The not-moth continued chewing on the sleeve of Morrigan’s jacket, unbothered by Kvasir’s lecture. As was Morrigan themselves, who was merely grinning brightly at Kvasir Sigurros - beloved medic, voice of reason, and the man who was probably right that bringing a flesh eating moth into the Desert Rose Apothecary was not a smart idea. It seemed that merely asking had not merited the results Morrigan desired. Hmm. This might pose a problem.

Whatever Morrigan Moonweaver wanted, they were quite used to getting. This was probably the first time someone ever had the gall to tell them no when they asked for something. Rationally, or course, Kvasir was right - this thing had just tried to make a nice snack out of Morrigan, but if they held a grudge against every single person that did them bodily harm, then, well, they’d probably have enough people to fill the city of Zeinav twice over!

Not to mention rationality was just. So. Boring.

It was time to make use of their ultimate tactic. The manipulative move to end all moves. The patented Morrigan Moonweaver baby-doll eyes.

Morrigan batted their lashes, clasping their hands together as if in a plea. Their tail swished behind them, not dissimilar to a cat who’d found something of interest. “Oh, but wouldn’t you please reconsider, Kvasir Sigurros? She wouldn’t hurt a fly…”

At that moment, the moth crawled up Morrigan’s arm, perched on their shoulder, and with her two stubby hind legs, pawed at the silver chain dangling from Morrigan’s ear, grabbed it, and yanked.

“Son of a-!” Morrigan yowled, grabbing the moth by her scruff and holding her at arm’s length once more - remembered their audience, and turned to Kvasir with another shit-eating smile. “I mean… I’m fine!” Spoken with the rasping wince of someone who was most definitely dying inside. “Just look at her! She’d be perfect for chasing out any rats or vermin who sneak into the greenhouse for some snacks! Plus, who could say no to those cute little eyes?”

The moth stared at Kvasir, unblinking, and then wriggled out of Morrigan’s grip to plop to the grass and give him an appraising sniff. Not the same as the purple one, but he had the purple one’s scent all over him. She gave his shoe a half-hearted nibble of approval… for now.

“I mean, look at her! She’s got the zest of an orange and the true spirit of a trickster! She - what in the world is that on your shoulder?”

It was only then that Morrigan noticed that both Kvasir and Cantio had new little fuzzy hitchhikers, both of whom appeared to be quite content perching on shoulders and heads with little fuss. The moth on Cantio’s head ambled down to his face, muffling his words when he tried to speak. Other than crawling along Cantio’s body like a jungle gym, though, it appeared to mean no harm… same with the sleepy-eyed little fellow that had taken a liking to Kvasir.

“Oh, so you guys get the docile ones!” They threw their hands in the air, exasperated, leveling an accusatory glower at the little pink thing who had started pawing at their legs for uppies. Morrigan obliged with a petulant huff. “Oh, you’re just a little princess, aren’t you? A spoiled little one. Why couldn’t you be kind and nice like those confounding creatures?”

The moth blinked and said nothing. Like Morrigan, she existed to cause problems.

Also, she wasn’t exactly a true moth, but that was neither here nor there.

But miracle of miracles, she seemed… contented enough for now, and Morrigan did find her rather charming, in a way they’d never found another animal before. Perhaps it was the sensation of unconditional… acceptance of a nature that most shunned. Animals were such primal beings; rejection was the norm. To be seen and known by something, flaws and all…

It was something Kaivalya had always dreamed of, and something Morrigan had given up on.

They cleared their throat and pulled themselves together. “That’s one problem taken care of, at least. I wasn’t expecting these moths to be so… curious about newcomers. We shouldn’t have any problems collecting silk if they’re so friendly and easygoing!” Well - mostly easygoing. Morrigan was fairly certain if they tried to collect some of this little pink fucker’s silk they were liable to lose a hand.

Just as well. If the moths were so content to love Cantio and Kvasir, Morrigan could probably just foist off all the work on them - er, delegate. Delegate.

The pleading look on Morrigan’s face is all it takes to drag a long, exhausted sigh out of Kvasir– a sigh that’s quickly followed up by a second as the strange creature (decidedly not a real moth, surely) perches on Morrigan’s shoulder and starts painfully tugging at their jewelry.

Yet, all the same, despite the clear pain of having a little gremlin of an insect bite at them so insistently, the fellblood easily snaps back into their usual smug demeanor, carefully to hold it together despite the strain in their voice. The little thing still wriggles in Morrigan’s hand where they’re holding it by the scruff, little legs flailing as they try to squirm away– which, eventually, they manage just that, scrambling out of Morrigan’s hand and falling down onto the soft grass. And then it… scuttles over to Kvasir, little antennae twitching as it seems to assess him, before… gently biting on the toe of his boot.

