Sam of Wellwood 2

Sam wrapped his arms around Scar’s neck, and buried his head into the sprite’s shoulder. The wet streaks running down his cheeks formed dark patches on the sprite’s clothing, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m ready,” he mumbled, the sound muffled by Scar’s shoulder.

Scar nodded and sighed, unable to ignore the faint shuddering in Sam's small body. The poor boy was terrified and lost and cold. He clearly hadn't come from anywhere nearby. At least whatever had befallen him hadn't caused any injuries.

Scar put his arms around Sam, bracing them against the boy's back and shoulders. With Sam secured to his chest, Scar stood and backed out of the small hiding spot. Sam's weight didn't strain him too much, but he knew taking off would be tricky. This was the way to carry a flightless nestling, but in truth most sprites weren't built for heavy lifting, and their lean frames were meant for speed and agility. Sam was big enough that if he'd had wings, he might be able to flutter along on his own for a while.

After a few running steps and powerful flaps of his wings, Scar leapt up and took to the air. He kept flapping his wings to get higher and higher before gliding forward between the trees towards home. He could still feel the fear tensing up Sam's muscles as they rose into the air. The wind whipped past them and the sunlight glittered down between the leaves above, and Scar remained confused about the pale, wingless child he'd found. At least he'd get him to safety.

True to his word, Scar didn't fly a full mile. It took him under ten minutes for the cottonwood to come into view. Scar tilted his head. "Landing soon," he said gently, warning Sam for the jolt that was to come. The wide porch in front of the entrance, at least, left plenty of room.

Scar opened his wings to slow down, stumbling a little as his boots touched down on the smooth wood Prayed into shape generations ago. Before making his way towards the tall door fashioned out of a knot in the wood, he released Sam to the floor to check on him. "Still alright?" he asked, eyes scanning over the boy's scrawny frame for signs of injury. He only found lingering tension from the ordeal.

Sam nodded up at the sprite, unable to articulate anything further. He’d never felt anything like flying with Scar before, and his heart was racing.

It was the sight of where they were, more than anything, that kept him from speaking.

His eyes were wide as he glanced around the world around them. The trees were almost like skyscrapers, and they were standing on a high-up ledge that looked out on a peaceful clearing of what would be pine trees.

If they weren’t hundreds of feet tall.

The trees’ branches seemed funny shaped at first, until Sam realized that there were entire homes resting on them. It was like they grew right out of the bark of the trees, complete with doorways and windows, and even porches connected to staircases that spiraled around the trunks all the way to the ground far below.

Across from the cluster of pines stood a strangely circular clearing surrounded by oak trees and centered by the most massive tree Sam had ever seen. Even the Redwoods in California might have a hard time reaching the heights of that ancient oak tree. The sun washed over that clearing in a warm, welcoming light.

Sam spotted other sprites flitting around, and when he realized there was more than one set of eyes peering curiously at him, his hand latched onto a fold in Scar’s pants. He shuffled closer to the tall sprite, his cheeks flushing pink with nerves. Wherever he was, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Scar put a hand on Sam's head, a comforting pat to let him know he was okay. Even as he did so, he arched his eyebrows at more than one sprite flitting nearby, giving them a clear message that they should mind their own business for the moment. Sam didn't need more stress on him after such a traumatic night. Scar placed his hand gently on the bedraggled boy's back to lead him towards the tall opening into the depths of the cottonwood tree, safely within its walls of pale bark.

The sprite waiting by the door blinked at the pair of them. "Lord Scar, what--" he began, but hushed when Scar held up a hand.

"I have brought this boy here for safety. Please find Lord Cerul, if you wouldn't mind. You will find us in the knights’ hall.” His voice wasn’t demanding, and yet he captured the other sprite’s attention with every word until he was finished. The sprite nodded and darted into the tree, off to search.

With that done, Scar turned to the shy kid trailing after him and offered a hand. “Sam. The hallways can be a little confusing for a nestling, but it’s not far.”

Sam bobbed his head and bounced forward to take the sprite's hand. He was probably never going to get over how different everything was compared to what he was used to. There wasn't a sharp corner to be found inside the tree as they followed the hall. Smooth textures surrounded them, like it was all grown from the start to be shaped like hallways.

“This is amazing! ” Sam said in awe as he walked by Scar’s side. He let a hand trail over the wall as they proceeded through the twisty hallways, some of his curiosity resurfacing now that he wasn’t all alone in the dark forest. A little glimmer of hope hid in his chest that the tall sprite might know what to do, might be able to find Dean and make everything right again.

