Mist and metamorphosis

The fishing had been good today comparatively, Salmonberry had fished up a number of potions, an enchanted rod, a possibly decursed rubber ducky, and a few empty mason jars that would be perfect for pickling or jam making. With a bunch of salmonberries already picked and waiting for them in the wagon, they tucked their haul away and brought their salmon plush earrings into the palm of their paw. The salmons needed very little encouragement to grow, and were soon flopping around happily, pushing their plush noses into Salmonberry with delight. Giggling, she calmed them down, before hooking them up to the wagon proper. 

The ride into the city and out of the forest was uneventful, thankfully, no hungry spirits or highwaymen to harass her. Pulling up to her usual corner she moved to set up shop, catching sight of the woman out of the corner of her eye. Just like yesterday and the day before she was sitting on the ground across the street, tucked into an alleyway between two buildings. She stayed there, heavy mist or rain, sitting on a folded piece of soggy cardboard, staring unseeingly at the grate set in the street. Her shaggy mane was limp from the heavy mist blanketing the street and her ears were drooped. It made Salmonberry's heart hurt to see her like that day after day. No one even stopped to talk to her or offer her a stray item or a bite to eat - but then again, neither had Salmonberry. Guilt, the same sort that had caused her to leave part of her savings to her grandfather, swam around in the pit of her stomach. 

Collecting the plush Salmon back into earrings, she put them back on as she contemplated what she could do to help. 

She could make the woman some jam, a loaf of bread, but that would only last a couple of hours and offer no reprieve after it was consumed. The items she gathered from fishing weren't the kind an item leech could make use of, so giving the woman one of them would likely be useless if she wasn't an adventurer of some kind, and there wasn't any way for Salmonberry to know what sort she could be even then, if she handed over say, the enchanted rod she'd fished up today, it would do nothing for a warrior or an archer.

Setting up her stall for the day she put out the potions and other items she'd fished out on the collapsible table. Down this side of the street a mess of other merchants had already set up, even though she'd come early today, there were always dozens of others who had arrived before her. Even still, the outdoor market wouldn't be bustling till much later, which gave Salmonberry the time she needed to make jam and pickles to sell alongside her fished up wares. 

Setting aside a bit of jam, she puts the rest of it all in the jars and sets them up on the table. Spreading her little bit of jam on a thick slice of bread, she tries to inconspicuously watch the woman in the alleyway. She's brought her thick tail up to curl around herself, like a blanket, and it's so soft and sad that is makes Salmonberry's chest go tight. She rubs at her sternum softly, looking down at her slice of bread sadly.

She keeps stealing glances of the woman her entire time working her shop, as each fished up item and jar of jam or pickles is purchased, she catches glimpses across the street. The woman sleeps fitfully, shivers under her thick tail, thick foggy mist clings to her, damp and probably worsening the chill, certainly Salmonberry is feeling the cold, even under the awning set up against her wagon's side. She looks so cold over there, cold and lonely, and it hurts in such a familiar way. Years spent locked up in dark places, lost and forgotten, and most of all unwanted. No one offers the woman a hand, too busy in their own afterlives, too caught up in going from point a to point b. You'd think one of the adventurers would offer a hand, they were supposed to have such big hearts, at least some of them, but everyone walks by her alleyway like they'd rather not see her at all. 

There's only one item left on her table now, a jar of pickles, so she puts it away to sell tomorrow and starts to close up shop. She's not the first to leave, somewhere in the middle really, where the most desperate of them won't be leaving for hours yet. All she can see of the woman's face is the very tip of her muzzle from under her damp tail and that's it for Salmonberry, she can't stand it anymore. Shutting up her table into her wagon she squares her shoulders and walks across the street and toward the alleyway. She's sensed, she can tell, because the muzzle under the tail shifts, nose to the air, scenting her arrival. But the woman stays mostly under her own thick tail. 

Salmonberry tries not to fidget, "Hello," she says, and her voice comes out a tiny squeak, the woman doesn't move a muscle, "Um, hello." She tries again, firmer this time. 

The tail lifts, but otherwise the woman doesn't move, she stays curled tightly in on herself. This close and Salmonberry can make out the scars that riddle her strong form, patches of her fur thin from past wounds, it makes Salmonberry feel even stronger for her, so much pain experienced, it makes her want to reach out and soothe her paws over the thinnest parts of her fur, to offer comfort. She stays where she is, shifting from leg to leg, unconsciously nervous.

"What do you want?" The woman's voice takes Salmonberry off-guard, it's as thick as her tail, and as rough and bruised as her body, her eyes are hidden by the fringe of her ruff but Salmonberry knows if she could see them, they'd be glaring. 

"Can I have some of your tail fluff? I've got a brush here, I won't take any cuttings, I just want to brush out the shed." She can tell that the woman probably hasn't been brushed in so long, or groomed in any way. Salmonberry can't remember ever being groomed by anyone else, but she always keeps her brush on hand for herself, and she brings it forth from inside her bag of holding, showing the soft bristles and wooden handle to the woman to prove the honesty of her words.

There is a huff of breath, a sound very similar to a laugh, before the woman speaks, "Knock yourself out." The woman smacks her sodden tail down in front of Salmonberry before turning to curl up tighter. 

Kneeling down, Salmonberry first reaches out to touch the fur of the woman's tail with her paw. It's soft and warm, even with the chill of the night and the dew clinging to it, and feels silky under the touch of her pads. She strokes it as she brushes, collecting the shed one swipe at a time, tucking it into her bag of holding as she goes. She stays there, longer than she can count, stroking and brushing, till nothing more comes when she passes the brush. Giving the tail a final pat down with her paws, she notices the woman is sleeping soundly, breathing measured and face unmarred with strife for once. She's extra quiet when she leaves, not wishing to wake her up from the first gentle sleep Salmonberry has seen her in.