…Al…right. Does it reserve its violence for Morrigan alone? That hardly seems fair.

“You… Morrigan Moonweaver, would it kill you to have a sense of self-preservation for once?” Kvasir huffs out, tension gathering between his brows as he glances between the critter on the ground and the agonizing light of his life standing a short distance behind them. Despite his clear exhaustion with the matter, the knowledge that letting this creature stick around is a bad idea…

Well. Kvasir has a lot of small vices, and not being able to deny Morrigan their wishes is one of them.

“...fine,” he sighs once again, especially with Cantio’s comment about the little thing taking a shining to Morrigan. “I trust your judgement. But I want you to be careful, and make sure she doesn’t severely hurt you. I worry for you plenty as is.”

And with that settled… Kvasir gets to catch onto Cantio’s second amused comment– that he, too, has a hitchhiker.

He glances back over his shoulder, brow furrowed as he looks for what must be another moth lurking somewhere on his person, and comes face to face with a fluffy, golden-eyed moth– one that seems content just to settle on the quiver he keeps strapped to his back, usually partly covered by his cloak. When it notices he’s looking at it, all it does is blink slowly at him before settling back down, clearly… very tired.

Kvasir moves to try and scoop the moth up, off of where it had started to get cozy– its wings flit a little in what might be irritation or confusion, but when Kvasir moves to hold it close against his chest, the little creature seems happy to nuzzle into his hold and resume its nap, little antennae twitching as it starts to doze off.

It’s infuriatingly cute.

“And so I do,” he says, unable to help the way his gaze softens when he looks at the snoozing moth in his arms. “Seems we’ve all found little hitchhikers out here– though yours seems to want to take a nap on your face, Cantio.”

It takes a lot of effort not to snort over Morrigan’s exasperation over being the lone one of them to wind up with a face-eating gremlin. Luckily, Kvasir’s at least… somewhat adept with controlling his expressions, and he manages not to laugh over it. Not outwardly, at least– he’s certainly laughing a little internally.

And fawning, as he always does.

“Well, I suppose every one out of three moths winds up craving the taste of flesh,” he snarks, casting another glance at the pink and yellow moth that’s now happily cradled in Morrigan’s arms. “Well, Cantio, seems we were the more fortunate ones. Though, uh… here…”

Still cradling the little gold-and-brown moth in one arm, Kvasir steps forward to try and help the little critter on Cantio’s shoulder along, nudging it gently until its little wings are less likely to strike the fellblood in the face. He also moves to brush some of the stray pieces of fluff off of Cantio’s face, trying to make sure he can breath and speak properly.

“There. Well, should we get to work, then? Or carry these little critters a ways out and handle the silk-collecting later on?”

“Oh, but if they had more self preservation, how could they possibly stumble upon all of their many stories and experiences?” Cantio chuckles, reaching up to provide a small ledge for the pink moth on his shoulder with his hand; it steps one of its fluffy little legs forwards, but keeps the rest on his shoulder. The sensation of her not-quite-claw is strange, and she’s a hefty weight despite his understanding that most bugs have an almost unnoticeable mass. “Well - I suppose a little self preservation is never a bad thing, but too much, and…” Cantio waves his other hand as if searching for a word; and when it comes to him, his expression softens somewhat. “Ha, well. You get people like me.”

It’s not meant to be a jab at himself, but it does make him feel just a smidge heavier inside; part of his admiration for Morrigan is certainly their showmanship, their flamboyance, their spontaneity! Maybe, though, he’s a little bit jealous, too. Morrigan has boundless, wondrous stories, and Astrid loves adventure; and he wants to love it if only in support - but ever since he… ever since…

Since…

A chill shudders down his spine and a dull ache in scars on his shoulder resurface as though they had never left. His smile disappears for a moment, as does the sound of Kvasir’s reluctance and Morrigan’s pleading; and he exists in a white space, alone, with only the sound of the ocean’s wind and the flap of sails to accompany him.

After a heartbeat, weight shifting on his hand pulls him back into the Lantern Light forest; he glances sidelong with a blink at the pink moth, who has put a second claw on his hand. He smiles lopsidedly, his gaze softening and a smile returning when Morrigan asks about the creatures on their shoulders. “Friends, I think?” he wonders, lifting a hand to scritch at the underside of the moth’s… chin? Do moths have chins? “She’s just a little sassy, Morrigan!”

He laughs while the moth proceeds to request uppies; and the moth on his hand leans into the scritches while Morrigan complains and Kvasir gently holds his sleepy moth to his chest. “Aha, well, I can’t say it’d be quite comfortable with the mask and everything.” he chuckles, moving his hand; the moth shakes once he does, scattering bits of dust into the air, and clunking him in the side of the head with her wings.

