The Games are Afoot! (Part II)

Wildheart sat on a low-hanging branch overlooking the camp below, kicking her legs to and fro idly as she watched the mid-morning goings-on of her little Menagerie.

Well. “Little” was something of an understatement at this point. What had once been a ragtag team of twenty Trolls had grown and blossomed into something resembling a small army, a veritable horde of Trolls in all shapes, sizes and colors. Recalts and ‘Toads and Mirror Beasts and Cuckoos and Copybaras every sort of species in between, all somehow managing to coexist together against their own natures and against all odds.

And she could pick out some of the hybrids down in the glade, frolicking and playing or simply lounging about in the autumn air. Rhaegar and Lyanna were bouncing about and mock-fighting in the shade of one of the larger trees; the Mirrorpede was jovially taking pretend swipes at the young Muddybara as she pounced and snapped playfully at his legs. Bryony the Mite lay curled up in the sun weaving braids into a dozing Paddington’s mane; Elphaba was nearby watching her siblings boredly with her chin propped up under one clawed paw while the smallest of the four, Shichirou the Glittermip, nestled into her side and twittered contentedly. Beneath the Proxemur’s perch, the four Recalt kittens she’d taken in were chasing each other back and forth at the base of the tree with Fantine’s ReMip sons in tow, all wrestling each other in a big pile of squealing fluff. Even Althea, normally in an incorrigibly foul mood, was sprawled in the shade on the outskirts of the little group with her paws tucked beneath her and looking…well, as contented as she was able to look.

She’d been worried about the half-bloods of the group for a long while. Their little group had learned fairly early on that this world they’d found themselves in took…very poorly to hybrids and those who created them, no thanks to Cal and company. She’d had some doubts on just how well her charges would receive each other, whether they’d be able to get along and cooperate or default to tearing each other to bits. It had certainly been a rocky start on some fronts—and on some fronts, there were still a couple issues. There were still Trolls who would stare warily at the hybrids of the group and whisper amongst themselves, even if next to none of them bothered to come out with their grievances. But on the whole…she’d been pleasantly surprised. There’d been uncertainty at first, sure. But over time, most of the suspicion and distrust between the members of the Menagerie had eroded away into mostly-tolerance.

It wasn’t perfect, of course, but it was a good start. And it was, admittedly, better than she’d hoped.

She was about to swing herself down from her branch with a grin to join in the Recalts’ game when a deep sound like hunting horns rolled across the Forest air, making her jolt and almost lose her balance with a sharp curse. In the camp around her, every Troll went still and turned towards the treeline again with expressions ranging from startled surprise to outright horror. Wildheart’s brow furrowed, and she mouthed another confused oath as she stood higher on her branch like an oversized meerkat, bony tail whipping back and forth to try and maintain her balance. But as try as she might, she couldn’t see anything save for a cloud of Shrikes rising from the trees and…

…Was that smoke out there in the distance?

“What the hell is that?” she muttered to herself.

“The Great Games.”

Pyrrhus had been stretched out in the sun near the middle of the clearing, but now the midnight-blue Daemon was rising to his paws, eyes narrowing to slits and lips curling away from pointed teeth in a stormy snarl. “It seems the Emperor wants to start the ‘festivities’ early this year.”

The mottled Proxemur scowled to herself. “Games? What Games?”

The larger Troll paused, expression morphing from quiet anger to confusion as he turned his massive head towards her. “You mean you don’t—?”

“Well, if I knew what they were, I wouldn’t be asking.” Wildheart’s frown deepened as she glanced out towards the wisping columns rising into the sky. It had to have come from somewhere big, maybe something like their own camp…but it couldn’t have been a tamer’s camp, not from the reactions of the Trolls around her. What else was big enough to draw in enough Trolls?

“So can someone start edumacating me, please?”