No matter what the mean lady said to him in the motel room. He had to find Dean.

They entered a large room at last, stretching out before the two of them as it filled out one of the sturdy branches of the tree. Windows lined both sides, some with tables and chairs near them, also looking like they’d been grown like that. Sam let go of Scar’s hand and wandered a little closer to a window that wasn’t blocked by a table. “How’d ya make them like that?” he asked curiously. “I’ve never seen so many smooth edges before! It’s like the tree wanted to look like this.”

Scar smiled faintly and followed Sam to the window. Looking through it, he could see some of his knights wheeling about in the air, chasing each other among branches and practicing their maneuvers. "You're not far from the truth," he said, glancing down at the amazed little boy. "Wood sprites like me Pray to the Earth Spirit, and She lends us magic. That magic can be used to coax the living wood into shape like this." He ran a hand over the smooth edges of the window. "It's how the stairs and the homes on all the trees are made."

Before he could explain further, others joined them in the room. The swords belted at their hips and the jackets they wore gave them away as other knights. Each of them had a leaf-wrapped roll in one hand and a smirk on his face. Behind them followed a sprite woman with much darker skin and glittering emerald eyes, and she stopped griping at the men for stealing pastries from the tray she carried when she saw who was in the room.

"Oh, Lord Scar, I didn't ... Who is this?" Distracted from Scar by the sight of Sam, her voice filled with concern and she edged into the room along with the curious knights. The three of them tried to catch a glimpse of Sam, their eyes bright with interest.

Scar remained where he was, conveniently placed between Sam and the newcomers so the shy kid didn't have to face them on his own. "This is Sam. He was lost in the woods so I brought him here." He turned to look behind him. "These are two of my knights and Lady Arabelle the Kind."

The knights remained standing straight in the presence of their commander, but Arabelle knelt slowly, her wings and flowing garments brushing the smooth wooden floor. "Hello, Sam," she greeted softly.

Sam peeked out from where he was standing behind Scar, his face faintly red at the sight of so many other people, and all with wings like Scar’s. It was hard not to stare. “H-hi Ara-- my Lady,” he managed to nervously stutter out, not completely sure how he was supposed to address her. His dad hadn’t spent much time on formalities, and Dean wasn’t the best example to follow when it came to authority figures like police and teachers. Sam wanted to make a good impression after his life had been saved.

His wide hazel eyes flicked to the other knights in the room with them. “Are you going to help find my brother?” he asked, innocent hope bubbling up that soon he would be back where he belonged with his family.

The knights' looks dropped into concern at Sam's words, and Arabelle's smile became worried as well. "Oh, child," she muttered, shifting the tray she held to her hip. She looked up at Scar. "Of course we'll help." The knights nodded too.

Scar kept his eyes on Sam, watching over him. He was so timid, peeking out the way he did. The poor boy hadn't known about wood sprites before, after all, and here he was meeting several all at once. The child was likely overwhelmed by it. Scar looked up at his knights and nodded towards a table by the window opposite where they all stood. "If you were resting, continue. You've got your spoils, after all." He gestured to the pastries in their hands.

Both knights grinned sheepishly and backed off, dutifully giving them some space. Arabelle remained, watching Sam with some curiosity but mostly concern and a protective gaze. She had her title for a reason, after all.

"You can just call me Arabelle, dear," she told him quietly, grabbing one of her remaining pastries and holding it out. "I made these fresh this morning, would you like one? You need to keep up your energy."

Sam nodded, his eyes bright as he looked at the pastry. His stomach let out a growl, reminding him he had no idea when he’d last eaten. All he could remember was waking up in the forest, already hungry and thirsty, and upon realizing where he was, the thought of food was the furthest thing from mind.

That was all over and done with now, and his body wanted to remind him, loudly that it needed food and water. Sam’s face flushed even redder at the sound his stomach made. He went to reach out for the pastry, but the sight of how dirty his hands were made him snatch them right back. “S-sorry,” Sam mumbled as he hid his hands behind his back. “I haven’t been able to wash my hands.”

Arabelle raised her eyebrows, and then chuckled quietly, before standing again. The tray remained propped on her hip and she glanced up at Scar. "I suppose we had better let you wash up, then, hmm?" she replied, making her way to another table against the wall in the long room, her previous task forgotten. "I'll be over here when you're ready for something to eat."