It doesn’t hurt, but it does make him wince just slightly. “It seems like it!” he agrees, blinking while Kvasir steps forwards to nudge the moth a little farther from his face. She seems reluctant at first, her body moving despite her legs remaining rigidly in the same place, but she eventually caves and takes a couple of steps to the side. “Ptth. Thank you.” he says gratefully, “She’s quite cute, but quite fluffy - not much one for personal space, it seems!”

He smiles warmly at Kvasir and the little moth he’s holding, before glancing at Morrigan while they cradle the other. “Well… they seem kind enough. I think we could go about getting what we need; and if they seem a little bit restless, we could take them somewhere else for a bit while we gather. I can't imagine it would take us too terribly long, no?”

“And why should I when it has never done any good?” Dismissiveness seemed a proper retort in this situation. Morrigan currently had a moth chewing on their sweater and eyeballing their silken hair like it owed her money. Kvasir Sigurros was, by all means, objectively correct that this little troublemaker would be a problem. But Morrigan wanted to be right, so they weren’t above petty retorts.

It was rare a creature could stand to be around them long enough to like them.

“Exactly, what the good master Cantio Von Lumen said!” They asserted, flashing their friend a nonchalant grin, when Kvasir finally relented, because Morrigan was adorable and charismatic and all things inbetween. Except. The fellblood blinked, tilting their head as Kvasir expressed concern for their wellbeing.

You worry for me?

“I’ll be fine.” They flipped their hair over their shoulder; brushing past the way their chest beneath their ribcage felt delicate at Kvasir’s admission. They already knew that he worried - cared, cared. That he was so damn selfless he’d learn how to tap into new magic just to cross through fields of lava and carry then when their leg was mottled bone, a reminder of their own fragile mortality. Though they had the faintest impression it was not because Kvasir thought they couldn’t take care of themselves.

It was as if he just… wanted Morrigan to be okay.

“I shall be fine.” Their voice, uncharacteristically soft. A little white lie they intended to uphold. Brushing their hand over the moth’s fuzz, they offered him a charming grin. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.”

It was at that moment the not-moth caught sight of their tail swishing behind them and leapt out of Morrigan’s arms to bite at the appendage. Morrigan let out a startled hiss between sharp fangs. “Son of a -“

No, they could handle this -

“I mean, I meant for this to happen!” They swatted her with their tail and the little moth rolled onto her back, stubby legs waving in the air with unrepentant delight. A like-minded friend! A prankster! Mephits were unfortunately rather violent pranksters. But one could not always choose their kin. Morrigan hadn’t even known they were an option.

They could put up with a little biting. Tit for tat, eh?

“See, Cantio Von Lumen agrees with me!” Morrigan finished, rather matter-of-factly at that. They reached over and patted the taller fellblood on the arm. “We need the big thinkers and doers such as myself to get the Realistic Randy’s like the two of you out of your comfort zones. If it weren’t for me, we would have never even come across such a curious specimen in the first place!”

They did not miss the silence that followed where Cantio Von Lumen might offer rebuttal, or the seaglass-stained look in his eyes. Hmm. Something to file away for later. Instead, they focused on the way Kvasir Sigurros made instant friends with his unwanted hitchhiker. It was effortless, the way he loved so readily.

“We can’t both be the sassy one!” They snipped back at Cantio Von Lumen, though for a brief moment, their eyes could not break away from Kvasir, cradling the moth so gently. Then the troublemaker bit their tail again and Morrigan yelped, hastily moving to collect her before she could do any more harm.

“I suppose I ought to give you a name, shouldn’t I? A moniker befitting of a fussy queen such as yourself.” Oh, they had just the thing. “You, my dear, shall be Lunna Rose.”

Lunna Rose ruffled her illusory wings, and Morrigan figured that was sign enough she was content with the name.

“I always knew I was special.” Morrigan flashed Kvasir a coy look. “And apparently, I was right. I have achieved my lifelong dream of being delicious enough that a moth might want to one day partake in the sin of carnivorism.” She nipped at their finger while they tried to pet her; wrinkling their nose, Morrigan reached into their bag to grab a piece of putty they molded into a fake hand, one that closely resembled their own lavender one.^[1]

“Here. Teeth on this, you incorrigible little monster.”

That seemed to do the trick.

With Lunna Rose distracted for the time being, Morrigan gave a thoughtful hum while they considered. Between the three of them they had enough samples that they didn’t need to linger in the woods for too terribly long. “Oh, couldn’t we reconvene and harness silk from these critters at another location? Such as, say, an inn? I would kill for a meal and a hot bath right about now.”

Harvesting would be an easy task; Morrigan Moonweaver had quite enough of rolling around in the dirt for one day, thank you very much. With a new companion cradled in hand, Morrigan turned on their heel and started making their way towards civilization, where they could finish what they set out to do.

After a nice rest, of course.

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1. Shaping Putty