coffee in his mouth, shrugging at the adjusted taste. “Now, you being American. Yes. It took a bit of doing to find it out, Rhys was already gone and no help, but from my understanding, your mother was born of an American mother so was considered American despite being born and raised in England. It made things a fraction easier with Nathalie wanting to settle herself in the yeehaw country.”

“Was I not born here,” Nellie asked.

“Oh no, you were born overseas somewhere,” Uncle Winston said. “The copy of your birth certificate is in my study safe, and I cannot say where off the top of my head. Not England, that much I remember. Killed Granddad and Nana, poor dears, but they really did bring it upon themselves sending Nathalie and Rhys to foreign schools.” He scoffed. “I mean, honestly, what did they expect? They weren’t old enough to resist the warmth and sunshine like a proper Brit.”

“You have my birth certificate,” Nellie asked.

“Nathalie has the original, and I a copy,” Uncle Winston said. “Or both are copies. Rhys didn’t know where Nat was, or how to get you to her, or something of that nature, so first brought you to me.” He waved flippantly, sipping from his cup. “He was mad. Kept going in circles about your mother. Can’t say as to what about her, mind you.”

“Something terrible happened to her,” Nathalie said, quietly re-entering from her bedroom with an old shoebox. “He tried to explain it, but it didn’t make sense, as if he wasn’t sure of it either.” She set the box in front of Nellie. “He wrote me quite often after he left home. He only stopped shortly before showing up at Winny’s.”

Uncle Winston’s face strained in a tired, sad smile. “Rhys and I were not as close as I would’ve liked. A decade apart will do that, I suppose. He always just annoyed me, trying to tag along and mimic me, and….” He took a breath. “And I missed him greatly once he left.”

Nellie stared at the daunting old box before her. Her father’s thoughts were inside in his own writing. She had grown to not think of her father, to have no questions of him, and now he was shoved beneath her nose. She leaned away.

“It’s all right, Nellie,” Nathalie said softly. “You keep the box. It’s there if you ever want it.”

“You removed anything unsuitable, I should hope,” Uncle Winston said.

Nathalie rolled her eyes. “Winston, honestly,” she sighed. “He wasn’t off partying.”

Nellie picked at the soft corners of the shoebox. “So… because something happened to my…” she looked away from Nathalie, “is why I’m with you. What about her family? Didn’t they know about me?”

“Her family is dangerous,” Uncle Winston said bluntly. “Rhys was quite clear to not allow them near you. An uncle in particular.” He glared into his empty coffee cup. “Whatever it was that happened to your mother was his fault. Are you sure you have no tea in the cupboard?”

She allowed Nathalie and Uncle Winston’s talk about tea and shopping trips wash over her. She inched the box near, running her fingers on the edge of the lid. Her mouth was dry. She stood, and left the box.

“Think I’ll dress and take Ash for a walk in the woods,” she announced, and hurried to her room.

---------------------

I 100% based Nathalie's phone frustrations off that interaction I had with ADP awhile back when trying to get all the 401k stuff finazlied. Annoyances can be useful, lol. I'm liking the switch from hair stylist to welder with Nathalie too, since I can write down whatever ideas I had/have for future reference. I would like to try to make something else someday.

And enter Uncle Winston! He was not orignially supposed to be more than a name to fill out Nathalie and Rhys's family, but then I decided he should be useful. That was one reason I went with lawyer so that the legal bits of moving a toddler between countries with people not her parents could make more sense. Nellie doesn't see her family in person a lot, but she does keep in contact as much as a 12yo would, so there is a relationship with each member (less with Winston's kids because of age differences).

The set up is taking longer than I thought it would, but this was always planned as a serise with each book being shorter (compared to other things I write) so maybe most of this one is just set up. I don't know. It's a rough draft.

As mentioned, I wanted to have a Some Story Talk about the alternate endings that almost happened in Star Trek: Q-Dimensional. Some had even been written (or started) before I realized it just wasn't going to work and that the big happy family "home" ending was the best ending :)

I tried to record audio or video probably 5 times before something would distract or I wouldn't like how I said it or it would crash... so I decided I'd just write the dang thing. Of course I even had to start the writing over again when I forgot to save the draft in Locals and then it was gone. 🙃 SO... here it is at long last!

Potential Ending #1: Ace’s Closure

The story starts in Picard’s ready room where he’s replaying the day he was informed Ace was not going to being able to return home. Throughout the story, Ace's sense of “home” is questioned and challenged by Elliot, Mickey D, and some of the crew, but Ace is at a point where he seems to have accepted his fate despite it all. Even the addition of Ace and Gemini’s shuttle talk (not initially in the plans) solidifies that fact.

Then, after the reunification in Ten Forward at the end, Picard calls Ace to his ready room (I love things ending where they start). This time, there’s a video call from Captain Mullins (a nod to one of my trekkie friends - sad she didn’t get her screen time after all this!) who was one of the members of the board that decided Ace could not be returned home. She was opposed, but outvoted, and so she reports that she “may or may not have taken an unauthorized flight to Tal E” to go undercover and get information. I forget how long it takes to go through Starfleet Academy, but it’s been 2-3 years since Ace went missing; and so she finds they've set up a grave site for Ace. She also learns indirectly that his friends and family have continued on with their own next chapters without him. Ace tearfully and thankfully accepts this closure and is able to move on himself.

Why this didn’t make it: Basically, this scene felt like another ending. I had it half written before I realized it just seemed "extra" and possibly more of an epilogue than an ending. And while I did like the idea, you learn through the story that Ace actually has achieved this closure on his own, and I feel like that’s way more powerful and really shows his strength. The whole point of the story is him accepting where he is despite everything, and so I cut this scene and left it ending with he, Gemini, and the others accepting and appreciating their home.

Potential Ending #2: Gemini’s Next Generation

When Picard and Riker were discussing Gemini’s potential promotion, one of the things Riker adds is more away missions and late nights would make things harder if she and Hudson are wanting to start a family. From there, there were more little hints about this, including her seeing "her children" in the Aravasti reality and Ace’s pregnant joke (which was just going to be a joke and they’d move on to landing on the planet).

Then, as the gang reunites in Ten Forward at the end, Beverly contacts Gemini and lets her know her test results have come in, and she is pregnant! Lots of surprise and excitement ensues, and the story ends there.

Why this didn’t make it: For one, Gemini told me no, lol. When Ace makes his joke in the shuttle, instead of moving on, Gemini kept talking. She mentions she and Hudson most likely can’t have children, and then that turned into a deep discussion of the acceptance of where they both are (even Gem who at this point is just trying to save Hudson's life). Also, just dangling that “guess what!” and then ending the whole series (since I really do plan on not writing more of these) seemed kind of cheap 😀

Will Gem and Hudson have kids in the Star Trek universe? Maybe, but that’s not the focus of this story. So I removed most of the hints and let her focus on her own acceptance of her situation, and that parallels Ace's acceptance arc too.

Thus, everything worked out as it should, it just needed some working (and coaching from the characters themselves, ha) to get it the way it needed to be. I am quite proud of this and the other 2 Star Trek crossovers and had a fun time writing them. 

Now to figure out what to work on next 😝