Scar had to smile. "There's a basin by the door with water to wash your hands," he said, pointing towards the door. What could have been mistaken for a shadow or a knot in the wood was revealed to be a shallow alcove with a basin at the bottom. It would be about waist level to a fully grown sprite.

He led Sam over to the alcove, noting that the boy's head was barely over the level of the water. Most of the time, nestlings weren't in the knights' hall. "Here we go," Scar muttered, getting his hands under Sam's arms to lift him up a little so he didn't need to stretch himself out just to wash off his hands.

Past a gasp of surprise at being hoisted into the air, Sam didn’t say anything. He was too determined to clean up so he could eat some of the delicious food. Most days he and Dean would get simple things to eat. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, mac and cheese if there was a microwave or a place to cook in the motel or house they were staying at. Sam loved when there was fluff on hand to spice up the meals, and on rare occasion they’d order a pizza or some burgers.

Sam scrubbed his hands quickly, getting the grime off them from the night he’d spent clutching the stem of a huge leaf and brushing tears from his face. Something about that bothered him again, poking at the back of his mind, but he was too hungry to waste much thought, at least until after he’d eaten.

Once his hands were all clean, Sam wriggled to get free of Scar’s arms and darted back over to the table. He held out his hands to show off that they were clean. “Done!” he proclaimed.

Arabelle gave him a bright smile and leaned forward slightly as if inspecting his hands. "Very good, Sam," she told him, before finally handing him a pastry wrapped in a mint leaf. The food was fragrant and soft, clearly fresh. "Be sure to eat enough, dear," she told him, as if it were the gravest issue. He didn’t have wings, so he needed to keep up his strength somehow.

Scar followed Sam to the table at a slower pace, beyond relieved to see the boy relaxing at least a little. Hopefully they'd be able to get to the bottom of things quickly and find out where his family was. No one deserved to be separated from family like that.

He sat down at one of the backless chairs arranged around the table and patted the one next to him. "You can sit here and rest. I'm sure some others will be along soon enough. Cerul will help organize the patrolsprites to get them looking for your brother."

Sam was already nibbling at the edge of the pastry when he sat down next to Scar. His boots scraped along the floor as he kicked them back and forth distractedly, thinking back on everything that had happened. Food in his stomach helped him to focus, and the pastry was delicious. Once he got a taste of the flaky crust and the warm berries inside, it wasn’t long before he was taking larger bites. He hoped he’d get a chance to share it with Dean. His brother would love the snacks.

That turned his thought right back to what he’d been avoiding from the beginning.

“I don’t know where they are, though,” Sam admitted quietly after he brushed some crumbs from his mouth. “We weren’t anywhere near a forest when I got attacked, and that lady… She was yelling at me that I’d never see my big brother again.” His eyes welled up and threatened to spill over and he tried taking another bite of his pastry to keep from breaking down again. Nothing helped stave off the emotions threatening him.

Sam swallowed thickly, hoping her words were just a lie. “And everything’s so big…”

There it was again, that insistence that everything was big. Scar frowned faintly and shared a glance with Arabelle to tell her that he didn't know any better what the boy was talking about. Everything was big, of course, and that was simply the way of things. Sprites were small. Whatever this boy was, he was clearly also small.

It had to be disorientation from getting so lost, Scar reasoned. He placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulders, rubbing his back to soothe the worries that had cropped up yet again. It was so bizarre that there were no wings impeding the gesture, but Scar wouldn't say so out loud.

Instead he sighed, his gaze fixed on the boy. "I don't know what happened, and I'm not sure I'll ever know why, but we will do what we can to help you. I promise. You're safe and welcome here in the meantime."

“Thank you,” Sam said, his eyes cast downwards. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t found me.” His knife would only go so far. He didn’t have the muscle behind any strikes the way Dean or John would. His lessons with it had only begun recently, and Dean was encouraging his dexterity, but Sam knew he had a long way to go before he’d ever be ready to fight with it.

He was quiet as he ate through the last few bites of his pastry. The flavor distracted him from his worries. He found himself licking the last crumbs from his fingers, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Those were really good, Miss Arabelle,” Sam said politely as he brushed off his hands. “I don’t think we ever got to have food like that before.”