She has a great deal of wool she finds when she pulls it all free from her bag the next day. With her fishing pole stuck into a hole in the dock, line out to tempt bites, she begins to brush out the wool with a fine comb, slowly stretching it out into fine lines. It is a calming activity, slow and soft, and reminds her of brushing the soft fur. The wool in her paws still smells of heavy mist even now that it's dried, as if it's been permeated to the very fibers of it with the element. Slowly the combed lines are twisted together, just enough to make the braid of a loose yarn, still fluffy and full, it's some of the softest yarn she's ever worked with. 

By the time she's finished with making the yarn she's managed to fish up a sword hilt, three potions, and a bunch of tangled fishing line that will make good netting to hold things. 

Working the yarn with her hook carries her through to the late evening, past when she would have usually left this particular fishing hole, but she stays, adding line after line, her pole forgotten as the yarn is used up and the shape in her hands gets bigger and bigger, till it covers her entire lap and then some. 

Blinking back to herself, the night is dark, and the blanket is done. It's so soft when she rubs her cheek against it and she can't stop smiling as she packs everything away and leads her salmon plush pulled wagon back to the city.

It's too late to set up her shop tonight, the only people browsing at this time are those looking for a deal on the leftovers, hardly the time to be selling anything if you want to make a profit. She's so excited anyway, not even bothering to change her salmon plush back to earrings, she holds the folded blanket to her chest and rushes forth across the street from her usual shop-spot. The woman isn't asleep but instead has her back against one of the brick walls, moss creeping around her on the cold ground. Her head tilts up when Salmonberry is nearly there, nose sniffing at the air, a wicked grin bearing teeth. 

"Back for more fur? What're you even doing with it?" The woman asks.

Salmonberry, at a loss of what to actually say now that she's here with the blanket in her arms and the deed mostly done, shakes out the folds and then very carefully drapes it around the woman's shoulders. "You looked so cold all the time, I don't make enough to buy a blanket, but I can crochet and you have wool enough to spare, so I thought I could make you a blanket, I'm Salmonberry, by the way."

The woman looks shell-shocked, stunned silent with her jaw hanging slack, and then abruptly she tilts her head toward the sky and howls, a great rough sound, it echoes as if coming from something much larger, and then it is. The woman twists and screams, before the screaming becomes endless laughter, cackling and crowing. The woman rolls in the alleyway, now too small for her. 

Salmonberry backs up into the street, as two hands grasp for her, and then there are four hands, as two more arms appear to claw and scrape at the brick. The woman is two people in size, and then four, and then six, and then she's spilling out of the alleyway, the blanket draped over her, and she's laughing still, the sound of it booming. There is a ruckus behind Salmonberry of the other vendors fleeing the sudden monster. 

Starting, Salmonberry herself flees, running at her wagon and the salmon plush flopping fearfully (or joyfully, they're not the smartest) awaiting. The wagon nearly flies, spurred on by her own fear and desire to get away. 

"SALMONBERRY! WAIT!" 

She doesn't wait, her mind filled with the sharp teeth she'd seen, the maw big enough to devour her whole in one single bite. The city dwindles around her, the forest comes to swallow her up, and she doesn't stop till she has to, till the road runs to lakeside and the trees are too thick to put her wagon between them. 

It's quiet here, no sound but the water lapping at the edges of the lake, the sound of wind through the reeds. It's so still it's easy to think that maybe it had all been a dream. So she takes herself to the dock to think, to try and decide what to do. If the market has been destroyed then there's no way she can ever go back there. Someone would no doubt blame her for transforming the woman somehow. She'll have to travel to another city entirely, not that she even knows where other cities are, to start over entirely.

She's so caught up in plotting how to start a new life that she misses the sound of paws padding behind her, misses the towering reflection to shadow over her in the water. It isn't until the great huff of breath and the shake of the dock as a huge figure settles to sit right behind her that she notices she isn't alone. 

The two sets of arms that drape over her and... hug, hug? Hug her, yes, those are nice. Strong and soft, smelling of mist and forest berries, of pine and power, old and worked into the very earth and the fur around her, nice - a nice hug for something so terrifying. 

"You're fast with that thing, it's nice here, is this where you go to everyday?" The woman asks, and Salmonberry stares in her own shock, out at the lake, at the sky brightening slowly with the dawn of a new day, as more mist pours over the water as if summoned forth from some deity. 

She nods, at a loss of what else to do, and stays very still, like a prey animal fearing any movement will get them found and eaten. 

With a great huff the woman puts her head, her giant terrifyingly beautiful head, on Salmonberry's, careful with the weight distribution as to not crush her. "Thank you. You set me free from a really nasty curse, I'm Lullaby by the way, and this is my domain, but it seems like parts of it are changing every day, and I feel like I haven't seen even half of it. When you gave me that blanket it lifted my curse, no one has ever given me a heartfelt gift before. I guess I wasn't ever deserving of one, I never thought much of anyone else before that curse." Lullaby, a real demi-god, huffs a great breath out, and the mist increases over the lake, trapping them away, blanketing them in a sort of bubble of protection. Salmonberry can only see the water right around the tip of the pier, the arms surrounding her. 

"You're special, Salmonberry, the most special person I've ever met." And Lullaby squeezes her so soft, so gently, it's the first time Salmonberry can really say she's had a real meaningful hug, a touch so full of kindness she momentarily forgets all of the bubbling fear that had caused her to flee in the first place. 

"I'm not anything special." Salmonberry whispers, thinking of her grandfather, of her place as an item leech. 

"You are!" Lullaby argues, "I'll follow you and tell you every day, every day till you believe it!"

And she did, she actually did, and eventually, that regard turned to affection, and that affection turned to love.