? DISCONTINUED ? Between the Perennial Blooms || Paul Lahote

Forty | Geranium

A sister.

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It was later that afternoon when Quil and Bailey finally returned to Forks. Considering neither of them knew how to drive nor had the means of transportation to get them to Port Angeles in the first place, they departed the city bus they had taken to travel there and back with kind smiles and small waves directed the driver's way. It had dropped them off only a few miles walk from Fork's Downtown area to the Swan household, and as the pair ambled their way down the sidewalk in destination of Bailey's home, they opted to stop at each playground they came across as they passed it by.

Currently, Quil was climbing the monkey bars and rambling on about how he believed 'spider-wolves' should be a thing. Meanwhile, Bailey rocked back and forth on the tire swing across from him. She was giggling as he ranted, admiring the way he looked so carefree and childish and showcased much more of the boy she became best friends with back before the Shifter gene had ever come into effect. It seemed as time had gone on, her earlier words had implanted themselves in his brain and sparked a change in him. No longer were his eyes sad and dulled with guilt; rather, now, they were bright and unburdened and filled with so much mirth the difference was almost uncanny. He looks so happy, Bailey mused, nodding when he looked to her for confirmation after asking if she agreed with his nonsensical theorizing. He looks totally at ease. And the observations proved accurate because, for what seemed to be the first time in a long time, he actually was.

"My grandpa mentioned you the other day," Quil remarked after he had swung his body around the bars to rest on top of the pole that formed their frame. "Kept blabbering on about how you were the one the pack's been waiting for and how we should protect you because you're 'sacred' and a bunch of other random crap that didn't make any sort of sense."

Perking up at the topic, Bailey leaned forward on the swing. "Really?" She murmured. "Your- your grandpa... he's a little..." She tried to think of an appropriate word. "...Otherworldly, isn't he?"

Snorting, Quil shot her an amused look from up above the monkey bars. "You can say 'weird', Bay. Not like it ain't the truth."

Bailey blushed but otherwise opted not to negate him.

"But yeah, Gramps is a little off his rocker. Ma' says it 'cause he's really in tune with his tribal side but I just think he smoked a little too much peyote back in the day."

"Quil!" Bailey giggled.

He laughed and had the decency to look sheepish — though it only lasted for a moment at best. "I mean, the old man's a total crackpot, is he not? Love him to death, but... Come on, he's talked in riddles all my life and even after sixteen years, I still don't understand him."

Still smiling, Bailey shook her head. "You're terrible, Quil Ateara."

He smirked. "Never said I was anything different."

Bailey was quiet for a moment as their conversation died down to a close. Eventually though, she decided to voice aloud what was on her mind. "Hey Quil?" She murmured.

Without looking at her, Quil made a sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat as he basked in the sun peeking out at him from between the clouds.

"Have you ever heard your grandpa talk about something called an 'Ashkii Dighin'?"

"I mean it's only, like, his favorite Quileute legend ever." Quil answered. His eyes then flickered down to the golden-haired girl and he cocked a curious eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"The night we met," Bailey began as she picked at the rust covering the chains that held the swing suspended from its metal frame with the tips of her fingernails. "At the bonfire, he was talking to me. Seth introduced us and- and well, that's what he called me."