Arabelle smiled. "I'm very glad you liked it, Sam," she replied. Then, glancing at the window, she stood slowly and picked up her tray of remaining pastries. "If you ever want more, I'm sure Scar or one of these other featherheads will help you find me," she assured him, smiling and ignoring the exasperated looks from the knights that had nicked their own pastries from her earlier.

"Off again?" Scar asked, raising an eyebrow at the noble lady.

She bobbed her head and glanced at the tray. "I've still got some food to deliver, after all. If I can make it out of this branch without your knights taking them all."

"Bell, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Scar answered mildly as she turned to leave the room. Arabelle glanced over her shoulders and flickered her wings pointedly before making her way out.

Scar looked back at Sam. The boy was too short for his strange boots to even reach the floor properly. It really was a wonder that such a small nestling had lasted the night on his own, but hopefully the hard part was behind him. Scar noticed the other knights were glancing over, too, watching curiously, but paid them no mind. "Why don't you tell me about your brother," Scar suggested. “The more I know, the more I can tell the knights to look for when I send them out."

“Okay,” Sam said mildly, brightening up inside at the thought that he’d be doing something to help now. Especially if Dean was out there, trapped in a giant wilderness. His older brother might even be more offended than afraid if he found out he was shorter than a squirrel.

Sam closed his eyes and thought back, trying to remember every detail. He’d lived with Dean by his side his entire life, and knew his older brother better than anyone else alive. “Well, he’s got light brown hair with a little spike in the front.” Sam tried to demonstrate with his own hair, but the effect was lost. He liked to keep his hair longer while Dean prided the way his hair spiked up in the front.

“He’s wearing an amulet I gave him a year ago, he never takes it off,” Sam continued on, “and his eyes are green, but not bright green. Kinda darker and murky, like a dark jade.” He hopped out of his seat for the finish, “And he’s about five and a half feet tall, like this!” Sam held his hand above his head, approximating how tall his older brother was.

Silence followed.

Scar stared at Sam, and the other knights did as well. Their looks were merely confused, while Scar's brow furrowed slightly in thought. That's ... over sixty inches tall, he calculated hastily. There's no way he means it.

After blinking a few times to sort out his thoughts and try to figure out what Sam actually meant by his innocent proclamation, Scar tilted his head. "You ... you mean he's almost three inches?" He smiled shakily, not at all confident in his own assessment and not used to the feeling. "I know sometimes people get to an age where they grow so fast it seems like they gain a lot at a time, but you've just described a giant, Sam."

Sam stared back at Scar, equally lost.

“No…” he said slowly. “He’s not three inches tall. Dean just measured us last week! He told me I’m almost four and a half feet tall, and I’m gonna hit my growth spurt soon! And he measured himself so it was fair, and that’s how tall he was. He’s gonna be as tall as Dad when he grows up all the way, and I’m gonna be taller!” He thrust his little chest out, full of pride for that, then his brow furrowed. “Why? Aren’t you taller than Dean? There’s no way he’s a giant! He made me my knife!” He pulled out the knife, showing off the intricate workmanship. There was no way for a giant to get the amount of detail onto such a well-crafted weapon.

Scar glanced over the knife. It was true, the weapon was well made. Far nicer than the simple daggers the sprites had in their small armory. Metal was rare, and so was a sprite that could work with it effectively. Scar pursed his lips.

"Sam, I'm a little over three and three quarter inches tall," he answered, as delicately as he could considering his usual blunt nature. The topic was confusing, and he knew without glancing at the other two knights in the room that they had no better idea how to answer Sam's incredulous insistence.

"If you ... if you're supposed to be over four feet tall, Sam, then you aren't right now," Scar went on, staying seated while the boy stood there. He was still confused, though his mind kept tossing out a possibility that he didn't want to consider. It shouldn't be possible, but then again neither should it be possible for a pale, wingless child to just appear in the woods out of nowhere.

“But… but…” Sam wanted to protest, but no one else contradicted Scar’s words. The angry screeches echoed in his head again, before a flash of light that washed away his consciousness.

And then he woke up in the forest, and grass was taller than he was.

Finally everything clicked, and Sam wanted nothing to do with any of it.

“I’m not small!” he wailed, taking a step away from Scar. “I’m not, I’m gonna be the tallest in my family!” Tears welled up again, and this time poured over. “I’m just dreaming, Dean’s gonna find me, and I’ll get back home!”

Burying his face in his hands, Sam darted away from the sprites, heedless of where he was going and ignoring the cry of alarm behind him.